Having just published a page about ethical issues, I am determined to get Dad’s voice into this post. When I visit him, I try and note down what he says but inevitably miss things – I need to start using a voice recorder.
This morning Dad rang with a common request: What am I supposed to be doing? I have learnt not to be alarmed by this sort of question but simply to describe, as best as I can, what I think the day holds for him – in this case, not too much, as Tuesday is ‘pampering day’ at the home, so a bit female oriented. I will pop in later but it’ll be a short visit because of other commitments.
On Sunday, over lunch, Dad had more opportunity to speak but took a while to warm up conversationally – we have noticed that this is often the case – he shared with me last week that he is aware of his limitation with regard to speech and conversation. He attributes this to not practising enough and keeping quiet too often. When I asked him why he thought that this was the case, he said that in the past he had often been concerned not to talk too much – like some people . Me, I wondered?
However, once Dad got going with our lunchtime conversation, he started to share several views about himself and his family. I didn’t have potential, he said, again referring back to his brother who, he said: had a way of putting things across. He mused on the fact that perhaps my brothers shared this attribute. Dad then continued on the somewhat self-deprecatory line: I didn’t have potential and I knew that. I could see myself not being clever, just straightforward…. I knew my faults – I laughed – It’s a fact, Dad came back with. Beginning to feel concerned at this line of conversation, I replied: ‘But everyone’s got faults, haven’t they?’ To which Dad added the punchline: But some of them can’t see them!’ Indeed, I had to agree.
The other side of ‘voice’ is, of course, ‘listening’. Dad can be an intent listener, even despite the deafness that comes along with the ageing process. Several months ago his (much fiddled with) hearing aid broke and he had to manage without it. From a distance (Dad was living in his last residence, then), his family tried to sort out appointments with the local hospital audiological services but it came full circle, as the hospital couldn’t fit a new hearing aid unless his ears were syringed and Dad wasn’t keen on that at all.
So, Dad has been without a hearing aid for many months now and I thought that we needed another go to sort this issue out, although, I must say, he often manages to ‘selectively’ listen quite well. In a care home it’s easier to monitor things like the ear drops that are needed to soften ear wax which precedes the syringing process, so yesterday his ears were syringed – not that it seemed to make much difference, he said. However, it does means that we can go down the audiological route again.
These issues of voice, hearing and listening reminded Mark, my partner, that several years ago, Dad had volunteered to read and record Open University (OU) texts so that blind people could access their materials. His desire to undertake this voluntary job was supported by the fact that he himself obtained an OU degree as a (very) mature student. It also perhaps showed his awareness of the importance of listening – not just to the music which he loves but also as way to gain knowledge and understanding.
Dad’s care home holds a discussion group every Friday morning. This seems to me an admirable forum in which elders can voice their opinions. Dad has gone along to this and though he often opts to listen, he will occasionally surprise the other residents with the grasp and choice of current affairs which he offers up. When the Commons recently debated the issue of assisted suicide, Dad was keen to discuss it with this group, though, perhaps understandably, this topic was not met with much enthusiasm.
Nevertheless, despite Dad’s tendency not to speak up and to disguise his listening and communication skills, I think this does show that he is still – very much – on the ball!
Caring for Dad 