Things are not brilliant for now to say the least, and a visit on Sunday was a waste of time as dad refused to speak to me. After all, it's me who has committed him to this dreadful place and me who is responsible for declaring him unable to look after himself.
He had managed to escape on Saturday, and the police had to be called to find him and bring him back to the home, and his behaviour has been somewhat erratic of late. One of the carers, K, is just wonderful, and has him wrapped around her little finger, but I know it's often hard to know how to deal with him.
The psychiatrist has been called in, and they are hoping that a few tweaks to his medication might just help. However, the hospital still has his medical records, since June, and it's proving hard to get a hold of them. I have a lot of faith in this psychiatrist and I'm hopeful that we can at least cut down the sudden mood swings which are prevalent just now.
His four week "trial" is nearing an end, and it's with gratitude that I'm told that he'll be given another wee while yet before a decision is made. The Care Home want to give him a try with the revised medication. If this doesn't work out, goodness knows where he'll go, but I need to cross that bridge if and when we come to it.
I feel for him so much just now, but there's little else that can be done. He's just so unhappy and confused about why he has to be there.
Meanwhile, a house move is on the horizon. We get the keys to the new Rectory on Friday, and are planning to move in by the end of the month. At the moment I could see the upheaval far enough!