Washing Rose's Hair

I need to explain that my Rose was diagnosed with Alzheimer's a couple of years ago. The progress of the disease is, in her case, slow and there is much we can enjoy together, but hair-washing did not prove to be one of those things! This post is not for those of a nervous disposition and involves references to nudity. Be warned.

“For richer, for poorer,” etcetera, but I don’t remember signing on for hair-washing. Rose has always managed her own hairstyle – very long, waist-length and twisted up in coils known only by Rose. Fastened by half a ton of ironmongery with a fringe at the front trimmed by Rose to her specific requirements. No hairdresser is allowed near her fringe. No hairdresser can be trusted to cut her hair shorter. She once had a very nice, kind, home-visiting hairdresser to wash and possibly shorten her hair. It was not a success.

Me: “That looks great.”

Rose: “It’s awful. Look how she has cut my fringe.”

Me: “It looks fine to me, just the same.”

Rose: “Well, you never notice anything. I am not going to do that again.”  

And thus it remains, which a shame really. Rose can manage the mysterious coiling and ironmongery insertion BUT she needs my help with hair-washing.

We have devised a method – far from perfect, but workable. It involves total nudity for us both – not a pretty sight, as we both need ironing. I assemble the equipment in the bathroom. Rose enquires if the brush and comb have been washed. I affirm that this is the case. The ironmongery is removed. A bath is run with non-slip rubber mat in place. Lavatory seat is put down to provide handy platform for towels, plastic jug, shampoo etcetera. Rose wets her hair and asks for shampoo which I squeeze onto the palm of her hand. She lathers up and I help with this. I fill plastic jug with tepid water. She says it is too cold. I say why don’t I use the shower thingy that is part of the taps. She agrees.

Rose: “Aaagh! It is going in my ears!”

Me: “Don’t be such a baby. Stick your fingers in your ears, or I could get you some cotton wool.”

Rose: “You don't know what it's like. I had abscesses in my ears when I was a child."

Me: “So did I. Do you want to try cotton wool?”

Rose: “Alright.”

The process is completed. Rose is still in the bath and we are of course still nude. Getting out of the bath is not easy involving twisting round kneeling and grabbing the rail and the side of the bath with me in close attendance. Mission accomplished. I can get dressed as I am not involved in the drying. I clear up and go to my computer to write this to relieve my feelings. I reflect, not for the first time on the difficulty of the ageing process. Best to laugh while you can.