Marianne Talbot Mum had her MOT last week. Usually they invite me along. This year when they rang my brother was here. He said he didn’t want to go. (Can anyone explain brothers?)
The first I heard about it was when they rang with the results. Apparently mum didn’t deteriorate at all last year. Indeed, if anything, she got better.
Well! All that shows is how useless the tests are. They are totally dependent on how the person is on the day. On some days mum can’t remember her own name. On other days she’ll irritatingly remember something I’d rather she didn’t.
Last year mum couldn’t spell for toffee, apparently. This year she was able to spell the word they gave her. She was also – wait for it – able to spell it backwards! Could you do that? No, nor could I.
The physical tests are also useless, underestimating the desire to please. If I asked mum to jump in the air she’d tell me I was daft. Let someone in a white coat ask her and she’ll do it twice to show willing.
So do I think she has deteriorated in the past year? You bet I do. She’s now losing skills that were key to her ability to engage in meaningful interaction.
Until recently, for example, she was able to answer ‘small talk’ gambits immediately, appropriately and convincingly. This meant others warmed to her before, inevitably, discovering her limitations.
Now she is losing her grip on pronouns. So if you say ‘how are you?’ she won’t be sure who you’re talking to. I think she thinks that ‘you’ to you means ‘you’ to her (if you see what I mean).
She can no longer follow simple instructions either. Yesterday, for example, she wanted to turn on the lamp beside her. This lamp has a rocker switch on its base.
‘Move your hand to the base of the lamp.’ I said, ‘No, the base, the bottom, the bit on the floor.’ Mum started to look flustered, then accidentally put her hand on the switch.
‘That’s right.’ I said quickly, ‘Now rock the switch.’ ‘What?’ said mum, and moved her hand. I gave up and did it for her.
When, drying up, she wants to know where things go, I used to be able to say ‘in the cupboard’ or ‘behind the microwave’. Now she has no idea what I mean and has to guess. She gets it wrong ten times before getting it right.
So having her help me has become hugely labour-intensive. But she loves to help. And it gives her something to do. So I grit my teeth and carry on.
I think I should get a medal.