Another day in Paradise

It's Wednesday.  My dad goes to a Day Centre from 9.30 a.m. until 2 p.m.  It's only around the corner from the house but we take the car.  His mobility is poor but that message hasn't reached him yet.  He walks with a stick although it's purpose has often been to point at people or other things of interest...inside a shop for example.  My dad has no spacial awareness.  I'm not sure if this is really a Dementia trait or more of a "I can do what I want now that I'm in my 80's" thing.  Either way, you learn not to address the issue using a stern tone as him speaking his mind regardless of the audience may not be what you bargained for.  To be honest, the stick pointing is fairly rare these days due to the fact he uses a wheelchair when we go out for some hours.  His walking was always quite slow but as he began to stoop forward and shuffle more, it was time to give his legs and body a wee rest.  He likes being wheeled around in his chair.  He thinks it's a great invention although the same man stated "I wouldn't be seen dead in one!" some years ago.

I remind him on a Tuesday night that he will be going to the Day Centre in the morning.  Nine times out of ten he'll ask, "Where am I going?"  I tell him that it's where he meets his friends every week.  By morning I'm saying the same thing again...and he'll ask again, "Where?"

This morning after telling him he looked puzzled and stumbled on words as he said, "I'll need to write down my...my...I don't know."  "Take your time," I said.  "it'll come to you."  Moments later he said, "Address...I need to write my address so they know where I am."  Whatever was going through his head, I told him not to worry.  I was taking him and would be there to pick him up when he was finished.  Calm was restored.

Four and a bit hours fly by when you're doing your own thing.  I still haven't mastered any kind of routine yet but I'm hopeful by 2025 I'll have cracked it!

Back home again and it's off with his shoes.  I'm right there to pick them up and put them away immediately thus avoiding him bending down to do the same and fall over in the process.  He has only recently stopped going to visit the nurse every few days to have a dressing on his skint elbow refreshed.  I had just moved in with him two or three days when I watched him lose his balance and fall backwards while trying to pull his slipper on...from a standing position of course.  It was awful.  I felt so helpless...and guilty.  I had his slippers ready and waiting for him but I was too busy checking a message on my bloody phone to realise he'd started to put them on without waiting to be helped.  Lesson learned.  No matter what else I have to do my first priority is a 'safety check'.  He just tries to 'help' but can't foresee potential danger.  If he leaves the room I don't mither him.  I just watch, listen and eventually follow...usually to find him raking in a cupboard not knowing what he is looking for.  Gentle reassurance and guidance towards the living room once again usually fixes that...until the 4th or 5th time when inside my brain my speech cell is busy forming the word F**K in bold capitals while my mouth strains to stay shut and not allow it to escape with volume.

Tomorrow I have an appointment with a Solicitor to begin the process for Guardianship of my dad.  I wondered whether to tell about it or just wait until it's time to go and tell him then.  But as I was rustling around putting together all the documents required, I decided to make mention.  I didn't go into great detail.  All he needs to know is that I will be here to make the decisions that he can't and to ensure that his supply of crisps and lager are forever sufficient.  Happy days!

Today we have watched (me with one eye) copious 'Columbo' episodes..."whit a right scruffy buggar to be a polis man" is my father's description, loosely translates to the unkempt nature of the detective

and a couple of 'Cracker' episodes...to be resumed tomorrow I have no doubt.

I've yawned my head off since 10 p.m. tonight and he has asked me countless times if I am tired.  "Just a bit," I'd say but he still sat until 11 p.m. before making his way to bed.  Only when he toddles off I can set up my bed in the living room...and as I end this post, it's 2 a.m. already...and my bed still remains in chair form!  During my days I am like a hamster on a wheel, so a little (lot) 'down' time is required before I go to sleep and it all begins again tomorrow.

Dad:  "Did you have a good sleep?  I had a GREAT sleep!"  Me: (red eyed but smiling) "Me too!"