I was right when I said a while back that it seemed that the medication was wearing off. Dad was put on Aricept four months ago and it's been a lovely relaxed time compared to what went before. However this last week it's been like he hasn't been taking the drugs at all (yet he is). And the difficult thing is that he is going back to exactly the way he was before, with the same obsessions, and making the same errors.
Thursday afternoon I get a phone call at work from my sister. Dad has turned up at the job centre and is demanding they give him his money. He tells them there is a lady at his house who has it all (that would be me) and won't give him any. Dad has not handled money for about six months after he became very paranoid and suspicious over it, and clearly no longer understood it. Since then, and because the POA I sent off for is taking forever, I have paid for everything. These last few months dad has been fine with that.
Anyway, the job centre contacted social services who get hold of my sister. She then rings me at work, asking if I can leave to go and pick him up. I don't know quite what came over me but I decided to put my foot down. She was at home with her daughter, still on holiday (she works in a school), and she expected me to leave work to pick him up. I said no. She ummed and ahhd, saying her partner was out walking the dogs and she didn't have her house keys on her (so he's going to be walking the dogs for the next hour and a half is he?) but I persisted, and miracle of miracles she gave in.
My sister hasn't seen or spoken to my dad in months. The last time was on a rare lucid day for dad when we bumped into her in town. Before that it was probably the last visit from the social worker for which she usually turns up. So of course she had no idea what she was turning up to. Dad didn't know her, thought she was there to give him his money, and would not stop going on about it. My sister ended up having to order him home.
She finally gets him there and the next thing is there's a knock on the door from a nurse, there to give him his flu jab. I have no idea where she came from. We had a letter a few months back and dad's response was: "I don't want that", but there she was. My sister let her in, and then rang me again at work.
In order to be checked over dad takes his shirt off. My sister, on the phone to me at the time, says, shocked: "He's so skinny!" Yeah, I know. Don't ask me why because I'm feeding him the same, and, if anything he's doing less exercise than he was. Now he can fit into my clothes and I'm a petite five foot three (he does occasionally come downstairs in the morning wearing my trousers!).
Still being firm I ask her if he will be all right until I get home and she says yes.
Two hours later I'm back and dad is watching TV, seemingly happy enough. And of course I get another phone call from my sister.
"Isn't it time he went into a home?"
If you say so. I'd like to see you convince the social worker of that. And exactly where does the money come from? Of course I don't exactly phrase it that way on the phone but I tell her she's welcome to try. The social worker is not exactly communicative. "But he's so much worse!" Is he? Actually I've seen him in a much more confused state than that, and she didn't even see him while the meds were working. So I've no idea what she's comparing him to.
He does get more confused in the afternoons. He's usually fine when I leave for work in the morning. And all the usual upset over Christmas hasn't helped with his confusion. I'm hoping he'll become more settled as the routine gets back to normal, although the carers who are supposed to come in at lunch time are pretty useless. They tell me it's because he doesn't want to let them in, but seeing as they are supposed to come and do his lunch and yet they are turning up at any time from 11am to 3pm I'm not exactly surprised.
Yeah I'd love to get more support, but I don't expect it.
Thursday afternoon I get a phone call at work from my sister. Dad has turned up at the job centre and is demanding they give him his money. He tells them there is a lady at his house who has it all (that would be me) and won't give him any. Dad has not handled money for about six months after he became very paranoid and suspicious over it, and clearly no longer understood it. Since then, and because the POA I sent off for is taking forever, I have paid for everything. These last few months dad has been fine with that.
Anyway, the job centre contacted social services who get hold of my sister. She then rings me at work, asking if I can leave to go and pick him up. I don't know quite what came over me but I decided to put my foot down. She was at home with her daughter, still on holiday (she works in a school), and she expected me to leave work to pick him up. I said no. She ummed and ahhd, saying her partner was out walking the dogs and she didn't have her house keys on her (so he's going to be walking the dogs for the next hour and a half is he?) but I persisted, and miracle of miracles she gave in.
My sister hasn't seen or spoken to my dad in months. The last time was on a rare lucid day for dad when we bumped into her in town. Before that it was probably the last visit from the social worker for which she usually turns up. So of course she had no idea what she was turning up to. Dad didn't know her, thought she was there to give him his money, and would not stop going on about it. My sister ended up having to order him home.
She finally gets him there and the next thing is there's a knock on the door from a nurse, there to give him his flu jab. I have no idea where she came from. We had a letter a few months back and dad's response was: "I don't want that", but there she was. My sister let her in, and then rang me again at work.
In order to be checked over dad takes his shirt off. My sister, on the phone to me at the time, says, shocked: "He's so skinny!" Yeah, I know. Don't ask me why because I'm feeding him the same, and, if anything he's doing less exercise than he was. Now he can fit into my clothes and I'm a petite five foot three (he does occasionally come downstairs in the morning wearing my trousers!).
Still being firm I ask her if he will be all right until I get home and she says yes.
Two hours later I'm back and dad is watching TV, seemingly happy enough. And of course I get another phone call from my sister.
"Isn't it time he went into a home?"
If you say so. I'd like to see you convince the social worker of that. And exactly where does the money come from? Of course I don't exactly phrase it that way on the phone but I tell her she's welcome to try. The social worker is not exactly communicative. "But he's so much worse!" Is he? Actually I've seen him in a much more confused state than that, and she didn't even see him while the meds were working. So I've no idea what she's comparing him to.
He does get more confused in the afternoons. He's usually fine when I leave for work in the morning. And all the usual upset over Christmas hasn't helped with his confusion. I'm hoping he'll become more settled as the routine gets back to normal, although the carers who are supposed to come in at lunch time are pretty useless. They tell me it's because he doesn't want to let them in, but seeing as they are supposed to come and do his lunch and yet they are turning up at any time from 11am to 3pm I'm not exactly surprised.
Yeah I'd love to get more support, but I don't expect it.
