Blackpool...pushing the limits

Well, we made it to Blackpool. Dad and I.  I've built this up so much over the past weeks and dad has been so excited.  So have I.  Best place ever on the planet he's been telling me forever.  But even I forgot that I wouldn't be dealing with just my dad and his adventurous mind...I'd also be dealing with Dementia.  How ironic.

At home, dad is in a familiar space and even though I know unfamiliarity causes confusion and distortion, I now realise that I never thought this through.

When we arrived, it became obvious very quickly that the hotel I booked (through a Travel Agent) is very far away from where I wanted...and needed...to be with my dad.  The Travel Agent sold it to me with the impression that it was very close to the North Pier, the quieter end.  Ideally I would like to have been in between the North and Central Piers but was assured that the location would suit my needs.  It doesn't.  Checking in to the hotel, they told me they didn't know I needed an accessible room, one that suits the wheelchair.  But I was with the Travel Agent when he made the call to book.   Also, instead of a twin room, they had us in a double!  Although this has been resolved by simply pulling the beds apart, it isn't making me feel comfortable so far...and I've only spent one night!

The room has all kinds of gadgets and buttons to press.  My dad doesn't have the sense to ask what things are for.  His way is to push, pull, prod and twist....everything....to find out what it does.  The little side lights at the side of the bed for example.  There is a switch below this flexible light that turns it on and off.  Dad wasn't in the room 5 minutes before he was trying to unscrew the head off the lamp and when that failed, he started pulling it from the wall.  I have to raise my voice a little in order to make him stop doing things like this but he doesn't 'let go' immediately and his brain is telling him that he isn't doing anything wrong.  In fact, it's telling him to ignore me and carry on regardless with a little more vigour.  I then find myself beside him struggling to get the damn light out of his grasp and quickly push the button on the wall to show him the effect.  "Oh," he exclaimed.  "How come you know that?"

"I'm a genius dad.  I know everything!" is all I can say.

I ventured outdoors with him along the crumbling paths to walk along the North Pier.  The effort it took to push the chair was quickly evident.  Reaching the North Pier...CLOSED!

FFS!!

There is a lot of work still going on in Blackpool...to make it better.  'Sorry for the inconvenience' the notices state.  As I recall, the same notices were on display 9 years ago.  I wonder when Blackpool will eventually be 'better'!

I took dad to Funland.  I remember always going to the café inside to have their famous apple pie with cream and the best latté ever.  Now the apple pie has been replaced with wrapped apple tarts and a sell by date.  It's not the same.  It was already tea time so I ordered a baked potato for myself and dad wanted fish and chips.  I asked for a small portion.  This was clearly misunderstood when dad was presented with Shamu on a plate, buried under a sea of beans and a mountain of chips piled on top.  Dad didn't know whether to eat it or climb it!  He made a bloody good effort at it, that's all I can say.

We made our way back to the hotel after pottering around near the Tower for a little while.  The sun was going down and the view was just lovely.  I decided to walk back along the water's edge.  The only thing about this is that the built up walkway obscures the view of the hotels across the road.  I had to guess when to get myself back onto street level and didn't realise that this meant a hefty...and I mean HEFTY...uphill climb pushing the chair to get there.  I seriously struggled and the pain shooting through my arms was excruciating.  Dad could hear me swearing panting and he started to try and get himself out of the damn chair as I was pushing.  "I'll get out and walk," he was saying.  I had to pull his shoulder back with one hand to bring him back to a seated position which meant I was taking the weight of the chair, and HIM, with one hand too.  As I've said already, he doesn't take instruction immediately. He will do things in his own time and has no perception of danger...to himself and in this case, to me.

Back in the room, he was fiddling with the lights.

That's all.

We were lucky enough to see a firework display last night.  Dad loved it, saying over and over that he could watch it all night.  It really was spectacular.  I'm glad we didn't miss that.

I haven't slept for more than 3 hours.  I have a bloody hellish cold that came on in full late last night.  This along with the worry that dad would either fall out the bed or keep getting up made it impossible for me to switch off and relax.  Dad fell asleep around 10.30 p.m. and I tossed and turned, watching the clock.  I could feel myself drifting off around 2 a.m. when all of a sudden...

"Did you have a good sleep?" dad said.

"Still trying to sleep dad.  It's 2 o'clock in the morning." I said.

"Is it?  So it is.  I'd better get to sleep then," he said, and with that, he turned over and was off in the land of nod in no time.  I on the other hand watched that bloody clock until 4 a.m.  I woke again at 6.15 a.m.  Coughing and spluttering...and weary beyond belief.

Today I took a taxi to the Tower.  It made a huge difference.  We went to the Ballroom and dad couldn't stop pointing out the dancers who were taking their steps very seriously.  Their facial expressions made us giggle and he wasn't very conspicuous when he imitated them...even POINTING!  I imagined us getting chucked out any minute.

Dad got a bit weary and was complaining of being cold.  He really needs a nap during the day so I made my way back to the hotel...once again on foot.  Taxis weren't available and it seems to be a problem when you need one that takes a wheelchair.

I won't be venturing out again later...and it's only just before 5 p.m.!

I've had to give in and I have asked for reinforcements to come and rescue me tomorrow.  There is still so much that I want to do with dad but I am realising not only that I have my limits...but dad has too.  Maybe I bit off a big bit little more than I can chew in thinking that I could do this alone with my dad.  In the last hour or so it's taken me to write this, he has nodded off and woken up several times.  Each time making to get off his bed stating that he's going to make a cup of tea.  I tell him he's just had one and he settles back down again...for another 5 minutes.  It's becoming a bit relentless and as soon as I'm done with this blog post I'll take him to the lounge and we'll sit by the window and watch the sun across the sea.  All I want to do right now is sleep!

I love my dad dearly.  All I want is to make him happy for as long as he has life still in him.

But I'm not Wonder Woman.

I thought I was.

It's time to acknowledge that actually...I'm not always right.

Tomorrow will be better...as long as the light fittings remain intact!

Blackpool...the reunion!

This is my dad with my daughter and mother in Blackpool, September 21st 2009.  I was teaching sugar modelling class in Preston and this lot tagged along for the fun.  I haven't shown dad the photos I have yet, but I will.  We leave tomorrow morning for our wee break which he is so excited about...when I mention it.

I mentioned it to him this morning as I was sorting out the ironing.  I was getting his shirts ready to pack and said, "I'll put these in the suitcase dad."

"Where am I going?" he said, which is his usual reply if I don't use a sentence with Blackpool in it.  If I say, "I hope the weather is good for our trip to Blackpool tomorrow",  he'll say, "I know.  I can't wait."  He'll tell me it's his most favourite place in the world to be, apart from home.  I took him and my mother to New York, twice.  I could have saved myself a fortune if I'd known!

He said to me today, "I'll no be able to sleep the night for excitement!"  But he will sleep.

We've had this break booked for 7 weeks now.  I keep making a big thing about the countdown.  "Six weeks to go dad", "Five weeks to go dad", which he would respond with "that's too long to wait!"

The sad thing is, if we didn't go tomorrow, he'd never know.

After he stripped off in the hallway (again!!) this morning, I got him showered and half dressed then asked him to brush his teeth.  I always put the toothpaste onto his toothbrush and I balance the brush over the cold tap until it's ready to use.  Normally I just need to tell him to brush his teeth and he'll get on with it.  I then leave the bathroom and start sorting his clothes in his bedroom and getting his shaver ready.  But this morning he hovered around the sink then turned on the hot water tap and rinsed his hands.  I turned off the water then handed him a towel before handing him the toothbrush and asked him again to brush his teeth.  I turned the cold tap on a little and then left him to it.  Maybe I said more to him than I can recall now and he just got muddled with the instruction.  Did I talk too much and put him off?   I will wonder about this until I do the same thing tomorrow, being careful just to ask him to brush his teeth and nothing more, just in case his confusion was caused by me.

I can't always jump to the conclusion that he's getting more forgetful.

We took 'dug' to the kennels this afternoon.  We'll see her again on Monday night.  When we got back to the house my dad said, "It's a quiet hoose withoot the dug."  After repeating this more than half a dozen times within half an hour I said, "The next time you get up to go for a pee I'll chase your leg and bite your ankle if it makes you feel better!"

His response, "Away ya daft buggar!"

I'm almost finished packing.  I've hidden the suitcase under dad's bed out of sight.  If I left it out he'd be in and out of it like a Jack in the Box.  The suitcase will be in the car before he knows it and we'll be on our way before I remind him where we are going.  All that's left to pack is the medication.  Diabetes and Iron pills for him.

Valium for me!

I can't wait to get on the road.  Another one of life's little adventures.  Dad won't be on the chair-o-planes this time around.

I reckon he'll be flying high just the same.

"BLACKPOOL...HERE WE COME!"

Ten out of ten

Yesterday, dad and I enjoyed having the company of a friend whose birthday it was.  I planned to make a special dinner and of course a small cake.  Nothing fancy, but you can't have a birthday without cake...not in this house at least!

I told dad in the morning to expect a guest who was going to celebrate his birthday with us and that we'd be going out for a spot of lunch and perhaps do a bit of shopping.  Any opportunity to go out, dad is happy.

With my friend due to arrive soon, I set out his birthday gift and card.  Dad watched me do this and asked, "What's that?"  

"It's  Douglas's present dad," I replied.  "He's coming to pick us up in a wee while...take us out...it's his birthday today."

"Is it?" he said.  "Very good."

Douglas arrived.  "Hello!" said dad.  "How are you doin'?"

I handed Douglas his gift bag and as he said his 'thanks', he turned to dad and made some joke about his age....his own that is...not my dad's!  Anyhoo...Dad looked a wee bit confused so I said, "It's his birthday dad."  "Is it?" he said, and smiled.  Throughout the day there were several mentions of the birthday which was responded to with "Is it?" every...single...time.  The most classic response late in the day was, "Is it?  I never knew that.  That's the first I've heard of it."

This was going to be a long day...I could tell!

It was so nice for me to have the extra company yesterday even though it was short lived.  There is no such thing as a private and personal life for me at the moment.  This is something that I cannot dwell upon too much.  My dad is my priority.  It's not his fault that he needs all of me.  This whole new life makes me more thankful than ever for moments made special.  I'll take time for me soon when my dad goes in to respite...it is just so bloody difficult to 'let go' and switch off.  It's like having a child all over again...only worse!

Today is Wednesday and I got dad ready for his usual visit to the Day Centre.  I said my farewell then stepped into the Office to have his 6 monthly review.  Listening to what they had to say was quite a contrast to previous comments.  Just two months ago my dad's diet was very poor.  This was a concern for the Centre then but I explained how the situation was about to change and that I would be making sure he ate well when he was at home...with me.

His mild manner was also mentioned although if he sees another client being disrespectful to the staff he is quick to vocalise his abhorrence!  He is now taking part in activities that he hasn't shown an interest in before.  The biggest improvement is his diet.  Although his portions are always small, he is finishing what is put in front of him most days.  His mobility is no concern to them and I'm told that he wanders around most of the time without using his walking stick.  🙈 

I can't babysit my dad.  The ladies at the Centre are lovely and dad is able to engage in a conversation about his day (kind of) when I pick him up.  This is something else that he didn't really do before.  All these little changes are big...HUGE...for my dad.  His circumstances have changed dramatically although he is oblivious to the cause.

I wish I was.

Tomorrow I'll be packing a suitcase to take us off on our short break to Blackpool.  He is extremely excited about this...when I remind him that we are going.  I can't wait to see his face when we get there.  The Tower, lights, sounds of the sea.  All very nostalgic.  It's going to be bittersweet for sure but so worth it.  He deserves to be cared for.

Today I feel proud.  Proud of my dad...

...and me.

Mary, Mary quite contrary...How does your garden grow?

Dad got up early yesterday, which wasn't so great for me as he didn't go to bed until after 11 p.m.  No matter what time it is I still need a little time to unwind before I close my eyes so by the time I got my bed made up and into it, the time had gone way past pumpkin hour.  On the positive side, it meant that I could have him washed and dressed, ready to go out for a morning coffee.  I bought a huge box of washing powder and we made our way home.  That's as exciting as the shopping trip got.  It was unusually sunny and crisp yesterday.  Our back garden is a little sun trap so when it showed it's face through the fluffy clouds it got quite hot.  

The sun had dipped behind the clouds for a while so I sat with dad who had already started to rub his eyes.  I put the TV on as usual and he didn't make his way to the DVD drawer...which is always good.  Channel 10 shows all the old detective programmes along with a variety of others and it appears that dad enjoys them even although he doesn't understand the plot.  I, being selfish, don't care as any alternative viewing to Columbo on a daily basis prevents ME from LOSING the plot!

I decided to put my jacket on and busy myself outside.  Dad's speech was starting to get a little mumbled so I asked him if he wanted a little snooze.  "That would be good," he said.  With that, I left him alone on his recliner, instructed 'dug' to vacate the living room and outdoors we went to tidy up the garden...tiny as it is, it still needs looking after.

I cleared out my mother's garden shed when I moved in and made it possible to actually step inside.  I am lucky that there is every garden tool I need to dig, rake, hoe, snip and feed.  There are also two perfect collapsible garden chairs.  After spending a couple of hours minutes weeding, the chairs beckoned and I was soon sitting with a mug of hot tea in hand enjoying the sun's rays with 'dug' sitting on my lap.  I sat for what seemed like an age, just thinking.  Remembering what the garden looked like when my parents moved in almost 3 years ago.  It wasn't pretty.  But my mother was never one to let the grass grow (see what I did there?) and wasted no time in getting gardeners in to redesign it making it easier to maintain.  For that I am truly grateful!

Although she didn't sit outside and enjoy it latterly like I intend to at any opportunity, she did take pride in the fact she managed to grow plants from seed and was able to see them flourish for one season at least.  She spent quite a bit of money on various shrubs and plants and I remember the tearful phone call telling me that dad had watered them all with weed killer.  It took a lot of persuading of my mother to hide the key to the shed as her opinion was that my dad should "know better!"  She eventually listened...not to all of my advice...but the shed became less of a fixation when it couldn't be gotten in to.  Problem solved...for now.

There is one little area of the garden which is a small rectangle surrounded with grey bricks.  There's already a lovely flowering plant growing (don't ask me the name...it is pink...that's all I know) which my mother grew.  I added mint and rosemary to the little plot the other day.  I love the smell of the herbs and miss them from my previous home.  It is nice to have them back.  My intention is to pay special attention to this little plot in my mother's memory.  I'm no Percy Thrower, but I'll do it.

With my own thoughts, in my own time...I spread some of her ashes in my own little garden of remembrance.

I found you one of your forever places mother. 💖

It was almost lunch time so I went indoors to check on my dad who was wide awake and sitting watching something or other on TV.  "It's a beautiful day,"  I said.  "You should come outside for some fresh air."  He smiled at me and as I went to the bedroom to empty the laundry basket, I caught sight of him from the window making his way to the shed that I'd left wide open.  I dropped the laundry and with a rocket up my arse was back by his side just in time to stop him from stepping fully inside the shed.  He had one foot already on the shed floor and holding on to the sides of the open door (which would have slices off his fingers if a gust of wind had blown the door shut!) was ready to propel himself forward.  "Come out of there dad," I said, trying not to sound lecturing.  "I've a chair outside for you."

"Yes," he said.  "But there's only one.  Where will you sit?"  😞

I told him not to worry about me as I was busy pottering in the garden.  The second chair was right at the back of the shed.  I'd fetch it later once he had his backside secured on the one I'd set out.  I put a warm jacket on him and made him a cup of tea along with a packet of crisps.  He loves the sun.  It was just lovely to be able to enjoy it again...in Scotland!...at this time of year.

We spent a good part of the day outside and when it was time to come back inside, I put the TV back on to the old programme playing Channel.  Dad sat with his feet up and I sat with him for a while before I had to prepare dinner.  With no sign of the DVD's all day I was quietly in my element.  'Poirot' was just coming to an end.  I was busy catching up with Facebook and anything else that busies me on my laptop when all of a sudden my ear picks up from the TV...."Now it's time for another case to be solved....Columbo!"

You've got to be KIDDING me!!

After dinner, I sat alongside dad for the remainder of the night.  He went off to bed just after 10 p.m. and for this I was truly grateful.  I haven't slept so well for many a night, still having nightmares all too often, so I welcomed this chance to lay my head down and switch off.  I watched a little reality catch up TV on my laptop then settled down for the night.

I could hear dad get up to visit the toilet during the night.  I always hear him, so my sleep can be broken up to 4 times a night.  Twice at the very least is normal.

I looked at my phone to check the time.  1.17 a.m. stared back at me.  I always listen until I hear him go back to his bedroom.  This time I could hear him hover outside the living room door...and then he opened it and just stood there.

"Are you alright dad?"  I asked.

"Has everyone gone home?" he asked.

I could have asked who he was talking about but there is no point.  If such questions arise during the day I would ask, out of curiosity and to know which planet we're on at that time.  But at 1.17 a.m. there's only one planet I crave...planet sleep!

"Yes dad," I replied.  "They've all gone.  Go back to bed and get some sleep m'darlin."

This is the first time he's entered the living room during the night when I'm asleep...or trying to.

I've a feeling it won't be the last.

I'm half awake today.  Got to be grateful for that at least!

"Good morning dad.  Sleep well?" I ask as always.

"GREAT!" he beams.  "You?"

Are you fkn kidding me?

"Sound as a pound dad."

😆

A little trip..

Yesterday I took dad to the shopping centre (I'm sounding like a broken record already am I not?) and managed to get my food shopping done without any problems.  Before heading home again we stopped at Costa for our usual.  The lady in front of me was greeted by the assistant with "Hello again.  Your usual is it?"

Very soon, this is how I'll be greeted too.

Dad has a habit of sneezing while he's eating.  He'll get so far into his meal or snack and then the sniffing starts.  As soon as I see him fumbling around for his hanky I know it's time to take cover.  He always has a clean hanky in his pocket but when we go out I tell him to put it in his jacket pocket to make it easier to find.  He does this but STILL will struggle to reach his trouser pocket underneath his jacket looking for it when it's needed.  "It's in your jacket dad," I say...again.  Trouble is, he doesn't always reach for the hanky and he'll sneeze where he sits.  If it was just a little sneeze then it wouldn't be too bad but it's close to implosion...every time.  I don't always catch him on time when we are in the house but I try to be on full alert when we are out.  Halfway through his bakewell tart I could see his eyes closing and his nose twitch.  "Hanky dad!" I say, but it's almost too late so I hand him the napkins instead.  Better being armed and ready to prevent the table next to us being sandblasted.  This is why I no longer buy him a sugar doughnut!  😆
................................................
Another day has passed since I started writing this post.  It's the weekend, and although the days are the same as any other, I spend it making sure the laundry is up to date and look forward to relaxing in the evening watching TV...no DVD's.  Dad was up pretty early so I got him sorted and settled so that I could spend some time working on cake stuff at the kitchen table.  Dad was happy to be entertained by Columbo and I welcomed back James Bond for a while.  Variety is the spice of life!
I was able to watch a movie on Netflix from my laptop and work at the same time.  Even though the pause button is the most worn out on my keyboard I won't complain.  Every now and again I'd cast dad a glance and he'd smile and say, "You're awfy busy!"
Stopping for lunch, I sat with him while he made the usual comments during Columbo.  There is so much bad editing and dad notices every single mistake...and gets annoyed.  Like, Columbo taking a bowl and a cheese grater out of a cupboard to grate some cheese.  But you can see the grated cheese already in the bowl as he takes it from the cupboard.  Also, the empty whisky glass only to be half filled again in the next shot.  Now and again I'll shake things up by getting in there with a comment first.  "Did you see that dad?  That glass was empty before!"  I'll say.  "Aye..." he'll say, followed by various reasons why it gets his back up.  Sometimes what he says makes no sense either but I allow him to vent and shake his head.  I follow it with "You're right," or "I know."  Makes life easier.
I have to watch what I say so I don't put ideas into his head that may (or may not) end well.  Avoid sentences that start with "I'll have to go and...." followed by "do" or "sort" and most definitely "fix".  Such sentences are almost an invitation for disaster.  I find it difficult not to talk out loud sometimes and this is as close to indepth conversation as it gets.
After lunch I start washing up the dishes.  I have some sugar pieces laying around drying out on the worktops so using water close by needs care taken.  As soon as dad hears the dishes in the sink he's behind me looking for a dish towel.  He just wants to help.  "Just let them dry on their own dad,"  I say.  "There's only a few."  "Okay," he replies.
He looks out of the kitchen window at the sun shining and the washing blowing on the line.  "A good drying day, isn't it?  I'll need to bring that washing in I think."  (NOOOOO!)
Next thing he's at the back door and I've no real excuse to give him for not venturing outside.  Before I am able to dry my hands properly, he's standing at the washing line reaching up to take the clothes down.  Not such a hard task you might think, but the back garden is chipped and I might as well put dad in roller skates than let him walk on the stones.  He doesn't lift his feet properly on any surface.  Shuffling on stones doesn't serve him well...or my heart!  The washing is thankfully just a little bit damp so I'm able to tell him that I'm going to leave it hanging there for a while yet.  I'm by his side as he makes to turn around and go back inside.  He needs my arm to hold on to.  If I wasn't there he might have made it back onto the flat slabs or even indoors.  This isn't a chance I will take.  Allowing dad to have as much independence without being overly cautious isn't always easy.  My tongue is like a sieve, I've bitten it so much.  No matter what, I'm always on call.
Worrying about him having a fall...reminds me of an 'incident' at Costa on Friday.  I was making my way back to our table with tray in hand. I was so concentrated on the tray that I didn't notice a large labrador sprawled under a table with a paw outstretched which obstructed my path.  I narrowly escaped going arse over tit.  "Sorry!" said the trainer.  Yeah...trainer.  How ironic that I didn't see a "Guide Dog for the blind in training".
The presence of my dad helps me to maintain my dignity as I respond "It's okay.  No worries," in a mouse voice.  Inwardly boiling "FFS!!"
..........................................
It's Sunday...a day of rest....eventually.

Young at heart

Dad got up quite early this morning.  As soon as I heard him shuffle into the bathroom, I jumped up and folded up my bed and had the living room looking 'normal' before he came in.  Still bleary eyed, I put the kettle on and started getting our breakfast ready.

"Good morning wee dug!" he said, greeting Poppy who was jumping up and down like Tigger on steroids, so excited to see him and on the verge of being (bloody) annoying.  I'm always worried that she'll trip dad up as he makes his way to the settee.  Offering biscuits usually works as a distraction...to the dug that is, not my dad.

Getting him washed and dressed went without issue this morning.  As I went to spray him with aftershave he winced and said "Ooyah!"  It doesn't hurt him at all, but he can be a bit dramatic about it.  I stopped buying him spray deodorant for the same reason because every morning he yelped as if I'd poked him in the eye with a stick.  I would laugh and make a joke about it but the joke wore off as I could see that this minor task could escalate into a mini tantrum.

I can't be having tantrums at my age!

Of course I meant my dad...just kidding.  Roll on deodorants only from now on. 

After him wincing with the tiniest spray of aftershave (which I spray more onto the front of his jumper and not onto his skin) I asked him if it was sore.  He said, "Naw!  It stinks!"  Not a reason to yelp for sure, but I kept the mood light and said, "It smells lovely."  Then he said seriously, "There's a difference between smell and stink."  Is there??  Maybe he's right.  Wanting to close the argument and move along I said "So there is."

I still had to get myself into the shower and ready for the day.  As I was sorting out my clothes I could hear dad in the living room opening the DVD drawer.  I went to see if he'd picked out Columbo thinking if he had I'd knock it right out of his hand put it on for him.  Thank f**k goodness he hadn't found it yet so I reached into the drawer and picked out an old movie, 'Young at Heart'.

"How about this?" I offered.  Showing him the cover I asked, "Do you know who they are?"

"Frank Sinatra!" he replied, straight away.  "Wow!" I thought...impressed...until I realised my dad can still read the names written above their heads.  *clown*  I put the movie on and sat for a little while enjoying it with him before I felt it safe to leave him with a cup of tea and a packet of crisps to go have my shower and not return to find the telly upside down and DVD's strewn in search of the shabby detective.  As for having crisps at that time in the morning...they're the best bargaining tool I've got!

The musical went down well, even though we left before it ended to go on our trip to the shopping centre and coffee, which ended in us staying for lunch too.  I told him I'd be bringing him back early next week to get him more new trousers to pack in his suitcase.  "Why?  Where am I going?" he asked.  "Blackpool dad!  Me and you...a week tomorrow." I replied.

"I know," he said.  "I can't wait!"  😆

I have a cake order for tomorrow.  I finally got on with decorating it to completion when we got home and dad got to sit back and spend the rest of the night with Columbo.  A few times he'd point things out to me.  Nothing new, not to me, but the same old parts of the episodes that annoy him or make him laugh.   But the sentences were either muddled or unfinished.  He copes better with muddled than unfinished...so do I, I think.  When he gets a word wrong he can find it somewhat funny and refer to himself as "an eejit!" but when the sentence is unfinished it means he can't find the word at all or has lost the thread altogether.  Then it's harder to stand by and wait because then I have to watch.  I hate to see that look on his face.  I can't react, I just say his sentence for him followed casually by "aye...I know what you mean dad."

The routine didn't change, despite me getting on with my cake.  As soon as Columbo finished I was there to put on another.  At last the cake was done and I showed him the finished product.

"Oh that's awfy braw," he said.  "You're awfy clever."

"Thanks." I said.

"No but you really are.  Awfy clever.  Aye...you're good at that." he continued on...and I let him.

Deep down I'm still the wee lassie who just wants praise from a parent.

My dad's praise means more than I can say, even though he doesn't know I'm his daughter.

I'll take it anyway.   

Picking my battles..

I sat down last night to write this blog and words actually failed me.  There was nothing major to tell except for the fact that the entire day had left me mentally...and emotionally drained.  I feared that all I had to write was misery and that doesn't make for a good read.  But wait?  Real life isn't all Mills & Boon, is it?

So here I am.  Sitting in complete silence except for the storm blowing outside and Poppy (dad's not here so she can relish the sound of her own name for a while) sitting watching at the window...waiting for dad to come home.

My dad doesn't have bad moods as such.  Little things irritate him and you never know what those little things are likely to be.  I have a pretty good mental list of do's and don'ts when he's around but there is always that one surprise that you never saw coming.

I was helping him get dressed yesterday and as always, I do part of the process and instruct him to do the rest.  For example, buttoning his shirt.  I start him off otherwise the buttons don't match with the holes.  His trousers....I make him sit down so that I can put on his socks without him bending then the trousers go on and are pulled up to his knees.  Before he stands I'll put on his shoes or slippers, depending if we're going out soon or not, then have him stand up and pull everything up while I still remain standing alongside him so that he doesn't lose his balance in the process.  To be honest, the more I pull up and tuck in for him the better he does.  Last thing is jumper on, a spray of cologne and a swipe of Brylcreem and the rest is up to him.  Shave...watch...specs.

Yesterday, I didn't do anything different but as I went to button his shirt, he beat me to it so the top button was already buttoned wrong.  I buttoned the third one down and asked him to continue thereafter.  As he did this I began to undo the top ones to put them right and he 'tutted'.  I ignored it and carried on.  As he pulled up his trousers, I held the back of them but could see one of the pockets sticking up from the inside which was going to catch in his waistband if he continued to fasten them.  I pulled the waistband out a little to tuck the material back inside and I pushed my hand into his pocket to flatten it.  He was still trying to fasten the trousers at the same time which made the effort a little more taxing...but if he had waited until I fixed the pocket when I asked him to, he wouldn't have had a problem.  He carried on pulling and tutting.  I told him to wait just a wee minute and was met with a rather 'angry' "Whit are ye doin'?  I'm tryin' to pull them up and you're trying to pull them doon!"

"I'm just fixing your pocket dad.  There you go.  That's it.  Carry on," I answer.

I pulled his jumper over his head and before I could fix the arms properly he was already searching for the armhole but kept pushing downwards so his arm appeared at the hem of the jumper each time.  He wouldn't hold his arm still when I asked him so continuing his 'fight', I gripped his wrist and pulled the sleeve quickly forward so that his fist would catch the armhole.  His arm still making 'punching' motions (not at me please understand, but into the armhole that he couldn't find!) made my task a lot more difficult.

"WAIT THE NOO!! WAIT THE NOO!!" he (sort of) bellowed, while trying to step away from me.

His arm finally caught the armhole and the jumper went on with ease.  "There you go," I said, still remaining calm, but for some stupid reason I could feel myself welling up.  My dad was proper annoyed...with me.  But I have to keep telling myself...he doesn't mean it.

If I was dealing with a husband or partner who spoke to me in that way I'd retaliate big style...and win!

I didn't try and fix his collar or fiddle around straightening the arms.  I know when to step aside and let the dust settle.  I left him with his razor and walked away, still watching with the eyes at the back of my head and setting my ears to super power mode.  He took a little while before he made his way to the living room and sit in his usual chair.  I could hear him pottering around in the bedroom, opening drawers and doors...just checking.  I hope that I've pushed my treasure chests far enough out of reach and sight.

I had sugar work to get on with so I set myself up in the kitchen with the door wide open so I have full view of him sitting in his chair.  For the entire day he watched Columbo.  I had to use my laptop to see images as reference for my work and in order to stop the screen from closing down I have to split the screen and play a movie or catch up TV on one while the image I need is displayed on the other.  I usually have the sound off while doing this when my dad's around but listening to Columbo and not even being in the room to view it was making me go just a little nuts!

I fetched my earphones and plugged them in.  By using just one of the earphones I could blank out his TV but still hear enough if he said something.  It was a brilliant compromise and I now realise that I can work, watch and 'dad sit' all at the same time.  I still have to be on regular tea duty and keep dad happy enough so that he doesn't start pottering.  After feeling so crap in the morning I was feeling a lot better...and being productive.

My dad started to say something which I couldn't really understand, but I let him carry on trying to find the words.  "Him!" he said, "He's an idiot."  I left my table to see what the 'problem' was.  Columbo was standing on swimming pool steps and had water over his shoes and the bottom of his trousers.

"He's bound to have known that {the water} was there.  Idiot!  For Christ's sake." he continued.  I've laughed at him doing this, arguing with the TV and making regular comments, especially about Columbo.  Although he watches the series back to back, the character's bumbling antics get my dad pretty riled.  I didn't bother offering any explanation regarding reality v TV characters.  I simply said "I know.  You'd think he'd have noticed, eh."

I carried on with what I was doing, showing him along the way the different stages of my work which made him smile.  The mornings aggravations behind us, but still bothering me more than it should.

Taking phone calls...I've nothing much to say.  I carry on the conversations but I've nothing much to offer.  I want to say "I'm feeling really shit."  But I don't.  I'm quite good at hiding my thoughts most of the time...I think.  But is it rude just to say I don't want to talk?  Today is a better day.  Call me today.  Yesterday is in the past.

This morning dad is off to his Day Centre so I have a little reprieve until 2 o'clock.  He enjoys his day and the ladies are so lovely.  It's a good thing for him...and I am realising, for me too.

After I finish my (second) cup of tea I'm going to set myself up for more sugar work and will watch a movie on Netflix without earphones or distraction.  I have a slight headache which I'm sure will pass soon enough.  Nothing is broken.  The dreadful weather is keeping me indoors today but I don't really care.  The silence is golden.  The TV is off.  'Dug' is asleep.  This is called 'me' time.

I miss you dad!

One, two, three, floor!

Living with someone who has Dementia can be a bit (a big bit) of a roller coaster.  Remaining calm in any given situation is the one thing that helps me as a carer but sometimes the effort of self restraint can take it's toll.  I always wake up quite early in the morning.  As soon as my eyes open I'm pretty much up and getting ready for the day.  In the past, on a day off work, this would mean putting the kettle on first of all then having breakfast at my leisure or taking a shower/bath and contemplating the day ahead.  Whichever the order, I had nothing else to worry about except myself and 'dug'...unless I had errands or appointments for either of my parents.  Then my day was pretty much decided.  Depending on how that (those) day(s) went I'd either finish it off with a little (large) glass (bottle!) of wine and perhaps a few (copious amounts of) Maltesers!  Nothing like self medicating in times of stress.  With the number of times I've plugged Maltesers over the years I should be getting royalties.
My mornings couldn't be more different.  With only one bedroom in the house, I sleep on a chair bed.  I have to wait until my dad goes to bed at night before I unfold it and depending on how tired I am, this can be done in 5 minutes...or not.  The effort most definitely takes me over my daily allowance of expletives which is most annoying as I am trying so hard to cut down.
I lay down to sleep or watch something on Netflix on my laptop if I'm not too tired.  Actually...that's a lie.  I haven't seen Netflix since July!!
As soon as my eyes open in the morning I am up and folding everything up so that when my dad walks into the living room it looks just as it did when he left to go to bed.  Every morning I aim to have a few moments to myself just to wake up properly but you can guarantee as soon as I sit my arse down to enjoy a cup of tea, the living room door opens.
"Good morning!" he'll say.  "Did you have a good sleep?  I had a great sleep."
That's it...I'm 'ON'.
My dad has the same breakfast every morning.  A bowl of crunchy nut cornflakes.  "There's nothing like crunchy nuts to start off the day dad is there?" I joke.  My dad finds this funny and laughs.  My witty repartee is always appreciated by my dad even though I've repeated the same line for over 2 months now.  He's heard it for the first time today...and will again tomorrow.
I draped dad's underwear over the warm towel rail while I set up the shower.  He started to undress in the hallway again this morning, in front of the window with open blinds.  I had the shower head in my hand, pointing into the drain until the temperature level was right and ready for dad when he eventually stepped into the cubicle.  This meant that I couldn't move very much or reach out to him so all of my instructions to my dad were verbal.  I asked him to come into the bathroom so that I could close the door.  The bathroom floor is shiny white tiled (F**K!) which highlights every bit of fluff.  Condensation seems to attract fluff...and fluff attracts my dad's attention.  Making his way forward he stopped to bend down and investigate.  My heart leaps to my mouth every time he does this when my hands are free so when he does this and I can't get close enough to grab his arm, I call upon my inner calm, clench my arse cheeks and say, "The shower's ready for your dad!"
Dad's attention averted...normal heart rate resumed.  Arse cheeks relaxed!
Shower...dressed...done.
Ever since collecting my mother's ashes just over 2 weeks ago, it has been well documented how the presentation of them has played on my mind, to the point of filtering my dreams.  After finding and buying the treasure chest shaped boxes in a craft store yesterday, all I've wanted to do was at least transfer them from the crappy paper bag they've lain in.  I had to pick my moment so that I wouldn't attract my dad's attention.  Too much to consider.  The noise of the paper bag...the opening and closing of doors...the anxiety building in case I should drop anything solid onto the laminate floor therefore avoiding the inevitable  "WHIT IZZIT??" precluding the shuffling noise of his slippers across the fkn laminate at a rate of knots.
Perry Como supplied me with that 'magic' moment!
"Look what I've got dad," I said, handing him the CD.  His wee face lit up.  "Shall I play it for you?"
"Oh aye!" he said.
While Perry filled the room questioning what Della wore, I left dad looking over a 'back in time' booklet from the 50's that my daughter had sent him as he tapped his foot and sang along.
Finally, I managed to ease my heart a little in the other room.

I sealed the boxes with pink unicorn duck tape...just because.  My mother will be travelling to Maidstone with me soon to be with my daughter, hence the little treasure chest.
I will take care of the rest over a period of time...without the company or knowledge of my dad.
With a heavy sigh, I stored the treasure chests out of reach and sight before heading back to the living room.  Dad was happily indulging in the music.  I smiled as he pulled faces singing the words with such exaggeration.  We were going out soon so I went to fetch his shoes.  I came back into the room fooling around with mocking dance moves.  "Away ya daft buggar!" he said.  I told him he'd better get into shape for Blackpool Ballroom.  We'll be heading there very soon.  That said, I went to fetch his jacket from the hallway cupboard and came back into the room to find him up on his feet, shimmying back and forth...on the fkn laminate!
"I didn't mean it literally dad!"
JEEEEEEEZ!!  I need a new tact...
...and new pants!     

Magic Moments...filled with love

It has rained all through the night and morning so I didn't think my dad and I would be venturing outside at all today.  We took our time with breakfast and watched a bit of Food Network on the TV.  Perhaps it was the sight of Pioneer Woman, Ree Drummond's baps that got us all fired up and in the mood for coffee and cake!

I got dad ready first as usual and left him in his bedroom having a shave with his electric razor.  He always stands in front of a full length mirror and admires the vision before him, taking quite a bit of time with this task and putting everything away in it's place...well, it's one of several places I should say.  Hunt the razor has become such a 'fun' part of the daily routine.

I make every effort to not deprive him of independence even in the smallest of tasks.  Once he is washed and dressed I can set him up to do the next thing on his own as long as I sweep the area visually to ensure a safe environment before leaving the room.  I might not keep an eye on him 24/7 but what my eyes don't see, my ears pick up!  I swear I have developed superpower hearing since moving in with this man.

As I busied myself clearing away breakfast dishes, I already realised that the razor had been switched off for quite some time so this made me wonder what he could be up to as he hadn't made his way to the living room.  I returned to the bedroom to find him with his braces hanging backwards over his shoulders while trying to feed the short end down the front of his jumper.  "Can you pull this down for me hen?" he asked.  With a concentrated effort not to laugh, I said, "I don't think you need them on today dad.  Your trousers have a pretty good grip of your wee belly!"

"True," he said, "very true."  Instead of returning the braces to the drawer where he found them while putting away his razor, I decided to remove them and hang them at the back of the wardrobe out of sight.  He won't remember them tomorrow...unless his trousers fall to his ankles...which they won't.  Golden Wonder have made sure of that.

Raincoats on and out the door we went.  I drove along the same old route.  The route which is on it's way to the hospital.  I never take that journey now without thinking back.  I doubt that will ever change.  We were listening to Radio 2 and the music this morning was old requests.  Perry Como serenaded us with 'Magic Moments' and to my surprise my dad began to sing along!  I've never heard my dad hum, never mind sing!  I remember this song from when I was just a wee lassie.  Perry Como and his pals from the 50's and 60's were always playing at some time or another in our house.

"Dad," I said, "I remember when you told me that this song was about sweets.  Magic Mo Mints!"  The mere thought of magical mints filled with love was sheer delight to the palate of an 8 year old.  I might have been younger...or older.  Perry Como lived with us for many years, I thought he was a relative.  My dad laughed at my recollection and continued to join in with the chorus until the end.

The second Perry Como song began.  "For the Good Times."  Even though the radio played, the silence was deafening.  I glanced around at my dad, just watching with the corner of my eye.  He was staring pensively out of the window.  I returned my gaze to the road ahead.  I heard him sniff so I had another quick glance towards him to find he had removed his glasses and was wiping his eyes.  I kept silent and continued to drive.  At the end of the song, almost inaudibly, he sang "...for the good times."  With calculated breath, I remained silent and allowed him his private thoughts.

I took dad a trip to the craft shop.  I have a little something I want to do as a bit of fun so this little jaunty lightened the mood.  As I walked through the aisles of the store, I noticed sturdy plain brown boxes (for decorating purposes no doubt) in the shape of treasure chests.  I had no second thought in buying two of them in different sizes.  No need to explain to dad, but I have now consoled myself with the thought that my mother's ashes will be taken a little more care of until I decide where I am going to spread them as her 'forever' place.  No more crappy paper bag nightmares!

We went for coffee, tea and a sweet treat before heading home.

I made him a cheese and pickle sandwich for lunch along with a handful of Pringles and a cup of tea.  He sat with the tray balance on his lap with his feet up on his reclining chair.  I put the TV on Channel 10 and was happy to see Inspector Morse...a distant relative of Columbo perhaps!

Halfway through the sandwich my dad said, "I can't eat any more of this.  I'm full."  He'd only left one quarter of it so I told him he's had enough anyway and not to worry.  Next thing I know, he's stuffing his face with the Pringles!  Not quite so full then dad, eh?

I watched discreetly so I'd catch him before he attempted to get off the chair with the tray in his hands.  He was poking around his mouth with his finger.  I tend not to pick him up on little habits but later I might offer him a scoosh (a fine Scottish technical term) of antibacterial hand gel and tell him matter of factly to wipe his hands.  Just as I am having this thought, he whips out his false teeth and starts to pick with his fingers.

TOO FAR DAD....TOO FAR!

Count to 10, then, "Dad, go and give your teeth a clean in the bathroom.  It'll only take a second."

"It's alright," he said.  "I've sorted them."

"But dad...it's not very attractive to whip your teeth out when there's someone else in the room.  If you do that in Blackpool you'll get us both hung!" I smiled.  (Did I grimace??  Maybe..maybe not...)

"Right enough!" he laughed.

I'm sure he's fully understood this so I don't expect to see it happening again...until dinner time perhaps!

My dad was unaware of a little purchase I made before heading home today.  With the impending drive to Blackpool in mind...

...for the good times Dad. x

Politically incorrect..

In this world of being so (overly) careful not to offend with words, a look or gesture, the Dementia sufferer in all respects throws caution to the wind.  Unconsciously of course.  Whatever they think at any given time may be vocalised at a volume that sees you searching manically for a hole in the ground to dive into.

There are 3 red flag subjects that are bound to raise eyebrows and hackles in social situations (and media) if you are brave enough to enter the discussions...offer your opinions...and be publicly annihilated. These are known as the three F's.

Fkn Politics, Fkn Religion and Fkn Racism.

On the Dementia planet, any past knowledge or understanding of these subjects is long gone...with the exception perhaps of Religion where there might often be the occasional mention of Jesus Christ, albeit in a blasphemous context!

My dad has lost the art of descretion.  Being well aware of this makes life a bit (not a lot) easier for me in a social setting.  As I push him around the shopping centre in his wheelchair I am abnormally aware of the people coming at us in all directions.  My dad sits there with his arms folded...angelic personified.

While most people will be forgiving of a wheelchair coming towards them and make every attempt to ensure your pathway is clear, there are those who appear to go out of their way to cause an obstruction.  My dad doesn't say anything directly to the person or people he takes issue with.  He complains only to me...and anyone who happens to be in earshot at the time.  

Mortification is my friend.

Today I took my dad out for lunch.  We went to the same shopping centre as usual.  Being a Saturday it was particularly busy.  He had a bit of a cough which has been obvious for the past couple of days.  I'm hoping he isn't brewing a cold as our trip to Blackpool is almost here and if it had to be cancelled due to illness then he would be absolutely devastated.  I'm probably overreacting of every sniff, sneeze and cough at the moment but I asked him if he would like something to help ease it.  I joked with him,  "Would you like a cough sweet or maybe a wee half pint of lager?"

"Well," he said, "I'm no wanting a sweetie!"

With that in mind, I took him to a carvery for a little aperitif.  As he sat enjoying his 'medicine', a small child could be heard crying.  I could see him watching...so I waited...and then..."skelp that bairn's erse!"  (I daren't translate...so I won't)

Before heading home we went food shopping in Asda.  Suddenly I heard him say "Oh hello!".  An elderly couple had approached and were very happy to see my dad.  For me, the fact that my dad was the first to speak made it clear that he had recognised at least one of them.  The lady put her hand on dad's shoulder and leaned towards him saying, "I was so sorry to hear of Anne's passing."  My dad kept smiling and looked bemused.  I quickly introduced myself and quietly informed her that my dad had no recollection of my mother's passing...not bothering to mention that he has no recollection of her existence.

We chatted for a bit and they went on their way.  "Can you remember their names dad?" I asked him.  "No," he said, "but I know them."  That'll do for me.

Back home again, I helped dad enter the front door but I walked towards the kitchen to see to 'dug' who was barking her head off and excited to see us back.  I turned to look back towards the living room and noticed that my dad hadn't followed me in as he usually does.  He'd gone directly to his bedroom to take off his shoes and put his slippers on.  I caught him just in time, balancing on one foot, holding on to the side of a chest of drawers and trying to pull his slipper onto a foot which was now dangling in mid air.  I could see him about to topple backwards almost in slow motion as I reached out placing my hand on his back for support and told him (sternly...but with love) to put his foot back onto the floor and take the slightest of turns to sit on his bed.  He was so out of breath due to his efforts but he gave in and I helped him get his slippers on without him breaking his arse!

Blackpool came up again as we watched highlights from past series of Strictly Come Dancing tonight on TV.  I told him we'd soon be in the Ballroom at the Tower and I asked him if he'd be up to making shapes on the dance floor.  "Oh aye," he said.  "I could do that."

I hope I'll be able to tick that one off the bucket list.

I'm packing his dancing shoes...just in case.

Let's have a selfie!

When my mother was in hospital, she had her mobile phone with her and was able to use it until only a few days before she passed.  At this point I decided to take it home with me and I put it in her handbag which I had placed behind the settee within my reach but out of my dad's sight.  Everything becomes a curiosity to the Dementia sufferer so be careful where you keep your panty liners...I'm just sayin'.

I'd forgotten about the phone until it began to lose it's charge and started 'pinging' one night when my dad had thankfully already gone to bed.  I knew I was going to need the phone for my mother's contacts any time soon so I plugged it in to charge.  I opened up her picture gallery to find hundreds of photos.  The majority of them being her great grandchildren...until I came across this...

What you can't see from this is the number of photo bursts from each shot.  Although I've only used 3 to show you  I could make a photo book from the amount of photos taken.  He even took his glasses off at some point to try and make sense of it all.  I fell about laughing.  I found it so hilarious.  I wonder if my mother ever saw these.  I doubt it.

Poor dad.

This morning I awoke with a lot on my mind.  I got the usual routine underway and tried to get a few things sorted by telephone before it was time to get my dad washed and dressed.  I knew I was taking too long when I saw him make his way to the DVD drawer.  With Columbo looming this early, I decided that the calls could wait til later.  "Shower time dad!" I smiled...disguising my relief.

Since we hadn't gone out yesterday, I took him off to the shopping centre.  On the way there I had the radio playing.  Paul McCartney was being interviewed, plugging a new album from which his latest single was played.  (Are they still called singles these days??)

Anyhoo...we both sat in silence as this tune played and almost immediately I thought what a load of cra....rubbish.  But I let it play on for a bit, hoping that the song would grow on me.  It didn't.  The bridge in the song played, the lyrics sounded out.  "Ichi-ban, ichi-ban..." but only one of us heard them.

"Whit?" my dad looked perplexed, then said,  "Itchy bum???"

"I don't think that's what he's saying dad," I offered.  Not convinced he replied, "well that's what it sounds like to me!"  I switched the radio off.  Paul McCartney and his itchy bum can be appreciated somewhere else.

We had a good wee browse around the shops and stopped off for our usual Costa coffee and cup of tea.  Another routine to be timed accurately.  Keeping his hands occupied by giving him a napkin to unfold allowing me to pour the hot tea from the wee teapot before he has a chance to reach out for it.  Handing him a plate to set down so I can lift the cup and saucer off the tray and put it down in front of him before he tries to grab it midway.

We came home to relax and I sat with him through more episodes (ALL the feckin episodes) of you know who with dad's running commentary of "scruffy buggar!", "he's needing a new coat!", and my favourite "that cigar is never oot his mooth...and it's no even lit!"

Even with the old, you learn something new...

...every day!

Oh what a tangled web we weave..

I didn't close my eyes until the early hours this morning which wasn't good preparation on my part for the day ahead.  This morning I had to get dad ready for his Wednesday visit to the Day Centre.  I had an appointment with a solicitor immediately after dropping him off and hadn't sorted out all the documents I needed to take with me so I left myself little time to shower and dress.  In fact, by the time I gave dad his breakfast and meds and started the stopwatch, I only had time for a lick and a wipe!  I swept my hair into a clasp and put a wee bandana around my head to tuck in the stray ends.  I walked out the door like Hilda Ogden while my dad looked all sleek and suave with his brylcreem hair and sharp clothes.  He got into the car, turned to me and said, "You know, I forget where we are going."  "You're going to your Day Centre to see all your pals and play Bingo," I said.  "While you're busy enjoying yourself, I've got an appointment to go to...but don't you worry about me," I joked.  "I'll be fine. You just have fun while I do all the donkey work!"  He laughed and mumbled, "Daft buggar."

I presumed it was me to whom he was referring.

I dropped him off, said my farewells and "see you later" then headed off.  Get this appointment done and dusted, get home and get a good start on the second leg of the cake decorating before I need to collect dad again at 2 o'clock.  Sorted...I thought.

I can't go into personal details of the day's events but I can hopefully give a word of warning to anyone who plans to sort out their funeral arrangements in a prepaid package which includes making a Will.  My mother thought she had everything all wrapped up and tied neatly in a stress free bow.  All the 'legal' documents I had to offer have no legality at all.  They might as well have been addressed "Dear Santa".

The Solicitor looked so apologetic and said, "Your mother has been ill advised.  This is one of the worst messes I've had to deal with"  To top it all, I am liable for the fees to sort it all out and those fees will be double what they would have been had things been put in place properly.

We talked about the past couple of years and how things had progressed with my mother's illness, my dad's Dementia and my role in all of it.  I got to the point where I could feel myself tearing up.  There are decisions that have had to be made and steps that have had to be taken.  The Solicitor put his hand over his mouth and shook his head before saying, "You're doing the right thing...but I wish I could make it better."

Well you can't Mr. Solicitor...but I bloody can...and I bloody will.

I got into my car and headed home.  Determined not to satisfy the need to wail and scream, I offered leniency to short bursts of sobs and sniffs instead.

I had just over an hour now to go and pick up my dad.  With an impending headache and an intense lump in my throat I decided to throw caution to the wind and fried up THREE thick sausages, wedged them between two slices of bread and bonded it all together with brown sauce.  I was tempted to make an open sandwich and cover it with beans but this time caution and wind deterred me!

Feeling substantially full, (requiring a JCB to lift me off the couch!) I made a start on decorating the cake but made little headway before setting off to collect my dad.

"Hello my darling!" he beamed, as he linked his arm through mine.  "Have you had a good day?" I asked.  "Yes I have," he said.  "Are you ready to put your feet up when you go home?" I asked.  "Oh aye," he said.

I made no mention of the days events or where I'd been.  Instead, I got him settled in his chair, put his DVD on...I won't even bother to tell you which one...and made him a cup of tea.  I told him I was going to be a bit busy again in the kitchen as I had to get the cake finished for tomorrow.  I showed him what I had achieved so far and he looked at it as if seeing it for the first time, and asked me for the hundredth who was it for.  Satisfying his questions, he then said, "That is absolutely beautiful."

I'd finish off another part of the 'scene' on the cake and offer him another viewing each time.  

Each time he'd ask me who it was for...and tell me it was beautiful.

Enjoying a cup of tea and a (another) packet of crisps, my dad called out, "Did you see that?"  "See what?" I asked.  "Him (Columbo)...him there.  He went into that wummin's hoose (the murder suspect's house) and he just put his feet up on the table.  That's pure ignorance that."  I stifled a laugh and replied, trying to sound logical, "Maybe he knows her well."  "That's no right!" he continued.  I looked at his face and he was dead serious.  "Ignorant!" he mumbled.  I offered no further response.  Sometimes there is no point in trying to explain the reality of things such as Columbo being a fictional character on a TV screen.  Dementia hinders the ability to determine fact from fiction quite often.  I recall a time when Judge Rinder was on TV and my mother and dad were watching.  Suddenly my dad pointed to the Judge and told my mother, "See that man there?  He taught me all the dance steps I know."  If he had said that to me I'd have answered "Did he?"  But my mother's approach to Dementia was a tad less understanding...or subtle.  Her response was "How could he?  He's on the telly!" which could have resulted in World War 3.  Instead she went all out for Armageddon as she continued, "He lives in England.  How could you meet HIM?  Eh?  Eh??"

BOOM!!

She never did learn the meaning of "go with the flow" when it came to my dad, which is why she was prone to expletive recitals from him...followed by him putting on his shoes and making to go off "for a walk" which of course she had to stop him doing.  My dad would shout at her from outside, sentences that I cannot print but were only made up of two words...the second being "off!"

My mother was often mortified but was hopeless at calming a situation and couldn't...or wouldn't be told.  She would call me so, so many times and  I tried to offer advice but grew tired of ending up with my nose in a sling.  She'd get off the phone in a huff.  I'd sigh deeply and self medicate with wine.  By the end of the bottle I'd have forgotten about the argument, or the advice and be too busy trying to kill a lump of fluff on the floor with my slipper to care!

Those were the days.

I'm off to bed soon and I don't dare to think what tomorrow will bring...except for the sound of the wee shuffling feet entering the living room and a hearty greeting for "dug!"

"Did you have a good sleep?"

And so it begins...Groundhog day!  😉

Figuring it out.

For the first time since I've been living with my dad properly, I've had the opportunity to see if there is any chance at all for me to continue making cakes and keeping any kind of grip on the small business I have.  Although it took me twice...maybe three times as long to progress in one day compared to past efforts, I think it's safe to say that YES...as long as I know my limits then I can see no reason why not!  I can no longer get up with the lark and make a start as before.  My 'working' day will always be a late kick off, but if that's the only thing that's a nuisance then I think I can find something more challenging to whinge about.

I was awake very early this morning and couldn't get back into a sleep without having stupid dreams, so I made myself get up and have a cup of tea while catching up with celebrity gossip and contemplating the day ahead.  Dad had a good sleep, glad to be home in his own bed after being away for several days.  When he finally got up, I sprang into action so that I could get started in the kitchen as soon as possible.  I gave dad his medication and his breakfast, gave the kitchen it's usual forensic search so that it was safe to dash into the shower before he got off his chair to go fill the kettle or wash dishes in whatever he finds first in the cupboard under the sink.

I now keep the bleach awaaaaaay at the back of the cupboard!

I was washed and dressed quickly, hair scrambled up and pinned and no make-up to take up another bloody hour that I can't afford.  Now I had to get my dad washed, dressed and settled.

I put all his dirty clothes into the laundry basket that he had folded neatly and put in a pile at the bottom of his bed the night before.  I set out his fresh clothes...underwear into the bathroom and the rest on his bed.  I switched on the shower, put toothpaste onto his toothbrush and set that down next to the cold water tap.  If I didn't do this, he wouldn't brush his teeth at all.  If I simply asked him to brush his teeth, he would be able to locate the toothbrush but he would not put toothpaste on the brush and he would use the hot water tap to rinse.

Busying myself organising the shower gel and bits and pieces, I call on my dad to come and get ready.  As I've mentioned previously, the bathroom is right next to the front door which has frosted glass and is next to a clear glass window with vertical blinds which at that time in the morning are already half opened.  We live in an end house next to a lane where everyone walks with their bins to leave on the pavement out front on bin day.

Today was that day.

Today is the day my dad decided to strip off in the hall...at the front door...next to the plain glass window.

"DAD!" I shouted, once I'd finished my last bit of organising and emerged from the bathroom to see him stepping out of his pyjama trousers and bending down to pick them up...arse in the air!

"What?" he replied while carefully folding the trousers.  "You're right next to the window,"  I said.  "Someone will see you!"  "There's nobody there!" he exclaimed.  "There will be any second...it's bin day," I said.

He immediately stepped into the bathroom and closed the door.

OH NO HE DI-INT!!!

He walked to the window, shook his bare arse and stated...with musical tones... "nah, nah, nah-nah, nah!"  He thought this was hilarious.

I'm changing my name tomorrow.

He was happy to sit in his usual chair with his feet up watching his detective series (multiple series) for the 'first' time.  I set myself up in the kitchen so that I could work and keep an eye on him at the same time.  I managed to time the little interludes, judging when I should put the kettle on for tea before he got up to try and 'help' with this task himself.  I kept him going with little snacks and only really stopped working to make lunch and dinner.  Every now and again he would call out to me, "How are you doing?" or "Are you alright in there?"  I kept taking bits and pieces of cake decoration to show him so that he wasn't sitting for too long just staring at the TV.  My accomplishments were greatly awarded with statements of  "that's beautiful!" or "that's amazing!"  When I showed him the cake itself with the side design half finished he asked me where the cake was going?  I told him that a customer was coming on Thursday to collect it.  He looked puzzled.  I asked him if he remembered when I had a cake shop in West Calder.  He didn't...but he said "no," almost incredulously.  I went on to tell him that I have travelled the world teaching my art to which he responded, "very good!" with a beaming smile.  I asked him if he remembered when I took him (I missed out 'and mum') to New Jersey and New York some years ago.  He said "aye!" in a 'don't be daft' tone...but I didn't react when he couldn't remember me teaching there.  I said, "who knows dad, we might go back again one day."

Maybe we will...who knows.

I need to finish the cake tomorrow...that's after my usual morning routine but with a hair wash for me and a little make-up if I have the time OR the energy.  I need to take dad to his Day Centre in the morning and go off to another solicitor appointment directly after.  Nothing is straightforward after my mother's death.  I absolutely hate paperwork of any kind and this ongoing shi...palaver is already doing my head in.  Dad will be back home at 2 p.m. and carry on with his telly, crisps and tea...enjoying a little cuddle with 'dug'.

One day I'll take myself off one day...on my own to a quiet place.  Nobody to think about, listen to or talk to.  Nothing but fresh air and planking!

There are good things ahead, I know it...but until I resolve a lot of 'other things' I cannot relax my head...or my heart.

Those ashes are always on my mind.

I'll figure it out.

One day.

Normal service has resumed!

He's BACK....and so is my dad!! Haha!  Of course I meant my dad in the first place, but honestly, I feel like Columbo is part of the family.

My dad has been in respite for 6 nights and I had lots of big ideas for my free time while he was away.  To be fair, I didn't sit around twiddling my thumbs, but I didn't let my hair down as much as I'd planned or visit the places I'd hoped.  To be honest, I've never felt so unsettled in my life, and I can't quite put into words to explain.

All I know is that my psyche was totally...off.

(I'm not quite sure it's back on...yet!)

Although I've had all of these days to get some organisation in my new surroundings and take advantage of the time without upsetting my dad's routine, it took me until yesterday...YESTERDAY...to move my backside and create a space that will be dedicated to my cake world!  Wandering around B & Q a couple of days ago with the notion of putting up a shelf...that's one shelf...one plank of wood which I thought would change my life,  (that's as far as my imagination would roll),  I turned a corner and there it was.  A tall five tiered piece of plastic shelving which suddenly blew the dust off that dormant light bulb in my head and switched it on.

Yesterday, I totally gutted the space that I needed and got by with a little help from my friend....ooh I got high (not literally) with a little help from my friend, yeah I got by with a little help from my frie..e..e..e...end! (lyric arrangement has been changed to avoid copyright infringement)

Sanity resumed, I've never been so happy to see today.  I headed off to collect my dad and when I arrived at the Care Home I found him sitting in the lounge watching TV in the company of three other men.  My dad's face lit up when I entered the room but he didn't get up to leave straight away.  I asked him if he was ready to go and a wee man who sat opposite said, "You're not taking him away from me are you?  What am I going to do now?"  He was laughing and I laughed too.  I looked at my dad who rolled his eyes and made to move off the settee and said, "C'moan."  (Translate: Come on...without the verbal "let's go", but that was what he meant)

The wee man said "cheerio!" while another offered his hand to my dad and with a very solemn approach and a sturdy handshake he said to him, "I hope all goes very well for you.  I mean it.  I wish you all the best."  As we left the room, my dad said, "He's my best pal!"  If I asked my dad what the man's name was he wouldn't have a clue, but in this little bubble of friends, all of them have their own thoughts, their own understanding of where they are but can't explain why.  All of them on the same page but different paragraphs.

I am relieved to know that this little group of gentlemen have enjoyed each others company this time around in respite.  There is such a vast spectrum of Dementia and not all sufferers live in harmony with each other.  I consider myself lucky that my dad shows me no sign of aggression and he (on the whole) stays seated for long periods of time and is relatively calm, confused...and endearing.

I deliberately state that my dad shows 'me' no sign of aggression as I know this quiet funny man has it in him, but as long as I am around to take care of his needs I will do my best to ensure his feisty side remains asleep.

I can't promise the same for my own!

On the way home I tell him about the changes I've made.  I hope that the cupboard space I've created will make a difference as I push forward with my small business.  I tell him that it will be much easier for him to hang up his jacket himself in the smaller cupboard and put away his shoes without stumbling over excessive house cleaning nonsense gadgets.  He offers, "Very good.  You've been busy by the sound of things."

Yes dad, I have. I'm so glad I explained.  I leave him to hang up his own jacket and when he enters the living room I subtly go and check the cupboards.  I find his jacket tucked into one of the new shelves on top of cake boards and boxes. 😂

This might take some time!

Never mind, it's Columbo...for the next 7+ hours.

WELCOME HOME DAD!