DEMENTIA CARE: ELECTRICAL EQUIPMENT.

A turn in the weather signalled a burst of autumn in late July. All the clouds turned up in the evening and brought the night in a few hours early. Rain chilled the streets. Here and there, the morning follow-through kept the pavements cold. Thoughts turned to the real autumn that lies around the corner.
   Another quarterly gas statement came in. They recommend reducing the direct debit, as we are paying too much and we’re in credit. No. That’s not accidental credit. It’s building up a war chest for the winter during a Scottish summer.
   Scottish summer is a contradiction in terms. But that’s an auld story.
   Gadgets are your friends. I used to believe that the microwave was your friend, as a carer. And I still believe that, it’s true. But the microwave has a new pal. The air fryer.
   Electricity consumption is always high. The computer aids greatly with carer business. When Covid came to town, all the clinics shut. And I’ve conducted medical business at one remove, ever since.
   Phone consultations. A computer consultation that never went anywhere for technical reasons – but we got by on a rapid e-mail exchange, instead. It’s all about the computer, the telephone, and, on occasion, a rare clinic visit…unless the clinician comes to us.
  There’s a ripple mattress for the bed which kicks in every once in a while and inflates different chambers inside the machine – reducing the risk of developing sore legs from lying in the bed.
   But this isn’t about lying in bed morning, noon, and night. There’s a comfy chair for use during the day, so this electric mattress is all about being ahead of the game – prevention is the cure.
   The comfy chair replaced an electrical chair when circumstances changed. So I stopped calling the chair the electric chair. That got a few laughs from the daily carers. The bed that goes with the mattress is also electrical. Everyone struggles to learn the four clearly-marked buttons on the control panel.
   Above the bed there’s the electrical hoist. This has its own wiring forcibly bolted to the wall. You can see the bulge in the conduit where they had some trouble with an abundance of wiring.
   If you could turn electricity bright purple, you’d see a spidery web of connections and pulses shimmering in the darkness. Why purple? No reason. Anyway, there are loads of electrical gadgets that are used a lot.
   I think carer houses are slightly more purple than non-carer houses are. How is your own personal Purple Factor?
   Electricity consumption always seems to rise. Gas consumption is down. During the summer, the “summer”, there is no reason to heat the house – even on the coldest days. There are plenty of blankets and layers to fend off chill periods. Electricity rages away. Carer duties are conducted by computer and telephone, after all.
   If the fridge dies, there’s a second fridge. Never in a million years would I have thought there’d be a second fridge. But there it sits, short in stature yet stout of purpose. If one breaks down, we’ll rely on the other.
   That’ll be awkward if it’s the reserve fridge that collapses. But you get the idea. Once you have two fridges, technically they are both the reserve fridge. One waits on the other to pack it in. It’s not a competition.
   The precious milk that fuels the fortified milkshakes must be protected by a wall of fridgery. And so, the electricity rages on. Everything that’s convenient and useful for caring purposes…should be solar-powered. But this is Scotland, and that would never do.
   Caring calls for convenience. Convenience comes at a cost, and that cost is electrical. We’re on a priority list if there’s a cut in power or a problem with the gas. Another angle on being a carer.
   So electricity is as important as a topic gets, whether carer or not. To keep the bills down, it is gas that we shun during the summer. My mother wouldn’t think twice about putting the heating on if summer delivered a cold morning, noon, or night.
   If left to her own devices with the onset of dementia, she’d either have the heating on or completely off. Your memory tells you that you must go around to every radiator, turning the controls. On or off is irrelevant. You just need to turn the controls.
   So everything is off, which leads to problems, or everything is unaccountably on. And that leads to problems. My unexpected ally in this cause was her arthritis. She couldn’t turn the dials. And my other ally in this was her forgetfulness in operating the main heating control box.
   I instituted checks on radiators while she could still operate them. And I considered having a cut-off switch added to the gas cooker. High up, far from her reach, and controlled by a key. But we never went that far, thanks to arthritis.
   On the electrical side of things, the fusebox was redesigned and became awkward for her to reach. Ordinarily, that would be a problem in crisis. But this was a blessing the rest of the time.
   I sit here, typing away, thinking about gas and electricity. In summer, no matter the weather, the heating is OFF. We build that pile of treasure in the gas account, for use against the coming winter. And the gas company tells us to reduce our payments. No. Squirrel-like, we store up ahead of the game.
   There’s gas cooking, occasionally. But my use of the gas cooker is way down. I’ve shunted responsibility over to the microwave and the air fryer. Yes, electrical use is high. But it always is. So the hell with it.
   I don’t cook major meals in the air fryer. That’s when the usefulness of an air fryer falls apart. Christmas dinner will, mostly, be done using the oven. That sort of major effort works best there. But for quickness. Chips in ten minutes instead of 25. The air fryer is your friend.
   A heated house is also your friend. Two solid rules. Thou Shalt Not…heat thine house in the summer, no matter how cold thou feelest. There are plenty of October days in June and July. But no frost, though.
   The sun does shine in the summer. Leading to more use of more gadgets. Electricity usage is up when the fan is engaged. And I have a fan on both floors of the house, ready to cool things down when summer is uncharacteristically…er…summery.
   And the second rule? No matter the muttering of visiting nurses and daily carers, Thou Shalt Not…heat thine house in the month of September. Yes, a chill comes in off the sea, and Mr Machen can still be seen at the campfire on the beach, telling his ghost stories.
   That’s not a topical reference. He’s telling his ghost stories in the month of April in The Fog. But still…
   We’ve never had the risk of frozen pipes in September. Your own risk varies, depending on how far into the Highlands you’ve made your dwelling. But here, it’s about keeping the body warm in that month. The house will take care of itself.
   So. Layers. Blankets. Closed doors. The heat generated from many other electrical devices. One eye on the bills. For, come winter, the gas heating is on. It’s about managing the gas at other times of the year…managing it by switching it the fuck off when it isn’t truly needed.
   The older you get, the more you want the heat. This is what carers and nurses talk about when they walk in. Oh, it’s nice and cool in here. Every other house we’ve been in is like an oven. And it’s only August. They’ve all got their heating on.
   At some vague point in October I’ll have to put the heating on. Take the chill off the morning. Cut the heating. Take the chill off the night. And then, one day, it’ll be full winter duties into the following year.
   It’s cool August as I type. We’ve had a storm pass by in the night, though you could barely tell. It’s cold in here, and I’m wearing an extra layer to see me through. My mother would have the heating on if she didn’t have dementia.
   Well, she does have dementia. I put an extra blanket over her last night, gauging the mood of the room, and that did the trick. She has a warm jumper to stave off the Nordic chill. And when she’s in that comfy chair, she always has a sheet or a blanket over her.
   I decide those things. There’s little point in asking her if she’s cold. She’ll fixate on answering that she is whether she is or not. Yes, there’s an electrical gadget to take her temperature. I check both of us out to see if Covid has invaded. But the temperature gun is a guide to how comfortable we are.
   Shame she treats it as though she’s being shot by an actual gun. There’s really no need to flinch away. And flinching away wouldn’t help you much against a real gun. I don’t know what sort of crime movie we are starring in. Think we’re on the run from a pandemic. Something like that.