Saturday 24th October 2009

I arrived home yesterday evening to be greeted by the terrible smell of 'accident'.
I asked dad to go and change his pad. He refuses, there's no problem, he insists.
It is nearly time for the carer to arrive so I disappear upstairs and leave him sitting on the settee in blissful ignorance. He really doesn't know what has happened and won't believe you if you try to tell him in words of blunt description.
Fortunately, the carers have an authority that he obeys, most of the time.
The poor woman, she has never been to us before. She has half an hour to deal with any problems and make a sandwich or something on toast and give him his tablets. This is all dictated by 'The Care Plan'. She encourages dad to go upstairs, still reluctant but he does go.
It takes a good half hour for her to clean him up properly and into fresh clothing. Most of the carers are very diligent in helping people keep their dignity but basically treat them as if they have the skills of two year olds which is all dad has in respect of keeping himself clean.
By the time she comes down with a freshened dad she has run out of time, if I wasn't here she would have carried on no matter how late she was. I offered to make dad's tea and supervise the drugs. It's the least I can do.