A Mind is a Terrible Thing to Misplace: The Great Dementia Mythos

If popular opinion is to be believed, dementia is merely a mild inconvenience that strikes precisely at eighty-five, causing kindly old gentlemen to put their slippers in the coal scuttle and search for spectacles already resting on their noses.

It is depicted as a sort of whimsical, permanent Sunday afternoon nap. Quite frankly, the sheer volume of rubbish spoken about the condition would fill the British Library, provided anyone could remember where they left their reader's pass.

Let's dismantle these glorious untruths with a bit of standard British cynicism, shall we?

First up is the grand myth that dementia is simply getting a bit 'forgetful' in one's twilight years. People blithely equate mislaying their car keys with a complex neurological condition.

Mislaying your keys means you're absent-minded; forgetting what the keys are actually for is where the real plot thickens. Calling dementia simple forgetfulness is like calling the Great Plague a mild case of the sniffles.

It isn't a senior moment; it's a full-blown structural renovation of the grey matter, minus the planning permission.

Then comes the notion that it's an exclusive club for the ancient. Oh, absolute poppycock. While age certainly adds fuel to the fire, young-onset dementia is delighted to crash the party uninvited. It doesn't wait for you to collect your pension or take up crown green bowls before making an entrance.

Another favourite misconception is that dementia is a single, solitary disease. People use the word as if it were a specific brand of marmalade.

In reality, dementia is an umbrella term, and underneath that rather soggy umbrella sits a whole family of unwanted guests. You've got Alzheimer's, vascular dementia, Lewy body, and frontotemporal dementia, to name but a few.

It's a proper neurological variety show, though admittedly one with terrible ratings and no interval.

Finally, there's the patronising assumption that once a person receives a diagnosis, their brain instantly turns into porridge and they cease to exist as a conscious being.

People assume we can no longer appreciate a good joke, a cup of Earl Grey, or a sharp bit of gossip.

Nonsense. The spirit remains, even if the internal wiring is doing a bit of improvised jazz.

So next time someone tries to tell you dementia is just a bit of benign fading at the edges, do feel free to set them straight. A little genuine understanding goes a long way, even if the front door keys remain firmly lodged in the butter dish.