.png)
I thought we had it covered - how little did I know!
I'd lived at the opposite end of the country from my parents for 25 years. I got back to spend time with them every 6 weeks or so.
The image that I held in my mind for many years was that, eventually, we'd get a call that one of them was moving towards end of life and I'd go back and work from their home for a few weeks, stroking a hand, while working on my laptop....
In my head, the period of physical incapacity was short, there'd be nurses speaking in hushed tones. Mental incapacity didn't figure at all in my mind's eye.
Looking back, I don't know exactly how I formed this impression. Probably from films...
I always thought of my dad as the biggest, strongest, bravest man with the most integrity and courage. I couldn't conceive of him being in a weakened state. It was absolutely inconceivable.
When it started to happen, Dad was only 64 - a year short of retirement - when he added a deep vein thrombosis to his arthritis. He had two knee and two hip replacements. He had diverticulitis. He was just over 70 when he started to fret that their bungalow would need a costly new roof and that would be trouble for our Mam if he was no longer with us. So, they moved to a retirement complex, with a pull-cord alarm system and a warden. That anxiety about the bungalow roof was actually the start of his denentia symptoms, but we didn't recognise that then.
My parents had probably 8 happy years before he became really frail. Poor mobility and joint pain was an evil pairing with the bathroom urgency of diverticulitis and the confusion of dementia; and bladder cancer completed the set.
We were not prepared for the drama, the trauma, the stress, the fear, the agony of supporting dad in his final 5 years or so. One thing that hurts even as I write this, is remembering trying to shave him. He had always, every day of his life, been clean shaven. He would never have wanted to be seen without a shave. He'd moved to a battery operated shaver from a wet shave. When he could no longer do that, my brother did a decent job of it. When I was there, I was a disaster, I didn't know how to approach him, I pulled at some of his whiskers, I made him shout out in pain. We'd give up with just a small patch done, and I'd leave my smart, proud dad looking a disheveled mess.
There was a new challenge almost daily. My dad was so diminished and this went on for years, until he passed ... and our Mam fell totally apart.
So why am I telling you about this? Well, you might be as blasé, or in denial, as I was. You might not have explored with your parents what could happen, what the worst case scenario might be, how long it might last and how you will cope with it. Will you share care with siblings? How will you divide it? Will there be resentment? Is there enough money? Will there be a care home?
It can be so difficult to broach the subject of mortality.
Research shows that currently in the UK, the average person stops spending money on going out and enjoying themselves at the age of 78. That's because they're starting to struggle physically and/or mentally. A decline has started.
It will happen, in some form or another. Hope is not a strategy. Have the difficult conversations early about how it could play out. Take soundings and put plans in place. Dare to find out what the worst scenarios could be.
If you do, together you can take more control and make it as good as it can be, even if it will never be as serene as I had always imagined. Start now...
Comentarios