It's getting towards the time when I need to get around to writing Xmas cards. I'm not a great fan of Xmas at the best of times ...... but this year it's taken on a painful sort of significance. Last year when it was so difficult to get anyone to believe that there was something not OK with dad, and he was reluctant to accept he needed any help, a social worker came out to see him about September time. The one thing he said to her that he thought he would need some help with was writing Xmas cards (it was over 3 months away for goodness sake!).
He deteriorated so rapidly ...... and didn't get the help he needed ........ and the day I went round to help him write his Xmas cards he'd got them spread all over the floor and was paddling in them. That was a shock. The first time there was absolutely no doubt in my mind and no denying that there was something wrong. We had a nightmare trawl through his address book trying to work out who to send Xmas cards to. I'd come round to help thinking that I was just going to be helping him to chose which card to send, and addressing the envelopes because his writing wasn't great anymore. I'd come round Friday night after a long day at work thinking it would be done in half an hour or so. It turned into nightmare epic of realising he'd no idea who was still alive anymore (I wasn't very in touch with relatives in the way he was, and he'd retired from work before I left school so I'd no idea really about any of his ex work colleagues). To my horror I found he had no idea how to write his name anymore ................ or even where to try to write it ................ so several times he tried to sign the address book instead of the card.
Three months later I'd have taken it as par for the course, but that night it was a total utter shock. He sat staring at me when I tried to get him to sign the cards. I was tired ......... it was 10pm by then and I'd left home for work about 6am. "Please dad, just write your name ........... here .............. no, ........... here" . He seemed almost in a trace, just staring at me ........... no sense of him knowing me ........... and I felt I didn't know him - never seen him like that before ......... no idea what was wrong (this is before he was diagnosed with anything) ............ no idea what to do.
............... then he got up, put his coat on and demanded that I take him home! (info from TP and lots of experience since have made sense of this ....... but at the time it was a bolt out the blue ........... what the hell was going on?). It was freezing cold outside, I was tired out, bothered about the cat who hadn't been given her tea and it was now 11pm. He got stroppy. My lovely gentle dad who never said boo to a goose in the 40+ years I'd known him was now reading the riot act to me. Then he got sad ........... I'm an old man ....... please take me home. It's horrid even when you know about dementia .................... but when you've no idea what's going on .................. OMG
We had a long and confused conversation about where he thought he lived. He tried to explain that he knew he lived at X address, and knew he was there, but he needed to be taken out and brought in again, so that it was the right place. So 12 midnight ............. out into the garden, to look at the house, and back again. not enough. NHS Direct weren't brilliant at all ............. I was afraid he might have had a stroke or goodness knows what, since i knew sod all about dementia and anyway he hadn't been diagnosed with anything.
Eventually I decided to take him a walk around his house (he'd lived there 30+ years so it shouldn't have been unfamiliar). He saw his bed and climbed into it. I stayed a while ................................. and he fell asleep.
................ the next day is another story .......... but I'll never write another Xmas card without thinking of that.
He deteriorated so rapidly ...... and didn't get the help he needed ........ and the day I went round to help him write his Xmas cards he'd got them spread all over the floor and was paddling in them. That was a shock. The first time there was absolutely no doubt in my mind and no denying that there was something wrong. We had a nightmare trawl through his address book trying to work out who to send Xmas cards to. I'd come round to help thinking that I was just going to be helping him to chose which card to send, and addressing the envelopes because his writing wasn't great anymore. I'd come round Friday night after a long day at work thinking it would be done in half an hour or so. It turned into nightmare epic of realising he'd no idea who was still alive anymore (I wasn't very in touch with relatives in the way he was, and he'd retired from work before I left school so I'd no idea really about any of his ex work colleagues). To my horror I found he had no idea how to write his name anymore ................ or even where to try to write it ................ so several times he tried to sign the address book instead of the card.
Three months later I'd have taken it as par for the course, but that night it was a total utter shock. He sat staring at me when I tried to get him to sign the cards. I was tired ......... it was 10pm by then and I'd left home for work about 6am. "Please dad, just write your name ........... here .............. no, ........... here" . He seemed almost in a trace, just staring at me ........... no sense of him knowing me ........... and I felt I didn't know him - never seen him like that before ......... no idea what was wrong (this is before he was diagnosed with anything) ............ no idea what to do.
............... then he got up, put his coat on and demanded that I take him home! (info from TP and lots of experience since have made sense of this ....... but at the time it was a bolt out the blue ........... what the hell was going on?). It was freezing cold outside, I was tired out, bothered about the cat who hadn't been given her tea and it was now 11pm. He got stroppy. My lovely gentle dad who never said boo to a goose in the 40+ years I'd known him was now reading the riot act to me. Then he got sad ........... I'm an old man ....... please take me home. It's horrid even when you know about dementia .................... but when you've no idea what's going on .................. OMG
We had a long and confused conversation about where he thought he lived. He tried to explain that he knew he lived at X address, and knew he was there, but he needed to be taken out and brought in again, so that it was the right place. So 12 midnight ............. out into the garden, to look at the house, and back again. not enough. NHS Direct weren't brilliant at all ............. I was afraid he might have had a stroke or goodness knows what, since i knew sod all about dementia and anyway he hadn't been diagnosed with anything.
Eventually I decided to take him a walk around his house (he'd lived there 30+ years so it shouldn't have been unfamiliar). He saw his bed and climbed into it. I stayed a while ................................. and he fell asleep.
................ the next day is another story .......... but I'll never write another Xmas card without thinking of that.