Alzheimer's: A Neverending Story (or Hay fever on Fry-day)

SHRINK-WRAPPED: A healthy brain (bottom) is much larger than the brain of a donor with Alzheimer's 
 Wikipedia

'He's there, look. Just under that thing, that window, and look, he's painting. Can't you see him?' she enquired, pointing towards a high brick wall in the side garden. 'He lives there now. He comes to see me every morning, you know, before he goes to work. He says "How are you dear?" and asks me if there's anything I want and then he's off.' 

Another cruel twist of the knife by that arch villain, Alzheimer's. My wife almost winced. It was certainly painful to hear.
My mother-in-law was talking about her husband who died fast-approaching four years ago. And he wasn't even called Lazarus. It was the prelude to a long, meandering but contrived chat that would stop randomly at different points as if signalling different stages in her life, before continuing again, a mishmash of ideas, people and places.
At this point, as the early afternoon sun lit up the large conservatory of the Little Downham care home overlooking fields where well cared-for horses barely moved as they grazed, her thoughts were predominantly about her husband.

BRAINY: Stephen Fry, normally a regular at the Hay Festival, 
does not seem to feature this year
Wikipedia 

The story-telling was effortless but there were sometimes pauses as she struggled to snatch the correct but evasive word, a Potteresque snitch, hovering in the hazy ether. Occasionally her speech was slurred, too, but overall she was holding her audience. Stephen Fry at the Hay Festival (http://www.hayfestival.com) it was not. Not even Bernard Cribbins  presenting Jackanory. But we were intrigued, almost mesmerised by the stuff she was spouting just as we were captivated by those BBC episodes from our childhood. Even the chiropodist working on residents' gnarled old feet at the far side of the sun room was intrigued.
'At least she's talking," she said with a heavy stage whisper. 'You're not wrong there. But it's so sad because everyone she's talking about is dead,' I replied as mother continued to talk to her daughter.
'I thought as much,' replied the seated chiropodist, before looking down attentively at a foot resting on one of her knees. She didn't look up, but continued: 'I used to work as a carer in a home like this and I think that it's more worrying when they just sit there and say nothing ... just staring.'
Another click, another piece of nail from the foot dealt with swiftly as she withdrew what looked like pliers straight from my old (seldom used) tool box. I hate feet. Horrible. She didn't mean to be dispassionate. But I suppose there is a point in our lives as we shuffle to old age when we all become 'they'.

'Did I tell you that Vera called round to see me the other day?' said mum-in-law. 'Yes, she looks well and she's coming to pick me up and we're going to live at home again. In a couple of weeks, I think. You don't have to worry about picking us up, by the way. Vera has her own transport now. My mother doesn't know that we're going home, but we don't want her sticking her oar in. You know what she's like. She'll say this and that, la-la-la, and "no you can't". Typical. Well, that's what Pop always said.' She then laughed. Actually, it was more of a cackle. Scary, very scary.

Vera was her favourite sister, a severely handicapped lady who had no formal education and died many years ago ... in a care home. Their own mother passed way before then. Mum-in-law's beloved Pop died when she was just 16.
The illness is not getting any better ... http://www.alzheimers.org.uk/ http://www.alzheimersresearchuk.org/

PS: Did you see the story about Stephanie Bottril, who committed suicide because of the 'Bedroom Tax'? This government are a bunch of arses who don't have a clue about the life of ordinary people in Britain. It's all well and good making savings, targeting scroungers, going on about the European Union or calling for a referendum because UKIP have them running scared. But what about vulnerable folk who genuinely struggle, who rely on the Welfare State to survive? They do exist, you know, and it is these people who are being punished so that the government PR machine can roll out crap and wrap it all up in a supposed vote-catching benefit-cheats offensive. We all hate scroungers, of course we do. But tackle that problem in a different way, for goodness sake. My mother-in-law talks more sense.