There isn't a single disease that's pleasant. My dad had cancer a few years ago, my partner's mother had it back when we were 17. They both made it through but it could have easily gone the other way in both cases. It's harrowing. But please, please spare us all from strokes and dementia. If you ever wish for anything, wish for that.
Sorry to hear about your nan jp, dementia is a terrible disease and effects the relatives just as much as the patients. However going back to your quandary there is no right or wrong, the decision you make will be the one that suits your health the best and only you know what that is. Whichever path you pick don't feel guilty about it. Take care of yourself and your immediate family and if you choose not to continue visiting your nan take comfort in the fact she will be getting the best level of care possible
No words of comfort, it’s awful. Mine had it for about a decade. My grandad passed away mid way through her time in the care home & she had no idea. I didn’t end up going as much as I probably should’ve. Only once every month or two in the last couple of years but it felt utterly pointless & just made me upset. My dad used to go every few days & would be upset every time. Dependant on how far gone she is have you tried any games with her? Despite her not knowing who me & my dad were for a few years she could still remember games from her youth. She could still play dominoes & some card games which seems bizarre when she couldn’t recognise her son.
My Dad only drunk halves of beer. One of the final times I spent with him, I told the staff at the nursing home that I was taking him for a beer. I think they thought I was joking. This was Wombwell, and I don’t really recall the name of the pub but it wasn’t Locky’s, but the one opposite, on the junction. I wheeled him in there, and when I asked him what he wanted he said “just a half, son” I don’t care that I had to hold the glass and mop his mouth after he had a drink. I treasure that moment. And I regret all the times I was a little **** to him growing up. Particularly when he lost his wife, my mum, to cancer. The world, life, it’s a right challenge. But the people you love and the moments you share are what it’s all about.
I had a close elderly relative severely affected by dementia and whilst she was well looked after and was not in any pain I felt guilty because I knew she wouldn't have wanted to be in that state. It wasn't my fault but I still felt badly about things. When she died I felt sort of relieved for both of us - (and that sounds selfish)
I have a grandfather going through it at the moment. It’s heartbreaking. He was a very intelligent man, a member of Mensa, owned half the garages round Barnsley, grew all his own snap on his allotment, drove wedding and funeral horses. He appeared on ‘It’s no joke living in Barnsley’. Now he forgets to use the toilet and asks me if I’m having any joy with the ladies. I’ve been married 10 years. I find the best thing to do is to pick a topic I know he’s interested in. I always start by asking him what he thinks to whatever is on the news, which I know he can’t remember. That gives me the opportunity to tell him, and then he’ll coherently answer for a few seconds until his light dims. Then I find a way to connect whatever was on the news to him and his past, and go into one of his favourite topics. Cooking, France, horses, classic cars. If you can get them hooked on a passion, their memories seem a little better. Music also helps recall memory, but it can be hard to find a natural way of putting music on without it seeming like you’re doing something odd.
Sorry to hear that Andy, and thanks for sharing. The bit about your dad asking after your ex after you split reminded me of my nannan. In her final few months, just after my grandad - her rock - died from leukaemia (after not telling anyone about it, because he was essentially staying strong for my nannan), me, my mum and dad would visit her as she was confined to the care home. During visits she would sit on my knee, the way she did previously in her own home. She was a small woman with a big heart. She was confused but still there, but the confusion was heart-wrenching. She would constantly refer to things from 30 years or more prior, and would repeatedly ask my dad 'how's your dad doing, is he okay?' My dad would tell her that my grandad was resting now. She had been to his funeral some weeks before, had grieved for him, but the question always came up. That pain, and the pain on my dad's face as we would leave the care home will always stay with me. I hated going there, but I felt the love and kindness, and empathy of the carers/nurses, who do an incredible job. The inevitable end came, and I am left with the memory of her time in the care home, but the resounding memories are of her in her own home with my grandad; a spirited little woman who would crack me up, who would jump on the chair in the kitchen when a mouse came in because she refused to close the back door, who would leave a pee bucket on the landing when i would stay over as a kid (despite the bathroom being on the same floor), and who for a time made me pancakes/yorkshires and hash before a match. I can't imagine going through that with a parent, it was hard enough with a grandparent. Families are complicated, but it shows we should cherish the time we have with the ones we love while they and we are here.
Thank you all for your replies. Some have been easier to read than others but all have given me a fresh perspective on things. And I know this isn't just us going through this - I mean, I kind of knew that before but reading the replies makes it more real on some level. I think I will keep going, at least for the immediate future. I'll try some of the tips and suggestions around trying to dig into her memories a little. I'll also keep in mind not to take things to heart too much, it's certainly not her fault and she wouldn't want to be like this - she'd probably be horrified at the thought of not knowing family. Thanks again. Sometimes a group of strangers on the internet really can be the best place to turn for a little reassurance.
