One in 3 children will suffer dementia
Warning of health crisis facing babies born this year as life expectancy rises
ONE in three children born this year will go on to develop dementia in later life, according to a stark forecast of the looming scale of the degenerative condition.
Increasing life expectancy and an ageing population will trigger a “national health crisis” as more people spend their last years stricken with illnesses such as Alzheimer’s disease.
Health campaigners are today warning that the cost of dementia is already “staggering” and say the NHS must take urgent action to tackle the problem.
Analysis from Alzheimer’s Research UK predicts 32 per cent of people born in Britain this year will develop some form of dementia in their lifetime.
The problem is more severe for women, with 37 per cent of girls born in 2015 likely to develop the illness eventually, against 27 per cent of boys, according to the figures published for World Alzheimer’s Day.
Dr Matthew Norton, of the charity, said: “These figures underline a stark reality: as people are living longer, more and more people will develop dementia in the future if action is not taken now to tackle the condition.
“Dementia is our greatest medical challenge, and if we are to beat it, we must invest in research to find new treatments and preventions.”
Dementia, where damage to brain cells harms memory, speech, concentration and movement, affects 850,000 people in this country at present, the charity estimates. Alzheimer’s disease is the most common cause of dementia.
Research last year estimated that dementia costs Britain £26 billion a year – about £30,000 for each person with it. The number of sufferers is predicted to pass two million by the middle of this century.
George McNamara, of the Alzheimer’s Society, said dementia was “the biggest health challenge facing the country today”.
He said the NHS had to take “urgent action to be geared up to respond”.
“Today’s stark finding should galvanise the Government and us all into action,” he said. “We urgently need longterm, sustainable research funding that is proportionate to the economic and social impact of the condition.”
But he said there was a “gaping hole” in care budgets and often husbands, wives and family members were having to step in and bear the brunt.
He also called on the Government to try to fight the stigma around the condition, which he claimed led to many “being shunned and excluded from society when at their most vulnerable”.
Alzheimer’s Research UK says delaying the onset of the disease by five years with treatments would cut the number of sufferers by a third.
Last month, Cambridge University researchers suggested that baby-boomers were cutting the prevalence of the disease below some forecasts because they were exercising more, giving up smoking and improving their diets.
Alzheimer’s disease, which afflicts more than half a million people in the UK alone, is perhaps the disorder we most fear; the one that strips away all sense of self. Recent research suggesting the disease may be transmitted during certain medical procedures has, if anything, deepened our alarm. So can it ever be possible for anything positive to come of it, either for those who have the disease or for their loved ones?
In my experience, it is indeed possible to find meaning and even peace amid the challenges and confusion Alzheimer’s brings. For my mother, Pat, and myself, her diagnosis with the disease marked the start of a journey we made together from what was a broken relationship to a deeply loving bond as the end of her life drew close.
For the three and a half years my mother was in the late stages of Alzheimer’s, I kept a record of our conversations, learning how important it was to listen – properly listen – to and engage with people with the disease. In the midst of disintegration, my mother was far more attuned to the emotion and energy of those around her, including myself, than is often assumed possible.
When I was growing up in the west of Scotland, her behaviour made life at home a roller coaster. A former teacher of dance, she suffered from severe depression after my birth during the war, although her mental health improved when she later returned to her work. She was an anxious, troubled woman who today would probably have been diagnosed with bipolar disorder. As a young child I was witness to her despair and violent outbursts, while the onset of my teenage years created further tension between us. I frequently suffered panic attacks as a child and the breakdown of trust between us continued into my adult life.
In later years, having moved to London, I underwent intensive psychotherapy and trained as a therapist myself. My mother was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s in 2000, aged 85, following increasingly unpredictable behaviour and worsening forgetfulness. My father, William, was in his late 80s and could not cope and I was the only remaining child, my younger sister Fiona having died of an alcohol-related illness in her early 50s. Despite our chequered past, I wanted to care for my mother: it was perhaps my last chance to heal our relationship.
Trying from a distance to arrange support while commuting regularly from London to Scotland was stressful, especially as her illness progressed: she would refuse to go to bed at night and frequently fell and hurt herself. In 2002 I arranged for her to go into a small residential care home with dedicated staff, which was conveniently situated right next to her house. I visited once a month, initially staying for long weekends but later spending longer periods in my old home.
I still remember the first powerful emotional connection between myself and my mother. It was a year after she had moved into the home, when her attempts at rational speech were faltering and she was visibly weakened by repeated urinary
By trying to decode what she was saying, I was able to continue having meaningful conversations with her.
She seemed to intuit so much of what I was feeling. One day I was looking around her room for a Mother’s Day card I had sent. It was handmade, with a design of roses on the front and a loving message inside. It was nowhere to be seen. I said nothing but my mother said to me, “The lost roses.” She had read my mind. Tears filled my eyes and I held and kissed her.
In 2003 she started to have intermittent altered states of consciousness in which she seemed to slip into another world. At one point she even said, “It’s difficult living between two worlds.” But she also told me, “I am at peace. I have no worries, no fear. Death is nothing to be afraid of.” In this “other world” it seems she was free from anxiety and I gained great comfort from hearing this.
During all this time, my mother was able to share her deepest thoughts with me and a new bond developed between us. Looking at me one day, she said, “I’ve never seen such love coming from anyone’s eyes.” On another occasion: “The stillness of deep love, I can’t find words to describe it.” It seemed we were at last united in love, and strangely it was her Alzheimer’s that had enabled this to happen.
She died in January 2007, a day after my birthday – she had previously told me she didn’t want to spoil it – with me by her side. A few weeks before, she had told me: “You talk to me. Nobody else talks to me.” Tears streamed down my face. She was a joy to be with. Of course other people talked to her, but not in a way that was meaningful to her and that validated her experience.
From my journey with my mother through Alzheimer’s I learnt it is never too late to heal the past and that the disease can open our hearts to love. I believe the key to maintaining relationships with those who have this disorder is for us to truly engage in their world, rather than try to impose our rational views on them. When we do this with integrity we can move on from fear and find peace.
My mother was absolutely right when she said, “We had a difficult beginning but we’ve had a good ending.”