tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-46710748314169178272024-02-21T00:00:11.424+00:00Pat's Perambulations Living with DementiaAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03356623793725723580noreply@blogger.comBlogger2125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4671074831416917827.post-29623258270056910692012-07-20T10:31:00.001+01:002012-07-22T10:24:04.094+01:00Dementia-generated Rubbish !!!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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There’s a nice big wheelie bin that’s emptied once a month<br />
For all those empty boxes, old envelopes and junk…<br />
I can’t put that stuff in there: there’s never any room!<br />
It’s packed full with newspapers (If she finds out, I’m doomed!)<br />
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First thing on Monday morning, two tabloids through the door<br />
Then by afternoon, the Evening Post hits the hall floor…<br />
Tuesday, it’s the same again and onwards through the week<br />
So that by Saturday night the bin begins to creak…<br />
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The Morley Advertiser and the Wakefield Express<br />
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With The Morley Observer (Fine samples of our press)</div>
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They all come with those inserts she just CAN’T do without:</div>
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‘Win a car’, ‘We lend cash’ or ‘We’ll clean your gutters out’</div>
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Then we have the T.V. Mag which comes on Tuesday eve</div>
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Followed by a second one (on Thursday, I believe)</div>
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The dailies have their own mag. every Saturday morn</div>
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I look at the mounting pile (my face is so forlorn)</div>
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Then Sunday (Oh, dear me) she gets the News of the World</div>
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AND the Sunday Mirror puts my mind into a whirl…</div>
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You see, she doesn’t READ them…just sits for hour on hour</div>
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Turning o’er the pages in her paper-filled bower!</div>
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There’s newspaper on the table, also on the floor…</div>
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A four-foot high pile lurks behind the door,</div>
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Newspapers in the sideboard…behind her high armchair…</div>
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Underneath the bed-quilt AND behind the pillows, there!</div>
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She will NOT let me throw them out… “I haven’t read them yet!”</div>
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So the piles grow ever higher (Two years’ worth, I’ll bet)</div>
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Since she began to get confused the heap’s happily grown</div>
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(Like wire coat hangers in a wardrobe breed if left alone!)</div>
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Next week, while she’s out at the day centre, I do vow</div>
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I’ll start to do some winnowing (I’m ready, right now!)</div>
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I’ll throw out all those piles that lurk out of her sight</div>
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Behind her chair, in her bed (this room needs some daylight)</div>
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I’ve filled that bin near bursting: NO impression have I made</div>
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On that mountain of paper…in every corner, laid…</div>
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Oh, Dear Me…we’ve trouble…on her way back home today</div>
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She lifted the lid of that wheelie…she wants me off, away…</div>
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I’ve lugged it <i>ALL</i> back indoors (I know how to skin a cat…)</div>
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I’ve built a <i>HUGE</i> big mountain in the middle of the mat!</div>
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Even she can see that it all has to be thrown out…</div>
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Now she’s even offered more (I’m dreaming, without doubt!)</div>
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I’m stocking up the garden shed (while she sings this tune)</div>
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Then when that’s full, the outhouse has got a bit more room!</div>
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I’ve promised, faithfully, we’ll keep a month’s…so…</div>
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Behind her back I’ll sneak MORE of them: this lot just <i>has</i> <span style="background-color: white;">to go!</span></div>
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I’ve used the ‘Yellow Pages’, booked a special skip,</div>
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Kenneth will take his Mother out for a scenic trip… </div>
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When they return, ’twill all be gone…no more a mouse-delight…</div>
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She’ll find herself queen of a shining house, so bright!</div>
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</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03356623793725723580noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4671074831416917827.post-90021957608507820922012-07-20T10:31:00.000+01:002012-07-22T10:27:49.349+01:00Introduction to dementia<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Living with Dementia ...<br />
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My Mother nursed most of her life<br />
And the ONE thing that she feared<br />
Was developing Alzheimer’s<br />
Then slid into what she feared.<br />
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After Jim died my Mother came</div>
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To live with child, dog and me…</div>
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I found myself with BIG problems</div>
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On top of my hysterectomy.</div>
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Some years down the line, Ken’s Mother</div>
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Developed dementia, so</div>
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We brought the boat home, moored up tight</div>
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And put our fun life ‘on hold’:</div>
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UNPLEASANT REMINDERS</div>
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When you’re caring for someone with Dementia or Alzheimer’s</div>
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You have to be prepared for those unpleasant reminders</div>
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Life’s just not the same, somehow…it develops a weird ‘angle’</div>
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Me, I’ve walked this road before, these problems to disentangle:</div>
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I used to travel back and fore, caring for my poorly Mother…</div>
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She’d Alzheimer’s and slowly got worse, then MUCH worse (oh, brother!)</div>
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While newly widowed, I moved her in to live with teenager and me….</div>
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She thought Angharad was trying to poison her…(difficult, you will agree!)</div>
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Mum would fight and scream, you see…this refined lady, she would curse…</div>
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She makes our poor, dear Sarah a much easier job to ‘nurse’!</div>
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A CARRIER FULL OF BITS…</div>
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This house is very tidy…at least, the downstairs is,</div>
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I’ve scrubbed and washed with vigour and done it in a whiz…</div>
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I’ve cleaned and sorted cupboards and filled nine wheelie bins…</div>
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With newspapers, old Christmas wrap and other ‘useful’ things.</div>
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His Mother’s got Dementia…she’s no longer safe alone</div>
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And we don’t want her ‘put away’ to wander round a ‘Home’…</div>
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We’ve packed up our little cases and come along to live</div>
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In three day shifts, first him then me…our time we gladly give!</div>
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This once-so-spotless lady hasn’t noticed that</div>
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There’s no dust upon the sideboard or newspapers on the mat…</div>
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Her cupboards can now breathe again in cleaned and sorted bliss</div>
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While the wheelie bin is gasping from too much load, I’d guess.</div>
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I’ve left her five shoe-boxes and a carrier full of bits</div>
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I rotate them near her arm-chair, she finds them when she sits</div>
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She opens up a letter from her late sister, Madge…</div>
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She reads it fresh each time she sees…then finds an old name-badge.</div>
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Postcards, receipts, a bus-pass, sixteen letters from old friends</div>
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A little book of poems and a picture: memory sends…</div>
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A school report of Kenneth’s, David’s old Army ‘Housewife’</div>
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All take her down memory lane and brighten up her life.</div>
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Then when the bag is empty, she’ll put them all back in</div>
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And starts to read it all again, her face lights with a grin…</div>
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“Oh, come and see what I have found…just come and look at this…”</div>
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Her mind is firmly backwards, wearing a smile of bliss…</div>
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Meanwhile I’m hiding in the kitchen throwing out old cans</div>
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(They’re out-of-date and rusty…there’s mouldy bread and jam…)</div>
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If she should catch me at it, I’d get the ‘sack’ for sure</div>
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But she’s happy with her cuttings: “His Granddad lived next door!”</div>
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My husband is a marvel of kind patience and tact…</div>
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He’s lost all his impatience, he’s wonderful, that’s a fact…</div>
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I didn’t know my other half could be so very good…</div>
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I admire him and I’m proud of him…let that be understood!<br />
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*****<br />
Top photo ... My Mum ... Davina Jones (nee Wilkie)</div>
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Second photo ... Sarah, Kenneth and myself<br />
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</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03356623793725723580noreply@blogger.com0