Patients in their homes: seeing the big picture

Abstract

As I whizz around the lounge plumping the cushions for the fifth time and shrieking, ‘Don’t sit on the sofa!’ at my rather startled but beautifully presented children with their freshly washed hair and matching socks, you would be forgiven for thinking that the queen was dropping by for tea. ‘Why are you making this much effort for Grannie Annie? Do you think she even notices all this stuff?’ asks my son, James, and — momentarily — my temporary domestic Goddess impression falters. ‘What a good question’ I note, basking briefly in a warm glow of motherly pride at having raised such an insightful son while simultaneously completing a postgraduate diploma in nursing. ‘Because.... I would rather she didn’t see how we really live!’ I respond emphatically and recommence my tidying spree. Hours later, lying in bed utterly exhausted from the efforts of presenting a false image of my perfect life, I wonder why I feel it necessary to put myself under such pressure. She gave birth to me, chased the monsters out from under my bed and dealt with my troubled teenage years. In short, nobody knows me better than my own mother and yet, I feel I need to put on a ‘front’ for her. In fact, I keep up appearances for anybody who steps over the threshold. There are many times I have considered inviting my friends around for drinks and then decided I couldn’t face the obligatory pre-event cleaning frenzy and spent the evening alone. If others do the same, I wonder how many social engagements I have missed out on for this reason? In the same way that the magazine fashion model is airbrushed to appear several pounds lighter and several shades darker, so property programmes and glossy magazines present perfect houses that are clearly not lived in. Despite this, my friends and I reinforce this image by ensuring the candles are lit and the cushions plumped when we visit each other’s houses. The reality of living with two messy children is far removed from this sanitised ideal and when no guests are expected, the place has a look that is very much ‘lived in’. When I am unwell or stressed out, the state of my house reflects that. I am reminded of a patient I visited while on a community placement. She had just days left to live having battled for many years with cancer. Her lounge had been overtaken by her hospital bed, medication and assorted equipment that was enabling her to spend her last days at home. When we arrived she