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| Courtesy: www.carvedwalkingsticks.com |
It was decided to move Dad to a nice place. Somewhere with less carpet and therefore less pee smell.
Mum
'Danny, Maeva and I looked at a new rest home facility yesterday. Its in (blank, blank, blank) and with luck the owner will phone either Danny or me tomorrow and we can start things rolling for Dad. Its a newly opened place and they have three empty rooms. Specifically for dementia in the nature of where dad is at. We are hopeful.'
Long story short our hopes were dashed.
This was where Dad's care and health started going to hell.
Dad managed to escape from this establishment twice that we know of. He'd wander off down the road and, by all accounts, end up asking shopkeepers to call his family to come get him. It's a miracle he could remember the phone number.
As the family lived some distance away the first response was to call the care facility and ask if they knew where Dad was....fairly obviously they didn't.
Then, one day, the facility called the police. Dad had 'gone off' (Kiwi talk for had an outburst) and they couldn't handle it.
He had used his walking stick to attack the property, smashing glass and, I believe, having a go at the staff. The police carted him off and he eventually wound up drugged to the eyeballs in a hospital.
It turns out the new 'no care' facility had no idea how to handle Alzhiemer's patients. They had a 'do it my way and don't argue' attitude with the clients which, anyone who knows anything about Alzhiemer's can tell you, ain't gonna work. They were also of the door locking brigade and didn't allow free movement between the garden and the house.
This, apparently, is what led to Dad 'going off'.
The story goes something like this: He asked to go out to the garden. Staff unlocked the door and let him out. Then they locked the door after him and forgot about him. (Not being aware of their clients where-abouts was a major fault of this facility). Eventually he wanted to come back in. No-one was around to unlock the door for him. This got him upset and very...unhappy.
When Dad's temper gets up its quite fiery.
This day, his fire was raging.
Dad smashed his way in then smashed lots of other things too.
But quite frankly I'd get shitty being locked out and forgotten about in what is supposed to be my new home.
Suffice to say, Dad never went back there.
Mum decided she didn't really like the place and, hardly surprising, they wouldn't take him.
He stayed in the hospital for a while, drugged like a zombie because that's what hospitals do, till another nice place was found,
His extended stay in the hospital on zombie creating drugs was the next step in Dad's downward spiraling care.
We decided a hospital is definitely not nice place for Alzheimers sufferers.
Long story short our hopes were dashed.
This was where Dad's care and health started going to hell.
Dad managed to escape from this establishment twice that we know of. He'd wander off down the road and, by all accounts, end up asking shopkeepers to call his family to come get him. It's a miracle he could remember the phone number.
As the family lived some distance away the first response was to call the care facility and ask if they knew where Dad was....fairly obviously they didn't.
Then, one day, the facility called the police. Dad had 'gone off' (Kiwi talk for had an outburst) and they couldn't handle it.
He had used his walking stick to attack the property, smashing glass and, I believe, having a go at the staff. The police carted him off and he eventually wound up drugged to the eyeballs in a hospital.
It turns out the new 'no care' facility had no idea how to handle Alzhiemer's patients. They had a 'do it my way and don't argue' attitude with the clients which, anyone who knows anything about Alzhiemer's can tell you, ain't gonna work. They were also of the door locking brigade and didn't allow free movement between the garden and the house.
This, apparently, is what led to Dad 'going off'.
The story goes something like this: He asked to go out to the garden. Staff unlocked the door and let him out. Then they locked the door after him and forgot about him. (Not being aware of their clients where-abouts was a major fault of this facility). Eventually he wanted to come back in. No-one was around to unlock the door for him. This got him upset and very...unhappy.
When Dad's temper gets up its quite fiery.
This day, his fire was raging.
Dad smashed his way in then smashed lots of other things too.
But quite frankly I'd get shitty being locked out and forgotten about in what is supposed to be my new home.
Suffice to say, Dad never went back there.
Mum decided she didn't really like the place and, hardly surprising, they wouldn't take him.
He stayed in the hospital for a while, drugged like a zombie because that's what hospitals do, till another nice place was found,
His extended stay in the hospital on zombie creating drugs was the next step in Dad's downward spiraling care.
We decided a hospital is definitely not nice place for Alzheimers sufferers.
