Sunday, 10 May 2009


Some days she cries in her room until late afternoon, then emerges to tell the other residents it's time for them to leave her house. Others she packs her suitcase and announces that her family are coming to collect her.
The doctor's prescribed a mild anti depressant, but won't allow it to be put in her food, and of course she refuses to take it. She thinks we're trying to kill her. I take my turn to telephone to persuade her, but she gets very confused to hear me on the phone when I'm not there, gets even more confused trying to find out where I live, and then descends into paranoia, thinks something awful is happening to me, and then to her, "Somethings going on here, and I don't like the sound of it. I don't know what it's all about."
It sounds as if she's holding the phone upside down, but I hear her say to the carers "I'm not taking any tablets". She's too polite to accuse them of trying to kill her, so she says "I know you all want me to go to sleep."
It's like the last dark days of trying to keep her in her own home when she lived in a bed in the corner of the living room, trying to starve herself, thinking she had been captured and taken away, accusing her family, abusing her frail husband, wetting the bed, looked after by all of us and streams of carers.
I come off the phone depressed.
Later the doctor relented

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