The Happy Prisoner - Monica Dickens

For years - as a child - I looked at the pink cover of this book. It has been on the bookshelves in mum's sitting room for half a century - the Mermaid edition of the 'The Happy Prisoner'. The archaic illustration on the front cover shows a youngish man in a very old-fashioned wheelchair. He's in a contraption with a high back but with a single wheel at the front. What fascinated me as a child was the pretty cottage in the background, a well- dressed woman serving tea on a tray and this young chap wrapped in a blanket. An odd but intriguing scene.
So now, as I clear mum's house, very gradually, I fancy I will actually read the book whose cover held me in its grasp for such a long time. The irony is my family couldn't find the copy on mum's bookshelves so I had to search Google and Alibris to find the exact edition. Finally I found the Mermaid series - the whole could be a good present for a minor collector.

I have only recently learned Monica Dickens is the grandchild of the more famous Charles. All the more reason to actually look inside the cover and discover her as a writer. It was a timely read in that mum is a 'happy prisoner' in her bed - unable to walk.

So now, close to Christmas, I have a purchased copy of  the book and mum has moved, finally to a nursing home in which we hope she will settle.
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Since I last wrote my blog such a lot has happened. At the beginning of November our senior district nurse filed an incident report against mum's care agency as her health was deteriorating The nurse said all her ailments were avoidable ( with proper care). After Remembrance Sunday mum began to decline and didn't want to eat. All the local medical professionals wanted her in hospital - I was so relieved at this suggestion. I had already told mum - the weekend of  15th November - that if she didn't eat she'd have to go into a ward. So on the evening of Tuesday 18th November she was back in a hospital bed - all her test results came back sound but she was debilitated by not eating enough.

So, as I walked past the Acute Stroke Unit, I thought we were back to where we started on April 20th. Easter Day. Mum had had a massive stroke.
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Charlotte Ward got mum eating and drinking again so she was ready for discharge quite soon - medically fit for travel. But no-one thought she should be at my brother's home nor my home without 24 hour care. The care package hadn't worked at our house and my brother couldn't contemplate an extra carer in his house 24/7 on top of his full time job as a solicitor. Again, I was quite relieved. I knew mum needed a nursing home but it's a huge step. We found one near the hospital in Bath. But even that took some doing. So few beds and just because we want a place doesn't mean the home will take a patient and all the while we had to convince mum this was a 'convalescent home' . A white lie.

My brother became convinced that Atholl House near his home in Tettenhall was the right place for mum. So, finally, after a lot of planning, and a curious journey north, she has a bed. Mum was drinking tea when I left her there, and I was happy with the hygiene and the atmosphere. Mum's room is large and bright and the day rooms are good for visitors. A cuppa always on hand. I was happy to leave and will be happy to return.The 'happy prisoner' is settling in to her new situation.

The final irony in this circuitous journey from A&E and Acute Stroke Unit on April 20th was  travelling up in the ambulance on Tuesday 16 December. The conversation went thus:
'Dave', said the ambulance driver.
'Yeah, Dave,' said his number two.
'The ambulance has gone in to limp mode. Ring the depot and get an emergency vehicle.'
So Dave-number-two rang for a replacement vehicle.
'Hello Roy. We need a rescue vehicle. We are at Bridgwater,' said Dave-number- two.
'No we aren't,' I piped up, ' We are at Broadwaters near Kidderminster. 17 miles at most from the nursing home.'

One and half hours later the patient was fine, but the ambulance was sick. I found myself in a pub and  mum was fast asleep, oblivious to it all. I'd given her a valium at ten o'clock.

If this isn't a black comedy I'm not sure what is but we hope mum will have a happy Christmas - near the majority of her family - and manage to enjoy something of the best of what a nursing home can offer. Meanwhile I will be searching her bookshelves for the 1952 edition of. 'The Happy Prisoner' and I hope the two Daves got rescued in time for a cool Yule.

Testament of Middle Age

I have been reading Vera Brittain for book group and to help with setting the immediate post-war atmosphere in my own novel 'Coming of Age'. Looking after my mother who had a massive stroke on Easter Day resonates, for me, with Vera Brittain's observations, as a battlefield nurse, in 'Testament of Youth'. On page 394 she compares the post-operative soldiers in her WW1 hospital for the battle-wonded with the medical patients - some of whom are delirious.
She writes
'These acute medical cases were a disturbing contrast to the sane, courageous surgicals. Wounded men kept their personalities even after a serious operation, whereas those of the sick became so quickly impaired...'
I liken this to the fragmentation of my mother's personality after her stroke. Thank goodness we are not dealing with dementia but how different would it be if she were in a hospital bed following an op for cancer, for instance?
As it is my mother, as I knew her, wouldn't recognise herself when she wakes up and calls 'tea' as if shouting above the heads of people queueing up at drinks stall. Mum hasn't kept her personality entirely, but nor has she lost it entirely. She is in pain now and is eating poorly. The pain can be alleviated with paracetamol, thankfully, but her immediate concerns overshadow our conversations.
Last Sunday mum watched the Remembrance Sunday service and had a roast dinner with us. The family were down but since then mum seems less than herself again. She isn't 'talking to dad' meaning her own father anymore. Nor is she asking when the wanderer will return. By this she means my own father- he died in 1993.
Her personality has been diminished by this dreadful stroke. She is comfortable in her medical bed - with a super quality air mattress, but never have we been so concerned with bodily functions and interpreting the needs of someone trapped in a weakened body. We persevere and have good friends but I do wonder whether her care package is good enough. Considering the huge costs heaven help us if the NHS folds. Private care, as I see it, is run for profit and is very poor value for money.

My next novel?

I remember  pieces in The Observer telling the rest of us what it was like living with a parent who was dementing. I also remember a radio play revealing the madness brought about by an elder ( now known as Alzheimers) tap, tap, tapping all day long at her daughter's home. This was a revolutionary  story thirty five years ago.
Now, I wonder, do I keep a diary and produce a work - a novella? - relating to the care system from my point of view - the daughter of ... We have had a very difficult few days. We thought the Care Company's package - agreed in June with site visit, costs and timings - was agreed. Then, ten days before mum was due to live with us temporarily for two months - respite for my brother - I 'found out' the company had no staff. We have rung about thirty five nursing agencies, care services, NHS and social services since Thursday. We have contacted friends and friends of friends. We have a quasi package ready for Monday ... we think .

Finally my family will rally round on Sunday and help out -  it was either that or mum would have had to have gone in a care home in Bath - precisely what we have been trying to avoid.

I would like to hear from anyone who has experience of the care system for an elder - more specifically a stroke patient - especially in the Bath area. Apparently certain areas in the UK are under a terrific strain carer - wise. Bath is one of those areas, it seems.

Mum update - mist to the grill

With a little good fortune, and the wind behind us, mum will be coming to live with us in Bath at the end of September. This isn't permanent as after two months mum will return to my brother's. She is eating and sleeping well! Mum is still enjoying reading the paper, looking at photos or watching her favourite DVDs. She tires easily - but at ninety, who cares? She says she misses her own home but has liked looking at the photos I've taken of her garden. We've spent three days with her this week and have nothing but praise for her carers from Bluebird Care. So far so good! No use in her left arm at all but mum's speech is good and she still has that sense of humour. We press on ...
I use the experience of living with a stroke patient in my novel 'Coming of Age' . Turn your own secrets into gems on the page. I paraphrase, but it's all grist to the mill ... or mist to the grill!

First world war and all that!

My novel 'Coming of Age' begins in 1918 when 8 million women in the UK got the vote. The thrust of the story is the moving forward of women's lives but I could hardly not mention the war. In other words I had to look back too. As polling day 1918 was held on December 14th I couldn't leave out Christmas either. Of course not all homes in the UK wanted a Christmas Tree in December 1918. Not all the fit and able troops had returned, so some homes weren't places for celebrations, other families had lost loved ones through battle or disease, and of course the Christmas Tree was felt to be a non-British tradition.
I hope readers will feel I've engaged with the conflicts ( small c) of the time.
As for another conflict ( larger 'C'?) :-
Although I am a Scot by name I find I keep thinking of Alex Salmond as not the Old Pretender, nor the Young Pretender, but the 'New Pretender'.  All I'm going to say is  it's a dangerous world out there for a brand new country ...

It would have been easier to move house!

August for us has been a hardworking month - yes another of those events. I'm glad it's over and really pleased it's now September. How fortunes and priorities change! I wouldn't have welcomed September when I was still trundling to 'the institution' i/c SEN teaching.
As well as sorting mum's house and garden I have made my study at the top of the house- that meant two strong men carrying my bureau up two flights of stairs. I have cleared said bureau and my old study has also had paperwork &c moved to the new study. Moving documents and files - plus chucking a great deal - took two or three days alone. The old study has been transformed into a new sitting room. Furniture has been painted, new curtains & paintings hung, shelves tidied, a new sky box installed today and, finally, the room looks like a living room. The walk in wardrobe has had the paintings in there moved back to Richard's studio. In order to get into said studio even more paintings were successfully lifted to a waiting car for a car boot sale over the bank holiday. Books and paintings ain't light.
I washed Richard's numerous paintbrushes and stored his non framed works in big shelvings which lean with the excess weight. But there is space on the bookshelves to accept some of dad's books 'Europe in the Seventeenth Century' , Toynbee's histories etc. Yes I managed to sell paperbacks at the car boot too. That made space!

The downstairs sitting room carpet has slices of duck tape stuck over it so we know where to position mum's all singing & dancing bed and hoist when they arrive. Our sitting room now has a trolley with various creams & potions on it - so it looks more like a sideward than a dining room - and the downstairs bathroom shines with its fresh coat of paint. Our bedroom cupboards house all the necessary bedding leaving the wardrobe at the top of the stairs for mum's things. Yes that was another major sort out.
We await the mini fridge - when it arrives it will go in the upstairs galley kitchen. Even our main kitchen has been organised today. Every cupboard cleared, wiped and replenished. I don't think one room in the house has got through August without a new lick of paint, furniture being moved in or out of it or some other sort of reorganisation. Roll on September. I need a change of pace!
Thank goodness we are in Devon soon - I need a good rest - so there will be no more blogs for a while. There will be no more moving of furniture either!

A room of one's own

Now that mum is living at my brother's he is having a new gas fire installed in one of his sitting rooms - so last winter was the last cosy coal fire in his house. But the change will give him family time and privacy when the carers are with mum or she's having physio.
We don't have a granny flat like my brother so I've had to create 'a room of our own'. Mum will be in our dining room - on an 'all singing - all dancing bed' next to her hoist and our new improved downstairs loo and shower room. Some stylish screens will give her some privacy.  Hopefully - in a practical sense - she'll have all she needs and she can watch the television with us when she wants to and share with us at meal times.
But we also need ' a room of our own' so I've opened up the small kitchen upstairs and created another little sitting room too. We now have a nice white toshiba flat screen upstairs, so we can watch the box while mum has a sleep. Friends have helped moved the bureau to the top floor in the house - so I can 'get back to my desk' as a couple of agents have said to me. Yes - I am still working on my novel - but researching and preparing rather than writing. After all - when mum is with us - I truly will need a 'room of my own' away from medical needs and television. It takes some planning! And mum's not coming to us until October!