The final days are very painful to write about, but some basic notes will be set down here, and may be amplified as time recedes.
The final entertainment that Mum attended was by keyboard player, Peter Lord, on 6 March 2018. He played a range of familiar tunes, to which some residents sang along. Mum was not now very responsive at all – the deafness was now almost total, and the pleasure that music usually brought seemed to have deserted her.
On that same day I had attended the funeral of Hope Warner, a very old friend of Mum’s, who was born exactly 18 months before her. It was a sad occasion, but one in which the funeral was conducted with dignity and thoughtfulness, by family members clearly very shocked at what had been a sudden passing. I had to run my sister home and rush to the care facility in order to get there at the announced time. I got there in time, got Mum into her wheelchair and took her down to the lounge – and we waited almost an hour before anything started. There was no apology from the organiser (but one from Mr Lord). It was disappointing to have to leave the funeral early, although at least I got more time with Mum – precious time, as I would find out.
I next visited on 9th March, and Mum’s final external visitors were two friends from Inner Wheel, who kindly visited on the 10th. They said later that she was unresponsive. I think that she was undergoing a series of TIAs, but we will never know for sure.
I had arranged two days away at Gladstones Library in Hawarden, and left strict instructions, written and oral, that any contact from the “home” should go via my wife, who was staying at home. Reception at Gladstones (which is a silent library) was (and still is) very haphazard, so the idea was that if there were problems, Sara would phone the desk at Gladstones.
Well, those instructions were simple and straightforward, but, with their appalling and pathetic care and concern for those visiting their loved ones in the care facility, it should not have surprised me too much to receive a phone call directly from a doctor who had been attending Mum in the home…. The doctor said that he was concerned about Mum’s speech, and that he was investigating the possibilities of a speech therapist. I said that I would visit later in the day.
It so happened that, as this was Mothers Day, I had planned to visit both Mum and then my wife, who is also a mother; I had planned to return to Hawarden in the afternoon. I duly called on Mum, with a card. She was confused, and couldn’t read the card. She was trying to get me to understand something, gesturing, and eventually it seemed that she needed the bathroom. I found a care assistant, who agreed to attend to Mum, and sat in the corridor talking to another, younger, assistant for quite some time. It seemed friendly and informal, and, while I am appalled at the way in which this “facility” was run, and what happened to Mum while she was there, it is reasonably good to be able to record that most staff were pleasant and professional, despite poor pay, and overwork (one manager, later terminated by his employer, had boasted that a member of staff had finished a shift and then agreed to immediately work a further half-shift. I have since spoken to a care worker in another field, who found this appalling).
I intended to get Mum into her wheelchair and to then wheel her downstairs in time for lunch; this was a familiar pattern. It is almost a final memory, that she was up and dressed, and welcoming me, with one final hug and a broad smile. I am now pleased that I managed to record her smiling, in what would prove to be the final photograph taken of her. She seemed more alert, but was sweating unusually. A nursing assistant, whom I had not seen before, came in, and said, to my surprise, that she did not like the look of Mum, that, as she could not get hold of a doctor, she was phoning for an ambulance.
I was shocked, but waited until the ambulance workers arrived. They were very professional, carrying out tests; my final sight of Mum was of her being uncertain as to what was happening, but co-operating. I didn’t know what was going to happen, but assumed it was a semi-routine matter, to get into the hospital to check what the problem was. I said that I would go on ahead in the car, ensure she was settled, and then let my sister know and go to visit my wife. It should be borne in mind that I was on holiday, ironically to a location only 20 miles away, and had not intended to be there at all.
I recall standing outside the ambulance bays, watching ambulances turning up, and then more ambulances….and no Mum. Eventually one arrived, and she was wheeled out on a stretcher, with her file (stored on the stretcher) dropping off onto the pavement as she was taken into A&E. I was astonished – I had left her about half an hour before, and now she looked unconscious, as indeed she was. I managed to speak to one of the ambulance staff, who said that the delay was because of what she had been “presenting”.
I was ushered into a waiting room; there was an older couple there, and it was clear that one of them had been told that their brother was going to die soon. They both seemed sanguine, to my mild surprise, but it would not be long before a young doctor (very young to my elderly vision) would arrive to tell me that I would have to brace myself for similar news. “Her readings are all over the place” is what I recall, but there was clearly no hope. My sister had intended to visit Mum in the afternoon, and I had to contact her and divert her to the hospital. It was not long before she was sharing the same grim knowledge, and various other members of our small family, and my wife, were to turn up. My sister from London texted to say that she was on her way, but by the time she arrived, I had gone home.
There seemed to be very little that could be done, as Mum was already in a coma, and it was clear that she would not emerge from it. I had planned to visit briefly on Mother’s Day, and then go back to my holiday, and instead found that the worst was happening. As I had belongings at Gladstones, I decided to return there, and to attempt to distract myself. I recall an almost sleepless night, and came back home the next day.
She would be gone six days later, but the 11th was the last day that I saw her and was able to communicate. I’m unsure whether there is much to say about those final six days, bar the kindness of the hospital staff, so I will leave this here.
Postscript March 17 2023
Sadly, both the InnerWheel ladies – Eileen and Joyce – who visited Mum have since passed away, Joyce only last month, aged 96. I also checked about Peter Lord, and found, with much regret, that he passed on 11 October 2022, aged 78. I had described him as a “keyboard player”, but that was because he was playing on the “Home’s” keyboard. He was in fact a church organist, playing, I think, at St Peters Church in Heswall. His contribution in Mum’s last week was very informal, and entertaining – getting people to guess the title of particular tunes. Sadly, Mum did not respond.
12 August 2018, further work 22 December 2019, 4-5 March 2021 and 17 March 2023.
Joan Boughey Recalled 