DEMENTIA CARE: DAFFODIL DAYS.

What does spring weather bring you? Rain, obviously. Flowers and rain and more rain. Drunks lying in the street. Life is random. At the best of times. And it’s really random when you are a dementia carer.

   There’s no such thing as a fixed mealtime. Occasionally, there’s no such thing as a fixed meal. The rain is as random as everything else around here. Healthcare professionals duck in out of it or curse having to leave in it. Typing this, I see the rain is gone. Nothing but sunlight, encouraging the flowers.

   What is this strange glowing object up there? It’s a motion-sensing light and I’ve forgotten to switch it off. Opening the door, I see a larger brighter object outside. The rain will return. Randomness never goes away. The randomness of caring.

I don’t know the full story behind the picture of this flower. The cared-for goes out for a spot of daycare, which took a year to arrange. She disappears with a wave, when she’s not beckoning me to join her on the bus, and I walk back up the garden path to a rendezvous with coffee and a chunky biscuit.

   At the other end of the day, I’m there to assist her inside out of the cold wind. Daycare does her some good, though it calls for a mountain-climbing level of preparation. There’s a driver and an assistant. The assistant hands me a daffodil.

   We picked this outside.

   I suspect the assistant picked the flower for her.

   My mother hasn’t done any gardening in eighteen months, and that was pulling up isolated chunks of weeds and unceremoniously chucking them over the fence into the neighbour’s garden. While badmouthing the neighbours for no clear reason.

   I tidied that situation and kept the door locked with the key removed.

Does she have the strength to pick a flower? Bend down, grasp flower, pick it up…reduced mobility, dementia, and arthritis combine to defeat the notion. I examine the base of the stalk. Neatly sliced. They wouldn’t let her near a pair of garden shears or secaturs.

   We…picked this outside.

   At least it was an activity. I visualise the scene. She’s standing there with one or two people in attendance. Her third helper is a walking frame that I’ve vandalised. The frame has a red square on it. I’ll know if there’s been a frame mix-up, by the label.

Is that important? They are height-adjustable, these frames, so you don’t want to come away with one used by a giant. And they carry labels for tracking and maintenance purposes. One day, we all will. For now, instead of barcodes or QR codes, we carry phones.

She has daffodils in her garden, popping up to say spring – of sorts – is here. Another year of dementia care. The most detailed and involved year so far. Detailed enough to keep me busy, and too detailed to blog about in detail. You get the edited highlights. The snippets. There’s a huge difference going from one category to the other. The difference between having daffodils in your garden and bringing a snippet of the same plant home.