Almost a crisis
Yesterday I started to tell you about the difficult start to my day when Ash came through at 4am to tell me off for talking to him about some subject he couldn't remember. I wrote about the cup of tea I took him along with his tablets to calm him down and then about how I escaped to the beach the minute L arrived to take my place. I told you about the relaxing time I had just lying on the sand, soaking up the sun and listening to lovely music and I was about to tell you that when I got home it was to discover he'd spent the day up and down, in and out, unable to settle at all so it was obvious that things weren't right.
All of that was on this page when, at 7pm I realised that Max the dog had spent the past 2 hrs walking round and round the garden unable to settle and every other thought left my head. Either Max had picked up on Ash's anxiety or there was something going on with him too.
This was not good. Max is at the very top of Ash's list of important family members. I like to think that Jake, the 7 year old and I are of equal rank but we come nowhere near Max and I'm currently nurturing him more than I've nurtured any dog we've ever had. He's 12 now so anything which requires a vet isn't good news and I immediately started to worry.
This could be a very long story but you don't have time so I'll just say that our usual vet wasn't available but I had one of those very useful lightbulb moments and contacted someone I know just a little and who is a vet. She came straight over and made some suggestions of what it might be and what to do to ease the situation then left telling me to call her if I was in the least worried later on. Of this stuff angels are made.
She did say that if Max was no better by 11pm then to call the out of hours vet but I had no idea how I'd manage the dog AND Ash if we had to go anywhere at that time of night so I crossed my fingers and hoped for the best.
I'm sure you'll be pleased to know that when I came down this morning Max was absolutely fine and neither he nor Ash seemed to have any recollection of how we'd spent the previous evening and neither of them had any idea how long I'd laid awake trying to work out what I'd do if Max didn't survive.
Life with dementia is mostly about hoping life doesn't throw out too many changes, trying to work out what to do if change is unavoidable or pretending all is ok in the midst of a crisis. Last night I was doing all three.