ALASTAIR STEWART: The worst thing about dementia? It’s reduced the love of my life to the role of carer. It’s demeaning for her and makes me feel guilty

I think it started with my shoelaces. About 18 months ago I started having trouble hanging them, and my favorite double Windsor tie knot also presented a challenge. It became clear that something was wrong. I started showing up for work early – sometimes several hours early – and not looking quite right.

At home in Hampshire, my wife Sally pre-tied my ties and buttoned my shirts so I could just slip one over my head in the morning after showering. Nevertheless, my colleagues at GB News often had to politely point out that I was very early, or that I didn’t look as smart as usual.

And after a professional life working with words, unusual mistakes crept in.

My kids pointed out spelling and word order errors in my emails or social media posts. My agent told me that they often joked around the office about how fussy I was, but now my spelling and grammar were all over the place.

Sally said the first time she knew something was wrong was when she asked me to reset our kitchen clock, but I couldn’t; I couldn’t imagine what the hands meant, and I could no longer look up and say it was ten past eleven.

At Christmas we decided as a family that I needed to see a GP. Some may be tempted to put on a brave face or convince themselves that they will get through it. In my opinion that is not brave or smart; it is delusional, even dangerous.

I told the doctor that I was concerned that I was developing early dementia. He said with professional candor that he didn’t know it at the moment, but that some people struggle with growing old, especially after living the exciting, challenging life I had, with half a century on the front lines of the television. news.

I didn’t feel old, I felt confused – not all there, as it were. My long-term memory, especially in the areas of news, politics and economics, remained – and remains – strong. I still wrote good scripts. But while my perspective and understanding were still crystal clear, it was difficult to ignore the other issues.

For example, if you told me you had coffee with milk but no sugar and I went to the kitchen to make it, I was unlikely to remember that formula when I got to the kettle (although, as my children noted, always been a bit sloppy).

The GP said the only way to be sure was an MRI scan, and sure enough, I then saw a consultant in June who got straight to the point: ‘You have had a series of minor (infarction) strokes resulting in vascular dementia.’

My immediate reaction was fear at those two words, strokes and dementia, although I remained super calm (while saying a rather strong expletive in my head).

Both Sal and I felt like we were in a scene from Emergency Ward 10 or Casualty. As someone who loves language and has made it my career, I cannot escape the fact that when a professional looks you in the eye and tells you you have dementia, it is a shock, no matter how prepared you are.

The good news, he said, was that I didn’t have Alzheimer’s. The bad news was that what I had was not curable.

However, there was a lot I could do to prevent it from getting worse and to adapt to it. High blood pressure is the key to my type of strokes, so not for the first time I was told to quit smoking and not drink too much (which I haven’t done in ages). I also need to exercise more and get more fresh air.

I had been smoking since I was a teenager, at worst up to forty a day, and I really wasn’t sure I could give it up. But thanks to the NHS Stop Smoking clinic, which provides prescription nicotine patches and a counselor who calls me once a week, I managed it and am quietly proud of myself.

In an era of long waiting lists and full appointment books, the NHS has served me exceptionally well. I see three consultants: a psychiatrist, a stroke specialist and a cardiologist, who are trying to find out why my blood pressure is so high.

Two other people have helped us enormously: a psychiatric nurse who suggested a whiteboard for the kitchen as a reminder – something many people without dementia find useful – and an occupational therapist sent by the stroke team who has been brilliant. .

We sit at the kitchen table and do spot-the-strange exercises, word searches and – what I find most difficult – looking at a jumble of shapes on a page and then trying to represent them in a drawing on the page. next page.

My oldest son Alex gave me a book of word searches and I religiously try to do one every day.

I hope these interventions slow the progression, and in fact my symptoms are much the same as when I was diagnosed in June. I certainly don’t feel like things have gotten worse, although they aren’t significantly better either.

What I have found most difficult to deal with is how the diagnosis has reduced Sal, the love of my life and mother of my children, to the role of caregiver. The one who double checks my shoes, my buttons, my diary.

It’s humiliating and soul-destroying, and she comes into it from a position of enormous caliber and talent. When I met her she was already established in TV production, while I was the entry-level intern at Southern TV in Southampton.

I know she’s doing all this out of love, but when you’re the one whose shoelaces need mending, that’s not an easy ask. It’s not an easy thank you either. It’s complicated. I find it difficult because I feel guilty.

She is truly a remarkable woman, a truly badass woman, and I know how lucky I am. We are an incredibly close, close-knit family.

My oldest children, Alex, 41, and Clemmie, 38, have been with me every step of the way on this medical journey, and I see a lot of our two youngest sons, Freddie, 30, and Oscar, 25, who have a horse business on site.

Oscar’s triumphs as a show jumper continue to fill me with pride, and Freddie, his partner Laura and their son Jimmy, who is almost two, are frequent visitors.

Anyone who has been blessed to be a grandparent will understand me when I say that an hour with Jimmy is better than any drug or therapy.

We live on a farm and in addition to the horses, we have two donkeys, a Shetland pony called Nutkin, ducks, chickens, a cat and a turtle.

Part of my exercise routine now is to take our two dogs, Suki and Lily, for an afternoon walk — as long as I’m back for the news by 6 p.m.

And my poultry feeding run is a wonderfully therapeutic start to my day; when they have laid eggs, my mood soars.

What has made a world of difference to me is that I can still work. In early spring, I decided to retire from full-time frontline broadcasting. My schedule was tough: from sunrise to the end of the race, both Saturday and Sunday.

Everything was live and most of it was ad-libbed, which is taxing on anyone’s brain. My employers, GB News, could not have been more supportive. They have kept me on the books with a contributor contract, which has just been renewed.

I feel blessed to work at a company that sees the value I can provide, regardless of my condition, and is willing to make reasonable accommodations so I can continue working.

I hope to continue to repay this kindness, trust and loyalty in the coming months; If I wasn’t ready, I wouldn’t be on air, and rightly so. But I am, therefore I am.

Quite soon after my diagnosis I spoke at a political dinner for my friend Michael Gove and answered questions, which went well and confirmed that my condition was not affecting me in many areas of my ‘old life’.

In fact, people who meet me always say they would have no idea I have dementia (two consultants said the same thing after talking to me for five minutes).

I think it is important to remain visible, to show people that dementia is not an abyss. My short-term memory isn’t as sharp as it used to be, which is annoying, but not catastrophic.

Yes, I have dementia, but for me this is not the end of the road, I am 71 and still have a lot to give.

People sometimes ask if I’m afraid of what the future holds. I don’t, although maybe I should. I am certainly worried and concerned about the prospect of deterioration.

But I have incredible faith in my family: whatever nature and medicine have to offer me, we will tackle it together. I feel so incredibly happy.

Friends have been very supportive and I enjoy being involved with charities such as Alzheimer’s Research UK, which funds studies into all forms of dementia and believes there is a cure even for my type.

Now that several months have passed since my diagnosis, I have had time to reflect and think more deeply.

What I want to shout from the rooftops is that if anyone reading this has any strange symptoms, please don’t ignore them.

Get help, listen to the experts and do what they advise. While it is true that there is no cure, there are very smart men and women working very hard on it.

There are things you can do today to begin the process of slowing your decline. Onwards and upwards – and watch this space!