Fresh Mud

Living with FSH muscular dystrophy.

Reading single entry; go to the home page.

When I came to this care home in December 2014, it was for respite and was only supposed to be for a few months, but after being here for a while I asked if I could stay; I felt really safe here and was actually looking to move away from where I was living anyway. I was surprised and pleased when they said yes with almost no question; my family asked me if I was sure that I wanted to live in a home rather than my own home, but I assured them that it would be a good thing for me and for my health.

At the time I was living alone in a bungalow in Kidderminster and had been there for 14 years. I moved in with my girlfriend after we have been together for around 18 months, but, sadly, she passed away after succumbing to cancer in 2012. I had moved to Kidderminster to be with her and not had no reason to stay, especially in a house that did nothing but remind me of what I had lost.

I was having good care at home with carers from an agency calling in several times a day, and overnight care from a different agency, too. The problem was that I was spending more time alone than I liked and just wasn’t really looking after myself as well as I should have been. Being here in this home and being surrounded by carers 24 hours a day gave me an enormous feeling of safety; I was also getting the therapy I needed and just having people there to talk to helped immensely.

Over the five years I’ve been here I’ve seen plenty of staff come and go, some I’m sad to lose and a few I’m very glad to see the back of! (Occasionally you meet someone who makes you question why they’re in care because they clearly don’t.) I have met some great people here and one or two have kept in touch after leaving; one of these I am especially close with and still socialise with occasionally.

There isn’t really a point to this post other than to add a little more background to my story.