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Home Truths – Post 3
Today was an eye opener for us.
Most of the residents at the care home are quiet, shuffling spectres of lives past.
Some can be chatty when you get them going, but many struggle to communicate at all.
There is one resident however who was been loud and proud from the moment she arrived.
Marjorie.
New Arrival
When we first met Marjorie it was a few months after Mum had moved in.
She spoke clearly, with a reasonably well-to-do voice and almost seemed too young and too with it to really belong in the home.
She could hold a conversation with you and have a laugh, with just a hint of eccentricity coming through in some of the things she said.
Of Irish heritage, not present in her accent, she was always quite vocal and must have been an incredibly strong character in her past life.
We always joked about her escaping the home and wandering off to lead some sort of crime family in the local area.
We don’t know her actual diagnosis, obviously, but we do now know for certain, that she belongs exactly where she is.
Mum, leave her alone
Mum, as I have mentioned has no filter.
This isn’t just a vocal thing either.
She will interact with people when perhaps it might be best not to.
One such occasion happened with our visit yesterday.
We were, as usual, in the conservatory with Mum and I could hear Marjorie further up the corridor speaking to one of the carers.
“You’re all shits” she said, and the carer, in the way that only the amazing people who do their job can, said “oh Marjorie, no, that’s not nice” in a calm and caring voice.
I should explain here that Marjorie had, of late, started being a little more aggressive and vocal in her ramblings.
Nothing major, just a new harshness we hadn’t seen before.
The odd swear, an edge to her voice when talking to the staff and so on.
I’m not sure what the process is for the residents when they go beyond being tricky.
We’ve only ever visited once and been told they were having to calm someone down because they had become violent.
It was a man called Ray who was a stocky sort of bloke who, sadly, only a few months later would struggle to speak, never mind be aggressive.
Anyway I digress. Mum decided, having heard and then seen Marjorie from her vantage point, that she should wave her over.
“Mum leave her alone” I said, but she didn’t even register me, let alone stop waving at her.
Reaping the whirlwind
Marjorie stormed down the corridoor and into the conservatory like a woman possessed.
“What are you all doing hey” she started, “all of you sitting here like thieves”
Well this is new I thought, although to be fair, mum has become a bit of a clepto since moving to the home.
“Fucking thieves all of you, well I’m not going to put up with it I tell you, you’re all going to end up in jail you fucking shits”.
Mum replied with “Hello” and a smile, brilliant.
She proceeded to come down the ramp continuing her rant and threatened to punch both myself and Jane in the face, throwing mock jabs at us both.
At this point I was in two minds on how to handle this.
I could on one hand try and engage her, explain she was wrong, and that we were just there to see mum, stealing nothing en route.
On the other hand, I could ignore her and hope the problem disappeared.
I went with choice “b” as I could see choice “a” was likely to lead to an escalation.
Thems is fighting words they is!
She carried on calling us “fucking thieves” and “fucking shits” for a minute or so.
Telling us the police were coming, we were headed for jail and just how happy she was about it.
All the time this was going on mum was smiling at her like the Cheshire Cat.
Another resident Julie, you remember her from the last post, somehow even managed to sleep through the entire thing.
She then went back up the ramp to the hallway, stopping half way up to turn around.
She swore again, stomp-kicked the railing hard enough that it shook the whole ramp and then finished going up the ramp, slamming the door shut.
This door is not small.
The building is old and the door is a roughly 7 feet high and 4 feet wide. It’s also a good 2 inches thick.
It banged loud enough to bring Julie out of her slumber (briefly).
I looked at Jane, Jane looked at me.
Mum said “She doesn’t know where the lounge is”.
Jane and I both chuckled.
Seconds out, round two
“Well that was interesting” I said to Jane who looked visibly shocked
“Yeah” she replied looking up at the door. “She’s still out there”
I looked over, unable to see her through the thin glass panes in the door, but it didn’t take long for Jane to be proven right.
The door swung open once more and Marjorie just stood there at the top of the ramp.
“I think I’ll keep an eye on you lot. One of you might die and I’d be very glad about that, very glad indeed”
Jesus wept I thought.
I carried on ignoring her, trying to engage mum in conversation, as she was once again grinning at Marjorie and trying to say hello.
Eventually I got mum’s attention and Marjorie wandered back off down the hall to give the senior carer some abuse instead.
The home time gauntlet
About 10 minutes later it was time for us to leave and we were both somewhat apprehensive about heading back down the corridor towards the lounge and exit.
Needs must though, so we got mum up and, walking with her walker, headed off back down.
Marjorie was still there but had been expertly subdued by the carer.
By this, I do not mean she was on the floor, being held down in some sort of arm-breaking Brazilian Jujitsu hold.
No.
She had been calmed with a hat.
Yes, a hat.
Her demeanour had changed back the the somewhat loud and edgy Marjorie we’d known previously.
All it took was a distraction from the carer telling her she should find a mirror as it really suited her.
A left field item and something to feel good about.
That was the solution.
The future is uncertain
Mum has never been a violent or nasty person.
That said, I suspect Marjorie wasn’t either.
Pre-dementia (yes, I’m assuming) Marjorie would probably have been devastated to think she would ever end up being the way she was yesterday.
Mum is just as likely to end up the same way.
Her “Leave me alone” statements are quite harsh when uttered, and I know from friends who have been through hell with this awful disease, that it can happen to anyone.
I think it will be easier to hear coming from my own mum though.
It should be easier to deal with that, fingers crossed.
I just hope she’s creative with the swear words.
