Maybe Tomorrow : Diary Of The Demented 2

8.00 am

They just come into my room without knocking. It is time to get up. They lower the cot sides on my bed, removing the duvet cover wrapped around it first. Assisted to my feet I am taken to tiny toilet in my room. They stand beside me talking about their plan of action for the morning and how the night shift yet again have obviously sat about all night and done nothing at all.

Not being a bath day I am given a wash beside my sink from a basin of warm water. They choose a nice set of matching clothes on my behalf.

I am taken through to the green lounge in a wheel chair, with my feet help up in the air. The foot plates have fallen off again. Another resident of the Care Home is wheeled past me on the way to the big bathroom. She appears to only have a bed sheet to cover her modesty.

In the lounge I am placed in a wing back chair and told breakfast will be served in an hour.

I ask where my husband is. I am lied to and told that he will be in to visit later.

I’ll forget soon.

9.00 am

Sitting in my chair I’ve watched the staff bring in most of the other residents. Some muddle around. Some chat to one another in repeating cyclic conversations. Some sit quietly. One keeps trying to stand up, one wails and another stares at me suspiciously.

In turn we are all taken to the tables in the dining room. The staff have a habit of sitting the same groups of people at the same tables day in day out. Told breakfast will just be five minutes we wait twenty. It is uninspiring.

I ask again about my husband. Again the lie.

On the way out one carer asks another, loudly, if my husband is dead. I don’t hear the answer.

I begin to cry. Someone behind me makes a tutting sound.

Breakfast is placed in bowls in front of us all. The woman sitting beside me is fed by a member of staff. She only gets half a breakfast as apparently she is being “awkward”. Again.

10.00 am

Back to the green lounge. The ‘Activities Lady’ comes round to entertain us. This involves, yet again, playing a slightly stretched music tape and encouraging us to sing along to it. If we are lucky it will be a different tape this afternoon. Listening to a room full of elderly and slightly demented people in not the most fun in the world, even if you are singing along.

The Lady spends some time with the residents that do not shout at her. Other residents are wandering the corridors. Most of the staff are off doing the second round of baths and showers.

I ask the lady about my husband, she just looks sad and does not answer.

I sit and try to talk to the person sitting next to me. She babbles nonsense in response but it is better than nothing. Day time TV burbles on in the background. People are trying to buy houses somewhere foreign.

12.00 pm

Lunch time. After being asked if I need to go to the toilet (I said no, staff said give a go anyway, turns out I did need to) I am sat at the same table as this morning, with the same people. Being Friday it is fish day. We have a choice between fish dish or something awful. I choose the fish. Oddly enough it is quite good. We can see the kitchen and the kitchen staff all of whom seem to be pleased that what they have cooked is appreciated.

Better than hospital food.

1.00 pm

Back to the lounge. I have a seat next to the window. This gives me a lovely view of the back of a block of flats. We used to be able to see the sea. The Activities lady has something special for us this afternoon. Mable the singer has come. To sing. This is much better than the tape. It also drowns out the noise of the TV. Where people are now selling houses for as much money as they can. They are given tips on how to make their houses look worth more than they actually are.

I sing along. Some of the staff come and join us when the toileting round is finished. A nurses I have never seen before asks me my name. I tell her. She gives me some tablets after asking one of the carers if I am who I say I am. She is probably agency staff, we get a lot of them.

The tablets eventually kick in and the pain in my joints subsides again. I ask the nurse where my husband is. She looks distracted and mutters something non-committal to me. She sounded positive though so I cheer up.

3.00 pm

The Activities lady has finished for the day. Mable has packed up her things and gone. We are left with the most useless carer to keep an eye on us. The others are off on breaks or doing whatever it is they do.

5.00 pm

Dinner. Not fish since we had fish at lunchtime. It is hot pot or stew. I find it difficult to tell the difference. Things will get more exciting after dinner. They always do. Dinner is nice if unidentifiable.

7.00 pm

I have been wandering a little bit. The agency nurse is in the office phoning round people. Some of the night staff have phoned in sick. Someone points out one of them is having a birthday party tonight and she wonders if there is a link. The agency nurse eventually phones agencies to try and get night cover.

The place is a bit noisier now the evening has kicked in. There is some random screaming and shouting, by the residents. I see some carers wrestling something sharp and pointed away from a large male resident. He manages to head butt one of the carers. They call for the agency nurse. I decide to return to my room.

I eventually find one that will do and lie down on the bed. There is quite a lot of noise.

8.00 pm

Some of the carers find me and tell me that I have come into the wrong room. They ask if I would like to get ready for bed. Yes. They take me to my room. It has my ornaments. I am given a quick wash and helped into my night wear. I have a nice fluffy dressing gown. I wonder where my husband has got to.

I keep the question to myself, having a suspicion the answer will not help.

One of the carers, the little young one, gives me a hug.

9.00 pm

I get my night tablets early when the night staff come on. I am quite tired. After the tablets I am a lot more tired.

The night nurse has been here a long time. I recognise him and he smiles at me. The rest of the night staff look as if they have been dragged out of their beds. There is a sullen air and complaints that the day staff have obviously been sitting around doing nothing all day. He asks am I ready to go to bed.

Tucked up in bed with the side rails up. He tells me they are not meant to be called cot sides. I ask if I will see my husband. He tells me Maybe tomorrow.