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M
um’s increasingly
disorganised
behaviour and moments of
sadness were something
I learned to live with as
a teenager, blaming her
hormones, tiredness or
simple forgetfulness. I feel
terrible when I remember
how irritated I got when
she developed a habit of
chewing repetitively with
her mouth empty.
When she picked me up
from army cadets one day
and started driving home
on the wrong side of the
road it dawned on me that
there was more to it. We
knew she was ill, but none
of my siblings realised just
how far her illness had
progressed until 17 January
2006 – just before I turned
25. I received a phone call at
work informing me that Dad
had died suddenly a few
hours previously. I put on
my jacket, walked out the
office and never returned.
“We knew she was
ill, but none of my
siblings realised just
how far her illness
had progressed.”
Mum and Dad had been
happily married since 1968.
They were a good team.
Dad worked extremely
hard and, aged 64, he was
looking forward to retiring
and enjoying his sunset
years with Mum. Maybe
that’s why he couldn’t bring
@carersuk
/carersuk
himself to tell us that Mum
had been diagnosed with
frontotemporal dementia
in 2003. He played it down,
which wasn’t too difficult
because by then we’d all
left home. I was a strategy
consultant, my brothers
were a doctor and an estate
agent, and my sister was at
medical school.
“Dad’s death changed
everything in my life.”
Dad’s death changed
everything in my life. Once
I’d moved back with Mum, it
was clear that her condition
had worsened considerably,
compounded no doubt
by grief. I was a gung-ho
25-year-old and didn’t have
a clue what caring for a
mum with dementia might
entail.
I was very fortunate to have
siblings all prepared to help
practically and financially.
My brother Mark moved
back home, too, which was
just as well because those
first few years were absolute
hell.
lovely and answered all
the questions in the Mini
Mental State Examination
surprisingly well, but I
was falling apart. I had a
thousand questions for the
doctor – including “Is she
going to die?” – and only five
minutes of allotted time to
ask them. In fact, I felt so
overwhelmed that I burst
into tears in front of the
doctor.
Eventually Mark and I did
what most other carers
do; we learnt to muddle
through each day as best
we could, always mindful
that at least we had each
other. How, I wondered, did
people cope on their own?
The toughest part was
the lack of sleep. Mum got
day and night mixed up,
“The toughest part
was the lack of sleep.”
The first time I took Mum
to the memory clinic, she
dressed nicely, looked
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