Dear God, I hate this effing illness called Dementia. It's like a ripple effect that causes waves. When I was younger I never thought that life would be this difficult. I think I would be dealing with illness far better if I didn't have to stress about finances all the time. I'm tired of it all. The bills keep a coming and the amount seems to increase constantly. A reversed direct debit can have a knock on effect that causes further direct debits to be returned and it's just a vicious circle.

This morning I bit the bullet, and rang people. I've had a very weepy morning, but the thing that has shone through is how kind the people on the other end of the phone were - which made me feel weepier (is that a word?). The bank lady even wiped the bank charges clean so that I wouldn't get charged the horrific amount that was causing me sleepless nights. The phone company have changed the direct debit date, the catalogue company (that I no longer use but it still has to be paid - let that be a lesson to you...) have agreed an amount that I can afford. For all it's been an emotional morning, and meant I've had to be honest and say "no, I can't manage that" or "yes, I can do that", and not feel embarrassed about the financial situation we're in, I feel like a grey cloud has been lifted. I have enough to worry about without money being an issue, but it's only people with money that say money isn't important. My husband thinks nothing of spending money on things we don't need or didn't know we didn't need, but that then comes out of my housekeeping money so that he hasn't paid for it, but it then means the shopping money is reduced and I still have a family of five to feed. I feel like such a failure to our girls. I am constantly saying "no" to things, I'd love to be able to say "yes", but it won't kill them, I know that. I just think that when they look back on their childhood they'll ask "what childhood". This illness called Dementia has a lot to answer for and doesn't just affect the person who's ill. The next person who tells me "don't worry - it could be worse, it could be cancer or someother such illness" will just get a smile from me and "I hope you never have to find out". Dementia just doesn't care. It doesn't mind if it destroys families, it's cruel, and I'm tired of feeling sad, not depressed but just sad. Painting on a happy face might fool people, maybe it's because they're happy to be fooled and live in the bubble where all is well. We close ranks in this house. We let them see what they're happy to see, cracks occur occasionally, but then you only truly see if you're looking, and until people start looking we'll just keep going.

I'm going to go for a shower, I'm going to put the slap on and I'm going to stick my fingers up to Dementia because it's only going to beat me if I let it - and I don't like being beaten. Dementia might have won a couple of battles, but I've won a few and although I won't win the war, I'll give it a bloody good go. xx

I've been asked by biggy's cadets to join as a grown up. Hubby thinks that this is a great idea - he's thinking of it being like "fat club" for me and that I'll miraculously loose weight. This comment had me laughing. When I said "oooh - I could wear the uniform and stand next to green and look slim" he looked me straight in the face and said dead pan "no, you'd look like a hill". When did he discover a sense of humour?...

I forgot to mention this earlier... probably because my heart rate has only just returned to normal...

I'm sitting downstairs enjoying the sun shining through the window, having a peaceful coffee, tip tapping away on the laptop (tweetering - can you believe that?) and thinking he must be having a lie in because he's been so busy this week not letting himself sit still and catch up. That's when the shriek of my name breaks through the silence and I go into panic overload. Running up the stairs (I don't do running) I'm thinking "Oh My God, he's dying" then thinking " ahhhh his last word on this mortal plane is my name" then the thought "Jesus, I'm going to have to put a bra on if I have to call the ambulance" (I know - need to readjust my thought processes...), only to go into the bedroom and he's wide awake caught up in all the sheets and duvets (would write the other word but my "cue" button doesn't work - "cue"uilt) and I ask him what's wrong. He pulls the duvet back and says he wants a cuddle - "ahhhh isn't that lovely" I thought, I get in beside him for a cuddle and he askes me what's wrong. I put my hand on my heart to show him how my heart is thumping because of him shrieking - that's when the dog thought that it was an invitation to join us and he leaps like an Olympic high jumper (I'm not the slimmest of obstacles to get over) and lands bang on inbetween us looking all excited because he's "allowed" on the bed... I then ask him what he was shrieking my name for. His response... "everyone needs a busom for a pillow..." Now then, my heart is thumping, the dog is flailing about like a fish out of water and he's wanting my busom for a pillow. I'm lying in bed thinking I need to buy some new bras because I'm running low (damn those bras and their runaway underwire) and he shuts his eyes as if he's going back to sleep. The dog, who still isn't speaking to me since the vet incident, was launched off the bed due to a muscle spasm in hubby's leg (he still believes it to have been me that launched him), and then hubby sits bolt upright and goes "time we got up, go and put the kettle on". Honestly, I'd already been up for three hours and to top it off, I can't get that "Everyone needs a busom for a pillow" effing song out of my brain. People wonder why I appear to be losing the plot...

We're doing research on the Renaissance period for my 8 year old's homework. We decided to look at Leonardo de Vinci because he was a general alround genius. The Vetruvian Man is now on the Italian Euro coin and littley decided she'd draw said picture onto her project. We had a bit of a discussion about whether it would be appropriate or not to draw on the willy. We decided against it. (The conversations you have at the table doing homework...) Drawing away she pipes up "what about fugly mummy?" I responded by "what do you mean sweatheart?" "well, what are they again? I'm thinking about it for my picture". I replied that "fugly is a swearword poppet, and not something you should be saying". She looked at me incredulous and went "what? those things that Adam and Eve wear are a swearword, but it's in the Bible mummy." "OHHHHH, the word you are looking for is figleaves". The innocence of children ay? It did make me smile :o)

"I can smell burning" says the visiting child. "It's alright, our kitchen always smells like this when daddy's cooking" said my littley. That did make me smile. 

Seriously chuffed, how sad is that lol. I've tried making bread before and never succeeded, and this time... 

It doesn't take much to make me smile, but I'm sooo looking forward to lunch now. :o)

I've missed blogging for a couple of days. Whilst it has been lovely, it's also been manic. A birthday, a bank holiday, a trip to the dentist's and also the vet's (although not related lol).

His moods seem to be more changeable than they have been for a while and I'm hoping that we're not on a little downward slope. This afternoon I got my head and my hands and my brains to play with because I'd taken money out of the bank to pay for the the dog's trip to the vets. He hadn't wanted me to, yet he had, but no, I hadn't been listening, I'm not allowed to do have anything to do with money, I make things up so that I can confuse him at a later date. His words are mingling more, he's knackered but he won't slow down and my head is all over the place. I'm tired. Not physically tired, but mentally tired - if you can be. I could sleep, and try to, but was kicked out of the bed last night (literally) and couldn't get back in so managed to get in upside down (top and tail) and then woke up with him cuddling my leg, only to be bo**ocked for not being the right way up - I just seem unable to win at anything at the moment.

The thing that confuses me the most, and I apologise for being so near the knuckle (or honest), but when you're being shouted at and snarled at it's very difficult to want to be close to him (intimate for want of a better word). When he first went onto his meds it wasn't an issue because he just wasn't interested, and I felt a sigh of relief (I know, horrid wife - again), Yet now, he is interested and, well (again being honest) I'm not. I've got it into my head that I'm taking advantage or something. How do I know it's something he wants or if he feels he's being lead somewhere he doesn't want to go but feels he has to. It's just not on my agenda anymore, something that has mixed signals for both of us. Yes I'm his wife, but I'm also his carer and when you're doing the caring side (although I don't do anything for him whatsoever...) it can be difficult for me to put my wife hat on. I love him to pieces, I really do and I am lost without him, but this is something that I'm going to have to work on, it's not his fault - it's in my head. When I have the wife head on I find I have to do more and more "care" things, yet when I go into care mode he resents it and then it's difficult for me to want to be intimate with him. I do love him, I just don't always like him, and having sex with someone you don't like... well, I find that a difficult thought. If you back down you're just going through the motions and neither really enjoys it, or if you stand your corner then you're a s**t wife. It's just another case of "I can't win". 

I forgot to add this picture of our spider sausages the other day :o) 

Just a bit of fun in the kitchen with middley, and they didn't half go down well lol. I then thought that maybe it's an easier way of serving spaghetti to anyone who is still eating themselves unaided but who might struggle a little. No twiddley bits of spaghetti falling off the fork. Just a thought. xx

There I was not long ago commenting on how we seem to going along ok. Silly me. Hubby has returned home from his friend's and "what have you done today? Sweet FA". No amount of "I've done this, this or this" works so saying nothing is the best approach. Seriously - if he doesn't see it being done, it hasn't been done and that irritates me. It's almost as if it's best not to do anything so that he can see it being done when he's home. I've seen the day I'm cleaning wood work at 3am and the kitchen floors at silly o'clock because I haven't finished my list of jobs that he's set me for the day. The Dr on Monday asked if he has any OCD. I mentioned that he does, it's cleanliness and housework, but I also mentioned that it isn't him that does it. Cleaning the bathroom with a toothbrush. The oven taking 3 hours to clean, not because it was filthy, but because it had to be done a certain way etc, etc. It's mentally exhausting but easier to do it his way, because if you don't it hasn't been done properly.

Tomorrow is going to be fun... not. I'll be Mrs. Mop, again. Wonder what's going to be on the sodding list... Ah well, I've had the instructions on how to walk correctly (honestly, round and round the coffee table I had to walk, heel to toe, heel to toe) and I've had the instructions on how to breath properly (don't know how my body would have coped without that educational lesson...) and tomorrow will be no different. Ah well, best get to bed so I'm ready bright and early for another productive day - or should I say a more productive day?

It's been a funny old day for me today. I think it's because of all these appointments we've had recently. I always feel a bit flat. This Dementia seems to bother me more than him. It's kind of put me in limbo. When he's in the house I'm selfishly wanting some time to myself and when he's not home I'm feeling lost because what am I supposed to do when he's not here.

The place we're at at the moment lulls me into a false sense of security. We seem to be at a plateau and whilst I'm glad of that I'm always waiting for the "D word" to go "BOO". I seem to work best on adrenaline and when it isn't needed I fall flat. I feel as if I hit a wall and start wallowing in self pity. I can't believe just how selfish I am. I'm not willing him to be ill, I'm really not. I just miss work, seeing people, getting out of the house and having people to talk to. I find writing this blog theraputic, a way to unburden my head from thoughts that I have that would rattle around my head. I'm enjoying Twitter. It's a way of communicating with people, and there are some lovely people out there, and I can retain my anonymity, which is very important to me. I feel isolated. I build walls up. I hole myself up. Then I can get upset that people don't try to knock down the wall, which is my own fault, nobody else's.

I put my makeup on and paint on a happy face. "Smile and the world smiles with you." My mother-in-law knows how things are going simply by whether I laugh or not on the phone. Bless her. She's lovely. "I don't think we've realised just how difficult things have been for you" was said recently. That's because I choose not to let on about how difficult things can be or have been. She doesn't need to hear about things that have been said, or things that have happened because it's her son. This illness is awful enough without her sitting at home worrying about things she doesn't need to know.

I don't resent my husband, he's smiling, and joking and laughing at the moment, and we haven't had this for a very long time. I resent this sodding, bloody awful, cruel disease called Dementia, and I resent it for making me such a selfish old cow, for turning me into a sometimes jibbering, crabbit, bad tempered, snap at her own shadow, wreck... but I'm flicking the fingers up at you dementia, every time I put my lipstick on.