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What matters most?


Mary

Mary lives in Anglesey where she lived happily with her husband Mike. Mike was diagnosed with Dementia and we recently spoke to her about life with Mike, his passing and what Matters the Most.

Mary looks out of the window for a portrait photograph
 
 

I met Mike at a Christian holiday conference in the summer of 88. I was a single parent and so was he at the time. My mother was intent on getting us together, and she succeeded.” Mary remembers Mike’s eyes were very, very blue and he was very quiet. “It was really hard to get him engaged in conversation, but I quite liked that. It made me all the more determined to get him to talk to me. Nothing happened that week, although he squeezed my hand on the last night, which sounds a bit sappy, but, then I knew there was an attraction there.” Both having children made it easy to bond and the girls became friends, the relationship between Mike and Mary grew. “The girls were of a similar age. He had two daughters, I had one. They thought we were meeting so that they could play together. We just took a year and then we got married, and then they moved up to live with me.”

In 2011 Mary started to notice a change in Mike, small and gradual. The couple had run an independent Christian nursery in primary school and in 2011 decided to retire. Mike first and Mary reduced her days for a year working two days a week to give the parents continuity. This meant that every week Mary worked away. “I was travelling backwards and forwards every week. That was when it became apparent that something wasn't quite right. Mike didn't like it. He had always been a very independent guy but instead, he started to come with me every week.”

 
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I met Mike at a Christian holiday conference in the summer of 88. I was a single parent and so was he at the time. My mother was intent on getting us together, and she succeeded.” Mary remembers Mike’s eyes were very, very blue and he was very quiet. “It was really hard to get him engaged in conversation, but I quite liked that. It made me all the more determined to get him to talk to me. Nothing happened that week, although he squeezed my hand on the last night, which sounds a bit sappy, but, then I knew there was an attraction there.” Both having children made it easy to bond and the girls became friends, the relationship between Mike and Mary grew. “The girls were of a similar age. He had two daughters, I had one. They thought we were meeting so that they could play together. We just took a year and then we got married, and then they moved up to live with me.”

In 2011 Mary started to notice a change in Mike, small and gradual. The couple had run an independent Christian nursery in primary school and in 2011 decided to retire. Mike first and Mary reduced her days for a year working two days a week to give the parents continuity. This meant that every week Mary worked away. “I was travelling backwards and forwards every week. That was when it became apparent that something wasn't quite right. Mike didn't like it. He had always been a very independent guy but instead, he started to come with me every week.”

 
 

They both accepted that something was not right and went to see the GP to talk about it. “He planned to do certain things and then he couldn't remember what it was that he was going to do or did half of the job. He just didn't like being on his own. I know, when he was driving, I got a feeling that he was not always finding his way straightaway, whereas used to love driving. I think that's what occurred to him. I can't really remember what it was that made me say perhaps we should just go and check this out with a GP.” From the appointment, Mike was referred to the memory clinic straightaway.

After they had the dementia diagnosis they had a good circle of friends and family who supported the couple “We carried on doing what we always did. We're very sociable. We liked to go out and visit all our friends and family and they all knew what was going on. They became very protective, very understanding, and very loving towards us. It made things easier.”

Life moved on and for 5 years the couple adapted as best as they could to deal with Mike’s dementia. “We just carried on walking, going to choir, doing all the usual things. But gradually, things became more difficult in caring for him. It wasn't just the forgetting, he became quite delusional. At times he thought he was seven and he thought he needed to go to school. That was really hard trying to stop him from going to school because he knew where the school was. He had a girlfriend a few doors away. Imaginary but he was convinced that was the truth. Eventually, our world became smaller and smaller as I tried to protect him. I didn't want him to go knocking on doors or, even arriving in the primary school because that'd be quite scary both ways.”

The delusions and confusion increased and at times Mike didn’t know who Mary was often being confused for his Mother or his Granny. “Mostly I was his granny, whom he had loved. I remember waking up in bed one morning, he turned to me with a lovely smile and said ‘Morning, Granny.’ I said to him, ‘If I was your granny would I be lying in bed with you?’ and he thought that was hilarious. It upset me a lot at first but, I began to realise that he only thought I was somebody who would love him very much. That was his way of showing that he loved you know, I was somebody important in his life.

For Mary watching Mike change was understandably difficult, she was losing him slowly and seeing the changes appear. “I think one of the most painful things must be is that he's also aware that he's losing me, that there must be an awareness. Cognitively, things are still working. Alright, so he knows there's something wrong. That I think must be really, really painful. It was for me and I think it works both ways. They call it a living grief and bereavement. I understand why it is because the person is still there physically, but emotionally they’re just disappearing. If I said to him I love you, he'd say I love you too, he was very loving. There were times when it got too much to me, and I would break down, and have a bit of a weep, he certainly would always become Mike again, arm around me. ‘It's okay, it's okay. We'll sort it out. What's the matter? You know, we can do this!’ which would make me cry more.”

 
 

As time passed his behaviours changed more and at times was very difficult for Mary to manage, not only keeping Mike safe but dealing with his changes too. “I found myself having to lock ourselves in. We lived in a place where people knew him and he knew his way to the paper shop. He did that for a long, long time and he had that sort of freedom in the town. People would know, he didn't really get into difficulty, but they would sort of point him in the right direction. But, when he started to talk about his parents had been in a crash, he needed to go to find them.” It was scary for Mary, and living with the fear that he may wander further or worse. “I didn't want him to go out on his own so we'd go out together, and we did a lot of walking.”

The time came when he had to give up driving another huge thing for the couple to deal with, a significant loss of independence but one that was necessary not only for his safety but for others on the roads too. “He didn't like giving up driving. That was a big thing for him and then he got angry. I can understand the frustration totally.” This frustration caused a reaction in Mike and the safe haven of home for Mary was not the same “At times the frustration came from not being able to make me understand what it was he wanted, and he got angry. Not violent but really angry. You say that your home is your comfort zone, your safe place, and it became not the safe place and not the comfort zone, because when when we were home, I would lock all the doors and move the keys. Sometimes, he'd get really frustrated that he couldn't go out.”

 
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As time passed his behaviours changed more and at times was very difficult for Mary to manage, not only keeping Mike safe but dealing with his changes too. “I found myself having to lock ourselves in. We lived in a place where people knew him and he knew his way to the paper shop. He did that for a long, long time and he had that sort of freedom in the town. People would know, he didn't really get into difficulty, but they would sort of point him in the right direction. But, when he started to talk about his parents had been in a crash, he needed to go to find them.” It was scary for Mary, and living with the fear that he may wander further or worse. “I didn't want him to go out on his own so we'd go out together, and we did a lot of walking.”

The time came when he had to give up driving another huge thing for the couple to deal with, a significant loss of independence but one that was necessary not only for his safety but for others on the roads too. “He didn't like giving up driving. That was a big thing for him and then he got angry. I can understand the frustration totally.” This frustration caused a reaction in Mike and the safe haven of home for Mary was not the same “At times the frustration came from not being able to make me understand what it was he wanted, and he got angry. Not violent but really angry. You say that your home is your comfort zone, your safe place, and it became not the safe place and not the comfort zone, because when when we were home, I would lock all the doors and move the keys. Sometimes, he'd get really frustrated that he couldn't go out.” 

 
 

That was our world. You know, your world is big and free and carefree, but it began to shrink and become smaller and smaller. I still took him to as many places as I possibly could, getting out together walking or visiting friends or he used to come to ukulele group with me. He loved that.” Being out on walks helped the couple, their routine changed to keep it as safe as possible for Mike and it was a solace to be out. “It was very helpful although we now had to choose what are called safe paths. Walking on Parys mountain was easier because there's a good path around, he was fine. He began to find sort of anything with an incline or steps difficult and he would start to lose his balance. As he was going upstairs, up steps, he would sort of start to lean towards the step, and many times I had to stop and straighten him up and, hold him as he walked up.”

Mary had coped alone with caring for Mike from his diagnosis and by 2018 she was finding things difficult and she was dealing with stress built up over the past years. “I'd coped for a long time, but I was finding it very difficult. The GP said that we'll try and get some respite for Mike. Then it all went dreadfully wrong. A manager of some place came to visit to see what he was like, you know, meet him. The manager was a very obnoxious lady who put both our backs up from the start. Then she said, ‘Well, Mr. Mitchell, I believe you're having problems with your memory?’ Of course, he said, No, because he had some very good strategies.”

The manager spoke to Mary and was quite argumentative and combative with Mike. “At this point the kitten was sitting on his knee and the lady said to him ‘Well, how would you feel about coming and spending a couple of weeks with us then?’ Mike jumped up, the cat went in one direction, and he went in the other. He said, ‘You can't make me go anywhere with you. I'm not going!’ and stomped out of the room. I said, I'll just go and see if he's okay, and the manager replied, ‘I'm more concerned about the cat’. And I thought I won't want him to go there with her!” This was an awful meeting for the couple and left a very sour taste. “I went to the surgery, and I burst into tears and said, I need to see the doctor. Explaining what had happened to the GP. They went back to the memory clinic and said that he was violent, to my mind had taken himself out of the situation. You know, there were far worse things he could have done. But he did the right thing. Mike was sectioned and then he went into the memory ward and was there for several months. That was a horrible thing.”

Mike was on the unit from September to January for assessment and a case review and Mary was hoping that they would put together a package of care for home. “It was hard. He used to ring me all the time saying please, please take me out of here. I don't know where I am. They're keeping me a prisoner. Can you just come and rescue me? I went to visit every day, he would be standing at the entrance with his backpack. So we'd spend a while with him and settle him in and then I would leave. I would cry leaving, it was horrendous really. They said we recommend that he goes into a full-time residential facility, and I didn't know what to do. I wasn't convinced I could care for him at home. Although I promised him I would, if possible.” 

It was a difficult decision for Mary to make. After a discussion with her GP a choice was made that Mike would go into care. “He was in this place for about 18 months or so. Things got more and more difficult there because he refused to let people do his personal care. I was going in and doing it every day. I didn't mind, but it's quite an undertaking. Then they said, perhaps his meds need looking at again. They eventually moved him back into the ward that he started off on and less than 24 hours later, he was sectioned and removed to the adult psychiatric secure unit in the local hospital in Bangor.”

Mary believes she still doesn’t know the full story of what happened for Mike to have been sectioned. The lack of information and procedures at that time left Mary unclear, but she trusted the professionals. In Hindsight she believes she would have handled it differently. “I don't know the truth. I don't know the full story. Apparently, he had a bit of a meltdown probably with the consultant maybe because the consultant didn't know him very well. I was told not to go into it and they’d let me know when he's arrived. It's a bit of a hazy memory. I had quite a few regrets about my actions or inactions because I was just following what I was told to do. Since then, I thought I should have insisted on certain things, but I didn't, you assume that the professional people know.”

Dying with dementia has no specific timeline and patients can live for years with the condition. It is a life-limiting condition that eventually will need full-time care. Towards the last years of Mike’s life, Mary says it progressed a lot faster. “Things escalated. I think from the secure unit. He was there for a few months and then we found a place for him in another care home.” Unfortunately, the timing for this was awful as six weeks after he was in the care home the country went into lockdown due to the Covid-19 pandemic.

 
 

I went long months and months without seeing him. It wasn't till 2021 that they began to relax a bit in visiting, we couldn't go into his room or anything and could only see him outside. I could see that he deteriorated through that time. Would have happened if it hadn't been locked down? I'm convinced that with my continued presence and emotional support, he wouldn't have deteriorated so quickly. Of course, I could call him, and the staff would also face time me, but then there were times he didn't want to speak to me or he didn't know who I was.”

Mary’s world had changed so drastically. Not having the contact, she was so used to having with her husband for over 30 years. She lost her husband emotionally and physically now her time with him was restricted. “I was pretty desperate because one day I saw him and then that was it. I couldn't explain to him why. Did he think that I deserted him, that I had put in there and then I disappeared from his life. That's a hard thing to live with. Even now, I still wonder whether that's what he thought. That's when I started walking I used to find it would really help my mind and my well-being.” It’s hard to imagine life changing for the couple so much in such a short space of time.

 
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I went long months and months without seeing him. It wasn't till 2021 that they began to relax a bit in visiting, we couldn't go into his room or anything and could only see him outside. I could see that he deteriorated through that time. Would have happened if it hadn't been locked down? I'm convinced that with my continued presence and emotional support, he wouldn't have deteriorated so quickly. Of course, I could call him, and the staff would also face time me, but then there were times he didn't want to speak to me or he didn't know who I was.”

Mary’s world had changed so drastically. Not having the contact, she was so used to having with her husband for over 30 years. She lost her husband emotionally and physically now her time with him was restricted. “I was pretty desperate because one day I saw him and then that was it. I couldn't explain to him why. Did he think that I deserted him, that I had put in there and then I disappeared from his life. That's a hard thing to live with. Even now, I still wonder whether that's what he thought. That's when I started walking I used to find it would really help my mind and my well-being.” It’s hard to imagine life changing for the couple so much in such a short space of time.

 
 

The government guidelines had to be followed during the pandemic and the care home wouldn’t deviate due to setting a precedence for other families. At one point Mike need hospitalization and the care home wouldn’t let staff go along with him. Mary insisted on accompanying him “I met the ambulance at the hospital and then insisted on going with him. They let me.” At times they thought it was coming to the end of his life and the care home would call the family. At this point, they were allowed into the home. “He deteriorated considerably and there were false alarms where they thought he was fading. So that's when I could go into the room. I have to say that the staff were very kind, very understanding. They said I could stay as long as I wanted. They moved him to a very nice room with a little lounge and kitchenette attached. So I could look after myself and our daughters went and stayed there, too. That time was very precious. I would just sit and read to him talk to him, play music, and sang to him or played the ukulele. I could see that he knew he knew who I was. I could tell and they said that he was very different when I was there. So that was a comfort.”

Mary found ways to help her mental wellbeing like walking and creatively she wrote a lot of poetry. “I've been writing bits all through my life and once Mike left home I kept a diary for myself about him so that I knew when, he'd been seen, what had happened, what he was on and what he was doing or not doing etc., and I found that I was writing more and more. I've got a lovely poetic journey of our life and thoughts about him, about me at the time, about places we used to go to and didn't go to and it doesn't rhyme it's not rhyming. It's just a creative way of getting out my feelings on paper. One of the poems I wrote about was, the way he looked at the staff, was the way he used to look at me because of course, the staff had become his family, and I wasn't anymore. I felt replaced but I was glad in a way that there were some very caring staff there, who loved him and made a point of getting to know who he was, the things he liked, and the things he'd done. They would talk and spend time with him which was lovely as I didn't want him to be there bereft of emotional content, but they couldn't hug him or hold him, and I think, you know who your special people are. But at the same time, I had sort of accepted at least somebody was there, they were doing it for me instead. I'm a very forgiving person, but I find it hard to forgive COVID for taking that last year away from us.”

At that point to Mary what mattered most was access. Being able to visit Mike, and spend time with him, nothing was more important at that time. “You can't get that time back. The sort of the last pieces of him, if you want to call it that, we're going in that final 12/18 months. I wasn't there for them and it's heartbreaking. Did he know I wasn't there for it? I mean, part of me hopes he doesn't know that because that means that I betrayed him somehow or been disloyal. Not being able to be with him. Was dreadful, it was really dreadful. I would have been much better to have been able to be with him during, during all those months, and not just the last few weeks.

 
 

The last few weeks for Mary were precious albeit difficult times “Those last few weeks were very special. But it was very distressing because he was very agitated. He was eating and drinking less and less, he was drinking less than less. I bought anything that I thought he would try. I spent ages with him to right to the end to get him to eat or drink. He was always very slim build, but he'd lost so much weight and looked very gaunt. But, even so, if I held his hand or he spoke to me, he would say, Love you too. That's, you know, probably the last thing he said. Which means a lot.”

Mary spoke about how she believes that she could have spent more time holding and cuddling him at an earlier stage, one that was cruelly stolen from them by the pandemic. “I’d put my head on his pillow to comfort him. In his first care home, I bought a bigger bed, because I wanted to be able to lie and hold him, so that we could sit next to each other on a proper sheet, not a plastic-coated one. I didn't do that with the last care home because things had gone a bit too far. Not having that physical touch from anybody makes a huge difference to you, doesn't it? I was trying to make up for it, but he didn't always want it because he's quite sensitive at times and didn't want to be touched.”

 
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The last few weeks for Mary were precious albeit difficult times “Those last few weeks were very special. But it was very distressing because he was very agitated. He was eating and drinking less and less, he was drinking less than less. I bought anything that I thought he would try. I spent ages with him to right to the end to get him to eat or drink. He was always very slim build, but he'd lost so much weight and looked very gaunt. But, even so, if I held his hand or he spoke to me, he would say, Love you too. That's, you know, probably the last thing he said. Which means a lot.”

Mary spoke about how she believes that she could have spent more time holding and cuddling him at an earlier stage, one that was cruelly stolen from them by the pandemic. “I’d put my head on his pillow to comfort him. In his first care home, I bought a bigger bed, because I wanted to be able to lie and hold him, so that we could sit next to each other on a proper sheet, not a plastic-coated one. I didn't do that with the last care home because things had gone a bit too far. Not having that physical touch from anybody makes a huge difference to you, doesn't it? I was trying to make up for it, but he didn't always want it because he's quite sensitive at times and didn't want to be touched.”

 
 

At the end when Mike passed away, he was surrounded by Mary and their daughters “It was not only me, two daughters came and slept as well. The night he died we were sitting around the bed, singing and playing music, eating chocolate. So, the last things he heard were his family around him talking, and laughing and we prayed with him. I was very grateful because I have friends who didn't have anything like that kind of access to their partners before they died.”

The end of Mike’s life is difficult for Mary to think about, it was a time marred by the pandemic to add to the heartbreak of losing her husband and rock. To watch him change and the end is not what Mary wants to remember. “I used to take photos every time I went but it got to the point where I didn't because I didn't think I would want to look back at those particular photos. I’d take photos of our hands, holding hands, that sort of thing. But it was distressing to see him like that at the end, I tried not to focus on that aspect. I do get flashbacks of those things and it's painful.”

The end is not how Mary would like to remember Mike, that was not really him, her husband and partner. “He was quiet, I'm the noisy one. He was the one who calmed me down and he was so loyal. Very, very supportive of everything I did. He was always in the background, fit, athletic, and very intelligent. He was my security. He had my back! I would like him to be remembered as just a strong loving father, husband and friend.”

In loving memory of Mike (1948 - 2021)
 
 

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