I was so incensed that I put together a few paragraphs for our evening newspaper and Anglia Television:
Heartless thieves hit a new low when they syphoned off hundreds of
litres of heating oil at a residential care home to leave a group of vulnerable
elderly people at risk as temperatures plummeted below zero.
The cold-hearted criminals drained the half-submerged oil storage tank
within the electronically-gated grounds of *** **** at Little Downham on the
outskirts of Ely on Wednesday night or the early hours of Thursday morning and,
in doing so, completely shut down the central heating system.
Care staff handed at the 27-bedroomed home handed out blankets and shawls
during the day as residents were left without heating for most of Thursday. A
plea also went out to relatives for free-standing heaters and radiators but the
central heating was restored in the evening following an emergency delivery of
oil.
A spokesperson for the home said: “I just can’t believe that someone could
do this to old people. Just how low can someone stoop?”
I visited in the morning to wish my mum-in-law all the best on her 85th big day, to drop off a few goodies and to hand over a couple of birthday cards. She was initially slow to recognise me as she sipped her mug of milky tea and chatted away to her best pal, who is 99.
"Oh, it's you. You haven't changed at all since I last saw you." That occasion was last week, by the way.
During my stay, a member of staff was handing out shawls in one of the lounges to residents who were feeling cold. It was then that I found out about the shocking theft. It was not noticeably chilly to me but then I am not eighty-plus. No sniggering at the back! I also told mum-in-law that I would be visiting again in the evening with my wife when she had finished work and promised more pressies. Sadly, this information was retained for all of 20 seconds. The same could be said about her birthday. She simply didn't remember, even though various carers were wishing her many happy returns etc, etc. Good old Alzheimer's, eh?
"It's my birthday? Really? I must be about 70 I think."
When her actual age was revealed, she said, simply: "Oh, I wasn't far out then."
This conversation was repeated several times before I left.
My wife and I went back later as promised and the central heating had just been restarted after an oil delivery, so at least the residents were spared freezing to death. It will come soon enough for many of them, but being helped to your grave because some arse decided to nick the oil is unthinkable.
Mum-in-law was thrilled to see her daughter, as you would expect, and pleased to see me "after such a long time". There was absolutely no recollection of the earlier visit. Still, she was equally delighted with her presents which she unwrapped in the privacy of her room rather than a lounge full of chairs and walking frames. We then sat together round a table in the dining room and chatted away for a good hour. Mum-in-law, who now suffers from incontinence quite badly, struggles even more to find the words she wants to use and has almost no short-term memory, was in high spirits to begin with, but her mood quickly changed.
"I don't like it here. I want to go home," she said.
"They're good to me here, people speak to me, but I don't do anything. And it's not home. I don't want to die here, so how long have I got to stay?" [She lived with us for three and half years but it seems home to her is a pastiche of dwellings, houses in which she has lived and the accompanying memories which are fading fast.]
I felt so sorry and, if I'm brutally honest, so very uncomfortable. She continued:
"I do have a house, you know. [No she doesn't.] I want to go back there and walk down my garden path. I'm fed up just sitting here doing nothing." [There are organised activities each morning, staff are always talking to residents and there is a constant stream of visitors. But she is right. It isn't home.]
My wife dealt with the situation brilliantly and in a delicate, sympathetic manner. I stayed stum. Not known for my diplomacy and tact, you understand. She changed the subject to her mum's birthday, the cake she had been presented with and her presents. Cliche, I know, but it really was as if a switch had been thrown, the mood changed, her concerns forgotten in an instant and she rediscovered her high spirits. As we left, she resumed her place in the high-back chair next to her pal who was nodding off. A handful of Werthers Originals wrapping papers lay discarded by her side.
The journey home on that freezing March night was marked by feelings of guilt and sadness. Could we have done more to keep her at home with us? Could we have still coped as her condition deteriorated? Was she in the best place? Sadly, the answers are clear. She is being given the expert care and attention we simply cannot provide. Yes, we'll continue to visit as often as possible and to take her out for the odd day trip and for meals, but there's no getting away from the fact that Alzheimer's is such a cruel disease.
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