Tony and I recently had one of those weeks when you go to bed hoping things cannot get any worse: and then they do. By the end of the week the option of hiding under the duvet and not coming out was looking particularly attractive.
The week started with big wobblies on Monday morning. Tony did not want to go to the day centre. He claimed it was too boring, and that the food was horrible. He eventually left the house, still grumbling and protesting even after I pointed out that the day centre was a way for me to have a few hours’ respite, and really it was in both our interests for me to have a break.
I telephoned the day-centre manager later to see whether Tony had settled. She was surprised by my questions. Apparently he had arrived at the centre happy and chatty and when I phoned he was enjoying a cigarette outside.
Better mood
Tony was in a much better mood when he got home. He did, however, spurn my advice that he should sit in the armchair rather than at the table. He was clearly sleepy and I was concerned that if he fell forward he would hurt his face, but he insisted he would be fine.
I went into the kitchen to get supper ready, and shortly after that I heard an almighty crash. I ran back to find Tony had somehow tangled his legs around the chair and when he tried to stand up he had fallen backwards into the fire.
Fortunately I had turned off the gas about 20 minutes earlier. Both Tony’s elbow and the back of the chair had smashed though the glass door of the fire, and he was stuck. By great good fortune he was not hurt, just shocked. The jersey and the fleece he was wearing saved him from being badly cut, and somehow he managed to avoid banging his head. It was a frightening experience for both of us.
The next day we had a visit from the heart-failure nurse and our GP. Morphine was prescribed for Tony to take at night to help his breathing. The drug has worked well and is helping us both to get a lot more sleep. That’s a huge bonus.
I found sleep deprivation with babies and small children tough, but it is even harder now that I have reached middle age.
Tony’s physical health is deteriorating, along with the Alzheimer’s disease, and it’s a fairly complex situation which has to be carefully managed. I am seriously considering a new career as a pharmacist given the number of drugs he has to take. It is a responsibility. Fortunately, as a confirmed hypochondriac, he is always happy to take medication. That is one argument we do not have.
When we lived in Ireland we bought Millie, our beautiful springer spaniel. She has been the most lovely, sweet-natured companion for almost 11 years despite the arthritic hips and elbows she has always suffered with.
Pain levels
It was in this same week I realised her pain levels were too much for her. It is one of the most heartbreaking and difficult decisions that a dog owner has to make. We really did not want to lose her, but we could not allow her to suffer.
Tony was very upset, wanting to be continually reassured the right decision had been made. Her ending was quiet and calm. I talked to her and stroked her as she died. Being a grown-up is not always that much fun.
A few hours after my trip to the vet a friend sent me an email. It was a quote from AA Milne, with Christopher Robin speaking to Winnie-the-Pooh: “Promise me you’ll always remember: You’re braver than you believe, and stronger than you seem, and smarter than you think.”
It was a lovely way to cheer me up. My boys loved Winne-the-Pooh when they were little. I remembered how we used to play Poohsticks at a little bridge near our home. Reading stories to one's children as they sit cuddled up on your knee is one of the great pleasures of being a parent. My friend's kind gesture helped to jog happier memories.
As Clarence was able to help George Bailey to understand, it is a wonderful life: even in those moments when we cannot believe it to be true.
Thinking of bridges, Tony and I always recall with bemusement the one we found near where we lived in Cavan . It was a single-track country bridge. At either end of the bridge were road signs that both read “Yield”.
We never did meet anything coming the other way so did not discover what the protocol would be if we had. Perhaps a Mexican stand-off in the middle of the bridge?
Steph Booth lives in the north of England with her husband the actor Tony Booth.
For more about dementia, see irishtimes.com/thehealthcentre
