Health care deficiencies - the last thing we need.

Dad used to walk, almost daily, it kept him healthy and fit.

The latter few years he'd take a walking stick with him.  He had a few - anything from home made tea tree or a bamboo stick with rubber stuck on the end for the handle through to well crafted, purchased varieties.



Mum, Dad, moko's and one of the walking sticks.



He and Mum lived in a small northland town and he would take the dog for walks down to the bridge and back.  It’s actually a wonder neither of them got run over. The house is by a main road north, so there can often be a bit of traffic and it moves very fast, especially when them city folk are heading to their northland beach houses over weekends and holidays.

I'm fairly certain he spent a bit of time day dreaming on those walks.  Reminiscing about the good old days of his boyhood and his own Dad - he always spoke highly of his father.  Thinking about ways he could help his whanau, his iwi, his fellow man.  That and trying to keep the dog on track.  There were times that both of them, Dad and the dog, would meander all over the road.

My sister bought him a reflective jacket one day for safety.  I don’t think he wore it much.  

Being part of a small community had its benefits.  Local people knew who Dad was.  They’d toot as they passed.  Some might stop to talk.  And if people were concerned that he may have gone too far, they'd give him a ride home, or ring Mum's workplace to let some one know.

As his Alzheimer’s progressed, the amount of time he spent walking down the road decreased, though that took a while.  Walking down the highway was something he had done for a number of years.  I’d say walking was wired into his programming and it probably contributed to his good physical condition.   



They say that ingrained patterns tend to stick in the memory the longest.  So, for quite some time post diagnosis, he still walked, sometimes late at night.  And Mum would worry where he was.  On more than one occasion someone in the whanau would hop in the car and go find him, just to make sure he was OK.

I’m not sure at what point he stopped walking down the road, but up until his physical health took a turn for the worse a few weeks ago he still liked to be moving and active.  Or at least, he liked the idea of being moving and active. 



We had difficulty finding the right place for Dad when the conclusion was reached that Mum could not care for him at home anymore. 

Of course this wasn’t helped by the fact that his assessment was wrong.  An assessment made by a relieving doctor who didn’t come and visit Dad, he merely read a few notes and, when we had questions about his assessment, was unavailable to review it until the New Year.



We were being introduced to the machine that is our health care for the elderly. 

And we were finding its deficiencies.

When your father is assessed with Alzheimers, and your mother is suffering the stress of that diagnosis, and the emotional turmoil of having to admit your husband for care, the last thing you need is machinery deficiencies.