My Dad has officially been certified with dementia. But he’s fine now. In hospital but fine, coherent, trying to remember things and succeeding. Then he gets pneumonia or an infection and his moods change. He’s waffling, talking about things that may or may not have happened. When he forgets his thread, he improvises with weird fill ins.
I love him. He is the most gentle man ever. When he got violent, after he’d not taken his medication properly, he came at me with his sticks so I gently threw him to the floor and he couldn’t get up and it’s almost impossible to get him up. Then he pressed his emergency button and the wonderful first responders came and got him up. During the time he was on the floor, we had a conversation. He called me some names, accused me of some things but never, ever swore. He has never even said “bloody” in his whole life, never mind the F word.
He didn’t associate that I had deliberately “disabled” him by placing him on the floor, didn’t bear a grudge and never ever has, even for my indiscretions as a teenager.
He should be coming out of hospital tomorrow and my Mum is clinging forlornly to the hope that he’ll be ok. He won’t, he’ll need care, care to get dressed, washed, undressed, washed and he will need all his meals provided and everything doing for him and my Mum thinks wrongly she can do all this.
The most likely outcome will be, he will get another infection, become totally disoriented
again, end up in hospital and it will all start all over again. Like a magic roundabout.
We need to book him into respite care, it’s heartbreaking, he loves his house, the familiarity of it all, the home he has lived in since 1962. We need to place him in a home for at least 6 weeks when my Mum has her hip operation.
It’s the end of the road and it upsets me. I knew it had to come one day but it’s heart rending. I can’t cope with it, how my Mum is coping with it is anyone’s guess.
Then there is the finance. Someone will profit from our family’s grief. I want to kill them. Parasites. Two honest working people graft, scrimp and save all their lives and now some bastard will freely take all their money off them. How can a care home justify £500 a week to look after one person? Tell me? Because I can’t see anything except profiteering on the backs of the ill and elderly.
When you go in these care homes, you very often see half a dozen people in uniforms stood outside smoking whilst inside it stinks of piss and fish and chips. We’re trying to find one that doesn’t smell. Where the staff are friendly and where they will be gentle and understanding. Because woe betide anyone who mistreats my Dad, I’ll kick the living daylights out of them.
Here are two images of Berlin, The Palace of Tears where families said goodbye to their grandparents whom were allowed out of the DDR because they were too old to be productive and a burden on the country’s resources. My parents simply retired and until this Govt. got in, the country made sure they lived their lives out in comfort and free of worry.
The second one is on Oranienburgerstrasse where the restaurants throw old rice out for the wild birds. The Hungarians are throwing bread to refugees in a similar fashion.