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The Dementia Diaries – Chapter Eight – Vultures & The Vulnerable

This would usually be under one of my This Week I have Been… posts but all I have been doing this week, outside of working and sorting out multiple issues for my mum and dad, is listening to a BBC Sounds Podcast – Intrigue – Million Dollar Lover. I have been absolutely engrossed in this true and very sad story of the romance between Carolyn, an eighty year old widow and fifty seven year old Dave, a homeless, ex-crystal meth addict. Oh, and did I mention that Carolyn is a multi millionaire? Predictably Carolyn’s two daughters, Sally and Susan do not approve of this drifter coming in and setting up home with their mother, and who can really blame them? As tensions rise it looks like there is a possibility that Dave might inherit Carolyn’s entire estate.  Carolyn is absolutely besotted with Dave and there seems no doubt that, despite his drinking and quick temper, he is making her happy. It is she that invites him into her bed and he almost just seems to go along with the arrangement. Is this real love or is something darker afoot?

Intrigue – Million Dollar Lover is written by Winifred Robinson who, Radio Four listeners will be familiar with from her work on You and Yours. The presenter is Sue Mitchell who lives in the same road as Carolyn in the wealthy Californian town of Cayucos. Dave was doing some work on Sue’s house and was friendly with her next door neighbour who has introduced Carolyn and Dave. It must have been difficult for Sue to remain impartial when she was actually involved in the every day lives of these people but she shows great empathy with all involved, especially Dave’s daughter’s Cody and Amber who have really had the most awful childhood because of Dave’s heartless and selfish behaviour. Amber’s story is simply staggering. Meanwhile, Carolyn’s daughters could teach a masterclass in how not to behave when your mum takes up with a potential bamboozler. Sue recorded the podcast in her own time mistakenly thinking it would be some light relief from the stories of “violence and exploitation” which she so often reports on.

Financial abuse of elders is incredibly common, Sue Mitchell describes it as a silent epidemic. When I worked for an estate agent I spoke to the niece of a vendor who was very upset that the property had to be sold in order that her uncle, the owner, could go into a care home. The uncle lived in Kent and the niece in Scotland so understandably she was not able to offer much in the way of day to day practical help and she felt very guilty about this. The niece told me that she had employed a half a dozen different carers and that every single one of them had stolen from her uncle. Now this seems vey unlucky and I am sure there are many carers out there who do a wonderful job of looking after the people they are paid to help. Years ago, when my lovely grandmother was alive, a local man offered to mow the miniscule square of grass that made up her garden, he said he’d love to help her out. He charged her a week’s pension. I have mentioned in another post that roofers climbed on my elderly aunt’s property without her knowledge, dislodged some tiles and then tried to extract money from her to repair it. She had to spend several hundred pounds calling out a reputable company to fix the damage. The same aunt is a bit of a Facebook addict and will engage in online chat with anybody, I suppose she is lonely. She posts mostly on missing dog pages and then strangers send her private messages which she replies to, fortunately she abandons the conversation when they raise the prospect of her sending them some money. When her Facebook account was hacked I got the job of recovering it. Her messenger had been spamming her friends list and, as I tried to resolve this, I was horrified to see that people who she has known for years and considered friends were messaging her saying things like they were surprised my aunt had only sent a small amount of money for their grandson’s twenty first birthday, perhaps she could see her way to sending another, bigger cheque. My usually very confident aunt was amazingly meek and compliant in her replies and even apologised profusely, she did also send further funds . The cheek of these people. My aunt has no children and I believe it is her intention to leave her estate to The Dog’s Trust but these people are constantly circling. One couple, in their fifties, persuaded her to drive them the twenty five miles to Gatwick airport, they have three grown up children but decided to ask a frail, eighty-nine woman stating that they could not afford a taxi (although they could afford a fortnight in Spain). They even let her lift the suitcases and then, two weeks later she collected them. They offered no contribution towards fuel. Afterwards my aunt rang me, very upset and said that she felt silly for letting them take advantage of her that way. What parasites, I was furious when she told me – perhaps not exactly financial abuse but I feel they deserve a special mention.

My mother-in-law has had money stolen from her more times than I can count, more than a hundred thousand pounds. She lost most of it through a time-share scheme advertised in the back of the Daily Mail a decade or so ago. The properties were not even built. For as long as she is judged to have capacity there is nothing my husband or his brothers can do about it, she will not listen to their warnings. Last week a man charged her four hundred pounds to put up one shelf, it wasn’t even straight. For a woman who grew up in the East End of London she is remarkably gullible. In Million Dollar Lover – Sue Mitchell discussed research which has shown that, as we age, our ability to make sound financial decisions diminishes along with our eyesight and reaction time. Carolyn’s daughters wanted to protect her fortune by having her declared as lacking the mental capacity to manage her own affairs, but Carolyn passed the memory tests. I know from my own mum that, for years, the tests she had at the memory clinic gave a result of her having just mild cognitive decline when it was clear to us, her family, that her condition was far worse than that.

Million Dollar Lover is absolutely addictive listening, there are ten episodes and you will find yourself constantly changing your mind about the motives of those involved. I listen to a lot of BBC podcasts, the thriller Tracks, probably being my all time favourite, but I had never come across Intrigue before. There are seven different seasons, all different stories, that I can now look forward to listening to

https://www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/m001t3nf – Intrigue – Million Dollar Lover on BBC Sounds

Thank you for reading,

Samantha

Cover Photo by Pawel Czerwinski on Unsplash

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Haircut Heartbreak

When I was a little girl my mum used to take me to have my super-fine hair cut at the hairdresser at the top of our road in Hornchurch, “La Vivienne”. Mum would lament the fact that she had lovely thick, curly hair and here was her daughter with fine “can’t do thing with it” hair. Vivienne would agree and I would sit there feeling ashamed. VIvienne would complain that my hair was knotty and my Mum would nod sadly. I really feel sad for my five year old self when I remember this and these visits undoubtedly contributed to a life-long inferiority complex about my hair and looks in general. When I was eight we went to visit my Mum’s Auntie Nora who lived in Southport. I had never met her before and, upon being introduced, Nora remarked sharply that my hair was untidy. Mum immediately took me to a nearby hairdresser and my hair was cut into a “Purdy”, a style named after Joanna Lumley’s character in The Avengers. I was then re-presented to Nora to see if I was now acceptable. Once I reached the age of ten Mum made me have my hair cut very short. I hated it and the other girls would ask why my hair was cut like a boys. No wonder I had such little self-confidence growing up.

As a child the only hair product we had in the house was Johnson & Johnson’s “No More Tears” shampoo. I can’t remember washing my hair more than once or twice a week and it became greasy very quickly. When I was fifteen I purchased some lemon shampoo in Boots and began washing my hair every other day and it was suddenly SO much better. Between the ages of sixteen and twenty one it was usually permed at a salon in Romford Market which gave it a bit of life. Who remembers scrunch-drying their permed hair with a diffuser attachment? At twenty one I went to a very posh hairdresser in Elm Park and began to have it hi-lighted. The hairdresser was called Melanie and she was lovely. For the first time in my life I felt like my hair actually looked good. I had a well-paid job at the time and only used Paul Mitchell products. Having hair professionally coloured is a pricey business and it is probably still my biggest personal expense. A few years ago I went to a local hairdresser who declared that hi-lights are “brassy not classy” and persuaded me to have an all-over tint. It came out orange and I never went back. I actually don’t think she knew how to properly hi-light hair.

Me, aged eighteen, with my permed hair

Until the pandemic I would wash and blow dry my hair almost every day. Now it is every other day. It is still a huge chore although it dries quickly. A friend of mine can wash her hair fortnightly and it still looks bouncy and clean. It really isn’t fair. My hair is in a perpetual blonde bob of variable length, I suspect I will be wearing this way when I am eighty, if I live that long. My favourite Elvive shampoo has just been discontinued so I am using some Treseme that I picked up in the supermarket. The conditioner is actually perfect, very lightweight and rinses out easily.

So the moral of this story is be careful how you speak about your children especially when they are within earshot. If someone is unkind about them take your business elsewhere. If an elderly relative deems your child to be unacceptably unkempt then leave their stuffy old living room never to return.

Thank you for reading,

Samantha

Header Photo by Adam Winger on Unsplash

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The Dementia Diaries – Chapter Seven Another Birthday

It’s my Dad’s eighty-ninth birthday. Considering he had a heart attack a year ago he is doing well. He is still doing the most wonderful job of looking after my mum, never complaining and always cheerful. I try to see my parents on their birthdays but this year I am very pushed for time as I have an appointment in London. I pop in at around 11am with cards and the very unimaginative gift of an Amazon voucher. Dad recently discovered Amazon and it has been very useful as it is now near impossible for him and mum to go to the shops. Dad answers the door and I can see Mum in the kitchen already looking confused. She hasn’t had breakfast yet, Dad has told me that she is sleeping more now. I say Good Morning to her and point out that it is Dad’s birthday. She smiles and nods but I can tell she either couldn’t hear me or didn’t comprehend what I had said. Last year Dad bought himself a “to my husband” birthday card and got Mum to sign it but he hasn’t done that this year. I feel dreadful, Dad hasn’t got a card from Mum. I bought cards for my children to sign but forgot about getting one from her. Even those of us without dementia can’t remember everything all the time can we?

Dad opens the cards and I am very touched to see the beautiful message my twenty year old daughter has written for him. He has quite a few cards from old friends who he keeps in touch with. Mum looks at the cards, commenting on the lovely illustrations, but makes no mention of the fact that it is her husband’s birthday. The cards go on the window sill along with some Christmas cards that should have been taken down months ago and cards from Mum’s birthday back in February. I suggest putting some of the Christmas cards in the recycling but Mum won’t hear of it.

I tell my parents that I have a GP appointment about my migraines and Mum starts to suggest that she attend along with me. I have to tactfully decline her offer. She then begins her usual routine of asking about their next door neighbours, she asked the same question maybe five or six times within half an hour. The neighbours are in their nineties and the man, who is suffering from Alzheimer’s disease recently had to go into a care home as his wife could not cope any more. My Dad explained this fact to my Mum at the time and, although she doesn’t seem to retain it, something has stuck with her because she keeps asking where he is and then saying “oh no, they’ve put him away”. I hope she doesn’t say this to the man’s lovely wife who has been struggling for a few years now and desperately needed some help. In fact she has just had a nasty fall down the stairs and is in hospital herself. “Put him/her away” is a phrase my aunt uses as well when talking about care homes. Her good friend has just died after just two months in a home. She had several bad falls whilst a resident but the cause of death was related to her not taking her daily heart medication. Surely that is something the nursing staff should have been overseeing? Isn’t that partly why the cost of her care was in excess of £8,000 per month?

My parents managed the short walk into the village and had a coffee in the cafe and that was the extent of Dad’s birthday celebrations. My brother visited later in the week and a childhood friend of Dad’s popped in so it wasn’t a complete non-event. Here is hoping he will be here next year to celebrate his ninetieth.

Thank you for reading,

Samantha

Cover Photo by Pawel Czerwinski on Unsplash

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Film Review – Mothers’ Instinct

This review contains spoilers. Mothers’ Instinct is a psychological thriller starring Anne Hathaway and Jessica Chastain. Set in the American suburbs of the 1960’s, Hathaway plays Celine and Chastian plays Alice. The director is Benoît Delhomme who is clearly heavily inspired by Alfred Hitchcock. Alice is styled like Hitchcock’s favourite leading lady, Tippi Hedren with her blonde hair in a french twist and her strappy sundresses. Obviously Hathaway and Chastain are both ridiculously beautiful and they are permanently dressed in ultra-feminine dresses, usually revealing unblemished shoulders and décolletage. Celine even wears six inch stilettoes to do the vacuuming.

Alice and Celine are next door neighbours and good friends, they are both stay at home “moms”, married to successful and handsome men. Alice is married to Simon, played by Anders Danielsen Lie, some sort of accounts executive, and Celine’s husband is Damian, played by Josh Charles. I found Josh Charles a little distracting because he reminds me so much of ex British Prime Minister, David Cameron. Damian is a doctor and Celine is happy to stay at home full time and look after her only child, eight year old Max. Alice and Simon also have an eight year old son, Theo, who is brilliantly played by Eamon Patrick O’Connell. Alice has aspirations to return to her career in journalism but Simon is unsupportive of this and makes some patronising suggestions that maybe she could help out at the boy’s school newspaper. We learn that Celine is unable to have any more children and that Alice has only had one child by choice, Simon would like to have more.

Mothers’ Instinct did have me hiding behind my hands at some points but then I am a lightweight when it comes to scary films. The clues are a bit heavy handed in places. My son and husband are both anaphylactic and it amazes me how potentially fatal food allergies have become such tropes in films and books. Theo is allergic to peanuts and Alice understandably lives in fear of him accidentally ingesting something containing nuts.

Everything is picture perfect in suburbia, Celine drives her gleaming car with Max and Theo, in the back seat, the three of them singing Did You Ever See a Lassie loudy in preparation for a school concert. Celine spends more time looking over her shoulder than at the road and I was sure this is when disaster would strike but no, they made it home to their huge homes without incident.

The couples do a fair bit of socialising in each others homes, decanters and canapes are always at hand and it did seem like wife-swapping may be on the cards but then a dreadful accident befalls Max and everything changes. Does Celine blame Alice for not saving Max or is that just in Alice’s imagination? I was irritated by the fact that there are four main characters and two of them have been afflicted by serious mental illness and they are both of the women. Celine’s unravelling is unnerving to say the least but how ill can she really be to be so conniving? Her gaslighting skills are monumental. Damian and Celine seem unable to help each other through their grief and Damian is also falling apart but in a less spectacular fashion. Celine attends Theo’s birthday party in her mourning garb and stands watching everyone else’s child play happily having only laid hers to rest weeks or even days before. Of course this makes everybody uncomfortable and Simon’s mother tries to tactfully suggest that it isn’t the best place for her, which did not go well. So, is Simon right and Alice having a paranoiac episode or is Celine plotting some sort of terrible revenge? Alice takes matters into her own hands to find out and to protect her family.

I enjoyed Mothers’ Instinct although it was a bit clunky in places. I did not see the ending coming and found it satisfactorily shocking. I loved the glamour of the film which was a remake of a Belgium film, Duelle. Chastain and Hathaway were both wonderful in their roles and complimented each other perfectly and it is refreshing to see two women take to lead.

Thank you for reading,

Samantha

Cover Photo by Myke Simon on Unsplash

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Migraine Misery

What does a migraine feel like? Well I suppose it is different for every sufferer. I am on the fourth day of a migraine that feels like somebody is power drilling into my left eyeball. It usually starts with a pulsating pain in my eye and radiates out to my temple, ear and neck. Sometimes my gums start throbbing as well and I feel nauseous. The pain usually lasts around four days. My prescription medication, Sumitriptan, is generally very effective but sometimes it just doesn’t work and this seems to be happening more often as of late. I rang my GP surgery a month ago for a “non-urgent” appointment and am finally booked to see a doctor next week.

I had my first migraine while having lunch with my mum in the restaurant in Debenhams department store, Romford in 1986. I was eating an egg mayonnaise sandwich and the pain just hit me out of nowhere. I can eat eggs, a couple a week, but more than that and I can expect to have a pounding head. Other triggers include processed cheese, grinding my teeth, stress, being dehydrated, being overtired, perfume and repetitive noise. Since my first attack I have seen my GP a few times but they never refer me on for a brain scan simply telling me it isn’t necessary as long as the pain doesn’t change its pattern. My GP surgery isn’t big on sending people for tests.

I sit at my computer for at least three days every week for my job, I am a Personal Assistant to a private hospital consultant, not a neurologist sadly. Like the rest of the world I also spend too much of every day pointlessly scrolling through my phone and then I will often watch an hour of something on Netflix before I go to bed. So much screen time! I have just had my eyes tested though and that doesn’t appear to be the cause.

I stopped taking HRT in the summer after I had a migraine for almost every day during July. I saw my GP who hardly even glanced in my direction and said, again, that I don’t need further investigation as the pain is the same as it has always been. He told me to come off HRT for a fortnight and see if it made a difference. Surely it would take more than a fortnight for the effects to be noticeable? Anyway I have not resumed taking it but that is another thing I want to discuss during my ten minute appointment next week. I initially started taking HRT after two five minute telephone consultations. I had read that it could be helpful in warding off dementia. There were no blood tests involved so I don’t understand how the GP knew which hormones I needed if they didn’t know which I was deficient in. I have now started waking up in the night feeling hotter than the surface of the sun so perhaps I need to restart.

During the five years proceeding my menopause I had weekly horrible migraines. My family got fed up with hearing about it. People think it is a “just a headache”. I was working in an office and I am sure the colleague I sat next to thought I was addicted to pain killers. I actually try to take as few painkillers as I can get away with but you try looking at a screen all day and making chirpy phone calls when it feels like you have a pick-axe embedded in your brain. It is different if you are at home and can go and lie in a quiet dark room but who has time to do that?

So, a rather moany post from me but I will report back after my visit to the GP. Wish me luck.

Thanks for reading,

Samantha


Cover Photo by Myriam Zilles on Unsplash