Just As I Thought I Didn't Have Much To Write About.....

Just As I Thought I Didn't Have Much To Write About....

The past ten days have been so uneventful - just the usual routine, all going well - that I reckoned there wasn't much point in writing about nothing!

Wendy always says, "No news is good news." Especially where Mum is concerned, I think we all prefer a simple, boring life, to one that is ridden with difficulties... but the past 24 hours have given me something to write about.

Mum got to bed last night at about 11.00 p.m., and settled down well enough. I'd had supper and worked at my creative stuff upstairs until the early hours, and when I realised how late it had got, knew it was about time I got to bed. One can take this "Owl" mentality a tad too far.

I looked in on Mum at about 2.00 a.m. and she was wide awake, and raring to get up and go.  Go exactly where, I didn't know, but she certainly wanted to get up.

I was firm.

"Mum, it's very late. It's the middle of the night, and time to sleep, so go to sleep now."

"Why? What time is it?"

"It's 2 o'clock in the morning, Ma, and I am going to bed."

"Why? Haven't you been to bed yet?"

"No, I haven't. I've been working. But I am now going to bed."

"Oh."

"All the cats are asleep as well," I said, "so now we must sleep as well."

"Alright, then."

I made sure Mum had plenty of tissues, was warm and comfortable, and she seemed to accept it was very late (or very early, depending on which way you looked at it), and settled down.

Again, very firmly, I said, "Night, night!" and went off upstairs. It was 2.20 a.m.

At 8.45 a.m., the ladies arrived to get Mum up and washed, and they did not have an easy time of it.

Mum refused to let them wash her - it was the usual thing when Mum is stroppy:

"You're not trained properly!"  "Ugly Mug!" "I'll report you to Head Office...!!"

Oh, dear.

Being very experienced with Mum's foibles, using guile and persuasion, they did wash Mum, by dint of asking her, "Can I just do this arm, please, Phyllis?"

"Yes, alright, then - just that arm."

Then: "Can I just do this other arm, please, Phyllis?"

And so, in this fashion, Mum was properly washed, and dressed in clean clothes.

She was hoisted into the chair and there she sat, looking very much like Giles' Grandma - decided grumpy, and very unco-operative.

As the ladies left, they wished us good luck; and this was when our problems for the morning began.

When Mum decides not to co-operate, clearly you can't make her do something she doesn't want to do - even if it has been part of her daily routine for the past six and a half years!

We always wash her hands first and, with a bit of encouragement, she did get her hands in a bowl of hot soapy water and had a good wash, followed by a clean bowl of water to rinse in; I got her hands dry, and thought, "So far, so good!"

Next, I brought her toothbrush and toothpaste - but Mum was adamant she was not going to brush her teeth.  It really is important that she clean her teeth and mouth properly - during the night (and throughout the day), Mum produces a lot of phlegm, and needs to clear it.

Then Mum went on the tack of how did she know the brush was clean? Was it kept in the cupboard?

"It's very clean!" We reassured her. "It's your toothbrush!"

"Has it been scalded?"

Oh dear. If you have every tried to sterilise a toothbrush using boiling water, the usual result is that all the nylon bristles fall out. I use Milton to clean a new toothbrush.

So I lied: "Yes, it has been scalded."

It is so difficult when Mum is in this mood. She started landing out at us, and spitting. I told her to stop, and then we got Frank Richards' "Owl of the Remove" Billy Bunter script:

"Yarroooh! Gerroff!" along with more of the "Ugly Mug! I don't want you in here!" lines.

At this point, it made us wonder if Mum is in fact scared because she can't work out where she is - or if it is because the dementia is causing her brain to go into "attack" mode.

We managed to get her teeth and mouth half-way brushed and clean, and with the mood she was in, that was going to have to do.

I brought in her tea and cornflakes, and her pills.

I tried to be bright and positive: "Here you are, Ma! I've brought you a lovely cup of tea!"

"I don't want it!"

"Well, what about your lovely cornflakes, then? I've put full-cream milk on them?"

"I don't want them."

"But you've got to have your pills, Ma - they are the ones the Doctor prescribed for you..."

"I don't want them."

It was not going to wash.

I covered everything up and took it back to the kitchen.  I hadn't had my breakfast, so took the easy option to get something to eat and have a cup of tea.

After an hour or so, I went back in, bearing the gifts of tea, cornflakes and pills.

I thought I would play it as though the earlier tantrums hadn't happened.

"Hi, Ma!" I said, "I've brought you a lovely cup of tea - and some lovely cornflakes!"

"I don't want anything."

My heart sank.  "You've got to eat, Ma, otherwise you could end up in hospital."

"Maybe I'd prefer to be in hospital!"

"No, you wouldn't! You wouldn't get nice food like the things I make for you....."

That seemed to strike a chord.

"Will you have a few cornflakes, with your pills?" I asked.

"Alright, then - just a few."

And that was the start of better co-operation.

In the end, Mum had quite a lot of cereal - later on, she even fed herself! - took her pills and drank all her tea. I sat with her and we watched an interesting programme on the jungles of Africa, which caught her attention, followed by Bruce Forsythe hosting Play Your Cards Right. Mum remembers "Brucie" from the time when he toured South Africa and appeared at the Alhambra Theatre in Durban. He picked her out of the audience and talked to her, and to this day, she will tell people about it!

The ladies returned at 12.30, and asked me how I'd got on.

I said, "You weren't kidding, when you wished me luck!"

Mum was better with the idea of returning to bed for a snooze, although she still needed reminding that it was a good idea to have a rest - and that the cats had also had their breakfasts, and were fast asleep in the lounge.

I guess the hardest part of this morning was dealing with all the uncertainty: Will she/won't she eat/drink/take pills, etc. - I worry about her not having enough fluids and I know taking her medication is important. Whichever way you look at it, caring for someone like Mum is hard work, but it's easy and a happy task when she's chatty and helpful. It's the not knowing how things will develop that I have found difficult to cope with. If Mum misses one cup of tea, I suppose it is not a disaster, and we can make up for it with an extra cuppa later on; maybe the same applies to the dose of medicine. I will have to try to be more philosophical and accepting about it.