A caregiver takes on the challenges of maintaining a quality life for her loved one who is in an advanced stage of Alzheimer’s disease.
WHEN my mother started talking to her dentures recently, I stayed calm. When she used her comb to scratch her body, I kept my cool. Even when I discovered a tiny growth peeking out of the crack of her bum, I remained collected, writing it off as a pile.
However, when the “peekaboo pile” grew increasingly bigger, I panicked, much like I did four years ago when Mum first lost recognition of me. With hindsight this time around, I managed to get Mum to hospital for a medical examination within the week. But it was with great difficulty that the gynaecologists “confirmed” her condition. It was a uterine prolapse.
Diagnosed with Alzheimer’s disease in 1998 at age 66, Mum is what the doctors call “an uncooperative patient”. On the day of the medical examination, she stared menacingly at the male gynae when we tried to coax her into the “supine” position as required for such a procedure. There was no way he could “get in”.
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