jmgoyder

Well so much for the red wine idea. When I went into the nursing lodge this afternoon I could see that it wasn’t going to work today. I walked in through the entrance doors to the unlocked side of the section where Anthony is, past the foyer and into the big room where various activities happen, and stopped short when I saw that there was, indeed, an activity going on.

I stepped back and apologized for my intrusion into what I found out later was an occupational therapy session of skittles (like bowls), but I was immediately welcomed in by a combination of residents, carers and staff. But I hesitated, as my eyes searched the small crowd of people sitting around the ‘bowling alley’, looking for Anthony and, as I stood at the doorway, and the woman in charge began to finish the session, I saw him in the far corner, sitting in one of the chairs on the opposite side of the room. He didn’t see me and, as I waited for the bowling session to evolve into afternoon tea, and those residents who could walk vacated their chairs to sit at a long table that had been set up, I watched him for a few moments before rushing up to kiss him and help him get to the table.

In those few moments I saw what other people see – a big man, slumped in a chair with a look of such blankness on his face that, if you didn’t know him, you would assume he had utterly lost the plot. You would walk past him assuming he was beyond communicating with. You might give him a glance of pity and keep walking, not noticing that he turned his head just a fraction to see if you were someone he knew. I read in his expressionless face such a look of undisguised sorrow that I wanted to run at and through him like a ghost-angel and turn around and find him back to the way he was. I also wanted to run away, to sob, to smash the room up.

Instead, I joined him for afternoon tea with a group of other residents, many of whom are from the dementia section. Ants is in the high care section but the dementia section is next door. I shared some chitchat and chocolate with the residents, carers and volunteers as I sat close to Anthony, who gripped my hand in his and who couldn’t stop looking at me. Then I helped him back to his room and settled him in (with the help of a walker contraption which he is now supposed to use instead of the walking stick).

We then had our usual discussion about coming home – him saying how he wanted to come home for the day/night, and me saying he had become too heavy for me, and him saying he could try harder etc. Then, just as I was about to begin yet another explanation as to the why of our predicament, Anthony began to yawn and yawn and yawn. Every time I reached a point of extreme eloquence he would yawn again. Finally, I said, “Am I boring you?” And he said, “You are a bit.”

I laughed all the way home!

So here is cheers; I have decided to have a glass of red wine.

I am a beer girl myself but Anthony prefers red wine. I remember when we’d go out to lunch or dinner, the waitress would always give him the beer and me the wine and a bit of laughter would be exchanged before we swapped drinks.

This afternoon, I decided to do something different and go see Ants at 5pm instead of earlier in the day. I rang him beforehand and he answered the phone (a miracle in itself!) and I said I was coming in to have a drink.

It was WONDERFUL! I now think this might be the best time to visit because the atmosphere is more mellow than the flurry of daytime. I took the bottle of wine into his room and poured him a glass and I opened my beer and we had a drink together, laughing and talking and then his dinner was brought in and I helped him with that a bit and then I had to go, and he was fine!

Thank you, red wine!