Splitting myself in two..

I've come to the conclusion that my dad has an alter ego who presents himself when all of my attention is not 100% on his good self.  The thing is, he might not think that he has all of my attention, but trust me, he does.  It doesn't matter what's going on within the house.  I have mastered the art of keeping one eye on the distraction and the other firmly fixed upon him...and his behaviour.  When my eyes aren't in the room, my extra sensory hearing takes over.  If he so much as scratches his arse, I'd know.

In years gone by when I worked as a full-time carer for Paul, there was rarely a weekend went by without me having one or all of my grandchildren staying.  It was the highlight of my week to look forward to Fridays and steal them away.  Paul shared in some of those weekends too and for me the chaotic mayhem was heaven!  I wish I had those days back.  But in a sense...I do.  I'm not dealing with 2 or 3 young children and their behaviours (which was always perfect at granny's hoose 😊)  I am dealing with one 90 year old child who picks and chooses his moments to spit the dummy or worse still, feign illness.  These moments don't occur regularly but when they do it can be very frustrating.  I can't sit him on the naughty step or give him time out since he has no conception of time.  He went for a nap the other day and emerged after a couple of hours.  It was 4 p.m. and the sun was shining (I know...I could hardly believe it myself!).  He looked out of the window and stated "what a beautiful morning!"

"It's almost dinner time dad," I said.

"Already?" he asked.  🤦

Feeding my dad and keeping him healthy is an all consuming part of my day.  What he likes today he may not like tomorrow.  He is having some difficulty swallowing at times but this only seems to be an issue with a proper hot meal.  If I served him crisps and peanuts he'd be happy as a pig in shi muck.  But I'm onto him.  The portions I serve him are birdlike and if he doesn't finish it all then I don't worry too much.  As long as a good amount has been eaten I know I can fill him up in between with little snacks.  Soft foods are best so I've now stopped buying things like pies or anything crusty.  I keep him on fish, pastas, eggs and bananas.  I bought hot cross buns last week and toasted one and spread butter and jam on one half.  I cut it into bite sized pieces and he ate the lot.

"That was lovely," he said.

Great.  Another thing I can add to the list of 'likes'.
One day later I make exactly the same.
"That's rotten!" he states.
"Just leave it then," I say.  FFS!

Last week I picked Daniel up from school and informed dad that he was going to be staying for the weekend.  He never remembers Daniel until he sees him and he can't work out the relationship between us.  But that's okay.  I love the antics of Daniel who is totally oblivious to dad's failing mind and he chats to him as though he was a pal!  Daniel is very loving with me and is constantly cuddling and kissing me which I can never have enough of.  But this behaviour unsettles my dad.  I watch as he glares at Daniel and is quieter than normal...until it's time to eat.  Daniel sits beside dad on the recliner and I set out their meals on trays.  Daniel delights in what is given whilst my dad sits with arms folded, pushing his plate away and sighing loudly.  When I ignore his antics, he throws his head back onto the chair and inhales deeply, exhaling loudly followed by a pursed lip expression.  Finally, I give in.

""What's up dad?" I ask.

"I feel sick," he replies.  "I can't eat that."

"Leave it then," I say, and remove the offending tray.

Then it begins.  The over the top effort to get himself off the recliner and make his way to the toilet, stepping up his shuffling pace and mumbling how sick he feels.

I've come to realise that this isn't real and I have to ignore it as much as I can.  The more attention I give to this the more he would act out.  I take his temperature just in case and inform him that it is normal.

"I must be fine then," he sulks.

"Yes, you are dad. Perfectly," I say, then I place a packet of crisps on the table.

Before I head back into the kitchen the crisps are opened and he manages to get through them without issue, emptying the crumbs onto his hands and licking his palms.  Oh dear Lord, help me!

I keep Daniel entertained by allowing him to restyle my hair.  Dad barely speaks but once again begins to make his way back and forth to the toilet.  He isn't sick.  Not even a wretch.  But his petulance and feeling sorry for himself continues.  

As Daniel gets a little over excited, one of his little feet digs into dad's leg.

"Mind where you're putting your feet!" he shouts, glaring at Daniel.

"He didn't mean it dad," I retort.

I don't like how Daniel looks at me with a "what did I do?" expression.  This is followed by excessive cuddles from him which I don't deny him.  I whisper in his ear, "Granda John is an old grouch!" which makes him giggle.

I feel sorry for my dad who is clearly unable to enjoy all that Daniel and any of my grandkids bring to this house which is filled with memories and an aura which I hope to exorcise over time.  Rome wasn't built in a day...it's taking longer than I'd hoped to feel like I fit in within these walls but I know I'll get there eventually.  I need the laughter and fun of the wee ones despite the annoyance and angst it causes my dad.  If it means a little spurt of petulance now and again then I'm afraid I'm going to put up with it.  Not having my wee ones around isn't an option.

Dad took himself off to bed at 8.30 p.m. on Saturday night.  I followed him to the bedroom to get him ready.
"Where you goin'?" Daniel asked.  I told him I was going to get Granda John ready for bed.
"She'll be back in a minute," dad said.
"Who?" asked Daniel.
"That woman behind me," dad answered.  😢

  Daniel and I watched movies and I watched him until he fell asleep on my chair bed.  I settled on the recliner and soon fell asleep without any disturbance from dad during the night.  The following day, I took Daniel home at lunch time.  Dad ate all of his lunch, had no trips back and forth to the toilet and normal service was resumed immediately.  I sigh heavily for one reason or another every day.

I'm heading off to Maidstone on Saturday for almost a whole week to be with my daughter and her husband and the two wee ones.  We haven't seen each other for months.  Vicky travelled to attend Paul's funeral in November but we haven't spent family time for what seems like forever.  We are having Pretend Christmas Day, with the tree and presents and best of all...Christmas dinner!  Jessica, my 4 year old granddaughter is worried that I will be expecting Santa to arrive and is at pains to tell me herself that he won't really be visiting.  I have to practice my disappointed face without laughing.

Dad is going into respite for the week.  Times like these are few.  I won't have respite again until May when he goes in again for a weekend.  All of the dates ahead where I can plan things to do on my own or for myself are precious.  I am taking dad to St. Andrews in March for a weekend and will be on my own with him.  If this doesn't work well I will rethink the next outing I plan for us.  I'm hopeful that the hotel is luxurious enough and the weather stays fairly mild to allow the visit to go smoothly.

The good days with dad surely outweigh the...not bad, but frustrating days.  He is easier to handle and much more content when he isn't 'sharing' me.  It isn't for him to be bothered about my feelings or needs but I can't allow myself to wrap myself around him to the point where I don't exist.  It is all still a learning process.  No two days are the same and my 'happy' isn't always what I'd like it to be.  But I can't say that I am unhappy either.  I find living with Dementia a very sad experience but when there are moments of fun and laughter, whether it be appropriate or not, there has to be something to be thankful for.  As much as I hate handing my dad over to someone else's care, I appreciate the fact that I can.

Yesterday I took dad to buy him a new jacket.  He was over the moon and couldn't stop admiring himself in the mirror.  As I've been going around wearing my mother's bright pink rain jacket for months, I decided to treat myself too.  I got a bright yellow puffa jacket from Matalan which didn't break the bank.  Dad laughed as I said I looked like a giant canary.  I bought dad a few more things before we went home.  Today, we ventured out for our usual weekly shopping trip.  I brought his new jacket to him to wear.

"Oh!" he exclaimed.  "That's fair braw!" Translation: really lovely

Clearly not remembering that we bought it yesterday, I set about putting it on him before getting myself ready.  Noticing my yellow jacket he asked "When did you get that"

I've no doubt he'll ask me again tomorrow until there comes a time when he realises he's seen it before...could take a while.

Groundhog Day is par for the course.  One day I'll be wishing it was still like this....so for now, I keep my frustrations in perspective....and share them with you!

Smile...it's free therapy.