When two worlds collide

For the past few days, there has been a change on Planet Dad.  I've thought that something might be wrong then dismissed it.  Repeating myself a little more than normal but not making issue of it.  But when I think that things are just as they always were, I remind myself that I'm living and breathing the world of Dementia.  Even though every day is like groundhog day, there's no room for complacency.  Dad definitely makes sure of that.

For months now he has been in a nice routine.  Medication has kept him asleep for longer during the night with very few trips to the toilet in the night.  I've been boasting at how I've had unbroken sleep for weeks.

The honeymoon period is over!

Dad is now using incontinence pads although he is still independent of using the toilet.  After finding a pad hanging over the hot towel rail one afternoon I now need to check the bathroom after his every visit.  I usually only do this when he goes in there and forgets to come out again, alerting me that something isn't quite right.  I've taken to standing at the door sometimes when I know he's only going to pee and calling from the door, "Are you alright dad?"  Which usually results in his response "Aye.  I'm just comin' oot."

"Don't forget to put your pad back on again," I say.

"Aye okay," he'll reply, satisfying me with his answer...until one night...

He's been unusually tired over a short period.  I noticed it before I went off to visit my daughter in Maidstone but since I returned home I've realised that this isn't a one-off.  He always gets up by 10.30 a.m. at the latest and returns to lay on his bed in the afternoon for a couple of hours rest, finally going down for the night between 9 p.m. and 10 p.m.

All of a sudden he has been going for two naps during the day and retiring for the night as early as 8 p.m.  These days can be very long for me.  I've come to realise that I'd much rather have his company than sit around the house with not an awful lot I can do while he sleeps.  I can't go out.  So I binge watch Netflix and depress myself with Crime Series.  Lately I've taken to watching clips of comedian Micky Flanagan on You.Tube and found myself laughing out loud.  I've decided that Micky Flanagan has been my saviour during this past week for sure.  A daily serving of laughter is welcome...and it's free.  No prescription required.

Dad emerged from the bathroom last night and announced that he wanted to go to bed.  It wasn't quite 8 p.m. but I didn't talk him out of it.  I simply led him to his bedroom and asked him to sit on the edge of the bed while I got his pyjamas ready.  When I've been helping him to remove his underpants lately, I've also grasped the top of his pad at the back and pulled downwards as he takes care of the front.  I have to stand by his side with one hand placed at the top front of his shoulder while the other hand deals with the pants.  This is to help him maintain balance as he stoops very far forward as he drops his head to try and see what he is doing.

With pants and pad in my grasp, I pulled downwards a little too far before I noticed that he'd put his pad on back to front which meant that the plastic non absorbent side was against his skin.  This had become quite sticky with the heat from his body so when I removed them the pad pulled at his bum cheeks.

"Ooyah!" dad yelped.

"You've got your pad on back to front dad," I said.

Noticing a wee furled brow appear I quickly went on, "Be grateful I noticed before I pulled it right down otherwise you'd be singing soprano!"

This made him laugh...thank god.  I tentatively removed the pad and got him ready for bed.  He slept right through until 10 a.m. this morning.  In just a few nights I've watched the entire 5 series of Scott & Bailey either curled up on the recliner with 'dug' or on my chair bed...also with 'dug'.

So now I have added 'check dad's pad' after every visit he makes to the toilet to my ever growing list.  Although I'm happy to say that all of the pads thus far have been clean, I should mention that perhaps the fact he wipes his arse on the hand towel contributes to this.  FUUUUUUUUUCK!

Should you ever visit my house....bring your own hand towel.  I no longer provide them in the bathroom.

I used to dry myself with a towel and hang it up again and use the same one the next day trying to avoid too much laundry.  Nowadays every single towel no matter the size is used once and thrown into the basket.  I have always done this with with my dad's towels anyway because I use a couple every time he showers and a lot of the time I wipe water off the floor or the sides of the shower with one or the other.  He blows his nose when he dries his face.  I can't be sure he doesn't do this when I'm not there to see.  So towels in our house are quite frankly over washed.

I'm thinking about installing a sheep dip and dragging him through it every day as a final precaution!

I've gone through a lot of feeding tantrums with dad lately.  This is another thing that seems to be happening more and more.  After feeding him with toasties on flatbreads over some days, dad has enjoyed every bite.  Noting them as a hit I've fed him these regularly to ensure that he's having something that is decent and warm at least instead of keeping Walkers in business with his copious crisp consumption.  Then all of a sudden...out of the blue.... "I don't like that!"

"Oh really?"  I say.  "You've been eating them for days dad."

"Have I?" he asks, looking confused.

I give up.

Just so you know...he ate an entire cheese and pickle toastie tonight with a mug of tea followed by a small carton of rice pudding.

Tomorrow all of the above might be off the menu...and you'll find me by the wine rack!

A couple of nights ago, I woke up with a fright as dad entered the living room at 1 a.m.  There he was in the dark making his way across the floor to the recliner.  He thought it was time to get up even though there was no light coming through the window blinds.

"It's the middle of the night dad," I said as I steered him back towards his bed.

"I haven't slept yet," he stated.

But he very much had.  I don't know what he was thinking and at that time of night I hadn't the steam left to analyse it.  He lay down and I never saw him again until 10.30 a.m.

"Did you have a good sleep?" I asked.

"Aye," he said.  "I always have a good sleep."  Please don't ask ME dad.  I hate lying!

"What about you?" he enquired.

"Aye...me too," I answered without giving him eye contact.  I think as a prevention of going to Hell this method works.  I'm getting embalmed with asbestos just as a precaution.

Earlier today I sat with dad while reruns of Classic Coronation Street played on TV.  One of the male characters asked a female character if she regretted getting a divorce to which she replied 'no'.  The episode ended there.  I commented to dad that the male character was heading home to ask his wife for a divorce.  "She'll no be happy," I said.

"What if she won't give him one?" he asked.

"I don't think she'd have much choice," I said.

Turning and looking directly at me he said, "Don't you be getting any ideas!"

I decided to laugh and forget about my comment than to remind him that I'm not Mrs. Duffy.  Not today at least.  I'm sure it will come up again...and again....

...and....again.

He went off for a second 'snooze' this afternoon at around 3.30p.m.  I always lead him to his bed and don't leave him until I see he is laying on top of it, telling him I'll see him soon and have a cup of tea waiting.  After a couple of hours he came back to the living room dressed in his pyjamas and housecoat.

The question was out of my mouth before I could stop myself.  "Why have you got your pyjamas on dad?" I asked.  Nice one Lorraine!  😕

"I thought it was time to get up," he said.

He'd only just put them on so his statement made no sense at all.

Shut the f*ck up Lorraine and act normal.

His pattern of events is off kilter and he can't distinguish between night and day.  While he's expecting a plate of cereal I'm feeding him Stovies.

"It's dinner time dad," I inform him.

He thought it was  quarter to 6 in the morning.  I'm hoping he'll stay awake until 9 p.m. at least and sleep throughout the night without issue.  I'm not optimistic.

*As I write this, at 20:18 he said, "I think I'm going to bed now."  As I moved to help him he said, "No, no.  Just you stay here."  Eh...no dad.

"I need to help you dad," I said.  "I'm just coming with you to make sure you don't fall."

He states he doesn't need to go to the toilet first but I lead him there anyway.  He's still wearing his pants and pad.  He doesn't need these through the night...yet.  I struggle with HIM trying to assist ME to remove pants and pad and put his pyjama trousers back on.

"Go for a pee dad," I tell him.

"Okay," he answers...like a wee boy.

He's now deep in slumber as I conclude my blog.*

I feel my head slowly disappearing up my own arse as I contort in frustration.  From the corner of the room, a little wine bottle beckons me.

"Don't do it," says the little angel on my shoulder whispering in my ear.

'1 - Nil' to the wine!!