Small feet, processed food, VIPs and bras

 

Mum always had a sense of humour . A stock phrase of my mum’s when I was growing up was, “Oh you’re very funny!” said in a very sarcastic tone of voice.  This was her response to numerous incidents in my childhood.  I  often wondered about her interpretation of reality even before the onslaught of Alzheimer’s. One of my earliest memories of her is her explanation of the ancient Chinese habit of foot binding.  The Chinese (and apologies in advance to the Chinese for her rather politically incorrect statement), according to her,  had to have small feet so that you could fit so many of them into the country.  I still don’t know if she was serious. It was said with such a straight face.

The fact that she was a primary teacher for years is a bit worrying. Goodness knows what she was teaching. I grew up surrounded by bits of projects that she happened to be doing at school. That year must have had something to do with China. One year it was the Mexican Olympics therefore me and the boys had to learn all about Mexico.  Another year it was the Kon-tiki expedition  therefore we had various raft building attempts scattered round the house.

 Alzheimers doesn’t tend to be the funniest of things. But occasionally her sense of humour still surfaces. “Well that’s one problem I’ll never have,” she declares sitting next to me on the sofa. I’ve been engrossed in some mundane office work on the laptop so am completely oblivious to what she could possibly be referring to. "What?" I ask.  “That,” she responds, pointing to the TV. “That” turns out to be the BBC news which is doing a piece on processed food making people die young.  “I’ll never die young!” she says.  “Neither will I!” I respond and for some reason we both found this hysterically funny.  

Another giggle resulted from my unusual dress one morning.  I was en route to the president’s having been invited to the launch of a new educational product of the Presidential Office.  Not a very formal person, a jacket is not usually part of my work clothes.  When I donned one on my out to work that morning, she asked why. I responded, ”Got to go to the President’s house this morning, mum.” To which she replied, “Why? What have you done?”

Last weekend we were driving along the highway in broad daylight when coming in the other direction was a procession of military vehicles guarding some fancy black cars with some no doubt equally fancy VIPs ensconced inside definitely not respecting the speed limit.  All of them were sporting headlights -  beams full on. “Look at that”, says she, ”Can’t they see where they are going ? Oh maybe they have all been drinking!”

The most recent giggle revolves round bras.  Bras have been an issue for a while now.  It  started when she broke her shoulder shortly after I broke my leg and ankle whilst in the UK a couple of years ago.  We were a fine pair. In the kitchen she could reach cupboards with one arm and I could just cook while balancing on crutches – transporting meals or cups from A to B was an issue – she could do it with one hand; I could do it with neither.  Bras were another issue. With her broken shoulder she just could not put on a bra. The problem was solved temporarily by buying her front fastening bras. 

When she came to stay it became my problem again. It’s not very easy to put a front fastening bra on someone else. It’s a bit of stretch in more ways than one. She does not like taking off her bra at night and there’s no point arguing.  (Anyway she’s in good company;  Marilyn Monroe also slept in her bra.)  I usually give her a cup of tea while I have my shower in the morning. By the time I get back to her she has magically managed to remove the bra without removing her nightie and it lies folded beautifully on her bedside table. 

I decided to ease the bra situation by buying some regular back fastening ones. I reasoned that although she would not be able to fasten them,  it would make my life easier.   So I took advantage of a friend going to the UK to order some new bras from Marks and Spencers  (M and S don’t deliver to Sri Lanka) and got her some back fastening bras. They arrived and are a dream to put on. What I hadn’t anticipated was getting them off.  The first morning she had one on I went in to give her a cup of tea.  She was looking incredibly worried and I wondered what was wrong. “I can’t get it off!” she said in a completely perplexed tone.   It took me a minute (it was first thing in the morning) but the penny dropped and I realized what she was taking about.  She couldn’t remove the bra.  I had to laugh and soon so was she. I had to remind her about the new bra and that it was back fastening.  

Unfortunately Alzheimer’s being Alzheimer’s she often fails to remember this.