My Life on a Plate

Lest We Forget

The sun is shining, the day is warm and I'm feeling stressed with a capital S. I really don't know what to do about my mother.

Last week she forgot to attend a routine annual doctor's appointment. No surprises there, her memory isn't what it used to be. She made a second appointment for today.

Yesterday I met her to go for our weekly drink; one of the few things I know she looks forward to. She was supposed to go to her monthly book club before she met me, but misread the time again and turned up an hour too late. No surprises there either; it's happened before. She then realised she'd forgotten her library card, so couldn't take any books out either.

When we got to the pub she realised she'd forgotten her purse, so I bought the drinks and we sat struggling to make conversation for an hour. I then took her to her bus stop where she realised she'd also forgotten her bus pass. I waited with her until the bus arrived but the stingy bus driver wouldn't allow her the free ride she's entitled to (I'm sure at nearly 82 she looks under pensionable age!) so I had to give her the bus fare home.

The money doesn't bother me and although I'm used to her absent-mindedness, it really is concerning me as to how bad it's going to get. The last thing I said to her was 'don't forget your doctor's appointment tomorrow.'

Today I dropped in after swimming and discovered...you've guessed it. She forgot her doctor's appointment. To top it off my dad has had his eye operation rescheduled and it just happens to fall during the one week holiday we've booked. We've waited and waited to go away and thought by now all the hospital stuff would be out the way. Sod or Murphy?

On the way home, my ankle gave way and I went all my length again. Grazed elbows, ankles and hands and a bruised ego are hopefully the sum total of my injuries. I think I'd better take up drinking again; I never used to fall over then.

I arrived home to a full sink, a full washer and several full bins. Hubby was on the golf course and my son thinks recovering from his knee operation last week a good enough excuse to ignore any jobs which may need doing. A good hour has been taken pegging out washing, emptying rubbish and washing pots. Now it's time to cook the dinner, while the men sit outside in the sunshine. Me? Feel sorry for myself? Never. You know I'm not one to complain.

What do you do when your parent is having memory problems, but finds it very difficult to admit it? What can be done anyway? I'm just left wondering how on earth we'll cope as things progressively get worse, as I'm sure they will. Sorry Nada, my positive thinking has gone AWOL today.

I've told my son to shoot me if I reach that stage and he's kindly agreed providing he can shoot his father at the same time and live off the inheritance.

Sometimes you have to laugh or you'd cry.