My Mum was "FTD type Alzheimer's" as the consultant put it, and she was a real paranoid handful in the early years, bless her. Not that a description helps. It's not like the drugs or treatment or "support" is different... it's all equally useless.
I've said before that I wouldn't wish dementia on anyone, even the most despicable human beings I can think of. Despite the modern trend towards accentuating the positive, "living well with dementia" and not using the expression "suffering from dementia" it's all well intentioned tosh. We've got really good at curing or managing age-related illnesses, only to push a million or so -- in this country alone -- into dementia. Which is why the NHS & councils are in permanent crisis. Yes, there are other factors assisting, but dementia sucks up hospital beds, carers, families and money (including Council Tax) at an increasingly society-sapping rate. We're paying a massive societal "rent" to keep folk with dementia going long, long, long after the vast majority would wish for.
And yet... by the time Mum died in my arms last November, a complete helpless cabbage, I'd also have done anything to keep her going. It's such a complicated, emotionally self-destructive way to die. It's like losing a child at the end, not a parent.
I could have given her a lethal injection years ago, because I know without a shadow of a doubt that's what she'd have wanted. But keeping her comfortable and out of the NHS system (they really can't care for folk with dementia in hospital... I saw shocking things three years ago when Mum broke her leg) became an overwhelming desire that warped my ability to let her go. It's a cruel variation on Stockholm Syndrome, I suspect!
In the end though they lose the ability to swallow, and there was no way I'd have allowed her to be tube fed, even if it had been offered, despite my emotional mess. Mum had 5 weeks of visiting carers from the local hospice, who were wonderful. But what she needed was Harold Shipman. He was clearly out of control. But in "the old days" family doctors had less supervision and more... control over dignity. For better usually but, sadly, not always. Hopefully Bruce's well earned money will at least allow him doctors who can skate very close close to the edge of what's legally allowable over there.
Die Hard? Sadly, yes. I'm praying the law changes soon so I can sign up to be given a lethal injection when I lose the ability to manage my own affairs or wipe my bum. I have plans to try to avoid that being necessary, but having seen how Mum's paranoia stole logic away from her, I've little faith I'll know when the time comes.
Sorry, I appear to have turned this into a rant. My mood isn't helped by the fact I visited Mum's grave on Thursday (a complicated bus journey & walk, only 30 miles but 3 hours away) to find that the field on one side of the graveyard that she, her Mum, Grandma, two uncles & an aunt are buried in is now a building site for what looks like a large house, judging by the footings. This final indignity will at least be one Bruce is spared. May his final years be as kind to him as possible.