At night, I often think ‘how did it come to this’? ‘How did my life change completely? ‘How is it that so many people suddenly got an impression of me that is totally different to the one they had for years, if not decades? That is totally at odds with the individual I am. In short, how did a good Samaritan who paid for her mother’s care and repairs, currently more than £100k, end up in a well, thrown there by a confused person, those who worked with him or were influenced by him eg GPs, social workers and district nurses? As mum died before I could be cleared, the mud stuck. Eighteen months on and I continue to feel the effects of that damn safeguarding enquiry. I notice it in the hostile attitude shown by GPs at my practice. No one is willing to get me out of the well. They just pop by to ask how I am. ‘Still here, treading water’. But how long can my body continue this? How long can my mind stay sane, at least during the day?
The recurrent thought is that I was thrown in the well based on gossip. No one checked any of the accusations e.g. take five minutes to review the drug records or look to see how much Oramorph was left in the bottle. I still have no idea what the accusations were or what the ‘evidence’ was.
It’s hard to leave such a traumatic event behind you if you continue to experience the after-effects. And not surprisingly, the distress has affected my cortisol levels and these in turn undermines immune function etc.
On the other hand, I’m beginning to find out who really cares about me. Who see me for the person I am and was. But life has never been so challenging. Physically, mentally (proud how long I managed to keep my emotions under control and sleep well), and financially (as a pensioner, I lost disability benefits bar PIP. They were replaced by a state pension. My income therefore no longer covers my minimal care. I’m digging into the savings meant to pay for food, clothes, taxis etc. Those savings will not last long.
Today, I was refused counselling. I didn’t meet the criteria. (No one died.) So it’s back to square one.
I’ve put my affairs in order, lest my heart or brain gives up. It’s a reassuring thought but the sadness which followed the witch-hunt dominates my life. Did I really deserve this? And if I was less than perfect, why did they not talk to me but rush to the social workers or GP?
The other recurring thought remembers how person X instructed two carers and me to limit the use of the prescribed controlled drugs. I responded that we would do the best for mum and then I left, as I had no involvement in medication, or any interest. If he didn’t like a drug, that was something to take up with the GP. I trusted the carers to care and to do what the GP had advised. That is what they used to do. On the 13th May 2020, the phone call informing me of the safeguarding investigation changed my life. On the 17th, mum died. She’s at peace, I hope.
My current ‘big problems include a TV that misses a transformer, no laundry liquid that doesn’t make me itch, the continuing search for a washing machine that doesn’t take over 2 hours to wash my sheets at 60, and a possibility that I might have Covid. But who knows what the future will bring? Maybe someone will come and pull me back onto dry land. And then my immune system will calm down, I shall be able to tolerate perfumed products again and eat hamburgers. As mum used to say, ‘you never know what’s around the corner’. Let’s hope she was right.
Postscript
2022. Another postscript. It’s taken a while but what I’ve learnt above all else is what an unempathetic family I have. It was small, courtesy of Hitler, but not one challenged the liar and instructed him to stop being so stupid and fracture relationships for kicks. Ok. It was always slightly dysfunctional, short on wisdom and support. The war left its mark. Some may have (had) a superiority complex. Two put mum’s life at risk by not following basic hygiene rules. The resulting infections just made her more frail. They wanted to throw away mum’s property without discussing it with her (Illegal). And if they were shopping, they didn’t ring to ask mum if she wanted or needed anything as my friends do. Anyway, they are not a good example of the supportive, caring family. Where people help those who need it. That is what the safeguarding enquiry unearthed. It was based on the daftest, most unintelligent and unrealistic accusations (eg that I phoned 999 and got mum admitted to hospital because she had had an enema. Neither and accident nor emergency. It could not have happened. And it didn’t.) The enquiry got nowhere and wouldn’t have led anywhere. It was someone’s idea of fun. Attention seeking par excellence. Well, they had their fun/attention for a few months. But it was toxic, and those who perpetuated it are in my view, a touch toxic too. It’s not how you treat people. A decent individual would have suggested they calm down and resolve issues by talking. And not to engage in a smear campaign with enablers etc. Only the arrogant won’t see that should have happened.
Re toxic people. After I had read all the records but one, and learnt about narcissism and the ‘flying monkeys’ who spread rumour’s and basically do the dirty work, I wrote to the two carers who had invented a different reality as far as my mum and I were concerned and were cited as the main witnesses. In a private message to each, I explained about ‘flying monkeys’ and although I now know what they did, I don’t know why. Actually, I don’t care. If they limited mum’s pain relief and lied out of ‘concern’ for her, then in my view, they were deceiving themselves. I also wrote a letter to my GP who, in my view, was also a victim. It’s provided me with a sort of closure. As long as no one starts spreading more lies, this part of my life is over.
Before the silliness, I thought we were all pretty normal. Well, we ceased to be in 2020. Such a shame. But it’s best to surround yourself with kind souls and stay away from those out to harm you or side with those who do. They will always be dangerous. Psychs refer to this as ending contact. I might have mentioned this before. It’s important, hence the repetition. Don’t tread water. You don’t need to.
A wobbly tulip from Amsterdam. 