Mum had a fall on Friday. Whenever I answer the ‘phone to hear it’s someone from the care home on the other end, my heart always lurches. There is no reason why it should be bad or even the worst news because Mum – dementia apart – is reasonably healthy, but that nagging fear is always there. This time, the call was to tell me Mum had fallen and could I possibly take her to hospital. Given I live 50 miles away, this wasn’t practical but fortunately, my sister was able to go straight to the home. Even more fortunately, an examination from a paramedic and the on-call GP concluded that, in spite of making a mess of her face, Mum had no need for hospital treatment. We’re not sure why she fell and, of course, Mum herself has no memory of the fall.
“You’ll have to stop kissing the floor Janice,” one of the team of carers joked.
Again, I was conscious of the patience and love the team at the care home show to Mum and the other residents. This was brought home further when I visited a bruised Mum just as another of the residents was being taken into hospital yesterday morning. The staff were all subdued.
“This is our second family,” one told me with a sad smile.
Mum and Dad gave my sister and I the happiest start to life we could have asked for. We were lucky to have such loving parents. Now Mum, in spite of everything, is lucky to be part of another, caring family.