Tell us about Busybodies
Discussion
My brother and I take turns to provide companion care for our old mum. This situation grew up out of circumstance. My folks didn't intend for us to look after either of them and when dad died he left mum with the resources to pay for care. She got into a tangle with paperwork last year so I started staying for a few days every fortnight and then she became ill and needed transport to hospitals and doctors and then bit by bit, before long, my brother and I were doing week on week off care. It's was Pete's week last week and he answered the phone to a call from one of mum's friends informing him that he and I were depriving mum of food. By deliberately starving her we were killing her and if we weren't actually murdering her then we were complicit in her assisted suicide. Yes, that covered all the angles, I think: murderers at worst or, at best, suicide assistants. Lovely. Thanks for that.
Mum is ninety and very poorly indeed. The lady who phoned is a hundred and able bodied. Her late husband was a GP. They had family money. This all, apparently, entitles her to telephone local people and put them straight. Sometimes she rides to the miscreant's house on her mobility scooter to deliver her findings. Her theories are simple enough. One is, 'I'm a hundred and able bodied, you are younger and therefore should be doing more for the community/your family/your friends/me' delete as applicable. Another is, 'I'm a hundred and in good health, anyone younger who dies has either committed suicide or been murdered.
I tell ya.
…………………..
That was it. Now the cathartic bit where I get this out of my system. You don't have to read this part.
When he received this news, Pete managed - somehow - to deal politely with the call and then rang me. I reminded him of an odd event the week before when I was there. I had two phone calls on successive days from another friend asking firstly if she could speak to mum, no she couldn't, then asking if she call round, no she couldn't, and then asking if mum would like to go to tea. To put this in context, all mum's friends are either acquainted with mum's problems or could ask another of her friends or could ask us. But they have all asked and they all know. Mum's eyesight had been failing for some time so, as she was a proud lady, she started to go to a local beautician for fairly simple things. Last summer the beautician pointed out a small lump on mum's face that she thought a doctor should look at. We took her to the doctor who said he thought it was a cist and he'd make an appointment at hospital. The doctor at hospital took a sample and was able to tell her very quickly that it was cancerous. The lump was the size of a pea. Appointments were made, scans were taken, biopsies taken, you name it. They were having trouble diagnosing the cancer and this made treatment impossible. Eventually it turned out to be a rare and aggressive cancer in an unusual place. It was a sarcoma at the back of her jaw which by this time, eight weeks later, was around her jaw and appeared to be the size of half a grapefruit. A cure was not possible. The primary cancer was in her lung, this was a secondary cancer that was by now inoperable. The palliative care was a week of radiotherapy, a week's rest and another week of radio therapy. This knocked her out for a couple of weeks. That was in October. Her friends know this. They know eating was difficult. Chewing and swallowing were difficult and uncomfortable. And it was only palliative care and, cards on the table, she was dying. Her friends know this too.
Part of the dying process is loss of appetite. She tried and we tried. What would you like for dinner, mum? Crispy duck pancakes. Yes. Soft, tasty, okay. Drive miles to the supermarket, find crispy duck kit, drive back, cook it, assemble pancakes. Thanks for doing that, dear, but I'm not hungry. The loss of appetite and the difficulty eating complimented each other and she ate less and less. However, during this time she was busy defying all predictions on how long she had left to live. The hospital said she had maybe six weeks or eight weeks last August. Mum's friends know this.
Because of the lump on her face, her general appearance and several incontinence accidents, mum didn't wish to be seen. This we found understandable but we didn't foresee that her friends would interpret us acquiescing to her desire for privacy as us keeping her captive and starving her to death.
Now back to two weeks ago. The door bell rang. It was the friend who had phoned twice. "I've come to see your mother. You won't bar my way!" I was swept aside like a First Year boy in the way of the Head Girl. As it happens, mum was pleased to see her and I rather wished we had found a less dramatic way of introducing some of her friends back into her rapidly diminishing world. After the radiotherapy she had refused further treatment and her world had, in stages, become her house, downstairs, three rooms, two rooms, her room, her bed. Difficult to witness, I can tell you. The friend was gabbling away and I left them to it. After a while I realised the one sided conversation I was half hearing was all about food and friends who had been written off with cancer but had made a complete recovery and were now eating steak every day! At which point I'd had enough and went back into the room to remonstrate. I asked her to stop talking about food. "Why?" she barked. "Mum isn't eating. She has damage to her mouth and throat. She has no appetite. She is nauseous. The idea of food nauseates her. She is on anti-nausea drugs." "Well, I didn't know that!" "Well, I think you did. It's time for you to go." In the hall I asked if she ever came again if she would refrain from talking about food. "Yes, I'll do that. Would it be all right if I just call out goodbye?" Patronise me, why don't you? "Yes, of course it's all right." "Goodbye Barbara, I'll bring you a plate of food!" I was brought up too well. Why didn't I tell her what I wanted to tell her?
Monday came and I handed over to my brother and that week he received the call telling him we were murderers.
How did he restrain himself? Because the centenarian played her trump card. She said she had discussed mum's case with her GP who agreed we were withholding food. Pete knew it was rubbish. GPs don't discuss one patient with another. Should we give the GP the heads up? No, it will die down. The he received a phone call from another of mum's friends in a different part of town. "I think you and your brother should be giving your mother some food. She needs food." Oh, dear. The silly old bats are spreading this and if they've tagged mum's doctor in as well it could horribly wrong. At its absolute worst, a doctor's reputation is at stake and with it her career. So, we gave the doctor the heads up. She laughed. She'd survived rumours before. The example she gave was when she learned she'd run away with her best friend's husband. A coincidence of holiday dates was all it took to start the tongues wagging. She said she hadn't spoken to the woman for years. If they call again? Tell them to call me. She went on to compliment my bro and me for the care we had provided. She, who visits frequently, the district nurses who are here every day and the carers who are here three times a day have all been wonderful. They've all provided care way above and beyond the call of duty.
And then a cluster of old ladies decide it needed to be turned into something sinister.
I've been called a lot of things in my time. Being labelled a murderer is a departure. Mum is still hanging on. As I said, she was given six to eight weeks to live in August. We must be the world's worst killers.
Mum is ninety and very poorly indeed. The lady who phoned is a hundred and able bodied. Her late husband was a GP. They had family money. This all, apparently, entitles her to telephone local people and put them straight. Sometimes she rides to the miscreant's house on her mobility scooter to deliver her findings. Her theories are simple enough. One is, 'I'm a hundred and able bodied, you are younger and therefore should be doing more for the community/your family/your friends/me' delete as applicable. Another is, 'I'm a hundred and in good health, anyone younger who dies has either committed suicide or been murdered.
I tell ya.
…………………..
That was it. Now the cathartic bit where I get this out of my system. You don't have to read this part.
When he received this news, Pete managed - somehow - to deal politely with the call and then rang me. I reminded him of an odd event the week before when I was there. I had two phone calls on successive days from another friend asking firstly if she could speak to mum, no she couldn't, then asking if she call round, no she couldn't, and then asking if mum would like to go to tea. To put this in context, all mum's friends are either acquainted with mum's problems or could ask another of her friends or could ask us. But they have all asked and they all know. Mum's eyesight had been failing for some time so, as she was a proud lady, she started to go to a local beautician for fairly simple things. Last summer the beautician pointed out a small lump on mum's face that she thought a doctor should look at. We took her to the doctor who said he thought it was a cist and he'd make an appointment at hospital. The doctor at hospital took a sample and was able to tell her very quickly that it was cancerous. The lump was the size of a pea. Appointments were made, scans were taken, biopsies taken, you name it. They were having trouble diagnosing the cancer and this made treatment impossible. Eventually it turned out to be a rare and aggressive cancer in an unusual place. It was a sarcoma at the back of her jaw which by this time, eight weeks later, was around her jaw and appeared to be the size of half a grapefruit. A cure was not possible. The primary cancer was in her lung, this was a secondary cancer that was by now inoperable. The palliative care was a week of radiotherapy, a week's rest and another week of radio therapy. This knocked her out for a couple of weeks. That was in October. Her friends know this. They know eating was difficult. Chewing and swallowing were difficult and uncomfortable. And it was only palliative care and, cards on the table, she was dying. Her friends know this too.
Part of the dying process is loss of appetite. She tried and we tried. What would you like for dinner, mum? Crispy duck pancakes. Yes. Soft, tasty, okay. Drive miles to the supermarket, find crispy duck kit, drive back, cook it, assemble pancakes. Thanks for doing that, dear, but I'm not hungry. The loss of appetite and the difficulty eating complimented each other and she ate less and less. However, during this time she was busy defying all predictions on how long she had left to live. The hospital said she had maybe six weeks or eight weeks last August. Mum's friends know this.
Because of the lump on her face, her general appearance and several incontinence accidents, mum didn't wish to be seen. This we found understandable but we didn't foresee that her friends would interpret us acquiescing to her desire for privacy as us keeping her captive and starving her to death.
Now back to two weeks ago. The door bell rang. It was the friend who had phoned twice. "I've come to see your mother. You won't bar my way!" I was swept aside like a First Year boy in the way of the Head Girl. As it happens, mum was pleased to see her and I rather wished we had found a less dramatic way of introducing some of her friends back into her rapidly diminishing world. After the radiotherapy she had refused further treatment and her world had, in stages, become her house, downstairs, three rooms, two rooms, her room, her bed. Difficult to witness, I can tell you. The friend was gabbling away and I left them to it. After a while I realised the one sided conversation I was half hearing was all about food and friends who had been written off with cancer but had made a complete recovery and were now eating steak every day! At which point I'd had enough and went back into the room to remonstrate. I asked her to stop talking about food. "Why?" she barked. "Mum isn't eating. She has damage to her mouth and throat. She has no appetite. She is nauseous. The idea of food nauseates her. She is on anti-nausea drugs." "Well, I didn't know that!" "Well, I think you did. It's time for you to go." In the hall I asked if she ever came again if she would refrain from talking about food. "Yes, I'll do that. Would it be all right if I just call out goodbye?" Patronise me, why don't you? "Yes, of course it's all right." "Goodbye Barbara, I'll bring you a plate of food!" I was brought up too well. Why didn't I tell her what I wanted to tell her?
Monday came and I handed over to my brother and that week he received the call telling him we were murderers.
How did he restrain himself? Because the centenarian played her trump card. She said she had discussed mum's case with her GP who agreed we were withholding food. Pete knew it was rubbish. GPs don't discuss one patient with another. Should we give the GP the heads up? No, it will die down. The he received a phone call from another of mum's friends in a different part of town. "I think you and your brother should be giving your mother some food. She needs food." Oh, dear. The silly old bats are spreading this and if they've tagged mum's doctor in as well it could horribly wrong. At its absolute worst, a doctor's reputation is at stake and with it her career. So, we gave the doctor the heads up. She laughed. She'd survived rumours before. The example she gave was when she learned she'd run away with her best friend's husband. A coincidence of holiday dates was all it took to start the tongues wagging. She said she hadn't spoken to the woman for years. If they call again? Tell them to call me. She went on to compliment my bro and me for the care we had provided. She, who visits frequently, the district nurses who are here every day and the carers who are here three times a day have all been wonderful. They've all provided care way above and beyond the call of duty.
And then a cluster of old ladies decide it needed to be turned into something sinister.
I've been called a lot of things in my time. Being labelled a murderer is a departure. Mum is still hanging on. As I said, she was given six to eight weeks to live in August. We must be the world's worst killers.
Sounds to me like you and your brother have become surrogate husbands/sons to these auld biddies - you're getting the earache because they've no-one else to take it out on!
I'm not sure that I've ever told an old lady to "f
k-off" and can't see a situation that would cause me to do so but if I were you I may find that this was said situation and that it called for copious use of the phrase.
Good luck.
I'm not sure that I've ever told an old lady to "f
k-off" and can't see a situation that would cause me to do so but if I were you I may find that this was said situation and that it called for copious use of the phrase.Good luck.
How awful for you all. You might find, though, that her friends visiting and talking about food doesn't make her half as nauseous as you might think it does. She'll just be happy to see them, despite her (I'm sure she thinks) "hideous appearance" etc. They're old and stupid but they think they're doing the right thing. You KNOW you are, so just ignore it and keep on keeping on. As for the 100 year old harridan, a stinger strip across the drive will keep her away for a bit!
Pothole said:
As for the 100 year old harridan, a stinger strip across the drive will keep her away for a bit!
I'm not in a position to offer much helpful advice. But you sound like you're doing a great job Dicky, despite very difficult circumstances. Well done and I wish you, your mother and brother all the best for the future.
Thanks, Pothole. Too late now, I'm afraid. Mum has been unconscious since Monday. The only good thing about the intrusive visit was it broke the embargo and several friends have been to see her in that short time. Proper friends, I mean. My youngest lad will be here at lunchtime and I wonder whether his presence will provoke some response from her.
As her eyesight deteriorated further she asked for all the lights to be on all the time plus she has the heating on full blast at all times. A visit from the Police investigating rumours of a cannabis farm would round this out nicely.
As her eyesight deteriorated further she asked for all the lights to be on all the time plus she has the heating on full blast at all times. A visit from the Police investigating rumours of a cannabis farm would round this out nicely.
DickyC said:
As her eyesight deteriorated further she asked for all the lights to be on all the time plus she has the heating on full blast at all times. A visit from the Police investigating rumours of a cannabis farm would round this out nicely.
Glad to see you are keeping your sense of humour.I suspect the old lady has always been a busybody.
Good luck with dealing with things
I think your original post is very well put and I wonder if it might be useful to use it in another way.
By that I mean writing a letter (on a computer with a larger typeface) basically relaying whats said there. Then post it to each of her friends.
It might make them realise the situation you have been in and express how you are doing whats best for her.
Reason I say that is it may deflect any chinese whispers type gossip and as you will unfortunately likely have to arrange a funeral in the coming months perhaps avoid an atmosphere etc at the funeral.
If you get my pov
It isn't easy dealing with your mums end of life care and I wish you all the very best.
By that I mean writing a letter (on a computer with a larger typeface) basically relaying whats said there. Then post it to each of her friends.
It might make them realise the situation you have been in and express how you are doing whats best for her.
Reason I say that is it may deflect any chinese whispers type gossip and as you will unfortunately likely have to arrange a funeral in the coming months perhaps avoid an atmosphere etc at the funeral.
If you get my pov
It isn't easy dealing with your mums end of life care and I wish you all the very best.
It sounds like you and your brother have been amazing people the last few months, and even more so in the face of the rumours and abuse you have received from the busybody.
I doubt i would have been able to bite my tongue like you two have. You are better people than i am, and i hope things go as well as they can in the circumstances
I doubt i would have been able to bite my tongue like you two have. You are better people than i am, and i hope things go as well as they can in the circumstances
Old Man Fred said:
It sounds like you and your brother have been amazing people the last few months, and even more so in the face of the rumours and abuse you have received from the busybody.
I doubt i would have been able to bite my tongue like you two have. You are better people than i am, and i hope things go as well as they can in the circumstances
this post is exactly how i feel.I doubt i would have been able to bite my tongue like you two have. You are better people than i am, and i hope things go as well as they can in the circumstances
stay strong and keep your sense of humour
DickyC said:
she was given six to eight weeks to live in August. We must be the world's worst killers.
I often think that when I see those sensationalist programmes on obscure Sky channels..."America's Worst Serial Killers" I think they mean America's Best Serial Killers. I reckon I must be one of America's worst serial killers, have not killed anyone and not even living in America.
Thanks very much to all. I'm glad I posted, I feel a lot better for having written it all down.
Mum is still with us, still unconscious, still battling on, still defying all predictions.
The district nurse tried another tack when she left at lunchtime. In the past when she had a day off or in one case a week off, she said, "I'll say goodbye. Your mum won't be with us when I get back." Today she said, "I'm off at the weekend and your brother's here next week. I'll see you Monday week."
When I posted originally I imagined other stories coming out about busybodies we have known.
Any busybody stories?
Mum is still with us, still unconscious, still battling on, still defying all predictions.
The district nurse tried another tack when she left at lunchtime. In the past when she had a day off or in one case a week off, she said, "I'll say goodbye. Your mum won't be with us when I get back." Today she said, "I'm off at the weekend and your brother's here next week. I'll see you Monday week."
When I posted originally I imagined other stories coming out about busybodies we have known.
Any busybody stories?
Gassing Station | The Lounge | Top of Page | What's New | My Stuff