The Dementia Diary

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The Imaginary Floor Cleaner

on February 7, 2012

An evening or floor cleaner and soup

Way-hey!

A good visit!  F i L was in a good mood and not too confused today.  He’d been defrosting the ice-box in his fridge (he’s quite obsessive about defrosting the ice-box and freezer but forgets that the food defrosts too), a neighbour had been round offering to do some shopping for him because it’s still snowy and icy out, and he’d been busy all day doing housework.

As usual I checked his shopping list and despite having 2 full boxes of cup a soups and 7 other tins of soup, soup appeared on the list, but for once cat food was missing.  I swear he feeds the cat better than himself.

He told that No. 3 Son was going to try to visit on Thursday.  Quick as a flash I pointed to the snow outside and said

“Oh look!  Hell’s frozen over!”

The doorbell wasn’t working.  It was a simple matter of putting new batteries in it to bring it back to life.  Husband tried to relate how the doorbell in his old house worked to this ‘new’ one and the pained look on his face as he tried to understand was previously unseen and for a moment I think we both thought we had caused him to have a stroke.

He started to ask husband how he should clean his floors.  We’ve discussed this, like many other things, a great number of times.  I went to the kitchen to pull out the bottle of floor cleaner to show him again.  I pointed out that it said floor cleaner on the bottle and that there were instructions on the back.  He then started telling us how husband had shown him how to clean the floor previously. This has never happened.

“It was you.  You were in that corner.”

“No I didn’t show you.  I have never mopped your floors”

“You did!”

“Maybe it was [our son]?  Maybe it was No. 3 Son?”

“No. 3 Son!? He’s not domesticated!”

I managed to stop myself from saying “He’s more domesticated than the farmyard animals he calls his wife and children!”

“It wasn’t me dad.”

“IT WAS!”

This was about to start sounding like a pantomime.  I interrupted.

“If you had to say whose memory was best would you say it was yours on No. 2 Son’s?”

“Oh it’s No. 2 Son’s, no question!  But it was him that cleaned the floor.”

 

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