It is World Mental Health Day tomorrow. I have a real problem with all these international days of awareness; they should be respected every day of our lives. Especially mental health. It works in harmony with physical health; if one of them is off balance, then our whole being is a little bit buggered.
I know my own mental health is taking a nosedive right now and is most definitely having a profound effect on my body. I have always been guilty of going above and beyond in every aspect of my life. Now I know it is beginning to catch up on me and take its toll.
Today, my sister is paying my mum a visit. Regardless of the fact that she only lives forty minutes away from her, she has not visited for four months. I wouldn’t normally write about my sister in this blog, but I am sick of holding my emotions back about things that make me so angry. Yes, my brother tragically died from cancer as a child. But, despite this tragedy, my parents gave my sister and I the happiest childhood. I have spent my whole life being loved by my incredible parents. We both have. When my sister said that she couldn’t “cope” following my dad’s stroke three years ago, that was the day I had to give up on her. During these last few years, I have had no choice but to cope! I know it was a pathetic excuse to simply opt out. I can never forgive her for this. Never.
Therefore, today I have one day to sit back and not visit Mum. One day!
The last few weeks have been incredibly traumatic for Mum. She fell down the stairs and broke her wrist. This fall has had a huge impact on her dementia and I am seeing a real acceleration in her memory loss. The doctor says this is very common following a bad fall. Suddenly, it feels that my mum’s needs are changing so rapidly. She also has to have an urgent operation on her bowel next month. My usually strong and robust human Duracell is now showing real vulnerability, and I must admit this has been a real shock to the system.
There are no positives to be drawn from the journey with dementia. The days are heartbreaking and harrowing. The one thing I am currently holding onto is the fact that my mum’s fragility has meant that she is so loving towards me. It is absolutely bizarre, but as I am losing more and more of her, she is showing her old warmth that she had previously lost six years ago when dementia slowly took hold. She tells me she loves me. She tells me that she misses me when I am work. She tells me that she is grateful for eveything that I do. I am relishing these moments of warmth and reminders of my old, familiar mum. So, as I am witnessing more and more decline, I am comforted by the love she is showing me.
During a recent hospital appointment to discuss Mum’s imminent operation, the consultant started telling me about her own parents. As my mum sat there completely oblivious to the conversation, the consultant and I were discussing how looking after our parents is the highest of honours. This woman was my kind of woman! And I know Mum will be in safe hands during surgery next month.
Right now, my insomnia is being an absolute bastard. I wake up in the early hours of the night, making mental notes of all the things I need to do. We’re in the process of buying her a bungalow and I am petrified that an operation and a house move are both going to have a detrimental effect on her mental health. I know new surroundings will be impactive on her dementia. But my GP’s words, “Your mum’s safety and your sanity, Sophie,” will keep reminding me that moving her is the right thing to do. I just bloody wish my gorgeous, but stubborn parents listened a few years ago when I told them they needed a bungalow! I keep telling myself that it will be fine moving an eighty-one-year-old woman with dementia, broken wrist and recovering from a bowel operation….. And then 3am appears, and says ‘Soph, are you fucking mad?!’
This week has broken me. The one thing I need to know is, whilst I am work, my mum is getting the best care. This has not been the case and the last couple of weeks have been a bumpy and exhausting ride. Monthly care bills do not come cheap and incompetence is just not acceptable. I am sick of having to shout to be heard. But shouting is exactly what I have had to do this week.
As I have said in previous blogs, dementia is the cruellest goodbye. It is the devil of diseases. I know, for a fact, that dementia has stolen a part of me, not just my parents. I am lost without them both. Yes, I am lucky they are both still alive, when others have sadly lost their parents, but I lost my mum and dad the minute dementia tightened its grip.
I am hoping that a visit to my dad tomorrow will lift my current mood. I never have any expectations when I go to see him. Expectations only set you up to fail. I always go with an open mind. If he is in a sad place; it is an emotional visit. If he has been trekking around “the north of England,” I indulge myself in his happy bubble of unawareness.
I miss my dad so much. Right now, I could really benefit from his wisdom. I am constantly asking myself what Dad would do in my position. I hope I am making all the right choices? He has always been my effervescent and eccentric teacher of life and I am completely lost without him. But all the decisions I am currently making are in Mum’s best interest, so I have just got to keep moving forward.
Regardless of my flat mood, I cannot end my blog on a low note… Thank goodness for my human Duracell. My mum never swears. She used to keep a swear jar on the piano, and I filled that thing up like nobody’s business!! (Come to think of it, I was probably single-handedly funding our family holidays!) Last week, I was complaining that it was going to be pissing it down on Thursday. Her reply, “Soph, which day will it be pissing it down?” made me howl with laughter!
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Sophbox 