At 8am the phone rings. “It’s Wandsworth Telecare,” says a cheerful voice. “Your mother’s smoke alarm has gone off twice. We’ve rung her but she seems confused so we’ve called the fire brigade.” Is the house on fire? “Probably not,” he says. “But when the alarm sounded we rang her and sent her to check the stove. When she came back to the phone she couldn’t remember if she had turned anything off. We thought we should play safe.”

Read more: http://www.theguardian.com/lifeandstyle/2008/may/17/familyandrelationships5

Here we go again. Mum’s carer rings me. It’s 5.30pm and she’s called for her half-hour visit, but Mum isn’t there. It’s earlier than the carer should come, and now that the evenings are light and Mum’s days start slowly, I’m not particularly worried. “She’s probably still out,” I say, “but I’ll call on my way home.”

Read more: http://www.theguardian.com/lifeandstyle/2008/may/03/familyandrelationships5

I need to go to the dentist – my tooth broke some time ago. I’ve also got a headache, which suggests an eye test is needed. My hair needs to be cut. And I still haven’t let my doctor know I’ve moved, although it was six months ago. But I have no time to do any of these things. Not in a preventive way, before they become emergencies. On the other hand, I have to find time to take my mother for her “follow- up” gynae appointment at St George’s hospital. They want to explore the problem that possibly caused the pulmonary embolism that possibly caused her to faint on the bus.

Read more: http://www.theguardian.com/lifeandstyle/2008/may/31/familyandrelationships4

The hospital doctor discharges Mum, joking about all the tests she’s had. “It’s like a 10,000-mile service,” I say. “And she should be good for another 10,000 miles,” he says.

“Oh yippee,” says Mum, sarcastically.

But when she comes out, she is not at all “as good as new”. Away from the bustle she is deflated, quieter. “My get up and go has got up and gone,” she says. The interruption to habits, which kept her on track, has thrown her. Will she remember how to cope?

Read more: http://www.theguardian.com/lifeandstyle/2008/apr/19/familyandrelationships8

‘Look at her,” says the nurse, putting her arm round me and escorting me to Mum’s bed. “All dressed up. Where are you off to, eh? Or is it one of the doctors you’re trying to impress?” It’s true Mum looks spruced up, if frail. Unlike others on the ward, she won’t stay in nightclothes. She’s fully dressed, a brooch at her neck, her earrings on and even some lipstick.

Read more: http://www.theguardian.com/lifeandstyle/2008/apr/05/familyandrelationships5

When I get to St George’s hospital on Monday morning, Mum looks better than I’d expected after the drama of her passing out on Saturday night. She looks tired and is lying on the bed but she’s fully dressed and seems herself. She tells me she’s been “pulled about” in all sorts of machines.

Read more: http://www.theguardian.com/lifeandstyle/2008/mar/22/familyandrelationships5

It’s 7pm on Saturday and John and I are on our way out of London. My brother rings. He had been planning to go over to my mother’s to spend the evening with her. “She’s not back yet,” he says. “There’s probably no reason to worry, but what do you think?”

“Probably not,” I say. “It’s what happened the other week, isn’t it? She didn’t get back until 9pm then, so maybe she’s got a bit lost again.”

Read more: http://www.theguardian.com/lifeandstyle/2008/mar/08/familyandrelationships5

‘I was having a good laugh at these,” says my mother when I pop in on my way to work. She’s on the sofa, surrounded by heaps of paper, mainly fading pages from exercise books. They are the letters sent to her in hospital when she badly injured her arm – all are written by the children she used to help with reading. “I like it when you talk about the scwirils,” says one, and all have multicoloured pictures of the animals and insects she always talked about. “I miss you loads,” they all say.

Read more: http://www.theguardian.com/lifeandstyle/2008/feb/23/familyandrelationships6

We are off to the hospital again and Mum is grumbling. “There’s nothing wrong with me,” she says and, keying into my anxieties, “I bet you can’t spare the time.” But this visit is important because we are supposed to be getting the results from scans conducted after the suspected mini-stroke. “I don’t mind,” I say. “Anyway, it’s our favourite doctor.” She cheers up at the prospect. “He came to visit me you know.”

Read more: http://www.theguardian.com/lifeandstyle/2007/dec/29/familyandrelationships.family5

I open Mum’s bag to check she has enough money. “Wow,” I say as I encounter an amazing stash of little packets. There are 14 salad creams, 11 tomato ketchups, three tartar sauces and six twists of sugar. Even for Mum this is an impressive haul.

Read more: http://www.theguardian.com/lifeandstyle/2007/dec/15/familyandrelationships.family9