The Diary

17 September 2004: In Memory Of The King

Welcome to my little diary spot once more, wherever you may be in the world. Even Wolverhampton. As you already know, I don?t usually commence operations in this fashion, but before I get into the meat of tonight?s offering, our cheque presentation to the place where The King spent his days during the latter, more debilitating, stages of his illness, what I aim to do is make you think on for a few moments about some basic facts regarding dementia. There you all are, sitting in front of your PC?s, and digesting these words, and quite a few of you with years of rewarding and purposeful life ahead of you, and, hopefully, a secure and pleasant retirement, no doubt. But for some, sadly, it simply won?t be that way. Did you know that dementia, which is a catch-all term for all degenerative brain disease irrespective of cause (e.g. Alzheimer?s, CJD, ?punch-drunk? type conditions, yes, like heading the ball repetitively over a period of years, and so forth) currently affects over 750,000 people in the UK alone?

Not only that, and even scarier still, approximately 18,000 people with dementia are under the age of 65? That?s slightly lower odds than getting five balls up on the lottery, just in case you were wondering. It might indeed be you. Additionally, as things stand, of those reading these words tonight, one in 20 of you will get dementia over the age of 65 (that?s well under the odds for getting three balls up), and an alarming one person in five over the age of 80 (don?t even go there!). Alzheimer?s disease is the most common form of dementia, making up 55 per cent of all cases, and there are nearly 18 million people with dementia in the world. As for the symptoms, progressive memory-loss, confusion, anxiety, hallucinations, both visual and auditory, inappropriate behaviour, incontinence, leading, eventually, to death, they?re extremely distressing for both patients and carers. Eventually, the strain on partners and/or relatives can become so great, it can split whole families apart. Should that happen, or the carer be unable to cope any more, there?s no alternative but to place a loved one in institutional care, and from that, there?s no turning back. It?s strictly a one-way trip only.

The number of people with dementia is steadily increasing, sadly, and no-one seems to know the precise reason why. Could it be down to the fact people are simply living longer? At the turn of the 20th century, the average lifespan was around 50 or 60, so degenerative brain disease simply didn?t have time to develop in people. Smoking and high fat intake can also increase risk, at least indirectly. Both can cause heart or blood vessel disease, which in turn can prevent the blood (which carries oxygen around the body and to the brain) from circulating well. This can lead to vascular dementia, a term which simply indicates that problems in the brain have been caused by problems with the circulation. Sometimes this is very obvious, such as when dementia develops following a stroke, or a series of mini-strokes. That?s what my dad had and, allegedly, what Ronnie Biggs now has.

Excess booze can also increase risk, although small amounts are thought to boost the production of acetylcholine, the brain chemical, or neurotransmitter, which is reduced in Alzheimer?s disease and other dementias. Red wine is thought to be especially good, in moderation. By helping to keep blood vessels and the heart healthy, as well as ?thinning? the blood, it could reduce the risk of vascular dementia. Because high blood pressure increases the risk of having a stroke, it may also increase the risk of vascular dementia, so do what that nice Mr. Blair tells you, and eat less salt, and more fresh fruit and veggies! Don?t worry about drinking coffee or tea, though; the risk?s not been proven either way.

So what about genetics, then? There are a few families recorded in the medical literature where there is a very clear inheritance of the disease from one generation to the next. This is often in families where the disease appears relatively early in life. In the vast majority of cases, however, there?s a very small risk. If a parent or other relative has Alzheimer's disease, your own chances of developing the disease are only a little higher than if there were no cases of Alzheimer's in the immediate family. Having only one close relative with the disease doesn?t mean you?ll automatically get it later on in life.

That?s the biology lesson over with, then; normal service is now resumed in this column. As you will know from my postings earlier in the week, today, both The Fart and myself travelled to Dovedale Day Care Centre in Derby to present a cheque for ?1,000 to them. This was, of course, made up from ?875 raised as a result of the GD ?Keep The Change? campaign, both last season and the early part of this, plus an extra ?125 from Laraine Astle, in memory of her late husband Jeff, bringing the grand total to ? erm ? a grand. So, what does Dovedale do, then? It?s an NHS day-care centre for the assessment and treatment of people with both organic illnesses (that?s conditions you can actually diagnose via, say, a CT scan, or by looking at a stained microscope slide of someone?s body tissue), and what are called functional illnesses (that?s those where the problems are purely mental, like, say, paranoia, or depression, for example, and there are few or no changes in the body?s tissues). The centre is designed to hold up to 44 patients per day, bussed in and out from the surrounding area, (it doesn?t take in-patients), but today, they were looking after approximately 24 people. Referrals generally come via the patient?s GP, or geriatric medicine specialist.

When someone is referred, when they come to the centre for the first time, they?re given a thorough medical to ensure their condition is not due to some easily-correctable cause (eg. the wrong - or too much, or little, yes, it can happen - medication, nutritional deficiencies, and so forth), are also seen by a member of the psychiatric team, and then offered a range of therapeutic activities designed to stimulate those brain cells just a little more than they have been. One good example of this was the numerous prints of World War Two posters ? aw, you know the sort of thing, ?Careless Talk Costs Lives?, ?For Their Sake, Keep Them In The Country, Mum!? ? displayed prominently on every wall. The Centre is now getting more and more patients whose principal memories are of the war and its immediate aftermath, hence the posters.

Activities on offer while we were there today included arts and craft (there is a superbly-equipped purpose-built area there), cooking and baking in a purpose-built kitchen, a little like a school domestic science room writ very small (this encourages concentration, memory, numerical, and motor skills, and aids those with poor attention-spans), quizzes, for obvious reasons, gardening (there is what?s called a ?Sensory Garden? there, which is where the presentation ceremony was held), and music and singing. There are also games, like pool, indoor golf and bowls, reminiscence sessions, in which books, slides, videos and discussion are all used to stimulate memory, classes designed to develop social skills, plus much more. All this, of course, keeps the staff extremely busy, which is why the staff-patient ratio is so high.

It?s not an easy task, as most dementia is irreversible, and some patients can exhibit behaviour of a very challenging nature indeed, but all the activities at the Centre are designed to stimulate and encourage what mental function patients still have, enabling them to get the utmost out of life; this has the happy result of keeping people out of institutional care for far longer than would be possible were care and therapy simply confined to the home. Speaking from personal experience ? my late father, who also suffered from dementia towards the end of his life, attended a similar centre in West Bromwich ? I can honestly say that the work done by staff at these places can do wonders for patients. He attended for three days a week, and afterwards, he always seemed much more cheerful and alert in himself, a victory in itself, as my stepmother was finding it very difficult to cope, and desperately needing a break herself.

So, how did the presentation go, then? Very well, actually; we both took the 10.03 train from Birmingham New Street (on time; a miracle in itself for Virgin trains!), arriving at Derby station a little before eleven, where we were met by Alan Green (honest!), the centre manager, who accompanied us on the short walk to our final destination, just around the corner. Through the security-coded doors we went (kept that way to prevent their charges from wandering off; it has been known!), then into a pleasant little interview room, where we were introduced to Alison Andrews, the Head Occupational Therapist, who organised refreshments and sorted out the formalities regarding handing over the ?real? cheque to the Centre. That done, and a short natter later, during which we explained what the fanzine was all about, and the background of why we?d chosen to support this particular good cause, we then embarked on a tour of the centre proper, where most of the activities mentioned above were going full-blast. All the patients seemed very contented with what they were doing, and at one point, The Fart got into a very long conversation indeed with one elderly lady, something about Derby Country in the Brian Clough days. I think. Either that, or they were swapping Boer War stories together. (God, it was hell before Mafeking got relieved!)

And, in one room in particular, a poignant pause; there, before us, stood a pool table, temporarily bereft of players, balls on the table, in a triangle, patiently awaiting the next taker; Alison told us that when The King was a patient, that table was one of his loves, he would play on it incessantly while there. A moment, then, to pause, reflect ? and, it has to be said, swiftly move on, lest emotions get the better of one. From there, out into the pleasantly-sunlit Sensory Garden, and there is a reason why I?m mentioning this, folks, honest. That?s where the Centre wants to spend your money, on refurbishing it, so that more patients will be able to tend it, and derive pleasure accordingly. As Jeff was such a keen gardener when he was well, I can think of no finer epitaph to a great Albion player, and a lovely, lovely man.

By this time, it was approaching midday, and our musings were then interrupted by the arrival of Laraine Astle and daughter Dawn; as I mentioned previously, they were donating ?125 to bring the grand total up to ?1,000. Their appearance on the scene also coincided with that of two photographers. Not the usual suspects from the E and S, or The Mail, for that matter, they couldn?t make it; these worthies were from the Burton and Derby local rags. Once everyone was arranged in place, and with The Fart clutching the dummy ?cheque? wot I made last night like he was super-glued to it, grinning fit to bust, much clicking and snapping took place, including lots from your truly, for the benefit of The Dick readership as a whole, and, hopefully ? I?m not precisely sure whether the attachment got through OK, or not ? for readers of the E and S also. Mind you, that cheque must have impressed the staff there ? they asked to keep it, as they wanted to frame it!

Snapping and clicking operations over, we then repaired back to our little pink interview room, where the eats awaited us all, various sarnies, both white and brown bread, the usual sort of stuff one lays at the feet of kings and fanzine editors, and little cakes and tarts, some of which had lovely white icing on top, plus lots of those scrummy hundreds and thousands thingies. A good opportunity to talk to both Laraine and Dawn (we don?t usually get chance on matchdays, home or away, as we?re too busy selling, and The Astles usually have to present themselves to some club official or another), and catch up with all the latest scuttlebutt, Albion-related or otherwise. Funny how these things can turn out, though; during our conversation with Alan Green (the centre head-honcho, not the Beeb football commentator!), it transpired that his dad was a fanatical Baggie, with a home season ticket to his name, and proudly so, it has to be said! Needless to say, he too was a big admirer of The King in his heyday, and was much saddened by his untimely death.

Tine to take our leave, then, and the offer of a lift to the station from the Trust?s publicity officer, who?d been on hand to record the occasion for posterity herself. A last farewell to The Royal Family on the car-park, and it was off to the station we went, only a two or so minute car journey away, and nicely in time for the 2.24 departure. Which was running 10 minutes late. Sod. Never mind, in it came eventually, a quick dash into what was supposed to be the ?quiet? carriage (although that fact didn?t stop someone bringing a bawling little brat in there for the outward journey this morning!), then the 40 minutes or so trip back to Brum, where The Fart and I parted company.

Mission accomplished, then ? but that?s not the end of it, by a long chalk. We?re still raising money for this particular cause, so the ?Keep The Change? campaign still goes on. As I mentioned the other day, we hope to be in a position to present them with yet another cheque before too long, and judging by the truly phenomenal rate at which we?ve been amassing donations this season, we won?t have to wait too much to see that hope finally come to fruition. It only remains, then, to thank all Dick donors perusing this column for their generosity; the whole venture wasn?t down to us, it was primarily down to YOU, the readers, and I reckon you all deserve a big pat on the back for putting your hands in your pockets so deeply, especially as watching football?s no longer a cheap activity for the average Baggie. Thanks a bundle, then ? and that?s about it for tonight. Back to normal ? or whatever passes for normal in the wild and wacky world of West Bromwich Albion! ? tomorrow, when I shall be looking at the likelihood of our leader walking, and what hope we have of turning over Fulham this Saturday. Until then, arrivederci.

 - Glynis Wright

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