This is the 100th instalment in a series on dementia, including the research into its causes and treatment, advice for carers and stories of hope.
When this series launched, my mother was still by my side. My first column explored what looking after her taught me about dementia. Now, as I write this 100th piece, I reflect on what dementia taught me about the nature of care itself.
Before she was diagnosed with dementia – but likely as her memory began to fray – my mother was admitted to hospital. As she forgot things, she failed to ring the bell she was meant to sound whenever she needed help – for example, when she needed to get up to go to the toilet. Instead, she just got up and made her way to the bathroom on her own.
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