“The loss I feel living without Kate and alone now is indescribable”
BY CORDELIA GALGUT
My wife Kate and I met in 1981 when we were both teachers in London. We got on from the start and I remember feeling that we were meant to be together. I summoned up the courage to declare my feelings and we’d laugh about the fact that she moved in with me three days later. And that was that for 42 years!
After many years of teaching, I decided to retrain as a counselling psychologist. This involved years of studying, culminating in a doctorate. I couldn’t have done this without Kate’s unstinting, unconditional support, even to the extent of encouraging me to work part-time, whilst she carried on working as a headteacher; an excessively challenging role. How she did it, I don’t know, but I will be eternally grateful to her. I can’t bear watching Alzheimer’s rampage through her body and soul. It’s beyond awful and so unfair.
In hindsight, I think Kate’s dementia started many years before it became noticeable. She’d be absent, she’d show extra anxiety and behave in peculiar ways that were hard to interpret. The first time I thought something more was wrong was around my 60th birthday nine years ago, when she was getting confused in a very unusual way as if her brain wasn’t working as normal. I just saw her getting increasingly overwhelmed.
In the end, we saw a neurologist I knew and she diagnosed Kate with dementia, probably Alzheimer’s, in 2016, when she was in her late 60s. I then got Kate properly into the NHS system. During this period, I called the Alzheimer’s Society Dementia Support Line for advice. I’ve had some very useful support from those manning that over the years.
Being a same-sex couple has added an extra layer of difficulty. When accessing health and social care, it sometimes feels like our relationship is not treated as a “proper” relationship, so the extent of the trauma of Alzheimer’s on us is not taken as seriously as it would be if we were a heterosexual couple.
I too often feel people’s awkwardness around us. Sometimes it is outright, unthinking homophobia, other times it’s a kind of self-conscious embarrassment, the person not knowing what to do or say about the fact we are a same-sex couple, as well as awkwardness around dementia, a double whammy effect! I also get the impression that people think we should be grateful we’re tolerated, rather than that we have equal rights in any given situation.
Last year I had to make the horrendous decision for Kate to go into a residential home. I’d had very difficult times coping with Kate on my own for several years, not physically well myself, either. I couldn’t get enough help and we couldn’t afford the number of carers we needed to keep her at home. People think that when you put someone in a home you can “get on with things”. It’s not that simple. The separation anxiety is through the roof and the caring doesn’t stop.
The loss I feel living without Kate and alone now is indescribable. It’s horrendous – as it would be for any couple who are joined at the hip and have shared a life for so long, same-sex or not.
Valentine’s Day is fast approaching and it feels like an annual slap in the face and a very unwelcome reminder that I am alone now. I certainly don’t begrudge anyone their happiness, but it would be nice if those of us who are alone were remembered more, too.
One in three people born in the UK today will develop dementia. Alzheimer’s Society vows to end the devastation caused by dementia, providing help and hope for everyone affected. For more information, visit alzheimers.org.uk or call Alzheimer’s Society’s Dementia Support line on 0333 150 3456.
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