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Well you don't say? Still, some relief
Jul. 25th, 2008 01:18 amA couple of weeks ago we finally got Nana to see a doctor about her mental condition. Even better we managed to get her away from her usual doctor. Her usual doctor is a waste of space - he is a complete drain on the NHS and a disaster for his elderly patients.
Of course, he works somewhere where all his patients are elderly - and they love him. He has a patient, genial manner and tells them exactly what they want to hear. No matter how daft that is. So you have my great aunt Dora who asked us to take the 1600 prescribed paracetamols away from her because of the rather ill-explained repeat prescription, and other old ladies going to him and saying things along the lines of "Alma gets little pink pills called {insert slow and painfully recited drug name} I want some." And yes, he'll prescribe them. Because these old ladies want pills so they can compare their stash of pills to each other in some kind of weird elderly game of one-upmanship. And he panders to them. Never caring if there is anything actually wrong with them or not - he'll prescribe anything you ask and give out HUGE and never ending repeat prescriptions constantly.
When we went to him with Nana's ever deteriorating mental state he dismissed us with a rather brusque “what do you expect at her age?”
Well, some help, to be honest. But we went away faced with the fact that Nana’s extreme problems were our problems.
Fast-forward 4 years. These problems are now beyond severe, and much of our support network has frazzled and fallen apart as our family becomes less closely knit. It was hard, but not it’s gruelling. Her panic attacks, her lack of memory, her temper fits, her utter irrationality and viciousness and crippling depressing - it’s becoming more of a burden every year and there’s only really my parents (which is hard because she LOATHES my mother) and me who can help now.
But we took her to a new doctor and he took us seriously (thank you!) and today came back with the results of several tests he and the nice jolly jolly nurses had done. With great severity, a lot of comforting (an annoying amount) and a seeming expectation for us to break down and cry he said:
“She has Alzheimer's.”
To which we, without a tear, said “well DUH.”
We’ve spent the last 6 years watching her go from “vaguely eccentric” to “terrifyingly insane.” Ok, it could have been any one of the many forms of dementia out there, but this? This comes as no surprise to us. We’ve been LIVING this damned diagnosis for years now. When she leaves 189 answer machine messages in the space of 2 hours, you know. When she rings you at 4:00am to have a chat, you know. When she screams and rages at you for a solid hour because she wants to go home to a house that was knocked down 36 years ago (there’s a supermarket there now. Her old home is now the frozen food isle of Asda) and we’re all wicked, evil kidnappers, you know. When she sobs piteously because Dad has “left her” (she thinks he’s her husband) and won’t be consoled, you know. When she demands to talk to her 20-year-deceased mother or 50-year-deceased father and then collapses in tears or rages and throw things because you can’t produce them, then you pretty bloody well KNOW. When you have to unblock to toilet because she’s flushed several pairs of socks down it, you know. When you’ve got to clean up her house twice daily you REALLY know. When you have to clam down a panic attack because she can’t be left alone for 2 minutes without demanding attention, you know. And when this all happens and more dozens of times a week then you really really really KNOW.
We didn’t bring her to the doctors to tell us what’s wrong. We came to tell the doctors what is wrong. Because we need help and CANNOT DO THIS ANY MORE. Dad is falling apart. He spends more time with Nana than he does at home. And over the last 4 years he’s come to resent her to a degree that probably borders on hate - and that sends him into a massive guilt trip, which means he overcompensates and spends more time and effort on her. Which makes him resent her even more. He’s destroying himself. Mum isn’t so self-destructive but Nana throws her worst venom at her as the “other woman.” And I’m so many people I’m physically and mentally exhausted trying to keep up with her fractured thought patterns
So it’s official. She has Alzheimer's. The social services and NHS will now be working with us to help before my parents fall apart entirely. Thank you gods.
Of course, he works somewhere where all his patients are elderly - and they love him. He has a patient, genial manner and tells them exactly what they want to hear. No matter how daft that is. So you have my great aunt Dora who asked us to take the 1600 prescribed paracetamols away from her because of the rather ill-explained repeat prescription, and other old ladies going to him and saying things along the lines of "Alma gets little pink pills called {insert slow and painfully recited drug name} I want some." And yes, he'll prescribe them. Because these old ladies want pills so they can compare their stash of pills to each other in some kind of weird elderly game of one-upmanship. And he panders to them. Never caring if there is anything actually wrong with them or not - he'll prescribe anything you ask and give out HUGE and never ending repeat prescriptions constantly.
When we went to him with Nana's ever deteriorating mental state he dismissed us with a rather brusque “what do you expect at her age?”
Well, some help, to be honest. But we went away faced with the fact that Nana’s extreme problems were our problems.
Fast-forward 4 years. These problems are now beyond severe, and much of our support network has frazzled and fallen apart as our family becomes less closely knit. It was hard, but not it’s gruelling. Her panic attacks, her lack of memory, her temper fits, her utter irrationality and viciousness and crippling depressing - it’s becoming more of a burden every year and there’s only really my parents (which is hard because she LOATHES my mother) and me who can help now.
But we took her to a new doctor and he took us seriously (thank you!) and today came back with the results of several tests he and the nice jolly jolly nurses had done. With great severity, a lot of comforting (an annoying amount) and a seeming expectation for us to break down and cry he said:
“She has Alzheimer's.”
To which we, without a tear, said “well DUH.”
We’ve spent the last 6 years watching her go from “vaguely eccentric” to “terrifyingly insane.” Ok, it could have been any one of the many forms of dementia out there, but this? This comes as no surprise to us. We’ve been LIVING this damned diagnosis for years now. When she leaves 189 answer machine messages in the space of 2 hours, you know. When she rings you at 4:00am to have a chat, you know. When she screams and rages at you for a solid hour because she wants to go home to a house that was knocked down 36 years ago (there’s a supermarket there now. Her old home is now the frozen food isle of Asda) and we’re all wicked, evil kidnappers, you know. When she sobs piteously because Dad has “left her” (she thinks he’s her husband) and won’t be consoled, you know. When she demands to talk to her 20-year-deceased mother or 50-year-deceased father and then collapses in tears or rages and throw things because you can’t produce them, then you pretty bloody well KNOW. When you have to unblock to toilet because she’s flushed several pairs of socks down it, you know. When you’ve got to clean up her house twice daily you REALLY know. When you have to clam down a panic attack because she can’t be left alone for 2 minutes without demanding attention, you know. And when this all happens and more dozens of times a week then you really really really KNOW.
We didn’t bring her to the doctors to tell us what’s wrong. We came to tell the doctors what is wrong. Because we need help and CANNOT DO THIS ANY MORE. Dad is falling apart. He spends more time with Nana than he does at home. And over the last 4 years he’s come to resent her to a degree that probably borders on hate - and that sends him into a massive guilt trip, which means he overcompensates and spends more time and effort on her. Which makes him resent her even more. He’s destroying himself. Mum isn’t so self-destructive but Nana throws her worst venom at her as the “other woman.” And I’m so many people I’m physically and mentally exhausted trying to keep up with her fractured thought patterns
So it’s official. She has Alzheimer's. The social services and NHS will now be working with us to help before my parents fall apart entirely. Thank you gods.