I visit my Granny, ensconced in a rest home whilst my parents get some respite from caring for her, heading for Majorca. I see her as I park, sat looking out of her window. I give her a hearty wave, but I’m a bit too far away for her to see clearly, so she frowns severely at me.
“Mike! What are you doing here?” Granny exclaims, as I arrive in her room having been escorted by a sexy caregiver.
Mike is her nephew, one of a number of guises I often seem to inadvertently adopt with Granny. I suppose our hair is a bit similar, but Mike is 60 and 6 foot tall, and I am neither.
I remind Granny as to my true identity, but she appears unconvinced, and fails to hide her confusion whenever I refer to my parents, what would be her long dead brother and sister-in-law. I resolutely refuse to pretend to be Mike, but at the same time I don’t want to embarrass her by excessively pointing out her error, so we continue in a perplexed circle for some time.
I decide to get Granny to explore her new environment a bit, and we slowly head to some of the day rooms.
We encounter a tall matron-like woman of senior years, who haughtily wishes us good morning. I wonder how my Granny will respond to such an old-fashioned care-giver, not liking to be bossed about, but then the woman promptly settles into a comfy chair and puts her feet up and starts reading a copy of Top Santé. This is the thing about it being a rest home rather than a care home: a lot of the residents are quite mobile and seem quite healthy, which can be a little confusing at times.
We indulge in half an hour of confused chit chat, before I guide her back on the long-forgotten route back to her room.
“Bye Mike,” says the sexy caregiver as I leave.
“I can be Mike”, I think, as I open the car door.
4 weeks ago