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

My niece phones to say she has found Mum in a worrying state. Mum had been stumbling and tripped over. It’s possible she’s broken her ankle. I suggest taking her to minor injuries at the nearby hospital, but as soon as I’ve put the phone down I wonder if it could be a stroke. Minor injuries conclude the same and send her by ambulance to Kingston.

Read more: http://www.theguardian.com/lifeandstyle/2007/nov/17/familyandrelationships.family3

It’s chilly and getting dark when I arrive at my mother’s. Her door, as often, is “on the latch”, even though it was at least an hour ago that I rang to say I was on my way over. But she’s in good spirits and fusses over me a bit. “Why do they keep you so late?” she demands. “Don’t they think you’ve got a home to go to? I’ll get you a cup of tea.”

Read more: http://www.theguardian.com/lifeandstyle/2007/oct/20/familyandrelationships.family

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