Gemma Bailey

Posts Tagged ‘mum’

When a Family Member Goes into Care

Posted on: June 10th, 2018 by admin No Comments

This is a bit of a random post for my blog but I felt it was too important to keep to myself….

➡️ Have you got a dementing one or did you have one until the past?⬅️

If so, I might have discovered something important. (Apologies if you already know about it – I literally just found this yesterday).

For the last 2 years I’ve been told by social service that when my mum needs care (she has FTD a rare kind of dementia), There would not be any financial assistance available to her because she owns her own house. The house would need to be sold to pay for her care costs, and only when her funds remaining had dropped below £24,000, she then could be eligible for financial assistance in paying for the care costs.

Whilst this is true of the help from social services, I’ve just discovered that there is funding available from the NHS. This works on the basis that her need for care isn’t based on old age, but is based on a health condition.

The fund available is called CHC, and it is not means tested. Which means that in making an application for this funding, any other savings, property or financial assistance that your loved one receives isn’t taken into consideration. It also isn’t limited to the care decision you make – meaning that you can still receive it even if you chose the best and most expensive care home available or if you offer care at their own home. You may get part or all of the costs covered.

What is considered is whether or not your loved one has a health condition which necessitates the care that they are receiving. Therefore if you have a relative who receives care, that you paid for, or that they paid for, due to them having dementia or Alzheimers – or any other health condition – then you could be eligible to claim back past payments or to receive financial assistance for any future ones.

I’m not sure if other people are familiar with this or not. I know that I wasn’t and only found out about it yesterday. My guess is, that lots of people miss out on this funding because as a society we have come to accept that dementia is part of old age. And that, if you have a loved one who develops it and has to get care, it’s just part of getting old. The truth is dementia isn’t part of getting old. Dementia is a disease and therefore it is a health condition which means that CHC funding should be available to them.

He is a link to the CHC application form and some more information about it.

https://www.continuing-healthcare.co.uk/do-i-have-to-pay-for-care-home-fees

I don’t yet know if my Mum’s application will be successful but it’s definitely worth a shot.

🍋Tales of Further Lemons

Posted on: May 3rd, 2018 by admin No Comments

On Monday evening we had to take the dementing ones cat to the vet. The cat had been poorly a while but the dementing one was not really acknowledging it.

On the way there, my sister’s social worked called me. She told me that there has been a whistle blowing incident at my sisters care home. There is an allegation of abuse towards my sister. A member of staff has been suspended and the police are conducting an investigation.

The social worker requested I do not retaliate by hunting anyone down and performing KGB style torture. I reluctantly promised I wouldn’t.

At the vets, they were offering to find ways to keep Ali cat alive. The dementing one was agreeable to this. However I called it and requested the cat be put to sleep. It was the right thing to do because the poor thing looked like an RSPCA advert and was going to get more and more neglected.

‘Turns out doing the right thing is hard. The dementing one was very pragmatic about it all (she doesn’t do emotion anymore really). Meanwhile I was a blubbering mess who could only just muster a “Thank you” as Ali cat slipped into an eternal sleep. .

We went back to the dementing ones house and I dug a grave for Ali cat.

I then called in on my sister and reminded her carer’s that I’m her appointed person – that they need to look after her well because she has someone fearless who is looking out for her and who doesn’t tolerate mistreatment. I said it in a Russian accent so they knew I meant business.

The good thing about all of this, is that even the bits that leave me feeling a little bruised and broken, remind me I’m still alive. And whilst that continues to be the case, I’ll keep on fixing what I can. I live in service to make things change and improve in ways that fuel my reasons to like myself, to be proud of myself and to be at peace with myself.

Everyday, in every *way* I will continue to get better and better.

Banana Man

Posted on: March 15th, 2018 by admin No Comments

When my Dad died, I had to go through probate which, if you don’t know, is a court order that allows you to wrap up the affairs of a loved one who has passed away.

Along with planning a funeral, this was a brand new experience to me. I strongly disliked the pace with which it all went and the colossal amount of admin which included a lot of filling out forms and phoning people. Plus the cleaning up, selling of or disposing of a home full of his belongings.

At the time I thought it was the biggest project I’d done since having to submit portfolios of 2 years work at college. Except this time I was doing it alongside running a business. Or trying to!

People say “If I can do anything to help…” but they really can’t. All the creditors, banks and estate agents wanted to talk to *me*. If I had a regular job, I recon it would have used up a years annual leave plus weekends to have got it all done. With the belongings I had some much appreciated help sorting through them but it still seemed like a lot of work.

It took a year to get it all done and I know I’ve said it before, but sometimes I feel like I’m one of those punch bags on a wire spring that keeps getting hit and keeps springing right back again – 4 months after all things ‘Dad’ were done, I realised my Mum was unwell.

Cue a year of medical evaluations which concluded she was fine until eventually a diagnosis of bvFTD, which prompted my next round of legal admin.

I thought probate was rough. Probate was the warm up. Here’s how it went:

Power of attorney for Mum re finances.
Equity release for Mum to clear off debts
Paying off the creditors
Power of attorney re health and well being for Mum
Deputyship for my sister re finances
Guardianship application for her deprivation of liberties
Deputyship for my sister regarding personal welfare
Deputyship for my sister regarding medical care

Plus there was the change over of all of my sisters benefits from my Mum to me and new bank accounts etc in between.

Coming up, I’m going to make a claim on the bond for my sisters money that was spent by my Mum as a symptom of her dementia.

Then it’s done. I’m just hoping they both live a decent while longer afterwards. Not just because that’d be nice, but because if I have to do probate after having done all this I’ll go nuts!

But you know what’s driven me bonkers? The amount of times I’ve had to fill out different forms that all say the same thing and are all going to the same place. It’s like a punishment – like writing lines in school – and it’s happening to the person who is helping.

Why can’t the COP and OPG be friends? Why can’t the details I did in a personal welfare application be used in a finance one? The reasons for applying are the same (my family is crazy) and my name didn’t change in the time it took for me to complete the first form.

It makes me feel a lot of frustration and resentment. These are not good feelings to feel. Usually I look at how I can make a situation better in order to relax myself, but this is a system well outside of my control.

How do I pick myself up and get back to being lighthearted after the fog of bureaucracy has faded my enthusiasm? I want to giggle and have optimism but I find myself complaining about the government and saying things like “This ruddy country”.

Where did I go?

Luckily today, a little voice piped up in my head. A familiar voice – my own.

I was standing in a queue and some previous panic about not having enough time and not being good enough at planning had finally shut up, leaving quiet. It was in the quiet that I heard myself emerge.

In the queue beside me was a little boy of around 2.5years. He wore a yellow padded coat with the hood up, and yellow track suit bottoms.

And my little voice in my head said “Poor love. His parents have dressed him like a banana.”

And I laughed to myself.

There I am.