tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3564590596093558612024-02-06T19:20:46.719-08:00Design for DementiaMartynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06959631518843523408noreply@blogger.comBlogger58125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-356459059609355861.post-23860761887472932642017-05-27T08:29:00.001-07:002017-07-27T06:35:29.335-07:00350 mile sponsored bike ride for dementia charities, in memory of my Mum, who lost her dementia battle earlier this year<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhh0-NOjmMq3_oWkmTuyr1uaCwXuZFUeh3V9d1qmFnoIYzRcckGNQZ9DLv94nljfX0wu8NSGXYg9zIXLJu5CAYSjW_Imkd6kM5x829_x8yl4Slzuqo54MxvcN8w0Z4zdimlNNJnnKln1Kw/s1600/BikeMap.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="578" data-original-width="1600" height="144" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhh0-NOjmMq3_oWkmTuyr1uaCwXuZFUeh3V9d1qmFnoIYzRcckGNQZ9DLv94nljfX0wu8NSGXYg9zIXLJu5CAYSjW_Imkd6kM5x829_x8yl4Slzuqo54MxvcN8w0Z4zdimlNNJnnKln1Kw/s400/BikeMap.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The proposed route</td></tr>
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<b>According to the Alzheimer's Society, there are currently around 800,000 people in the UK diagnosed with dementia. This is expected to rise to around 1 million by 2021. Dementia is terminal, there is no cure at present.</b><br />
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Along with a friend, I'm planning a sponsored cycle ride (just the two of us), in aid of dementia charities.<br />
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We're planning on following the National Cycle Routes, from Southwick, West Sussex, to St Austell, Cornwall.<br />
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The ride will be in memory of my Mum, who sadly lost her battle with vascular dementia on 6 March this year. She spent her later years in Sussex, but lived and worked in St Austell during the 1970s and 1980s. I was her full-time carer for the last five years of her life.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLA5HJWfP-ft2-OO01aJmqrII91iqSLMXPOchnU0z6FuM74SH5DlQOQAVUs2VBLV5xd5gDIg9Fate262ODocXNmf-Egw27DTLhbvFZpEYWkXbMJkp2d-ftzlUJ8AJf_-Lufb8gBABQrl0/s1600/MumNow.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="632" data-original-width="800" height="252" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLA5HJWfP-ft2-OO01aJmqrII91iqSLMXPOchnU0z6FuM74SH5DlQOQAVUs2VBLV5xd5gDIg9Fate262ODocXNmf-Egw27DTLhbvFZpEYWkXbMJkp2d-ftzlUJ8AJf_-Lufb8gBABQrl0/s320/MumNow.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My wonderful Mum, Jean Feather</td></tr>
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The ride will start on 10 September, and is likely to take up to 10 days.<br />
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The route is approximately 350 miles long.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9doaQgIgKpOifHyN3W5F1n4POMiO-p-Rgi4pSI3z3b40cXxf25mstMFVyjXh1gHiga0NpoGasRhZ1flmt2EGzkUOaubWS3pvrWl8S8uhjXjkiDEa9xZPBHryyjiX4kAhPn4g4LdgK3OY/s1600/SouthwickCommunityChurch.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="603" data-original-width="1024" height="188" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9doaQgIgKpOifHyN3W5F1n4POMiO-p-Rgi4pSI3z3b40cXxf25mstMFVyjXh1gHiga0NpoGasRhZ1flmt2EGzkUOaubWS3pvrWl8S8uhjXjkiDEa9xZPBHryyjiX4kAhPn4g4LdgK3OY/s320/SouthwickCommunityChurch.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Southwick Community Church</td></tr>
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We'll be starting from Southwick Community Church in Sussex, and officially finish at John Keay House, St Austell, the former HQ of English China Clays (Imerys), where Mum used to work. But, we'll also be calling at the site of the former Cornwall Coliseum, where I used to work during the holidays, when I was at Bristol Polytechnic (now UWE), and of course, the Eden Project.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYYlqKFxVYX-bqlqEWh9KTIljUnAaP04F1_d6AZSjjDeD7lJjmIqD5dHLn1MDR5Id4H72Y7Rz-hVseBQvorUVMi5YjqTgbO6Z23rvp5oqFF4OyhB20BqPLBr_1y2r2rfKrqrRE7ugeUUo/s1600/JohnKeayHouse.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYYlqKFxVYX-bqlqEWh9KTIljUnAaP04F1_d6AZSjjDeD7lJjmIqD5dHLn1MDR5Id4H72Y7Rz-hVseBQvorUVMi5YjqTgbO6Z23rvp5oqFF4OyhB20BqPLBr_1y2r2rfKrqrRE7ugeUUo/s320/JohnKeayHouse.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">John Keay House</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaShua8mwmAiVZnWPQ6GCONeHgTXUqmL32yx8hlqm71-MuBV0T0eVhFvL6RYECVHnbrobc_CJoiRc0yixCc-5YnqJYPa1-bmE7FZczsQWZW5EdxZeeIWRcIFdOVZQkumKt7k9zIs2yTYQ/s1600/14333814_1111462852222503_8891582704734821958_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="676" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaShua8mwmAiVZnWPQ6GCONeHgTXUqmL32yx8hlqm71-MuBV0T0eVhFvL6RYECVHnbrobc_CJoiRc0yixCc-5YnqJYPa1-bmE7FZczsQWZW5EdxZeeIWRcIFdOVZQkumKt7k9zIs2yTYQ/s320/14333814_1111462852222503_8891582704734821958_n.jpg" width="225" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cornwall Coliseum in its heyday</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoA8Gc53LSiiUWz8hzFklAWbXvadrChw7LglPIsxnI4igZkGOFDWKCx_cE4W-lDg7pOsV7wCm7rJp3xyzhoeb76YxTIxqsYLsL-MGFBWZctM5UHmr-0CVLItbY_WPZ5BrXgvT91hVj9Ss/s1600/EdenProject.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="934" data-original-width="1400" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoA8Gc53LSiiUWz8hzFklAWbXvadrChw7LglPIsxnI4igZkGOFDWKCx_cE4W-lDg7pOsV7wCm7rJp3xyzhoeb76YxTIxqsYLsL-MGFBWZctM5UHmr-0CVLItbY_WPZ5BrXgvT91hVj9Ss/s320/EdenProject.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Eden Project</td></tr>
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For the most part, we'll be stopping overnight at various campsites along the route.<br />
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We'll be taking photos and videos along the route, and we'll be sharing these online as we progress.<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">
The two main charities we're be raising money for, are:</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjr993tE7_mU43hVY5P2wpXBawkqIIPjtC-ToBYNLaTSQiqkNn39M6_QlKcghcjwuBfQP3_N4smPYib5iV5WRw676Mw-9QGtuOFkCSkCbtxVdXGOPMLYFvpkTG4iXCLaK5BTwsLrq213f4/s1600/as_logo_o--main.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="328" data-original-width="312" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjr993tE7_mU43hVY5P2wpXBawkqIIPjtC-ToBYNLaTSQiqkNn39M6_QlKcghcjwuBfQP3_N4smPYib5iV5WRw676Mw-9QGtuOFkCSkCbtxVdXGOPMLYFvpkTG4iXCLaK5BTwsLrq213f4/s200/as_logo_o--main.png" width="190" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://www.alzheimers.org.uk/">https://www.alzheimers.org.uk/</a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Registered Charity No. 296645<br />
We're officially part of the Alzheimer's Society cycle team - supporter number 2881387<br />
<h4>
JustGiving - <a href="https://www.justgiving.com/fundraising/martyn-feather-as" style="text-align: start;">https://www.justgiving.com/fundraising/martyn-feather-as</a></h4>
or text ASDP84 £2 to 70070 (if you wish to donate more just enter a different figure after the £ sign - e.g. £5)</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4WsAgc7bwwAvfuEOZAbxeTrbZy-UjGyWA1EE-HrpwSCQ_wsQ_9-WQg8c215DlgrIRxdJPJNj0ISdHOBkF55QRhKlxpda-d_AI-eJ0e7-jOES4k0E_qAnbpIvxZyQxh20NOvfrsTFx2VA/s1600/DUK.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1171" data-original-width="1600" height="234" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4WsAgc7bwwAvfuEOZAbxeTrbZy-UjGyWA1EE-HrpwSCQ_wsQ_9-WQg8c215DlgrIRxdJPJNj0ISdHOBkF55QRhKlxpda-d_AI-eJ0e7-jOES4k0E_qAnbpIvxZyQxh20NOvfrsTFx2VA/s320/DUK.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://www.dementiauk.org/">https://www.dementiauk.org/</a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Registered Charity No. 1039404<br />
<h4>
JustGiving - <a href="https://www.justgiving.com/fundraising/martyn-feather-duk" style="text-align: start;">https://www.justgiving.com/fundraising/martyn-feather-duk</a></h4>
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or text BIJJ81 £2 to 70070 (if you wish to donate more just enter a different figure after the £ sign - e.g. £5)</div>
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I've also set up a blog about the bike ride, and the preparations we're making towards it <a href="https://cycling4dementia.blogspot.co.uk/">https://cycling4dementia.blogspot.co.uk</a><br />
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<span style="text-align: start;">@inmemoryofmymum can be found on both </span><a href="https://www.facebook.com/inmemoryofmymum/" style="text-align: start;">Facebook</a><span style="text-align: start;"> and </span><a href="https://twitter.com/inmemoryofmymum" style="text-align: start;">Twitter</a><span style="text-align: start;">, so you can follow the ride there too. You can also find me on Facebook - </span><a href="https://www.facebook.com/martyn.feather" style="text-align: start;">Martyn Feather (Skippy)</a><span style="text-align: start;">, and Twitter - </span><complete id="goog_484160996" style="text-align: start;"><a href="https://twitter.com/ZkidooKreativ">@ZkidooKreativ</a></complete></div>
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Martynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06959631518843523408noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-356459059609355861.post-10072432088612041732017-04-10T05:54:00.000-07:002017-04-10T05:54:05.166-07:00Grief and what may trigger those sad moments - based upon my own personal experiences...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I remember, when my Dad passed away, almost 23 years ago, that from time to time, certain, totally unrelated things or events, could trigger a relapse into a brief period of grief.<br />
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Since Mum passed away, five weeks ago now, I'm occasionally experiencing such triggers all over again. Sometimes, it's something totally unexpected that can trigger such feelings.<br />
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The other day, I was coping quite well. I even went for a cycle ride in the afternoon, which helped significantly. Then not long after getting back home, I received a phone call from the Community Equipment providers, who were unaware of Mum's passing, to set up an appointment to service her hospital style bed. After I explained the situation, and hung up - kapow! It was a trigger! The grief came flooding back, albeit briefly.<br />
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Whenever I met people who knew Mum, or knew about Mum, and offered their condolences, this often triggered the same feelings of grief.<br />
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Evenings alone also proved to be difficult, as this was when I used to sit in Mum's room and watch TV, watch DVDs, or listen to music with her.<br />
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Talking of music, I know there will be certain tracks, that will also prove to be triggers.<br />
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Sometimes, things that I know will act as triggers, can be avoided, but it's the unexpected triggers, the things or events that we don't even consider, that can be the hardest to overcome. It could be a place, a smell, a sound, or even some apparently obscure event, that can sometimes trigger memories - and suddenly, the grief is back.<br />
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I recall, quite a while after my Dad passed away, driving through the countryside in South-West England, along a route that was often used by my Dad when I was young. Suddenly, along that very same route, by the side of the road, loomed a large ornate gateway, part of a large country estate. I remembered that gateway from my younger days, when Dad was driving us from Sussex to Cornwall - it was one of those unexpected triggers!<br />
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I know these triggers will diminish over time, and that time heals, but there will always be something, totally unexpected, which will bring the memories flooding back - and suddenly, the grief is back. Not as intense as the early days, but it's still there.<br />
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On the up side, although there is grief, it's often accompanied by happy memories, once the initial grief has subsided. What seems to cause some of that grief, is knowing that those happy memories can no longer be shared with those close to us, who are no longer with us, and who were once part of those precious memories.<br />
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<h3>
Mum's grief after the loss of her Mum, and its effect during her dementia journey...</h3>
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For much of Mum's life, after her Mother passed away, she would occasionally experience grief, brought about mainly by the guilt of not being able to be with her Mother, when she needed her daughter most. Mum never forgot that, and lived with that guilt, and the grief it would sometimes bring, for the rest of her life.<br />
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In the later stages of Mum's dementia, she would often call out for her Mum. Fortunately, there was a photograph of her, on the wall of her room, and I was able to point her to it. Seeing her Mum's face, was enough to help to reassure her, and keep her calm.Martynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06959631518843523408noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-356459059609355861.post-13146043085456317032017-03-29T09:56:00.001-07:002017-03-29T09:59:03.860-07:00The aftermath of losing a Mother to dementia, what does the future hold for me?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnvDXRGMqHeVNk3NfyAt09CleehJDC2Kp0-DZT__G4ieNyctdvGL0BG41DET66X53HHA2SjlCBS0pTSampeahM4BommAcArnCdm2Ef08LHcUqQ3qhlWkIOjwk2pW_ie1a8kdMOCCKhImU/s1600/01.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnvDXRGMqHeVNk3NfyAt09CleehJDC2Kp0-DZT__G4ieNyctdvGL0BG41DET66X53HHA2SjlCBS0pTSampeahM4BommAcArnCdm2Ef08LHcUqQ3qhlWkIOjwk2pW_ie1a8kdMOCCKhImU/s400/01.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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It's now three weeks since Mum passed away, yet there is still much to be done. Whilst I've single-handedly managed to arrange some of the more important things, there are still many other matters to deal with. But, here's where the toll of caring for a loved one long-term, and the grief through the loss of a loved one, gang up to try to defeat you. They certainly seem to be winning at times.<br />
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Some days, I just don't feel like doing anything important. But, I know I'm going to have to, at some point very soon.<br />
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There are many worries, especially financial. Mum's dementia, in it's earlier stages, meant that she lost quite a lot of money to unscrupulous individuals, who took advantage of her situation. Insurance policies lapsed, and her finances took a nosedive to pretty much zero. That, along with the costs of agency carers, resulted in a final bank balance of not very much.<br />
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What is left in her account, will cover most of her funeral expenses, and nothing else.<br />
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Her pensions, of which she had four, have now stopped. My current income, is purely from the state. I received a carer's allowance, and income support, which in total amounted to very little indeed. For the past four and a half years, we existed on Mum's pensions, but they've gone now.<br />
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Caring for Mum for so long, took it's toll. Although, I wouldn't have had it any other way. But, now I find myself on the brink of poverty, as part of my reward for caring for so long, for loving my Mum, and doing everything I could for her. I'm not bitter, I loved her, but without her, I'm worried about what the future may hold!<br />
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I'm nowhere near ready to even think about working again, and even if I was, I'm not even sure what I could now do. I've been out of work, so to speak, for five years in total, and next month sees my 60th Birthday! Who on earth wants to employ a 60 year old Graphic Designer? Especially one that hasn't actually carried out much designing, for so long!<br />
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Being a somewhat optimistic person, I guess I'm hoping that something will emerge over the coming months. Something that I'd be happy to do. I certainly have plenty of experience of caring for someone living with dementia, and all the difficulties that entails. But, there is no way I would even want to consider becoming a care worker, I've more than done my share of caring.<br />
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What I have discovered over the last few weeks, is the complete lack of support, at least where I live, available to former family carers. Yes, there are bereavement counsellors, but not specifically for family carers of someone with dementia.<br />
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How many of them understand, when a close family member cares for someone with dementia, that grief and bereavement is an ongoing process, throughout the period of caring? A family carer grieves, and suffers bereavement, each time they lose another small part of the person they care for, as the evil of dementia progresses.<br />
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By the time Mum passed away, she had become a mere shadow of her former self. A helpless little old lady, whose mind and body had been eaten away by this evil disease.<br />
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So, whatever I decide to do in the future, part of it at least, will be a legacy to Mum. If I include the earlier stages of her dementia, I cared for Mum, for a total of around 10 years, especially after it became clear that she was beginning to have difficulties with everyday chores. There is no way I can now walk away from that 10 years of experience, and not try to help others who find themselves in similar circumstances.<br />
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How I do this? I don't yet know. But, over the next few weeks and months, I'll do my best to find out. Whatever I can do to help others living with dementia, and those family members who care for them, I'll do it.<br />
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That will be Mum's legacy.Martynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06959631518843523408noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-356459059609355861.post-64388278832371216892017-03-17T08:58:00.000-07:002017-03-17T08:58:26.059-07:00When caring for a loved one comes to an end...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggPmCcDSop9ph6-abs1r9Cdh60WTX1KSvMOe2-x1wgBItdUCTus1h6ZunxlaoRLgxpbXgcJxNolG4y-3B1EHQ4ce-9u-DVBm0N6VtANjjt8zban7XWa9Dj64NNuY4Jcww0DdHbLdP5Sbo/s1600/WorthinCrem.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="100" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggPmCcDSop9ph6-abs1r9Cdh60WTX1KSvMOe2-x1wgBItdUCTus1h6ZunxlaoRLgxpbXgcJxNolG4y-3B1EHQ4ce-9u-DVBm0N6VtANjjt8zban7XWa9Dj64NNuY4Jcww0DdHbLdP5Sbo/s400/WorthinCrem.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<h3>
Four and a half years of caring for Mum, then? Emptiness!</h3>
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It'll soon be two weeks since Mum passed on, and I'm still trying to get used to the idea that what I did for her, for the last four and a half years, is over.<br />
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Caring for a Mum with dementia, who was completely bed-bound, and unable to feed herself, was a full on, 24/7, responsibility. With care workers coming to help four times a day, and in the last three months, Community Nurses, once a day, my days were made up of a very precise, set routine.<br />
<br />
My days were occupied making Mum meals and providing drinks, doing a local shop for essentials, and occasionally collecting her prescription drugs.<br />
<br />
My days would usually start at around 8am, and often go on until the early hours of the following day, allowing me a small amount of time for sleep. If I awoke in the middle of the night, I'd go and check on Mum. That was my life.<br />
<br />
Then, one night, it all came to an abrupt end. I knew it was coming, but I was unable to prepare myself for it. All of the community support provided during those four and a half years, stopped. The doorbell stopped ringing. The friendly faces of Mum's care workers were nowhere to be seen. It was a massive shock, made even worse by the loss of Mum.<br />
<br />
None of this was helped by the fact that during the first few days I had to contact Mum's doctor, to arrange for his certificate, and liaise with the funeral directors over arrangements for cremation and a service to celebrate her life.<br />
<br />
Once I had the doctor's certificate, I had to make an appointment to see the Registrar of Births, Marriages and Deaths, in order to officially register Mum's passing, and collect copies of the official death certificate.<br />
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None of these tasks took very long, thereby leaving me with what suddenly seemed like vast periods of time, with nothing to do. I was lost! In limbo!<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIq0Z2vL8PXirCjt-xuFdW5RlE4wc4DySBa28lyg-A9_ugk5yDTOy5FY209OZNpyB0nNim0xBOfh3B0NLMW7yzElmvpAzP76p8oo__nYZscIJIQdw4PW3rDRKfzd7sMG9_qXHlEiPgO9o/s1600/Ropetackle2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIq0Z2vL8PXirCjt-xuFdW5RlE4wc4DySBa28lyg-A9_ugk5yDTOy5FY209OZNpyB0nNim0xBOfh3B0NLMW7yzElmvpAzP76p8oo__nYZscIJIQdw4PW3rDRKfzd7sMG9_qXHlEiPgO9o/s400/Ropetackle2.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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I took to going for long walks, which helped. I enjoy walking and cycling, and will very soon be out and about on my bike. But, I've yet to decide what I'm now going to do with my life.<br />
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For most of my working life, I've been a Graphic Designer, but, as I'll be 60 next month, returning to that occupation is not really an option. Besides, I'm not ready to go back to work, any time soon.<br />
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I enjoy photography, so I might pursue that for a while. I've also considered doing some voluntary work, helping others who either care for those with dementia, or those living with dementia. I've plenty of experience on that score. But, I'm not ready for that yet either, and I'm not sure when I will be.<br />
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Mum's service and cremation takes place next week, so after that, and once everything else is sorted, perhaps then, I might be able to think about what the future holds for me. One thing I do know, it's going to take me quite some time.<br />
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<h3>
I guess, on the up-side, I've got quite a lot of that now!</h3>
Martynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06959631518843523408noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-356459059609355861.post-53489373384516177132017-03-12T08:43:00.000-07:002017-03-12T08:43:21.225-07:00Grieving - Taking each day as it comes...It's almost a week since Mum passed on, and whilst the pain is easing, it's still there. There are quite a few matters I will need to sort over the next few days, and some of them could trigger further grief - I'm slowly beginning to work out what some of those triggers may be, and can take action either to prepare for them, or just avoid them.<br />
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For the first few days, I turned everything off in the room she spent the last four and a half years of her life. Then I realised I'd turned it into a sad, dark, depressing little room, rather than the one that used to be filled with so much joy and happiness. Everything is back on now, and the feeling of happiness has returned. And, even though Mum is no longer there, I can still feel her presence, and see the things she loved.<br />
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Her room won't become an unchanged shrine to Mum, as some of the equipment needed to keep her comfortable, including her hospital style bed, will have to be returned. But, the colourful lights, the TV, and all those sort of items, will remain.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAymIejbiPO2dkPJYcrxyX7VNibcexxgBzgJYcKz5AIyRYaYnLnLhQ49VW3cd68lTgUwzJm6p3qTFn7m585VxuCPLxQVYkQZIOKCMfJ5kyCt3nHp27_eWSmfHpW8RzXfunpQnrd8be6jI/s1600/Music.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAymIejbiPO2dkPJYcrxyX7VNibcexxgBzgJYcKz5AIyRYaYnLnLhQ49VW3cd68lTgUwzJm6p3qTFn7m585VxuCPLxQVYkQZIOKCMfJ5kyCt3nHp27_eWSmfHpW8RzXfunpQnrd8be6jI/s320/Music.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mum "conducting" André Rieu</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Mum's funeral has been arranged, and although she is to be cremated, the service to celebrate her life, will take place in the funeral director's own private chapel. The coffin will then be taken to the crematorium, for an unattended private committal, later. This will avoid the conveyor belt of proceedings at the crematorium, as there will be more time for the service, and to pay last respects, before adjourning to another room in the same building, for refreshments.<br />
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For friends and family unable to attend, the chapel provides a webcast, which can be viewed, wherever they are in the world, and still be part of the service.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi07U5aLHt6je_sKCwRVeJs1Z6Tmznv4chxION7YeIn7Y6C8gE-eNd7SsSLPZ7o16JIeXeAVoAlfZ9HuLUwkSrSPKBe136Kvn32Voq0fJ1d5PCVHg1B9FqbHsW2xQqj5UuBrCRcprxxcfY/s1600/Chapel.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi07U5aLHt6je_sKCwRVeJs1Z6Tmznv4chxION7YeIn7Y6C8gE-eNd7SsSLPZ7o16JIeXeAVoAlfZ9HuLUwkSrSPKBe136Kvn32Voq0fJ1d5PCVHg1B9FqbHsW2xQqj5UuBrCRcprxxcfY/s320/Chapel.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The chapel where the service will be held</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
I've organised a single spray of flowers for the coffin, made up of white roses (for Yorkshire, where she was born), thistles (for Scotland, where her Dad was born), along with other white flowers and foliage. The coffin will also be draped in a Royal Stewart tartan Plaid (the Plaid being the piece worn over the shoulder, when wearing formal highland dress), along with a large family bible, upon which will be a further single white rose.<br />
<br />
As a mark of respect for Mum's Scottish ancestry, I will be wearing a kilt, a short informal grey tweed kilt jacket and waistcoat (vest to our American friends), white shirt, black necktie, brogues, hose and flashes, and, of course, a day wear black leather sporran.<br />
<br />
There will be two or three pieces of music, all of which I will be recordings made by André Rieu and his orchestra, as Mum very much enjoyed watching his concerts on DVD. (See pic of Mum "conducting" above). The tracks, though not yet finalised, are likely to be "Nearer My God to Thee" at the start, "Time to Say Goodbye" (possibly whilst images relating to Mum's life appear on the plasma screen), and "Adieu, Little Captain of my Heart" at the end. The first two are somewhat sombre, but the final track is much more uplifting, and jolly - just as Mum would have liked it.<br />
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This week involves somewhat more official tasks, which I will undertake as and when I feel able. I also hope to post more on this blog as time allows, in the hope that some of this helps others too.<br />
<br />
Until next time, Ciao! for now.Martynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06959631518843523408noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-356459059609355861.post-29584587429257593942017-03-08T07:05:00.000-08:002017-03-12T08:18:27.488-07:00The pain of losing a MotherIt's been two days since Mum passed away, and though things are easing a little, it's still very tough and very painful. Seeing her decline so dramatically over the past few weeks, was incredibly painful, especially when realising that the end was indeed close.<br />
<br />
There are still many things to deal with;<br />
<br />
Officialdom - regarding pensions, benefits etc.<br />
Funeral arrangements<br />
Doctor's certificate<br />
Registering the death<br />
Finances etc. etc.<br />
<br />
I'm taking each day as it comes, and I'm only dealing with what I feel I can at the moment.<br />
<br />
Although I don't have the support of any relatives nearby, I do have a friend and his Mum providing support, which is good. I also have the support of one of Mum's care workers, who has also become a good friend over the last couple of years.<br />
<br />
My pal and his Mum are both Baptists, and whilst I am not particularly religious, Mum was a Christian, and their Baptist minister has agreed to hold the service - I met with her yesterday, which was helpful.<br />
<br />
My pal and his Mum also came round last night, with two other Baptists, one from Sierra Leone and one from Germany, for a friendly chat and drinks. Again, I found this very helpful as I move forward through the next phase of my life.<br />
<br />
The hardest part so far has been the state of limbo I find myself in. From four visits a day from the careworkers over the last four and a half years, and daily visits from community nurses over the last few months, to nothing, in the space of just a few hours!<br />
<br />
I've been absolutely overwhelmed by the responses and offers of support, I've had on both Facebook and Twitter, from friends both real and virtual. As well as those on my own small Caregiving Forum.<br />
<br />
One of my major concerns was funeral expenses. In the early stages of her dementia, Mum got her finances into a real mess, and any insurance policies she may have had, lapsed. Fortunately, here in the UK, there is some financial help available from the government, available to those in receipt of certain benefits, of which I am one. But it won't cover all of the funeral costs - so I still have to find some of the costs.<br />
<br />
I'm meeting with the funeral directors tomorrow to discuss the options available. It will need to be a simple funeral to keep costs down, fortunately, under the government scheme, cremation costs and the cost of the Doctor's certificate are covered.<br />
<br />
I was never planning a grand funeral for Mum, as I've been grieving for the last four and a half years, and have said goodbye to various aspects of her personality, and her as a person, during that time, and on numerous occasions.<br />
<br />
It is now time to celebrate her life, which the minister wholeheartedly agrees with. Mum had a good life, and lived, for the most part a happy and healthy one. She managed to survive until just after her 90th Birthday. I did everything in my power to keep her happy and safe, during her last few years.<br />
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<i>Jean Feather b. 20 January 1927, d. 6 March 2017</i><br />
RIP Mum, I love you and always will, and I'll never forget you.Martynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06959631518843523408noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-356459059609355861.post-7083865657446554872014-03-19T08:55:00.001-07:002014-04-17T01:51:38.547-07:00Online Carer/Caregiver forums - the pros and the consCaregiver forums can be set up by anyone, from reputable NGOs or charities, to individuals wishing to help others in similar situations. Naturally the main intention is to offer help, support and advice, to others.<br />
<br />
Over the last year I joined a number of online forums and websites offering such support to caregivers. Whilst many caregiver forums are helpful, in many ways, I discovered, in some cases, they can also, like many forums, be a source of discontent between members, as well as offering up inappropriate, non-professional, advice.<br />
<br />
Some of the things I found somewhat disturbing on a few forums, were posts by individuals offering advice about subjects, they actually knew nothing about. At the very least, this is unhelpful, and, at the worst, such advice can be downright dangerous, both for the caregiver and the caree, especially where new caregivers are concerned.<br />
<br />
Whilst many forums are well run and well moderated, others are not so. The ethos behind some, is to allow freedom of expression and opinion, over and above, safe, sound advice. There are of course various jurisdictions which allow freedom of speech, and whilst this is to be encouraged - inappropriate, unsafe or dangerous advice, or any form of defamation, should be dealt with as quickly as possible.<br />
<br />
New caregivers may experience the initial shock and stress of having to accept a role, that is often unexpected, and for which, they are totally unprepared. During this vulnerable stage, they may readily accept advice that more experienced caregivers know to be wrong, and in some cases, completely unsafe.<br />
<br />
Whilst a balanced approach may be the reason given for not intercepting inappropriate advice, when reported to administrators or moderators, such a reason may often ignore the situation a caregiver seeking help, may find themselves in. Is it right to allow such advice to be given in the first place? In doing so, it must also be right to allow others to contradict, knowing as they do, through experience, that such advice is wrong? This can be both confusing to the person seeking advice, and lead to discontent, or even conflict, between established members of the forum.<br />
<br />
Some caregiver forums are strictly members only, some have a mix of public and members only areas, whilst others are completely in the public domain. Those partially or fully in the public domain, should ensure that any advice follows accepted and safe caregiver practices, the advice is, after all, available to anyone browsing the forum. Wherever possible, especially where professional advice is required, administrators and/or moderators, should be empowered to ensure that seeking such advice, is paramount. To allow unsafe advice to be given, without the appropriate caveats, could, in certain circumstances, be irresponsible, and, in some cases, dangerous.<br />
<br />
Should such inappropriate advice be heeded, and result in injury or death - legal action, against both the forum, and the person responsible for that advice, becomes a very distinct possibility.<br />
<br />
It is an unfortunate fact, that some caregiver forums do not take their responsibilities seriously. Worse still, they do not have in place a robust moderation system, nor do they have appropriate legal disclaimers or terms of service. Fortunately, the majority of caregiver forums are generally very good, and offer excellent and friendly support to other caregivers, who find themselves in need of help.<br />
<br />
As the result of my experiences, I set up my very own caregiver forum. Whilst the forum is still very much in its early stages, it has proved to be useful to the handful of members it currently has. There are sections for those seeking advice, and many of these areas contain links to recognised NGOs and charities, and in some cases, government departments, where members can find appropriate, professionally backed, advice. The primary function of the forum is to provide a friendly and informal meeting place for friend and family caregivers.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.zkidoo.co.uk/caregivingcafe.htm">http://www.zkidoo.co.uk/caregivingcafe.htm</a><br />
<br />
A very good Twitter friend in the US, also has a website, complete with caregiver advice and support, chat rooms, blogs and forums. The welcome message there is:<br />
<br />
<em>“As you care for family members and friends, we care for you.</em><br />
<br />
<em>We're a community of family caregivers sharing stories, support and solutions about caring for a family member or friend.”</em><br />
<em></em><br />
<a href="http://www.caregiving.com/">http://www.caregiving.com</a>Martynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06959631518843523408noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-356459059609355861.post-13112471559292254412014-02-20T06:06:00.003-08:002014-02-20T06:06:53.931-08:00Simple low and hi-tech solutions to help care for someone with dementia at home...<span style="font-size: large;"><strong>...and indeed, many other conditions</strong></span><br />
<br />
Below are examples of the many solutions now available to help monitor the health of someone you may be caring for. It should be noted, that whilst these devices and solutions can be used as a means of monitoring and treatment, they should not be used to replace professional advice and treatment – if in doubt, always contact a medical professional.<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><strong>Blood Pressure Monitors</strong></span><br />
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There are many of these now available, including some that will keep a record of blood pressure readings. The two main types are the traditional upper arm cuff, and the wrist monitors. For self-monitoring, the wrist monitor is easier to use, but these tend not to be quite as accurate as the arm cuff types.<br />
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If you are monitoring someone else’s blood pressure, then the arm cuff monitors are generally better, as the pulse can be checked at the same time, enabling the user to confirm the Systolic reading on the monitor. Just check the reading at the time the pulse returns, as the cuff slowly deflates.<br />
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Normal blood pressure should be within the range of 120/80mmHg.<br />
<br />
The US National Institutes of Health (NIH) gives the following:<br />
•119/79 or lower is normal blood pressure<br />
•140/90 or higher is high blood pressure<br />
•Between 120 and 139 for the top number, or between 80 and 89 for the bottom number is called prehypertension.<br />
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Prehypertension means you may end up with high blood pressure, unless you take steps to prevent it.<br />
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<em><span style="color: red;">Note: If in doubt, always contact a medical professional.</span></em><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><strong>Blood Glucose Monitors</strong></span><br />
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These are essential if your caree suffers from any type of diabetes, and if this is the case, the expensive test strips are often available on prescription in the UK.<br />
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Blood Glucose Monitors are usually inexpensive to buy, as the manufacturers make their profits from the sale of the more expensive test strips.<br />
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The UK National Institute for Health and Care Excellence (NICE) general guidelines for Blood Glucose Levels are as follows – (US equivalent in parentheses):<br />
<br />
Children with Type 1 diabetes<br />
•Before meals: 4–8mmol/l (72-144 mg/dl)<br />
•Two hours after meals: less than 10mmol/l (180 mg/dl)<br />
<br />
Adults with Type 1 diabetes<br />
•Before meals: 4–7mmol/l (72-126 mg/dl)<br />
•Two hours after meals: less than 9mmol/l (162 mg/dl)<br />
<br />
Adults with Type 2 diabetes<br />
•Before meals: 4–7mmol/l (72-126 mg/dl)<br />
•Two hours after meals: less than 8.5mmol/l (153 mg/dl)<br />
<br />
<em><span style="color: red;">Note: If in doubt, always contact a medical professional.</span></em><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><strong>Digital Thermometers</strong></span><br />
<br />
There are generally two main types of digital thermometer available, Oral and In-Ear.<br />
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<br />
In-Ear Digital Thermometers now widely available, and whilst accuracy with some is not as good as it could be, they generally give a good indication if your caree has a fever or high temperature.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyZgQuCgPSYpDntriz5Wg8gwTF0qyVTYkeusUNj-4aObX7Toh_5JbL2DBo73KySHOxSb7bgjIErUPSNmwyqfLUwusL-OykG-PITSXx__aaygjgh3M-gjeBj8oPDc4rN5763MZs13dwBQ8/s1600/OralThermometer.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyZgQuCgPSYpDntriz5Wg8gwTF0qyVTYkeusUNj-4aObX7Toh_5JbL2DBo73KySHOxSb7bgjIErUPSNmwyqfLUwusL-OykG-PITSXx__aaygjgh3M-gjeBj8oPDc4rN5763MZs13dwBQ8/s1600/OralThermometer.jpg" height="227" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
The more traditional Oral Digital Thermometer is also widely available, and can be used as a back-up to In-Ear thermometers, if you have any doubt about the accuracy of the readings given by the latter.<br />
<br />
The NHS states that a normal temperature is around 37C (98.6F), although it depends on:<br />
<br />
The person<br />
Their age<br />
What they've been doing<br />
The time of day<br />
Which part of the body you take the temperature from<br />
<br />
It is generally accepted that normal body temperature ranges between 36.1C (97F) to 37.2C (99F).<br />
<br />
<em><span style="color: red;">Note: If in doubt, always contact a medical professional.</span></em><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><strong>Pulse Oximeters</strong></span><br />
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<br />
Pulse Oximeters are now widely available, and can be purchased for around £25.<br />
<br />
Pulse oximetry is a simple, relatively cheap and non-invasive technique to monitor oxygenation. It monitors the percentage of haemoglobin that is oxygen-saturated. Oxygen saturation should always be above 95%, although in those with long standing respiratory disease or cyanotic congenital heart disease, it may be lower, corresponding to disease severity.<br />
<br />
You can find more information here <a href="http://www.patient.co.uk/doctor/Pulse-Oximetry.htm">http://www.patient.co.uk/doctor/Pulse-Oximetry.htm</a><br />
<br />
<em><span style="color: red;">Note: If in doubt, always contact a medical professional.</span></em><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><strong>Urine Test Strips</strong></span><br />
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<br />
Urine Test Strips can be purchased either from your Chemist or on-line. Their at-home use, especially for someone living with dementia, is to help in the identification of recurring Urinary Tract Infections (UTIs).<br />
<br />
A urine test strip or dipstick is a basic diagnostic tool used to determine pathological changes in a patient’s urine in standard urinalysis.<br />
<br />
A standard urine test strip may comprise up to 10 different chemical pads or reagents which react (change colour) when immersed in, and then removed from, a urine sample. The test can often be read in as little as 60 to 120 seconds after dipping, although certain tests require longer. Routine testing of the urine with multiparameter strips is the first step in the diagnosis of a wide range of diseases. The analysis includes testing for the presence of proteins, glucose, ketones, haemoglobin, bilirubin, urobilinogen, acetone, nitrite and leucocytes as well as testing of pH and specific gravity or to test for infection by different pathogens.<br />
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You can find more information here <a href="http://www.patient.co.uk/doctor/urine-dipstick-analysis">http://www.patient.co.uk/doctor/urine-dipstick-analysis</a><br />
<br />
<em><span style="color: red;">Note: If in doubt, always contact a medical professional.</span></em><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><strong>First Aid Kit</strong></span><br />
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<br />
Many different First Aid Kits are available commercially, but there are a number of items that should be considered as essential, and therefore should be included in your own First Aid Kit, and replenished as required.<br />
<br />
<strong>The Essentials</strong><br />
<br />
<em>Waterproof Plasters (Band Aid, Elastoplast)</em><br />
Quantity: selection of different sizes <br />
Use: for most minor wounds<br />
<br />
<em>Sterile Eyepads</em><br />
Quantity: 2 <br />
Use: for minor eye injuries<br />
<br />
<em>Crepe Bandage</em><br />
Quantity: 1 <br />
Use: for a sprain or strain<br />
<br />
<em>Triangular Bandages (Sling)</em><br />
Quantity: 4 <br />
Use: to lift a limb<br />
<br />
<em>Medium Sterile Dressing Pads</em><br />
Quantity: 6 <br />
Use: when a plaster is too small<br />
<br />
<em>Large Sterile Dressing Pads</em><br />
Quantity: 2 <br />
Use: for dressing large wounds<br />
<br />
<em>Sterile Gloves (Vinyl)</em><br />
Quantity: 1 pair <br />
Use: to protect the casualty and first aider<br />
<br />
<em>Tough Cut Scissors</em><br />
Quantity: 1 pair <br />
Use: to safely cut clothing off<br />
<br />
<em>Alcohol-Free Wipes</em><br />
Quantity: 6 <br />
Use: to clean grazes if water is not available<br />
<br />
<em>Safety Pins</em><br />
Quantity: 6 <br />
Use: to secure a bandage or sling<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><strong>Household items suitable for First Aid use</strong></span><br />
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<br />
Also remember, a number of household products can be used, especially for covering burns. Cling Film (Plastic Wrap, Cling Wrap, Food Wrap), and transparent freezer bags, can be used to cover burns, to help keep out infection, a cooling gel can then be placed on top help relieve pain. There is more information here <a href="https://acep.org/Clinical---Practice-Management/Think-Plastic-Wrap-as-Wound-Dressing-for-Thermal-Burns/">https://acep.org/Clinical---Practice-Management/Think-Plastic-Wrap-as-Wound-Dressing-for-Thermal-Burns/</a><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><strong>Take a First Aid Course</strong></span><br />
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<br />
Why is it important to learn first aid?<br />
<br />
Research from the British Red Cross shows that you are most likely to use your first aid skills on a relative or a friend. Wouldn’t you want to help a friend who was choking, or help a relative who had burned themselves? It’s quick and easy to learn and having first aid skills can make a real difference.<br />
How do you find a way to learn first aid?<br />
<br />
You can learn online at <a href="http://www.redcross.org.uk/firstaid">http://www.redcross.org.uk/firstaid</a>. If you’re a new parent, visit <a href="http://www.redcross.org.uk/What-we-do/First-aid/Children-First-Aid">www.redcross.org.uk/What-we-do/First-aid/Children-First-Aid</a>, which focuses on first aid for babies and children.<br />
<br />
To find your nearest course go to the British Red Cross website at <a href="http://www.redcross.org.uk/firstaid">http://www.redcross.org.uk/firstaid</a> or call 0844 871 8000.<br />
<br />
<strong>USA</strong><br />
<a href="http://www.redcross.org/take-a-class">http://www.redcross.org/take-a-class</a><br />
<br />
<strong>Canada</strong><br />
English <a href="https://apaccess.redcross.ca/coursemanager/coursesearch.aspx?lang=E">https://apaccess.redcross.ca/coursemanager/coursesearch.aspx?lang=E</a><br />
French <a href="https://apaccess.redcross.ca/coursemanager/CourseSearch.aspx?lang=F">https://apaccess.redcross.ca/coursemanager/CourseSearch.aspx?lang=F</a><br />
<br />
<strong>Australia</strong><br />
<a href="http://www.redcross.org.au/first-aid.aspx">http://www.redcross.org.au/first-aid.aspx</a><br />
<br />
<strong>New Zealand</strong><br />
<a href="https://www.redcross.org.nz/first-aid/courses/">https://www.redcross.org.nz/first-aid/courses/</a><br />
<br />
<strong>Republic of Ireland</strong><br />
<a href="http://www.redcross.ie/first-aid-training/">http://www.redcross.ie/first-aid-training/</a><br />
<br />
<strong>South Africa</strong><br />
<a href="http://www.redcross.org.za/?page_id=11">http://www.redcross.org.za/?page_id=11</a><br />
<br />
<strong>All other countries</strong><br />
A list of countries belonging to the International Red Cross and Red Crescent Movement can be found on Wikipedia <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_Red_Cross_and_Red_Crescent_Societies">http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_Red_Cross_and_Red_Crescent_Societies</a><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><strong>Keeping records</strong></span><br />
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<br />
It can often help to keep records about the health and wellbeing of your caree, and there are a number of ways of doing this. There are apps available for iPad, Android and Windows, which deserve a separate blog post, so I will cover these at a later date.<br />
<br />
However, a simple low-tech method is to create a file to contain readily available forms, downloadable from the internet. Just download them, print them out, and use them to record handwritten notes about your caree. 315 such charts and forms are available free, here <a href="http://www.freeprintablemedicalforms.com/">http://www.freeprintablemedicalforms.com/</a><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><strong>Reminders, quick notes and appointments</strong></span><br />
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<br />
Again, there are plenty of apps that can help (to be reviewed at a later date), but it is often quicker just to write them down. For this, I find a simple dry-wipe white board indispensable. A magnetic one is better still, as important documents, needed for an appointment for example, can be placed on the board, and kept handy for when they are needed.Martynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06959631518843523408noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-356459059609355861.post-14581662336485420682014-02-09T09:20:00.000-08:002014-02-09T09:28:36.043-08:00Mum, dementia, and doll therapy – seven months on...In July 2013, I bought Mum a baby doll, a pretty realistic looking one at that. Not long after buying the doll - available with a variety of different faces - I came to realise why I had chosen this particular one.<br />
<br />
After sorting through a lot of old family photographs, I came across one of me as a baby. The doll Mum has, called Charlie, is very similar in appearance to the photo of me! Clearly some kind of subconscious recognition going on there, and probably one of the reasons why Mum loves it so much!<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0Sixe_KgVtB_yTDtEH_ko87NXuSMsQ89_Yj2rOKIv_f6AicJjDDJS_BtBRsk8ATW3FNeODKs5GYx6cnOeouttjmMRzGpPClhj1xhMbPTU243o0FQwqbNmqM2HnA3dPPZ0cn9silT883U/s1600/Me&Charlie.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0Sixe_KgVtB_yTDtEH_ko87NXuSMsQ89_Yj2rOKIv_f6AicJjDDJS_BtBRsk8ATW3FNeODKs5GYx6cnOeouttjmMRzGpPClhj1xhMbPTU243o0FQwqbNmqM2HnA3dPPZ0cn9silT883U/s1600/Me&Charlie.jpg" height="140" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me (left of course) and Charlie (right)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Seven months down the road of experimenting, this particular doll has proven to be a complete success. Mum loves Charlie (my late Dad’s name, not mine), she talks to him, and kisses and cuddles him. Occasionally, she even tries to feed him. To say she is incredibly protective of him, would be a major understatement.<br />
<br />
She talks to him, and tells him how good he is. If Mum gets upset or agitated, Charlie is there to help calm her, and indeed to help distract her from whatever is causing her distress.<br />
<br />
When people visit, they are also amazed by the positive effects Charlie has had on Mum.<br />
<br />
Whilst doll therapy doesn’t work with all of those living with dementia, when it does - as in this case - it is clearly very beneficial.<br />
<br />
Dolls, seem to bring out the genetically acquired nurturing instinct, more especially in women, but not necessarily so, as they have been found to work with men as well. Many of us have a inbuilt protective instinct which appears when we sense vulnerability.<br />
<br />
For Mum, seven months on, doll therapy, using this particular doll, definitely seems to be working.<br />
From my own experience, I would definitely say “give it a go!” As I’ve already said, doll therapy is not suitable for everyone, but, when it does work, it seems to work very well indeed.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEia3XtjMVbT91gRbrOqucN_NhwvVwrFphF4wbayUMwh8sCdlN1FVRNPviGccYscVzRAH89SXsGzsZU3ufKwV-g-zffzNw1YCbOqxgEiAYJ7P48XgOg0v5aCV8V7J4MsRe3kEvt86jagbpo/s1600/Charlie.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEia3XtjMVbT91gRbrOqucN_NhwvVwrFphF4wbayUMwh8sCdlN1FVRNPviGccYscVzRAH89SXsGzsZU3ufKwV-g-zffzNw1YCbOqxgEiAYJ7P48XgOg0v5aCV8V7J4MsRe3kEvt86jagbpo/s1600/Charlie.jpg" height="213" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Charlie on Mum's bed</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<em>The doll used is from the Berenguer range </em><a href="http://www.berenguerdolls.net/"><em>http://www.berenguerdolls.net/</em></a>Martynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06959631518843523408noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-356459059609355861.post-68549180797521207452014-01-25T16:13:00.001-08:002014-01-25T16:13:27.242-08:00Dementia – Can it? Should it? Will it? Be defined as terminal?Dementia is generally described as either ‘life-limiting’ or ‘life-shortening’, either way, the illness or condition, is ‘life-changing’!<br />
<br />
We often hear a lot about people sustaining life-changing injuries, but we rarely hear about dementia being described in such a way.<br />
<br />
My Mother has vascular dementia, although she is, admittedly, now 87. Whichever way you look at it - and it is something I have to accept, she is now of such an age, that end of life is never far away - her younger brother, by comparison, died some years ago, as a result of Alzheimer’s.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKmc9JoE4VvDhjOUT_uAHwxZw-CLZbiRZBqjzLCPylT48Q09HNGoI0nIP5d0drUhvOOrJfoY-jdw-WEPqgKMG1BxhkFiv2SrtufzWE-k0XJIFlW1X0-4J3bHgg8aLoITaLu3SJpccO-tw/s1600/Mum&Gordon.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKmc9JoE4VvDhjOUT_uAHwxZw-CLZbiRZBqjzLCPylT48Q09HNGoI0nIP5d0drUhvOOrJfoY-jdw-WEPqgKMG1BxhkFiv2SrtufzWE-k0XJIFlW1X0-4J3bHgg8aLoITaLu3SJpccO-tw/s1600/Mum&Gordon.jpg" height="320" width="315" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mum and younger brother Gordon, before he was diagnosed with Alzheimer's</td></tr>
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Taking into account, the apparent historical longevity, of some members of that side of the family - their Great Grandmother lived until her late eighties, in the nineteenth century, when life expectancy, especially among poor agricultural working families, was considerably less than today - had my Uncle not contracted Alzheimer’s, he would probably still be alive today!<br />
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So, we once more address that simple question – “is dementia terminal?”<br />
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Numerous medical professionals would be quick to point out, that someone rarely dies, as a direct result of dementia. Few death certificates record the death of a dementia sufferer (I have deliberately used the term sufferer in this case), as dementia. There are usually other factors involved, in many cases, pneumonia. Therefore, it is very difficult to obtain statistics for deaths, directly or indirectly, related to dementia. Yet, pneumonia often occurs because the person concerned is bedridden and immobile, due to dementia. Although the primary cause of death may well be pneumonia, the primary reason they contracted pneumonia, was dementia!<br />
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Dementia, whichever way we look at it, ultimately leads to death, as does life itself. Should dementia be classified as terminal? Or, is it a case of, ‘well that’s what happens when a lot of people get older’. But is it? There are many cases of early onset dementia, sometimes affecting people in their twenties! That is not an older person’s illness!<br />
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Dementia, in its many various, many still to be defined, forms, can strike at any point in our lives. That we perceive dementia as being an older person’s illness - needs to be addressed, and corrected.<br />
Dementia is, life-limiting, life-shortening, and life-changing, and in all cases, it is ultimately terminal. Dementia is in effect, a death sentence. There is only one guaranteed outcome.<br />
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Cancer was, for many years, regarded as a terminal illness, and some forms still are, many, however, are now survivable. We have yet to reach that stage with dementia. Dementia is, and will be for the foreseeable future, terminal. There is no cure, and the ultimate outcome, is death.<br />
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It is time to accept, take our heads out of the sand, and realise, that dementia is, at present, a terminal illness. There is no way out, there is no cure. Those with dementia may well live for many years, but the illness will, eventually, kill them.<br />
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Cancer and heart disease, cost nations billions of pounds/dollars, dementia alone, costs even more! Yet, funding into research for a cure, or at the very least a life extending/improving solution is, but a mere fraction of that, for the other major illnesses. Time for change!<br />
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<em>I’d like to dedicate this post to the memory of the elderly residents of Residence du Havre, L'Isle-Verte, Quebec, Canada, a care home for seniors, of whom 32 are feared to have perished in the terrible fire that occurred there on 23 January 2014. My thoughts and prayers go out to their families, at this very sad and difficult time.</em>Martynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06959631518843523408noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-356459059609355861.post-18463265575146407982014-01-12T15:41:00.002-08:002014-01-14T10:11:03.990-08:00Dementia - Mum’s life journey...My Mum Jean, is now in the later stages of vascular dementia – she’s probably been living with it, since around 2008/9, although diagnosis was not made until 2011.<br />
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As the end of her life draws ever closer, I have decided to put down in words, everything I know about my mother, and her life – a sometimes tragic, sometimes exciting, and definitely incredibly varied, life.<br />
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This, as you can imagine, is a short (but not that short) resume of Mum’s life, to date...<br />
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<strong><span style="font-size: large;">January 20 1927...</span></strong><br />
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Mum was born in 1927, near Oldham, on the Yorkshire/Lancashire border – she was born on the Yorkshire side, and has remained proudly Yorkshire all her life. At the time of her birth, she had an older brother, John. They were later to be joined by two more brothers, Edward and Gordon. Unfortunately, Edward died as a baby, and John – who had a hole in his heart – died before his eighth birthday.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyxIJIF3MYs2veyKT_5yewOffCFrtIUMFRaL2AomhdqU5lTlbH4aHq2WJM8u_mx-I8vCKr9OiY_fY94rEv2aQD9E_ZtpryHHUsR1eD-V2dD5L1oPrNQlmlJBrPdmmQXdt4CDibu6RGLXE/s1600/John.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyxIJIF3MYs2veyKT_5yewOffCFrtIUMFRaL2AomhdqU5lTlbH4aHq2WJM8u_mx-I8vCKr9OiY_fY94rEv2aQD9E_ZtpryHHUsR1eD-V2dD5L1oPrNQlmlJBrPdmmQXdt4CDibu6RGLXE/s1600/John.jpg" width="215" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mum's older brother John</td></tr>
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Mum’s Dad John, came from Glasgow, whilst her Mum, Laurina (Rena) was born in Haworth, West Yorkshire. Rena was a small, just five feet tall, feisty and somewhat independent lady – much like, from what I can gather, her own mother Maria. As soon as she was old enough, Rena moved from Yorkshire, to Glasgow, where she met John. John was a journeyman (freelance) printer, and as a result, the family moved several times, as John sought more lucrative work in different towns.<br />
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John, Rena, Jean and Gordon eventually returned to John’s home town of Glasgow, where he continued to work as a printer. In 1939, on the eve of World War Two, John died of cancer in Glasgow Royal Infirmary – Mum, was just twelve years old.<br />
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It was at some point during this time, that Mum suffered from rheumatic fever. Fortunately, her doctor was very forward looking, employing a number of then pioneering treatments that helped Mum recover, with few long-term effects, apart from a slightly enlarged heart – something that would cause a few problems later in life.<br />
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<strong><span style="font-size: large;">World War Two...</span></strong><br />
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After the outbreak of war, and with the planned evacuation of children from the city of Glasgow, Rena decided to return home to Yorkshire. She and the children moved to, what was then a small town, near Bradford, called Cullingworth, in the heart of Yorkshire’s weaving industry. Rena was able to support her two surviving children, by working in one of the town’s mills.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Gran Rena, at home in Cullingworth</td></tr>
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They stayed in Cullingworth for the duration of the war, and Rena was to spend the rest of her life there, until she died of a coronary thrombosis in 1962. Rena had also developed Type 2 Diabetes, later in life, a condition that would also affect Mum many years later.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEge4sctTuii2sL5NBzjEWqSboNQQRF-cOhbFDuwew3IiAF3MemBHB4tQBHS1TfcK3F4YB2-QVAVS4HT5XD7GAHIvjvSWB1XtWC1I8F49-a7HBEHEArIVKUXnmfx-Xa1CzvkIcDB4Vv0Thc/s1600/Mum_SuchThingsHappen.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEge4sctTuii2sL5NBzjEWqSboNQQRF-cOhbFDuwew3IiAF3MemBHB4tQBHS1TfcK3F4YB2-QVAVS4HT5XD7GAHIvjvSWB1XtWC1I8F49-a7HBEHEArIVKUXnmfx-Xa1CzvkIcDB4Vv0Thc/s1600/Mum_SuchThingsHappen.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mum - front right - publicity shot, for one of several plays in which she performed</td></tr>
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As a child, Mum had dance lessons, and became quite a competent ballet dancer, although this was never pursued as a career. In her early twenties, she took up amateur dramatics joining a local repertory society. By this time, she was also working in the accounts department of an engineering company in Keighley.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOom4C7MMOyQ4OsguKyNwQ1nF_oKpQoa97dX8ALYLRmF-GjYH2_gOHG-4LvwaMqXbwEpWxw0Yol4OxWNjvsQ9BYpa2cAtz7smxJN4KoO4aARv8d03cBZqeEb6_ToPh73TT3pu36IM-n9M/s1600/MumCullingworth.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOom4C7MMOyQ4OsguKyNwQ1nF_oKpQoa97dX8ALYLRmF-GjYH2_gOHG-4LvwaMqXbwEpWxw0Yol4OxWNjvsQ9BYpa2cAtz7smxJN4KoO4aARv8d03cBZqeEb6_ToPh73TT3pu36IM-n9M/s320/MumCullingworth.jpg" width="194" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mum outside the home, in Cullingworth, she shared with her Mum and brother Gordon</td></tr>
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<strong><span style="font-size: large;">Into the 1950s – I arrive, at some point!</span></strong><br />
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By the mid 1950s, Mum had met her future husband, my Dad, Charles, and they married in Cullingworth Parish Church in November 1955. Charles was a Sergeant in the Light Infantry, having served in India and Burma during the war, Austria just after the war, and Malaya, during the Malayan Emergency, in the early 1950s. He'd originally joined the Royal Navy, but not long afterwards, transferred to the army.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8pRlnXn7eRrOxwBL3luR6m5t3RanzmZKBozrfmbf4RKMg-2Zv_NTeb9FRUFNdCM-wetB-9-GzfkUqlst1TyN58htHd4OUSFu9ayiiGqHNeva7tVOQP2x8MLp38k9zfXvgcpzP1wB2l0U/s1600/DadRN.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8pRlnXn7eRrOxwBL3luR6m5t3RanzmZKBozrfmbf4RKMg-2Zv_NTeb9FRUFNdCM-wetB-9-GzfkUqlst1TyN58htHd4OUSFu9ayiiGqHNeva7tVOQP2x8MLp38k9zfXvgcpzP1wB2l0U/s320/DadRN.jpg" width="221" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dad in the Royal Navy - 1943-44</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_Mc-c2hv_OmPFnWXin7De8_JF6OzR6cs-PWuwHg5cfxllpzmo9vbyiUVa5siy-_ma3fPCTiCH7eBXjSI9MbbnAdFmQSNX2EkxmGuJvx2stUz-ksGZ49OsSK3PJxYmlJjJGXslf4gmi14/s1600/DadIndia.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_Mc-c2hv_OmPFnWXin7De8_JF6OzR6cs-PWuwHg5cfxllpzmo9vbyiUVa5siy-_ma3fPCTiCH7eBXjSI9MbbnAdFmQSNX2EkxmGuJvx2stUz-ksGZ49OsSK3PJxYmlJjJGXslf4gmi14/s320/DadIndia.jpg" width="252" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dad(right) in India - 1944-47</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgH1gKXGjt2t7DDkMBti87RuwmiUmESEaNYw4qXl97lrkEYMMxHt3KReLkF6hL2PPsOZGYZqmPIHcQTAwRPhZfazETC4z5qwg78VOX5qkzAAwkMiqdDR9hIZ-GjEY6O_5Tz9SpC3Uic0u0/s1600/DadMalaya.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgH1gKXGjt2t7DDkMBti87RuwmiUmESEaNYw4qXl97lrkEYMMxHt3KReLkF6hL2PPsOZGYZqmPIHcQTAwRPhZfazETC4z5qwg78VOX5qkzAAwkMiqdDR9hIZ-GjEY6O_5Tz9SpC3Uic0u0/s320/DadMalaya.jpg" width="207" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dad (right) in Malaya - 1952-55</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhk81HjLQnz1XRRBSzHc20Mt2c45gODxKGd92c6M9dbwh91VN2mrBspntxJE0H_OrfnAgynRphrHBZ6x6QlqOOOBUhkia7qzuHfszchyphenhyphentjgHBwVoKZwo5thgI3M0blzkKt2Pqc04LRd0Hs/s1600/Mum&DadWedding.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="203" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhk81HjLQnz1XRRBSzHc20Mt2c45gODxKGd92c6M9dbwh91VN2mrBspntxJE0H_OrfnAgynRphrHBZ6x6QlqOOOBUhkia7qzuHfszchyphenhyphentjgHBwVoKZwo5thgI3M0blzkKt2Pqc04LRd0Hs/s1600/Mum&DadWedding.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mum and Dad's Wedding, November 1955</td></tr>
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After they were married, they moved to Plymouth, where Dad was stationed. Their first home together was an army married quarter in Seaton Barracks. It was in this very house, where just over a year later, in April 1957, I was born.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mum and Dad (right) with friends - Sgt's Mess, Plymouth</td></tr>
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Not long after that, Dad was posted to Warminster in Wiltshire. This is the first place I can remember from my childhood days - happy carefree days, with my doting Mum, and loving Dad.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqyN3mrG8IawBl6g9bj26aBzXYKAmWMIbkkjH4C_ZZXjiJ0zmsOLubP7f2Z4VlZL_5GjbR806V_zduSPSgJbQi1TK4pZ_iB4ZgCaYCK-ksPtTmgy_BnsSLfvgnEAOBhC4QOGJFr8p4P3o/s1600/KnookCampWarminster.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="163" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqyN3mrG8IawBl6g9bj26aBzXYKAmWMIbkkjH4C_ZZXjiJ0zmsOLubP7f2Z4VlZL_5GjbR806V_zduSPSgJbQi1TK4pZ_iB4ZgCaYCK-ksPtTmgy_BnsSLfvgnEAOBhC4QOGJFr8p4P3o/s320/KnookCampWarminster.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Knook Camp, Warminster</td></tr>
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It may seem strange to some, that I can remember things from so early in my life, but, being the son of a soldier, who was posted to a different place every two years, I am able to break my life into small time packages, allowing me to recall where I was, in relation to a particular year, from the very early years of my life.<br />
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<strong><span style="font-size: large;">Germany...</span></strong><br />
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In 1959, Dad was posted to Osnabruck, in Germany. We were to stay there until late 1961 – during this time, I went to my first Kindergarten – it was also during this time, that the Berlin Wall was erected. This was to become a significant factor in our lives, just a few years later. Mum was a typical army wife, looking after the home, me, and meeting up with other army wives, many of whom were to become some of her lifelong friends.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxgzbYW7rlmpGpVmT7vtJ_9vMYf96mJ4PD-EQZibJTtLChKq4s2-fmqEjRvcT-1qJE5fT5OhOIKIz_zB9AMzNkO-j5vd_vR3iorxgTnJxX5l_aaPHmTRbC5_sD_pPPPg5vuGIM7iI2GMY/s1600/MumMeOsnabruck.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="221" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxgzbYW7rlmpGpVmT7vtJ_9vMYf96mJ4PD-EQZibJTtLChKq4s2-fmqEjRvcT-1qJE5fT5OhOIKIz_zB9AMzNkO-j5vd_vR3iorxgTnJxX5l_aaPHmTRbC5_sD_pPPPg5vuGIM7iI2GMY/s320/MumMeOsnabruck.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mum and me at home in Osnabruck - Dad was behind the camera, as ususal</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVoalONmot4xX3Fmf-ajq_t09YYlkMa1uvt4rkG4TproplJu7V5Nt3G6IVa7u1NRko9zEhi7m5VhBWJxaMKtLhuVeWK2y7q4_cPAFE8uDAbDlMamGVYIAd7zU-lqUHHn9jWkoIWw5-7NI/s1600/Osnabruck.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="218" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVoalONmot4xX3Fmf-ajq_t09YYlkMa1uvt4rkG4TproplJu7V5Nt3G6IVa7u1NRko9zEhi7m5VhBWJxaMKtLhuVeWK2y7q4_cPAFE8uDAbDlMamGVYIAd7zU-lqUHHn9jWkoIWw5-7NI/s1600/Osnabruck.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ready for Kindergarten in Osnabruck</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">Gibraltar...</span></strong><br />
<br />
At the end of 1961, we briefly returned to England, in preparation for Dad’s next posting to Gibraltar. We in fact returned to Plymouth, where we boarded a ship, the MV Devonshire, to make the journey from England, across the Bay of Biscay, along the coast of Portugal and finally to Gibraltar. For a child, the journey was exciting. We were on board with other families from Dad’s regiment, so we all knew each other. The children played together, either on deck, or in the ship’s nursery, whilst in the evening, the Mums and Dads socialised in the ship’s restaurant and bar – in typical army fashion.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYq6hkpud2-asPgb8eg8QS2hnxHFrkUMLV95-7lXZCX43IrQ1qrWqe-rOawsO0prA-i0SKmJ2l8MQVw1WrgrDXANz16xl6KVQoHwvNtEzKsl6YH35kW2GgP7sxQlN9c5Yd_MhYkHVC7Hg/s1600/MVDevonshire.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="184" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYq6hkpud2-asPgb8eg8QS2hnxHFrkUMLV95-7lXZCX43IrQ1qrWqe-rOawsO0prA-i0SKmJ2l8MQVw1WrgrDXANz16xl6KVQoHwvNtEzKsl6YH35kW2GgP7sxQlN9c5Yd_MhYkHVC7Hg/s1600/MVDevonshire.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">MV Devonshire</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Upon arrival in Gibraltar, Mum, Dad and I were billeted in one of the old army quarters at Flat Bastion. The views across the town and harbour were stunning, and we could watch ships, both naval and civilian cruise ships sailing in and out.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaFh_tf9Oeab-yDD-q2_VNSQLAnwWO-1P2CCr2HqHQHMMAoGlSM4OTEnPQHFpxjvPkg5-0seRoikHvRDm7qCMdHGwxErU4HXUMN3nrXTDO3MrR7BHgwVGThC1rmiadkGNbNFrYk7tbjZc/s1600/ViewFlatBastion.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="215" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaFh_tf9Oeab-yDD-q2_VNSQLAnwWO-1P2CCr2HqHQHMMAoGlSM4OTEnPQHFpxjvPkg5-0seRoikHvRDm7qCMdHGwxErU4HXUMN3nrXTDO3MrR7BHgwVGThC1rmiadkGNbNFrYk7tbjZc/s1600/ViewFlatBastion.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The view from our first flat in Gibraltar</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
The same could not be said about our accommodation. The Victorian block was built over two stories, with flats on both levels, the upper flats having an open walkway at the front. The building was in a poor state of repair, and infested with cockroaches and mice. The bathroom was at the back, accessed via the small back yard, and the rear of the yard was a sheer cliff-face.<br />
<br />
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">Mum puts her foot down!</span></strong><br />
<br />
Mum, now pregnant again, decided that this was no place to bring up her son, and certainly not a place for her yet to be born baby. She took the opportunity to confront the Regimental Quarter Master Sergeant, who also happened to be a good friend, and who remained so for the rest of his life, to demand better accommodation. This was eventually granted, very soon, we moved into a brand new, somewhat brutalist style, concrete block of flats, near Europa Point.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiF2HTcQn0tLSjJS3gYhPrlRybn-iXaMpZDRk-XlgwZSacBrfLmKhZmu8tfimwyM63PY57Xn-1NqTUqBO6TjqiGRNjTmVEiZinFfVBn7UHkwYHvbKwfSuKtiajB5o0pwHuVeAlT9TQyKcQ/s1600/CampBayBeachGib.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiF2HTcQn0tLSjJS3gYhPrlRybn-iXaMpZDRk-XlgwZSacBrfLmKhZmu8tfimwyM63PY57Xn-1NqTUqBO6TjqiGRNjTmVEiZinFfVBn7UHkwYHvbKwfSuKtiajB5o0pwHuVeAlT9TQyKcQ/s1600/CampBayBeachGib.jpg" width="228" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The block of flats on the cliff - our second flat in Gibraltar</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
I believe - though this is far from certain - that we had a flat on the third floor. The flat consisted of two bedrooms, a large living/dining room, a kitchen with a large, almost open-plan serving hatch – it was the full width of the kitchen, with glass sliding doors, and a bathroom. We also had a large balcony overlooking the sea.<br />
<br />
The centre of the block housed staircases, and a covered, well ventilated area for drying washing – as children, we’d use this as a communal play area, when the weather wasn’t so good.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEje2GlFgY0Lu8wEztbWt6cSXjDBLvLkdT0iNWFcrMrjJGQL94a4Cs06fo2nNvUOwlq96Ix0x99uu2Yild_Kd3GkVMOevygBqE3sIqHaP7bY6eeShjORBbJMNkJUTZ1B9f8lJpkzHfLVJkQ/s1600/DadTobruk.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="216" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEje2GlFgY0Lu8wEztbWt6cSXjDBLvLkdT0iNWFcrMrjJGQL94a4Cs06fo2nNvUOwlq96Ix0x99uu2Yild_Kd3GkVMOevygBqE3sIqHaP7bY6eeShjORBbJMNkJUTZ1B9f8lJpkzHfLVJkQ/s320/DadTobruk.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dad in Tobruk, Libya</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
It was whilst living here, that Mum developed complications during her pregnancy, her blood pressure was quite high – possibly due to her bout of Rheumatic Fever as a child – and was admitted to the Military Hospital. Dad, at this time, was away with his regiment, training in Tobruk, Libya. He was called home. Until he returned, Mum had to find someone to look after me – unfortunately, the person chosen, though still a good friend wasn’t ideal, so I was very happy when Dad turned up, and took me home. Mum has regretted that choice ever since.<br />
<br />
Not long after Dad returned, Mum came out of hospital – without the baby. They had to explain to me, a five year old, that my sister had been still born. Mum had also been advised not to try for anymore children, as the next pregnancy could potentially kill her as well. It must have been devastating for her, though she never showed it.<br />
<br />
Our happy life in Gibraltar continued. Mum would often play badminton with friends, at other times, the Mums and children, and at weekends, the Dads, would all go swimming, either in the pool on the beach not far from the flats, or around the other side of the rock, at Catalan Bay.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjI0uAqk7NAk_xR9O7Dsz-zlBQmVpgCWe1lwW9tNH5xyhorMLnVMZNlE8q2-zZ7moscSVfZOrodW_0HKWTu9eX8ydxhPmz9ndDyxkpdwsOKSNUupVLhoSwpTvbK7zWZyYKy-xSZPDtBcVE/s1600/CatalanBay.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="217" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjI0uAqk7NAk_xR9O7Dsz-zlBQmVpgCWe1lwW9tNH5xyhorMLnVMZNlE8q2-zZ7moscSVfZOrodW_0HKWTu9eX8ydxhPmz9ndDyxkpdwsOKSNUupVLhoSwpTvbK7zWZyYKy-xSZPDtBcVE/s1600/CatalanBay.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The beach at Catalan Bay - the sloping structure behind is a water catchment - providing water for the rock's inhabitants</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Life in Gib was carefree and, for the most part, sunny. Soon, however, we’d be moving again.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOgA19YMBQAv_M1bH45tY221_NZ-QQc0EdmpJ9PMhou25R8wIzPC2EnZGNb-cgviXstOcf29RN3DFXR6Alp4ES_vkr6n5zk92jREeJtiVovDdzcJXB540KNMaOWXNaeiHs5W5rBfig0xE/s1600/Dad&Ape.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOgA19YMBQAv_M1bH45tY221_NZ-QQc0EdmpJ9PMhou25R8wIzPC2EnZGNb-cgviXstOcf29RN3DFXR6Alp4ES_vkr6n5zk92jREeJtiVovDdzcJXB540KNMaOWXNaeiHs5W5rBfig0xE/s320/Dad&Ape.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dad, me and one of the apes on the rock</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCsrAjYN-jsWRAYivqwEm-JfNnS-N744Y39yru2q6GRkooLpH2STw1TBxEuXMHe5B20AMuEfRC1fFXEphJdScIjDtZZjD2u2zjpMVS2kaa1mf8ERZa4Z-D9qj5oJgXqqEG5JbsVWgb0hI/s1600/AlamedaGardens.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCsrAjYN-jsWRAYivqwEm-JfNnS-N744Y39yru2q6GRkooLpH2STw1TBxEuXMHe5B20AMuEfRC1fFXEphJdScIjDtZZjD2u2zjpMVS2kaa1mf8ERZa4Z-D9qj5oJgXqqEG5JbsVWgb0hI/s320/AlamedaGardens.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dad and me - Alameda Gardens, Gibraltar - in front of the Wellington memorial</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">First flight in a plane!</span></strong><br />
<br />
In 1963, we flew back to the UK. This was an exciting time, as many of us, Mums and Dads included, hadn’t flown before.<br />
<br />
Looking back, the airport at Gibraltar isn’t exactly the best place to get your first taste of flying. Both ends of the runway are formed from artificial reefs reclaimed from the sea, so as the plane taxis for take off, it almost seems to be going into the sea, and by the time it takes off at the other end, it’s almost in the sea again! Add to that, the steep angle needed after take off, to avoid nearby hills and mountains!<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiV8j2VAsZfQerql3WumOLdgAn65h_6g0IwidekmgZG1lepRX0zCWK4uzNRwEguJx84SpAKL3EO8Cr-Wl3-1yTg0AN1nsrsjfK590bJej86_GaGNMx9VsNQXlULtOfDkk7DOUpfwzgrG_8/s1600/GibRunway.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="222" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiV8j2VAsZfQerql3WumOLdgAn65h_6g0IwidekmgZG1lepRX0zCWK4uzNRwEguJx84SpAKL3EO8Cr-Wl3-1yTg0AN1nsrsjfK590bJej86_GaGNMx9VsNQXlULtOfDkk7DOUpfwzgrG_8/s1600/GibRunway.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">View from a gun battery near the top of the rock - one end of the runway juts out into the sea (upper right quadrant)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4IRF7bpCop2UR9sgf7gWzVzVk7aFC1D459m8dJZlrtifRTbHIYSOcaP2VNGQGGH94-g3fm9qEl_HkfYBxfa-dBSPz2lIdq6sq0SBIVXIkDGq-jMJ6Z22YNOZlMeJoJUFJ-xCs0jRtaDE/s1600/EagleAirlinesBritannia.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="215" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4IRF7bpCop2UR9sgf7gWzVzVk7aFC1D459m8dJZlrtifRTbHIYSOcaP2VNGQGGH94-g3fm9qEl_HkfYBxfa-dBSPz2lIdq6sq0SBIVXIkDGq-jMJ6Z22YNOZlMeJoJUFJ-xCs0jRtaDE/s1600/EagleAirlinesBritannia.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cunard Eagle Airlines flight from Gibraltar</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Our experience that day was made even more fraught for some. We boarded the plane, then, due to a technical fault, had to return to the terminal building, until it had been fixed. Several hours later, we boarded again – this time, we took off! Our destination? Gatwick airport!<br />
<br />
We had a couple of weeks in the UK, before we were due to move on to Dad’s next posting, so we stayed with his sister, my Aunt, and her family. My Uncle at the time owned a Newsagents and Tobacconists, not far from where we now live, in West Sussex. We would often visit them over the years, whenever we returned to the UK.<br />
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<strong><span style="font-size: large;">West Berlin...</span></strong><br />
<br />
Dad’s next posting was to West Berlin, less than two years after the wall had been erected. We lived in a first floor flat in Spandau, not far from the infamous prison – in fact, to get to Dad’s barracks we had to walk right past its electrified perimeter fence.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVf3xei1rF28MeGuF8T8LIMXw_hKht6SRaLK_R4r9ihjNZ0UhgoPJSGUrxa4sglpGKmT4i4DlHuuKlAOLvOgIe4gSOEv7GhFajd6apKLAyYVLpEAlXmbsxVCtCS4jiaUPvAuIH4lbSlAY/s1600/SpandauPrison.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="215" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVf3xei1rF28MeGuF8T8LIMXw_hKht6SRaLK_R4r9ihjNZ0UhgoPJSGUrxa4sglpGKmT4i4DlHuuKlAOLvOgIe4gSOEv7GhFajd6apKLAyYVLpEAlXmbsxVCtCS4jiaUPvAuIH4lbSlAY/s1600/SpandauPrison.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Spandau Prison</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGBZxrEDrQrnkN07XrgUkRsyieadydGdkxpJ3cBWjxJLVVAY-Upnq1LWuf8R6geEcP4DEJI8z42ihy0hLBh9UEvd6TufIwJNdbsg-3WggX5p6WYCbazxnn5o_TcIkkGSZYLFu-GAVLUlU/s1600/BrookeBarracks.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="210" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGBZxrEDrQrnkN07XrgUkRsyieadydGdkxpJ3cBWjxJLVVAY-Upnq1LWuf8R6geEcP4DEJI8z42ihy0hLBh9UEvd6TufIwJNdbsg-3WggX5p6WYCbazxnn5o_TcIkkGSZYLFu-GAVLUlU/s1600/BrookeBarracks.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Brooke Barracks, Spandau, West Berlin</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Mum busied herself, as the dutiful army housewife, meeting up with other housewives, helping in the Thrift Shop, and generally taking care of me and Dad. As I was now attending Primary School, at RAF Gatow, Mum had more time during the day to do other things, and was beginning to realise, she could go out to work again. Getting me to and from school wasn’t a problem, as there were special army school buses laid on for all the children - complete with supervisors to make sure we behaved.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDry1hCGnXt106JXV8R9g22MxXl-ABizJgPidfXbhSwxVuwwIQhrS68EOZF-D8xYQ2My3Y7g_qpv0wrYwAN-H3T1Y4b-_2zrWNVF69Y3Jj0IFzQS0NP_VO872YlzGMmKPST2yL6QLSuzI/s1600/MumKindergarten.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="216" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDry1hCGnXt106JXV8R9g22MxXl-ABizJgPidfXbhSwxVuwwIQhrS68EOZF-D8xYQ2My3Y7g_qpv0wrYwAN-H3T1Y4b-_2zrWNVF69Y3Jj0IFzQS0NP_VO872YlzGMmKPST2yL6QLSuzI/s320/MumKindergarten.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mum helping out at the Kindergarten in the barracks</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpVd4zaob_ivdVALPNkHBJOApKo2pFMFTG9-4YU8fXsw1nae9_9MqWgdzy0lCM28QhLqGFid6GOE9N6m34BIsJ67BzG8TGGgzM59hfPJLixllZdlEmcjIHCgpm7uvB-vK2T5BsK9wrqXE/s1600/BrandenburgGate.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="216" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpVd4zaob_ivdVALPNkHBJOApKo2pFMFTG9-4YU8fXsw1nae9_9MqWgdzy0lCM28QhLqGFid6GOE9N6m34BIsJ67BzG8TGGgzM59hfPJLixllZdlEmcjIHCgpm7uvB-vK2T5BsK9wrqXE/s1600/BrandenburgGate.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mum and me, plus two friends - West Berlin 1963</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Even though we were surrounded by communist East Germany, life in Berlin was very pleasant, and for us children, no different from anywhere else. For Mum and Dad, army life carried on as normal, Dad occasionally went away on exercises, or schemes as they were then called, whilst at other times, there was plenty of socialising in the Mess. Dad would often take me there on Sundays, before lunch, and would frequently get into trouble for coming back late – almost causing Mum’s precious Sunday roast, to be ruined!<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXd2aS37xFCjGfAtlT4h6DWgqO-5WLokZiWELYTspGoIHlXskiRAp05SWEuU51TUOBWLvFgkOntzCkWBe0ypptCQkfYCIi9hngGmJqXGttdHt_NL_aqwO2TsTNhivwzn2UM43n9q2tJxY/s1600/MumMeBerlin.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="216" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXd2aS37xFCjGfAtlT4h6DWgqO-5WLokZiWELYTspGoIHlXskiRAp05SWEuU51TUOBWLvFgkOntzCkWBe0ypptCQkfYCIi9hngGmJqXGttdHt_NL_aqwO2TsTNhivwzn2UM43n9q2tJxY/s320/MumMeBerlin.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mum and me near the Olympic stadium in Berlin</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
One of the things I do remember - with affection - about being in Berlin, was the fact that at Christmas time, it was virtually guaranteed to snow – for the first time, we had genuine white Christmases.<br />
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<strong><span style="font-size: large;">Cornwall...</span></strong><br />
<br />
After two years in Berlin, we moved again – this time, Dad was posted away from his regiment, to become a member of the permanent staff with a Territorial Army (TA) unit in Bodmin, Cornwall. We lived in one of two semi-detached houses, belonging to, and just outside the TA centre. At that time, they were the only houses along the lane from the TA centre. Down the lane towards the town, was an old Victorian barracks, which even then had become disused, apart from the HQ building which housed, and still houses the regimental museum of the Duke of Cornwall’s Light Infantry.<br />
<br />
Across the lane, was a large - again disused - army camp (Walker Lines), made up of single storey timber built huts.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifyPTeGnqlSPI-uD-f8Vo6jl8x52fJ85Y5iEoIg9YGgTEtzUm8ARcw5StUQu6po7SQHh1RnmLH6sWacfvs6wwg4J1InI_82aNgfaJpuUVITcSpqs6bc5pUP0eRmB0xdwSafVHk3aNq_Iw/s1600/WalkerLinesCamp.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="198" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifyPTeGnqlSPI-uD-f8Vo6jl8x52fJ85Y5iEoIg9YGgTEtzUm8ARcw5StUQu6po7SQHh1RnmLH6sWacfvs6wwg4J1InI_82aNgfaJpuUVITcSpqs6bc5pUP0eRmB0xdwSafVHk3aNq_Iw/s1600/WalkerLinesCamp.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Walker Lines Camp - with Bodmin's Beacon obelisk in the background</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiofjFUYZaGVjf2Cbe9ujt3JROfklT5_KNh57WfkfwleQxHsoT62ARLjyptw9Nk4uv9bmrPxrGrIuj8qx0XCP0yMVsPzdROR3T8pfKB0VSgzWlVEDkTovUpNUIh63IaHC8wz7OY6KIuws/s1600/Cornwall.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiofjFUYZaGVjf2Cbe9ujt3JROfklT5_KNh57WfkfwleQxHsoT62ARLjyptw9Nk4uv9bmrPxrGrIuj8qx0XCP0yMVsPzdROR3T8pfKB0VSgzWlVEDkTovUpNUIh63IaHC8wz7OY6KIuws/s1600/Cornwall.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Halcyon days in Cornwall</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
I went to school in Bodmin, and had to make new friends for the first time. Naturally, as most of the children had spent much of their lives in the town, they were quite fascinated by this new boy, who, by the time he was 8, had travelled to, and lived in another country, they knew little about - apart from what they learned about the war, from their parents – a boy, who had also lived somewhere where it was hot and sunny, for most of the year. Needless to say, making new friends wasn’t too difficult.<br />
<br />
Mum, at this point, decided to bite the bullet, and started to work again – with Dad, at the TA centre. She had previous secretarial skills, and was employed to undertake clerk duties, in the main office. She would continue with this type of work, until she took early retirement, many years later.<br />
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<strong><span style="font-size: large;">West Berlin, again!</span></strong><br />
<br />
We spent just eighteen months in Cornwall, before Dad was posted again – back to Berlin. We didn’t rejoin Dad’s regiment, instead we joined one of its sister regiments. Although Dad, like Mum, had been born in Yorkshire, his parent regiment was actually based in Somerset - this posting however, saw him serving with a regiment from his county of birth.<br />
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Time for me, and indeed Mum and Dad, to make new friends, again - for me, this wasn’t too difficult - we were all the sons and daughters of soldiers, so we all had plenty in common. Mum and Dad also made new friends, some of whom are still very much that, to this day, even for me.<br />
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We lived in Kladow, right at the edge of the British Sector, where it met the border with East Germany. In fact, our flat was only just over half a mile from the border, and my school, was virtually on the edge of no-man’s land!<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOatC0Ql_O0ukd_1C6xx1jj06bzn-iXFq1yJ1CwedGUziflhCx-yKGRIs4dMtz1F3llWU8EbLDKYFBqJbjzy44LsMpcv3fLfnTDfhef8fNWdYMeO0s7uJcAg9vcsfks0XwXqAAYq2vGS8/s1600/SchoolKladow.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="210" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOatC0Ql_O0ukd_1C6xx1jj06bzn-iXFq1yJ1CwedGUziflhCx-yKGRIs4dMtz1F3llWU8EbLDKYFBqJbjzy44LsMpcv3fLfnTDfhef8fNWdYMeO0s7uJcAg9vcsfks0XwXqAAYq2vGS8/s1600/SchoolKladow.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This was where I went to school - the West Berlin/East German border was just beyond the trees in the background</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDch97pbOZc3vJYfNfdyGC9pr_p2yVYH7-D3Yj0d78V93EOTkfyR1vEMhToxH92U97qoqU2kPUFMDAB5-ofzHfnn47wSBxLz6jRXdH2Redh70wJUmMUEXPjMNhjKIbhmeHpt03GvBVc2s/s1600/BerlinBritishSector.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDch97pbOZc3vJYfNfdyGC9pr_p2yVYH7-D3Yj0d78V93EOTkfyR1vEMhToxH92U97qoqU2kPUFMDAB5-ofzHfnn47wSBxLz6jRXdH2Redh70wJUmMUEXPjMNhjKIbhmeHpt03GvBVc2s/s1600/BerlinBritishSector.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKbRISp3v9y9jmbbZX-klMkI_WjxTBAbYPS9fiB2FkrAFu6UXlpyxdBPLenONWWudhEv9_SOBaP99IqLTR1RuLSJM_NbZ1ofRXnzaDvgx7Ajkq64i8v7Zh1pb3Vk39DHJZBLyMd_Hbyso/s1600/EastGermanBorder.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="246" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKbRISp3v9y9jmbbZX-klMkI_WjxTBAbYPS9fiB2FkrAFu6UXlpyxdBPLenONWWudhEv9_SOBaP99IqLTR1RuLSJM_NbZ1ofRXnzaDvgx7Ajkq64i8v7Zh1pb3Vk39DHJZBLyMd_Hbyso/s320/EastGermanBorder.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The border would have looked something like this</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Mum first worked in the Adjutant’s office in the same barracks as Dad, but later got a job, a couple of miles down the road at RAF Gatow, where she worked for the RAF Police. An interesting job, by all accounts - she needed security clearance - some RAF personnel were involved in intelligence gathering, and Mum had to type up some quite sensitive reports.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOJjPv-PYuUvWCuEwfnYIc2iXheYbXo8yHrc8o_Js7TpPRZbC_1pK8_JJmMOnq3STEHdOXItsYUOEGN4J4hclSaFORrS_i8bkz_78gRVewfEM3ISPNt6v2r9jMkgtEBq7u__7xmmlEqb0/s1600/Gatow.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOJjPv-PYuUvWCuEwfnYIc2iXheYbXo8yHrc8o_Js7TpPRZbC_1pK8_JJmMOnq3STEHdOXItsYUOEGN4J4hclSaFORrS_i8bkz_78gRVewfEM3ISPNt6v2r9jMkgtEBq7u__7xmmlEqb0/s1600/Gatow.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">RAF Gatow</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
At one point during our stay, this job was to give Mum a bit of a shock. To get from West Berlin to West Germany and vice-versa, by car, involved crossing border checkpoints between east and west - on the eastern side, these checkpoints were controlled by the communist authorities. Once, when returning to Berlin, we were stopped at the East German/West Berlin border by the East German authorities – on the wall, inside the checkpoint office, was a collection of photographs – photographs of people in West Berlin of interest to the communists. Mum’s photo was on the wall!<br />
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Fortunately, after a short delay, we were allowed through – Mum never forgot that moment.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVvvUhyphenhyphen9Gs_yh967wi8nW0XC7HRDxV6Mdmk7PloQWTZaZDy33o2uylNnSE1ZXXnXz0iuKChNy3BGABuVWmSfExzrp4aAvKFiQz3VGce-3K7Z6BTfoQQWUj37vWvWUY5R2VAGPIh-iNPWY/s1600/BorderCrossing.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="236" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVvvUhyphenhyphen9Gs_yh967wi8nW0XC7HRDxV6Mdmk7PloQWTZaZDy33o2uylNnSE1ZXXnXz0iuKChNy3BGABuVWmSfExzrp4aAvKFiQz3VGce-3K7Z6BTfoQQWUj37vWvWUY5R2VAGPIh-iNPWY/s1600/BorderCrossing.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Border crossing</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
I remember a lot more of Berlin the second time round, as I was that little bit older. Mum and Dad made new friends, and they often enjoyed long summer evenings, at a local restaurant, where they sat outside enjoying meals of grilled chicken, washed down with copious amounts of alcohol. On a few occasions they stayed virtually all night, watching the sun go down, and then come up again in the morning. German licensing laws were somewhat more liberal than those in the UK! The restaurant was called the Oase, and although it is no longer there, a Schnell Imbiss (snack bar), at the same location, still carries the name.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtWydqO9EFeovLPcLo1zT9qe-CFJUol2AwaZOhRGexuUtXEzP_HqWymL7bNcQeGyv8E7W9_Qp6Qp-5qI2a8MGemAWqFBHca-TRZrPJ3jbzNbGR3xpYdkHn3LXKs5Jpcr4t0kquRAOXS30/s1600/Oase.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="207" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtWydqO9EFeovLPcLo1zT9qe-CFJUol2AwaZOhRGexuUtXEzP_HqWymL7bNcQeGyv8E7W9_Qp6Qp-5qI2a8MGemAWqFBHca-TRZrPJ3jbzNbGR3xpYdkHn3LXKs5Jpcr4t0kquRAOXS30/s1600/Oase.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Schnell Imbiss that still carries the name of the restaurant Mum and Dad used back in 1967/8</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
It was whilst we were in Berlin, in 1968, that the Russians sent 200,000 troops and 2,000 tanks into Czechoslovakia, as a result of what became known as the Prague Spring, a move towards liberalization and democratization, by the Czech authorities. This invasion by Warsaw Pact forces, caused considerable concern in West Berlin - Prague was only 174 miles away, and the Czech border a little over 120 miles away.<br />
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<strong><span style="font-size: large;">Northern Ireland...</span></strong><br />
<br />
Soon, we were on the move again! This time, Dad was to re-join his old regiment in Northern Ireland. The year was 1969! A somewhat ubiquitous year in the history of the province, and also in the history of space travel – the troubles began, and man landed on the moon! We experienced both! Our accommodation was a two bedroomed house, in a large army camp, just outside the village of Ballykinler, County Down.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLanyHpIu8tLMk3IwwnNLvB7GtGGkW7PFuIg5hs8wYKnjf-F0nCDQwb1gG6oIvT7wTysK4gl9OIFWQXbMfhcMxYjBfpRW6Qe-p9oPV9HJaw_vys1HSpfpnDYztk9RSIHeBa24KbmSt63M/s1600/MourneMountains.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLanyHpIu8tLMk3IwwnNLvB7GtGGkW7PFuIg5hs8wYKnjf-F0nCDQwb1gG6oIvT7wTysK4gl9OIFWQXbMfhcMxYjBfpRW6Qe-p9oPV9HJaw_vys1HSpfpnDYztk9RSIHeBa24KbmSt63M/s320/MourneMountains.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">View across to the Mourne Mountains - similar to the one we had from our kitchen window in Ballykinler</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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The camp, and its extensive training area, was located on the east coast, and included a long stretch of sandy beach, and a vast area of sand-dunes, only accessible by MOD personnel and their families. As a playground for children, it was fantastic.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjd-8Vk2IcXwsMs1zbUSVBxfgShiHraANZQdVKlNtLv7DLWxOEPrZWpaEQW0_5Ja93-p69v3vRb964c_BLVpdLGdISMdXyPxbgUrLxFBwcYaY-ME1qbIapFYvn0-ZFqeq8nWG2mhfBgE2w/s1600/Ballykinler.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="208" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjd-8Vk2IcXwsMs1zbUSVBxfgShiHraANZQdVKlNtLv7DLWxOEPrZWpaEQW0_5Ja93-p69v3vRb964c_BLVpdLGdISMdXyPxbgUrLxFBwcYaY-ME1qbIapFYvn0-ZFqeq8nWG2mhfBgE2w/s1600/Ballykinler.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Beach and dunes at Ballykinler</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
For the first time, I experienced the segregation between the Protestants and Catholics. Friends, who I’d been to various schools with, suddenly had to go to a different one – they were Catholic, whereas I was brought up Protestant. It all seemed rather strange. To Mum, however, it wasn’t quite so strange. Having lived in Glasgow as a child, she knew about such differences – to the extent, that her Mum, Rena, my Gran, had been a deputy mistress of a local Orange Lodge – Rena, had in fact, on occasions, travelled to Belfast, to take part in the parades held there every year!<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNZhi3qLqrjLjjlDlTjlq_xuRlMMtINdFNWoSp2dmhN8JFgTD236VMtub9bm0r9esh1w04rOq4Q88PzIA-y3C36upha5syQRictP9bq9S5d3qjQePQAGZhR2Sjv5vkdxwt8RaMbDZNJGU/s1600/RathmullenRoad.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNZhi3qLqrjLjjlDlTjlq_xuRlMMtINdFNWoSp2dmhN8JFgTD236VMtub9bm0r9esh1w04rOq4Q88PzIA-y3C36upha5syQRictP9bq9S5d3qjQePQAGZhR2Sjv5vkdxwt8RaMbDZNJGU/s1600/RathmullenRoad.jpg" width="317" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ballykinler - Mum, me, and our Labrador pup Jemima</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Just outside the camp gates was Sandes Soldiers' Home. An old timber and corrugated iron building first erected in 1909. At one end of the building was a large hall, complete with stage, and this was opened to the children of the camp for roller skating.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHymNJumGqkVvvEdOmrGRhtMGAMNcedg6sVZubZHiqszQwbYmxzAzND6g0XW46zR0JgfX_OKCS23T-cocwAopvzEgbUDoFl7R7jjzM0793VSQSYWxDEC1wLMulWd939NSGJrzcrrr0aAo/s1600/Sandes.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="168" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHymNJumGqkVvvEdOmrGRhtMGAMNcedg6sVZubZHiqszQwbYmxzAzND6g0XW46zR0JgfX_OKCS23T-cocwAopvzEgbUDoFl7R7jjzM0793VSQSYWxDEC1wLMulWd939NSGJrzcrrr0aAo/s320/Sandes.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sandes Soldiers' Home, Ballykinler</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Just three years after we left Northern Ireland, Sandes was destroyed by a 300lb terrorist bomb hidden in a delivery van, resulting in the death of two soldiers.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEienMxeVGdiSwitBbS1lMFWy6aKaMcVcQXMRhoE38ku8DD6BVuW3SVnw-80IbHHB0TCAM_r4ZpIEpX7tDvX79zVKrhjgOTVOG1S-ORbf_LOqnyu4kKPlCACCsTtvlAZ3S6NkSVGidnJTv8/s1600/SandesAftermath.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="160" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEienMxeVGdiSwitBbS1lMFWy6aKaMcVcQXMRhoE38ku8DD6BVuW3SVnw-80IbHHB0TCAM_r4ZpIEpX7tDvX79zVKrhjgOTVOG1S-ORbf_LOqnyu4kKPlCACCsTtvlAZ3S6NkSVGidnJTv8/s320/SandesAftermath.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sandes - after the bomb</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
We were in Northern Ireland for little over a year – not because of the troubles – but due to the fact that Dad had joined the regiment, part way through its posting there.<br />
<br />
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">Back to Germany...</span></strong><br />
<br />
We once more returned to Germany, this time a small town, not too far from Hanover, called Lemgo.<br />
<br />
Mum was once again working for regimental HQ as a secretary/clerk. I, on the other hand, had to go to a school many miles away, in Wilhelmshaven. Prince Rupert School was founded in 1948 as a co-educational, comprehensive, boarding school for the children of British military personnel and attached civilians, stationed in Germany. The site was a former Kriegsmarine barracks used by the Germans during the war – primarily for submarines.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgx0VShJULogYglrM5_t4lD9zhMWxFzLt4-AMPk_37oBArysXeDI7FnbPoZunrE0ONdFHWwy2njOjZalQNc5TJ7v25ek4ApGlwbzT1ybSZqQw2QE_2kYCZC-muw-zzzCTGbkmahHTCkBAU/s1600/PRSWilhelmshaven.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgx0VShJULogYglrM5_t4lD9zhMWxFzLt4-AMPk_37oBArysXeDI7FnbPoZunrE0ONdFHWwy2njOjZalQNc5TJ7v25ek4ApGlwbzT1ybSZqQw2QE_2kYCZC-muw-zzzCTGbkmahHTCkBAU/s1600/PRSWilhelmshaven.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The WW2 naval barracks, complete with U-Boats, that was to become Prince Rupert School</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
So, whilst Mum and Dad carried on as normal, I was much further north, on the German coast, along with several hundred other military children and teenagers. Looking back, there were times when I didn’t enjoy being there, but at other times, it was quite good fun. It didn’t do me any harm, and, in a way, prepared me for many other things later in life.<br />
<br />
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">Army life comes to an end...</span></strong><br />
<br />
Dad’s army career was drawing to a close, and we left Germany in early 1972 - Dad’s final posting was to the infantry depot in Shrewsbury, Shropshire. Our last army quarter was just outside a village between Shrewsbury and Oswestry, called Nesscliffe. Nesscliffe has a sizeable training camp and training area - a camp I have since visited many times, during my own subsequent, Territorial Army career.<br />
<br />
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">Back to Cornwall...</span></strong><br />
<br />
After Dad was discharged from the army in 1973, we moved to St Austell, Cornwall, a place Mum and Dad were to live for thirteen years. After moving every two years or so, staying for in one place, for any length of time, was almost alien to us. Mum eventually got a job as a PA to the Marketing Director of what was then English China Clays (now Imerys) - a job she was to keep until taking early retirement in the early 1980s.<br />
<br />
Dad also got himself a job as a civil servant, working for the then Department of Health and Social Security (now DWP). I attended St Austell Grammar School and then St Austell Sixth Form College. After I’d finished my education, I also went to work at the same place as Dad – but only for two years, as I hated it.<br />
<br />
I went on to study Graphic Design - firstly at the Cornwall Technical College, near Cambourne, and then Bristol Polytechnic (now the University of the West of England).<br />
<br />
Mum enjoyed working for English China Clays (ECC), and had an office in their HQ building, looking out across the town and to the sea beyond. ECC was the main employer in the town, and its HQ building (John Keay House) dominated the side of a hill just to the north, overlooking the town.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBRlPEMfoinNvP9IPuHm_ZJ4zeDE0CjBQ5COd3XJnnEjGGeSuJYskWvjqy2bNm_S9Yj-9bkGo9yiWTvvZ25rV0ECdTSqwuAIJDEjiPCwAWqjvRMclmfrb3HwJIRAc9iQ_7fH5AtnVLeow/s1600/JohnKeayHouse.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBRlPEMfoinNvP9IPuHm_ZJ4zeDE0CjBQ5COd3XJnnEjGGeSuJYskWvjqy2bNm_S9Yj-9bkGo9yiWTvvZ25rV0ECdTSqwuAIJDEjiPCwAWqjvRMclmfrb3HwJIRAc9iQ_7fH5AtnVLeow/s1600/JohnKeayHouse.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">John Keay House, where Mum worked in St Austell, Cornwall</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbxZX1Z4f64N6lHUx-Pr50J3-D_uTgfc7IZHtx-J9BlrTXKOYY0GwVDyUrtDSICQHzrchZDm-xjVmzCUc9mNMRSmh41vZJipsvwymyrRhJKG_cl0Sep8x9fsXjw-E0Q0cXwu0CZFpMIs4/s1600/StAustell.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="218" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbxZX1Z4f64N6lHUx-Pr50J3-D_uTgfc7IZHtx-J9BlrTXKOYY0GwVDyUrtDSICQHzrchZDm-xjVmzCUc9mNMRSmh41vZJipsvwymyrRhJKG_cl0Sep8x9fsXjw-E0Q0cXwu0CZFpMIs4/s1600/StAustell.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Looking over St Austell - John Keay House dominates the hillside</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Not long after taking retirement, Mum was diagnosed with cataracts. She had two separate operations to remove them, and during the second was given what was then a still relatively new, lens implant. It wouldn’t be until many years later, that she’d have a second for the other eye. So, for a long time, she had to wear a contact lens in the other eye.<br />
<br />
After graduating from Bristol, and finishing an additional year as a research assistant. I moved back to Cornwall, where I eventually got a job as an art-worker for a local printing company. As a first job in the industry it was a good grounding, but I soon grew bored with it, and began looking elsewhere for a better job.<br />
<br />
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">Independence – sort of...</span></strong><br />
<br />
I moved away from Cornwall in 1983, after getting a job as studio manager for a small advertising agency in Newbury, Berkshire. In 1985, I got another job with a marketing and printing company in Hungerford, and moved to a rented house in Kintbury.<br />
<br />
Dad was about to retire from the civil service, and he and Mum decided to move nearer to me. Mum, along with our Golden Retriever, Jenny, moved in with me first, whilst Dad finalised the sale of the house in St Austell. He joined us about a month later.<br />
<br />
During this time, I’d also been looking for another job – in London - and ultimately secured a position as Creative Director with a small advertising agency in Putney. It was also around this time, that Mum and Dad finally decided to look for a house is Sussex, near Dad’s sister. As I’d never married, I suggested that we buy a house together, as the area they were looking at, was within easy commuting distance of London.<br />
<br />
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">Sussex...</span></strong><br />
<br />
All three of us - plus Jenny - moved in February 1986. We soon settled in to our new home on the Sussex coast, and Mum busied herself looking after the home and the garden. Later that year, on 5 November 1986, I joined the Territorial Army.<br />
<br />
It was just over a year after we'd moved from Berkshire, that Michael Ryan shot and killed sixteen people in Hungerford - where I'd been working - before killing himself. Luck was once again on our side!<br />
<br />
I continued to commute to London every day, generally without incident, apart from the Great Storm of 1987, when the line from Brighton to London was blocked due to fallen trees and land slips. Mum would occasionally commute with me, as she would cover for one of the secretaries at the agency, when they were on holiday. The Putney agency was bought out in 1988 by a larger West End agency, and most of us then moved to their premises just off Oxford Street. Mum continued to do occasional secretarial work there too.<br />
<br />
By 1989, I’d become pretty fed up of commuting every day, so resigned my position as Creative Director, and went freelance. The timing was quite fortunate, as two of the founders of the first London agency, had set up a new one in Sherborne, Dorset. I had an immediate and ready source of design work. Mum was also able to help with secretarial work and my accounts.<br />
<br />
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">Dad becomes unwell...</span></strong><br />
<br />
By 1992 Dad was beginning to show signs of some kind of illness, and when we finally persuaded him to seek advice, he was diagnosed with both cancer of the oesophagus and multiple myeloma (cancer of the bone marrow). His prognosis wasn’t good, two years at the most. Mum and I were able to discuss this, and prepare for the inevitable - whilst Dad had frequent visits to the hospital for various forms of treatment, including bone marrow transplants, and chemo-therapy.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8zOG0ZCvo4yGbl1iNr2McKBNqHw6dOiOEOq4oB_tzCH9ILnTIq7PTS0HGaWYE5XtwzFeRdpPfc4WZUvEiGsHFgedBvOp1RZWw-DY5yFJjxRA6cYowFPVs6aA6rV3z-xTU2O_802fu9dY/s1600/DadJenny.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="216" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8zOG0ZCvo4yGbl1iNr2McKBNqHw6dOiOEOq4oB_tzCH9ILnTIq7PTS0HGaWYE5XtwzFeRdpPfc4WZUvEiGsHFgedBvOp1RZWw-DY5yFJjxRA6cYowFPVs6aA6rV3z-xTU2O_802fu9dY/s1600/DadJenny.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dad and Jenny</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">Unexpected loss...</span></strong><br />
<br />
During this stressful time, our beloved retriever Jenny, died unexpectedly in 1993. Dad was clearly upset, but tried hard not to show it, Mum and I, were a little less reserved. Although Jenny had been given a clean bill of health by the vet, just a week earlier, the autopsy showed she had cancer of the liver, and had had a massive internal haemorrhage. There was nothing we could have done.<br />
<br />
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">Goodbye Dad...</span></strong><br />
<br />
After recovering from the loss of Jenny, it was clear that we had to concentrate on making Dad as comfortable and as happy as possible - we knew he would be next. Dad died - at home - on August 5 1994, Mum and I were at his side. His sister had been with him not long before, but he managed to hang on until it was just the three of us. Mum and I hugged each other, shed a few tears, and said our goodbyes.<br />
<br />
Even though I made most of the funeral arrangements, Mum was strong and supportive throughout - once Dad’s funeral was over, life returned to as near normal as possible. By 1997, it was becoming clear that the house was no longer a happy place to live – to quote an often used cliché – it carried too much baggage for us. We needed to move on. In the meantime, I’d stopped working as a freelance Graphic Designer, and had secured a full-time job, as a Graphic Designer, not far from home.<br />
<br />
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">Moving on...</span></strong><br />
<br />
We sold the house, and for a few happy months, Mum went to stay with an old friend in Blackpool, until I found her a suitable flat – I’d already found one for myself before the move. When she came back, she moved into a flat not far from mine, so I was able to visit her everyday – we’d usually share an evening meal together. As her flat had two bedrooms, she was able to have friends to stay, and one old friend, from her early days in Yorkshire, came to stay for respite, after her husband had been diagnosed with dementia. This was my first encounter with the way dementia could affect, not just those living with the condition, but also those around them.<br />
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<strong><span style="font-size: large;">Further encounters with dementia...</span></strong><br />
<br />
This was not to be my only encounter with dementia, not long after this, Mum’s brother Gordon, was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgS9_7rNKdIlaTD4OLky_qXvxkJM0KBBnM3pMCgKVud64_Pil0LHrq43vloFHSztjIxZ0_W8vRLLAiLEgJENkwJvc5AwsmaYbqyX5Fnvb0DDwmsOWZDhpu-oQ3AQfIq2G77N1KiBqDXQs0/s1600/Mum%2526Gordon.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgS9_7rNKdIlaTD4OLky_qXvxkJM0KBBnM3pMCgKVud64_Pil0LHrq43vloFHSztjIxZ0_W8vRLLAiLEgJENkwJvc5AwsmaYbqyX5Fnvb0DDwmsOWZDhpu-oQ3AQfIq2G77N1KiBqDXQs0/s1600/Mum%2526Gordon.jpg" width="315" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mum and her brother Gordon - shortly before he was diagnosed with Alzheimer's</td></tr>
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<br />
For Mum and me, life continued as normal - I continued to work, and also continued to pursue my career with the TA. I spent many weekends away, along with the yearly two weeks Annual Camp, in various places, at home and abroad, including the Czech Republic.<br />
<br />
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">Mum starts to show vulnerability...</span></strong><br />
<br />
Early in the new millennium, there was a serious wake-up call. Mum had a very severe bout of the flu, and by this time, being in her early seventies, it affected her quite badly. I took her to A&E, where I had to argue with a triage nurse who insisted that she go home, take Paracetamol and rest – however, I pointed out that she was much weaker than normal, hardly able to walk unsupported, and seriously dehydrated. The nurse eventually relented - so, when Mum eventually saw a doctor, he was quite concerned about her condition. He prescribed antibiotics, and insisted that I stay with her, in her home, until she had recovered – otherwise, she would have had to be admitted to hospital.<br />
<br />
Fortunately, this occurred over the Christmas holiday period, and I was able to stay with her, to look after her, until her condition improved.<br />
<br />
This new vulnerability, opened my eyes to the fact that Mum would no longer be able to live alone for much longer. Soon after, I moved her in with me. She recovered from her bout of flu, and returned to carrying out her normal daily tasks – now living in my flat – cleaning, washing and cooking.<br />
<br />
Everything was fine, until she developed shingles, around 2005. It took some time for her to recover from this, and during this time it is also very likely, that she suffered a minor stroke. The rocky road to dementia had begun.<br />
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<strong><span style="font-size: large;">Mum says goodbye to her brother...</span></strong><br />
<br />
As was often the case, when I was away with the TA for Annual Camp, Mum would stay with her sister-in-law, just outside Blackpool. Her brother Gordon’s Alzheimer’s had progressed to the extent, that he was now in a nursing home. It was during one of Mum’s last trips to Blackpool, and on a visit to see her brother Gordon, that he passed away – Mum was with her brother when he died. She was now the sole surviving member of that family’s generation. She’d suffered rheumatic fever as a child, yet she had outlived all of her three siblings, two of whom were younger than her.<br />
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<strong><span style="font-size: large;">Dementia - first indications...</span></strong><br />
<br />
By 2009 Mum had suffered a number of falls, and her walking had become more laboured. She’d not suffered any serious injuries until this point, but her most recent fall resulted in a broken wrist.<br />
Familiar objects were beginning to become incomprehensible. She no longer knew how to use the washing machine. Using the stove became, frankly, dangerous. As for the toaster, she still knew how to use it, but if the toast got stuck, she’d try to get it out with a knife - tripping the fuse box, and cutting the electricity supply. Thank goodness for RCBs!<br />
<br />
It was becoming increasingly clear, that Mum was no longer able to carry out the normal daily tasks she’d done for so long. I started to do all the cooking, washing, cleaning etc. I left the TA, as I was no longer able to spend much time away from her, and certainly not overnight! By 2011, Mum was diagnosed with vascular dementia.<br />
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<strong><span style="font-size: large;">My future role...</span></strong><br />
<br />
In 2011, due to a massive reorganisation of the company I was working for, I needed to look for another job. I was unemployed from February to June of that year, after which I was able to secure a job, with another company, in the local area. This job, as a result of the company's inflexibility, and Mum’s increasing needs, was to prove to be my last - for the foreseeable future, at least. I resigned in January 2012.<br />
<br />
Mum’s dementia had progressed, and she had started to wander. Company rules insisted that mobile phones should be switched off during working hours – this made it impossible for helpful neighbours to contact me, when they found Mum wandering outside, sometimes wearing little more than summer clothing, in freezing conditions.<br />
<br />
It had become clear, that I could no longer carry on working and care for Mum. Although I didn’t admit it at this stage, I had become Mum’s full-time carer. Her mobility was still reasonable, but her mind was becoming more confused. In August of 2012, we moved to a new flat, a flat designed to cater for those who various disabilities. Whilst it didn’t seem too appropriate at the time, this was to prove a Godsend later. In October of the same year, Mum suffered a TIA, she’d probably had several undetected minor TIAs previously. On this occasion, she ended up in hospital for three days.<br />
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<strong><span style="font-size: large;">Mum’s dementia and other problems...</span></strong><br />
<br />
Although she recovered from the TIA, her mobility worsened - she was less stable, and less able to walk any distance without support. As October progressed, her mobility reduced still further. By early November, she was showing signs of another illness.<br />
<br />
Mum had suffered a very serious UTI. Her dehydration and confusion, resulted in yet another hospital admission - this time for three weeks. Upon discharge, Mum was no longer able to walk. She was doubly incontinent, and in need of care 24/7.<br />
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<strong><span style="font-size: large;">This was the ugly face of dementia...</span></strong><br />
<br />
Just over a year on – the situation has hardly changed. I’m Mum’s full-time carer, and perfectly willing to admit it. I call out of hours doctors, in the early hours of the morning, as soon as I suspect another UTI. They no longer question my “diagnosis” (I do have urine test strips to back it up) – it happens, on average, every two months – and they quite happily prescribe another batch of antibiotics.<br />
<br />
Mum is happy. She’s totally unaware of the fact that she can no longer walk. She’s still quite feisty when anyone annoys her. But, her little world is now the room where she spends each day - warm, comfortable, and safe.<br />
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Will she still be here this time next year? I don’t honestly know. This time last year, I wasn’t expecting her to be here now. She is! I treasure very moment...Martynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06959631518843523408noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-356459059609355861.post-58538581011511956512014-01-05T09:13:00.001-08:002014-01-05T09:40:23.327-08:00Music and dementia – using technology to provide musical interaction through singing...I’ve already touched on the importance of music for people living with dementia elsewhere on my blog, but I now want to introduce something a little more interactive. Something, that can be used both at home, and, in day care centres and care homes for people with dementia.<br />
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Most computers - desk-top, laptop, tablet, and even smart-phones - are now very well capable of playing music. They can play mp3 files, and .wav files, but many can also play .mid or MIDI files.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyOuHFiSqQgZ5TGSQHQnRg2JcM3nxiEMrzw2KtG404BPa_V_FXagUCSVT0GlqRvl3zHSxwAjcFsjihO8hytOumFhDe8wlL-DcQH5EOjlz5Fxhr97HLAQimtuxvTviKP3lnp0eaHGPLzRE/s1600/SetUp.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="193" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyOuHFiSqQgZ5TGSQHQnRg2JcM3nxiEMrzw2KtG404BPa_V_FXagUCSVT0GlqRvl3zHSxwAjcFsjihO8hytOumFhDe8wlL-DcQH5EOjlz5Fxhr97HLAQimtuxvTviKP3lnp0eaHGPLzRE/s320/SetUp.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<br />
MIDI stands for Musical Information Digital Interface. MIDI files are generally quite small - just a few kilobytes - this is because they are simply machine/computer code telling the MIDI software or hardware, which notes to play, which instruments to play, and for how long – essentially a computer language version of sheet music.<br />
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Windows Media Player is perfectly capable of playing MIDI files, unfortunately the GM (General MIDI) instruments included with Windows leaves a lot to be desired. Depending on the version of Windows you are using, this can be improved, as I will explain later. Apple Macs and iPads can also play MIDI files, and generally have a better set of GM instruments. Many Android tablets and smart-phones can also play MIDI files – quite a few ring tones are in MIDI format.<br />
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The first issue with MIDI files is that they are purely instrumental music, there are no vocals. However, there are many MIDI files that have a karaoke style word notation contained within the data. These files are playable using a MIDI/karaoke player, one of which is freely available at VanBasco <a href="http://www.vanbasco.com/">http://www.vanbasco.com/</a>.<br />
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VanBasco also has a search engine to help you find the MIDI/karaoke songs you want, and trust me, there are thousands! <a href="http://www.vanbasco.com/midisearch.html">http://www.vanbasco.com/midisearch.html</a><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghqZTOPQxYkmK0_2GfL-wslsoDxjt4Fd7Jo2r698aay_GDvEVAzjjFhnnTvWgJTcsCpFdnxpiNNVkVzSXUhSOox_-fVBt_ttKoL1WiijqLXWEys0iMDn6eryIjI3LUPp_JxqSCUNBVAI4/s1600/VanBasco.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghqZTOPQxYkmK0_2GfL-wslsoDxjt4Fd7Jo2r698aay_GDvEVAzjjFhnnTvWgJTcsCpFdnxpiNNVkVzSXUhSOox_-fVBt_ttKoL1WiijqLXWEys0iMDn6eryIjI3LUPp_JxqSCUNBVAI4/s320/VanBasco.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<br />
Going off at a slight tangent, Mum loves watching and listening to Andre Rieu concerts - using MIDI files and a MIDI capable Casio keyboard, I can effectively reproduce much of the music from those concerts, simply by downloading MIDI files and using a MIDI player or sequencer on my laptop.<br />
I’m currently researching suitable apps for Android tablets, and will update later.<br />
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<strong><span style="font-size: large;">OK, let’s look at what is needed:</span></strong><br />
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<strong><span style="font-size: large;">At home</span></strong><br />
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Little more than a laptop capable of playing .mid (MIDI) files, with, maybe, some external speakers and (in the case of Windows) an improved GM instrument set. Launch VanBasco, select songs for the playlist (after downloading the files of course), and off you go! Result: favourite songs - complete with words, karaoke style - to sing along with.<br />
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<strong><span style="font-size: large;">For larger audiences</span></strong><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjflYLby2YhxNeX3vepG4jIwuWWdVBUa3kX0D6gAkW_kwJFYiF2v-9zjilJce8TTXKywhznvsEoNf_MmJXfhXrtYGy4LSlaFg6TTdQVXHDdZEVHylQXq6a4xp1So39QDcW5H6CvxJse4bA/s1600/Karaoke.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="190" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjflYLby2YhxNeX3vepG4jIwuWWdVBUa3kX0D6gAkW_kwJFYiF2v-9zjilJce8TTXKywhznvsEoNf_MmJXfhXrtYGy4LSlaFg6TTdQVXHDdZEVHylQXq6a4xp1So39QDcW5H6CvxJse4bA/s320/Karaoke.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<br />
For larger groups - such as day care centres and care homes - this can easily be adapted using HDMI. Many laptops and tablets have an HDMI output, enabling them to be connected to an HDMI capable TV or, for even larger groups, projector - external speakers or a PA system may also be required.<br />
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Frankly, the possibilities are endless, it just takes a little imagination.<br />
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<strong><span style="font-size: large;">Improving Windows GM (General Midi) instruments</span></strong><br />
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Versions of Windows, prior to Windows 8, included an application called MIDI Mapper. This enabled users to download other sets of MIDI instruments, and use them instead of the “built-in” instruments. These are easily selectable from within VanBasco.<br />
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With Windows 8, MIDI Mapper disappeared, there is however a work-around, Coolsoft's Virtual MIDI synth <a href="http://coolsoft.altervista.org/en/virtualmidisynth">http://coolsoft.altervista.org/en/virtualmidisynth</a>. You'll also need to download a SoundFont, I used SGM-V2.01 from <a href="http://www.geocities.jp/shansoundfont/" id="yui_3_7_2_34_1363811421077_218" target="_blank">http://www.geocities.jp/shansoundfont/</a>.<br />
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Another Windows 8 work-around is to have a USB/MIDI capable external device, such as - in my case - a Casio keyboard. This has 400 sounds, all accessible through MIDI, including GM instruments. After first plugging in, and waiting for driver installation, the keyboard can be selected as the MIDI output device, and all MIDI files are played through the keyboard’s speakers, external speakers or a PA system connected to the keyboard. The possibilities here are numerous, as there are many USB/MIDI devices available, and, at other times, such an electronic musical device, can also be used as a keyboard – to play piano, organ etc. - independently of any computer (most of these devices default to standard grand-piano mode when switched on).<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEBCfVVScnkLLnp_EfeKk19BlQk-3gi1NecpQKlcEwE155_NouIASc4ZSZ1SGMEbmXuR_iGMoGtx3aQwbeJadRfeCEFtpfKdlE139fltjIXczutPyI5jGzW_22AceyZWHZARnhfMuRC5Y/s1600/SetUp.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4f4HO2_vSleq4eEv3Zii5gPJmJIlg3b3u45CbNvxm_e5x0X5Ketu0oq06B26wSdIq2Ii79pwzKJptENCHZtQJrUgW07EVC72RIqmtzzbDeacm6Qc07_jvcXTci0fQ9rgM6xtKJ7DL8BU/s1600/Casio.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="115" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4f4HO2_vSleq4eEv3Zii5gPJmJIlg3b3u45CbNvxm_e5x0X5Ketu0oq06B26wSdIq2Ii79pwzKJptENCHZtQJrUgW07EVC72RIqmtzzbDeacm6Qc07_jvcXTci0fQ9rgM6xtKJ7DL8BU/s320/Casio.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<strong><span style="font-size: large;">Free MIDI files</span></strong><br />
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The easiest way to search for the songs you require is to type in the title of the song along with the word “MIDI” – Google, for example, will then bring up various sources for that song in MIDI format. When searching for files carrying karaoke data, the VanBasco search engine is the best bet.<br />
You will often find that these MIDI/Karaoke files have an additional melody track – this plays the melody to which the words are sung. Sometimes, this melody track can be over-intrusive – fortunately VanBasco provides the capability to mute this track – it is normally the first instrument listed.<br />
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As is often the case, experimentation is essential. Many of the freely available MIDI/Karaoke tracks have been compiled by budding amateur musicians, and whilst many are very good, some are not. But, with little more than a computer, some easily downloadable free software, and thousands of freely available MIDI tracks, it is a very easy and incredibly inexpensive way, to create a vast library of interactive music, for everyone to enjoy!<br />
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I’ve listed a few resources below to help you get started – happy searching, and hopefully, happy singing!<br />
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Some sources for free MIDI files - some with lyrics - there are many, many more...<br />
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<a href="http://www.vanbasco.com/midisearch.html">http://www.vanbasco.com/midisearch.html</a><br />
<a href="http://en.softonic.com/s/lyrics-midi-files">http://en.softonic.com/s/lyrics-midi-files</a><br />
<a href="http://www.cool-midi.com/">http://www.cool-midi.com/</a><br />
<a href="http://www.midaoke.com/">http://www.midaoke.com/</a><br />
<a href="http://www.olgris.kiev.ua/des/midi%20lat.html">http://www.olgris.kiev.ua/des/midi%20lat.html</a><br />
<a href="http://1001midis.com/karaoke-midi-files.php">http://1001midis.com/karaoke-midi-files.php</a><br />
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Classical MIDI tracks...<br />
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<a href="http://www.classicalarchives.com/" id="yui_3_7_2_1_1388939288694_6033" target="_blank">http://www.classicalarchives.com</a><br />
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VanBasco MIDI Karaoke Player...<br />
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<a href="http://www.vanbasco.com/karaokeplayer/">http://www.vanbasco.com/karaokeplayer/</a>Martynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06959631518843523408noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-356459059609355861.post-762783390495987642013-12-12T07:12:00.000-08:002013-12-12T07:22:29.497-08:00Dementia – put an end to the stigma through words, phrases and imagesNow that the first G8 Dementia Summit has come to an end, I decided to take a look at one of the 12 points in the declaration, namely point 11:<br />
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<em>Call upon civil society to continue and to enhance global efforts to reduce stigma, exclusion and fear.</em><br />
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<strong><span style="font-size: large;">Words and phrases</span></strong><br />
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It was unfortunate, that in his summing up at the end of the summit, Secretary of State for Health, Jeremy Hunt, used the term, “the scourge of dementia”. Hardly helpful in reducing stigma or indeed fear. That the Prime Minister, David Cameron, referred to those living with dementia as “sufferers” was also unhelpful.<br />
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I have also seen other words such as epidemic and plague, being used to describe the increasing number of people developing dementia. And another, referring to dementia as the NHS time bomb! None of these words and phrases will help reduce stigma, allay fears or avoid exclusion.<br />
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Post summit, there is now the opportunity for politicians and the media to reconsider the vocabulary they use when referring to dementia. To find and use alternatives instead of the scaremongering, discriminatory and exclusive words and phrases highlighted above.<br />
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It is an unquestionable fact, that there is suffering at times for a person with dementia. However, suffering is only one aspect of the condition, there are also times of joy, laughter and smiles. In many circles it is now accepted that it is better to use the term “living with dementia” (as used by the BBC today, December 12 2013, in a news report about the summit), rather than “dementia sufferers”.<br />
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Unfortunately the BBC, on its website, also published the following statement ‘Dementia is described as a "global disaster waiting to happen" and the biggest health and care problem of a generation.’ <br />
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Whilst this is undoubtedly true, such a statement is unhelpful. That dementia is a global issue goes without saying, but it is not yet, and should not be described as, a disaster. That dementia is currently and will continue to be a “problem” for some time, is also true – but it would be better described as a challenge, rather than a problem, in light of the summit, that is what it is, and the G8 nations must rise to that challenge.<br />
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We need to look to the future, a future that will hopefully be brighter for those who are yet to develop dementia. We need to be positive, we need to think, talk, act and write positively. We need to change the vocabulary used when referring to dementia.<br />
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Where possible, we should perhaps try to avoid the word disease - to many this sounds “infectious” - dementia is not a transmittable condition. Generally, we now refer to Alzheimer’s disease, as simply Alzheimer’s.<br />
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All forms of dementia are terrible, and at the moment and for the foreseeable future, incurable. Just as many forms of cancer were, until quite recently.<br />
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<strong><span style="font-size: large;">Images and words</span></strong><br />
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Images currently used to portray dementia are often frightening, heart breaking and sometimes shocking.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFQIExARH0APc8Z8r6lVm-vKScuHEy2oIoxa_iCmidpw3CE1z1MFJMORqnnQVkiyKJvLoJd_YCzWvBmKdUn2Kvq2XdlX1l5sKhcfAeMdV9Uggi8PjKHH-Ii1Srvb-OGFd3Ibb4obTyx-A/s1600/BrainScan.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFQIExARH0APc8Z8r6lVm-vKScuHEy2oIoxa_iCmidpw3CE1z1MFJMORqnnQVkiyKJvLoJd_YCzWvBmKdUn2Kvq2XdlX1l5sKhcfAeMdV9Uggi8PjKHH-Ii1Srvb-OGFd3Ibb4obTyx-A/s320/BrainScan.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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The above image was accompanied by the following caption:<br />
<em>Loss of tissue in a demented brain compared with a healthy one</em><br />
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Here we have two problems, the image of a “shrunken” brain is frightening enough, and although a true depiction of what can happen, the use of the word “demented” is unforgivable! Yes, demented, using its secondary definition can mean “affected by dementia”, but its primary definition - the one understood by most people - is “mad or insane”! We need to approach these matters in layman’s terms, and not terms that might be used by medical professionals.<br />
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<strong><span style="font-size: large;">Images alone</span></strong><br />
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For far too long, images used to portray those living with dementia, often show a person in the latter stages of the condition. Yet this stereotypical image does not fully portray the true facts, and indeed induces fear about dementia, and promotes stigma and exclusion. Whilst we must never hide the true facts about dementia, there are many stages, and these also need to be portrayed in order to illustrate - that at least for a while - it is possible to live well with dementia.<br />
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All too often, these images are of older people, completely ignoring the fact that dementia is not confined to them, nor is it part of the ageing process. Early onset dementia can affect younger people too.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXcjQvV4TEdas3N6akE1krYGDKCdIJgTxn6r-03-kJ5xJELfOrUfKozHouMwlVKAFcuiq0AaL0Zl_zZBHHZ698joMweN8RASqOvoVjVnfK_4pFwRyA2ALSdga2hE7T0DOexHHfi_UjNpM/s1600/HeadInHands.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXcjQvV4TEdas3N6akE1krYGDKCdIJgTxn6r-03-kJ5xJELfOrUfKozHouMwlVKAFcuiq0AaL0Zl_zZBHHZ698joMweN8RASqOvoVjVnfK_4pFwRyA2ALSdga2hE7T0DOexHHfi_UjNpM/s320/HeadInHands.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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One of my pet hates where images are used to portray dementia, is this:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCQbouWcxzDb4aBbRx2VwxPFaxQrwQyOUAQkv1cMYWht5ZUnMM4rurXO6i_IQIxbmIzlS9jLapOBj-TWUnyeiBpQzf9UwtvACzb4Ax1Ie5v0dMBfrOro4U8OEtzFRnDOAInQ6p5ex2_L4/s1600/WrinkledHands.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCQbouWcxzDb4aBbRx2VwxPFaxQrwQyOUAQkv1cMYWht5ZUnMM4rurXO6i_IQIxbmIzlS9jLapOBj-TWUnyeiBpQzf9UwtvACzb4Ax1Ie5v0dMBfrOro4U8OEtzFRnDOAInQ6p5ex2_L4/s320/WrinkledHands.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Why? Because it gives the impression that every older person, must have dementia – which is most definitely not true!<br />
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The following images, taken by me, are neither stereotypical, nor frightening, even though they do portray an older person. They are happy images, images of someone living well with dementia - my Mum...<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCJ21aWhV9MhMSyUK5WeIEbXme8AMz-mtDcZNiY9sT-xGRaDit4hI8MJYlDCrynObAud2dpxOFY5rSyZ-FTXD0vUbR5YNXmGNPT7lYmfwU7L1WuXC4UcAGVgBehsV33u-UqZvK-HBGCyE/s1600/Mum.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="264" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCJ21aWhV9MhMSyUK5WeIEbXme8AMz-mtDcZNiY9sT-xGRaDit4hI8MJYlDCrynObAud2dpxOFY5rSyZ-FTXD0vUbR5YNXmGNPT7lYmfwU7L1WuXC4UcAGVgBehsV33u-UqZvK-HBGCyE/s320/Mum.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEip1oITcx-VxQUsBP9OS9OCC2i88oVqSVaX94vtsbyng9lz50ydqlGj2HYEia4aJ9N4MJc8JTkfIsqUK8aPdJZjdthqcJUpK-cADvlbWS34S9oPUrL3bU5lCD2TUBdAyycEjniJSVMNQR8/s1600/Mum&Charlie.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEip1oITcx-VxQUsBP9OS9OCC2i88oVqSVaX94vtsbyng9lz50ydqlGj2HYEia4aJ9N4MJc8JTkfIsqUK8aPdJZjdthqcJUpK-cADvlbWS34S9oPUrL3bU5lCD2TUBdAyycEjniJSVMNQR8/s320/Mum&Charlie.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />Martynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06959631518843523408noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-356459059609355861.post-8047731446572730072013-12-10T03:37:00.003-08:002013-12-11T08:42:26.756-08:00G8 Dementia Summit 2013 - my twelve wishes - and what the summit agreed...The G8 Dementia Summit took place in London on December 11 2013, below is my wish list for those living with dementia and their carers/caregivers - compiled before the summit - accompanied by notes about what the summit agreed...<br />
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<strong>1 A cure</strong><br />
<em>G8 is committed to finding a cure or disease modifying therapy by 2025</em><br />
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<strong>2 Early and full diagnosis</strong><br />
<em>Summit highlighted importance of early diagnosis, and have set a target for 67% diagnosis rate by 2015</em><br />
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<strong>3 Much greater support for both the person living with dementia and their family carers/caregivers</strong><br />
<em>Need for support for those with dementia and their carers/caregivers recognised</em><br />
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<strong>4 Better dementia awareness in the wider community, media and governments</strong><br />
<em>G8 recognised need to eradicate stigma, and to share information about research, identifying strategic priority areas, including sharing initiatives of big data, for collaboration and cooperation</em><br />
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<strong>5 More funding for research into dementia and its many causes</strong><br />
<em>G8 countries have agreed to significantly increase funding for research</em><br />
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<strong>6 More support for dementia charities - these charities receive fraction of that raised for cancer research and heart disease - yet dementia costs the UK economy more than cancer and heart disease combined (I'm playing my small part in this mammoth task here <a href="http://design4dementia.blogspot.co.uk/2013/11/dementia-awareness-wrist-bands.html">http://design4dementia.blogspot.co.uk/2013/11/dementia-awareness-wrist-bands.html</a>)</strong><br />
<em>G8 recognised the important role played by charities and voluntary organisations</em> <br />
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<strong>7 More dementia friendly communities - ideally ALL communities to be dementia friendly</strong><br />
<em>G8 to call upon all sectors to treat people affected by dementia with dignity and respect, and to call upon civil society to continue and to enhance global efforts to reduce stigma, exclusion and fear</em><br />
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<strong>8 More dementia specific wards in hospitals - no more placements on general wards where staff are not trained in dementia awareness</strong><br />
<em>G8 recognised the need for better dementia care</em><br />
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<strong>9 Dementia awareness education for younger people in schools, including hands-on experience with those living with dementia</strong><br />
<em>As point 7 - continue and enhance global efforts to reduce stigma, exclusion and fear</em><br />
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<strong>10 Dementia awareness training for all staff in Doctor's surgeries - including Doctors, to ensure earlier diagnosis and treatment where possible</strong><br />
<em>As point 8 - the recognised need for better dementia care</em><br />
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<strong>11 More public facilities for those living with dementia - greater accessibility</strong><br />
<em>As point 7 - all sectors to treat people affected by dementia with dignity and respect and to reduce stigma, exclusion and fear</em><br />
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<strong>12 Government representative solely responsible for dementia and all issues related to the condition, including those living with dementia and their carers/caregivers</strong><br />
<em>UK to appoint a Global Dementia Innovation Envoy to draw together international expertise to stimulate innovation and to co-ordinate international efforts to attract new sources of finance, including exploring the possibility of developing a private and philanthropic fund to support global dementia innovation</em><br />
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Hopefully, one day, all of this will be a reality, until then, we have a long and difficult road to travel in order to raise awareness of this terrible condition, that still has no cure...<br />
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<em>Thanks to this momentous summit, we may have just made the first step in the right direction, let it continue and gather momentum. It was also agreed that the next summit is to take place in the US on February 10 2015...</em>Martynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06959631518843523408noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-356459059609355861.post-60789641063901631862013-11-27T14:37:00.001-08:002013-11-27T14:37:39.960-08:00Caring for Mum – one year on – many bridges crossed – many more to go...This time last year, I’d just become Mum’s full time caregiver. Prior to that, I’d been a sort of part time carer, but wasn’t willing to admit it. The big question - where am I now?<br />
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At first I took on the role of primary caregiver, working alongside agency carers to help Mum. I even thought, that when the time came, I’d become an agency carer myself. Not now - I’ve learned so much from my caring role, and thanks to social media, I have met so many wonderful people, and I now know I’d be wasting the creative skills I already have.<br />
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By profession, I’m not a caregiver, I’m a designer. I’ve learned to use my design and creative skills, over the last twelve months, in a way I had never expected. I’ve also learned that my many years experience as a reservist soldier, have also proved to be very useful.<br />
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Twelve months on, the use of creativity in my caring role has increased, caring has become a reason to express further creativity, rather than suppressing it – something I would not have believed possible, just a year ago.<br />
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Military training has also been useful, facing adversity with confidence is difficult, and fighting for the rights of your caree, even more so – the army taught me not to be afraid, and face adversity without trepidation.<br />
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My beliefs are simple - I’m not religious, yet I believe in right and wrong. If you know you are right, stand your ground. If you know you are wrong, accept defeat with dignity, not humility. Be proud!<br />
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My blog has progressed over the last twelve months, and some of my earlier posts now seem quite naive, even to me. But, the blog serves as a history of my own journey, through what can only be described as the most difficult transition in my life.<br />
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My Mum - bless her - has been a guinea pig throughout all of this, and a very receptive one at that. As my caring role increased, and my creativity started to take over, Mum became the person with whom I tried out my various, sometimes hair-brained ideas. Fortunately, she enjoyed the experiences, and some are still in use to this day.<br />
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Her bedroom started as a simple, yet relatively bland, rectangular room. In the last year it has been transformed quite dramatically, initially using simple things like flowers and pictures, into what is now a dynamic mood enhancing environment, embracing everything that Mum likes.<br />
Music, sounds, images, lights, textures and smells – a totally sensory environment, that can be adapted to her every mood, or to help calm her, when distressed.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVAInJMXzpLyQYMTTFpvjN1foC3UBawkmzKYk2q6Nst9ojEuzlA2rXiVRp3Jvj3XHlVgMBEQcqiHJTPCYqkAfpzZoiuz5OjEHwLEjto_sbfqUOzWqVsBg9xgGzEzX7dsacS1q5efTVimc/s1600/MirrorBall.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVAInJMXzpLyQYMTTFpvjN1foC3UBawkmzKYk2q6Nst9ojEuzlA2rXiVRp3Jvj3XHlVgMBEQcqiHJTPCYqkAfpzZoiuz5OjEHwLEjto_sbfqUOzWqVsBg9xgGzEzX7dsacS1q5efTVimc/s320/MirrorBall.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Everything is chosen to enhance her sense of well being. Bedding is plain, but colourful, mainly pinks and purples – calming colours. No patterns are used, as these can cause confusion. Lighting is subdued, but colourful, along with a small full spectrum light, to help combat SAD, and, hopefully, maintain Circadian rhythms.<br />
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One of my early experiments is still in place, a digital photo frame used as a day/night clock, again to help maintain Circadian rhythms. The files have been free to download for quite some time, and at the last count, almost four hundred people, worldwide, have benefited from this simple, yet effective, system.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6wK1k6taGWhTt15_dlaCrpnzo46PmgmdpDyMequrPIO3-D08gUdC9bsxFwkf65dwlzNXqHlnLMQ9u5laQQpuB8XQI9t84Y6LaGS_cGjowtLEEZgUXfXbhkm65ste0Q2NZhBZofRPvXco/s1600/DayClock_Example.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="192" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6wK1k6taGWhTt15_dlaCrpnzo46PmgmdpDyMequrPIO3-D08gUdC9bsxFwkf65dwlzNXqHlnLMQ9u5laQQpuB8XQI9t84Y6LaGS_cGjowtLEEZgUXfXbhkm65ste0Q2NZhBZofRPvXco/s320/DayClock_Example.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Another simple experiment was clothing. Mum spends most of her time in bed, yet rather than wearing traditional bedclothes, she wears kaftans. These are loose fitting, and are easy for carers to remove and replace. Unlike the classic, undignified hospital gown, kaftans are dignified, stylish, and just as easy to change. Most, being made of polyester, are also hygienic, easy to wash and dry, and are ideal as both bed wear and day wear.<br />
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Music plays an important role - music from Mum’s past, to popular classical style music by the likes of Andre Rieu. When watching an Andre Rieu concert, Mum becomes quite animated, and thoroughly enjoys herself. Later of an evening we may just sit and listen to music from the 1950s, which Mum finds relaxing, and is ideal as a preparation for sleep.<br />
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Feeding has undergone a number of experiments, from simple finger foods, to full blown meals. I have learned to prepare meals that are easy for her to eat, and although she can no longer eat such meals independently, they are tasty, and indeed home-made. Ready-meals, whilst essential for some who don’t have the same support as Mum, were ditched a long time ago. As for drinking, Mum now uses leak-proof sip cups, simply because she has a habit of just putting the cups down anywhere on her bed, and frequently upside-down. By maintaining a well balanced diet both for her, and for me for that matter, she no longer needs nutritional supplements.<br />
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Medication – when Mum first returned home from hospital, I tried to administer her pills with a drink. This proved to be difficult, as Mum has always had a problem swallowing pills. Pills are now administered with her breakfast – normally Weetabix with plenty of full-fat milk. Each pill is administered with a spoonful of well soaked Weetabix, and for the most part, this works very well.<br />
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Mum has, for the last year, been doubly incontinent. She has pads (diapers), which she wears all the time. When bowel movement is imminent, she needs to be hoisted on to the commode. The timing of this rarely coincides with a visit from one of the agency carers, so it is inevitably down to me, to get her on and off the commode, and make sure she is clean. The initial shock of having to carry out such a task has long gone – it is now just something I do.<br />
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Thanks to social media, I’m now in contact with many people who find themselves in similar situations, and not just in the UK, but around the world. I sometimes think of what it must have been like for carers in the days before we had such opportunities, and indeed what it must be like for older carers without internet access, or access to modern technology. Social media provides me with the opportunities to learn from others, share ideas, or just provide or receive advice and support. This ability to communicate with others has helped both me and Mum.<br />
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One year on, I’m now in a place I never expected to be, yet the experience has given me the motivation to help others like myself, and those people living with dementia, in any way I can. To use my former skills, in a new, and previously unexpected way, to help improve the quality of life for those living with dementia, and to help make the roles of their carers more manageable, and more rewarding.<br />
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My journey so far, has taught me many valuable things. By using my creative skills, I have been able to create a sensory environment for Mum, and the pleasure she gets from it all, fills me with joy. It is this joy, through adversity, that I’d like to share with as many others as I can.<br />
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Where I will be in another year? I just don’t know. I’m not yet in a position to be able to plan that far ahead. In fact, at the moment, I just take each day as it comes, and treasure every moment of joy and laughter...Martynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06959631518843523408noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-356459059609355861.post-29034170458079714942013-11-17T10:16:00.003-08:002014-04-05T04:08:25.211-07:00Sensory lighting and mood effects for dementia<strong><span style="font-size: large;">Why now is a good time to create a sensory room...</span></strong><br />
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We know about the use of sensory rooms for children with special needs - however, such sensory rooms are also useful for people living with dementia.<br />
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There is a whole host of different products available, which can be used to create your very own sensory room. I’m currently trying out a number of products to create such a room for Mum, in her own bedroom.<br />
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<strong><span style="font-size: large;">Mood DVDs</span></strong><br />
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A simple and easy start is to purchase one of the many mood DVDs available. These provide a variety of calming videos, combined with either natural sounds or music, or in some cases, both, and help set the mood. There are a variety of scenes available, from a crackling fire, mountain creek, waves lapping on a beach, tropical aquarium, waterfalls and even fireworks. The key aspect is the combination of calming scenes along with appropriate music.There are even DVDs available for a specific time of the year – Christmas – with seasonal scenes and Christmas carols and music.<br />
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Two DVDs, specially developed to help relax children and adults with a range of conditions including dementia, Alzheimer's, autism and Down's syndrome, are available here <a href="http://www.asenseofcalm.com/engine/shop/index.html">http://www.asenseofcalm.com/engine/shop/index.html</a><br />
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Mood and relaxation CDs are also available, these of course don’t offer the visual stimulation provided by the DVDs.<br />
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<strong><span style="font-size: large;">Colour change lighting</span></strong><br />
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You could consider colour changing mood lighting. A variety of LED bulbs are available, some with remote controls, to change the colour sequences and to brighten or dim the light. Once again, these can be used in conjunction with music to create a calming effect, and also in conjunction with other forms of visual stimulation. At this time of year, take the opportunity to look out for colour changing Christmas lights and decorations.<br />
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<strong><span style="font-size: large;">Image projection</span></strong><br />
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Aside from the classic rotating mirror ball scattering a myriad of moving points of light around a room, there are a number of different projection devices available, one of the most common being the home planetarium. Unfortunately some of these devices are not quite as good as they at first appear. The image is often blurred, and the room has to be quite dark for the effect to be fully appreciated. <br />
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There are, however, other devices, that are not planetariums in the true sense, but produce an effect similar to the night sky, with moving stars, shooting stars and cloud nebulae - others re-create the effect of light under water refracted by the gentle waves on the surface, and some even play sounds or music. These devices vary considerably in price, and even some of the more expensive ones, are not that good.<br />
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I've now received the Laser Twilight projector (as seen in the photo above), and have had a chance to try it out. Being a Class 1 laser product, the green "stars" are quite bright, and are clearly visible in daylight, the blue "cloud nebula", is a little dimmer, but still visible under ambient light. The "stars" move around in different directions, some moving faster than others, and the "cloud nebula" shimmers, and changes shape. The "stars" and "cloud nebula" can be displayed together, or independently. If this is the type of effect you'd like to achieve, then I would recommend the Laser Twighlight.<br />
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<strong><span style="font-size: large;">Daylight lighting</span></strong><br />
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Many people suffer from Seasonally Affective Disorder (SAD), and the same can be true for those living with dementia. Full spectrum lighting is a great way to help combat such disorders, and although some SAD lighting can be quite expensive, it is also possible to adapt a fairly standard light fitting - with the use of full spectrum bulbs or tubes (search for “full spectrum” lighting instead of SAD lighting). The use of full spectrum lighting can help restore a person’s natural Circadian rhythm.<br />
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For Mum, I’m currently using a small, multi-LED full spectrum light, that clips to her bed – it is low voltage, does not get hot, and is therefore safe. Full spectrum lighting is not just beneficial to humans - as the keeper of both a budgie and a small parrot - I also use avian full spectrum lighting for my birds.<br />
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<strong><span style="font-size: large;">Aromatherapy</span></strong><br />
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Smell is one of the senses often forgotten when we think of a sensory environment, yet it is just as important as the other senses when it comes to the sense of wellbeing. I am not of course advocating that we use a plethora of scented tea-lights, and all the dangers they entail. There are, however, small battery operated tea-lights, which give the effect of real candles. These, used in conjunction with plug-in or automated spray fresheners, or scented potpourri, can create the same effect, and are much safer.<br />
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As with everything else, experiment. Older people may find comfort in smells from their past, when they were young, or when they were children – from the smell of rose water to carbolic, from lavender bouquets to mothballs, even the smell of a newly extinguished match – any of these, and many more, may help re-awaken long forgotten memories.<br />
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<strong><span style="font-size: large;">Other lighting and sensory ideas</span></strong><br />
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There are of course many different forms of lighting that can help with visual stimulation, the classic lava lamp, colour changing bubble tubes and glitter candles, colour changing LED and fibre-optic trees and rope lights, are just a few.<br />
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In Mum’s room, there is a gantry hoist – one of the upright supports has had artificial ivy trailed up it, to break-up the solid, uncompromising appearance of the support. At Christmas, artificial fir garlands and lights are added, the support, becomes a Christmas tree.<br />
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Whichever way you choose to create a sensory room, the key word is experimentation. Not all of these devices and solutions will work for everyone - it is simply a case of trying different ideas until you find the ones that work.<br />
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In the run-up to Christmas, a much wider range of colour changing lights and sensory devices become readily available, so Christmas time is the ideal time for experimentation – after all, if they don’t work for the person they are intended for, they can still be used as Christmas decorations.<br />
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For Mum, and for me, it is relatively easy, as I know the type of music she likes, and that she likes colourful lighting, and watching scenes that are calming and relaxing. As I write this, she is listening to the classical music tracks accompanying scenes of tropical fish swimming in an aquarium.<br />
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<strong><span style="font-size: large;">Just found these too...</span></strong><br />
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I've just discovered some USB speakers, ideal for use with iPods, MP3 players, tablets and laptops, although with a little technical know-how, they can also be connected to TVs, DVD and Blue-Ray players. They're ideal when used in conjunction with music. When in use, the speakers create illuminated jets of water in time with the music - yet another wonderful sensory experience.<br />
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<strong><span style="font-size: large;">Latest products tested (added 5 April 2014)...</span></strong><br />
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As this is an on going project, I'm always on the look out for new sensory ideas, the latest are two more lighting effects.<br />
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The first is an LED Crystal Ball, it has powerful LEDs and through the faceted clear plastic dome, the coloured light is scattered up the wall and over the ceiling. The ball can be set to seven different automatic displays, with speed adjustments, and two different sound activated displays to use when playing music. There are three models available, one three colour RGB, one is seven colour, and one that is also an mp3 player, using a USB stick or an SD card. The LEDs are bright enough to be seen in a well lit room. Compact in size, it measures just 19.5x19.5x19 centimetres.</div>
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The second is a small, two colour, red and green, laser projector. This projects hundreds of laser "stars" in ever changing patterns, complete with a speed adjustment for the pattern changes. This particular laser projector is also quite bright, and can be used quite successfully in a well lit room. As with the LED Crystal Ball, the laser projector also has a sound activated mode, and responds well to music. Its compact size measures just 13x9.2x5.2 centimetres.</div>
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Both the LED Crystal Ball and the laser projector can be purchased in the UK for less than £20 each.</div>
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Martynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06959631518843523408noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-356459059609355861.post-34413556152757719992013-11-08T05:43:00.000-08:002013-11-08T05:54:04.540-08:00Book review – Beyond my Control<strong><span style="font-size: large;">why the health and social care system need not have failed my mother</span></strong><br />
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">by Suzan Collins</span></strong><br />
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For those concerned about the care and welfare of an older loved one, or indeed older people in general, this book is at times, a very personal and extremely emotional read.<br />
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<strong>From my own perspective...</strong><br />
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Having, in 2012, experienced some of the faults and failures, of health and social care services in England - involving my own Mother’s wrongful pre-admission diagnosis, three week stay, and difficult discharge from our local hospital, I was particularly interested to read about someone else’s experiences. Fortunately, my Mother returned home, and I became her full-time carer. Sometimes, this isn’t always the case...<br />
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<strong>Suzan’s story...</strong><br />
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Suzan takes us through her, and her family’s, personal, very private, often difficult, and sometimes extremely emotionally charged journey - a journey experienced by them and their Mother, thanks to an incident at their Mother’s care home, that resulted in a hospital admission, for both a broken ankle and fractured femur.<br />
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<strong>What happened during the next few months - is truly shocking...</strong><br />
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Failures by the care home and its staff, in duty of care, and the failure to record and report the incident, along with conflicting accounts of what actually happened to cause such injuries, remain unresolved.<br />
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Failures by the hospital, not only in their duty of care, but dignity, respect, record keeping, the administration of controlled medicines, and the attitude of staff towards both patients and family members, is frightening.<br />
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During this incredibly difficult time, they had to deal with the unexpected death of a close family member, and long journeys, by car or train, from the east coast to the west coast, in order to visit their increasingly ill Mother.<br />
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Suzan has 33 years experience in both health and social care, but none of this would be of any help to her Mother - time after time the family’s requests were either ignored, or not acted upon. Nothing they did would help.<br />
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<strong>My feelings...</strong><br />
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Being a carer for my Mother, I have to admit, that at times, I was in tears as I read about the unfolding events and crises that occurred during the weeks and months, of Suzan’s Mother’s stay in hospital. It was a journey I could very definitely relate to. Some of it, a journey I have yet to make. A journey, I sincerely hope, will not be as difficult and distressing, as the one experienced by Suzan and her family.<br />
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<strong>Suzan’s mission...</strong><br />
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Suzan now has a mission to try to improve health and social care for older people. To ensure that that care, is of the required standard, that staff are able to voice their concerns without redress, and that the current re-active system to address issues in health and social care services, becomes pro-active. In the hope that what happened to her Mother, will never happen again. A mission for which, being an unpaid family carer, I would give my wholehearted support.<br />
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For everyone interested in, or concerned about, the care of an older person, within health and social care services, not only in this country, but across the developed world, and beyond, this is - a must read!<br />
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<em><strong>Suzan Collins</strong> is a professional trainer and consultant in health and social care, working across the country. She assess staff performance in Health, Social Care and Management, delivers training, carries out pre-inspection (Care Quality Commission) compliance checks and advises on policies and procedures on subjects that include 'safeguarding' vulnerable people from harm and abuse. Suzan campaigns for better standards of health and social care in care/nursing homes, at home and in hospitals. She also campaigns for better support for staff providing this care. In addition, she is author of six, internationally selling open-learning workbooks, one of which is on <strong>Safeguarding Adults</strong>.</em><br />
<em></em><br />
<a href="http://www.hammersmithbooks.co.uk/"><span style="color: #3778cd;">www.hammersmithbooks.co.uk</span></a> Martynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06959631518843523408noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-356459059609355861.post-35885281493251537502013-11-04T06:55:00.001-08:002013-11-04T08:12:16.638-08:00My not so usual day in the life of a full-time carer – calling NHS 111 in the early hours of the morningAlthough the day started as normal, the following 24 hours were to prove somewhat different. Mum was fine during the day, but gradually became a little more confused in the evening. This often occurs just before a bowel movement.<br />
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Throughout the evening, I continued check to see if the commode was needed, and as is often the case, it was finally required at around 03:30 in the morning. As Mum can’t get out of bed by herself, she has to be hoisted onto the commode. Whilst on the commode, she became more vague and confused, and was trying to retch, but producing nothing.<br />
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Once Mum had finished with the commode, and I had cleaned her and hoisted her back on to the bed, it was clear that she may need a doctor to come and see her, I suspected it might be a UTI. I have a tub of Urine Reagent Strips, and was able to carry out a test. Whilst the test was negative for leukocytes, it was positive for blood, another possible sign of a UTI, she's had a history of occasional UTIs since late 2012.<br />
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Fairly recently in the UK, the National Health Service (NHS) introduced the 111 service for non-emergency medical calls. Often criticised for its poor service, I was able to put it to the test.<br />
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I called the service at 04:26 in the morning, and after answering the usual computer generated questions, and saying I thought it might be a UTI, I was informed that a clinician would call me back. The call-back came 17 minutes later, after being asked pretty much the same questions again, I was asked to check Mum’s blood glucose level - it was raised at 8.8 mmol/L (158 mg/dl). The clinician agreed that a doctor should be sent to see Mum, but that it could take up to two hours. I then had to wait for the doctor to call me.<br />
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I was called at around 05:03, and asked what the symptoms were, the doctor told me he’d be round as soon as possible.<br />
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He arrived at 05:55, and carried out the usual checks, temperature 37 °C (98.6 °F), listened to her chest, and asked her if she had any pain. He then asked me how easy it would be to get a urine sample, I explained it would be difficult, but that I had managed to use a test strip, and was able to tell him the results.<br />
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He agreed that it was quite likely to be a UTI, and prescribed the antibiotic Trimethoprim, to be taken twice a day, for seven days.<br />
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By the time the doctor left, it was almost exactly two hours since I made the initial call – so I can’t really complain. He also had the Trimethoprim with him, so no need for a prescription and no need for a trip to the pharmacy. Here in West Sussex, the 111 service seems to be operating efficiently, at least in this case.<br />
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The down side, and nothing to do with 111, a sleepless night for me - one of the joys in the life of a full-time carer!!Martynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06959631518843523408noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-356459059609355861.post-43833070068159636712013-11-01T06:47:00.000-07:002013-11-01T10:23:58.555-07:00Salisbury NHS Foundation Trust sells own brand moisturising cream<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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In 2012, Salisbury NHS Foundation Trust launched its own moisturising cream under the brand My Trusty Little Sunflower Cream®. It is based on a formula developed at Salisbury District Hospital over twenty years ago.<br />
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Developed with the assistance of clinical scientists and the hospital pharmacy department, it proved popular with patients, many of whom requested that it be made available to buy after they’d been discharged. The cream was originally used to help with post-operative skin care in burns and plastic surgery.<br />
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In what was the first venture of its kind within the NHS, the Trust decided to market the cream to help raise additional funds to further improve patient care. The original formula has been adapted for the 21st Century, and is available in both unscented and lavender. 100% of the profits generated from sales, are re-invested into patient care.<br />
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The cream, which contains 5% pure sunflower oil, is rich in essential fatty acids, free from perfume, lanolin, colour, and parabens, and is not tested on animals. It helps replace essential fatty acids, and improves the texture of skin. The scented version contains pure lavender essential oils.<br />
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The original cream, still manufactured at the hospital pharmacy, is available for purchase at Salisbury District Hospital.<br />
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My Trusty Little Sunflower Cream® is also available from the hospital, or can be purchased on-line from the website <a href="http://www.sunflowercream.com/">www.sunflowercream.com</a>Martynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06959631518843523408noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-356459059609355861.post-57056595859787874662013-10-29T17:41:00.000-07:002013-10-30T07:30:26.211-07:00My poem for Mum - living with dementia<span style="font-family: Arial;"></span><br />
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To find out more about the Purple Angel click <a href="http://www.purpleangel.org.uk/">http://www.purpleangel.org.uk</a></div>
Martynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06959631518843523408noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-356459059609355861.post-67964238953753618452013-10-29T06:53:00.000-07:002013-10-29T07:01:37.210-07:00Book review - The Essential Guide to Avoiding Dementia<strong><span style="font-size: large;">understanding the risks</span></strong><br />
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">by Mary Jordan</span></strong><br />
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When I was asked to review this book, I was a little concerned about part of the wording of the title – “avoiding dementia”? Is that really possible?<br />
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Certainly maintaining a healthy lifestyle can help. But can it actually prevent dementia, or merely delay onset? As is very clearly stated in the book, dementia is not part of the ageing process, and that certain types of dementia can develop in younger people. In many cases dementia can be caused by other underlying conditions. Taking action to prevent or control these conditions, could well help to avoid dementia.<br />
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However, the book doesn’t just cover possible ways to avoid dementia, but also what to do if it is diagnosed. This is certainly helpful, both for the person with dementia, and their families.<br />
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Mary draws upon research carried out around the world, to illustrate how certain factors such as healthy lifestyles, exercise and diet, may help reduce the risk of dementia and cognitive decline. Other, less obvious factors that may also contribute positively towards avoidance are good levels of education, variety in lifestyle, social contacts and leisure pursuits. She also covers the effects of a number of factors which may increase the risks.<br />
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Where dementia is diagnosed, exercise again plays an important role, though from personal experience as a carer for my Mother, who has vascular dementia, and very limited mobility, this isn’t always possible. Maintaining a nutrient rich diet can also help, and the use of full-fat milk, eggs, cheese, butter, and oily fish on a regular basis is encouraged. Reading this was heartening, as when my Mother was discharged from hospital in late 2012, having suffered a serious UTI, it was my intention to wean her off the food supplements she had been prescribed. This I did gradually, and she now enjoys the same, non-processed, hearty meals as me.<br />
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The effect of a head or brain trauma as a contributory factor is also investigated, as is stress, psychological trauma and even PTSD, all of which appear to increase the risk of developing dementia. Illnesses and diseases - such as heart and vascular disease and diabetes, along with many others - can also be a trigger. Treatment and control of these conditions may again help prevent, or at least delay the onset of dementia.<br />
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The last chapter covers actions to be taken when someone is worried they may be developing dementia. These range from what to do and who to see for diagnosis, and how to maintain as normal a lifestyle as possible after diagnosis. The chapter closes with a simple statement, perfect for both the person living with dementia and their family – “get the most out of life everyday”. A wonderful piece of advice, and something I personally follow on a daily basis. Enjoy every moment, every smile, share the laughter, and share the journey.<br />
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Also included is a glossary of terms used, and an appendix containing a description of different parts of the brain, how they may be affected by dementia, and what some of the symptoms and effects might be.<br />
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For those wanting to know more about dementia, the underlying causes, how to try to avoid it, or how to live with it, this book is certainly a good reference point. Whilst not everyone will develop dementia, and some may well avoid it using the advice provided, some may not - there is however, sufficient information to be of use to those who are unfortunate enough to be diagnosed with the condition, and also to help their families and carers acquire a greater knowledge and understanding about dementia, and help their loved one lead as normal a life as possible. <br />
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<em><strong>Mary Jordan</strong> has experience on both sides of dementia care - as a carer to friends and relatives, and professionally through her work with a national charity; she daily supports people with a diagnosis of dementia, together with their carers. For many years she worked for the National Health Service and has also served in the Armed Forces. In addition to articles and papers published in medical, nursing and social care journals, and general magazines, Mary is also known for her books <strong>The Essential Carer's Guide</strong>, <strong>The Fundholder's Handbook</strong> and the award winning <strong>End of Life: the Essential Guide to Caring</strong>.</em><br />
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<a href="http://www.hammersmithbooks.co.uk/">www.hammersmithbooks.co.uk</a>Martynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06959631518843523408noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-356459059609355861.post-29476723989212577502013-10-26T08:55:00.001-07:002013-10-26T09:08:45.501-07:00Caring for Mum - my story - blogtalkradio interview with Denise BrownI took part as a guest on blogtalkradio with Denise Brown from Chicago, Illinois, in October 2013. Denise runs <a href="http://www.caregiving.com/">http://www.caregiving.com/</a> in the States.<br />
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We talked about my caring role for my Mum who has vascular dementia. The interview is available at the link below<br />
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<a href="http://www.blogtalkradio.com/caregiving/2013/10/15/caring-for-mom">http://www.blogtalkradio.com/caregiving/2013/10/15/caring-for-mom</a>Martynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06959631518843523408noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-356459059609355861.post-62427623098569043372013-10-26T07:43:00.000-07:002013-10-26T08:43:15.337-07:00Worthing - Working towards a dementia friendly communityTuesday 22 October 2013, saw the first meeting of the Worthing Area Dementia Open Forum. Unfortunately, due to my caring duties, I was unable to attend. I did however contact the organisers beforehand, asking to be kept up to date on any developments.<br />
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I now have the minutes from the meeting, and will discuss here some of the matters arising.<br />
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35 people attended the forum including representatives from the Alzheimer’s Society <a href="http://www.alzheimers.org.uk/">http://www.alzheimers.org.uk/</a>, Guild Care <a href="http://www.guildcare.org/">http://www.guildcare.org/</a> and West Sussex County Council <a href="http://www.westsussex.gov.uk/">http://www.westsussex.gov.uk/</a> along with carers, people living with dementia and health and social care professionals.<br />
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The opportunity for people to become Dementia Friends or Dementia Champions was raised. Dementia Friends <a href="http://www.dementiafriends.org.uk/">http://www.dementiafriends.org.uk/</a> is an initiative funded by the UK government and run by the Alzheimer’s Society, with the primary aim of creating dementia friendly communities.<br />
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Some of the issues raised at the meeting included: <br />
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<strong><span style="font-size: large;">Doctors (GPs)</span></strong><br />
From personal experience many GPs and their staff, have little understanding of dementia, yet for many, GP’s surgeries are the first point of contact in the UK health care system. Improved dementia awareness in GP’s surgeries should be made a priority.<br />
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<strong><span style="font-size: large;">Information about services available</span></strong><br />
A need was identified for printed information about all of the local services available to those living with dementia and their carers. This information would of course have to be kept up to date, all too often such information is out of date with incorrect contact details, or signposting services no longer available.<br />
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There is certainly quite a lot of printed information available for carers, including the West Sussex Care Guide, which contains useful information and a directory of services available.<br />
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<strong><span style="font-size: large;">Future representatives from other organisations</span></strong><br />
Suggestions were put forward for representatives from other local organisations to attend future forum meetings, these included; a GP lead for dementia, the Salvation Army, Carers Trust, local theatres, local cinemas, the Red Cross, ICIS (part of the Helplines Partnership finding help for people when times are difficult), local leisure centres, coffee shops, the Rotary Club and the local Freemasons.<br />
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Being from a military background, I’d also add SSAFA and The Royal British Legion, to represent ex-service people and their families.<br />
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Another suggestion from a Twitter friend would be Sussex Police, who are already supportive and well informed about dementia.<br />
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From my own point of view, I think the more local organisations and businesses represented the better. It is important that employers are aware of the difficulties sometimes faced by working carers. It was such a lack of understanding and flexibility that caused me to give up working, in order to care for my Mum.<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><strong>Dementia friendly shops and taxis</strong></span><br />
Shops and taxis identified as dementia friendly to display stickers to let people know. A similar scheme is currently operating in Torbay, under the Torbay Dementia Action Alliance <a href="http://tdaa.co.uk/">http://tdaa.co.uk/</a> , encouraged by the inspirational Norman McNamara (Norrms) and his wife Elaine. Norrms has Lewy Body dementia. As part of this alliance, and inspired by Norrms, the Purple Angel <a href="http://www.purpleangel.org.uk/">http://www.purpleangel.org.uk/</a> has been adopted as a symbol of hope for all those living with dementia. In fact, the Purple Angel has been adopted in many places around the world.<br />
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Perhaps Worthing should do the same.<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><strong>The use of Social Media</strong></span><br />
Although the minutes confine this to “spreading the word, for things such as meetings”, many of us who regularly tweet on Twitter, are already doing it! We “spread the word” about dementia across the world. I could list a whole raft of people I’ve met on Twitter “spreading the word”, so for anyone interested, it would probably be easier to give my Twitter name, @ZkidooKreativ, so anyone can then discover the many who are indeed “spreading the word”, including Norrms!<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><strong>Carer recognition</strong></span><br />
Encouraging services and business to recognise that someone is a carer - this is certainly a problem, many of the businesses and services carers have to deal with, are completely unaware of what being a carer really is like. This also, as already mentioned, involves carers who are also employees. Refreshingly, I recently took part in an on-line survey for Argos, the section asking about employment actually listed “full-time carer” – well done Argos! At least one company recognises us!<br />
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Unfortunately other companies don’t! Very recently I was in contact with Sky, due to problems with my phone line and broadband. Whilst trying to be helpful in resolving the issue, I was kept on the telephone for over an hour, even though Sky had been informed in an email regarding the same matter, that I WAS a full-time carer. Had my Mum needed any help during this time, which fortunately she didn’t, I would have had difficulty in explaining to the Sky representative that they would have to call back. Why? Because the representative was totally unaware of my carer status.<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><strong>Singing for memory groups</strong></span><br />
Many of us who care for someone living with dementia, know of the value of music as a tool both for the memory, and for helping to calm and reassure. I won’t add anything further here, as I have already written an earlier post on the subject – <a href="http://design4dementia.blogspot.co.uk/2013/07/dementia-music-and-emotions.html">http://design4dementia.blogspot.co.uk/2013/07/dementia-music-and-emotions.html</a> <br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><strong>Men in Sheds</strong></span><br />
Men in Sheds was an AgeUK pilot project that supported older men who wanted to get together, share and learn new skills - all in the welcoming space of a ‘Shed’. There are now several similar groups around the country.<br />
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Men In Sheds Worthing <a href="http://meninshedsworthing.org.uk/">http://meninshedsworthing.org.uk/</a> is about a larger version of the typical man’s shed in the garden, a place where he feels at home and pursues practical interests without worrying about making a mess. Men In Sheds offers this to a group of men where members share the tools and resources they need to work on projects of their own choosing at their own pace and in a safe, friendly and inclusive venue. It is a place of skill-sharing and informal learning, of individual pursuits and community projects, of purpose, achievement and social interaction. A place of leisure where men come together to work. <br />
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The activities usually involve making or mending in wood (e.g. carpentry, wood turning, carving, and furniture renovation) and may include activities as varied as tool renovation and upholstery. Reclamation, reuse and restoration feature strongly in what they do. The essence of Men In Sheds is not a building, which some don’t have, but the network of relationships between the members.<br />
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I have to admit, it’s probably not a group I’d join myself, but I am sure it proves helpful to many.<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><strong>The availability of information about dementia</strong></span><br />
There is of course a plethora of information about dementia on the internet, from a variety of different sources, some reliable and some not so. The Alzheimer’s Society <a href="http://www.alzheimers.org.uk/">http://www.alzheimers.org.uk/</a> has quite a lot of information on its website, but something highlighted at the meeting was the simple fact that the Alzheimer’s Society doesn’t make it clear enough that its services are for all types of dementia and not just Alzheimer’s Disease.<br />
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At the time of Mum’s diagnosis (Vascular Dementia), I was completely unaware that the Alzheimer’s Society did indeed cater for all types of dementia.<br />
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Whilst Alzheimer’s is the most common form of dementia, there are many other forms of the condition. Across the world, many organisations use the umbrella term of Alzheimer’s to identify themselves. This, unfortunately, is often unhelpful, especially in the early days of diagnosis, both for those with other forms of dementia, and their carers. A simple name change could help, such as the Alzheimer’s and Dementia Society, instead of the Alzheimer’s Society, in the case of the UK organisation. Just a thought.<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><strong>Local on-line dementia forum</strong></span><br />
Whilst this could work, it would rely on a reasonable uptake by potential users. Local forums can often exist with no-one posting on them for months at a time. There are however national forums already in existence, where threads can be created for a more local feel, and where people from a specific area or region can share thoughts and information. Generally, sharing is pretty much on a national basis, giving access to far more information, and sharing experiences with a greater number of people who find themselves in similar situations.<br />
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Personally, I use the Carers UK Forum <a href="http://forum.carersuk.org/">http://forum.carersuk.org/</a> regularly, and whilst not all members are carers for someone living with dementia, quite a few are, and there is a specific group of threads dedicated to dementia.<br />
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The Alzheimer’s Society also has its own on-line forum Talking Point <a href="http://forum.alzheimers.org.uk/forum.php">http://forum.alzheimers.org.uk/forum.php</a> . I’ve posted there a few times as well.<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><strong>Educating younger people about dementia</strong></span><br />
This is certainly an area that should be given serious consideration, and it has recently attracted considerable interest on a number of Twitter chats. I won’t go into any great detail here as a Twitter friend has already covered much of it at <a href="http://karims3d.com/2013/10/17/dementia-friendly-schools-%e2%96%b7-a-primer-to-anti-stigma-campaigns/">http://karims3d.com/2013/10/17/dementia-friendly-schools-%e2%96%b7-a-primer-to-anti-stigma-campaigns/</a><br />
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<strong><span style="font-size: large;">Gathering momentum</span></strong><br />
Whilst this was the first meeting of its kind in the Worthing area, it already indicates that there is a hint of what could hopefully be a strong movement to create a dementia friendly community. Let’s hope it continues and gathers momentum.Martynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06959631518843523408noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-356459059609355861.post-91649140538921706252013-10-18T16:47:00.002-07:002013-10-19T15:42:04.560-07:00Dying with dignity<em>This is a subject close to my heart. I experienced death with dignity in 1994, when my Father lost his long battle with cancer. Right up until his last few days, he fought against multiple myeloma and cancer of the oesophagus.</em><br />
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<em>After diagnosis, and a little research, Mum and I knew Dad had a maximum of two years to live. Yes he smoked, hence cancer of the oesophagus. The multiple myeloma, his primary cancer, was a different matter - no-one knew what had caused that. Some specialists even asked if he’d been anywhere near some of the atomic detonations during the 1950s. He’d been a soldier during that time, right up until the early 70s. As far as we knew, he hadn’t, and that’s what he said too.</em><br />
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<em>Although Dad slowly became visibly weaker during his last few months, he was still active, and through the pain, still tried to maintain as normal a life as possible. As a proud man, it was beyond him to ask for help, unless it was really necessary.</em><br />
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<em>Like my Father, I also chose a role in the military, albeit in my case, part-time. I joined what is known as the Territorial Army here in the UK, very similar to the US National Guard. On returning home to my parents’ house after a training evening, I found Mum struggling to help Dad to the toilet. She wasn’t strong enough, and was relieved at my arrival.</em><br />
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<em>My Dad looked at me and said “I’m knackered son”, he was clearly in distress, and needed assistance in order to get to the toilet, which I was able help him do.</em><br />
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<em>By the following morning, a Thursday, it was clear that his life was coming to an end, the words he spoke to me the night before, were the last I would hear.</em><br />
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<em>He slipped into a coma, and his body slowly started to shut down.</em><br />
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<em>The Doctor came to visit that day, and said quite clearly that it wouldn’t be long now. He also left a large bottle of diamorphine, in order to relieve any pain, stating that we should administer a dose as and when needed.</em><br />
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<em>For most of the day, Dad lay in bed peacefully unconscious. By the evening however, things began to change, his breathing became shallower, and he lost all bowel and urinary control. Thanks to a neighbour who worked in a care home, we were able to keep him clean, and to a degree, comfortable.</em><br />
<em>Diamorphine was administered throughout the night, when needed, as he slowly began to slip away.</em><br />
<em>The following morning, his sister came to visit him, and sat with him for about an hour.</em><br />
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<em>After I’d taken her home, a short half mile drive away. I went back, and checked on Dad. His pulse was slow and weak, and his breathing shallow. I called Mum in, and said that I thought he was about to go.</em><br />
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<em>As we stood there with him, I felt his last two pulses, and then he left us. He left this world in the company of the two people he cared about most - Me and Mum. We were with him at the very end. Just the way he would have wanted it to be. That’s death with dignity. He didn’t want his sister there - and just hung on until the time was right.</em><br />
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Yes it hurt, but in a strange way, it wasn’t just a relief for Dad. I felt relieved. His suffering was over, yet there was something else. The moment of death and sharing it with him made it so much easier to accept. Mum and I had a big hug, shed a few tears. But we knew he was now at peace, and would suffer no more. We had shared in his life, and at that vital moment we shared in his death. Something I can still celebrate. Yes, celebrate!<br />
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My Dad died in such a way that it made it easier for Mum and me to accept it, and to remember, still vividly, the moment he passed away.<br />
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That brings me on to the next part of this post – assisted dying. Should it, or should it not be legalised?<br />
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Personally, I have pretty strong views on this subject, and that is thanks to my Dad.<br />
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As stated earlier, we were able to administer diamorphine to Dad, as and when he needed it, in order to relieve pain. That is what we did. Yet, diamorphine can have a secondary effect - it can also assist in the dying process. This secondary, or double effect, is legal in many countries around the world. So long as pain relief is the primary aim, if death is a “side effect” then that’s acceptable.<br />
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There are of course other methods of “accelerating” death, many methods of which are also regarded as perfectly legal in many countries. Many care pathways, including the somewhat controversial Liverpool Pathway here in the UK, allow for the withdrawal of vital medicines, fluids and nutrients when someone is judged to be approaching end of life, or that the person concerned is in a vegetive state. Often the problem here is who actually makes the judgment. Clearly, the patient by this time - is no longer able to make that decision for themselves.<br />
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As individuals, as long as we’re able to make such a decision, whether we live or die, should be our choice. If assisted dying was legalised it would enable perfectly healthy people to state quite categorically what should happen if they were suddenly, through illness, or accident, placed in a situation where their life would be unsustainable without extreme medical intervention.<br />
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Here, I’m not talking of life changing events, where initially the casualty may feel they have lost the will to live because the psychological trauma of dealing with a life changing injury is too much. This is about whether there is a life to be lived or not. A life without pain, a life without suffering, a life that is not cruel. Where someone feels their life, through such traumatic events has become unbearable, and unliveable, they should at least be given an option, a simple yes or no scenario. Their personal choice will be based around many factors, and any conclusions or choices should not be taken lightly.<br />
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Life is a gift, but sometimes that gift can be too much to bear. Many people take their own lives each year, for a whole variety of reasons. Able bodied people can take their own lives whenever they want. Why condemn someone who feels life is no longer worth living, yet through disability or inability through mental or physical factors, is unable, thanks to outdated laws, to make that decision.<br />
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For some, death is a release. A release from the suffering of this world, a relief from pain. Many of us are strong enough to face many things, including death. A rifle barrel in your face could mean impending death – how would you deal with it? Some would fight, some would collapse in fright, yet others would calmly accept the outcome.<br />
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Death is never far away, and those close to it should be given the choice of whether they wish to continue to live, or not.<br />
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Personally, I believe that where a person is at the end of life, and that life has now become unbearable, through pain and suffering, they should be allowed to make that choice. Or, be given the choice to make that decision in advance.<br />
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We have donor cards, why not have an end of life card, stating quite categorically that person’s wishes when that time comes? It can still have an opt out clause, if needed. This would help alleviate many problems currently encountered between relatives and physicians, when deciding which treatments to continue and which to withhold. Even without legalised assisted dying, this would still work with care pathways and double effect scenarios.<br />
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Just a thought!Martynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06959631518843523408noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-356459059609355861.post-69991219617068710032013-10-08T19:27:00.001-07:002013-10-08T19:27:57.840-07:00Stigma and the male caregiver! Time to ignore and overcome...OK - in at the deep end - I care for my Mum, I’m male, and single – suddenly, society thinks this is wrong! Why?<br />
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Let’s get straight to the point, I’m unmarried! Therefore elements of society believe I must be gay! (No offence to any gay readers intended).<br />
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Yet ask one of the agency carers about a subject I brought up this afternoon – when, in the past, I visited Amsterdam’s red light district, or Hamburg’s Reeperbahn. Sorry to be so forthright, but some people would label me as being gay, which I’m not, though there are many gay men, and indeed straight men, who would undoubtedly carry out the same caring role as me.<br />
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This is not about sexuality, or discriminating against people who care. This is about why we care. We care, because we love – period! Don't judge us on sexuality, or the reason why we choose to care. That is our choice - a choice we are free to make.<br />
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My relationship with my Mother has always been close, but such a relationship doesn’t define anyone’s sexuality. Society however seems to have a different view. A view which, until recently, also affected me. I wouldn’t admit to being a full-time caregiver for my Mum, because I was afraid of how I would be judged.<br />
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Things have changed!<br />
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Why? Because I’m proud, and happy to be so. I’m now confident enough to admit to others what I do, because I’m proud to be an advocate for my Mum, myself, and others in similar circumstances. Being a caregiver to someone you love, is possibly, aside from having a baby, one of the most rewarding roles you will ever encounter in life. Ultimately, because of the final outcome, it can also be one of the most painful.<br />
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My life has been varied, and by comparison to others, exciting. My Dad was in the army, we lived in Germany for much of my younger life, including four years in West Berlin, at the height of the Cold War, and Northern Ireland, at the start of the troubles.<br />
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I also served for twenty six years in the Territorial Army (UK equivalent of the US National Guard).<br />
<br />Taking all of this into consideration, why are male caregivers regarded in such a way?<br />
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Caregiving has for far too long been regarded as a female role. Everyone has the capability to care, regardless of gender - nature only too clearly proves this - from the humble male stickleback, caring for his offspring, to the big apes, where the alpha male not only continues his genetic strengths, but also protects his hareem and offspring.<br />
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Role sharing within human society has existed since the days of hunter gatherers - the industrial revolution changed much of that. The male became the breadwinner, whilst the female stayed at home, to care for the family – very much a recent concept, in the course of human history.<br />
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Too many of us are now willing to place the care of elderly parents in the hands of others, rather than doing it for ourselves. Why?<br />
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In many ways, society dictates that they should.<br />
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Whilst as a single man with no dependents, it is easy for me to become a caregiver to my Mother. The same is not the case for a married man, with a family, wishing to do the same. This is wrong - we all have the right to care. To care, for those we love, regardless of who they are.<br />
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As we get older, and as more of us survive into our eighties, nineties and beyond - there will be an increased need for family caregivers, male or female. Age does not discriminate, nor should society’s perception of caregivers!<br />
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Whether you're a male or female caregiver, it's time to speak out! Tell the world we care! We care for the ones who once cared for us! We care for those who, because of an act of nature, were never given the opportunity to care in the first place, or to make that choice. We care - period!<br />
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Once a caregiver, always a caregiver!<br />
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Martynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06959631518843523408noreply@blogger.com1