On the Road Again

She was home for a week and a bit. In that time we had the benefit of the best home help service we've ever had: a small team in uniform who always arrived when they said they would, were cheerful and efficient. I positively looked forward to their coming. But then on Thursday Mum stopped making sense, slept all day and went droopy on the right hand side. I confess I dithered. I knew that as soon as I lifted the phone, they'd be taking her back. I wanted to go off to the allotment and just leave things to nature, but it wasn't possible. I lifted the phone and ten minutes later da-da da-da an ambulance arrived and we were back on the road again.

It turned out not to be a stroke. The paramedics had revived her from a hypoglacaemic attack with a glass of sugary milk on the way to hospital. So, it should have been easy to get her home again, but no. They wanted to keep her in overnight for observation, so they did. Yesterday we had a series of phone calls asking us if we thought we could cope. Why not? Aren't we used to it? But then someone let it slip that they couldn't release her if they thought we couldn't cope. After one hysterical phone call saying 'You have two minutes to decide!' I agreed she should be transferred to Witney Community Hospital. Almost our greatest grief was the potential loss of our hard-won care package.

Frankie saved us. Frankie saved us over and over again. In this whole nightmare, Frankie our Care Manager has kept us sane and most lucidly informed. She's been magnificent. Last night she stopped off on her way home late from work to put a letter through our door detailing everything that had happened over the day and all the contact details we needed for the new agencies now involved. We've lost her now, with the move to another hospital, but we'll be sneaking round this morning to leave an Easter egg on her doorstep. All being well, Mum will be back within the week, slightly more mobile, and the care package will resume. Meanwhile we continue work on the big present we've bought her, a summerhouse to be called 'Sybil's Cave' where, we hope, she can sit over the coming months and enjoy the garden.

Anyone watching last night's harrowing Panorama on home care will have been grief-struck. I have no doubt these things happen - we've experienced some of it ourselves with a past agency. Never grow old but if you must, don't grow old alone.