Sadness but also love in a wonderful place
ON Friday morning, when the news broke about 11 Covid-19related deaths at St Mary’s in the Phoenix Park, I thought of all those lovely people — the patients, their poor families and the staff. My heart goes out to them. And I thought about my lovely parents, who have been in the nursing home at St Mary’s for two years now.
Death is part of life in nursing homes, but this is different. I already knew about coronavirus in St Mary’s. For some time now, I’ve been getting regular updates. As they kindly said: “We don’t want you to learn about it from some other source.”
The relentless grim stories can grind you down. But let me tell you about the St Mary’s Nursing Home that I know and love so well.
Having been in the brilliantly run hospital, my parents are now residents in the nursing home. The lockdown started very early there and I am glad of that.
The residents’ well-being is their main priority. Up until then, we practically lived in the place. My kids would charge down the corridor and they would know we had arrived.
My parents are in a beautiful, light-filled building with art all over the walls. At the time it was opened, Charlie Haughey insisted a percentage of the budget had to be spent on art — to lift the spirits.
The care is exquisite. There is a doctor on duty 24 hours, and they do deepcleaning every day. It is spotless. And what can I say about the magnificent staff ? The nurses, the healthcare workers, the doctors, the dinner ladies, the activities people, the cleaners, the security guards, the ambulance drivers — one person is as nice as the next. As I said to my mother, these people are our family now.
They treat my parents with such kindness and respect and the utmost professionalism. Every day they go beyond the call of duty to keep the residents happy. Even a hairdresser comes in to do my mam’s hair and trim my dad’s few sprigs.
There are painting classes, gardening, music and parties. If they can’t read the newspapers, they have someone to read them and they chat about what’s going on in the world.
The other day, my mother told me that she had been wheeled outside in the grounds and my father had the same treat. It was the simple joy of getting some fresh air and listening to birdsong.
At the moment, there is sadness and suffering but St Mary’s is a wonderful place. It is usually full of love and laughter.
The last time I saw my parents was on Mother’s
Day. No longer allowed to visit, we found a way around it. I stood in the car park with my husband and kids, holding a homemade banner with Happy Mother’s Day on it. Then my parents were wheeled out to a corridor where they could see us.
The nurses opened the window and we smiled and blew kisses at each other. Then we all sang Dublin Can
Be Heaven, my father’s party piece. In the end, my dad gave us the thumbs up and then pretended to head the ball from his wheelchair. Old habits die hard.
In the 1950s, he was a centre-forward for Shelbourne and a great goalscorer. My mother said the visit had made her day and I was thrilled to be within their radius.
The staff are so kind, and they treat my parents like they are their own. They even spoil my children.
One exceptional healthcare worker has bought Easter eggs for my kids. They are in my mother’s drawer, waiting to be eaten when all this is over.
Due to Alzheimer’s, my father is oblivious to Covid-19 but my mother is glued to the news. She knows exactly what is going on and she asks me to pray she doesn’t get it. I tell her that I can’t wait to smother them both in kisses.
In the meantime, we try to keep their spirits up. Neither parent can use a mobile phone, so we send letters in the post. Every time I get an urge to chat with my parents, which is pretty often, I put pen to paper. I just tell them about our daily life — thudding to Joe Wicks’s PE.
My daughter draws pictures of my mam and my son writes letters telling them that they are amazing. He gets to practise his handwriting, too, so it’s home-schooling as well.
I frequently put in a pair of earrings in the envelopes. Even in the middle of this, my mam still wears them.
I send in old photos and other days I post DVDs — Poldark, September Affair and Miranda, for laughs. Juno and the Paycock is coming to the Olympia in July. It is my father’s favourite play and he has never missed a production. We told him about it, to give him hope. And these days, it’s all about hope.
I am so thankful my parents are still well and so well minded. My dad is so impressed with the food that he asks for second helpings. And my mother still has a laugh.
One day, she told me that she watched Fifty Shades of Grey with her room-mate. They lusted after Jamie Dornan and then my mother told me the steamy plot, about how he asked the girl to take off her knickers in the packed lift.
She joked with her room-mate that they weren’t getting into the lift in St Mary’s. I was so thankful to hear that laugh.
This is life in St Mary’s Nursing Home. I thank each and every one of the staff, risking their lives as they give magnificent care.