When I went to the COWs lunch yesterday I sat next to a lady who has Alzheimer's disease. She is a wonderful woman: she has been a headteacher and a magistrate but that dreadful disease is robbing her of her dignity. Another friend fetches her from home and we sit either side of her, making sure H doesn't wander off or purloin the cutlery. The other ladies are glad she can still come but are also glad that someone else will sit next to her and take care of her.
I have other friends whom I would like to visit but I just send cards or letters or make phone calls. I wish I could do more, but the bottom line is that the person's for whose health I have most responsibility, is me.
Please don't think I spend all my life as a ministering angel, but I have also been a carer myself for someone with dementia and I remember the gratitude and relief I felt when someone else visited and gave me a little time for myself. It's just that two such meetings occurred on consecutive days and they have left me thinking. I know my friend is slipping away and I want us to make the most of each other for as long as we can.
I have to admit there is quite a bit of selfishness in this: I hope that if the time comes when I am housebound, others will remember and care about me.
It is a cruel illness. I remember saying to a friend after her mother's death "I was sorry to hear you list your Mum" and she replied '"I lost her along time ago" We must do what we can to help share the load
ReplyDeleteI think so. J's husband is (embarrassingly) grateful when I take her out.
DeleteI lost a dear friend to it a few years ago, she vudited with her hubby most weeks, our home was a doace she felt happy in. My older brother is now in a secure home, he does not recognise his siblings.
ReplyDeleteIt's heart breaking not to be recognised by someone we love.
DeleteAlzheimers and dementia, in general, are such devastating illnesses. I've several family members who've been impacted by this illness. And every so often, when I forget a word or forget that I put water to boil for tea, I wonder if I am experiencing the beginnings of it, myself. :(
ReplyDeleteI think it's something which frightens all of us.
DeleteOh yes. I stopped joking about 'senior moments'. Getting dementia was my father's greatest fear, he was completely panicked by the effects of the strong painkillers used after hip surgery.
ReplyDeleteIt must have been terrifying for him.
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