by Ella Harper
‘Oh, Mum, I’m so sorry,’ Layla said, taking her hand. She felt like crying, but she knew she had to be strong.
‘Not mad, no,’ Dr Fern corrected. ‘Far from it. I can see that you are very clued up and sharp. But on and off, you’re exhibiting most of the symptoms of dementia, such as memory problems, cognitive difficulties – that is, issues with simple tasks such as making a cup of tea – and also, there are some communication issues. Mood swings, for example.’
Evelyn looked offended. ‘Well, I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,’ she said primly, taking her hand out of Layla’s. ‘I’m not moody. And I am perfectly capable of making a cup of tea, thank you very much!’
Layla bit her lip. ‘Mum, do you fancy sitting in the waiting room for a bit?’ She turned Dr Fern. ‘Can we get someone to keep an eye on her?’
‘Yes, of course. Give me a minute.’
She left the room to get some cover and Layla glanced at Evelyn. She looked furious and Layla wished she’d handled this better. She felt as though she had completely let her mum down with that bald little announcement.
‘Sorry about this, Mum.’
‘It’s all right,’ Evelyn said with a benign smile. ‘I don’t know what that funny lady was on about, because I really feel very good today. I could make ten cups of tea. And some coffee, while I’m at it.’
Layla smiled and felt tearful again. When she was like this, she was the mum Layla had known and loved all her life. These odd glimpses were both heart-breaking and lovely at the same time – a flashback to a more pleasant past, which was great, but at the same time a poignant reminder that these were fleeting moments and no longer the norm on a day-to-day basis.
‘Right. All sorted,’ Dr Fern said as she came back into the room. ‘Come with me, Evelyn. Someone is going to sit with you and make you a cup of tea. Or you can make the tea if you feel like it.’ She winked kindly at Layla and left the room with Evelyn. She was soon back again.
‘OK,’ she said, taking her seat. ‘Listen, I know that was tough for you, Layla. It’s never nice to hear a diagnosis like that about a parent. And it’s confusing for your mum too. But I’ve checked her medical history, I’ve done a physical exam and I’ve run the tests you just witnessed. I think it’s all pretty conclusive.’
Layla felt tears coming, but she refused to cry. She needed to keep herself together. ‘I knew you were going to say that,’ she admitted. ‘About dementia. I didn’t want to see it, but a friend of mind looked into it for me recently, so I knew it was coming.’ She realised she was holding on to the seat so tightly, her knuckles were turning white. ‘Are you certain it’s that?’
Dr Fern nodded. ‘I’m afraid so. I don’t think it’s depression from what I can tell. Having read through the notes you gave me and having spoken to your mum, I’d be very surprised if it’s anything else. And if I’m not mistaken, I’m thinking she might have frontotemporal dementia – it’s a different strain of it, but you’ll need that confirmed by an expert.’
‘Crap,’ Layla said, feeling her stomach plummet. ‘Sorry.’
‘Not at all,’ Dr Fern said stoutly. ‘I understand. My father has Alzheimer’s so I know how tough it can be. The behaviour, the mood swings, the child-like behaviour. The pressure of it all.’
Layla nodded gratefully, not trusting herself to speak.
‘But as I’m not your usual GP, I should imagine you will want to be absolutely sure about my diagnosis.’ Dr Fern started typing on her keyboard. ‘So I’m suggesting that we send your mum for some blood tests to begin with.’
‘You can diagnose dementia with a blood test?’ Layla hadn’t read that anywhere.
‘No, it’s more that a blood test will rule out other things such as thyroid problems and vitamin B12 levels that might explain away some of the symptoms.’
‘Right.’
‘But I’m also typing up a referral to see a specialist so they can run some more tests.’
‘A specialist?’ Layla could only imagine how her mum would act about seeing a specialist.
Dr Fern nodded. ‘It’s usually a psychiatrist with experience dealing with dementia. Sometimes it’s a geriatrician – that’s a physician who deals with elderly people. We use an excellent psychiatrist, but she often calls on a neurologist as they can run MRIs or CT scans if needed.’
Layla felt overwhelmed. How was she going to cope now that she knew it was definitely dementia? What support was there for her? How would she continue working if her mum became worse? Because surely she was going to get worse?
‘You’re probably worried about support and care,’ Dr Fern said, reading her mind. ‘I know this a big shock. But there is help at hand.’
‘Is there?’ Layla let out a jerky breath, sure she was going to bawl her eyes out at any second. ‘Because I honestly feel as though I am doing all of this alone.’
Dr Fern gave her a sympathetic glance. ‘I know. It’s tough. Does your mum live with you? Is your dad still alive?’
‘Yes and no. My dad died some years ago.’ Layla twisted her hands together. ‘I work from home. I’m a therapist. But I’m barely able to get through an appointment these days without some interruption from her. I honestly don’t know what to do.’
‘Right. Let’s get you referred and then I’ll get some information for you.’ Dr Fern quickly sorted out the letter and then she gathered some leaflets up. ‘After the diagnosis, you’ll need a health and social care assessment. This is to ascertain what level of care your mum might need… if you need equipment or whatever. She might qualify for some free NHS care but that needs to be assessed.’
Layla could feel herself sinking further into a bad head space. How long was all of this going to take? She was furious with herself for leaving it so long; she could have had the ball rolling ages ago if she’d got her finger out and brought her mum down sooner.
‘It’s often better for people to stay at home in familiar surroundings,’ Dr Fern was saying. ‘But it depends on the extent of the dementia and how quickly it’s developing. But I’m afraid you do need to face up to the fact that eventually, your mum may end up in a residential care home. My dad is in one.’
‘Oh God.’ Layla felt nauseous. ‘They can’t be free though, surely? Or even cheap?’
‘Some are run by charities, but yes, they can be pricey.’ Dr Fern printed off the letter. ‘But this is all for further down the line. There are also Admiral Nurses who are experts in dementia care. They work in care homes and hospitals but you can call and talk to one any time. Their helpline is free.’
Layla felt terrified and ill-equipped to deal with any of this. What was she supposed to do? How long would all this take? Where would she find the money?
‘I know.’ Dr Fern handed the letter over along with a blood test form. ‘It’s daunting. I’ve been there. But you’ll get through it, I promise.’
‘There’s just me, though,’ Layla said quietly. ‘No dad to support me, no siblings. I don’t earn enough money to pay for this. Mum sold her house, but she didn’t get much from it.’
‘There will be a way,’ Dr Fern assured her. She smiled briefly and said nothing further, indicating that their meeting had come to an end.
Layla understood; she had probably gone way over her time slot already. But leaving the room meant that she had to deal with her mum and all of a sudden, Layla wished she could run away. Far from here and from her mum, just to take a breather. To do something for herself. But of course, she couldn’t do that. Her mum was relying on her. Waiting for her to take her home and get her some dinner. And change her clothes and bathe her. And Layla knew she had no right to resent it, because it was exactly what her mum had done for her all her life. The only difference was, Layla hadn’t chosen this path. It had been forced upon her.
But however it had come about didn’t change the circumstances. She had to look after her mum. No one else could do it and it was going to take time to get a full diagnosis and get some help.
Lif
e was going on a back burner for a while, that much was clear, Layla thought to herself, feeling the weight of the responsibility falling heavily on her shoulders. Boyfriends, weddings, husbands, babies. None of that was going to happen any time soon; that was for sure. And Layla knew that didn’t mean the end of her life, but she was in her mid-thirties. Time was ticking away – hell, her biological clock was ticking away. How on earth was she ever going to meet someone when she was at home looking after a sick parent? And who in their right mind, as a man, would want to take that on and be with her?
Remembering the awful night with JJ’s friend, Layla felt desperate and hopeless. She didn’t want to be on her own anymore. She wanted someone to share her life with. She just hadn’t bargained on it being her mum.
JJ
‘So you actually got fired?’
Jonas nodded and picked up his bowling ball. ‘Yep.’
JJ was flabbergasted. Jonas had always been totally committed to his job. Back in the day, he had loved his work. He had been as keen as anything; he’d even enjoyed working extra hours. Of course people became jaded with their jobs at times, JJ knew that. Especially after so many years. But not Jonas. Before this last year, Jonas had literally lived and breathed criminal law.
Jonas straightened up after hurling his ball down the alley and watching it skud down the gulley. ‘Damn. Too hard.’
JJ waited for the system to reload. ‘And how do you feel about it?’
‘That bowl? Pretty shit.’ Jonas pulled a face. ‘Getting fired, you mean?’ He shrugged and gestured for JJ to pick a ball. ‘I’ve had better days, obviously. But to be honest, it was all getting a bit much, JJ. Too stressful for words. I spent every day wanting to take out a shotgun and blow my boss’s head off.’
JJ selected a ball. ‘Well, I get that. We’ve all had bosses who piss us off.’ He took up his position and skilfully sent his ball into the skittles.
Jonas let out a hiss of irritation. JJ hid a smile. Jonas had always been competitive. Even when they used to play table tennis at uni, he had acted as though it was an Olympic sport.
‘Anyway, what do you know about having bosses that piss you off?’ Jonas commented, tutting as he had another poor turn. ‘You pretty much work for yourself.’
‘I work for various gyms as well as for myself,’ JJ advised. ‘And some of those bosses do my head in.’
‘Yeah, they’re not like Lukas,’ Jonas muttered moodily.
‘Maybe not,’ JJ said, sensing that Jonas felt defensive about what had happened. ‘Lukas did sound like an utter tool from everything you’ve told me about him.’
‘Total wanker,’ Jonas said, brightening up at the opportunity to slag his former boss off. ‘Like some demented bloody gnome. Always putting me down and telling me I was a failure.’
‘Definitely a wanker,’ JJ said supportively. ‘Want me to break his legs for you?’
‘God, yes! Feel free.’ Jonas raised a smile for the first time.
JJ deliberately sent his ball spinning into the gulley. ‘Shit. Losing my touch.’
‘You are indeed,’ Jonas said gleefully, stepping up to take his turn. ‘Bad luck, my friend.’
JJ shook his head. Jonas was so easy to please. They carried on playing without chatting for a while, but JJ was still shocked at Jonas’s news. He knew Jonas was stressed up to the eyeballs; Connie had told him as much. But this was a whole new level of stressed out and weird. Jonas seemed… calm. Which suggested he might feel relieved at being let go. This JJ could understand, up to a point. But Jonas also seemed… cocky, unless JJ was reading him incorrectly. He couldn’t see why Jonas would be that way after being sacked, but he seemed it.
‘Oh, lucky strike,’ he called out to Jonas sarcastically as he managed to accidentally score after his ball ricocheted crazily off the side of the gulley.
‘Piss off,’ Jonas called back.
They finished their game (JJ won; he didn’t think it was right to throw the game, even if Jonas had been fired) and went for a few drinks in the bar next door.
‘So, is your CV doing the rounds?’ JJ asked, sipping his beer slowly. He was cutting back hugely on the drinking front these days, but he knew Jonas would probably want to get on it, the mood he was in.
‘Nope.’ Jonas looked defiant. ‘Not my problem.’
‘What isn’t your problem?’
‘Getting another job. I can’t work in the law again, anyway.’ Jonas downed his beer. ‘Another?’
‘I’m all right for the minute, thanks.’ JJ rolled his eyes as Jonas ignored him and ordered two more. ‘Why isn’t getting another job your problem?’
‘Because it isn’t. I’ve decided that I’ve worked for long enough and if I can’t be a solicitor anymore, what on earth am I supposed to do at my age? Someone else can take on the mortgage.’
JJ stared at him. ‘And by someone else you mean… Connie?’
‘Yes.’ Jonas regarded him boldly. ‘Exactly. She’s been living the life of Riley for quite a while now. It’s about time she stepped up and took on some responsibility.’
‘I see.’ JJ was beginning to feel furious inside. ‘You don’t think that Connie had a job of her own bringing up the girls? As well as writing her blog? It’s pretty successful, as I’m sure you know.’
‘It’s reasonably successful,’ Jonas corrected him pompously. ‘It earns a nice sum of money. Pays for the odd thing here and there. But it’s not like my job, is it?’
JJ scratched his head. Was Jonas for real?
‘Er no, Jonas. It’s not. Because it’s not a full-time job. It’s something Connie does as well as bringing up the children and running a house.’
JJ had never understood why men got so up in arms about going out and earning money when their wives were at home bringing up the kids. Maybe he was being naïve because he’d never done it, but JJ honestly couldn’t understand what the problem was. If he earned enough money to support a household, which he was sure he probably did with his rates, JJ couldn’t imagine that he would begrudge his wife or partner keeping a clean, tidy home and looking after any kids they might be lucky enough to have. If she worked as well, JJ would simply think he had struck gold and that there would be a bit more money in the pot to live off.
Granted, JJ acknowledged that he might be feeling more up in arms about the way Jonas was carrying on because he was criticising Connie, but this was genuinely how he felt about the whole ‘go out to work vs. stay at home’ situation. He realised Jonas was ranting again.
‘But she’s always done that,’ Jonas complained. ‘She fell pregnant so soon after we got together, it feels like she’s always not worked, you know?’
‘But she did,’ JJ said, shaking his head. ‘She worked at the magazine and had a really high-profile job there. Her mum looked after Bella. It was only when her mum passed away that childcare became really expensive, wasn’t it?’
JJ looked away, wondering if it might sound weird to Jonas that he remembered so many details about Connie’s life. Especially from the early days, when she and Jonas were first together.
Jonas looked irritated. ‘Well yes, but I only really had a few years of that, JJ. I’m not saying Connie didn’t work hard for a bit, but she’s had it easy since then in my opinion.’
JJ didn’t want to rile Jonas further, but he did think he was being grossly unfair. ‘OK, but surely she worked hard at looking after you and the girls for many years too, Jonas. I’ll be honest; that sounds pretty awesome to me. I earn good money now, but I wouldn’t begrudge my wife being at home with our kids and sharing it. Not if I loved her and if she made my life better just by being in it.’
Especially if it was Connie, JJ added to himself silently. It was pissing him off hearing Jonas talking about Connie this way. Didn’t Jonas realise how lucky he was? He pretty much had everything JJ would kill for. JJ knew that every marriage had issues behind closed doors; he wasn’t stupid. Connie might be annoying or difficult or messy or all three for all JJ knew, but h
e was fairly sure he would forgive her for most things. He certainly didn’t think he would resent her the way Jonas seemed to.
‘She keeps a tidy house,’ Jonas admitted grudgingly. ‘And she’s a good mum. I’m not saying she’s not. But either way, I’m done with the whole full-time job thing. And I’m more or less unemployable anyway.’
JJ put his beer down. ‘But even if you weren’t, you’d expect Connie to take on the mortgage now? To go back into the working environment after taking this much time off looking after the girls?’
‘You sound like you’re on her side,’ Jonas said, giving him a sharp stare. ‘I can’t hear you saying much to support what I’m going through.’
JJ took a moment to think. He was Jonas’s friend too. He guessed he did sound as though he was siding with Connie. Which actually he was. What the hell was Jonas so uptight about over this, anyway? It was as though he was blaming Connie for being a stay-at-home mum – just because it didn’t suit him for her to be one anymore. Jonas had waxed lyrical years ago about how much he loved Connie being at home when he got in, about what a great mum she was. How caring and kind and what a great cook she was. How much he admired her for writing her blog and still keeping a salary coming in, even if it wasn’t like her old one at the magazine.
‘Listen, I get where you’re coming from,’ JJ lied. ‘But I also think this is a huge thing for Connie to take on all of a sudden. I mean, your mortgage must be due for payment soon. How can she get a job this quickly after being out of the game for so long?’
‘I’ve sold a few shares to tide us over,’ Jonas said crossly. ‘I’m not a total monster, JJ. What do you take me for?’ As he said this, he flushed crimson.
JJ stared at him. Jonas went red like that when he felt guilty about something. So he had done something wrong, because that was his ‘tell’. He did it when he played poker as well.
I’m not a total monster, Jonas had said. What about that sentence had made guilt rear up and give him away?
