Aluredian 41
I
wake up, again. How many mornings
have I woken and wished to God that
I had not?
"Doris!" shouted that hateful woman,
Jane, who was 'supposed' to care for me.
I don't need a carer, I've lived through a
world war for heaven's sake!
I get out of my horrid hospital-looking
bed, and make my way towards the
window seat. I can still walk on my own,
thank you very much Jane.
"Come now Doris," Jane would start.
"You shouldn't be getting out of bed on
your own, now should you?"
"I can still walk on my own two legs,
thank you very much. Didn't I just say
that?"
"No dear, you did not. Well not out loud
at least. We need to get you dressed now
don't we? We have a big day ahead of
us!"
"Yes, I know." Silly woman, I think to
myself.
She thinks she's packing me off to a care
home, where my stupid daughter has
decided I must go to live. You are being
silly, I tell myself over and over again. The
giant lurches in my stomach coincide with
my unsteady hands. I can't see myself in
a 'home', as they call it. I can manage by
myself, with myself and for myself. The
clouds close in menacingly outside my
safe little house. Even they seem to say
"She's just a grumpy old woman." Now I
must go downstairs. Why am I shaking,
shivering and shuddering down the stairlift
I don't need? "It's not nerves," I say out
loud. "It's not. I can cope in this
ridiculous place. I'll show them." And I
walked, slightly unbalanced, to the door
where Jane's patronising little face was
watching me.
I must deny the woman the satisfaction of
seeing the little old lady she thinks I am.
I step out to the waiting taxi with what I
hope is a dignified and determined air.
Once I was in the ghastly vehicle, Jane
was fussing unnecessarily, packing me in
with blankets and rugs.
"Don't get cold now Mrs Andrews," she
says, respectfully.
"So it's Mrs Andrews now is it?" I ask.
"How long did that take?" I say slightly
too quietly to be clear, but loud enough
for her to turn a disgusted face away from
the chuckling taxi man. And with that,
she turned back to my comfortable little
house on one of the nicest streets in the
country.
As we draw away, thankfully the public
transport man keeps quiet, leaving me to
my own thoughts. It all whizzes past in a
blur to me. The journey had only just
begun, down lanes and main roads, when
we are turning up a long, sweeping
driveway. Now where am I going, I think.
Where is he taking me? Eventually we
pull up outside what looks like a wellplaced
country house.
"What's this?" I exclaim. "I don't need
this!" I am staring at a wheelchair being
held out for me. "That's it. I'm not
getting out of this damned car."
"Come now Mrs Andrews. You don't
need to use the chair. Come in, please."
"And who do you think you are?" Such
disrespect!
"I am Claire Williams. I run Abbey Mount
Care Home."
"Well, I'm not getting out. I don't need to
live around average society people."
"You will have your own rooms, and need
only to eat with everyone else, and
socialise of course." Claire said steadily.
She knows how unstable the elderly get
when changing homes or places, I
thought. Yes, she thinks she knows
everything about me, just from a few
pieces of paper from my daughter and
doctor.
"Well I might as well get out. I can
always complain and go home again."
As I walk up the steps, I silently
acknowledge what a beautiful building it
is. It must have been a big estate once. I
am shown into an impressive hallway, and
am told that my room is on the first floor.
"Would you be comfortable using the
stairs?" she asks. Well how else was I
going to reach the next floor? Fly, I
queried? I really don't understand young
people's thoughts these days.
Many chairs and sofas were placed
around the hall and adjoining rooms, as if
you were expected to drop down at any
moment.
A New Place
by Rose Fulford
Elle Bracher A2