ALZHEIMER'S disease and the dementia it causes irrevocably changes a person's capacity to think and function. Even in the most supportive settings, dementia is tough to come to grips with, for sufferers and caregivers alike.
Yet, in South Africa, traditional support structures - communities, families and health services - routinely turn their backs on people with dementia. This is a story of the struggle and desolation that ensues:
It is 4.32am and Joyce Peterson, 74, is standing next to the bed of her daughter and son-in-law. Jean Erasmus awakes and recognises her mother's silhouette against the faint glow of the curtain. Joyce is mumbling in a tone that has until recently been unfamiliar to Jean.
Once a resolute woman, she now seems timid and upset.
Jean reaches across her husband (Deon has a 10-hour shift coming up), she flicks on the bedside lamp. She pulls on a pair of slippers. The light is turned off again.
"Come now, Mammie," Jean says, gently taking her mother by the arm. "Let me take you back to bed."
As they cross the hall Jean takes care to guide her mother's shuffling feet away from obstacles imagined to be hidden in the dark. Jean usually clears four-year-old Amy's scattered toys before she goes to bed. All the while Joyce is mumbling but Jean doesn't respond. She doesn't want to wake the rest of the family. This is her mother and, as usual, she's riddled with guilt: "Sssh ma, asseblief nou." In the bedroom Joyce shares with her granddaughter Natasha, Jean pulls back the sheets on her mother's single bed. They are wet. Jean sighs and looks at her mother despairingly - oh God, again?
But Jean shrugs off any thought of self-pity and turns her attention to her mother. She is also distressed.
"Foeitog, mammie," Jean whispers. "There, there. It's okay now." She hugs and holds her mother for a while, then helps her to change into a dressing gown. There will be no more sleeping tonight.
It is not uncommon for Jean to find herself in the kitchen, making coffee or stuffing the washing machine, before dawn. After experimenting with prescription drugs, Jean has given up trying to manage her mother's nocturnal restlessness. Now Jean makes do with five or six hours' sleep.
At first, when her mother's behaviour began to change, Jean didn't understand. She stood helplessly by and watched as her mother was transformed into someone unfamiliar - forgetful and confused, with spurts of aggression.
Also new were Joyce's unpredictable mood swings, punctuated with cursing and exclamations for which she would once have washed her grown son's mouth with soap. "And she's also become a danger to herself. If someone forgets to lock the back door, she might walk around aimlessly outside." - Health-e News
Sad story of a life devastated by dementia
ALZHEIMER'S disease and the dementia it causes irrevocably changes a person's capacity to think and function. Even in the most supportive settings, dementia is tough to come to grips with, for sufferers and caregivers alike.
Yet, in South Africa, traditional support structures - communities, families and health services - routinely turn their backs on people with dementia. This is a story of the struggle and desolation that ensues:
It is 4.32am and Joyce Peterson, 74, is standing next to the bed of her daughter and son-in-law. Jean Erasmus awakes and recognises her mother's silhouette against the faint glow of the curtain. Joyce is mumbling in a tone that has until recently been unfamiliar to Jean.
Once a resolute woman, she now seems timid and upset.
Jean reaches across her husband (Deon has a 10-hour shift coming up), she flicks on the bedside lamp. She pulls on a pair of slippers. The light is turned off again.
"Come now, Mammie," Jean says, gently taking her mother by the arm. "Let me take you back to bed."
As they cross the hall Jean takes care to guide her mother's shuffling feet away from obstacles imagined to be hidden in the dark. Jean usually clears four-year-old Amy's scattered toys before she goes to bed. All the while Joyce is mumbling but Jean doesn't respond. She doesn't want to wake the rest of the family. This is her mother and, as usual, she's riddled with guilt: "Sssh ma, asseblief nou." In the bedroom Joyce shares with her granddaughter Natasha, Jean pulls back the sheets on her mother's single bed. They are wet. Jean sighs and looks at her mother despairingly - oh God, again?
But Jean shrugs off any thought of self-pity and turns her attention to her mother. She is also distressed.
"Foeitog, mammie," Jean whispers. "There, there. It's okay now." She hugs and holds her mother for a while, then helps her to change into a dressing gown. There will be no more sleeping tonight.
It is not uncommon for Jean to find herself in the kitchen, making coffee or stuffing the washing machine, before dawn. After experimenting with prescription drugs, Jean has given up trying to manage her mother's nocturnal restlessness. Now Jean makes do with five or six hours' sleep.
At first, when her mother's behaviour began to change, Jean didn't understand. She stood helplessly by and watched as her mother was transformed into someone unfamiliar - forgetful and confused, with spurts of aggression.
Also new were Joyce's unpredictable mood swings, punctuated with cursing and exclamations for which she would once have washed her grown son's mouth with soap. "And she's also become a danger to herself. If someone forgets to lock the back door, she might walk around aimlessly outside." - Health-e News
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