Some Bad News About My Nan

I received news today that my nan has finally been sectioned and will be placed in a home because her Alzheimer’s has become so far advanced that it is dangerous for her to live on her own any more.

My mum and my uncle were looking after her but they both work, and have their own families, so could not look after her 24 hours a day. She has got so bad that she doesn’t even recognise where she lives. The other day my uncle spent hours walking around her flat with her pointing out various things because she was so insistent that it was not her place. To the point where she became quite upset and convinced the council had stolen her flat.

The last time I went to see her she kept calling me Norman, and I actually got rather upset at seeing her like that (it is well known in my family that I am her favourite grandchild), she had a huge scab on her forehead where she had some cancer removed and kept scratching at it.

I remember when I was younger and would spend nights at her flat with my uncle. Blaring out music with him at 4am in the morning and sitting at the kitchen table with my nan during the day (she was from the generation of women who always sat in the kitchen rather than the front room) playing cards or writing out communion invitations.

Maybe that is why I don’t visit her that often any more. I used to visit her every other day, do her shopping for her and escort her to the post office so she could get her pension (she was mugged once coming out on her own).

I prefer to remember her as she was when I was a kid rather than the frail and scared shell she has become. My aunt thinks the same way as me and has been pretty much ostracised from the family because of it.

My dad proved just what a selfish cunt he can be. When my sister told him he completely ignored what she had said and tried to talk about the hospital again. He only ever talks about two things 1. the hospital & 2. what a disappointment I am to him compared to his other kids and step-kids.

He didn’t even care, he even butted in when me and my sister were talking about it so he could steer the conversation back to the subject of the hospital again. Tosser.

I might bite the bullet and go and visit her the next time my sister goes.

Photo by Julia Freeman-Woolpert from FreeImages

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