mother's day

This afternoon was all about my mum. I drove over to the coast in steady, driving rain and then took her to the local memory clinic in her car.

Once there we were separated, and while she underwent a series of tests and assessments, I was interrogated by a kindly OT (occupational therapist) about every aspect of her life, right down to questions like how much sleep did I lose worrying about her.
"A little" was my answer to that one. Only later did I realize that I myself was being assessed as I am now, de facto, her carer.

For her part, Her score on the mini-mental scale had fallen, so there is now no doubt she is gradually deteriorating.

Then, within minutes of arriving home, as arranged, the manager from the private care-providing company rang mum's very elegant four chime door-bell. Once ensconced on a lounger, she also quizzed the pair of us in detail about her increasingly parlous condition and what help would be needed for her to retain her independence. One immediate problem is the car. Now she has a formal diagnosis of Alzheimer's disease, she must inform the DVLA, who will have to decide whether she can retain her driving licence or if she must take an extra test. Or even simply to have it withdrawn altogether. My mum remained calm at the news, but I knew inwardly she was terrified. Poor thing. One day I'll be in the same situation (if I live that long) and I won't like it any more than does.