Bollocks

I said it many blogs ago. I am become too busy with dementia dad. Bollocks I know but it’s true. He’s sat in a wheelchair in this picture in Lisbon airport….a sad sad state to say the least. An unrecognisable man.

I have since decided that writing is about being a good observer and listener… waiting for the hubby to laugh about the fact I can talk for Britain… I hate silence!

But I want to look back on these blogs and laugh at the crazy shit that goes on so it may be a long blog but bear with me. It’s all dementia based so you lovely readers may understand where I have been…

We have had more downs than ups of late. To be expected I know but still… I filmed him recently and it is hard viewing. I did it in the hope that my siblings may see what a supposed ‘good day’ looks like. To the untrained eye it looks nothing but bad…

Toilet issues are becoming more frequent with my being recently asked by the GP if I could administer cream on the rear entrance. Let’s say the GP understood never to ask again. There are limits to my care.

Eating is becoming a problem. Cutlery we can work round but meat and the chewing of it is a subject I won’t go in to too much but let’s say spitting and masticating like a cow is a daily event.

Then dressing. We will leave it there because it’s shit.

But I wanted to share some of the crazy shit that took place over 4 days just over a week ago when we went back to Portugal.

We covered just under 1000km in 4 days. Even the hire car company wanted to know what we had been up to. Well… we visited family because I am unsure when or if this will happen again.

So why write now? Ok Saturday he announced that he’s not going to Portugal again. I asked why. He said we had only been there for 24 hours (wtf) and didn’t even have time for a shower….. so let’s start at the beginning.

We arrive. All is well. See family still going well.

Day 2. We visit more family see his mothers’ grave… (I am a saint!) and we head south. Still going well. No shower as we were at a cousins and it’s not worth explaining but to say that I draw some lines…

Day 3… I asked him to have a shower. I put the shower on and lay out clothes… you get the picture. But he’s cold. Always cold. So whilst we are in shorts he’s walking around in winter clothes. His mood shifted throughout the day and things got worse.

Now dad has never been a gardener but since dementia came knocking he apparently is a keen gardener neh bird whistler! He can’t garden for toffee and a few years ago literally ruined our front garden.. another story.

So still on day 3 he starts pulling bits off trees. Now I locked the house to avoid a wander but he then appeared over the garden wall. We will come back to this.

Eventually we cajole him from the house to have lunch with a friend. Now if you have read my blogs you will know that dad is or was a womaniser… a pulse would do. He wanted to visit some ladies of the night (conversations a daughter and father should never have but we are past this) but even this ‘action’ is now an issue… so the mood by the evening was not great.

So still dressed for winter in the searing Algarve heat he continues to garden upon arriving home. He was however doing some strange mouth action which made me think he was developing a slight twitch…. I asked if he wanted dinner. He said no so I locked him indoors and went out for 2 hours and left him (as he requested) watching the news… imagine my horror when arriving home to find the door wide open and all the lights on and dad fully dressed shoes et al in bed like a corpse.

Now call me a bitch but he was so still it had occurred to me that the moment may have arrived… we may not need to repatriate the body so I gave an almighty prod. Imagine that we could hold a funeral and lay him to rest with him mum…. but the bastard was still alive!

Day 4. We were leaving but not until later that day…. but we took to gardening and I could take it no more. We dressed (no shower due to refusal again!) and get ready to go.

We went shopping then packed up the house and headed north (again) for the plane.

We had agreed to stop en route to break the journey but once again being dressed like an Eskimo in 28 degrees is not the best of ideas….we eventually get to the airport. Now dad gets Uber anxious. When he does he either vomits or has the runs… thankfully it was vomit but as we hit the airport he clasps a hand over his mouth and off we run to find a bin.. whilst I am carrying coats and 2 trolley bags! The police did check on us but I explained all and thankfully they left us in peace.

Several hours go by as we are delayed with which dad decides to tell me that he lost a tooth yesterday. Yes… the twitching of the mouth!! Told you we would revisit … A lost tooth. We now have a screw hanging down from the gum… God give me strength.

We eventually board the plane whilst I assure him that I will get him a gin and tonic (he’s already downed a jug of white sangria at lunch…) and sort the dentist.

We finally land and he tells me his bottom is once again an issue. I point out that I can’t do anything…. it’s a job for the doctor… don’t you know!

We have a few cross words getting into the car after being so terribly delayed. You know when you’re both tired and tempers are frayed and he’s as helpful as a baby without a pushchair…

I get him home unpack… he goes missing getting into the block… he went looking for his friend at 0300!!! Again no concept of time…I lost my rag and left him to go to bed!

2 days go by and he tells me that easyJet have damaged his foot… I ask how as he was taken on by wheelchair.. if only the old dad could see him now.

I pointed out that when gardening in Portugal one day he could not work out how to open the door (I pretended to ignore this thinking he would do something else) so he jumped the garden wall… once again dementia helps in that you can’t remember such ridiculous behaviour! I wish…

So we’re back. I am a terrible daughter for not allowing him to shower (?!) and only having 24 hours in Portugal. We have done the dentist. I am now waiting to see where we stand with the screw…. it’s still there. We have an operation date for the bottom (that joy to come) and the foot? Apparently easyJet are still to blame and he’s hobbling about and milking any attention he can get….

I will write again soon… yesterdays’ shenanigans left me speechless!

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