In her column this week, Christa Ackroyd - whose mother died from Alzheimer's - writes about the cruelty of dementia
Dad was a keen photographer. Many a time he would simply stop the car on our Sunday run out to capture a view with his treasured Nikon camera his most prized possession.
Mum would do a buffet of open sandwiches, decorated with triangles of cucumber or tiny pieces of tomato, with scones and home made cakes, while dad unfurled the screen and switched on the projector to show his latest collection. Even though she was able to stay in her own home for much of that time it, was a period of confusion and worry for both of us, until neither could cope any longer and I was forced to do what I swore I would never do and find somewhere that could manage her deterioration better than we were doing. And I will live with that guilt forever.
Alzheimer’s is this country’s biggest killer. There are upwards of a million people living with it, yet although it is a disease of the brain, often the families of those suffering are left to cope alone. And that can be a lonely and scary place for both them and the sufferer. To put it bluntly, as one of those caring for a relative did, if their loved one had cancer they would be entitled to better care. And it is wrong. Very wrong.