It rings at seven. Then at eleven. Then at three. Then at six, and again at nine. Always the same sentence: "come and get me", or "they haven't given me any dinner", or "somebody's taken my handbag".
And at some point the thing you will not admit to anyone happens: you start dreading your own phone. You see her name come up and you do not answer. And then the guilt keeps you awake.
This page explains what is actually happening, and gives you something that works.
1. The thing to understand before anything else
She is not harassing you. She does not remember ringing.
In dementia, recent memory goes first. Every call is, to her, the first call. She is not persisting: she is ringing now, for the first time, with the same distress she felt half an hour ago and does not know she has already felt.
That single sentence changes everything. You are not being emotionally blackmailed — you are watching a memory reset. And your exhaustion is still legitimate; the two do not cancel out.
2. What she is actually asking for
Almost never the content of the call.
- anxiety, which in dementia comes out as a demand for contact;
- disorientation: she does not know the time, the day, or when she will see you;
- a particular time of day. If the calls cluster after five, that is sundowning — the same late-afternoon agitation the staff see on the floor;
- the need to hear a familiar voice and check she has not been forgotten.
Keep a note for a week: time, what she said, what had just happened. A pattern almost always appears — and a pattern can be worked with, chaos cannot.
3. Three answers that make it worse
Correcting her with facts. "Mum, you've rung me three times already." To her that is untrue, so what lands is: *I am a nuisance, and you are telling me off.* Result: more distress, more calls.
Long calls. They feel generous and are counterproductive: the longer you talk, the more activated she becomes, and the sooner she rings back. Short, frequent calls settle; long ones stir up.
Promising to visit. "I'll come tomorrow", said to end the call, is the worst of the three. If she remembers, she waits by the door all day and is let down; if she does not, you have still taught her that ringing produces a promise.
4. What actually works
Predictability beats availability. One short call, always at the same time, made by you, reduces the calls more than ten scattered answers. The brain holds on to routine even when memory does not hold.
A fixed script, the same every time: "Hello Mum, it's me. I'm fine, everything's fine. Today I did X. I'm thinking of you. I'll see you Thursday and I'll bring the plums." The brain recognises the tune even when it loses the words.
Always end with a specific appointment, not "speak soon". A date is something to hold; "soon" is nothing.
Validate the feeling, not the content. "You feel on your own. I know. It's hard." Someone who feels heard needs to repeat themselves less.
Tell the staff. It sounds obvious and almost nobody does it: if they know she rings twenty times a day and what she says, they can get ahead of it — an activity at that hour, a walk at five, a check for pain. Ask for it to go in the care plan: "my mother phones compulsively between 5 and 8; please assess what is happening in that window."
5. The accusations: "they've taken my handbag", "they don't feed me"
Here you have to do the hardest thing: hold two possibilities open at once.
Sometimes it is confabulation — the brain fills a gap in memory with a plausible explanation. The handbag has not gone: it is in the wardrobe, and she does not remember putting it there. It is not lying, and it is not malice. It is how the illness works.
And sometimes it is true. Things do go missing in care homes, and meals do get skipped.
The rule that holds both
- never argue ("no Mum, your handbag's right there"). It goes nowhere;
- check quietly whatever is checkable. The handbag: look in the wardrobe. The food: ask for the food and fluid chart, and visit at lunchtime, unannounced. Ten minutes in the dining room answers the question better than any conversation;
- if it stands up, it was not confabulation, and that is a different matter;
- if it does not, there is nothing to be gained by proving it. Answer the feeling: "That gave you a fright. Let's have a look together."
6. The phone itself
Sooner or later somebody will suggest taking it off her. Think twice.
The phone is her link to the world, and removing a person's ability to ring her children is not a technical fix — it is a restriction on her rights, and it engages the Mental Capacity Act: any restriction has to be in her best interests, the least restrictive option, and properly recorded. It is not something a home or a family should do quietly.
Alternatives that work better
- a simple phone with photo buttons, which cuts accidental and wrong-number calls;
- a clock showing the day and date clearly in her room: a good share of the calls come from not knowing what day it is;
- a large sheet by the phone: "Today is Tuesday. Anne is coming Thursday." It sounds trivial. It cuts the calls more than you would expect;
- an answerphone with your voice on it, for the hours you cannot pick up.
7. Protecting yourself
Plainly: you are not obliged to answer every call.
Answering the twentieth call while exhausted harms both of you — she hears a tone that frightens her, you are left with the guilt. Two short, calm calls a day beat twenty tense ones.
Decide a window and tell the home: "I answer between six and seven; if something important happens, you ring me." Then the real emergency comes down a different channel, and you can let the rest ring out without guilt.
8. When the calls mean something is wrong
- they start abruptly in someone who never used to ring: look for a medical cause, starting with a urinary tract infection or pain;
- the content changes and fear of one particular person appears;
- they coincide with a particular shift;
- they come with weight loss, bruises, or new drowsiness.
Then the subject is not the phone. It is what happens when she puts it down.
Curalune Care Help (£69) puts together, usually within 24 working hours, a shortlist of 3 to 5 homes matched to her area and needs — with contacts and the questions to ask about dementia care and late-afternoon agitation.
*General information, not medical advice. Admission, fees and availability are always confirmed by the homes and the responsible authorities.*
