Nine years ago, my dad had a series of mini-strokes. Amid all the brain tests and blood tests, the doctors also gave him a questionnaire to fill out – asking him to draw the hands of a clock, identify a number of animals and remember five words to recite back at the end of the test.
From this, he was diagnosed with early-stage Alzheimer’s, coupled with vascular dementia, at the age of 69. It was a shock.
My sister and I had always been more worried by mum, who exhibited numerous signs of memory loss, while my dad – still in his sixties and fit – had disappeared contentedly behind his newspaper since his retirement. We thought he’d wanted a quiet life, not that there was anything wrong.
While there was a lot of denial of the diagnosis initially (and more by mum when she was also diagnosed with Alzheimer’s six months later, also aged 69), there was, at least, an understanding that even if things were broadly functioning now, it would be prudent to plan for later.
So I called a solicitor to organise a Power of Attorney (PoA) – the Scottish equivalent of a Lasting Power of Attorney in England.
It wasn’t a usual lawyer’s meeting. The rules in Scotland require that a professional – solicitor, advocate or doctor – interviews the person granting the PoA in order to legally verify they understand the document and are free from influence.
My parents also had to decide what kind of PoA they wanted to grant (there are two types: health and welfare, property and financial affairs). Should my sister and I be able to make decisions about their health, finances or both? Should we siblings have to agree on every decision going forward, or could we act independently of each other?
In the end, they decided to offer as much scope as possible, not knowing what the future might hold. So both my sister and I were granted powers over both health and wealth for both parents and the ability to act independently of each other so either of us could step in when needed.
While it wasn’t a pleasant meeting around my parents’ dining table, it was a necessary one. I can’t count the number of times I’ve had to forward those PoA documents to a bank, company or organisation since.
Speaking to doctors, sorting social care packages, paying bills, cancelling subscriptions – quite rightly, people need to know that you have permission to make choices on behalf of others.
When my parents were no longer safe to stay in their own home, we moved them into residential care. Even with all the Is dotted and Ts crossed, I don’t know how that move could have been made without a PoA being in place.
Because my parents had assets over the £22,750 Scottish threshold, their care would be self-funded. The care home application needed financial declarations regarding savings, pensions and annuities, with supporting documentation required for each.
After we ran down my parents’ current and savings accounts and liquidated their ISAs, the sale of their home was needed to pay for care. As the only childhood home I remember, it was an emotional wrench.
But with financial PoA, organising tradespeople to get the house ready for sale and paying invoices was at least relatively easy.
Once registered at my parents’ banks, I had apps on my phone so I could digitally bank for them in ways they had never contemplated learning. But there are extra steps in signing over the deeds when you are not the registered owner.
Three years on from my parents moving into full-time care, we are now at the point where the house money is gone, too. Conversations have already begun with the home’s finance team and the local authority due to take over payments.
Again, without PoA documentation, trying to get all the supportive evidence to show that the financial situation we were describing is true (and that my sister and I hadn’t been plundering my parents’ accounts) would be nigh on impossible.
The experience has made me realise just how important it is to get processes in place for situations you hope never arise.
The Scottish system is different to that of England and Wales, while Northern Ireland has its own model, too.
In England and Wales, completed PoA forms must be witnessed by a professional, such as a doctor, who has known the person for two years, to confirm they understand what they are signing. An appointed attorney is also required to sign.
Waiting too long and having to retrospectively apply for a Guardianship order in Scotland or a Deputyship order in England and Wales, once capacity has gone, is tough.
It can take many months and cost thousands of pounds, causing huge stress and jamming up decisions that often need to be made in real time.
The English system separates decisions about finance and welfare and courts are often reluctant to make a family member a Personal Welfare Deputy, preferring doctors and social services make decisions on a case-by-case basis.
For someone concerned about the care of their loved one, that can feel like a horrible lack of control.So, despite being in our forties and – so far – in good health, my partner and I have decided to sort out PoA documents now.
We don’t want to think about what accidents or diseases might make them useful, but we do want the peace of mind that there’s sensible long-term planning in place in case the worst happens.
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