‘She went straight into the bedroom, with nothing to say.’
‘One five seven eight, I can’t take any more.’
Anna is struggling with having different carers coming to her this week.
‘Go away. I don’t want to play.’
You can see her deteriorating under the pressure.
‘They go and then go away again. I don’t know what it is.’
‘I’m frightened.’
And then …
After five new carers coming in a week, she saw tonight a carer she knew –Madinah. The fractious anxious pacing and hitting out , which she had been doing for hours, settled away like a bad dream into a warm bath. She smiled. She was at home again.
But it is not at all funny what has been happening. Last night the carer could not get near her to help her. Earlier this evening a new carer could not get near her to give some supper.
Anna and I sat, uncertain, watching the silent news on the television screen, until the front door bell –Madinah , yes!
Anna went to bed without a care. I could not have believed it possible. I talked to her:
T: We’re in our home.
A: It’s good, isn’t it. Nobody says, you can’t do it.
T: I hope she’ll come again.
A: Oh good. Adina?
T: Madinah. It’s a Muslim name.’
A: Oh. We’ve been with her sometimes.
T: Yes.
A: It’s just right.