I've made a few tough decisions in my life...

 ...but this was by FAR the toughest, and most emotional, I've ever had to make. I never want to make another decision like it.

It changed lives, that's how tough.

Back in late 2020, my Missus (name reserved, we'll call her M for this purpose - not her real name initial) was diagnosed as having early-onset dementia/Alzheimers disease. At the time, M was 58, so it was very early onset as it usually only affects people in their later years. The reason we had the tests done was to ascertain if it was something like this, or PTSD as a result of numerous abuses and situations from her earlier life (details I'm not going to go into here, but were probably contributing factors, according to the doctors).

The symptoms between PTSD and Alzheimers can often be confused, except that PTSD can be successfully treated in many instances. Alzheimers, on the other hand, cannot be treated. There is NO CURE!  It is a horrible disease that affects the cognitive functions of the brain, and includes memory loss, an inability to think logically, increased anxiety levels and eventually leads to the brain causing other complications. The most common cause of death in Alzheimers patients is aspiration pneumonia, and not the brain shutting down as is more commonly thought.

Myself and a few other friends had noticed a change in M a couple of years earlier, when she became quite verbally aggressive towards myself, picking fights unnecessarily and accusing me of all sorts of things, none of which were true. At the time, she was going through menopause, so I attributed it to that. How wrong I was.

Over the coming years, we could see other changes in M, like she was withdrawing from conversations in social events, struggling to identify simple items (basically couldn't identify anything with a noun), losing quite a lot of weight even though she has a healthy appetite, losing coordination and thought processes. The ladies at her pilates class called me one day and said she was driving erratically and I had to stop her from driving altogether. From then until the time she stopped going to classes, I would drive her there, then go for a cycle for the hour of her class and be there to take her home when the class was over. Even her actions in class were erratic according to the ladies, but they enjoyed having her bubbly personality there so didn't mind that she would sometimes get lost on exercises or burst out in a giggle fit when she was trying to do something. They are all wonderful people who loved and treated her as if she was "one of the girls".

Just five years ago, M was an intelligent, creative home cook who enjoyed all sorts of cooking and baking, but the advancement of the disease really hit home one day when she was in the kitchen making a simple spaghetti bolognaise, and couldn't remember what to do. After more than an hour of her floundering around, I had to take over and finish preparing the meal. From that day, about two years ago now, M didn't cook another meal, didn't even boil a kettle. And on that day, I started not only preparing meals for all of us, but also performing all the household chores that M used to do (I'll call them the "typical" chores that women traditionally perform) because she could no longer perform simple tasks that most of us take for granted.

From the following day on, I had to set out M's clothes for the day, get her showered and dressed (even tell her that her shirt was on backwards, such were the details of what she couldn't do anymore), make breakfast and settle her down on a couch from where she would watch whatever channel (typically CNN, for some unknown reason) was on the TV until someone changed it. I even had her screaming at me one day because she got so frustrated at not remembering how to use a TV remote control.

Physically, there is absolutely nothing wrong with M. Until recently, we would go to our local athletics club every Wednesday, walk 3km and sit with the folks afterward for a couple of drinks. Sometimes, M would get confused and want to jog the course, but I had to rein her in and slow her down. One of her habits is mimicking people around her. If they ran, she wanted to run. The same with walking. Sometimes she confused the two, went out walking and came back jogging, or vice versa.

Late in 2024, as further progression of the disease, M became incontinent at night. Early one morning I woke to her lying on her back, waving her arms like she was making snow angels, except that she was lying in her own urine. And over the following weeks, it got progressively worse to such an extent that I had to put her to bed in adult diapers.

From there, our day typically started at 5am, where I would clean M off, wash her in the shower and  get her redressed, then back into bed with a cup of coffee, whereafter I would go for a short cycle to help with my dealing of the situation. I would usually get home after about 2hrs, to find her still in bed sometimes looking at a magazine or paging through a book she was trying to read. Once I'd showered after my ride, I would help M get dressed as well, as described earlier. Talk about "rinse and repeat".

That was until mid-January 2025, when I made the toughest decision of my life.

I had been talking to a couple of people in the "care" business and they suggested that it might be time, for both our wellbeing, to either get a carer for M or consider admitting her to a care facility. I looked around at what our options were, and considered what I thought would be the best course of action for us, but especially for M's continued care.

I have to mention here that I was not only looking after M at the time, but also my 81yr old mom (who has COPD/emphysema) and my 11yr old Nephewmonster (another sad story), as well as trying to look after myself through it all. I'm not ashamed to admit that my mental health was taking a serious knock as well. Between what was happening with all the personalities in the house, in equal blame, I must say, I was becoming more and more stressed, really only having my cycling to vent my frustrations and keep me grounded.

Considering that M's condition was only going to get worse and she would eventually need 24hr care support, I couldn't bring a carer into the house as it would not only complicate matters (M can only recognise and remember about four people) but it would delay the inevitable move to permanent care.

So on 22nd January I made the heartbreaking decision to admit M to a local care facility.

The range of emotions I went through, and still go through, is staggering. I knew it wasn't going to be easy, but I was not ready for how hard it was, and still is. Even sitting here now, there's a lump in my throat just thinking back. I went to meet with the care facility manager, who listened to my story, waiting for me to speak while I choked back words and emotions, even tears.

By the end of the relatively short meeting, she decided that M might be a case for their facility and would come to the house with one of her nursing sisters to meet and talk to M to confirm. Needless to say, they agreed that M was a "prime candidate" for their care, and we began discussions around when the move would take place.

At around 10am on 31st January, I packed a small suitcase according to a list of instructions from the facility, sat M in the car and took her to "her new home". Needless to say, she was unaware of what was happening, despite me trying to explain it to her in detail. The disease just does not allow her to understand anything remotely as complex as this.

We sat with the ladies at the facility, chatting all the while, allowing M to get to know them, after which M was taken through to a large room that has a rectangular table in the centre. Around the table were about a half dozen other patients, all with varying levels of the disease, all having been there for some time already.

I wasn't allowed to go through with them so that I couldn't disturb what they were doing and how they introduced M to the folks. Instead, I was told that that would be a good time for me to leave so that they could start getting M settled in. The settling in process would be a lengthy one and I would not be able to visit M for two weeks, which they told me was average/normal.

The walk back to the car was like walking through a waterfall with tears blurring my vision. I got in the car and sat for a long time bawling my eyes out, blaming myself for deserting M, guilt and frustration burning into my mind. Those feelings have not gone away. I'm not sure they ever will. The memory of that day certainly never will.

Here I am now, living comfortably at home with all our earthly possessions, but M isn't here to enjoy them as well. We built the household together, gathered "stuff" together, made a lot of decisions together, changed our lives together. No more though. How fucking unfair is that to us? How fucking unfair is that to M? Granted, M is comfortable in the facility, where they are wonderfully caring people, and most of her needs are catered for, but it isn't "home". Where she should be.

A number of people, including the facility manager, have told me to "make a new life" for myself. There are times I struggle to deal with that thought. M and I have been together for 25yrs. You don't just give up on 25yrs and "make a new life". Not in this case anyway. Or am I wrong?

Never fear. I'm not about to take a jump off a ladder or take a long swim straight out to sea. I'm stronger than that. I will deal with the complexities of this life-changing sequence of events. I might even "make a new life" for myself. Time will tell.

Look after yourselves out there, folks...