We went to the care home again. He has deteriorated. So much so, that Mother is convinced that he will soon die.
She is inconsolable.
We arrived and he was 'sat' in a chair...asleep..mouth wide open..as though he needed air. This 'carer' shoots out and informs Mother that he is ill and a doctor has been called.
He still has the bruises on his forearms. The manhandled type.
Mother gently wakes him..to see what state he is really in; she gently wipes the gunk from his eyes and wipes his face with a face wipe...to refresh him. His mouth remains open and he gags, as his throat is dry. He reminded me of my Dad when he lay dying..mouth open..gasping for air.
There is no drink for OH so I ask for water. The 'carer', who is filling in forms, doesn't even have the courtesy to lift her eyes and look at me.. and carries on writing and says 'In a minute'. Five minutes later, OH is still gagging, Mother is asking where the drink is... and 'carer' finally gives me a glass...of diluted orange juice, probably because she heard Mother, otherwise we wouldn't have got the drink until form filling was done. I asked for water but take the orange, not wanting to cause a fuss. OH is offered this and immediately pulls a face...his eyes still mostly closed. So, Mother goes directly to the 'carer' and asks if we can have water as he doesn't like the juice. 'Carer' has the audacity to tell her that I asked for juice...which I did not. She speaks to my Mother likes she's a piece of shit. A nothing..An interfering old cow who won't let her get on with her form-filling.
Then, it's cup of tea time. Perhaps they hear me brightly asking OH if he wants a cuppa and one eventually arrives...in a handless plastic cup. Sigh. I ask if he can have it in a toddler type beaker, so no liquid can spill down his front. We get it and Mother proceeds to get the poor chap to drink. 25 minutes, near enough, she stood and ensured that he had all his drink. He looked a lot better then. Hydrated. He started to keep his eyes open. As he was being given the drink I was holding his hand, so he wouldn't slump back. After he'd had his drink he slowly, really slowly lifted my hand and kissed it. He was saying thank you for caring by the only physical means he had. He was too ill to really speak, but his eyes said it all. It was so hard to witness. I wanted to sob but had to stay strong for him..... and Mother...... who was quietly crying as she cleaned him up. He lifted his hand up and wiped a tear from her cheek. God, I wanted to sob...and scream at all the arseholes, so called professionals who have kept these two apart..just because they can.
I sobbed when I got home.
Mother asks 'carer', if he is poorly, why isn't he in bed? Well, apparently, he kept getting up. He doesn't like being alone in his room because when he is put to bed the door is locked! He has always been frightened of being locked up. Even I know that...but we get told that they can't look after him one to one. Well, then he shouldn't be there, should he, if they can't provide adequate care?
It was 3 ish...and he still hadn't had his dinner! Apparently, he was asleep when they were doshing the food out.. They had given him a paracetamol earlier! No wonder he is out of it, I tell 'carer' who replies that she was told to give him it and stomps off.
Mother bursts into tears, again... Now she is convinced he is being starved.
She's still trying to get him out of there to somewhere nearer where she can spend more time with him, rather than endure hours of travelling. He's weak and frail now. Not a surprise really, if there is no food being eaten. ' Mother's fought like a lioness to get him away from there, for him to get the best care. But, they won't let him leave this place. Only in a wooden box.
I'll never forgive them for the pain they've caused. They're fucking heartless!!