Arriving at the gates

One day, as we were arriving at the gates of the facility where Dad stayed, we looked at each other thinking "What the?"

Obviously something was going on. 

Residents and care givers were milling in the car park.  There was an air of confusion.  Then Dad spotted us and came running - yes running - with walking stick waving high in front.  When he got to the gate he exclaimed, 'Finally someone here with a few brains.  You'd better come sort this out!"

It turns out the facility had had a fire drill.   

As the story unfolded, things got worse.  Apparently someone, we are hoping not staff though this wasn't confirmed, had run around screaming "Fire!" at the top of their lungs.  This had upset some of the residents who had locked themselves in their rooms and refused to budge.  Others had headed for the hills and were still running in circles. 

Staff were trying to account for everybody. 
Dad, as with a number of the old folk, wasn't sure what was going on. 

We decided to separate him from the pack (with permission of course) and take him for a drive to calm him down a little.  He was only too happy to get away from those 'silly buggers with no brains'.

As we drove Dad to McDonalds, and the whole time we were there, he talked, recounted, opined and cussed about the excitement of the morning, which must have been quite stimulating because he didn't miss a beat even while devouring a Big Mac and fries.  I commented to Glenn how alert the whole episode had made him.

The minute we stood to go a switch flicked in his brain.

"Where are we going?"
"I'm coming home with you now?  Back to home home.  Not that other place."
"Where's mummy - are we going to see her now?"

When the answers he received weren't the ones he was looking for, I can only presume his mind went into survival mode and clouded over till he was not making sense.

As we were arriving at the gates of the facility for the second time that afternoon, all excitement had passed and Dad was just a resigned, sad, confused, shuffling shell.

Dad's back home

Having dad back home did not turn out as well as mum hoped.  She realised very quickly that he was no better.  In fact he was possibly worse.

The whanau, generally speaking, supported Mum in taking Dad back home and we hoped that it would work, though were not kidding ourselves.  There was many a discussion on whether or not it was a good idea and many a suggestion was made on what support would be required.

What we did know, was the only way to see if it would work was to try.

Maybe the 'Powers That Be' were completely wrong and Dad wasn't as bad as they said.  Maybe, if Mum could keep him on the drugs the facility used and implement some of the strategies they did, Mum could keep Dad 'settled' at home. 

Long story short he was a lot more work than she thought he would be. Added to that, Northland did not have the 24 hour support we knew mum would need.

In fact, I think having Dad home made her realise just how much she had put up with before.

If Mum had brought him home with high hopes of a miraculous recovery and visions they would live happily into old age together, they were dashed.

She made the decision a few weeks later to send him back to the care facility.

This wasn't too difficult.

The manager was very aware that placing a partner then removing him, then re-placing him (or her) is a common pattern with the partners and spouses of Alzheimer sufferers.  So they welcomed him back with open arms.

He even got a new room.

Unfortunately, the facility had not miraculously upgraded in Dad's absence, so efforts were re-kindled to find something a little better.   Of course, this process had to start from scratch as places we had put his name at previously had taken him off the list.

We thought Mum had reconciled herself to having Dad in care for the rest of his days.  We were wrong. 

In the back of her mind is the thought that one day, Dad will be able to come back home and I have to say, much as it may seem improbable now, I'd still like to see that happen.