At Eastwood Priory, as the dining-room was about to be used for some purpose, the Old Man and I talked in his bedroom. I took him there in a wheelchair.
The Old Man talked about going home, which he thought was 33 Millpond Road — this is a house in Shoreville where his sister lived for many years. I reminded him that he lived in Acacia Grove.
Later he said:
“I’d like to see your mother. It’s a long time since I saw her.” I tried to divert him on to some other subject, but a few moments later he said the same thing again.
One of the nurses (not the same one as on the Saturday) called to administer the paracetamol tablets and the pain-killing cream.
Not long afterwards, the Old Man and I were talking about his morning routine, and how one of the carers knocks on his bedroom door to wake him. He said:
“The girl wakes me, and then I dash downstairs for breakfast.”
Eastwood Priory is all on one level.
On my way out, I told the West Indian carer about this. “He’s in a dream world,” I said.
[Original posting 19 September 2011]