Saw Richard today for the first time in two weeks.  I was kept waiting while he was toileted and then given a shave.  He's pale from lack of sun although he says he gets outside every day.  The psoriasis is rampant - and he didn't remember he was told Heritage was in lockdown - by staff, by me on the phone, by me in the postcard I sent on the Monday after the lockdown began.  He thought I'd just stopped coming.  Kept wanting me to come closer.  We sat outside (guests can now sit on the patio).  I held his hand, hugged him, stroked his arrm, kissed his forehead.  He misses sleeping with me.  Says he's going to come home.  Says if he doesn't get out of there he'll go crazy.  

What can I say?  He can't come home.  He is less 'present' than before, less in control of his bodily functions, less mobile, less able to get up on his own (he tried while I was there).  One of the staff said some days he's more mobile, walks (with walker) a bit better, other days he's only safe in a wheelchair.  His eyes were fixed on the middle distance, had trouble making eye contact with me.  Not out of shyness or lack of interest, it's just the LBD and Parky.

 He had lunch, they brought him a tray.  I cut up his food.  Fed him too although he managed the chips okay.  He accepted I had to leave.  I'd been there two hours and had to have my lunch.    

He's not a master of the wheelchair.  Pushes the wheels forwards with tiny pushes, doesn't grasp the concept of gripping further up and pushing down.  

To my shame I am so relieved when I leave.  There is a smell to me after - not of poo or disenfectant or anything biologically icky - but something I find repellent.  Can't wait to get outside and fill my lungs with unfiltered air, to fill my eyes with distant horizons.  Yes, I can well understand he may be going crazy.  I would.  God help me, I would.