'Mum and us' (twin sisters Liane and Julia) By Liane Arno
“IT’S such a privilege to look after our elderly parents isn’t it?” came the question from the district nurse.
I burst into tears. I was in the middle of Woolworths weeping into the phone as shoppers tried to avoid me. “I would have done anything for my dad,” I told her, “but it’s so hard when no matter what I do for Mum I get shouted at.”
Funny, isn’t it, when you think that in all the years of growing up, including going through those terrible teenage years when Mum never raised her voice, here she was now reducing me to tears every day. I know now that it is because she has dementia.
“IT’S such a privilege to look after our elderly parents isn’t it?” came the question from the district nurse.
I burst into tears. I was in the middle of Woolworths weeping into the phone as shoppers tried to avoid me. “I would have done anything for my dad,” I told her, “but it’s so hard when no matter what I do for Mum I get shouted at.”
Funny, isn’t it, when you think that in all the years of growing up, including going through those terrible teenage years when Mum never raised her voice, here she was now reducing me to tears every day. I know now that it is because she has dementia.
From what I understand, in the early stages of dementia people often get angry because they are frustrated at their declining memory and take their frustration out on those around them.
The first sign that something was wrong was when Mum stopped doing her beloved cryptic crosswords. She could get through the Times cryptic crossword before breakfast. She joined the Australian Cryptic Crossword Society and used to challenge them on their clues. She didn’t need to see the clue in a written form – I could just read it out and she could answer it. She would sit at one end of the dining room table doing her crosswords and Dad at the other doing Sudoko. All I can manage is Spider!
Mum started to do jigsaws instead. I thought it was to keep Dad company as he was getting frailer. Dad’s father had been an Army medical orderly in the war and worked in the infectious diseases hospitals. He brought home the wooden jigsaws that the patients had handled as they were thought to be too unsafe to provide to other patients. I never understood the logic of that and always suspected he might have nicked them! But anyway – there they were , as old as Mum and Dad, being used to while away the hours.
But now they are back in their boxes. Dad has passed away and Mum simply can’t manage to get the pieces in the right place.
Their small acreage in the hills of Korumburra has been sold and Mum has moved into a unit in Wonthaggi, near the shops and near us. She wanted to be close to the shops so she could walk to them but now she only ventures as far as the mailbox for fear she will not remember how to get back home again.
I think it is easy to forget that as the memory declines the person still remains intelligent. Mum knows her limitations. In the same way she won’t turn on the stove or operate the microwave – because she is not sure that she will remember to switch them off again. She is clever when she goes for an assessment. A health professional will ask, “Do you cook?” “Oh, I love a pasta,” she replies. Of course she does – when I cook it!
I have a sister who is Mum’s power of attorney and who visits once or twice a year. As Mum’s memory declines this sister is keen to put her into care. My other sister who hasn’t visited since Dad’s passing refers to care as elder abuse and won’t countenance it no matter the circumstances.
But as Mum and I have started through necessity to talk about her losing her memory (in our family many things were never referred to), she has been more accepting of what is happening to her, stopped being quite so frustrated and she is no longer angry (well very rarely and only when the discussion moves to the placement into care).
While never close, Mum and I are now in a more comfortable place where I do my best to help her to be independent and I can truly understand what the district nurse meant when I took that call in the supermarket all those months ago.
The first sign that something was wrong was when Mum stopped doing her beloved cryptic crosswords. She could get through the Times cryptic crossword before breakfast. She joined the Australian Cryptic Crossword Society and used to challenge them on their clues. She didn’t need to see the clue in a written form – I could just read it out and she could answer it. She would sit at one end of the dining room table doing her crosswords and Dad at the other doing Sudoko. All I can manage is Spider!
Mum started to do jigsaws instead. I thought it was to keep Dad company as he was getting frailer. Dad’s father had been an Army medical orderly in the war and worked in the infectious diseases hospitals. He brought home the wooden jigsaws that the patients had handled as they were thought to be too unsafe to provide to other patients. I never understood the logic of that and always suspected he might have nicked them! But anyway – there they were , as old as Mum and Dad, being used to while away the hours.
But now they are back in their boxes. Dad has passed away and Mum simply can’t manage to get the pieces in the right place.
Their small acreage in the hills of Korumburra has been sold and Mum has moved into a unit in Wonthaggi, near the shops and near us. She wanted to be close to the shops so she could walk to them but now she only ventures as far as the mailbox for fear she will not remember how to get back home again.
I think it is easy to forget that as the memory declines the person still remains intelligent. Mum knows her limitations. In the same way she won’t turn on the stove or operate the microwave – because she is not sure that she will remember to switch them off again. She is clever when she goes for an assessment. A health professional will ask, “Do you cook?” “Oh, I love a pasta,” she replies. Of course she does – when I cook it!
I have a sister who is Mum’s power of attorney and who visits once or twice a year. As Mum’s memory declines this sister is keen to put her into care. My other sister who hasn’t visited since Dad’s passing refers to care as elder abuse and won’t countenance it no matter the circumstances.
But as Mum and I have started through necessity to talk about her losing her memory (in our family many things were never referred to), she has been more accepting of what is happening to her, stopped being quite so frustrated and she is no longer angry (well very rarely and only when the discussion moves to the placement into care).
While never close, Mum and I are now in a more comfortable place where I do my best to help her to be independent and I can truly understand what the district nurse meant when I took that call in the supermarket all those months ago.