Talking of Memory

I was just writing to a friend and the subject of memory and confusion in old age became relevant.  It occurred to me that CJ and I were spared that although Mum (whose memory at 90+ was better than mine has ever been) referred to her 'forgettory' rather than her memory.

As usual I digress.  When Dad was taken into the nursing home suffering from chronic heart failure and could no longer even lift a spoon to his mouth because his heart would not pump the blood round fast enough to maintain the effort, the Social Worker came to assess him for eligibility to be there.  I had just arrived from the Outer Hebrides and was completely disoriented as to what year it was never mind anything else.  Dad also had macular degeneration and could no longer see to read nor, realistically, to watch television..

After a pleasant exchange the Social Worker asked Dad (who was 94) if he could tell her the date.  Excuse me.  A man with no eyesight in a nursing home single-occupancy room and no radio.  How is he supposed to know the date when I didn't?  I said as much.  The Social Worker and I had a 'discussion' until Dad said "For heaven's sake you two stop squabbling.  It's - whatever the date was.  I finished lunch about half an hour ago.  They probably serve lunch around 12.30.  So I reckon it's probably between 1.30 and 2 o'clock."  He then recited the name of the Prime Minister and a host of other things that the SW was likely to ask him. 

She and I looked at each other sheepishly.  I went and got us coffee!  She asked a few questions related to more personal matters.  Said everything would be ok and that was that.

Somehow I think I'll be lucky. It was pointed out to me this morning that it is Friday 13th.  Oh.  It's Friday is it?  No.  Joking.  I knew that because I have the family for dinner tonight.  But the 13th?  Next someone will be asking me what month it is.  It's late spring.  It must be May.  Oh no.  It's May in the Northern hemisphere isn't it.  So it must be...?   Oh dear.