A Stranger to my Mum
My mum turned 84 in October 2022 and I write this story in honour of her. She is not likely to ever read it and even if she did, I wonder if she’d understand it. Like menopause, dementia is one topic that was alien to me. In my culture, it’s not very understood nor talked about. We don’t run Care Homes for old people in my country but rather keep them within the extended family. In hindsight, I can now relate to a few grandparents who suddenly went “funny”. For years, the families could not fathom their irrational behaviour and therefore resorted to either mainstream medicine or traditional native doctors, mostly to no avail. Little did they know that it was dementia. One thing I know is that dementia respects no one. Margaret Thatcher, the onetime prime minister of Great Britain was struck down by dementia and ended up in a Care Home.
Having the first-hand experience with my mum has left me aghast. What exactly is dementia? It is a disease of the brain which is hardly reversible. It is not a normal part of ageing because not everyone gets it. One of its signs is memory impairment, as seen in their inability to recall short term events. They might not remember things they just heard but might have a strong ability to remember specific events from the past.
I didn’t think much of it when my mum would repeatedly tell the same stories and ask the same questions. “How many children do you have? Are all your children married?” These were questions she asked every single time I called her. She also could never remember their names. I just brushed it aside as “old age”. It finally hit me when she visited the UK in August 2021. I got the shock of my life when she didn’t recognise me at the airport. She was alert, chirpy and knew she was going to visit her daughter Hennang in London. That was as far as her brain could fathom. It didn’t register when she landed in Heathrow and saw me. She just stared blankly with a smile on her face. It was heart breaking trying to introduce myself to my mum. I tried to make light of it by waving it off as old age.
The one-hour drive to Milton Keynes was uneventful as she was understandably tired. We eventually got home, and I settled her into her room. She had a bath, had her dinner and by 8pm, went straight to bed. As I was going downstairs for a drink by 11.30pm, I saw the front door opening and mama stepping into the house. You could imagine my shock. “Where are you coming from?” I asked in panic. “I needed to collect my towel from the washing line outside”. She calmly replied. At that point, it began to dawn on me what we were up against. To begin with, there’s no washing line in my house and neither was her towel on it! She obviously still wasn’t aware that she had left Jos and was now in Milton Keynes. I was so grateful she didn’t wander off somewhere and get lost.
Dementia is no respecter of persons. With my mum, I just decided to look at the funny side and not let it depress me. The good part is that she is naturally gentle and soft spoken and so we didn’t experience any violent behaviour. Some families are not so fortunate. I have heard of people lashing out and slapping. A friend told me about her mum who “all of a sudden started behaving very strangely”. She accused her children of trying to poison her and refused to eat home cooked food except it’s from one person. She became overly suspicious of everybody. No one could reason with her, and they couldn’t figure out what the problem was. It started immediately she left her familiar home for a new location.
Having my mother spend time with me was an experience. It seemed her brain couldn’t retain any new information. Everyday she’d ask at least ten times, “what day is it?” I discovered that her favourite day was Saturday. That’s when they have their Zumuntan Mata (Women’s Fellowship). Whenever we saw her all dressed up with her handbag and loop earrings, we’d know she was ready for Zumunta. I would normally ask, “where are you off to”. “Zumunta, please can you tell David to give me my car keys”. In the earlier days, I’d feel so deflated because it was obvious, she still didn’t know where she was. I would then gently explain, “Mama, you are in London with Hennang. You are not in Jos”. I’d take her to the window and show her the houses across the road. She’d get a blank look on her face, frown a little and say, “I don’t understand, all I want is my car keys to go for Zumunta”. I could spend as much as ten minutes trying to help her understand where she was. I wish I’d known better, I wouldn’t have wasted so much time trying to reason with her. Eventually, I got some large placards and wrote these messages. MAMA, YOU ARE NOT IN JOS, YOU ARE IN LONDON WITH HENNANG”, this was pasted on the wardrobe to her left facing her. I put another one on the wall facing her. I also had to label all the doors so she wouldn’t get confused and go to the wrong room. We also had to change the lock to the front door so she wouldn’t let herself out unawares. We never allowed her out on her own.
My mum couldn’t recognise my daughter (Annie) anymore. She knew about my three children but couldn’t remember their names or faces. My daughter was the only one still at home and their rooms faced each other. My mum would always ask who this lady was that lived in our house. It seemed to upset her a little that someone was sponging off us. Mama was very set in her ways. She would unfailingly switch off lights, every single one had to be turned off. She would even switch off her phone charger because of the little green indicator bulb. It was frustrating for me because it meant her phone was constantly dead. Even the television had to be switched off because the cable had a little indicator light. One day she switched off all the sockets’ downstairs and we couldn’t have any Wi Fi.
Although she couldn’t seem to retain any information, there were some landmark memories that she held on to. She was very proud of her nursing career and how she was able to reach the pinnacle. She had served as the Chief Nursing Officer of Plateau State. She also daily talked about her time in the Royal College of Nursing in England. Dementia couldn’t erase those memories. I can never forget the day she asked me, “Hennang, is my mum still alive? I’d like to get her a special gift from London”. My eyes actually filled with tears as I realised how much she must have cared for her mother. I gently explained to her that her mum had passed away a few years ago (32 to be precise). Another cherished memory was her eightieth birthday party. She couldn’t stop talking about it. She had enjoyed it so much that she started hinting at her next big party, the ninetieth. At 82, she was convinced she was eighty-six going on eighty-seven. Her disappointment was almost palpable when I told her she was going to be eighty-three. “Really, only eighty-three! Are you sure I’m not eighty-six?”, she would ask.
Her birthday was a few days away and we were planning a small celebration for her. I had to explain to her that it was her birthday, and that we were going out to eat. Her face lit up because she understood it to mean she was having another grand birthday party. It was one memory she never tired of. We decided to take her for dinner at a grill. I chose a lovely leopard skin jumper and black trousers for her to wear. Our table was booked for 8pm and I got mama ready before dashing upstairs to get dressed. By the time I came back to her room fifteen minutes later, she was in her pyjamas and wrapped up under the duvet. It was beyond belief. How could she have forgotten so quickly? The dementia brain is a special work of art. It’s almost like a sieve that retains nothing. You pour into it, and it just flows through effortlessly. I let out a sigh of exasperation as I got her dressed again. That evening, we had a lot of fun as it was also her last day with us.
The following day, we got ready for the airport. We had since concluded that she couldn’t travel back alone. I would have to take her home. Everything went smoothly until we were seated for take-off. She was in Premium Economy, and I was behind in Economy. One of the triggers seems to be whenever she is taken away from a familiar environment, her confusion escalates. It just wasn’t confusion; but utter panic. I could see her trying to grasp her new environment. I explained her challenges to the air hostesses and that she might need extra attention. We had hardly taken off before she clutched her handbag and walked towards me. She asked if the bus driver knew where to drop her off. I tried to pacify her every single time she came looking for me. By the time we landed, she didn’t even know who I was.
Thank God Almighty, we had a safe flight and she got back home in one piece.
Thank you for taking the time to read my blog. It is a story thats so personal to me. Kindly leave a comment below if you’ve had any experience with dementia. I’m still trying to grasp the reality of being a stranger to my mum. Not just me, I heard she couldnt recognise my brother too when he visited.
