Gypsies,Tramps and Thieves.

Shortly after my husband was admitted to the Adult mental health unit I was approached by one of the nurses and asked to bring some casual clothes for him. What he wears ARE his casual clothes,I said. I mean some gym wear like that and she pointed to what some male patients were wearing. No,he does not have anything like that,but I can always buy something.And I did. The next day I went to my local M&S and bought two sets of trousers and tops.I marked them with his name,washed both sets,as I always do everything new before it is worn, and took it to the hospital.Three days later the clothes disappeared never to be seen again - the trousers and the top he wore for two days never made it back to him from the laundry room and the unworn clothes he had in his wardrobe were also stolen. The travel card he insisted on keeping "in case he wanted to go home and I was not there to take him" also vanished as did a £20 note and some coins he wanted "to buy newspaper with".[He was an avid reader,several daily newspapers were a part of his and my life from the day we met]I had the presence of mind to replace his set of keys with some old ones..These went too,never to be seen again.After several weeks Olly was moved to a room further back.One day a student nurse ran into his room when she saw him walking into the communal area.I followed him several seconds later.The nurse did not know me. I was puzzled why she would be going into his room, the daily temperature,etc,had been taken, the room had been cleaned,sheets changed,so I turned back and walked in the room.She was startled and lost for words and I decided to let it go. But I had no doubt whatsoever that the girl was a thief and went there to rifle through my husband's belongings.

And so he danced.

The hospital had organized a party for the patients. Decorations.Food.Music.White shirt,greyish blue v neck sweater,his favourite, I still treasure it,grey trousers.And he was ready. A lovely social worker whom I had noticed on several occasions being kind to every-one,no raised voice,no barely concealed irritability in gestures, approached my husband,smiling.He looked at me and mouthed excitedly - she wants to dance with me,can I? I nodded. And they danced.His size eleven and a half shoes shuffling to the right,shuffling to the left,shuffling every which way.His head high,looking about like a preening peacock.So proud.I could not take my eyes off of them.My husband,the man I had loved for so long and fought so hard not to hate, for a few moments was made to feel like a human being again, like every-one else,like a man that he once was,handsome,kind face,brilliant mind.The lovely creature was gently guiding him,never letting the smile leave her face even when he stood on her feet.The English rose,the salt of the earth. I have never thanked her. But then,watching them on the dance floor,I did not know that in the years to come there would only be very few people like her infinitely kind to my husband. Very few in the multitude of medical professionals I had to deal with. No,I did not know it then.But I know it now and now I want to say to her - thank you.

The Court of Protection

was brought into existence by a Labour government.Human life had come to mean nothing under the rotten to the core Labour governments,yet they thought themselves fit to introduce this greatest perversion of justice.Court of Protection?The most inhuman utterly senseless,remorseless government body that has ever come into existence.Decisions were made about my husband,about myself and I was forbidden to be in Court when they were made.I was not allowed to have any say in absolutely anything. I asked countless times to be present.Every time I was refused. And I paid dearly when I asked.I paid dearly when I was refused.

The Power of Attorney.

The rule of the thumb is, that if you know what it is, you can grant it.This had to be done in a solicitor's office.I found a local firm specialising in family law.The first day my husband was in one of his good moods, we went. Do you know what the power of attorney is, asked the female solicitor my husband. Yes.It is when you give the power to someone to do everything for you. He knows what it is, but because he has dementia,it would not be acceptable,said the lawyer. This did not make any sense to me, I should have argued but to my great shame and regret,I did not.She was a solicitor,she knew best,I convinced myself. So a nightmare of gargantuan proportions had begun. Nightmare,as I came to realize, would only end if my husband dies.Or if I die. Two or three months after the first visit the the solicitor's office ,

the lady,a partner in the firm,had retired and went to live in Spain. My case was taken over by a young man

barely out of school. He could not find any paperwork, he was not familiar with the law.Having already paid the woman a substantial amount of money, if I changed the lawyer I would lose everything.And would anyone else be any better? I stayed.

The list of the nursing homes was long

and comprehensive.It covered the whole of London and the home counties.I wanted the best for my husband,but somewhere near where I could visit every day.The nursing home affiliated with the hospital was full and there was not a chance of a place for my husband for several months.I was told to look elsewhere.The pleasant home several minutes away did not accept any-one who needed 24 hour care.[I forgot this rule and about two years down the line when I so badly needed for someone to take care of my husband just for one week, they refused.They refused even when I offered to pay for the extra staff for the week].The second choice had similar conditions.[But became my refuge and my friend when I needed it most.But I am getting ahead of myself]. I made several appointments.Some nursing homes I didn't even go inside once I came to the front door.After one such appointment I kept yet didn't keep, I had a phone call and an irritated female voice asked me if I was coming.I was there earlier,I said.I opened the door and the stench of urine was overpowering.I left.The phone was slammed down. I begged the hospital to allow my husband to stay there until a room becomes available in the affiliated nursing home. The doctor could see that I visited my husband daily and understood my wish to have him where this would continue and so he was allowed to stay.

One day

when I came in, there were two doctors and a nurse waiting for me. He was quiet this morning, we took the advantage and he had a brain scan.The damage is considerable. He has Alzheimer's.There are no drugs available that can treat this,nothing can help him.He has to be placed in a home that cares for people like him. No,no,absolutely not.I want him home.I am taking him home. We cannot allow this.We have a duty of care towards you. We have the report from the doctor who had diagnosed him with dementia.She describes in detail the injuries and bruises on your body.Then there his his GP's report and the report of the two psychiatrists who agreed he is a danger to you and must be sectioned without delay. Maybe now he has realized that if he hits me he will be taken away,he will stop doing it. No, you know he won't.It will get worse and worse.And he is too strong as it is and when he gets angry he gets stronger,one day he may kill you.There is a small chance that in a year or two or three the front lobe of the brain will kind of burn itself out and the violence may subside,it has happened, but it is a long way off and there is no guarantee this will happen. He can not go back home now. There are two things you must do - decide what nursing home to place him in and sort out a Lasting power of attorney.We will help you with the nursing home, you must see a solicitor about the LPOA. Can I go home now, said my husband when he saw me.I have been good, the doctor said I have been good. I want to go,let's go home now, and he pulled me towards the door. When I closed the hospital door behind me,I set down on the steps.I do not remember how long I was sitting there.When I felt I had enough strength to walk I set off for home.But I could not walk and waited for a taxi.A young black driver looked at me and said in a gentle quiet voice - you have been visiting someone in the mental hospital. I remember opening my mouth but no words came out,only sobs and loud wailing of an injured animal.The taxi didn't move.

Over the coming days a routine has been established.

During the night my husband would scream,in the morning he would fight,in the afternoon sleep.The various tests the doctor wanted him to have were postponed,this included the very important brain scan.Day after day I would sit by his bed,watching him sleep.Then he would have a cup of tea and a sandwich I had brought. What are you feeding him at home, the nurse asked,he refuses to eat saying it is awful,rubbish.You must be a very good cook. I am not,I said truthfully. I would bring cakes, biscuits,fruit,anything that didn't need heating up because by the time he woke up the kitchen would be closed. I want to go home,he would say every day. When can I go home. Soon,darling,soon,as soon as you are better. What is wrong with me.I am well,look and he would raise his arms up like a fighter to show how strong he was. When the doctor says you can go home,then I will take you home. Which doctor? Are you a doctor,he would ask any-one passing by,another patient,a cleaner,a cook.Can I go home now? Watching him,listening to him was tearing me apart. And when the time came to kiss him good-bye he would scream and scream and scream.

I walked home.

I could not bear the intrusion of other people,their questioning eyes. And I could cry. I cried all the way home. Now and then a passer-by would look at me,sometimes just for a brief moment I could see the compassion,the pity.I wanted neither.I just wanted to be left alone. About two months ago there was a young girl sitting on a wall,crying, as I was coming home with coffee and croissants. Are you all right,I asked. Yes, thank you,she replied. I walked on. After a few steps I turned back. You cannot be all right if you are crying. I live just here,in the house next to he builders, do not be afraid of me.Tell me why you are crying. With tears streaming she told me how she was canvassing on behalf of a charity and was pushed purposely and violently by a man. I am just trying to help,why are people so nasty,she asked. Oh,sweetheart,you have kind heart, but you must and will learn that sometimes people are nasty and you have to deal with it.It's either that or never doing anything kind for any-one. And what would you rather do? Be kind, she answered. Here,have my croissants, they will help you feel better,they are really good. She would not accept them,but I insisted. When in front of my house I turned,smiled and waived,she smiled, waved back, munching happily.

As I approached the hospital I could see people walking up and down the long corridor

I was passing. They were some of the patients, as I found out when I went inside,their rooms were adjacent to the corridor. They were the newly admitted patients placed on the watch list. My husband was one of them. He is asleep,I was told. After the sleepless night and violent morning he finally fell asleep with exhaustion. Please leave him,I said,let him sleep. I will wait in his room.May I? I was shown in,the door closed but did not shut,the hinges not fitting firmly enough. Yes,I recognized my husband's handy work. I sat down. The face partially covered by the pillow. The dear face I had loved for so long. Peaceful,with every breath the chest heaving and falling down gently. The moments like these were moments when I had respite,when for a short time I could stop being afraid. I was staring at that face and could feel tears running down my cheeks. The door opened and a quiet voice said behind me - you have been sitting like this for three hours now.You must be hungry.Would you like a cup of tea and a sandwich? Black coffee,please,if possible,nothing else.Thank you. Two hours later Olly woke up. He stirred a little,looked at me and closed his eyes again. Then opened them and jumped out of the bed - I thought I was dreaming but then I thought I will look again at the dream. We held onto each other.

I return home

greeted by deafening silence. I walk from room to room and notice every flaw, every stain,every tear. Doors hanging forlornly off the hinges.Drawers that wouldn't shut.Bed-side lamps missing their once so proudly sitting hats. Mentally I begin to make notes - the broken wardrobes chest of drawers and bed-side tables must be thrown out and replacements ordered,the doors re-fitted, new handles put on.New mattress and lamp-shades,carpet to be cleaned.Beautiful heavy deep red velvet curtains have had so many cups of tea thrown at them,would there be time to have them professionally cleaned? Everything large-blankets, washable rugs- will go to the big washing machines in the launderette. So much to do. Will I manage it all in a week or two before my husband returns home? But it will all have to wait til tomorrow. Today I am so tired,so very,very tired,I can barely walk. I make a cheese sandwich and a cup of tea, turn off the bell, the telephone,close the curtains and settle in bed. I woke up just after 2 in the morning. The flat eerily quiet. Olly! I jumped and ran into his bedroom Empty. He was not in the siting room either. And then I remembered. I lay down on the side of his bed staring out of the window. Staring for two hours, or was it three. Then the night gave way to the day. I made a cup of coffee and started to clean. His bedroom was a priority. At 9 I went looking for furniture. When I returned shortly after lunch having found and ordered what I wanted, there was a message to urgently ring the hospital. I did. Your husband has been screaming since he came here, lashing out at everybody and the door has been ripped off the hinges.He is shouting I want my wife,I want my wife. Can you please come now. You are a hospital. You have doctors, you have nurses,social workers, cleaners, cooks, porters.You have every medication possible at your disposal and you cannot handle one man. I have had to do by myself for years what twenty of you cannot do for a day. I will come when I can, I said,but I will not come now. There was silence,then the voice said - all right, come when you can,even if it is outside visiting hours. And I did go, the following day.

My husband,my Olly,

how frightening it all must have been for him.The panic on his face,the fear. Where are we going,he kept on asking. I want to go home. I want to go home with my wife. Let's go home,let's go home. I was stroking his hand but said nothing. I just wanted to have the day behind me and sleep,sleep,sleep. Sleep without fear.Sleep without worry.To have peace,to feel safe for a week or two,that is all I needed.To get my eye better.To get my bruises healed. To stop hurting all over. I wanted just one day to be the way it used to be. Oh,my God, am I asking too much?

The day my husband was sectioned.

And true to his word, the doctor did set in motion the removal of my husband from our home.Two days later an ambulance, two psychiatrists,a nurse,two police officers and the GP came. Who are you, screamed Olly at one of the police officers. I am a police officer. Go away,said Olly and pushed him. Your husband is as strong as an ox,said the policeman.Did he do this?.He pointed to the doors hanging off the hinges. Yes. With the paperwork done, documents signed and both psychiatrists agreeing my husband was mentally ill, all that remained was for him to be taken into the waiting ambulance. But he refused to go. I want my wife, he screamed. I want my wife. Reluctantly it was decided that it would be best if I went to hospital with him. And I did.

It was a morning like any other yet a morning like no other.

The footsteps were faint,the odd creaky floorboard the sound of which I got accustomed to over the years and had grown to love.The footsteps became louder and closer.I turned round and said smiling-good morning,monkey.His right arm shot out and the hand fell on my face,the thick of the palm hitting me in the right eye...........He sat down.I am hungry. The breakfast was silent.I waited for him to return to bed and to settle down,then opening the door quietly I went downstairs to pick up the mail.He was waiting for me standing on the landing. Where were you? To collect the letters, sweetheart. I have been looking for you. He kicked me. My belly took the full force of his 13 and a half stone,his 11 and a half size shoe. You cow.He turned and went back in the bedroom. My inside felt as if it was ripped apart. My legs gave and I collapsed like a heap of string. Oh,God, I am going to die. The pain was sharp and relentlessly spreading to my back,my legs.I could not stand up.I am going to die.God, let it be quick,please.Let it be quick. And then I fainted. I do not recall how long I was lying there. Where are you ,I heard a loud shout and doors banging.Where are you? I am alive.I am alive! Oh,God,let me lie here a little longer,let him not find me. He did not find me.He did not look for me behind the front door.I could hear him going back to bed.On all fours I crawled inside and picked up the phone.I rang the surgery.The doctor wasn't there,but would return at 4.I remained seated by the phone,resting against the wall.At four I phoned back. I am not well enough to take care of my husband.Please arrange to have him placed in a nursing home for a week or two. What happened? He kicked me and I cannot walk. I will come to see you when the surgery hours finish. He did not come when the surgery closed. Ten minutes later my bell rang. It was the doctor. I have brought something to help you. He gave me an injection to ease the pain. Your eye is swollen. Did he hit you? Yes. For the first time I could see compassion in his face, and regret that for so long he was dismissive of me. He will have to be sectioned without delay.I will set it in motion today. My husband heard the bell and came in kicking the door, ready to pounce on me. Who are you,he screamed at the doctor. I am your GP. What? Your doctor. I don't need a doctor. Your wife needs a doctor.You kicked her. I didn't kick her.She kicked herself.Like this.His right leg kicked out. She did it. Not me. This was not the day I was going to die.

The return to the Adult mental health unit.

The details of the appointment were sent directly to me, bypassing the GP.I always made sure my husband was beautifully turned out whenever we went out together.Shoes gleaming,trousers pressed,a tie. He never owned a pair of jeans or sneakers.Neither did I, not until three or so years ago.But I must not digress. It was a glorious morning, the sun glittering on the melting snow, it was a morning when your heart sings with the joy of being alive. The waiting room was empty and cold. We didn't wait long. The door opened and the Italian doctor's smiling face appeared. Good morning,she said and extended her hand to my husband. Who is she, asked he turning towards me. You do not remember me? I remember YOU. When did we met,he asked abruptly. Several months ago you came here with your wife. That's all right,then,Olly said. Would you follow me,please. And we did. She kept on turning her head back and said - you intimidate me,I feel so frumpy next to you. My husband looked at her with utter confusion. What does it mean,he asked You are so well dressed. I am not used to seeing here people like you. This is my wife, he said.I love her very much.She knows everything.She tells me what to do.She said I must wear this coat so that I look handsome.I am handsome,aren't I? Very,replied the doctor I love you so much, said my husband and clasped my hand firmly. Do you know what month of the year it is,asked the doctor. Of course I do, it is June. Several months ago his answer was correct. We were shown into a warm,brightly lit room. Various papers and a pen on the table. Test was long and comprehensive. The same questions, but not the same answers. He has deteriorated considerably.Has he been much more violent? Yes, the rages are more and more frequent, prolonged and the remorse has become rare. As quickly as I can arrange it he will have a brain scan.It will show us the extend of the damage.The hospital will write to you again directly so that no time is lost. We shook hands.Thank you so much,thank you so very,very much.You have been absolutely wonderful. She understood.She cared.I wanted to lay my head on her chest and cry and cry and cry.But this delightful,kind creature was never to see Olly again. Soon after she returned to Italy. The letter from the hospital didn't arrive either. Nothing turned out as I had hoped it to be.

As the GP was offhand and unpleasant,

the nurse was lovely and kind. Raised blood pressure,but it is only to be expected in his age.And he is overweight. Yes,he is.Several years ago when the change in him had begun to rear its ugly head he lost several stone and looked like a skeleton. He cannot sleep at night and then he eats,I replied. He shouldn't nap during the day,then he would sleep better at night, I remained silent. The medical professionals.They know a lot yet so little about human nature,about a day to day living with someone for whom the notion of time has ceased to exist. Blood was taken. A week or so later I had a phone call - the result of the blood test showed nothing untoward but a blood pressure tablet was prescribed. I asked for an appointment to a nose and throat specialist to see if Olly's hearing could be improved. The GP asked for it to be expedited. My husband, as a young boy,lived by the sea and swimming in dirty polluted water resulted in an ear infection,followed by an unsuccessful operation and a total loss of hearing in one ear and over the years the loss of 30% of hearing in the other. The day of the appointment in the local hospital came. Olly was in his element. At his best.I was praying nothing would set him off and nothing did.The Czech doctor was everything a doctor should be and so often is not - knowledgeable, with immaculate bed-side manner,charming,pleasant. When she turned her back to my husband,he patted her on the bottom. He was sitting like a soldier,upright,looking straight ahead,lips pursed, a wicked smile,so pleased with himself. With a twinkle in her eyes she shook a finger at him - no,no,no,no. Olly was in his element. The centre of attention.Proud of himself. He has dementia,the doctor said quietly.Has he been diagnosed? We have a good department here in the hospital. I am waiting for an appointment. What is dementia,my husband asked. It is when someone is very clever,I said. I am very clever,aren't I, he looked at me with his dove eyes asking for approval,for a confirmation. He always needed,craved my approval.The Czech doctor,having spoken to my husband for five minutes,knew he had dementia. His GP,to whom he had been going for years,noticed nothing.