Categories: uncategorized
Date: 29 January 2005 15:55:43
Well, so much for getting up early to pamper myself with a luxurious bath. An actual weekend at a health farm would have been rather nice, it has to be said, but as that was an impossibility, an hour soaking in a deep warm bubblebath with all the trimmings (courtesy of my sister who bought me a "do it yourself spa" kit for Christmas) seemed just the pampering a woman's weekend should begin with. Especially after all that exercise yesterday. (What do you mean, I only got there for the last ten minutes? It's the thought that counts!)
The boys were going out at 9.30 so a seven o'clock start to the day made that quite achievable. Until I went round to Dad's, that is, and discovered that he'd had a terrible night and needed some drastic help sorting out the kitchen floor and hall carpet and the clothes which had somewhat suffered. So the foaming water I had been looking forward to was suddenly replaced with a bucket of Flash and a mop.
I bustled the Smudgelets up the hill to the bus stop, nagging en route about untidy bedrooms and lack of music practice and towels on the bathroom floor as you do, and bustled myself back thinking, this is it. Perhaps it is better to luxuriate in total peace and quiet with the whole morning at my disposal, even if I have got housework to do. A quick cup of coffee and then..... drat, the phone. It's Dad. "I'd like you to come round at 10.30 because the woman from Wightcare is coming round to show me the emergency pendant". Bother. A luxuriating bath in half an hour? Nope, it had better wait until she's gone.
Round I go, dutiful daughter that I am, to await the arrival of the Wightcare warden. Dad's quite relaxed about it - I'd arranged for her to visit against his wishes reallyas he's adamant he's not going to have one of these pendants because £250 a year is just too much money to pay out for something he hopes never to use. The service is brilliant - an emergency phone and emergency pendant which contact a control centre and put you through to someone immediately who'll either contact next of kin, phone for an ambulance or send a warden round to help you. Everyone recommends them and almost all the elderly people I know use them. But dad? Oh no, he doesn't need something like that.
Typically there's a phone call. The warden has been delayed by a call-out but is on her way. We wait. And we wait. And we wait. It's actually quite pleasant, sitting there nattering over a cup of coffee. Eventually she arrives - an hour and a half later. It's not her fault. It was a serious emergency which she had to go to at the other end of the Island - an ill and elderly lady had fallen and her carer couldn't lift her - and the message should have said that she'd be there as soon as she could rather than that she was on her way. She sits down with a cuppa to explain their service to Dad and suddenly her mobile rings. The old lady has tried to get out of bed and fallen again. The warden is needed elsewhere. She's very apologetic and makes an appointment for this afternoon - poor woman.
Dad, of course, now feels fully justified in refusing to have a pendant. They'd be far too busy to respond if he were in need. They just don't know how to prioritise. If she's showing him the pendant, she should be showing him the pendant and shouldn't go dashing off doing other things! And if that old lady was going to keep falling, she should be in a home! You know, it's really strange to see my Dad, who was always such a diligent carer for others, become so self-centred in his old age, although I know full well it's a natural part of the aging process.
Bath time? Not a chance. It's now only half an hour until the Smudgelets need picking up from the bus stop. No time for anything much, except to type out the order of service for the LA service I'm leading tomorrow. Then home to get another five loads of washing on (where do all these clothes come from?) and prepare the lunch. But at last the time has come. A wonderful hour of deep relaxation (including a rather interesting hot charcoal facemask which I had visions of being a permanent feature!) and now I feel ready for anything.... just in time to go round to Dad's and meet with the Wightcare woman.