As a carer, you always have to be on the look-out for dementia dangers – even in the home.

September 2018

Lena has a new friend.

She lives in a curious one-dimensional world where everything’s gone into reverse. She’s locked in there, can’t step out. Lena knows exactly how she feels. They’re two of a kind.

She seems vaguely familiar, although Lena doesn’t know her name – I’ve asked her and she can’t tell me. At first they didn’t talk much, but these days Lena stops for a natter every time she comes to see me in my study.

She’s much more fun than the people Lena sees on the TV. They’re not really interested in her, too much wrapped up in their own small worlds. But this woman’s different. She’s got time for Lena, she reacts to her, she’s got a natural easy empathy.

Lena checks out what she’s wearing. She likes her taste in clothes. The woman’s checking her out too.

She pulls a face. She gets one back. Lena knows it’s not nice to laugh at people but the woman looks so funny that she can’t hold the giggle back. It bursts out, and suddenly they’re both cracking up at each other.

I wish I knew what’s really going on in Lena’s head, but when she’s happy, I’m happy. She stands there for ages, while I’m typing out this story.

But her new friend is dangerous. When she’s with someone she really likes, Lena likes to hold their hand, maybe give them a little hug. She tries.

I’m terrified the illusion could be shattered.

— Come back away from the mirror, Lena! It could fall and break!

You see, I know that the heavy full-length mirror is only supported by a double-thickness of string, hung across a couple of screws into the stud-wall. I know because I was the one who fixed it there. At the time it seemed strong enough. It suddenly doesn’t, now Lena’s friend has arrived.

Lena hears the urgency in my voice from another world, and haltingly obeys.

— Yes. Yes. Of course. I know. I know.

She comes to stand behind my chair.

But two minutes later, she’s back at the mirror, talking, pointing, pouting. And she moves in close again.

— Lena, no! Please stand away. It’s dangerous.

I have a problem. As old habits fall away, new habits replace them. I know Lena will want to see her dementia friend every day now. And that mirror’s just not safe. But I don’t want to split the two of them up and spoil their fun.

Where did I put my screwdriver?

* * * * *

This little story is about just one of the dementia dangers Lena managed to discover. I’m only half-joking when I say that one of the meaningful and purposeful activities for the Care Combine might be to use dementia patients as product safety officers … under close supervision of course. If something could be broken, swallowed, or exploded, Lena at that period — 2016/18 — would generally find a way to do it. We’ve already seen one example of Lena’s expertise as a shoelace tester, of course, in Learning the Ropes.

There’ll be more short dementia danger stories like this to follow. In the final published book, I’ll probably chain them all together.

And if you have stories of dementia dangers, amusing or not, please share them in Comments below. Let’s build a collection of warnings for future carers.