The effects of dementia are like a spreading stain. It is becoming almost impossible to have a conversation around Anna as she can’t tolerate what she is unable to understand.
I made a poor joke about Dan’s new mobile, that it was like a toy you used to get in a cornflakes packet, but she would not have it – told me off for making a stupid comment, which it was. A better comment of his was is that they could sort out the security queues at Heathrow by offering everyone a sausage roll, but she was not having any attempt at a laugh, which is essentially about giving momentary respect to the absurd. Sad, for she can still be very funny herself. Her life now is so strange, I suspect, that she cannot now differentiate easily the absurd from the ordinary activities of daily living.
Yesterday, we visited Nancy for lunch, and a good time was had, but we could not talk of anything much as Anna became distressed if we talked about work or world affairs. She used to complain, because she still wanted to work herself – now she worries that work will take me away from her. The cry of independence has become a sob of dependency.
We were hard put to think of things to talk about that Anna would find tolerable. The love life of younger people perhaps – or the taste of raspberries.
At home I am watching Peter O’Toole as Lord Jim, with the sound off, about so called cowardice and so called courage. I am learning to lip read the intolerable.