Dad was moved again. He didn't stay long at the new place. When we asked Mum why they moved him out she wasn't really sure.
Perhaps the mixed messages we received at the start should have warned us. First they said, 'Yes, visit often to help him remain calm'. Then, once he was there we were told, 'No visitors for at least the first 3 weeks so he will settle in.'
We complied.
Not visiting for three weeks was very hard on Mum. Her biggest fear was that Dad would forget her.
He wasn't taken off the zombie drugs in the new place. His eyes still sagged, he dribbled, he couldn't always comprehend who was in front of him and his speech was slow and laboured. Oh how the machine had seriously fucked him up.
But we smiled when we visited.
We talked.
We tried to engage him.
We looked into his eyes.
We held his hands.
We asked if they would reduce the zombie drugs. They made promising sounds.
We lulled ourselves into thinking this nice new place was perfect, he was fitting in, they certainly were knowledgable about dementia. And then WHAM. He's moving.
Just the week previous we'd gone in and organised payments, added in little extra's like costs for a weekly podiatry and outings. All for nought.
They decided to move him.
He was put back into hospital.
His zombie drugs were increased.
And his care seriously went to hell.
