Tag: FAMILY

The Dementia Diaries – Chapter Twelve Alzheimer’s Disease

On By samanthaIn THE DEMENTIA DIARIESLeave a comment

I am in rather a low mood so please forgive me if this post is a little miserable. It’s been a tough week with one thing and another. My mother in law is in hospital in London again, this time with Pneumonia A doctor rang my husband and said that he thought my mother-in-law must be hallucinating because of the abusive things she was saying to staff in A & E. My husband had to explain that this is just her every day behaviour. She has now been abusive to every nurse on the ward and, when a woman visiting another patient offered her a chocolate biscuit she went ballistic. My husband has been to see her almost every day but my mother-in-laws tells anyone who will listen that he doesn’t even ring to see how she is. He speaks to her multiple times every single day of the year. My husband’s brothers both live overseas but also speak to her daily and are coming over to see her as it is her ninetieth birthday in a week or so and they had a celebratory dinner planned. I haven’t been visiting her. My mother-in-law, as you may have gathered, is a complex and difficult person and I don’t fancy being in the firing line.

Today I got up early and did some housework, washing and ironing. At 11am I loaded my car with my vacuum cleaner, mop and bucket and drove for two minutes which is all the time it takes to get to Mum and Dad’s, I prefer to walk but obviously I can’t carry so many cumbersome items. Dad timed the Tesco delivery arrival with my visit so I vacuumed their house, mopped the kitchen floor, put the laundry mountain away and then dealt with the grocery delivery. I was standing in the hallway with an enormously heavy crate and mum just would not move out of my way “go around me” she said. I couldn’t without banging into her. Now my shoulder is killing me.

On Tuesday I took my parents to the memory clinic at the local hospital. Getting Mum into the car was an ordeal but we managed it. I decided that I was going to accompany my parents into the actual appointment rather than waiting in the reception area for them as I usually do. The consultation was with a psychiatrist. Dad had changed the batteries in Mum’s hearing aids that morning but she still could not hear a thing or follow the conversation at all. She was sitting right next to the doctor and just smiling vacantly at everything he said. It felt really sad and undignified. The doctor asked if mum is still driving. Thank goodness she has never driven so we haven’t had the same battle that some of my friend’s have had of persuading their parents that they are no longer safe on the roads. Then he spoke about her having a will and Power of Attorney. He told us that Mum’s recent brain scan showed that her Hippocampus, the part of the brain associated with memory, has shrunk considerably and gave her a diagnoses of Alzheimer’s Disease which was not entirely unexpected but still difficult to hear. He asked Dad if they are managing and Dad replied yes. I interjected at this point because, despite Dad’s heroic efforts, this isn’t quite true. Mum is not washing anymore and can’t get in the bath or shower. I don’t mind washing Mum’s hair but I am not comfortable with giving her a more intimate wash and they are still refusing to have a carer in to help. Throughout this dementia “journey” I have found that my parents prefer everything to be a secret and this attitude is proving a huge barrier to them receiving appropriate assistance. The psychiatrist said they should contact social services. I asked if he could organise a referral himself and he agreed. Dad has rung the district nurse multiple times about some hygiene-related issues that Mum is having but we can’t even get a phone call back.

So, two frail, elderly ladies, one in hospital and one being cared for at home. Meanwhile my aunt, almost ninety, is zipping around here, there and everywhere in her car, looking very “with it” as she says right down to her Zara outfits and sparkly nail polish. Dad is still as sharp as a tack but has had to give up his own interests to look after Mum. Life is not always easy but like, thousands of other families, we are muddling along.

Thank you for reading,

Samantha

Cover Photo by Pawel Czerwinski on Unsplash

The Dementia Diaries – Chapter Eleven – A Long List of Lasts

On By samanthaIn THE DEMENTIA DIARIESLeave a comment

When my mum was younger she was such a busy person, she had a variety of different jobs, secretary, school dinner lady (why are they never called lunch ladies?), barmaid and she would sometimes do a little bit of cleaning for neighbours or feed their pets when they were away. There wasn’t a single day of my childhood that we didn’t have a hot meal, maybe not always from scratch, Mr Brains Faggots and Findus crispy pancakes would feature occasionally but most of the time she’d cook something time consuming after being at work all day. We didn’t have a car so she would have to carry the food shopping back, her palms often red from where the plastic bags had been digging in. She would take evening classes in bizarre things like making pictures out of copper and rush off to meet friends, especially my lovely Godmother, Jo, who died a few years ago just after her one hundredth birthday. Also my friend’s mum, R, who herself sadly now has memory problems and stoically dealt with breast cancer in her late eighties, making less fuss than I would over a stubbed toe. My Mum spoke to R on the phone most Sundays until a couple of years ago but now their forty plus year friendship seems to have been erased from both their memories.

Jo, or Josephine, was about twelve years older than my mum and had never married. Her fiancé had been killed during the war. They met when they both worked for a Greek shipping company. Jo lived on the top two floors of a beautiful terraced town house in Pimlico, her brother and his wife lived on the lower floors. Mum, myself and my twin brother would take The Tube into London to visit Jo, sometimes staying for a few days in the summer. I think my Dad must have been on one of his Open University summer course at this point. In the summer we would go to St James’ Park and Kensington Gardens. In the winter we would go and see the Christmas lights and the Selfridges windows. We’d catch the number 24 bus from Victoria. Jo and her sisters, Baba and Pat, would visit us at our little semi in Hornchurch and my mum would get flustered, cleaning madly before they arrived. She would always cook a huge roast. Jo would always wear one of her many navy blue dresses, usually from Peter Jones. Happy days. Jo died in a nursing home during the pandemic, I couldn’t even attend her funeral. She didn’t know who I was when I last visited her but she looked at a picture of Mum and said “that’s my friend”. It was very moving.

This post has rather gone off tangent but what I wanted to write about was how sad it is when the last time for doing something you loved has been and gone and perhaps you haven’t even realised. Mum will never go into London again, will never see her friend Jo again, never see R again, never cook a roast again (although she helps Dad prepare their meal every evening by peeling the vegetables) . She’ll never again come striding into view, weighed down by grocery shopping. But she is still here. Maybe she can only walk a few steps and perhaps she doesn’t really know what is going on but she and Dad still love each other and still follow their little routines. She still sounds happy to hear my voice when I ring. Less happy to see me in person because she doesn’t like me doing their housework. Life has become very small for Mum and therefore for Dad also, but it is still worth living. Find time to do what you love while you can.

Thank you for reading,

Samantha

Cover Photo by Pawel Czerwinski on Unsplash

Photo of Pimlico by Lisa van Vliet on Unsplash

The Dementia Diaries – Chapter Ten – Where do we go from here?

On By samanthaIn THE DEMENTIA DIARIESLeave a comment

I haven’t written a Dementia Diaries post for a little while. My mum’s condition, both physical and mental, has deteriorated considerably and even thinking about it makes me feel sad. Every day there is another problem, today Mum has lost her wedding ring, her engagement ring vanished some time ago. My dad’s entire life now revolves around looking after her and he looks utterly exhausted, not ideal when he had a heart attack only last year. I do some housework for them, mostly hoovering and mopping the kitchen floor but Mum is difficult about it and keeps telling me to stop and go home. When I try to ignore her she pretends to cry and puts her hand to her forehead and says I am making her ill. Am I supposed to leave everything for Dad to do? Dad does now have a lady gardener come every now and then but Mum rudely tells her to go home as well. The gardener has offered to clean for them, I suppose her outside work dries up in the autumn, but I know Mum would be telling her to stop for the whole time. Dad has mountains of laundry to do every single day and I go over and fold it and put it away but I am met with hostility from Mum about this as well. I invariably leave their house feeling guilty about Dad and worried about the way forward. How much longer can this go on for?

Mum now has difficulty walking even short distances and seems to launch herself across their tiny sitting room grabbing onto a chair then a table then another chair until she has made it to the door. She makes little mewing sounds as she does this. She can still pull herself upstairs with the two handrails but I don’t think that will be for long, it is a fall waiting to happen. I have asked my dad to consider turning the under stairs cupboard into a downstairs loo but he doesn’t want to. I am not even sure the space would be big enough. Getting Mum into a car is now a stressful ordeal and she won’t listen to direction. I try to tell her to put her bottom on the seat and bring her legs in but she climbs into the car in a standing position, puts one foot on top of another, and then can’t turn around. If I try to help she shrugs me off. Mum was badly hurt after falling while getting into my car two years ago, her leg took about nine months to heal, I am terrified of this happening again.

Another major setback is that Mum is now unable to get in and out of the bath. Dad now washes her with a flannel as they only have a shower head over the bath. They should have a carer coming in to help with this but the answer to that is a resounding no as well. My mother-in-law, who is in a much better state than my mum but lives alone, has carers in four times a day. They wash her, do her laundry and shopping and prepare simple meals for her. It has made a tremendous difference to her overall health. I am not sure if Dad does not want to spend the money on carers or whether he just dreads Mum being rude to them. Both my parents worked hard for many years and it is ridiculous that they are denying themselves assistance when they most need it.

Dad has a sky-high IQ, he must know that they need help but he doesn’t want to upset Mum. She must be kept happy at all costs, even to his health. As a consequence, he has become something of a servant. If he sits down for a second she asks him to open/close a window or door, if he leaves the room she keeps calling him until he gives up whatever he was trying to achieve. Apparently it is very common for dementia sufferers to become anxious if their main carer is not in sight. I came back from their house this morning feeling hopeless. Mum told Dad off for allowing me to put the carpet sweeper over. She asked the same question at least ten times in half an hour. I don’t know the way forward. Maybe one day the decision will be taken out of our hands. I think Dad is determined to manage, without outside help, for as long as possible.

Thank you for reading,

Samantha

Cover Photo by Pawel Czerwinski on Unsplash

With Love and Squalor

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It is a beautiful day and I am not working.  It is 10am and I have already hung two loads of washing out on the line, popped to the supermarket to do some never-ending food shopping and dropped off an online return for my daughter.  As usual, I can’t relax.  I sit out in the garden and call my friend in the Isle of Wight for a catch up, we chat for fifteen minutes.  I then decide to sit and read my current book and chill out under the parasol.  Except that I remember how smeared the mirrors in the house are, they need a good polish, and the rug in the drawing room has soot on it, that needs a vacuum, the fridge door needs a spritz of Dettox and a wipe-down….  Why am I sitting, doing nothing, when my house is a squalid tip? OK, it’s not actually a squalid tip, just not the gleaming show home I would like it to be.   I head inside and start wearing myself out doing jobs that will only need repeating in day or two. What a waste of a sunny day.

For a few years I worked for a posh estate agent. It was my job to do the the viewings in the new build “luxury homes”, a job I thoroughly enjoyed most of the time. Everything was always gleaming and glossy but I would come home and my own house would look…tired. I live in a property built in 1760, it’s full of crooked angles and gappy floorboards. The local spiders make themselves right at home and invite their friends. At 265 years old my home is entitled to look a little knackered I suppose. I’m fifty five and some days I look quite knackered myself.

Most of my friends employ a cleaner.  I did have a succession of cleaning ladies, and one chap, when my children were younger.  Two were wonderful but several were just awful.  If I paid for four hours cleaning, I’d be lucky to get two.  I would always tidy before they came, clean the loo and offer tea or coffee every hour, in the end it was just easier, not to mention cheaper, to do it myself.  One local girl, who I nicknamed Lucy Lightfingers, stole from me. It was such a shame because I know she needed the job and I turned a blind eye when it was just dishwasher tablets and washing powder but soon money began to disappear and that’s not OK. In fact I see that she has set up an online business selling pre-loved designer handbags, possibly filched from the wardrobes of her clients.  I would quite like my vintage Fendi satchel back, bought with my hard-earned overtime money, in 1997.

When I visit certain friends, their houses are always pristine, how do people manage it when they have families?  It makes me feel inadequate. I do some sort of  housework every single day yet there is always a pile of mystery paperwork on the kitchen dresser, a ring on the glass coffee table where someone (my husband) has ignored the half dozen coasters and a thin layer of dusts forms on my glossy wooden floors no matter how often I clean them.

I try to remember that our homes are meant to be lived in and it is impossible to keep on top of everything all the time. My son had a story book , The Magic Lavatory, about a little boy, Jeffrey, who lived with an aunt who was so house-proud that he wasn’t allowed to play with anything for fear of making a mess, he just sat on the sofa all day until (spoiler alert!!) he was rescued by a magic toilet, nobody wants to live like that. Those of us with nice homes and family to share them with are incredibly lucky. If we have outside space then even more so. We all set ourselves up for failure sometimes by comparing ourselves, our homes, our finances and even our looks unfavourably with others. My seventeen year old son has actually put his M & S sandwich packaging in the bin. You have to celebrate the little wins.

Thank you for reading

Samantha

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New York Nerves

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My seventeen year old son is going off on a school trip to New York and Washington tomorrow. He has a very laissez-faire attitude to preparation which is the polar opposite of my own. The long list of things I am currently worrying about includes :

  • Oversleeping and not getting to the school in time for the 3.45am drop off
  • Him losing his passport
  • Something being wrong with his ESTA and him being refused entry
  • The customs discovering his perfectly legal dermatologist prescribed medication that I haven’t disclosed to the school because he didn’t want to have it dished out by the teacher
  • His feet hurting as he has only just mentioned his second pair of trainers are too small
  • His debit card, which he just told me is badly cracked, not working
  • His wallet being stolen
  • The zip breaking on his bulging suitcase as he is packing every T Shirt he owns
  • Him not having enough smart clothes for the more formal visits
  • Us ignoring the teacher’s strange directive that boys can only wear shorts that come past their knees
  • Someone planting drugs in his suitcase
  • His suitcase going missing
  • Him not wearing his retainers
  • Him running up a massive bill on data using his iPhone

You get the neurotic picture. My other son left for Spain with his fiancée yesterday and my daughter is in Croatia with friends from university. I checked they both had appropriate travel insurance, gave them a hug goodbye and didn’t really give it too much thought. They know what they are doing. My youngest son is very intelligent but there is something about most teenage boys that is a bit dreamy, or at least that’s how they can come across. I fear he will be so busy chatting with his friends that he won’t notice somebody dipping into his backpack or his passport lying on the pavement.

Worry – what a colossal waste of life it is. My husband says it achieves nothing but that isn’t quite true. When I am anxious about something like this I find that making a list and crossing everything off makes me feel calmer and it also ensures nothing important is missed. After all, it wouldn’t be much fun walking around New York in the pouring rain if we hadn’t packed his waterproof, these things do matter. Worrying can certainly drain the pleasure out of life though and it is important to recognise when it is getting out of hand.

I am sure lots of people will think that teachers have a great deal, going on these incredible trips for free, but the amount of work that goes into organizing them must be enormous. In one day my son is vising the UN, the Museum of Modern Art and The Empire State Building. The responsibility of ensuring all these teens cross the busy roads safely, don’t sneak off trying to have a drink etc. would just about finish me off. I am sure they will all have a fabulous time. My son’s, rather overstuffed, suitcase is now packed, labelled and I am feeling much more relaxed already.

Thank you for reading

Samantha

Photo by Nik on Unsplash

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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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Slightly Less Stuff!

On By samanthaIn FAMILYLeave a comment

In my previous post So Much Stuff! I was bracing myself for my annual March declutter. It is now nearing the end of the month and, even if I say so myself, I have been fairly successful. I have got rid of at least one hundred items and that is without even tackling my clothes. My usual method for attempting to declutter my clothes is 1) open wardrobe 2) stand in an overwhelmed trance wondering how I have accumulated so many similar garments 3) take one or two of the aforementioned garments out, say hmm to myself and them hang the garments back up 4) Close wardrobe door and go and sit down.

My daughter’s room has just been decorated and she spends most of her time at university so, when she came home for a week it was easy for her to see what she no longer needed. I donated, via FaceBook Marketplace, a pile of her hoodies, jeans, jogging bottoms and T shirts, all in good used condition. I listed them for free and three women messaged within minutes asking if they could have them. Obviously the items have to go to the first person who responds but I always message the others saying that, should I come across any other, similar items, I will let them know. My rule for giving things away like this is that the items must be clean and with no damage. I also insist that the person comes and collects it. Last year I spent an hour driving round trying to drop off a framed Dr Who poster. The woman who wanted it couldn’t even manage to give me her correct address and thought it was funny that she had sent me to the wrong road. Needless to say I was not laughing! If it is a more expensive item then I may list it for a small charge of £5 or £10 and then give my daughter the proceeds. It has become increasingly difficult to sell things in recent years although some of my friends swear by Vinted.

I shredded two recycling bags worth of old paperwork and also took three big bags of unwanted things to local charity shops. The challenge is to actually go to the shop and donate the stuff rather than driving around with it in the boot of your car for six month. These bags included a brand new wicker hamper that was taking up space in my cellar, It had been a gift containing Christmas food. The hamper was a strange shape and I kept thinking that I’d perhaps use it as an umbrella stand but, after three years, it was clear I was never going to get round to that and I only own one umbrella. I also donated about fifteen books, some clothes I had bought in a sale and never worn and was never going to wear, yet more hoodies, some decorative bowls, nine necklaces (all costume jewellery) and some new scented candles. I like scented candles but my husband and son are both asthmatic and they are not good for their lungs. I took some old shoes to the shoe recycling bins and two coats to the Salvation Army collection points. I dropped old reading glasses into the collection point at SpecSavers. I also went though my make up, some of which was about the same age as my youngest son who is seventeen, and threw about half of the items away.

So does my house now look clutter free? Don’t be silly! I have hardly made a dent. It is nice to know that most of the things will be reused and the woman who collected my daughter clothes was so grateful that I felt a little embarrassed. She said her daughter would be thrilled. Perhaps in April I will pluck up courage to tackle my own clothes. My friend Caroline suggested that she clear out my wardrobe and I do hers. Not sure I am ready to let someone else decide on what I should keep and it could be the end of a long friendship if one of us was insulted by the other’s judgement. It would be fun to have a rummage through somebody else’s things though!

Thank you for reading,

Samantha

Cover Photo by Onur Bahçıvancılar on Unsplash

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It’s All A Lot Of Oysters But No Pearls

On By samanthaIn FAMILYLeave a comment

The title of this post is taken from the song A Long December by Counting Crows and seems to sum this week up perfectly although, now I have started thinking about it, I realise there have been some nice moments.

I have been ridiculously busy at work, feeling overwhelmed and it seems that my email inbox is like the fairy tale The Magic Porridge Pot, it just constantly refills. For very email I deal with three more seem to pop in. I have come to dread the accompanying chime. My shoulders have been hurting because I have been tensely hunched over my desk, working at the speed of light, for seven hours at a time. I am not very good at taking breaks but I need to get up and stretch every now and again before I completely seize up.

I had a day off on Tuesday and was looking forward a a little rest but my husband had booked a man in to clean the carpets, he was due to arrive at 8am. Groan. Obviously the rooms had to be cleared of clutter (thank goodness for my March decluttering efforts, see my post So Much Stuff! ) All the windows had to be left wide open all day even though it was freezing. I messaged my friend to have a moan and she invited me over for a cup of tea. How lovely to have a friend who knows you are chilly and proffers a heated gilet as soon as you arrive.

My dad called me later, in pain with toothache. Having had the most awful, ongoing dental infection a couple of years ago I have great empathy for anyone suffering like this. My parents can no longer get to the NHS dentist and have started using the lovely but very expensive private dentist in our village. Fortunately she was able to fit Dad in for the following day and I arranged to spend the afternoon sitting with Mum. I had some numbing gel that helped while Dad waited to be seen. Poor Dad, he really looks after his teeth, flossing and using interdental brushes but has been beset with problems for years. The dentist extracted the tooth, the second in six months. It was at the back of his mouth so he doesn’t have a visible gap. Mum didn’t really want me at their house and kept telling me to go home which can be a little hurtful but I just have to remind myself that she doesn’t mean it. Or perhaps she does, I hope not.

I then received a letter from the NHS telling me I was being fined for not paying for my migraine mediation months and months ago. I have paid for my prescriptions my entire adult life but the pharmacist mistakenly put my migraine meds in with my HRT which I had pre-paid for. How I was supposed to know this is a mystery. My husband had collected the sealed paper bag and I didn’t open it for weeks. I tried explaining this to the NHS appeals team but it was like speaking to a brick wall and I paid the fine which was around £50.

My daughter came home from university for a week yesterday. It was lovely to see her although as soon as she was through the door she said her laptop isn’t working well. I am hoping that a replacement battery will do the trick. We have been spending the evenings watching a documentary on Netflix called HellCamp: Teen Nightmare. Parents spent $16,000 in 1989 to send their wayward teens off to hike in the Utah desert for months at a time or to be stuck aboard a boat for a year. Some children were used as slave labour . The most famous participant in one of these programmes was Paris Hilton. Thousands of American children still attend these camps despite the recent bad publicity. It is nice to snuggle up with my daughter and watch something together, usually while eating a giant bag of Chocolate Buttons.

So not the best week but, looking back, nothing majorly bad has happened. There are so many people in the world suffering terribly at the moment and my trivial problems are inconsequential in comparison. I have just been feeling tired, cold, headachy and a little frazzled. I have probably also been watching the news too much. The spring will soon be here and it will be nice to feel the sun for a change.

Thank you for reading

Samantha

Cover Photo by Dagmara Dombrovska on Unsplash