I was not going to write this post but have changed my mind as you will realise.

Firstly a bit of background: My 89 year old mother always played bridge on Tuesday mornings. Often hosting from her house. I could never understand why the guests did not tidy up the beautiful tea cups laid out on the trolley for them. It turns out they did wash up their mugs, but mum drank Baileys out of her pretty tea cup and kept it by her side!

Much the same as her covid zoom meetings about books, Russian literature and mathematical lectures. At any coffee break she would dutifully leave the screen and return to see all the participants sipping their coffee mugs. Yes, she had her mug or tea-cup. No it did not have coffee in it!

The last weeks as many people know have been absolutely horrendous. Immersed as nursing homes are, tied up in protocols and risks of litigation it is necessary to access emergency drugs by prescription from some GP who does not even know the patient. Then the family, in this case me, drives to the scanky GP picks up the prescription and drives into central Milton Keynes to find Boots to cash the script. As I paced around glaring at the durex, nicorettes and calpol I inwardly seethed at the time-wasting jobs-worth system that meant the patient was desparately awaiting relief. The random doctor showing his or her duty of care had done the right thing , but bloody hell would it not be better to speed up the process in order TO care. Having sped back to the care home and delivered the drugs it transpired we actually needed even more. After an incredible to’ing and fro’ing involving skilled professional nurses , I had to drive the the local hospital, pick up yet another hand written script, which some anonymous person had printed but not signed. It seems the hospital

can write scripts but not dispense the drugs. WTF. Then having got it signed off I drove into darkest Milton Keynes once more. A different Boots this time, I queued in the cold rainy dark night outside some scanky hole in the wall patiently queuing with the rest of the citizens of MK and eventually got what I needed. Daughter 1 kindly stayed to sit with mum whilst all this was going on and we all eventually got a bit of sleep by midnight.

I was not going to write about all this except that the Archbishop of Canterbury it is reported, has told his flock to oppose assisted dying. Whatever you may actually feel about that, no one can possibly accept that the convuluted legislation about end of life care is in any way acceptable, fair or kind. As my brother states: No one should go through the undignified horrendous last few weeks of my mother’s life. In my opinion, duty of care involves a duty TO care. I drove around ‘county lines’ just as anyone else would have, because I really cared as would any relative in this situation. On this occasion it being a Friday. We would have got nowhere until the following week if not.

Mum is not the central character of this blog. It is however important to let you know that in the early hours of Monday 7th October, at last out of pain, her clock stopped. I promised her some time ago whilst on one of our many drives to and from appointments, that I would be there when her ‘light was low’ thankfully I was. My brother over from Canada and my sisters have been there throughout, she’d be dam pleased about that. I understand the teacups are filling with whisky and baileys up there!

Be near when my light is low ...and all the wheels of being, slow ( Tennyson)

( Tennyson)