Chris Snell’s dad David used to tell his son that if he ever got dementia he would hope for a quick death, as he had seen first-hand the devastation caused by the illness.

His first wife Joyce had died of the brain disease in her sixties, before he married Chris’ mum.

‘Dad would say it to me when I was a teenager and I just laughed it off,’ Chris, 33, tells Metro.

Neither could have predicted that just a few years later how Alzheimer’s Disease would take hold of their lives. 

David, 83, first started showing signs 13 years ago, when Chris was 19. He started to repeat himself, which his son ‘just assumed he was getting forgetful’. 

Then there was the time scammers tried to take advantage of him online, and the plasterer came home to find his dad nearly in tears because he couldn’t remember his banking password.

‘He would drive to Morrisons for breakfast every Monday. It should have taken seven minutes, but there were times where it took him two hours to get there and two hours to get back.

‘He would come back and say: “I got bloody lost! I just didn’t know where to go. I was driving and driving,”’ Chris remembers of the time when he started to suspect there was a little more than forgetfulness going on. 

After a few months, David went to his GP who referred him for a brain scan and memory tests.

‘It was a shock to receive the diagnosis. But I just wanted to reassure my dad. I told him I’d be there for him, and that he didn’t need to worry. He didn’t have much of a response. I think he was in denial,’ Chris says sadly.

‘I wasn’t familiar with dementia. I’d heard about it, but didn’t know how people reacted. My dad’s first wife died before I was born, so I really had no clue about the disease.’ 

Chris and David had fallen out when he was a teenager a they struggled to see eye-to-eye with each other. But after his parents split up, Chris was keen to have a relationship with his dad, and as they put their differences aside, Chris realised they had a lot more in common than he realised.

They would go out and ‘have a laugh’ together at pubs, nights out and beer festivals, while David enjoyed watching Chris emcee, a job he did on the side.

Two years after the separation, Chris even moved in with his dad, as he was worried about him being lonely, and the pair lived in a small mobile home near an industrial estate in Reading.  

With no knowledge of the disease, Chris had to feel his way in the dark post-diagnosis, with one of the earliest challenges being what to do about David’s driving, which he felt was no longer safe. 

 ‘Anytime my dad wanted to go somewhere, I would chirpily insist on driving. But if I couldn’t be there, I would hide his keys,’ he explains. ‘I would come home and Dad would be frustrated, and I would pull them out of a cupboard in my bedroom and say, “oh, there found them”. I’d play a bit of a lie because I didn’t want to upset him.

‘I’d learned that you shouldn’t fight with dementia patients, you have to play along with it a bit. But after a while, it got a bit too much, because he would get himself in a mess. So I printed a note out on paper from a garage saying: “Your car keys have gone in for repair and we’ll call you when they’re done.” I just left that on the surface.’

Chris would still try to take his dad on nights out, but as the disease wore on, hewas distressed to see his David become distant and isolated.

‘One dark afternoon in winter I got back from work and I could see through the door, he was sitting there on a chair, with his elbows on his knees, staring at the floor,’ he remembers. ‘I started crying, and just watched him. He didn’t move for an hour and I wanted to gather my spirits before I went in to him, but I was thinking about how he felt and what was going through his mind. I sat there for ages before I mustered up the strength to go in.’

Chris struggled along alone. He was trying to build up his plastering business at the time, but every time he came home there were more issues to deal with – David experiencing stress, confusion and panic as he tried to fix things or burnt food while cooking. 

‘There would be something every day – he would leave the gas on or I would find him wandering in the woods, barefoot, lost.’

One day, 18 months after diagnosis, Chris had a foreboding feeling. David was unwell, so he ran him a bath, and although normally he would leave him to it, this time, every few minutes, Chris popped his head in and checked on him.

‘The third time I checked on him, he was having a stroke in the bath. I pulled him out, put him on the floor and called the ambulance. It was the worst experience, but could have been so much worse if I hadn’t been there.’

David was then given a health and safety assessment and the authorities arranged for carers to come to the home, but Chris then faced another battle. Until this point, they had survived using Chris’ sporadic wages, David’s pension and attendance allowance, but they were told they would have to pay for the carers. At the same time, the mobile home they were living in was leaking and had fallen into disrepair, and for months Chris fought the council to cover the care so he could save his dad’s money to tear the house down and rebuild it.

‘It was an emotionally exhausting time and I sacrificed a lot. My mum would look after my dad so I could go out to events on the weekend, but he was always on my mind. I was always waiting for bad news.’ 

Meanwhile Chris’ work life suffered. He would lose jobs because a neighbour would call him to say David was in trouble and he had to rush home.

Three years ago, David’s dementia had progressed to the point that he needed constant round-the-clock care, and Chris moved him into a nursing home. It was another distressing milestone in a decade of stress and worry, but for the first time, Chris felt he could breathe a little.

‘He moved into Suffolk Lodge in Wokingham, and they have been amazing. Every time I visit, he is well-groomed, smiling and chatty.’

Taking care of David for ten years took its toll on Chris. His voice is battle worn and weary. ‘The damage has been done. The whole experience took away all my passion and drive. It took a lot away from who I was,’ he says. 

He adds that his twenties feel fragmented now, time lost its meaning and while friends were pairing up and getting married, Chris, older than his years as he focussed on his dad, remained mostly single. 

In recent months, David has been in and out of hospital years with falls and one bout of sepsis. He no longer walks or says much, but he knows who Chris is.

‘Every time I go to see him, I stand near him, and then a carer would say:  “Look David. Look who’s here.” And he would instantly chirp up and say “Hello.” I feel like he’s familiar with me.

‘I’ve loaded his room with family photos from throughout the years, so hopefully that helps,’ Chris says.

‘It’s been an incredibly tough time and it’s such a cruel disease that affects the family as much as the patient. But even though my life was so difficult for a long time, I know others go through so much worse.

‘My dad has never been violent, which I know can be a problem for some. He’s very mellow, and accepting of what’s going on.

‘I would just like to see more done across the board to support families going through this cruel and heartless disease.’

However, Chris does have the good times to look back on and he is pleased that he was able to make priceless memories with his dad. 

‘I remember when I took him to Portugal and Barcelona. He was still himself at that point and he was having fun. I was emceeing at a drum n bass event in Barcelona and he was dancing along, loving life. It wasn’t his thing though – he preferred sixties music, Buddy Holly and Roy Orbison. But people would come up to him and say he was a legend.

‘I am glad to have those sweet moments to look back on.’

For dementia support and information visit Alzheimer’s Society here.

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