Jennifer Worth - In the Midst of Life

One can hope that she was losing her mind, because it would have been a merciful release from loneliness. She had lost all that was familiar, her home, her daughter Olga and grandchildren, her friends, her country and the rhythm of her life, her language and her Church. Everyone around her was doing things to her that she could not understand. No one, apart from Slavek, showed her any love, and she loved no one. The hope must be that senile dementia was laying its kindly hand on her mind, inducing confusion and forgetfulness. Awareness and remembrance of loss would have been more cruel.

The year was drawing to its close, and the nurse was behind the screens tending Mrs Ratski when a quarrel erupted between the young couple.

Karen unexpectedly said: ‘I’ve decided to take the girls to my mother’s for Christmas.’

‘Why?’ asked Slavek guardedly, although he already knew the answer.

‘I can’t face Christmas here, with your mother in the room.

How can I put up a Christmas tree and hang paper chains? We can’t have presents under the tree and a nice Christmas dinner in there; I can’t invite people in. No, we’re going to Mum’s this year. I’ve told the girls and they are looking forward to it. You can come, if you like.’

‘But your parents don’t really like me. They won’t want me for Christmas.’

‘Well, you can please yourself. Mum says you’ll be welcome if you want to join us.’

‘But I can’t leave my mother here on her own!’

‘It’s not my responsibility. I’m doing what I think is best for the girls. I want them to have a good Christmas.’

He became angry.

‘How can it be a “good Christmas” if you take them away from their father? That’s not goodness, that’s selfishness.’

‘Don’t you call me selfish! I want—’

He butted in before she could finish the sentence.

‘I remember when I was a boy, my grandfather died in our home. It was Christmas time, and all the family were there. We were children, and we just accepted it. We all played, and had a “good” Christmas.’

‘Don’t you keep reminding me of how you were brought up! Peasants, that’s what you were, peasants. No wonder my mother doesn’t like you! Well, I’m not a peasant, thank you very much. I was properly brought up, and I’m going to see to it that my girls are, too.’

‘I don’t know what your “proper upbringing” means, if it means denying the girls their grandmother. And she is their grandmother. And they are not just your girls. They are my girls too.’

‘She’s not like a grandmother. She doesn’t do things with them. She can’t take them out or play with them like grannies do. She just sits there, muttering and mumbling, and poking that “thing”. I can’t stand it any longer, all the washing and trying to get it dry, in this weather. And the smell! I can’t stand it any more. However much I wash, it’s still there. The nurse says if she didn’t keep poking at that “thing” it wouldn’t leak and the bed wouldn’t get dirty, but she won’t stop. She keeps poking and picking, and I can’t stand it, I tell you, I can’t stand it!’

Karen had worked herself up into a hysterical frenzy and was sobbing. Slavek put his arm around her and she became calmer.

‘Why doesn’t she die, Slav? Why can’t she just die? That’s what she wanted. That’s what she came here for.’

‘I know. I’ve thought about it a lot. She nearly died that morning in August. But we called the doctors, and now she’s alive, and can’t seem to die.’

‘If only I hadn’t gone to the phone box.’

‘You only did what you thought was right. I did worse. I signed the consent for operation form.’

‘Why did you?’

‘Well, there wasn’t really any time to think. There was a sort of pressure to sign. No one said anything, but it was expected of me, so I did.’

He brooded gloomily for a while, and neither of them spoke. Karen could see his unhappiness and felt sorry for her outburst. She squeezed his hand, and saw his manliness crumble into tears that he tried to hide.

‘If I had known what was going to happen,’ he continued, ‘I would never have let them do it to her. But I didn’t know. How could I?’

‘If you had refused to give consent for the operation, would it have made any difference, do you think?’

He thought for a bit, and wiped his eyes and blew his nose.

‘No, I’m not sure that it would. I think they would have operated anyway.’

‘Then you can’t blame yourself.’

‘But I do. I feel guilty all the time. Guilty because I’ve made life hell for her, and guilty because I’ve made life hell for you.’

‘Is it wicked of me to wish that she had died last August, Slavek?’

‘I don’t think so. Death is natural. It comes to us all.’

‘Can she go back to Latvia?’

‘I can’t see how. How could we get her there?’

‘She’ll have to go into a home of some sort.’

‘That’s what I’m beginning to think. I didn’t want it, but I can’t see any alternative.’

Slavek and Karen discussed it with the district nurse who made enquiries. Two local council-run old peoples’ homes were full and agreed to put Mrs Ratski on a waiting list, but warned that it might be a year or two before a place became available. They could enquire about private nursing homes in the area, but were told that Mrs Ratski would upset the other residents.

Christmas came. As soon as the school holidays started, Karen took the girls to her mother’s. Slavek was left alone with his mother. He attended to her physical needs, and the district nurse called as before. Then Karen decided to stay with her mother – Slavek was devastated. He was lonely and missed his little girls most dreadfully. On Christmas Eve he got drunk and slept for two days, with a couple of bottles of vodka by his bed.

He was awakened by repeated banging on the front door. He staggered downstairs, unkempt, unshaven, and wrapped in a blanket. It was the district nurse.

‘What’s been happening? I tried to get in this morning. I saw your bike was here, but you didn’t answer, and I knocked and knocked.’

‘What time is it?’ His voice was slurred.

‘It’s four o’clock. I haven’t seen your mother for days. Has she been away with you?’

‘No. She has been here all the time.’

‘Well, I must see her now.’

They went into the sitting room.

‘It’s bitterly cold in here. Hasn’t the poor old lady even got a fire? And it smells dreadful. Who has been looking after her? Where is your wife?’

‘My wife has gone to her mother’s and she’s not coming back.’

‘Not coming back? Oh dear, that won’t do. I will have to report that to my supervisor. The old lady can’t be left alone all day while you are at work. But I’m sure arrangements can be made to care for her – Meals on Wheels, a home help – yes, there is a lot of support we can give you.’

‘I don’t want your bloody support! I want my wife and daughters. They’re not coming back, I tell you.’

‘There is no need to shout, young man. I heard you, and don’t use bad language to me!’

‘She will have to go into an old peoples’ home.’

‘That’s not so easy, as you well know. The Council Home is full, and your mother is on the waiting list. Have you tried private nursing homes?’

‘Yes, and they won’t take her. Each one we tried said she would be disruptive and would upset the other residents.’

‘Well, all I can do is organise as much home support as possible for her. Now, I must clean her colostomy. She’s in a dreadful mess, faecal discharge everywhere. When did you last attend to it?’