In A world Gone Mad: Wednesday 6 May 2020

Wednesday 6 May 2020

It’s my Birthday

The day started at 04:00, but I ignored it, if Arthur fell down the stairs, he fell down the stairs—my mind refused to tell my body to get up and take him back to his room.  He woke me again at 07:00

“Helloooo. Hellloooooo, is there anybody there?”

Nope we’re all incapable.  I ignored him again, I could blame my neglect on the fact it’s my birthday and somebody else can deal with him, but at that point, I had no idea it was my birthday, or indeed if it was any day. I was in bed by eleven, but we had the telly on until two.

08:00 my phone rang. I thought it was Max’s alarm for work and ignored it.

“Are you going to get that?”

“No.”

08:15, there’s a commotion outside and I hear a little voice saying, “I think Nana’s in bed.”

Teagan gets to the window first and is wagging.

I sleepwalk to the window and give them the grumpiest wave.

Flinging on the first clothes I find on my shelf—standard uniform, black leggings from one pile, t-shirt from another, no underwear.  I open the bedroom door, and Arthur is already shuffling down the hall to beat me to the bathroom.

Of course, he is.

 Urination and a splash of cold water to wake me out of this nightmare will have to wait.

Front door, the dog’s ahead of me, “Teagan. Back. Sit.” she’s a good girl and take two paces back and sits.

Look under the cubby for the key. It’s not there, if Arthur’s stolen it, it could take hours to find.

“Just a minute.”

Searching Max’s pockets from the five million coats and jackets that he has hanging in the hall.  Amid a hundred snotty tissues I find the keys.

Imprint grandmotherly smile on my face and open the door.

Tegan forgets to sit, and Arthur is right behind me trying to push past me to open the door himself. “Helloooo. Helllloooo. Who’s there?”

I’m fighting with a huge German Shepherd and frail old man.

Oh, fuck off.

Opening the door, I have two beautiful plants, a card and two bags of chocolates sitting on the doorstep and my lovely family are standing back side of the garden wall.   

I tell the family to come round the back and I’ll open the back gate.

Take all of the above, add an armful of plants, card and chocolates and transfer it to the back door—and then the back gate.

Finally, I have the family surrounding the open back door and observing social distancing.

“I’d like a cup of tea.”

Nothing stops for Arthur—not even the matriarch’s birthday.

I have three excited children’s voices, youngest has bought himself a red car for Nana’s birthday, middle wants to stroke the animals and eldest is a spy ninja.  I have Arthur in one ear and Echo in the other yelling his bloody head off. I’m making the old bastard’s cup of tea and Echo is twinding himself around everything I touch and getting in the way. Teagan’s found her pulley and is charging round the kitchen scattering food bowls and water and barking loud enough and deep enough to shake the house—and Arthur is prattling Arthur prattle. With all the noise I can’t hear his crazy.

Arthur walks to the backdoor and shakes Marty’s hand. Despite a warning look from the missus, Marty is too polite to refuse.

Arthur does what he does every time he shakes somebody’s hand. He crushes it and won’t let go. I can’t cope with it this morning. The man has a grip like iron, and he likes to crush until he hurts people

“Arthur, let him go, please.”

Arthur won’t let go and squeezes tighter. I have to break their hands apart, so much for the distancing.  My son is six foot six and when he gets his hand back, he shakes it out to bring back the circulation. He humour’s Arthur and tells him how strong he is while Arthur beams. Later, Marty admits that it really hurt—I know, he does it all the time, especially in pubs and it can cause trouble.  I can’t be bothered with him this morning.

I give him his medication and make his two Shredded Wheat, with hot milk, he already has his tea and I put him a Fortisip and three biscuits by his setting.

He’s up again and grabbing two kitchen chairs. He turns the backs in and does a few push ups on them.  He does a final push up to raise his feet from the floor and brings his legs parallel to his body in a perfect right angle.  I really can’t be arsed.

“Not bad for an old man.”

I was way too sharp with him, but it was too early for his showing off to Marty.

“Yes, until you fall, split your head open and kill yourself.

I really snapped at him and shot him down, he was diminished and nothing. I didn’t need to do that to him. The cat is still screaming for food, the dog’s excited and I’ve got him thinking he’s Olga bloody Corbut.

I made myself a coffee, we left Arthur to have his breakfast, went into the garden and I got everybody seated two meters away. I sat on my garden sofa—took my first sip of coffee— and had the best birthday morning that I’ve had for years.

I had my son and daughter-in-law and three of my grandchildren with me.  The animals played with the kids and we heard grumpy bear getting up.

Max came out with a huge box—and I have a card saying To My Darling, Sarah.  I got a new pair of purple Docs –perfect.

Andy came out with an erection, a bottle of vodka and a card. The erection is a huge wicker cone that will sit over my Clematis and Honeysuckle. I had a card, To Sarah, thank you for everything you’ve done for me, and for putting up with me, Love you, Andy—perfect.

Reset: Arthur came out with a white painted trellis and a card. Max had written it—To Sarah, lovely to have you around—perfect.

Arthur sang Happy Birthday to me and it was lovely.  The first fifteen minutes were crazy but it’s 10:00 and I’ve had the best Birthday start.

When Marty rang me at eight and didn’t get an answer, he texted Max.

Are you up?

Two hours after the visit Max has replied.

Yes: you fecker.

And writing this, I still had to minimise the screen to check the date on my calender--I think dementia is communicable.

Disregarding the first bit—what a fantastic start to the day.