So Thursday is “D-day”, when we move MIL to the care home of our choice (the nicest by far we’ve found).
Unfortunately I can’t get the day off work, so I won’t be there to witness the fallout (if any), though will be on hand in the evening to help OH recover.
The plan as it stands is for OH to take a full day’s leave, and in the morning go round with the suitcase I packed at the weekend (which included a number of teddies, trinkets, bowling trophies etc) and set out all nicely, so the room when introduced looks more homely and familiar.
Before introducing her to the room though. he will in the afternoon again take her for lunch in their restaurant bit, which I’ve been in and is really nice, and feed her a three course meal and glass of wine again -which last week she was oohing and ahhing about no end. She was shown the garden and patios afterwards as well, and thought they were lovely too.
Amazingly, she understood it was a care home, and that they were there to see it for her sake. She asked sensible questions, like who would pay (“the council Mum”) and whether she’d have a TV in her room – and seemed quite happy with it all.
That’s not to say to say shit won’t still hit the fan on D-day! The home is confident she will settle soon, on the basis of the assessment – but I’m still worried that if afraid or stressed for any reason she might get nasty at some point, particularly when she realises she can’t go outside beyond the garden… Hopefully they can get their appointed GP to drug her up to avoid any such episodes.
On a lighter note, got this in an email from our lovely care coordinator on the Mental Health team:
“I would like to commend you in your caring, supportive approach with your mothers care. My work has been made easier with the support from you both. I would like to thank you both for being such an amazing family to MIL, and a pleasure to work with“.
There you go! Not quite so evil then as my posts and poems at times come across!