Living with dementia magazine July 2010

Peter and Ann Oldacre took early retirement to settle in southern Spain, where they were looking forward to a stress-free life in the sun. Their plans fell apart, however, when Ann started showing signs of dementia. Here, Peter tells their story.

We were living in a flat in Bristol where Ann was working as a travel agent and I was working for a manufacturing company. I'd been ill for some time, so we decided to retire early.

We didn't know where to go. We have children and thought that as Spain is only two hours away on a plane, we could get back easily if we needed to. We were going to buy a villa with a pool and live the good life.

We'd never been to Spain before, so we took time off work to go and have a look around different areas. It was like a fantastic long holiday. We explored up and down the coastline, lazed in the sun and swam in the sea. We fell in love with an apartment in a place called Majaca in Andalucia. It had two bedrooms and was on a small complex just 200 yards from the sea. It was absolutely beautiful.

We started looking in January 2002, and by June of that year, we'd moved. I had a naval pension which was adequate to live on, and we had some money from our flat in Bristol.

We lived quite happily there and got to know people. I started doing odd jobs and we were going along nicely and nothing really happened until October 2006 when I started to notice changes in Ann.

She lost her enthusiasm to sit in the sun and go for walks. We used to do the crossword together but she couldn't concentrate, her speech was becoming slow and she gained weight. Then there were two little accidents in the car when she forgot which way to go on the roundabout.

We came back to the UK to see the GP, who said Ann was depressed. Her mum had Alzheimer's so we'd seen similar things happening to her. On one occasion, Ann had got lost at the airport and after that I found it difficult to leave her to do anything alone.

On one of our visits to the GP in the UK, Ann's MMSE score showed she'd deteriorated incredibly quickly. The health service is brilliant in Spain, but unless you're good with the language and can understand what's happening, it's very difficult. Their service also depends very much on families being involved and helping. I couldn't work or go out and do anything. In the end, we had no option but to come back.

Back home

Ann's very close to her sister, Sandra, so we moved in with her and her family in Monmouthshire. They had one son at home and their other son was at university. They gave us a big double bedroom and at this time Ann was still walking and talking, but she'd become incontinent and had collapsed a couple of times.

My naval pension was paying for our mortgage in Spain, but it was the only thing we had to live on. We were struggling. And staying with Sandra put a terrible strain on her and the family. At this time we still hadn't had a diagnosis.

In the end, we saw a new consultant. I'd always had Alzheimer's in the back of my mind, but it's devastating when they tell you the news. Then it's a case of, 'Thank you very much, goodbye,' and you walk out of the door, thinking 'What the hell am I going to do now?'

Sandra mentioned Alzheimer's Society, and I went to one of their evening meetings for carers. I was the youngest person there by 20 years or so. Ann had just had her 60th birthday. I was put in touch with a woman called Anne Carpenter, who supports younger people with dementia at the Society.

Without Anne, I don't know what we would have done. Just filling all the forms in for benefits was a nightmare. You don't know where to start. There are lots of black and white questions but the answers aren't black and white.

Selling the house in Spain was also proving to be an absolute nightmare. I didn't have Power of Attorney so we couldn't sell it as it was in both our names. We had to do everything in front of the notary over there, and everything had to be translated, which cost a fortune.

We were running up huge bills going backwards and forwards to Spain, and all we had to live on were Ann's disability living allowance and her state pension. It took a year to sell the house. By this time, Sandra's son was due back from university, so we had to get a letter from Sandy to say we were going to be made homeless so we could get a council house.

We moved to a bungalow in a hamlet called Cross Ash, between Abergavenny and Monmouth.

Life today

This place is on top of a mountain in Wales. It's ten miles from the nearest shop, and there's no public transport. It has a beautiful view but isn't designed for someone who's disabled. We had no idea how quickly the disease was going to affect Ann. When we moved here, she was still walking and talking. She soon started falling more, lost the ability to stand and walk, and hasn't spoken to me in the last two years.

There was a period when everything was going wrong, and to get help from anyone was so difficult. People don't tell you in advance that help is available. When Ann first became incontinent, I'd go to the chemist and spend all our money on incontinence pads. No one told me you could get them from the NHS or that an incontinence nurse could come and do an assessment.

Trying to get what you are entitled to is so difficult and so frustrating. There have been times when I could just walk down the road, get on a plane and fly back to Spain and let someone take over.

I get a break three days a week. Some days I go back to bed, and some days I shop as it gives me something to do. Alzheimer's Society has opened up a memory café and carers meetings in Abergavenny and Monmouth, so I go every couple of months.

It isn't quite the life I had imagined. I'm on the happy pill. I go to carers meetings and it's good because they tell you it's okay to be depressed and angry and frustrated, because if you bottle it up you won't do yourself any good.

It is heartbreaking to see someone you've been married to for a long time, the person you love and who you've had children with, disappear as the person they were. Anne was a bubbly, I'll give-anything-a-go type of person. Some days she's still there. She'll give me a cheeky little smile, grab hold of my hand and not let it go. Some days it seems she knows who I am, other days I really don't know.

'But she's not the same person anymore. It's difficult, it really is difficult.'

Anne is 62, and Peter is 64. Their daughter, Andrea, lives in Wiltshire, and son Gary lives in Cardiff. Peter has made a film to show the impact of Alzheimer's disease on Ann's life, and to remember the fun-loving person she is who embraced life at every opportunity. He also wants the film to raise awareness of Alzheimer's Society. We will include more details about the film when it is available to view.