Arsenic and old ways

Richard tells me that they went to the memory clinic today and Daddy Shortlegs scored poorly on the old mini-mental. He just can’t do sums any more! He can’t really keep a track on numbers, on time and dates, so he has a perpetual meal time, standing in the kitchen in his pants and slippers to graze on toast. Bloody toast crumbs are still everywhere! Perhaps he is trying to find his way back to his room like Hansel and Gretel finding their way out of the dark forest, following breadcrumbs in the moonlight.

Richard said “They mentioned the A-word”.

“A-word? Have you just forgotten which A-word, Rich; are you getting forgetful like your dad? Arsenic?” I perk up hopefully – what an obliging clinic they are!

“One of his current tablets conflicts with the Aricept treatment for Alzheimer’s” – although how anyone remembers the list of tablets he takes is beyond me – and I have the memory (and the arse) of an elephant. Jack now has the memory of a gnat: a forgetful gnat distracted by the promise of toast and JAG – which is like toast and Jam but available every day (not just yesterday and tomorrow) and always loud!

“They still have that skip outside” I mention apropos of nothing...