Good luck, Sally
Tinker, thanks for your posting. You actually typed what I said to a friend at lunchtime, trying to describe what things are like with my Mum at the moment. Whenever we visit, we get 'when am I going home?', 'you haven't sold the house, have you cos I'm going to go back there' and endless variations on the same theme. But the home staff - who've been excellent so far - swear blind she's happy and settled the vast majority of the time.
I couldn't help but notice that one of the staff came and sat in the same little lounge area as us last time we visited (she said later that she wanted to so she could intervene for our sake if Mum was being difficult to deal with), and Mum brought her into the conversation herself. Soon we were into what a lovely evening they'd had when the accordion player came the other night, and how the patio was coming along now the plants are starting to bloom, and helpingo make pies ...
As Tinker said, I think in many ways I remind her of 'home' (though I hadn't lived there for 20 years, she's convinced a lot of the time that we live together) and that sets off the topic. I represent some kind of token of aspects of her past.
It's a double-edged sword: you want to visit but you don't want a visit that is painful. The Guilt Monster everyone on TP talks about is already sitting on your shoulder, anthen you have a visit that makes you wonder why you're bothering and what it is you think you're achieving. It sounds awful, but it's human and natural. If you didn't care, you wouldn't be upset, would you? Try not to fall into the trap of feeling bad about feeling bad.
I actually questioned the manageress in the initial review to the effect of 'Is us visiting actually not helping?', but she was insistent Mum's loves the visits, speaks very fondly about us to the other residents and staff and that it was a good thing to visit. She described my situation as being her 'outlet' for the frustrations of being where she is (as she can't, sadly, even begin to accept why). Our visit is how she gets it off her chest. Not a nice experience for us at the time, until you see in the bigger picture, when you realise it is serving a purpose and has a benefit.
It's easy to look for more direct benefits to yourself, but I think you have to accept that the real personal benefit is knowing that they are safe and being looked after: if they we not where they are, how much constant cover could someone give to ensure they weren't vulnerable? Ideally, she wouldn't be there, but life isn't ideal. If I had better options, I'take them, but they're not on offer. So I've chosen as best I can for her: visiting lets me see that what she needs is in place for her, even if 'needs' and 'wants' might not always coincide.
I know that's not hugely comforting so far, but the other tip I can offer is to think of plenty of conversational distractions before you arrive. Mum reads the paper every day, so I talk about things that are happening in the world (she hates Blair, which is a conversational godsend lately). It's hard work, but it helps - distract my Mum long enough and she'll have quite a chuckle about things and be quite witty and jolly. I live in vain hope that it may be helping her try to learn that it's possible to reasonably contented and enjoy moments as her life as it is now - who nows? I'm not a qualified care worker with dementia training, I'm just her son - but where they have been a string of visits with good moments, the next one seems to come more easily.
The other thing to remember is that small events can cause what might seem like excessive anguish or upset - we had one terrible visit where it turned out she'd exchanged a couple of sharp sentences with another resident mid-afternoon over some tiny misunderstanding and had been in a foul mood and hating everything and everyone all afternoon as a consequence. Not our fault at all, and - as she didn't mention it - how where we to know?
It's very easy to look at her on her better days and think that 'she doesn't need to be here'. But she had days of hating and not recognising the home she now wants to go back to you; while she was there she was falling asleep with the oven or grill on (with food in), wanding the streets at night, continually locking herself out, phoning the police to report delusional accusations against the neighbours and starting fires in the garden. The home gives more stimulation than she would otherwise get (she'd been a determinedly solitary figure since my father died), constant company, and activity: mentally, she's far more stable than when she was at home or in hospital (although some of this is probably due to medication).
And if she did go home, she'd fall apart again in no time at all. Granting her her apparent wish would be dangerous, negligent and cruel. Remembering that definitely helps me.
What's best is what you know is actually going to reliably make sure Dad will have someone there when and if he needs them, for whatever reason, in a stable environment with some stimulating activity. Looking back, what was therefore actually a practical decision (in my case, which home?) felt really hard to handle because I was trying to answer what, where, why, who how and when instead.
Before you can tackle any of it, you need to get plenty of rest so that you think more clearly. No-one thinks at their best when they're upset. Pamper yourself, have an early night, and try to draw up a list of your options tomorrow that you can look at objectively.
Take good care, and please keep posting to let us know how you get on.
And have a big dital hug in the meantime
Dave
