I haven't posted on here in many, many months. Life has just been a rollercoaster and I have been too exhausted somehow to talk about it. I’ve just checked and the last time I wrote anything was a year ago, virtually to the day. So I will start by apologising to all of you who have helped and advised me during my journey as a carer. Without the help of TP I don’t know where I would be now. It gave me great support and much information over my nearly four years as a member and helped me to maintain the strength to go on.
Over the last year my parents (Mum with vascular dementia and Dad mostly unaffected by memory loss - of which more below) finally got to spend some 7 months of uninterrupted time together in the flat I had moved them to from their home in Hertfordshire. Being 10 minutes walk from my home I saw them every day. I managed to find them a wonderful carer who lived in the same block of flats and then also discovered a marvellous private agency who took my carer on. At last I could stop worrying about the quality of care. Their neighbour/carer used to bring her two-year old daughter with her sometimes and this brightened up their world immeasurably; it was lovely to see the pure love and affection that existed between the three of them.
Of course, all good things must come to an end and Dad fell ill in October and eventually went into hospital with pneumonia and a blocked bowel. He had his 92nd birthday in hospital and although nobody thought he would leave the hospital he made a very slow recovery. However, as I believe is common, dementia suddenly seemed to raise its ugly head. In retrospect, of course, the signs had all been there - for example his steadfast refusal to accept that Mum had no reasoning ability, his utter insistence on always telling her the truth despite the upset this often caused. Dad had full-blown hallucinations and paranoia, believing that he had seen poor Mum “on the sofa cavorting with another man in the pimpery”, believing that we were suing someone and ‘noticing’ that the visitor on the other side of the ward had brought a ferret in with her. Naturally, there was a funny side to it but it was a shock nonetheless to realise that Dad had joined Mum in the world of dementia.
Mum and Dad went into a nursing home where they received exemplary care. He was in the nursing section while Mum was in the dementia area but they saw each other every day. By this point Dad was in a wheelchair and needed a hoist so it was quite inconceivable that he and Mum could manage at home but he was not happy and it was now he for whom I had become the enemy. He had a sudden short illness in February and died on St Valentine’s Day. Mum had stopped eating by this point and slowly wasted away, joining him on 19th April. The funeral was yesterday.
I am sorry for the length of this post but thought I would try to encapsulate the past year as briefly (!) as possible. What concerns me is that I seem to be unable to grieve. Of course, I have cried - it is no fun sitting by someone for a week as they slowly fade away as so many of you regrettably know. But I have not had a real howling session and was a bit flabbergasted at myself to find that I was able to make a personal contribution to both funerals without disintegrating. My overall feeling is one of relief. I feel guilty that I was unable to keep Dad at home where he so clearly preferred to be; yet I know there was no viable alternative. Apart from the logistics of the requirements for a hoist, the stress I and my husband and son have been through has taken a heavy toll. I have felt the loss bubbling up and I have just swallowed it back down. It is as if I cannot face it; maybe I feel that if I start I will never stop. I know this is far from healthy but I just don’t know what to do. Does anyone have any advice?
And again, apologies for the long absence and for the length of this post. If you have read it to the end thank you again. You are all so marvellous.
Jenny
Over the last year my parents (Mum with vascular dementia and Dad mostly unaffected by memory loss - of which more below) finally got to spend some 7 months of uninterrupted time together in the flat I had moved them to from their home in Hertfordshire. Being 10 minutes walk from my home I saw them every day. I managed to find them a wonderful carer who lived in the same block of flats and then also discovered a marvellous private agency who took my carer on. At last I could stop worrying about the quality of care. Their neighbour/carer used to bring her two-year old daughter with her sometimes and this brightened up their world immeasurably; it was lovely to see the pure love and affection that existed between the three of them.
Of course, all good things must come to an end and Dad fell ill in October and eventually went into hospital with pneumonia and a blocked bowel. He had his 92nd birthday in hospital and although nobody thought he would leave the hospital he made a very slow recovery. However, as I believe is common, dementia suddenly seemed to raise its ugly head. In retrospect, of course, the signs had all been there - for example his steadfast refusal to accept that Mum had no reasoning ability, his utter insistence on always telling her the truth despite the upset this often caused. Dad had full-blown hallucinations and paranoia, believing that he had seen poor Mum “on the sofa cavorting with another man in the pimpery”, believing that we were suing someone and ‘noticing’ that the visitor on the other side of the ward had brought a ferret in with her. Naturally, there was a funny side to it but it was a shock nonetheless to realise that Dad had joined Mum in the world of dementia.
Mum and Dad went into a nursing home where they received exemplary care. He was in the nursing section while Mum was in the dementia area but they saw each other every day. By this point Dad was in a wheelchair and needed a hoist so it was quite inconceivable that he and Mum could manage at home but he was not happy and it was now he for whom I had become the enemy. He had a sudden short illness in February and died on St Valentine’s Day. Mum had stopped eating by this point and slowly wasted away, joining him on 19th April. The funeral was yesterday.
I am sorry for the length of this post but thought I would try to encapsulate the past year as briefly (!) as possible. What concerns me is that I seem to be unable to grieve. Of course, I have cried - it is no fun sitting by someone for a week as they slowly fade away as so many of you regrettably know. But I have not had a real howling session and was a bit flabbergasted at myself to find that I was able to make a personal contribution to both funerals without disintegrating. My overall feeling is one of relief. I feel guilty that I was unable to keep Dad at home where he so clearly preferred to be; yet I know there was no viable alternative. Apart from the logistics of the requirements for a hoist, the stress I and my husband and son have been through has taken a heavy toll. I have felt the loss bubbling up and I have just swallowed it back down. It is as if I cannot face it; maybe I feel that if I start I will never stop. I know this is far from healthy but I just don’t know what to do. Does anyone have any advice?
And again, apologies for the long absence and for the length of this post. If you have read it to the end thank you again. You are all so marvellous.
Jenny
