I woke very early this morning. Apart from anything I had cramp. I got up, walked around and eventually went back to bed. Sleep obviously wasn't an option so I decided to have a thinking session. Thinking has never been one of my strong points. That was my Brother, CJ's, forté. However, I came up with some good ideas relating to a combination of the mundane (practical things like meals for the next few days) to blogging. I lay there writing blogs in what passes for my mind. I decided on a plan for those days this coming week where I had 'free time' (not many!). Then disaster struck. I dozed off for a short while. When I woke I couldn't recall a single idea that I'd had.
I'm writing this this evening, some hours later. I'm sure that many of you will have read occasional tales of woe about my lack of a memory. I come from a family with phenomenal memories.
As an example, in 2001, my father as he lay dying at the age of 94 (when his heart had failed and wouldn't even give him enough oxygen to allow him to raise an arm) was taken into a nursing home. I was at home on Lewis. I got into the car and went for the lunchtime ferry and, with an overnight stop, arrived in Liverpool around lunchtime the next day.
I was saying hello to my father when a lady with a clipboard and briefcase came in. She introduced herself as being from the welfare department. She had come to assess my father for his suitability for a nursing home place (or, presumably, an alternative). I should say that my father had heart failure and couldn't raise his arm or even a hand to his face to give himself a drink.
The welfare officer started asking my father the usual, and to me at that moment silly, questions to asses his mental faculties. At this point, I (who was obviously very tired both physically and emotionally) completely unreasonably berated the social worker for harassing someone in my father's condition. She was rather taken aback but my father saved the day by saying "Oh for heaven's sake stop acting like a couple of children. I assume you want to know how compos mentis I am. I'm in a nursing facility. We live in a constitutional monarchy." He then went on to name members of the government and so on until the social worker turned to me and said "Well that's us well and truly put in our place. I don't think I need to bother your father any more. I think we can safely say I have all the information I need to approve the placement". She thanked my father and said cheerio.
Dad died a few days later..
Events like your father's death stay in your mind.
ReplyDeleteThey do indeed, Red. Death, more than most events, tend to stay with us.
DeleteWhat a great memory to have. My mother transitioned from a hospital to a nursing home. She had just received word that she was dying. A social worker came to see her with her clipboard and her list of questions. One of those questions was 'do you think about dying?' My mother said, yes, that it would be hard not to. With their one size fits all approach, they immediately put her on suicide watch. There was no straightening it out. It was policy. We brought her home to die.
ReplyDeleteFortunately when my mother decided to die, the staff were absolutely brilliant.
DeleteI think you are a chip off the old block, Graham. I can imagine you reacting in exactly that fashion.
ReplyDeletePauline, you know me better than a great many people. I miss you.
DeleteIt is very frustrating when you have lain awake for some time and used the sleeplessness to compose some wonderfully erudite blog posts, only to find that have been deleted from the memory bank by the time you eventually wake up the next day.
ReplyDeleteYour father obviously had a wonderful sense of humour.
JayCee I was blessed with two parents who were brilliant in so many ways. They certainly both had a wonderful sense of humour.
DeleteI wonder whether the lady who tried to assess your father's state of mind still remembers this particular "assessment" and maybe still tells the story to friends and family.
ReplyDeleteWithout my diary/calendar (a slim paperback), I'd be lost! Things need to be written down or I will forget them. Funnily enough, once I have written them down, it is very rare for me to forget them.
That's really werird, Meike. It is well known that I have a dreadful memory. However, like you, once I've actually made a note in my diary I rarely forget it.
DeleteSometimes these official (and officious) people are determined to ask their questions, however inappropriate it might be. If it’s part of their instructions they are hell bent on doing it! Sounds like your father had the rebuttal for her!
ReplyDeleteDavid, sadly I agree with you. However we live in a blame society and if anyone in a potentially vulnerable situation, self preservation sadly takes over.
DeleteMy Dad had Alzheimer's and now my older brother does and so remembering things is always on the mind of my siblings and I. Writing things down is most helpful so maybe keep a notepad near your bed or even record your thoughts when you wake with blog post ideas. I like the memory you shared about your Dad. Hope all is going well with you, Graham.
ReplyDeleteEllen, I am sad to hear about your family history. I am never far from a means of recording notes but I've discovered that waking up and thinking and then going to the effort of writing it down don't always gell.
DeleteHowever many times you have shared "tales of woe" about your lack of a memory, that's still far from my general impression of you, Graham - but rather the opposite! Even if perhaps not always storing the same things in your memory as your brother in his. (I'm speaking from experience - my own little brother as a child used to more less memorize the Guinness Book of World Records, ever so often stunning us all with sharing surprising facts "out of the blue"...) ... ;)
ReplyDeleteMonica, I know that you knew my brother better than many, possibly most, people. I would like to think thatyou might be right about me having a memory but, for the most part I regret that it is far worse than I would wish.
DeleteThis story made me laugh. Thank you. Rachel
ReplyDeleteRachel, if I can make at least one person laugh, each day I would be well pleased.
DeleteI responded to your comments as me. Now I see that I've become 'Anonymous'. I've been unable to remedy it. Hopefully this is a temporary glitch.
ReplyDeleteI too remember a lady with a clipboard visiting me at my mother's bedside when she was close to the end. The silly woman asked me what I felt about the hospital's service and facilities. Insensitive in the worst degree.
ReplyDeleteEmpathy doesn't shine through the system, does it?
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