Tick-tock

As if it wasn't complicated enough living in Dr. Who's tardis on a daily basis, the bleedin' clocks went back an hour last night and caused all kinds of blasphemy.  Dad lives by his watch which is quite comical as his whole existence is based on the fact that he has no sense of reality...time or otherwise.  He looks at his watch a trillion times throughout the day and doesn't always read it properly...especially at night when he's checking to see if it's bed time yet.  Oh please let it be!

"That's 9 o'clock already," he'll say.

"It's actually after 10 dad," I'll respond...unless he's actually right for once.

I'm not being cruel.  I know that he'll gladly go off to bed at 10 p.m. or a little after but if he announced he was going to bed at 8 p.m. or any time before 9 p.m.  then I certainly let him know it's early.  I find ways to keep him awake for another hour or so if necessary, otherwise he'd be out of bed at stupid o'clock...and that I just couldn't deal with right now.  There may come a time when he has no clue of day or night, but as long as he still has some sense of the clock I'm savouring the moment.

I decided to tell him last night that the clocks were going back.  I don't know why I did this to be honest.  I already know that he can only hold on to so much information and not necessarily understand it.  Like the last instruction...last request...last comment that I make at any time.  For example, when he's due to go to respite, I never tell him in advance.  He knows he's going when I am packing his suitcase on the morning he leaves.  Otherwise that suitcase would be packed, unpacked, packed again.  Followed by him fetching his shoes, coat, hat...asking where he's going and how long for.  You only learn the things not to mention in advance with experience.  So now I've experienced another new thing.  In the Spring, I won't be mentioning any damn clock!

To make matters worse...for me...I told dad about the change just before 10 p.m.  I was already shattered at this point but I always relish at least one whole hour to myself at night just to unwind and watch something on TV of my choice or catch up with Facebook and other computery stuff without interruption. 

He looked at his watch, "So it's 9 o'clock then?" he enquired.

"No dad," I said.  "It's almost 10.  The clocks change in the early hours while you're asleep."

Seriously Lorraine??  Do you want a shovel to dig a bigger hole???

He fidgeted and fiddled with his watch.

"Do you want a cup of tea dad?" I asked, hopeful that this might distract him.

"I wouldn't mind," he replied.

With a last cup of tea and no more mention of clocks, dad took himself off to bed just before 10.30 p.m.  I hit my head off the wall got into my own bed and switched myself off for the night.
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Dad has a Transdermal Patch applied every day on various places on his upper body.  The patches haven't to be applied on the same place within 14 days.  When I took over the care of my dad, it became clear that the Carers who had attended him in the mornings weren't clued up as to where these patches should be placed.  Red welts were apparent on his back and I did kick off a bit about it.   I blamed the continuous placing of the patches in the same spots for the mess my dad's skin was in.  If I had to explain to you the reasons for not placing the patches on the same spot within 14 days I'd be reading the information off the box they're supplied in or be cutting and pasting from Google.  The fact is, I'm not that clever about them either but at least I know the pattern of where to apply them.  Big smarty pants me...I'm doing it all 'right' and still the welts are appearing wherever I've placed the previous one, the skin raises and is itchy and red.  More times than not, my dad removes the patch himself.  He can't remember me applying it and has no clue what it's for.  They are supposed to help slow down the process of his disappearing memory.  That's about as much as I know.  But as they are causing such a skin rash I'm wondering if the good they are supposed to be doing is any good at all.  They aren't a cure...only an inhibitor.  We're off to the doctor's next week.  I'm going to ask a bit more about them.  I'm fed up finding them in the sock drawer, under the pillow and thrown into his empty breakfast bowl!
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The weather played somewhat nice yesterday.  I took dad off to the shopping centre to have our usual tea/coffee and cake before running a few errands and finishing off with food shopping.  I can't carry a shopping basket or push a trolley while pushing him in his wheelchair so I parked the car as near to Asda's doorway and left him sitting in it with a packet of crisps while I carried out my own version of Beat the Clock to get the shopping done and back before he decided to vacate the car!  I can only do this if I have a list ready.  Forget browsing the shelves or reading the magazines and putting them back before leaving.  I would win Supermarket Sweep hands down if it was still airing.
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It's taking me longer and longer just to put a blog post together.  I start off with good intention but there is always something which interrupts my concentration and I have to vacate my spot and leave the laptop on hold.  Already it's another new day...and I can hear dad shuffling around in the bathroom.  I have to go and investigate before he turns on the shower or strips off in the hall!
Such as life.
Bring it on!