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.