Elsie was relieved, as were we, that she had taken the decision all those years ago to move into Sea Point Place. She would get care in a place where she was known and liked – it had been a smart move. She did not seem or feel very ill, and in fact with the diagnosis of cancer she seemed much less troubled by physical aches and pains. She had been recognised, her worries validated, and the pains in her body now had a story. The oncologist was kind and promised Elsie that she would never lie to her, and Elsie (and we) felt that she was in good hands.

Not long after the diagnosis, Elsie had a fall in her room, which upset her but did not seem to hurt her that much. As a precaution, she was moved into the hospital section of the home for a bit, so she could be properly monitored. My heart sank at the bleak atmosphere and the shiny yellow paint on the walls, but Elsie did not seem to mind this. She took on the role of being frail and sick without complaint, and indeed with some gusto. A few nights after she moved into the hospital section, where she was being monitored, she fell hard on the back of the head, and sustained a nasty gash. We took her to the hospital where she was cleaned up, and discharged back to the hospital section of the home.

I was due to do some training in Zimbabwe, and felt anguish about whether to go or not. I decided eventually to go – I would not be that far away, and the home had realised the mistake they had made in not looking after her carefully before. When I was in Harare I got a call from Louise. Elsie had fallen again, this time onto her face, and she needed stitches. She was at the casualty department at the hospital with her. I felt awful. This had happened while I was away. Now I was in Harare having to make the decision to leave the training and run home to mother. There was no real problem, as I simply handed over the training to my more than competent research assistant, and I knew he would do an excellent job.