Am I Dementia Friendly - not in this house!
Well, the title says it all - I am most definitely NOT dementia friendly. In fact, I hate dementia! It has taken my man away from me, he is a shadow of who he was, it has ruined our lives.
What can I do about it? Can I kick dementia out? Well, no, this unwelcome guest is here to stay, and one of us will win this battle, and it will not be me, it will not be my man, it will be the hated dementia. And I do hate it. I have never hated anyone or anything in my life before, apart from maths and science, and cookery, and needlework.... but all that is another story.
Who am I, who is he? That is not really important, enough to say we were once married to other people, and that we came to each other late in life. We thought we were soul mates, we were soul mates, for a while. A slightly odd couple, he brought up far differently than I, in my parents two up two down workers terrace in the north west, and he in a rather pleasant detached house in the east midlands, where one had lunch and supper, not dinner and tea.
We were both creative in our own way - he a very talented chorister, as singing ran in his family. It does in mine, in fact I had an uncle who sang for Sadler Wells, but it is a gene that by passed me as I cannot hold a note in a bucket. He was somewhat condescending as to my lack of musicality - he never did realise that I do have a knowledge of classical music, and a love of 60's pop, I just cannot sing.
After we got together, it was great fun. Once a month I would drive up to him in the lovely village of Langham in Rutland, and once a month he would drive down here to Devon. We went on days out, pub lunches, and generally got to know each other. On one occasion he asked me if I minded if we went to visit his sister, Margaret, who was in a Care Home. So, we did. I was not sure what to expect, as Margaret was not very old, mid 60's, at that time.
When we arrived, I was greeted by the usual friendly staff, and caring people, and awful lingering smell. Every care home seems to have it - it is part of old age, part of decay, and dementia. I thought to myself that I did not mind visiting, as this was not a great part of our lives together. Margaret was in the latter stages of some kind of dementia. I met her gentle husband, Anthony, and was touched by the loving care he had of his wife. He would tenderly wipe away the excess saliva that gathered in her mouth and throat causing her difficulty. So lovingly, talking to her all the while. I tried not to stare.
We chatted in front of Margaret, as she was not really with us. But I remembered that hearing stays if all else is lost - in the dying, but I did not know if it still applied with dementia - so I chatted to her too. But I was glad to leave, leave that dreadful lounge with its occupants staring out through the large picture windows, and the child like mobiles and decorations around the room, that to me, seemed intellectually insulting.
I pitied Margaret, I pitied even more, Anthony, her smiling, sad husband.
Little did I know what lay ahead - that our roles would change, Margaret would die, Anthony would grieve, but then he would in due course, find a new love, and be happy again, with his new, fresh, love. Whereas, I, would be the one meeting dementia every day, getting to know dementia, fighting dementia, on behalf of my love, who would grow distant and lost to me.
From my feeling sorry for Anthony and his awful situation, while I had a new and vibrant love in my life, we have done a complete turnaround. He now pities me, with this awful interloper in my life, while he has the new love.......
But this is only the beginning of my story, and the story of my lost love.........
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