Life in the Twilight Zone - Ramblings

Anyone with a relative who has Alzheimers will understand the hope, as do those who work with them. Hope is what keeps us going, it's the only thing that really does. Hope that today is the day you will visit and you will have a perfectly normal conversation with the person you remember. The person they used to be. It's what makes us get up in the morning, get dressed and jump in the car. It carries us through picking up any shopping they may need or buying them a treat, we know they'll love. It follows us as we drive to the Nursing Home, it's with us as we park the car and gather all the bags we have with us. Hope walks beside us as we walk inside for our visit. 

It doesn't take long before that hope starts to fade. Sure some days are better than others, those days, hope hangs around for a while longer. You listen to them talk to you, telling you stories you've heard before. You tease them about the chocolate cake they are eating. You engage them in what has happened during the week with you. They laugh and reciprocate by telling you that same story again. You smile and laugh with them, but inside hope is slowly fading. 

You look through a photo album together, and despite the photos being labelled, most of the people in them are becoming unfamiliar. The look on their face, of befuddlement, who are all these people, should I know them? Hope, is slowly disappearing. 

You take a walk around the grounds, and listen as she chatters happily about the friends she has made, and spreads some gossip. It's the same stories you've listened to before, but you don't let on, because you know that this is what makes her happy. She is happy to show you all the amenities, as if you haven't seen them before, she tells you about all the fun activities that you already know about. She proudly boasts about winning a game, she can't remember what the game was, but she's very proud she won, you share in her happiness. 

As the visit winds down, you feel the headache and frustration emerging, not from her, she is still happy, but from you. You don't want her to know how you feel, so you switch off and hold it all back, which causes the headache to get stronger and the frustration taking over. She walks you to the car, asking how everyone is, confirming where they all live, and that she would love to see them. You know that once she is back inside, she will have forgotten that you visited, and you wonder why you do visit.   

Convo, at the car. 

Mum:  Could you take me shopping one day to that place we went before with a big shopping centre?

Me:  Katoomba?

Mum:  No, the town before Katoomba starts with an A

Me:  Leura is the town before Katoomba, Mum.

Mum:  No it had a big shopping centre, but wasn't Katoomba and starts with an A

Me:   Sure Mum, when the weather is nicer.

Mum: That would be lovely.

You know there is nowhere that starts with an A, last time you took her shopping it was to Katoomba, but there is no point in trying to change her mind, so you don't, and she is happy. 

As you drive off, you see her waving, and your tears begin to flow. You have to stop up the road to cry a little before you can drive back home. Hope has been completely crushed. You drive home, and barely notice where you are going, it's automatic. You will start this journey next week, with hope full and shiny, maybe one day you'll leave without it being crushed. 

Catch yas
Cathy