My mother has been summoned to a new department of the NHS. Orthotics is so new to me I don’t know what it is or why she’s been summoned. But it is obviously important. I’ve had to move the appointment twice and they swiftly pursue me with alternative dates. My guess is that it’s something to do with her knees, which have become increasingly creaky. She’s always shocked when they crack as she gets up and down. “Did you hear that!” she says indignantly. “My bones!”

Read more: http://www.theguardian.com/lifeandstyle/2007/oct/06/familyandrelationships.family9

The moment of truth has come. How will my mother react to the new house? When I had first mentioned moving she had become extremely alarmed: “What do you want to move for? The only way anyone will get me out of my place is feet first.” Her agitation made me agitated. And during our period of exile, the five weeks between selling the old house and getting the new house, she’s been very confused. “How will I ever find you?” she said plaintively.

Read more: http://www.theguardian.com/lifeandstyle/2007/sep/22/familyandrelationships.family9

I arrive at my mother’s in the afternoon and find her sitting quietly. The television is off and there are a row of mugs along the windowsill. I take a sniff at one and it’s not tea. “I don’t know why I’m sitting here thinking about Auntie Annie,” she says, “but I’m just thinking it all over about when I was young. I’m really deep into it.” She’s sitting with one of those “Your Memories” albums, which she had been given several years ago.

Read more: http://www.theguardian.com/lifeandstyle/2007/sep/08/familyandrelationships.family10

My mother has been selected to be part of her council’s experiment with Telecare. All over the country, councils and private companies are pioneering the use of technologies to help vulnerable people remain in their own homes. The equipment includes sensors fitted near stoves to detect overheating, carbon monoxide detectors and alarm necklaces to mobilise help if my mother falls in her home. All these alarms are connected to the telephone through which wardens can first try to talk to Mum, then ring designated contacts.

Read more: http://www.theguardian.com/lifeandstyle/2007/aug/25/familyandrelationships.longtermcare

A visit from social services overruns and it is already lunch time. My mother seems tired, and I guess she hasn’t had breakfast so I hurry to the shop. I avoid packaged sandwiches, worrying that if they were made up days before, they might make her ill, hunting instead for something healthy. But the choice is limited and unappetising. I settle for bread, hummus and some rather dodgy-looking guacamole.

Read more: http://www.theguardian.com/lifeandstyle/2007/aug/18/familyandrelationships.family7

Often when I arrive at my mother’s these days, the front door is on the latch. If I ring her in advance to let her know I’m coming, she goes straight to the door and opens it, even if I don’t intend to arrive for a couple of hours. But it’s not unusual for her to leave the door open anyway, a habit from more trusting times. On this occasion on my way back from work, I walk straight in and call out loudly. There’s no reply and I find her sound asleep in front of the television. All the windows and balcony door are also wide open. Good job there aren’t many psychos around.

Read more: http://www.theguardian.com/lifeandstyle/2007/jul/21/familyandrelationships.family7

Mum is spending the day with us while we de-clutter before moving house. It’s a bit risky as she really hates change. Every time she sees the for sale sign she becomes agitated. “Oh!” she cries. “You’re not moving are you? Whatever for?” She is only a little bit mollified every time I answer that we will be a little bit nearer her.

Read more: http://www.theguardian.com/lifeandstyle/2007/jul/07/familyandrelationships.family4

At the weekend we are invited to our friends, Wendy and Ian, who have a house by the sea. The invitation is extended to Mum and, although recently she’s been reluctant to leave home, this time she’s game for the trip. With a bit of shoving and heaving she allows herself to be pushed up the long flight of steps to their front door, giggling helplessly at her own difficulties. “Oh! My old bones!” she cries, crawling up the steps on her hands and knees.

Read more: http://www.theguardian.com/lifeandstyle/2007/jun/23/familyandrelationships.family2

I’ve been trying all week to get my mother to the doctor’s to have her dressing changed. The hospital where she fell, and where they temporarily dressed the wound, insisted she should go soon. But I have not been able to get to her at any time when the surgery might be open and she can’t get there on her own. Every time I see her, the arm looks worse. The plaster is stuck tight with old blood congealed around it. “Did I bump into something?” she asks when I look at it.

Read more: http://www.theguardian.com/lifeandstyle/2007/jun/09/familyandrelationships.family3

My mother gets endless summons from NHS outposts. There’s the diabetic clinic, the audiology clinic, the podiatric clinic. We dutifully take her but often they don’t know who she is or why she’s there. By comparison, trips to the psychogeriatric unit, the supposed controlling intelligence of her care, are pretty good. The consultant, who is Iraqi and looks like a short Peter Sellers, once visited her flat. Now she calls him “my friend Al Jazeera”.

Read more: http://www.theguardian.com/lifeandstyle/2007/may/26/familyandrelationships.family5