Dementia Care

Adam Thompson Excerpts

Tuesday 3rd June 2025 Commons Chamber

[Adam Thompson (Erewash) (Lab)]

I wanted to share some of my experiences and, with her support, the experiences of my office manager, Becca. Becca and I agreed that the issue we wanted to raise in the debate is dignity.

Becca’s nan, Pat, lived with dementia for over a decade. She received care both at home and, later, in a specialist dementia care home. At home, the care she received was poor. When carers visited, Pat was left in inappropriate clothing, unwashed or not taken to the toilet. Her husband, then in his late 80s, and their daughters were left to care for her. When Pat moved into a care home, the quality of care improved. The staff clearly cared for her, and over time she became one of the longest-residing residents. Some carers treated her like family. But even in a good care home, the pressures of understaffing meant that dignity was often the first thing to be compromised.

Pat’s husband and daughter visited her every day. They noticed that she was frequently dressed in clothes that did not belong to her, despite everything being clearly labelled. Sometimes, other residents wore the outfits her family had chosen for Pat. As a result, Pat was often left in ill-fitting clothes. Worse, carers did not always have time to take Pat to the toilet. Pat’s daughter would have to raise that she had to go to the toilet, or that she needed to be cleaned and dressed. Every day, she had to advocate for her mother to ensure that she was treated with the dignity she deserved.

My nan, Hilda Duffield, was born Hilda Caunt in 1918. By the time she was 90, Hilda—nan—was losing mobility and suffering memory loss. Ted, my grandad, had become her devoted carer and took over all the domestic tasks. After some time, nan was diagnosed with dementia. I remember the disease becoming increasingly entangled with and amplifying her already worrisome nature. She started to become angry, flying off the handle with stress over where grandad was—whether he was in the next room or had popped to the shop. The disease took an increasing hold over her as time progressed.

My nan and grandad continued to manage together for several years, but the situation changed rapidly when grandad became ill himself in autumn 2012. When he was admitted to hospital, it was clear that nan needed full-time care. After a few weeks in residential care, she was moved to the same nursing hospital as grandad, and she was present at his bedside when he died in January 2013. They had been married for 73 years.

With my grandad’s death, my nan’s dementia worsened. She was moved to a care home near my uncle Neil in Bolton, as he and my aunt Eileen would be able to spend time with her during the day. I, however, never saw my nan again after she moved to Bolton. By all accounts, by that stage she had no memory of me or of much of my family. She spent her days hallucinating and had become abusive to care home staff; I remember my uncle Neil telling me how he regularly heard her screaming words he did not know she knew at people who were trying to help her. We decided as a family that there was no benefit to me or to several other family members visiting, and that it was better for everyone who could to remember her as she was before her mind was taken by that cruel disease. I do not know if that was the right thing to do. I never will.

By the end, like Pat and so many others who suffer with dementia, my nan had lost her dignity to that disease. She had lost everything and needed those around her to maintain her dignity for her. In Erewash and across the country, so many more have stories like those I have shared today. Not all those suffering have someone who can advocate for them, but I hope I have gone some way towards doing so today, as have my colleagues across the House—my gratitude goes out to all of them.