Taking Care 4 (v) - Day Centre

       As soon as we got back, Maggie herded her people into their Previa for the trip back to Sittingbourne, and Laura took hers over to the farmhouse.

       "See you about 1:30," she said as she left.  "Maybe a bit later."

       I watched through the window as they went across the courtyard.  I noticed Matthew stop a couple of times on the way - once to touch a gatepost, then to touch a garden gnome at the edge of the path.  It seemed to be part of some ritual he needed to do.  Once again, it rang bells with me with things like that I'd done as a child - and even up to my early teens.  Things I still did now in some ways.  I'd always thought it was my 'thing', though I liked to believe that other people probably did it too in their private moments.

       The place was suddenly very quiet with them all gone.  Our six sat themselves around a table in a very orderly manner, with only Steven needing a bit of encouragement to come down from the lounge to join them.  He wandered around the table a couple of times first in the kind of leg-tied, halting manner he had.  He had one hand on his chest the whole time, chattering away to himself.  I couldn't help thinking of a Shakespearean actor delivering a soliloquy from Hamlet, such was his tone of voice, and that sense of introspective internal monologue.

       "Come along, Steven... that's right.  That's a good man, Steven.  Come along now.  We need to get this all sorted out, you know."

       Finally, as he passed an empty chair, he turned to it and sat down, pulling himself in as best he could with his feet.

       Thandie got six dinner plates out of the cupboard, then began to dish things out of the cooler bag.  There were six individually-wrapped rounds of sandwiches, six yoghurts, six packets of crisps and six tangerines.  The sandwiches were either ham or cheese.

       "Greg will only eat ham," said Thandie.  "He's the only real exception.  You'll need to open the crisps and yoghurts for Jamie and Steven, and peel their tangerines.  The others can all manage."

       I began to unwrap the sandwiches and put them on the plates.

       "What about drinks?"

       "Shirley will have a coffee, but the others will have squash."

       There was orange or blackcurrant, so I made up a jug of each, then made Shirley's coffee.  Thandie called Ian and he came up to the door, where she gave him his lunchtime tablet in a meds cup.  He took it without any trouble, washed it down with a glass of water, then smiled at Thandie, nodding his head.

       "Well done, Ian.  All gone."

       "Gone! Ahh!" he said, happily.  Then he went and sat down again as automatically as if someone had pushed a button.

       "You'll need to get Laura or Maggie to do that before they go, until you're passed to do meds.  Andrea will keep you informed about that."

       We took the plates out and gave them around, plus spoons for the yoghurts.  They all started tucking in straight away, except for Greg who lifted his top slices first to make sure it was ham.  Once he was satisfied, he started.

       "We can sit with the guys," said Thandie.  "But I like to sit in the kitchen for a bit and eat mine.  Otherwise it feels like you don't get a break.  When it's just you, you won't get proper breaks because you always have to be with them and on the alert, in case.  Also, it's chance to start filling in the diary if you want to.  You can leave it until you get back, but it can sometimes be a rush."

       I'd brought my own sandwiches from home.  Thandie had a salad made up in a plastic tray.  We sat at the table, finding a space each among all the papers, books and boxes that littered it.

       "This is all stuff we use.  I keep tidying it up, but it soon ends up in a mess again.  We could do with a little cupboard for it."

       It was something I knew I'd have to do, too.  I couldn't stand stuff being everywhere and out of order like it.

       "So," Thandie asked at length, "are you enjoying it so far?"

       "Yes," I said.  "So much different to what I've done before."

       "What was that?"

       I filled her in a bit on what I'd been doing for the last few years, and the various jobs I'd had - shops, driving, offices, finally the Civil Service.  How I'd gotten bored with being a desk-jockey, or dealing with demanding, entitled people.  How I'd wanted to do something that had more meaning.

       "Do you think you might have found it?"

       I shrugged.

       "I can only say that I've had a few good buzzes this morning.  Working with Ganesh.  Having some interactions with the others.  Seeing smiles and hearing laughter, and seeing people enjoying themselves.  It's good."

       She smiled broadly.

       "That's great.  That's what I'd hoped you'd feel.  It can be very scary for anyone coming into this who's not done it before.  But it is a special kind of job.  That makes up a bit for the low pay and the working conditions we have to put up with.  No sick pay.  Long and unsocial hours for the residential staff.  Apart from the upsides, it can be exhausting and stressful.  And dirty.  And at the end of the day, it's a huge, huge responsibility.  The lives of these people are in your hands."

       "Yes," I said.  It was daunting.  But somehow, in just these few short hours, the edge had been taken off of that.  I thought back to how I'd been feeling on Sunday afternoon, and the dark place I'd gone to in my head.  It was a big thing to take on right then.  In the space of a year, I'd lost my father, gone through a divorce, moved, had a nervous crash... and now, changed my job.  Not just a simple job-change, either.  More like moving into an entirely different culture.  Yet there was a big part of me - an instinct, really - that told me I was going in the right direction.  Maybe that had carried me through Sunday night.

       "Do you have any family?" Thandie asked.

       I mentioned a few things about dad and his passing.  Then about mum, and how reassuring it was that she lived just a stone's throw from Remus Lodge.  I knew about Thandie's reason for leaving.

       "Mum's all I've got left, really," I said.  "The closest, leastways.  She's the most important person in my life, for sure.  She's always been there for me.  It's good to know I can be around for her if she needs me.  She's had a lot of illnesses in recent years, but she manages."

       Thandie smiled warmly.

       "I feel the same way.  That's why I'm going back to Nigeria for a while - to look after my mum.  My brothers and sisters all either live abroad or have their own lives.  I'm the closest, in many ways. She has cancer now and isn't expected to live a great deal longer.  So I want to be there for her."

       "I'm sorry," I said.  "It must be hard."

       She paused thoughtfully for a moment.

       "It's a cultural thing," she said.  "We take care of our elders.  We don't want them parked in homes - out of sight, out of mind."

       "That's right," I said. 

       I'd often thought that.  We have this thing in modern society of 'flying the nest' and 'making our own lives', which is fine.  But that shouldn't mean we give up responsibility, too.  They're our parents.  They gave us the best years of their own lives.

       I told her about dad's problems, and how - after he'd spent some time on the streets - he'd gone from home to home in his final years.  He retained all of his faculties, in spite of the drinking, and he could see the failings in the places they put him.  So he'd complain... and then they'd get rid of him.

       "He lived in six homes in eight years.  If I'd had a big enough place, I could have had a granny flat for him.  But it's like now... I'm living in one room, so there was nothing I could do."

       She was thoughtful again.

       "Perhaps that's a strong reason why we do what we do, in care work.  We want to give these people the best lives they can have because their families aren't able to do it, or don't want to do it.  I don't mean that in a blaming way, either.  These guys, for instance.  It can be hard on the best of people.  They would have to give up so much.  So we do it for them, too.  A lot of people have the wrong idea about care work, thinking it's just about wiping bottoms and making cups of tea.  It's grossly underestimated.  It's not easy at all.  I don't think I'd want to work on the residential side of it."

       "That's what made me apply for this," I said.  "The nine-to-five, Monday to Friday thing I've been used to.  I like that regularity and routine.  I couldn't cope with long shifts, alternating shifts, stuff like that.  I feel I was lucky to find it."

       "Yes," she said.  "It's quite a unique position.  And there are a lot of day centres around you can always go to, too.  It doesn't always have to be residential.  I hope you find it's right for you."

       We both looked up through the hatch to make sure everyone was okay.  They were all sitting there, quietly and contentedly.  Jake noticed us looking and gave us a funny grin, like he'd just been caught doing something mischievous.

       "I'm watching you, Mister Anning!" Thandie said, chuckling.

       He carried on eating his crisps.

       "You have to maintain a professional distance," she went on, "but of course you get attached to them.  It's only natural.  They're under your care, and they're vulnerable.  Like children in so many ways.  Do you have any children, Will?"

       "No."

       She nodded.  "Nor do I.  Still plenty of time.  That's if you want them, of course."

       "I don't think so, now," I said.  "Perhaps at one time.  But I was never sure.  I think I could be a good father in many ways, not so good in others.  I won't know, of course, unless I have children."  I thought about it.  "Then, of course - would I really want a teenager telling me he hated me when I'm in my sixties?"

       She laughed.  "There is always that to consider."

       I looked out at our group again, sitting there quietly.  And I felt a surge of something.  A pull.

       Maybe these would become a kind of family to me, in time.

(continued) https://www.abctales.com/story/harryc/taking-care-4-vi-day-centre