Tag: Dementia

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To HRT or Not to HRT – Part One

On By samanthaIn HEALTHLeave a comment

The menopause, I am in my mid fifties and it is still a mystery to me. During my peri-menopause my periods got heavier and my migraines became much worse but, since then, I haven’t really had any symptoms. Or have I? I wake most nights feeling hotter than the surface of the sun and I sleep terribly, I’m usually awake between 3am and 4am. Then, in my research about preventing dementia I heard one Podcaster, Max Lugavere, whose mother died in her fifties from dementia, speak about how HRT can be an effective tool in warding off cognitive decline. I decided to undertake some rather belated research into HRT. Very few of my friends take it. Some of them have concerns about the increased risk of developing certain cancers and some are simply reluctant to take artificial hormones. Woman spend a third of their lives in menopause yet many of us really don’t know how to handle it or are even afraid of it. It seems to be viewed as the end of us being young(ish) and the first step on the path to decrepitude. Women past child bearing age are definitely less visible in society overall.

Some symptoms of menopause are well known, mood swings, insomnia, hot flushes and brain fog but I was blissfully unaware of some other potential issues such as the inner labia shrivelling once the body’s oestrogen supply is depleted. I have noticed that one or two of my friends have already begun to look slightly frail and post-menopause there is commonly a loss of muscle mass. I have definitely become a more anxious person during the past decade and this also seems to be the case for many women. The lack of sleep was my most concerning symptom, even more so than the migraines, because there is strong evidence that good quality sleep contributes to good brain health.

I listened to a few podcasts on the subject but all of the hosts seemed to have gone down the personalised private healthcare route, blood tests and hormones tailored just for them. My experience on the NHS has not been anything like that. Once I had decided to give HRT a try I had a five minute telephone consultation with a locum GP. To be fair, she seemed very knowledgeable on the subject and said she thought it was a good idea for me to take HRT as it can help prevent both osteoporosis and cognitive decline as long as the woman begins the treatment within six years of finishing her periods. She prescribed Estradiol patches, to be changed twice weekly and Utrogestan tablets to be taken before bedtime every night. She then called me a fortnight later to see how I was getting on. That was it, the extent of the medical advice. It seems to be a strictly “one size fits all” approach. I did ask how she knew which hormones I was deficient it if I didn’t have bloods but she insisted it wasn’t necessary.

As HRT requires a regular prescription you can purchase a pre-payment certificate which is currently £19.80 for twelve months. Beware though! The pharmacist at my local Boots put my migraine medication into the same bag without me realising and I received a £100 fine. In fact, on my last visit they did the same and tried to insist that I did not need to pay for my additional medications. This is incorrect.

I started HRT in January last year but my migraines seemed to become worse than ever and, after six months, I went back to the GP, for an in-person appointment. This time I insisted on a blood test. I saw a male GP who was at a standing desk. I completely understand why he chooses to work this way but it does mean that there is very little eye contact with the seated patient. This GP told me he didn’t really think that HRT offers any protection against dementia or osteoporosis . This completely contradicted what the previous doctor had told me and much of the research I had read. He said that my bone health was determined by the time I was fifty and there now wasn’t anything I could do to change it. He told me to take a break from HRT and see if my migraines improved. I stopped the treatment but it made no difference, my migraines continued to be unbearable until I sort further help , see my Migraine Misery posts. As I left the surgery I realised he hadn’t even glanced at my blood test results.

To be continued…

Thank you for reading

Samantha

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The Dementia Diaries – Chapter Nine – It’s Awkward

On By samanthaIn THE DEMENTIA DIARIESLeave a comment

Do you come from the sort of family that “talks about things”? I don’t. It sometimes makes things difficult when it comes to dealing with my elderly parents. For example, I have absolutely no idea what sort of funerals they would like. Mum is a Christian and Dad is an atheist, or maybe he is an agnostic, I don’t even know that! Of course I could die before either of them but the chances are it will be up to me and my brother to organise things when they do pass away. I don’t feel able to broach the topic with Dad. He will just say it will upset Mum if she hears. Obviously nobody wants to think about the people they love dying but it happens to all of us and, at almost ninety years old, you’d think Dad would have given it some thought.

My gregarious aunt has already told me she wants a huge “do”, Frank Sinitra’s “My Way” playing, expensive mahogany coffin and speeches galore. She would like a fully-catered reception at the local golf club which is what my uncle had. She has no children and, as I am not her executor I will gladly let somebody else organise all of that. My parents are very quiet people and, at this time of their lives, most of their friends have already died or have dementia. It is horribly sad. My Dad called an old friend who he met when doing National Service and this man, an incredibly talented artist, sounded totally befuddled. His own wife had recently died after a drawn-out decline with dementia, it was the first time that Dad realised that people actually die from this hideously cruel disease. The man’s daughter later sent Dad a lovely card saying that the chap now has dementia and has moved in with her and her family. She invited Dad to get in touch at any time. Poor Dad and his poor friend.

Fortunately, I have only been to a few funerals myself. My grandmother’s was lovely because Dad gave such a beautiful talk about her knowledge of wildflowers. There were only a few of us there but we were all people who really loved her. My uncle’s was a huge production, I gave the eulogy and honestly had to calm myself down when I saw so many people arriving at the crematorium. My Godmother died during Covid, I had to watch her funeral online.

Apparently the average cost of a funeral in the UK is almost £5,000. It’s a lot of money for some people to find. Many people take out funeral plans but these do not always represent good value for money , many things are not included such as the burial plot, flowers, order of service etc. When my grief-stricken aunt went to organise my uncle’s funeral one lady working at an undertakers didn’t even look up from her desk, she just barked at my aunt “prepaid”? My aunt walked out in disgust. There is a government scheme in place for those in hardship , the Funeral Expenses Payment, details are on the Gov.UK website.

Of course as well as the choice of being buried or cremated a person can also donate their body to science. I am not sure I would fancy being the cadaver for a medical student but it seems quite noble I suppose and probably avoids a lot of expense!

I really don’t feel comfortable broaching the topic of funerals with Dad. I don’t know how to bring the subject up and I feel it is really up to him to let me know. I am chatting to a friend about this when she tells me to look at the Age UK website as they have downloadable PDFs dedicated to funeral wishes and other end-of-life planning, the link is below. As for me, I will be quite happy to be put in a cardboard box. Whatever causes my family the least amount of stress and expense is fine with me.

https://www.ageuk.org.uk/information-advice/money-legal/end-of-life-planning/

Thank you for reading,

Samantha

Cover Photo by Pawel Czerwinski on Unsplash

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The Dementia Diaries – Chapter Eight – Vultures & The Vulnerable

On By samanthaIn THE DEMENTIA DIARIESLeave a comment

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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The Dementia Diaries – Chapter Seven Another Birthday

On By samanthaIn THE DEMENTIA DIARIESLeave a comment

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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The Dementia Diaries – Chapter Six Heart Attack – Part II

On By samanthaIn THE DEMENTIA DIARIESLeave a comment

My dad had his heart attack on a Sunday evening and, thank goodness, was recovering well in hospital. My parents had been happily married for over seventy years. By the Tuesday morning, not even forty-eight hours later, Mum appeared to have forgotten he had ever existed. It was absolutely staggering. She slept very late on Tuesday morning and came downstairs, not seeming in the least surprised to see her daughter in the house instead of her husband. She was in such a cheerful mood, chatting away about this and that. Then my brother popped in straight from the hospital. He sat in Dad’s chair. Mum kept looking at him with a puzzled, worried expression. Then she said “it’s a shame my son died isn’t it?”. Thank goodness my parents have never lost a child. I tried to explain that it was my brother sitting in Dad’s chair, that nobody had died and that Dad was still in hospital. She needed reminding she had a husband. My parents don’t have single framed photo of themselves in their house and I don’t know where the photo albums are kept so I couldn’t show her a picture. She kept looking suspiciously at my brother, studying his face, and I thought how frightening and disorienting it must feel to not grasp what is going on or to recognise your own children.

Mum then kept asking me if she and Dad had been happy. I don’t think it is an exaggeration to say they have had a wonderful marriage. The sort of relationship where both people really love and look after the other one. Since Dad retired they do everything together. Dad still buys Mum flowers every single week. I told Mum all of that and she seemed pleased. An hour later she kept asking “did I have a husband?” over and over though so none of this information had been retained. I took her back to my house for dinner with my family and then we returned to my parents’ house and settled down for bed. Mum looked heartbreakingly frail in her nightdress.

Wednesday, Mum woke up at the crack of dawn in a foul mood. I was trying to do the washing and cleaning but everything I did was wrong. I set Mum’s place at the breakfast table but it was in the wrong position and she made me move the placemat and cutlery even though it made no difference. Didn’t I know she had two cups of tea not one? She can be very forceful, far more so than pre-dementia. My colleague rang to check in on me and I got quite choked up. I almost never cry but, no matter how old you are, having your mother constantly criticise you is very hurtful and I had hardy slept for a couple of nights. Mum didn’t mention Dad at all that day until I rang the hospital and spoke to him and my brother. I put the phone on speaker and they had a little chat. Once it was clear that Dad was going to recover we made the decision that wouldn’t take Mum to see him at the hospital. We knew from experience that would get very confused and distressed when we reached the ward. This happened when we visited my uncle, she thought she was being left there by herself and became quite distraught.

On Thursday Dad came home. Mum was over the moon to see him. Absolutely over the moon. She kept kissing him and telling him how much she loves him and how much she had missed him. I didn’t tell Dad that she had forgotten his very existence for a couple of days. Dad looked very pale and tired but happy to be home. He is the sort of person not to make a big fuss over anything. He is taking part in a trial where elderly patients are treated with medication rather than having a heart bypass. In the year since his heart attack he has not once seen a cardiologist or had any follow up other than a chat on the phone with a nurse. He is very organised with his medication and seems to be doing well. For the first week or so I went over every evening and helped with preparing and cleaning up dinner and with the housework. Now I pop over and help with the housework twice a week, especially the washing because there is now so much of it, sadly. Dad still does almost everything though and his kindness and patience is extraordinary. I have never once heard him sound impatient or irritated with Mum. For now, we are all muddling along together.

Thank you for reading,

Samantha

Cover Photo by Pawel Czerwinski on Unsplash

The Dementia Diaries – Chapter Five

On By samanthaIn THE DEMENTIA DIARIESLeave a comment

Both of my parents are becoming increasingly infirm so their GP arranged for a visit from the Occupational Therapist’s department. To prevent Mum telling them that they don’t need any help, I went along to join the meeting. The administrator they sent took herself off on a tour of my parents’ small house and came back into the living room with a list of modifications that they would make at no charge to Mum and Dad. The list included a second stair rail and hand rails either side of the front door both inside and out. They also supplied sturdy walking sticks, a foot stool and commode and a stool for the kitchen. Mum uses the footstool as a coffee table and the commode and kitchen stool are just gathering dust in the corner of their dining room. I expect there are unused items like this all over the country, what a colossal waste of NHS money. As the woman left the house my mum bellowed “Bugger Off”. My parents don’t swear and never in my entire life have I heard Mum speak this way. I told her she was being rude and she just replied “I can say a lot worse than that”. In that moment she didn’t seem like the Mum I know at all. 

The woman visited my parents on a Tuesday and the workman arrived to carry out her instructions two days later. The handrail going up their stairway has really made their staircase a lot safer and Mum sort of pulls herself up.

Unfortunately the workman may as well have erected a huge sign stating Vulnerable elderly people live here, feel free to rip them off. They now seem to be targeted by every cowboy, rogue trader conman within a one hundred mile radius. I bought two stickers for their front door saying No cold callers, the police will be informed, but it has made no difference. A week or so after the rails were fitted I went to visit my parents and their, even more elderly, next door neighbours were having their driveway jet washed by a man who had pitched up at their door in a shabby white truck, no company name or branding. He was simply blasting all the dirt onto my parent’s driveway and also all over their brand new garage doors. I looked at him, horrified and he stood very still and glared at me as if daring me to say something. I decided not to. His young son, was playing on my parent’s front garden. I had a cup of tea with my parents and warned them again about people like this aggressive looking man. I told Dad not to answer the door to anyone they don’t know. Later that evening Dad rang and announced that the man had returned and washed his driveway for the bargain price of £90. I imagine the thug knocked on their door and Dad felt too intimidated to refuse. Their garage doors were completely showered in dirt and the driveway did not look any different.

Since my uncle’s death seen years ago my aunt lives alone. She was watching television recently when there was a knock at her front door and a man informed her that her roof needed repairing and he was the bloke for the job. My aunt was telling him, no she already has someone to take care of home repairs when she heard a crash. Another man was actually already on her roof and had dislodged some tiles. My aunt, very shaken, told them to get off her property and called the police, who did absolutely nothing. She then had to pay a roofer to repair the damage these low-lives had caused. 

My mother-in-law, a very vulnerable individual, lost her savings in a foreign property scam. The fraudster, David Ames, the head of a company called Harlequin, persuaded her to invest in holiday homes that weren’t built. He was sentenced to twelve years in prison and stole the savings of thousands of hard-working people, some of them could not retire because of their losses. Ames personally rang my mother-in-law to persuade her to keep “investing”. She thought he was a nice man. Anyone speaking to her is immediately aware that she is not capable of making any important financial decisions herself. No wonder he took such an interest. My mother-in-law didn’t tell anyone about her so-called “investments” until her bank account had been drained.

One of the many reasons that my mum could never live alone is because she would be so vulnerable to fraudsters. Where I live we have regular “Nottingham Knockers” calling selling dusters from the pound shop for £10 and claiming to be on a young offenders rehabilitation scheme. There is no such scheme, it is a scam. If you politely decline to buy anything you are more than likely to be called a vile name and have your car keyed. These people are the reason I now have a Ring video doorbell after I opened the door the an aggressive young man who bizarrely demanded I give him dry clothes as it was raining. He got verbally very abusive when I refused. 

So how to protect our elderly relatives (and ourselves) from scammers? Not opening the door to people they don’t know is the main thing in my opinion. My dad thinks he is being clever by engaging telephone scammers in chat but this is a mistake, these people are criminals, just put the phone down and block the number. If the elderly person lives alone and does open the door to a uninvited “tradesman” then they should pretend there is somebody else at home. I tell my dad to say that his sons do all the repairs on his house. If someone claiming to be from their bank rings then put the phone down and ring the bank, on another phone if possible. If ringing on the same phone then wait half an hour. I read about a woman who thought she was ringing her bank to check the validity of a call she’d just received but the fraudsters had stayed on the line and she was simply still speaking to them. She said the man seemed so helpful as he defrauded her out of ten thousand pounds. These people are often very charming. The old saying goes that a fool and their money are soon parted but, these days, anyone can become a victim of fraud. It is a sad world when we have to be so suspicious of everybody.

Thank you for reading,

Samantha

Cover Photo by Pawel Czerwinski on Unsplash

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The Dementia Diaries – Chapter Four

On By samanthaIn THE DEMENTIA DIARIESLeave a comment

I’m out for a walk when I pass the vicar of our village church. She hurries past, head down and lips pressed together, her body language telling me she does not want to engage in even brief pleasantries. She has been the vicar here for about twenty years, she christened two of my children but I no longer attend church having lost my faith some years ago. I had a fairly religious upbringing, Church of England school and Sunday School every week although my dad, an atheist or perhaps an agnostic, only sets foot in church for weddings and funerals. My mum, however attended the village church almost every single week of the first twenty years that she lived here. Sadly, for the past few years it has been beyond her capabilities to attend. She has probably forgotten that the church even exists.

Despite the fact that my mum was such a regular, the vicar has not once knocked on my parents’ door to see how they are. It’s been three years at least since my mum last made it to church, surely a quick home visit would be the usual protocol. The vicar must have seen them regularly stumbling along the lane to the village shops or waiting at a bus stop. We all live in a small village in Kent. My house is a stone’s throw from the church and my parents aren’t more than a few minutes walk. Was my mum such an invisible or unimportant member of the congregation that nobody noticed when she stopped attending after twenty years? What is the point of a vicar if he/she doesn’t even check up on their parishioners? You can probably tell, I am quite resentful about this.

On a more positive note, my mum and dad have been noticed by lots of people and have received some lovely offers of help. For the past couple of years they have rarely left the village but, before then, drivers would often see them waiting at a bus stop and pull over and offer them a lift. More than one complete stranger drove them into town and left a phone number in case they needed further lifts. My parents have never driven and I do think their knowledge of public transport was very beneficial to them until recently. The local bus drivers would literally drop them at their front door. Now I have to take them anywhere they need to go and my mum struggles to get in and out of my car. They do still manage to walk to the village shops once a week though and are always warmly greeted in the little cafe .

My parents live close to a school and I am sometimes irritated by the careless pavement parking outside their house but one or two of the young mums have put notes through my parents’ front door asking if they need help with shopping. During the pandemic complete strangers put cards through with telephone numbers and offers of help on them. Most people are kind.

When I took my mum and dad for their last vaccination my mum was doddering along to the clinic holding onto my dad, to be honest they seem to hold each other up, and a woman said quietly to me she’d often spotted them around and that she really admired them. ”That generation are so stoic and just get on with things don’t they?” she commented. Yes, they do. My dad literally never complains about anything or anyone. Unfortunately I do think that people who kick up a fuss get the most help, my mother-in-law being a case in point.

My parents’ next door neighbour, ninety years old, rang me after my dad’s heart attack asking if there was anything she could do. Bless her, she was then looking after her husband with Alzheimer’s and had her hands completely full. If my dad hasn’t seen her for a couple of days he rings just to make sure she is alright. Decent, kind people looking after each other. The world needs more of that

Thank you for reading,

Samantha

Cover Photo by Pawel Czerwinski on Unsplash

A view of our village church

The Dementia Diaries – Chapter Three

On By samanthaIn THE DEMENTIA DIARIES3 Comments

My eighty-nine year old mother-in-law went into hospital for a day three weeks ago. Whilst there she caught a chest infection and has been bed bound on a geriatric ward ever since. My husband said that she is becoming weaker and weaker because she is just left, lying in bed all day. It is a London hospital and the nurses are no doubt busy but my mother-in-law has continually asked to get out of bed and have an assisted walk but it has only happened once in three weeks. There are posters up around the ward urging patients to get moving as, apparently, ten days in bed ages the muscles by ten years. My mother-in-law is far too frail to get out of bed without assistance.

My mother-in-law lives in a town house, only the kitchen is on the ground floor and a toilet. There are lots of steep stairs. My husband thinks that this vertical living has kept his mother fit until now. She does have Asthma and has recently been diagnosed with Dementia although this is not always apparent. We have been told that she still has “capacity” to make her own decisions. Over the past few years we have suggested that she move into sheltered housing, nearer us, but she refuses to leave London. To be honest, who can blame her? I would not like somebody telling me it is time to leave my home of many years. She has lived in the capital all her life, apart from when she was an evacuee in Oxford, the thought of moving to a little village in Kent seems dull to her. She describes where we live as “dead”. It really isn’t but it is a world away from the busy city. She has been having carers in twice a day to help her and it was once of these carers that insisted on taking her to the hospital and staying with her while she was admitted. This isn’t my own mum to write about but I think it is safe to say that she is a complex and sometimes difficult person and we are all wondering what is going to happen when she is discharged from hospital. It will be Christmas in a couple of days and it does not look like she will be going anywhere before then.

It would seem that a sensible solution would be for my mother-in-law would be to go into a care-home for a month or so while she regains her strength and then maybe she can return back to her own house. This would give my husband some time to organise some necessary alterations to the property. If she won’t leave her home then the ground floor will have to be turned into a sort of self contained apartment. Whether she would even be able to manage then is highly questionable. At the moment she is not strong enough to open the wrapper on a bar of chocolate. Perhaps a move to sheltered accommodation would have prevented the possible permanent move into care which is now on the cards.

My husband and I make an appointment to view the care home in our village. I am dreading it. I am looking more for my own mum than my mother-in-law and feel guilty . We meet with the manager who is very well versed on the financials and takes a long time patiently explaining everything to us. The cost per week is £1,850 for residents who have dementia. £1,750 for patients without a dementia diagnosis. So, for my mum and mother-in-law, the annual cost is an enormous £96,200 per year. Each resident must demonstrate that they can self fund for the first two years and then, if their savings run down sufficiently, the local council takes over the cost. The council do not pay anywhere as much as the privately funded residents – they pay £800 per week. So wealthy residents who pay fund their own care for more than two years are subsidising the council funded patients. The manager explains that, because my dad could live another ten years, my parents house will not be included in their assets. I know absolutely nothing about how much Mum and Dad have in savings but I would be very surprised if it is anywhere near the almost £200,000 needed to self-fund two years of care. My mother-in-law is in a more fortunate position as another family member has offered to pay for her care. Which care-homes do less wealthy elderly people go to? I visited my late godmother in a care home in Surrey which was nowhere as nice as this one. I remember walking in and being nauseated by the overwhelming smell of urine, there were sodden piles of underwear on the floor in the toilets, this home just smells clean and fresh. Perhaps they are like hotels and this one is the equivalent of five star.

The manager takes us for a look around. There is nothing not to like. The place is gleaming and tastefully decorated with generic but attractive artwork everywhere. Each of the residents doors has a decal of an old-fashioned front door stuck to it in different, bright colours. The manager explains that people with dementia can recognise colours until very late in their cognitive decline. There is a box-frame outside each room with some photos from the resident’s past and maybe a momento or two. There are sensor matts in case of falls. A TV lounge and dining room. 

The thought of ending up in a care home fills most people with dread. My elderly aunt has said she will not leave her own home under any circumstances. The care home we visited seems like a very pleasant place to live if you can afford it. I have now been told of another local care home specialising in respite care and we will have to go and look at this one as well. My husband is off to see his mum in hospital again this evening. It is upsetting for him to see his feisty mum in such a weakened state but we need to accept what is happening and make plans for a safe future for her.

Poster on the ward my mother-in-law is currently on encouraging patients to get moving.

Thank you for reading,

Samantha

Cover Photo by Pawel Czerwinski on Unsplash

The Dementia Diaries – Chapter Two, Heart Attack – Part I

On By samanthaIn THE DEMENTIA DIARIESLeave a comment

It is ten o’clock one Sunday evening and I am just about to go to bed when my phone starts ringing. I see that it is my parents’ number and hurriedly pick up. My mum unfortunately can no longer manage to make a telephone call so I was expecting to hear Dad’s voice. I was certain it must be some sort of emergency to be calling this late. There didn’t appear to be anyone on the line but then I heard Dad say very quietly “I’m having chest pains”. He seemed to be on the other line to the emergency services. Now, Dad usually keeps his Nokia mobile phone in its box in the back bedroom, he occasionally charges it if he is going to out somewhere but I don’t think I have ever once been able to reach him on it. The fact that it was charged and within reach this particular day was very serendipitous.

My parents literally live a few minutes away from me so I pulled on some jeans over my pyjamas and my husband and I rushed round there. On the way out I grabbed the keys to their house. When I arrived Dad was sitting back on the sofa, ashen faced and mum just looked frightened and confused. Dad confirmed that an ambulance was on the way. He was clearly more worried about what was going to happen to Mum than he was about his own situation, it was really very touching. I assured him that I wouldn’t leave Mum on her own for a second and I could see him visibly relax. He asked me to put together a bag for him to take to the hospital. 

The ambulance still hadn’t arrived after forty-five long minutes so I had to ring again. Then they sent two, what a waste of resources.  The paramedic in charge wired Dad to a portable ECG machine and assured him he wasn’t having a heart attack – this was completely wrong as we would discover when Dad was examined by a doctor. We decided that it would be better if I stayed at my parents’ house with Mum and my husband went in the ambulance with Dad to the hospital. I was very conflicted about this because they have been married for sixty two years and it felt wrong to keep them separate at this time but I also knew that looking after Mum would be a job in itself once we reached the hospital and that she would become difficult because she would be away from her familiar, safe home environment.  It was a cold night, very late and Mum was already understandably becoming distressed. Before the paramedics had even left, she had completely forgotten what had happened and kept asking who the strangers were in their house. 

During the next hour Mum must have asked me where Dad was twenty times. It was incessant. I kept gently explaining and she would look frightened and then repeat the question. I was almost sick with worry myself. My husband was very good and kept me informed and within a couple of hours it became clear that Dad was going to be OK. I spoke to Dad before going to bed and he just wanted to know that Mum was alright.  He said that yes, he had a small heart attack but that the pain had subsided and he was OK. The doctors were going to speak to him the following day about treatment options. Mum and I went off to bed, I slept on my childhood bed under the red Habitat duvet cover I had chosen when I was twelve.  It is probably a collector’s item now!

It took Mum a long time to settle down for the night and I was beginning to lose hope of getting any sleep but she eventually nodded off. I was trying to process everything that had happened. One minute we all seemed to be muddling along and then the next, a massive spanner has hit the works. What would happen to Mum if Dad couldn’t look after her anymore? She certainly couldn’t live alone and I don’t have a spare bedroom. and I have a job, how would we manage?

The next morning I was awake at the crack of dawn and decided to tackle the laundry mountain that poor Dad had been dealing with on a daily basis for the past year or so. Unfortunately incontinence is a symptom of dementia and Mum had recently begun to have problems in this area. She refused to use any products designed to help even though the District Nurse had supplied some, again the “nothing is wrong” approach to things. There was washing all over the house, on every radiator. Dad would consider it far too extravagant to use the tumble dryer sitting, unused, in their utility room. I was just folding up various items of clothing when Mum appeared and demanded to know what I was doing. She would do the laundry she insisted. Even at the age of fifty something, I find it heard to assert myself with Mum and I pretended I hadn’t heard. She then seemed to realise that it was odd that I was even there at all and asked where Dad was, I explained and she nodded and asked again. She would go onto to ask me continually throughout the day. 

During the afternoon my oldest son drove over and we managed to manoeuvre Mum into his car and take her back to my house. I then cooked dinner for everybody. Mum is very sociable and thoroughly enjoyed being made a fuss off and as we left she said “I’ve had a lovely time”. Bless her, she really seemed so happy. Back at her house she announced that she would be staying up until midnight. My heart sank, it was only eight o’clock and I was already exhausted. I rang Dad who said he was feeling much better and told me that he had agreed to take part in a medical trial, treating elderly heart attack victims with medication rather than a bypass.  Fortunately I managed to persuade Mum to go to bed at ten o’clock and, after much faffing about, we both settled down for the night. Just before her head hit the pillow she asked me to knock on the neighbours doors and tell them that Dad had died. My heart sank. This was not going to be an easy few days…..

 Thank you for reading,

Samantha

Cover Photo by Pawel Czerwinski on Unsplash

Featured

Hello There…

On By samanthaIn ABOUT MELeave a comment

I’m Samantha.  I’m a fifty-something wife, mother, daughter living in beautiful Kent, the so-called Garden of England.

Like many women of my age, I am juggling looking after my family; two of my three children are still in their teens, with helping to care for my elderly parents along with my actual paid role as a PA. It isn’t always easy is it?

I hope my little bit of online space will allow me to share the challenges that present themselves as I go through midlife along with some of the fun stuff.

I love books, films and the theatre, any form of story-telling really. When I have some free time I can usually be found either reading in a hot bubble bath , having a catch-up with with girlfriends or walking through the picturesque Kent countryside with my husband and kids (when they deign to join us). 

Thank you for taking the time to stop by my blog, I really appreciate it.

Samantha