Potty

Today

I had what can only be described as a "funny turn" last Sunday. The borders between reality and imagination seemed to be blurred and I wasn't at all sure whether things that were so important to remember had really happened or only been in a dream.

This strange sensation was followed by a night in which closing my eyes brought forth a series of bizarre, unconnected and sometimes unpleasant images that crowded the backs of my eyelids.

The sensible thing seemed to be to keep them open which I did until about three AM when at last closing my eyes brought merely greyness followed by sleep.

I feel fine now and can only assume that it was as a result of recent overload. I decided to try to get my life into better balance.

But the truth is, when you're in your 60s, episodes like this can trigger the fear that, actually, you're showing the first signs of going into old-age pottiness.

In My Day

Paul's mother and grandmother lived well into their 90s and both were pretty demented towards the end.

With Nan this was fairly clearly Alzheimer's with episodes of confusion, forgetfulness and rage. This was not helped by a liking for more than a little tipple. More than once Paul had to help Mum and Dad as they struggled to heave the resisting Nan into a chair or out of a cold bath.

Eventually, Nan reached the tipping point when Mum and Dad felt they had to have a break and arranged for respite care for Nan. I don't think she ever came home after that and the last few years of her life were spent in a clouded twilight.

Although Mum did slide into dementia in the last couple of years of her life there was none of the anger, incontinence, inability to eat etc that mark out proper Alzheimer's. Instead she allowed herself a gradual giving up of responsibilities. Paul's sister was always on hand and Paul called her daily to check she was OK and she had help in the way of cleaners and carers who visited.

It was only about a year before she died when her grandson was shocked to find her wandering about her flat with the gas grill on full, but not lit and her with a box of matches. It was clear that Mum had reached the point when she needed expert help.

Did she know this? She was pretty accepting of anything Paul told her was a Good Thing and she didn't seem to mind the residential care home. I am of the opinion that Mum was not just preparing herself for the slide out of life but also her children. It's easier to say goodbye when your mother no longer seems to recognise you and only shows a fondness for strawberries and chocolate buttons. She's not seen as losing anything and you are losing less than if she'd still been feisty with everything to live for.

I'm not ready for any kind of slide just yet and feel sure that, at the moment at least, I'm not at all potty.