Dementia: ‘Help Me: Please’

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As the Baby Alarm came alive at 4.30 am this morning I responded promptly to Maureen’s plea for help.  She had woken earlier at 3 am needing a drink and I had gone upstairs to read a novel: my latest solution to inducing further sleep.

It is disappointing that after two nights of good sleep we are back on familiar territory. Yesterday’s assessment by our social worker has triggered another night of disturbed sleep. Maureen found Gary’s assessment disturbing; worrying that they are going to put her in a Care Home again.

I sat in for the majority of the assessment.  My conclusion is that the process may serve the needs of social services but it inevitably causes distress for the subject.  In my opinion the assessment is relatively pointless: a snapshot infected by inevitable confabulation.

No wonder Maureen is scared this morning: feeling that an authority figure is conspiring to lock her way again !  It is disappointing that my priority to minimise Maureen’s distress is being undermined by a bureaucratic need to carry out meaningless assessments.

 

 

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About Remember Me

I am a retired adult educator. My wife had a stroke in February 2014 and now has mixed dementia. Her recovery from stroke has been exceptional apart from 50% loss of peripheral vision and vascular damage. 'Dharma For Dementia' is my approach to being Maureem's Care Partner: it aims to end the suffering of 'Prescribed Disengagement' (Swaffer) .
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8 Responses to Dementia: ‘Help Me: Please’

  1. I hear you, and understand how distressing these assessment processes can be for both the person with dementia and their loved ones. And I think many are repetitive, where various agencies would be better served with a joint record system where we can all access documentation from our multi-agency colleagues and all have the same amount of information to plan the care required. I’m sorry this has caused you both such distress x x

    Liked by 1 person

  2. AmazingSusan says:

    The last time Mom was visited by a social worker while she was in her own home (I and a caregiver were with her; it was summer 2012), Mom shit her pants (literally) and had diarrhea for three days afterward. Poor soul. The way the “interview” was conducted made me ill as well.

    Like

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