My experience of this nasty condition.
It’s like dealing with someone who’s totally and utterly drunk. Getting my mother dressed in the morning is like wrestling a whale. “Lean forward” you say, over and over, to someone who’s constantly leaning backwards, or sideways. Then we have “hunt the sleeve”, where I have to guide the hand through the sleeve, at the same time as holding her upright - one handed dressing is not easy. Then try to get the feet onto the gadget that lifts her into a standing position, guiding the hands onto the handles, and getting the belt around the back. Once up, it’s a quick change of the incontinence knickers, and rub some cream onto future bedsores.
Sit her in her chair, diabetes blood test, insulin injection, brush teeth and wash face, then go and prepare breakfast.
We’re at the occasional choke stage, so her bread with the crusts cut off, ham, tomato and tartare sauce doesn’t always go down too well, and takes getting on for an hour to eat. “Don’t forget your coffee” results in coffee invariably forgotten, reheated, to be forgotten again.
By lunchtime, she’s usually a bit more with it, listening to a bit of Bach beforehand, and even manages a banana on her own, except for the last little bit, then it’s back to bed for an afternoon nap, often until dinner time in the evening.
After dinner, she’s quite capable of staring at her glass of wine for hours. “Are you going to drink it?” “Yes” she says, staring at it for another half an hour.
The occasional paranoia of “someone’s emptied my purse” “But you don’t even know where your purse is and it’s empty anyway”.
“Did the plumber come?” “No we’re not expecting a plumber”
“There’s something on the stove” No, there’s nothing on the stove.
“There’s a joint of beef over there that needs putting in the freezer.” No, there’s nothing over there, you’re just dreaming.
“Do you want to put your feet up?” I ask. “No, I was thinking it’s about time I went home”.
I fully understand what anyone who is looking after someone with dementia is going though.
Now she has a horrendous bedsore that is getting worse, the nurses change the dressing every day, and it’s painful for her. Next stop hospital from which I expect there will be no return.
To be honest, it’s wearing me down, but I hope my experience will help other people come to terms with what they’ve got, and to know they aren’t alone.
Any ideas for anti-choke breakfast recipes?
It’s like dealing with someone who’s totally and utterly drunk. Getting my mother dressed in the morning is like wrestling a whale. “Lean forward” you say, over and over, to someone who’s constantly leaning backwards, or sideways. Then we have “hunt the sleeve”, where I have to guide the hand through the sleeve, at the same time as holding her upright - one handed dressing is not easy. Then try to get the feet onto the gadget that lifts her into a standing position, guiding the hands onto the handles, and getting the belt around the back. Once up, it’s a quick change of the incontinence knickers, and rub some cream onto future bedsores.
Sit her in her chair, diabetes blood test, insulin injection, brush teeth and wash face, then go and prepare breakfast.
We’re at the occasional choke stage, so her bread with the crusts cut off, ham, tomato and tartare sauce doesn’t always go down too well, and takes getting on for an hour to eat. “Don’t forget your coffee” results in coffee invariably forgotten, reheated, to be forgotten again.
By lunchtime, she’s usually a bit more with it, listening to a bit of Bach beforehand, and even manages a banana on her own, except for the last little bit, then it’s back to bed for an afternoon nap, often until dinner time in the evening.
After dinner, she’s quite capable of staring at her glass of wine for hours. “Are you going to drink it?” “Yes” she says, staring at it for another half an hour.
The occasional paranoia of “someone’s emptied my purse” “But you don’t even know where your purse is and it’s empty anyway”.
“Did the plumber come?” “No we’re not expecting a plumber”
“There’s something on the stove” No, there’s nothing on the stove.
“There’s a joint of beef over there that needs putting in the freezer.” No, there’s nothing over there, you’re just dreaming.
“Do you want to put your feet up?” I ask. “No, I was thinking it’s about time I went home”.
I fully understand what anyone who is looking after someone with dementia is going though.
Now she has a horrendous bedsore that is getting worse, the nurses change the dressing every day, and it’s painful for her. Next stop hospital from which I expect there will be no return.
To be honest, it’s wearing me down, but I hope my experience will help other people come to terms with what they’ve got, and to know they aren’t alone.
Any ideas for anti-choke breakfast recipes?
