Twelve months ago I saw an email sent to all staff at work that mentioned Lasting Power of Attorney, which was also refered to by my friend in work Ian. Ian wrote an eloquent and moving blog post of his experience caring for his mother and father with dementia, which twelve months later prompted me to type my own thoughts and experiences.
The Lasting Power of Attorney covers two important issues that most of us will have to deal with as our parents reach the end of their lives. They cover the financial affair's, such as banking, paying bills and collecting pensions and health and welfare. You can read the rest by following the above link.
I can't stress enough how important it is to get these forms registered before your parents succumb to something as distressing as the various forms of dementia or any other wasting disease. What struck me was the cost of using a lawyer to register these papers for you. According to the email I'd read, the charge would be about £300, plus the cost of registering, which is £110. You can do it yourself by filling in the forms online and printing off the parts that need to be signed. A doctor will have to sign one part of the form, which will incur a cost. The person who sent the email stated £30 for the doctors time; that's a saving you can't ignore if you are on a low wage. Now comes the sense of urgency, your parents have to be of sound mind to sign the forms, and the doctor will be there to make that judgment.
We should have registered the Lasting Power of Attorney twelve months back, especially after my dad had his infections; that was a big mistake. And again in the summer when I was reminded.Completely stupid of me. Now we are in the situation where both my mother and father could soon be unfit to sign them.
Filling in the form online (or printing it out) is easy enough if you have all the details handy. Get it done!
Thursday, January 26, 2017
Tuesday, January 17, 2017
Non Compos Mentis - Dementia
Dementia, or Alzheimer's made itself known to me when I was about seventeen years old. It seemed to come out of nowhere, but this is probably due to my memory looking back over thirtyfive years, and my interests at the time being music, girls, psychedelics and animal welfare, rather than the slow decline of a person's mental health.
I lived on a council estate where everybody knew each other - it was a bit like Under Milk Wood - where everybody's door was open to the neighbours at any time. My family consisted of my nain, taid (grandparents), mum, dad and my older brother. There always seemed to be relatives and friends in the house visiting my nain and taid, chattering away in Welsh, from which I used to grasp bits of what they said when interspersed with english.
I would lie on the floor watching the pipe and cigarette smoke spiral through the beams of sunlight that poured through the window. The women would be sat bolt upright, wearing dead foxs about their necks; legs draped down one side and a foxs head down the other. While thinking about the people who would visit, a face loomed up out of the past and her name was Auntie Enid. She looked on edge most of the time, but people would, after all they had gone through two world wars and lost their brothers, sisters and partners. What struck me was the look in her eyes, they were black, wide and lost. Like the blackness of space absorbing what was left of the light. This is a look that I have seen in other's, a look of anxiety, fear, confusion and disorientation. Auntie Enid may not have been suffering from dementia but, there was something about that look. This brings me to my first experience with full blown dementia when I was seventeen.
Mrs Jones was a widow who lived across the way and was very close to my nain, along with the other neighbours, who had all moved into the street after the 1st World War. They would converge in the street or in each other's houses, a la Under Milk Wood, and chat away, putting the world to rights. She was very friendly, even though young people with mohicans and spiky hair would visit our house, which, to older people at the time, would have been like the devil's from hell making a visit to Walton Crescent.
At first I didn't think much of Mrs Jones popping round to see my nain more than usual but, it seemed to me, all of a sudden, she would knock the door and ask for the time, which is fine. Then it began. First thing in the morning knocking on the door 'Mrs Griffiths Faint o'r gloch ydy hi? What time is it? A couple of hours later, the same, until it became every half an hour. I could see the strain and upset in my nain and taids face as each in turn helped her back to her house. This went on for some time until Mrs Jones disappeared and I was told she had died. What I do remember is that wide eyed look of confusion, disorientation and anxiety. Those eyes that where once full of personality and spirit had now just the faintest traces of the person we knew. Into the blackness she had drifted.
Moving forward a couple of years and dementia had started to manifest itself within my nain, who was in her eighties when the first signs appeared. The signs could have appeared earlier, but I was rarely in the house, being at that age when time spent with friends filled all my free time, which was a lot when drawing the dole.
I have a recollection at the time of being upset enough by what I saw to put it down in writing during my failed attempt at an access course in humanities. Unfortunately I'm left with little memory of nains condition, apart that is, of her slowly becoming more frail and childlike. It was easy to make her laugh, but she was now becoming more bad tempered and confused. She would forget where she was and what she was doing and if it wasn't for my mum being available most of the time, nain would have had to go into a home. I have two abiding memories from this period; the one that stands out is that nain used to have moments of lucidity when she became conscious of the fact that she was losing herself and she would cry. I had never seen this strong but kind woman cry before. It was shocking to see somebody go from non compos mentis to compos mentis and back again. That's when I realised how terrifying this disease is. The other memory came via my mum, who told me that nain had become violent and would attack my taid in the night, which must have been scary for mum to deal with.
Soon after taid broke his hip and ended up in a home, where he was happy and would sing Welsh hymns for the staff - he always had his faculties - and where he soon after died. Not long after nain ended up in the same home, where she struggled with dementia until the end. Before she died she met her great granddaughter Poppy. We have a special photo of nain with Poppy and she has a big bright smile on her face.
I lived on a council estate where everybody knew each other - it was a bit like Under Milk Wood - where everybody's door was open to the neighbours at any time. My family consisted of my nain, taid (grandparents), mum, dad and my older brother. There always seemed to be relatives and friends in the house visiting my nain and taid, chattering away in Welsh, from which I used to grasp bits of what they said when interspersed with english.
I would lie on the floor watching the pipe and cigarette smoke spiral through the beams of sunlight that poured through the window. The women would be sat bolt upright, wearing dead foxs about their necks; legs draped down one side and a foxs head down the other. While thinking about the people who would visit, a face loomed up out of the past and her name was Auntie Enid. She looked on edge most of the time, but people would, after all they had gone through two world wars and lost their brothers, sisters and partners. What struck me was the look in her eyes, they were black, wide and lost. Like the blackness of space absorbing what was left of the light. This is a look that I have seen in other's, a look of anxiety, fear, confusion and disorientation. Auntie Enid may not have been suffering from dementia but, there was something about that look. This brings me to my first experience with full blown dementia when I was seventeen.
Mrs Jones was a widow who lived across the way and was very close to my nain, along with the other neighbours, who had all moved into the street after the 1st World War. They would converge in the street or in each other's houses, a la Under Milk Wood, and chat away, putting the world to rights. She was very friendly, even though young people with mohicans and spiky hair would visit our house, which, to older people at the time, would have been like the devil's from hell making a visit to Walton Crescent.
At first I didn't think much of Mrs Jones popping round to see my nain more than usual but, it seemed to me, all of a sudden, she would knock the door and ask for the time, which is fine. Then it began. First thing in the morning knocking on the door 'Mrs Griffiths Faint o'r gloch ydy hi? What time is it? A couple of hours later, the same, until it became every half an hour. I could see the strain and upset in my nain and taids face as each in turn helped her back to her house. This went on for some time until Mrs Jones disappeared and I was told she had died. What I do remember is that wide eyed look of confusion, disorientation and anxiety. Those eyes that where once full of personality and spirit had now just the faintest traces of the person we knew. Into the blackness she had drifted.
Moving forward a couple of years and dementia had started to manifest itself within my nain, who was in her eighties when the first signs appeared. The signs could have appeared earlier, but I was rarely in the house, being at that age when time spent with friends filled all my free time, which was a lot when drawing the dole.
I have a recollection at the time of being upset enough by what I saw to put it down in writing during my failed attempt at an access course in humanities. Unfortunately I'm left with little memory of nains condition, apart that is, of her slowly becoming more frail and childlike. It was easy to make her laugh, but she was now becoming more bad tempered and confused. She would forget where she was and what she was doing and if it wasn't for my mum being available most of the time, nain would have had to go into a home. I have two abiding memories from this period; the one that stands out is that nain used to have moments of lucidity when she became conscious of the fact that she was losing herself and she would cry. I had never seen this strong but kind woman cry before. It was shocking to see somebody go from non compos mentis to compos mentis and back again. That's when I realised how terrifying this disease is. The other memory came via my mum, who told me that nain had become violent and would attack my taid in the night, which must have been scary for mum to deal with.
Soon after taid broke his hip and ended up in a home, where he was happy and would sing Welsh hymns for the staff - he always had his faculties - and where he soon after died. Not long after nain ended up in the same home, where she struggled with dementia until the end. Before she died she met her great granddaughter Poppy. We have a special photo of nain with Poppy and she has a big bright smile on her face.
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