The Dementia Diary

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The Corn Pads

on June 15, 2012

On Monday this week I had a visit from a ‘Social Worker’ for me!  As a carer my needs are also assessed and although we (husband and I) are coping, and we are already doing everything they are suggesting both for us and F i L, I accepted the appointed so that we wouldn’t be removed from the list and lose the chance of help down the line.  I did  have a good chat about how frustrated I am that the other son’s don’t participate more as Alzheimers is a terminal illness, and if F i L had another form of terminal illness I feel sure they would make (slightly) more of an effort.

On Monday night F i L had a GP appointment that Husband and I accompanied him to.  We needed to find out what has happened to the Cardiology referral that will allow him to start on the Alzheimers meds and we have been advised to speak to his GP to get him a prescription for his anxiety.

We walked into the surgery and the were holding an Ante-natal class in reception.  F i L was oblivious to this and when acknowledged by the receptionist, whipped out a packet from his pocket.

[Very loudly] “Now dear.  About these corn pads!  I brought in a paper a few days ago and I want to know where they are!”

“Shhhhh!” Both me and husband

“But I need to know!”

“Not now Dad.”

“Shhhhhh!” I say.  “We’re here for an appointment.”

“But I need these!” F i L says to me

“Shut Up! We’ll deal with that with the doctor.  That’s not important at the moment!”

During the appointment, most of which went over his head, the doctor processed the referral right away (although by the time he sees anyone we will have lost at least 5 months opportunity to slow the progression of his brain decay) and prescribed F i L anti-depressants.  He started to complain about the amount of tablets he has to take and pull faces.  I reminded him that I take 7 tablets each morning and I am half his age.  The doctor was quietly laughing at the conversation.  She could see it was a regular conversation.  We asked for a script for some regular medication that needed to be renewed, including the blessed corn pads, which started off another routine topic.

“Now, about my feet Doctor……..”

I interrupted.

“Did you ask at your club about the Chiropodist?  I reminded you.”

“The hairdresser was there today.”

“Yes, but the hairdresser can’t do your feet.  You need to see a Chiropodist.”

“They come in turn I think”

The Doctor is listening with a broad smile on her face.

“No I didn’t ask about it.  Perhaps the doctor……..”

I interrupt again.

“The doctor can give you pads but she can’t fix your feet.  You need to see a chiropodist.  I’ve mentioned it to you a few times.”

The Doctor is still smiling broadly.  She’s not laughing at us, but is amused at what is obviously a regular discussion, and how we are managing what is effectively an overgrown, arguing child.

We whisk him away.  I go to get the prescription filled and husband drops F i L at home.  We had noticed when we collected him for the appointment that he had cooked some sausages earlier.  They were still pink and raw, but he was set to eat them.  Whilst I was picking up the prescription Husband had told him that he needed to re-cook them which in the end I did for him.  It was getting too complicated for him to understand that they weren’t cooked.  Husband had by this point reached the end of his tether and sat seething.  The only explanation he could give later, when we were out of his dad’s company, was that

“It shouldn’t be this way”

What shouldn’t?


He’s right.


One response to “The Corn Pads

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