Happy Birthday to the Communist
Today is the Communist's birthday and he is eighty-five.
Here's a photograph I took of him yesterday. He'd been brought back from the nursing home for lunch. My brother Michael couldn't come over from Amsterdam for his birthday but Deborah, his wife has come over and is doing a great job.
The Communist didn't know I was taking it the photo for once, and hence didn't give his usual "I own the place" smile. Wherever you took a photograph of him - on the Lake District hills, or outside a stately home, or at the seaside, he always looked as though the whole place belonged to him.
Now he looks very old and frail: it's a year since he had his left leg amputated. He's recently had a detached retina in his left eye and hence lost the sight in that eye. He can't sit for long because of what he describes as "My Sore Bottom." But he's still got his mental faculties, and he's still got lots of spirit, and because he doesn't believe in God he's not going to give in and leave this planet just yet.
After lunch Deborah went with him in a wheelchair taxi back to the nursing home, and he needed the loo, and all the staff were busy, and some stupid cow loomed in front of him and shouted three inches from his face in a loud voice reserved for conversation with the deaf and very stupid, (and he's not either, and even if he was, how dare she speak to anyone like that?) "Well, you should have gone this morning, shouldn't you?"
And this is in what we're constantly told is one of the best nursing-homes in Leeds. So, do I trot down there on Monday to complain to the ever-smiling manager? Or, if I complain, will they take it out on The Communist? Certainly, when I was in hospital years ago and my mother complained about my treatment, they took it out on me. So I never know what to do for the best. But I expect I'll complain. Again. The Communist would want me to, and hang the repercussions.
But it won't do any good because we don't think enough of our old people to pay care assistants enough, even though the nursing home is costing the Communist nearly six hundred pounds per week (yes, you did read that right) from his hard-earned savings.
So he's ending his days in the uncaring "care" of stupid people. No, not all of them, of course, some of the staff are great: but enough of them, take it from me. If they can behave like that in the relatives' presence what happens when the relatives aren't there?
Happy Birthday, Dad. I wish things could be different.
Here's a photograph I took of him yesterday. He'd been brought back from the nursing home for lunch. My brother Michael couldn't come over from Amsterdam for his birthday but Deborah, his wife has come over and is doing a great job.
The Communist didn't know I was taking it the photo for once, and hence didn't give his usual "I own the place" smile. Wherever you took a photograph of him - on the Lake District hills, or outside a stately home, or at the seaside, he always looked as though the whole place belonged to him.
Now he looks very old and frail: it's a year since he had his left leg amputated. He's recently had a detached retina in his left eye and hence lost the sight in that eye. He can't sit for long because of what he describes as "My Sore Bottom." But he's still got his mental faculties, and he's still got lots of spirit, and because he doesn't believe in God he's not going to give in and leave this planet just yet.After lunch Deborah went with him in a wheelchair taxi back to the nursing home, and he needed the loo, and all the staff were busy, and some stupid cow loomed in front of him and shouted three inches from his face in a loud voice reserved for conversation with the deaf and very stupid, (and he's not either, and even if he was, how dare she speak to anyone like that?) "Well, you should have gone this morning, shouldn't you?"
And this is in what we're constantly told is one of the best nursing-homes in Leeds. So, do I trot down there on Monday to complain to the ever-smiling manager? Or, if I complain, will they take it out on The Communist? Certainly, when I was in hospital years ago and my mother complained about my treatment, they took it out on me. So I never know what to do for the best. But I expect I'll complain. Again. The Communist would want me to, and hang the repercussions.
But it won't do any good because we don't think enough of our old people to pay care assistants enough, even though the nursing home is costing the Communist nearly six hundred pounds per week (yes, you did read that right) from his hard-earned savings.
So he's ending his days in the uncaring "care" of stupid people. No, not all of them, of course, some of the staff are great: but enough of them, take it from me. If they can behave like that in the relatives' presence what happens when the relatives aren't there?
Happy Birthday, Dad. I wish things could be different.
posted by Daphne at 9:09 am
4 Comments:
When the Antereans return, make sure Ronnie is the first in line to go back with them.
Like most 'foreigners' they seemed to know how to treat and respect their oldies.
Please pass on my Happy Birthday greeting to your dad.
Aww first of all happy birthday to Daddy.
Second, I bristled at the treatment he recieved. Does that cheeky cow only use the bathroom once a day? How dare she. What nerve. What ignorance. Let me at her! Oh yes, I'd complain. Not a doubt in my mind. I shall breathe now.
I feel angry and upset on your and the Communist's behalf.
Please pass on my belated happy birthday greetings to him.
I am a nurse and I have worked in various care homes, and the lack of dignity in the system is absolutly endemic.
These are not bad people but the lack of staffing, training and pay means that people get sucked into a culture of routine and 'getting the job done'. Asking for the toilet when its not toilet time or asking for a drink when its not tea time is just seen as deviant.
Its a very sad situation. At least your dad obviously has a caring family who visit him and are concerned for his welfare- there are many who dont.
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