My Nannan has had dementia for a while. It was really slowly and steadily declining. She would repeat stories to me moments after she had said them, she would potter around the house confused, and she'd firmly believe that she had showered that day when she hadn't. Really manageable stuff for us - she could still chat to us and she still felt like my Nannan.
Then December happened. My Nannan had fallen when she was sitting down on her arm chair; she had sat too early and missed the seat. She was in hospital for a while and spent some time in a care home so she could have round the clock care during her recovery, and the deterioration in this period of time was shocking. When she came home fully in January, she could no longer walk - she is bedbound in a hospital bed in the living room. She can no longer talk. She cries when I try to feed her, despite her having refused food all day.
I felt as though I was coping okay until now. I work in Psychology and have spent so many hours on dementia wards that I have become fairly accustomed to the illness. I think my brain was trying to see it as work to protect myself from this feeling that has grown now. My Nannan looked at me the other day and I can't describe her expression; I just knew in that moment that she'd gone. I went home that evening and sobbed and sobbed and sobbed.
My Nannan taught me how to make Yorkshire puddings and pancakes when I was a little girl; she'd scold me and my sister for pinching all of her pickled onions out of her cabinets, and she'd sit for hours showing me how to knit. When I look at the person in her house, who looks like my Nannan, I see a stranger. That feeling in itself is something I could never wish on another person. I'd love to hear anyone elses experiences if they've felt similar; it just feels like such an isolating feeling.
Then December happened. My Nannan had fallen when she was sitting down on her arm chair; she had sat too early and missed the seat. She was in hospital for a while and spent some time in a care home so she could have round the clock care during her recovery, and the deterioration in this period of time was shocking. When she came home fully in January, she could no longer walk - she is bedbound in a hospital bed in the living room. She can no longer talk. She cries when I try to feed her, despite her having refused food all day.
I felt as though I was coping okay until now. I work in Psychology and have spent so many hours on dementia wards that I have become fairly accustomed to the illness. I think my brain was trying to see it as work to protect myself from this feeling that has grown now. My Nannan looked at me the other day and I can't describe her expression; I just knew in that moment that she'd gone. I went home that evening and sobbed and sobbed and sobbed.
My Nannan taught me how to make Yorkshire puddings and pancakes when I was a little girl; she'd scold me and my sister for pinching all of her pickled onions out of her cabinets, and she'd sit for hours showing me how to knit. When I look at the person in her house, who looks like my Nannan, I see a stranger. That feeling in itself is something I could never wish on another person. I'd love to hear anyone elses experiences if they've felt similar; it just feels like such an isolating feeling.