I had my regular Saturday outing with my dad. He has dementia, brought on by drinking too much. He lived with us for about 11 years, until 6 months ago when we put him into aged care. The 11 year bit makes us sound very virtuous, but the truth is that as soon as it got hard, we raced to get him into care. My distrust of institutional care and belief in the extended family crumbled at the first hurdle…. we just couldn’t manage.
So now I visit every Saturday morning and take him on an outing. Sometimes this can be quite enjoyable, but often I am left with feelings of inadequacy and despair. This weekend for instance, P & the boys were occupied, so I felt able to ’spend more time’. First we went to some local shops so dad could buy a hat, and we sat and had a drink. Then we drove to the local garden centre where we had lunch and I bought a few seedlings. Parts of this were very pleasant and I *think* dad enjoys getting out, but we do have awkward times too. Dad can’t initiate conversation, other than anxious questions about his circumstances. Where do I live? How far away do you live? Do I have any money? So the burden of pleasant chit chat falls to me – and basically I’m useless at it. Silences fall. Sometimes in desperation I say things I’ve already said. When dad has to go to the toilet it’s hard. I need to stand right outside the door of the gents, as he gets anxious about how he’s going to “get out” of the toilet. He struggles with the zipper on his trousers so I help him do this up – which I have got used to, except the doing it in public bit.
Then when I have to leave him at the hostel. He doesn’t want me to leave. He’s already forgotten that we’ve spent the past hours out together. He just know I’m leaving. He sort of avoids catching my eye – I think so he won’t start to cry – and starts another round of anxious questions. The worst of these is: “What am I going to do?” On the weekend there are no activities staff at the hostel, and dad can’t self-initiate any activities. He can’t read anymore. He doesn’t have any hobbies. All that is left is to wander around and around the halls. Other residents seem to sleep the day away, but my dad doesn’t sleep during the day. I don’t have any solutions to offer, and in the meantime my anxiety levels are rising to get back to my own family, who I have now been away from for hours. I eventually extricate myself and race away to my car, feeling like a complete shit.
I get home and have the same conversation with P again. Around and around – what can we do? would it be better for dad to be back with us again? (a definitive “no” from P, and I know he’s right – but sometimes I think the burden of guilt I feel for leaving dad there is worse than the complete frustration and annoyance of having him at home.) P informs me that the only answer is death. The truth hurts. I’m not ready for that and I twitter around trying to think of other things. Could we hire an extra visitor? Can I pressure my mum (who divorced him 22 years ago) into visiting him? All of this is further exacerbated by our plan to travel around Australia, leaving in May. I’m planning to abandon him for around 12 months while we take a nice holiday. I know, I know, I’m well versed in all the reasons why my life shouldn’t be put “on hold” pending some resolution (read:death) of my dad’s situation – I mean, that could be 20 years away, etc etc.
All that is left is to feel bad.
