blog
RGMs
Very very occasionally, there are magic moments when patient care and every aspect of domesticity all 'come together'.
The kitchen is squeaking with cleanly pride, windows gleam, freshly arranged flowers adorn every room, and the water in the vases hasn't begun to stink yet. Fragrant wafts of Coq au Vin escape from the oven, vying with the perfume of furniture polish. There is not a single festoon of laundry to be seen, all having been washed, ironed and put away. Robert is wearing a tee shirt which does not resemble a forensic map of what he was fed for breakfast; I have cut his hair, and shaved him without a single nick. His fingernails are trimmed; I have even splashed on the aftershave.
The garden is tidy, and watered, the bird feeders have been filled. There are ample supplies of Rs drugs, and no dash and grovel to the GP is needed.
I even have time to sit with R, who, in keeping with the domestic scene, is at his cognitive best today. We discuss which home we would buy under the hammer, what should happen to the benefit cheats, and which would be the best place in the sun.
Does anyone drop in to see us on rare days like this? No, of course they don't!
Visitors are programmed to call when the house is a tip, and everything is chaotic.
Above all, the law of Sod decrees that they arrive at the exact moment when bodily functions are urgently imminent, or are in the process of being dealt with.
I call these times RGMs – Rubber Glove Moments. I don't think I need draw diagrams.
Alternatively, Sod arranges that friends call when you are tied up with the GP, Chiropodist, Continence nurse, Solicitor … and so on.
Then I get uncomfortable and flustered and embarrassed, having to try to convey a welcome, but at the same time explain that the visit is somewhat inconvenient at the moment, and that the moment might well last for another 30 minutes.
So, dear friends everywhere, we love to see you, we really do, but your visit would bring us even more pleasure if you could just give a quick ring beforehand, so that we can anticipate it with pleasure, and have the kettle on.
Having said that, if you enjoy hanging around waiting for a meeting to end, or enjoy being a bystander at an RGM, with its accompanying sights and sound and smells, then, whatever floats your boat pal!
Sally
Carerfor a person with dementia
Without any previous experience or training, I took on the role of Carer for my husband, Robert (sometimes affectionately referred to as Wriggle Bum or 'WB'), in May 2011, when he was discharged from hospital, after spending 4 months in the Stroke Unit.His many physical problems continue, with the added increase of his various types of dementia.He continues to be a joy. I continue to be blessed