Victory?

A brief update on the last blog.

Today was judgement day. The meeting that would decide whether or not we'd get her home, or at least that's what we thought. Going in it appeared that everything had been decided already. Though Graeme still tried to push his luck as far as carers were concerned.

My mum had agreed before hand to have carers in, for a limited time and only in the mornings. This translated to him as "Fiona, you've agreed to carers in the mornings and maybe in the evening...? -- We can talk about that." -- Nothing to talk about, mate.

The meeting was held within the carehome where my Granny has been for the past eight weeks. When we walked in, she was walking down the corridor, holding the hand of another dementia patient. She seemed to have a vague recognition of my mum and stopped for her.

When my mum asked her who I was, there was nothing.

Now, she hasn't known my name for a while now. That's fine. I'm used to that, but she's always known that I'm somebody, at least, if not her grandson. But looking into her eyes, there was nothing. Not even a spark of recognition.

So, let's recap...

Eight weeks ago, we were asked if we'd put her into this place for assessment. For two weeks. I said no. My mum, reluctantly agreed. Afterall, it was only for two weeks. Before all this, we'd been asked if we'd have carers in, we said no. Eight weeks later, we're told we can't have her back if we don't agree to carers. The assessment? Nothing's changed. Same drugs. Dietition said she's fine, district nurse said she's fine - they've both always said that.

So why, and I really want to know this, did they insist on taking a dementia patient out of her environment, dumping her in a carehome for two months, causing her to plummet downhill in terms of her mental health? Was it in order to blackmail the family into putting the carers they don't want into their home? I can think of no other reason. Unless they really just wanted to make a 23 year old guy cry - cause they succeeded on that one too.