I recently found myself wondering whatever happened to my beautiful home. When did it cease to be a thing of joy; somewhere I couldn’t wait to come to at the end of each day? A true sanctuary from an increasingly crazy world. A place where I felt safe, where serenity was the accepted thing, and where clutter did not exist.
Home was a place where my husband and I could relax and enjoy the wonderful treasures we had collected over the years. We could look at the stunning, jewel like rugs on the floor and remember where we bought each one. We could admire the amazing porcelain and crystal treasures, which had withstood the onslaught of young children. Most of all home was a place where we could sit back and delve into the hundreds of books that lined the walls of our reading room. This was our greatest joy.
After a succession of enthusiastic occupational therapists and various, well meaning medical personnel, our once amazing home is a bare shadow of its once serene self.
Gone are our gleaming, brightly coloured rugs. In their place is a bland, vanilla depressing wall to wall practical carpet.
Gone are most of our books. They are considered too hazardous, apparently they could fall and cause an injury.
Gone are all our treasured porcelain and crystal pieces. They apparently could break and cause an injury.
Our wonderful fine porcelain dinner plates and silver cutlery are gone too, and most heartbreaking of all, missing is our shimmering crystal glassware.
In their placed we have fake China plates and cups (read: glorified plastic here, two-handled ‘sippy cup’ type drinkware) and cutlery that has no cutting edge.
All of this I am assured is for my husband’s benefit. All of this has been designed to make his life safe and secure. But recently it was the last straw for me.
Another young occupational therapist came to inspect the bathroom. The towel rails are to be replaced by galvanised piping rails, the bath is to be surrounded by more galvanised piping, and the glass doors on the shower are to be replaced by a plastic shower curtain.
In short, the final steps into turning our once wonderful home into a quasi-medical ward. I now hate our house, it is no longer our home.
I was informed that my role was to clean the house, do the laundry, and physically care for my husband. I was told that my concerns that the house was being turned into a part medical ward were ill-placed and I should only consider my husband’s needs.
Nobody, absolutely nobody, seems to take into account that this is, or rather was, my home too.
Right now, I am feeling so low that all I want to do is get into the car, point it in any direction and go as far away as possible.
I am sure that there are many people worse off than me, but at this point I am too tired to care.