In Which We Have to "Go Private"

We had to sign a private-only funding contract to get the bed we wanted in the home we all agreed on, as it is a privately -funded bed. The Manager tried all sorts of routes to try to help us, and spoke to her senior managers whilst we were in the room, to attempt to get us partial County Council funding for twelve weeks, but this county doesn’t have an agreement with them to have Social Services partially-funded long-term places.  She even offered us a “cheaper “ bed in another town nearby to tide us over and then bring Our Ma back here later, once the house is sold,  but we said NO it has to be this one and if necessary The Husband and I will take out second mortgages on our two houses to tide us over until Our Ma’s house is sold.  She was stunned by our devotion.

Had we gone for CC funding all they would be able to offer us is something like Home No 2,  where we were made most unwelcome and a man ranted at a lady in the sitting room all the time we were there.

When we visited Our Ma later afterwards she had taken off the shitty socks from yesterday (which her expletive deleted carer let her dress in this morning)  herself and loved her new slippers but had no recollection I’d given them to her this afternoon, to remove her Xmas pair for washing.

She will be CLEAN, given constant help with toileting, and round-the-clock company.  We even got to choose the colours of her re-painted walls, the new carpet and curtains.  She has a view over the garden and the pond, and from her window she can see the huge goldfish in the pond, and the manager is thrilled we will visit with our dog and she says the entire floor will adopt him as their own.

She will get a manicure and hand massage most weeks, all included.  I said she used to like a bit of lippy.  She will get it, every day.

When we arrived at 4.30pm The Husband paced back and forth and wouldn’t - couldn't - sit down while we waited for the staff meeting to finish so we could go in.  By the end of our meeting, an hour and a half later, he exhaled hugely and a immense weight lifted off his magnificent shoulders. 

She going to be HAPPY there.  It will cost HER (not us, her) approximately £3000 a month.  Swallow hard, Dear Reader.  We did.

The lady I noticed was crying on Sunday as we were shown round was the lady who died that night, in her sleep.  Her name was Lily and she was 93.  I said Thank you, Lily and blessed her soul.