Another day, another drama. Yesterday it became clear that Dad wasn’t coping well with the situation and his grief. He wasn’t answering the phone, so I phoned the GP to make them aware of the situation. They were very sympathetic and said “Just call us if you need anything”. Well, actually that’s exactly why I DID call you. Oh, never mind…
In between phoning relatives and friends to tell them about Mum and liaising with the hospital and undertaker for Mum’s funeral (not to mention walking the two dogs) I went round to Dad’s and found him in the conservatory. I managed to bang on the window to get his attention and got him to put his hearing aid in and find his phone. At least he was ok, but only just. He’s too grief-stricken and weak to function properly.
Because we’re not sure whether Dad has picked up the virus from Mum, I called 111. The upshot was, they don’t allow you to report for another person. You have to get the patient to phone or at least be with them. I told them Dad was deaf and not good with phones. They told me to “go near him and wear a mask or summat”. Thanks, I’ll get back to you on that one…
I decided I couldn’t leave my dad without seeing another human face. So later on, I sat in the garden and made him sit in the conservatory with doors and windows closed and we talked by phone and raised a glass to Mum. He was so exhausted, he fell asleep while talking to me. He’s hardly eating and finding it difficult to walk.
Back at my holiday cottage, the wonderful village support team texted me to make sure all was ok and advised me to call the social services out of hours team and try to get a home Coronavirus test for Dad.
I called the out of hours team at 6 am today and Dad’s case is being referred to the social work team who start at 8 am. Feeling hopeful.
My quest to get Dad a home test kit hasn’t been quite as successful so far. If anyone suggests that I drive him to a test centre or ask him to drive himself, I’ll scream.
8:45 social worker Verna calls. Very sympathetic. Asked if dad was feeling unwell and I made the mistake of saying “yes”. Her reply “Well it’s not us you need, it’s 111, we’ll come in if necessary on the back of that call, but I’m warning you, we’re very under-resourced if Dad wouldn’t consider a care home or respite care”. I told her I’d tried 111 yesterday but drawn a blank because they needed to speak to Dad himself. She told me to wield my Power of Attorney. Oh yes, that! Thank goodness we did one for Mum and Dad last year.
Dad’s up and I’ve seen him through the window for a chat over the phone. To cut a long story short, after a lot of phone calls, the social services have arranged a skeleton care package for him this weekend and he’ll be on a proper self-funded package from Monday. The social services mobility team is going in tomorrow to assess his living arrangements. Phew.
Now my fear is that Dad will reject the help, even though he’s clearly incapable of anything at the moment. He was less than impressed when I said someone was coming to put him to bed between 8 and 9 pm. A return of the old truculence is a good sign I think.
When leaving Dad, John the lovely next door neighbour flagged me down to see how Dad was. It seems that when Mum was at home last week, she fell and Dad rushed next door without thinking to ask for help. John went into the house and helped pick Mum up. Now we have something else to worry about. It’s been eight days since he touched Mum so I’m cautiously optimistic he hasn’t caught anything.
Nicky and Paulie sent me my own care package. Thanks guys! One day normal life WILL resume.
I got a beautiful card and gift from a lovely MA student, Bella, I mentored this year as well. Things like this make all the voluntary hours we put in doing this sort of stuff worthwhile.
2022 and all that 