Ah sweet misery

So, we’ve made some progress on the family front: Mainly the dementia my Mum is suffering unfortunately.

Being taken off the drug that limits its progress wasn’t such a bright idea.

Her memory is getting worse and the repeated calls asking for her purse/bank card/address book are coming thick and fast.

Last night I apparently missed two calls from a local number which turned out to be a cardiac ward in our local hospital.

Mum had booked herself in with chest pains (she said she’d phoned me but modern phones log that sort of thing don’t they?).

After a battery of tests they found that she has arythmia – fast and not as it should be.

They’ve doubled the dose of her meds and hopefully by tomorrow things will have calmed down a bit.

While I was with her today she kept accidently pulling out the cords and making up stories about what the ambulance men said last night.

She pinned a nurse for ages with a monologue explaining to me later that she was a Sister because she wore white. Truth be told sisters wear a dark blue or purple scrub (matrons are black and staff nurses, the foot soldiers of the nursing profession, wear an attractive less dark blue). 

I didn’t have the heart to argue.

One thing we’ve learned is that debate is pointless as with such a tiny memory span, argument is forgotten shortly after and even during the conversation.

I feel the time for sheltered housing is getting closer and am wearing the guilt like a heavy and pungent overcoat.

On other fronts Ashley has been awarded a new car. Smaller model this time as we rarely travel as a family now.

Jo has received her GCS results (16yo) and seems happy with them. Tomorrow is a visit to her prospective college to see how they hold up. Her summer of NCS Challenge seems to have been enjoyable and has her doing some work experience with an interview at the end of it.

Hev (18) is starting to party hard has a (sort of early stages please don’t use the word) boyfriend. She’s starting bar work soon to go alongside her college work and market stall job.

Wish I could tell you more but there are no marvellous holidays, fab days out or life turning revelations that make me strut and spin with the joy of it all.

Truth be told, work have recommended I push my family doctor for treatment for anxiety and stress. 

Being the manly man that I am this of course feels like abject failure and resignation so I’ve successfully put it off so far.

Kids start school in a week without a holiday or a day out and I’m back at work on Wednesday without so much as a pub lunch this week. Miserable ain’t it.

 Wish I had a vice.

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4 thoughts on “Ah sweet misery

  1. Don’t beat yourself up for having to decide when to place your mother in a dementia care center. It’s really not a choice anymore: chances are, the social worker at the hospital may make that decision when it’s time to discharge her, or, if not this time around, then whatever organization is in charge of coordinating her care. But holy cripes Dave, I’ve been there and will tell you that trying to care for a parent with dementia at home is a daily nightmare. It causes so much stress for everyone, your partner, your own children, and YOU, it affects them physically. My blood pressure and sugar levels shot up while looking after my mother, yet I was losing weight. A concerned friend said I looked like I had aged 20 years and urged me to “get out of there while you can still walk.” I will say I can look in the mirror now and say I have no regrets: but I admit I am still angry at the lack of support I got from my father and siblings. I finally had to see a therapist, who said I had the symptoms of PTSD. So I’ve been working on that. But again, do not feel bad about whatever decision you make for your mother’s care. This is a battle no single person can fight and win.

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