English: The human mind is a precious and vulnerable thing. We live with our memories and when we are robbed of them and a condition like dementia takes hold, it can be cruel and debilitating. As we've heard, it's estimated that 50,000 people in Wales are living with dementia, but it affects not just individuals, but entire families who have to deal with grief and loss every day, even though their loved one is sitting in front of them. My grandma, Doreen, had dementia. She lived into her hundred-and-first year, but the final years of her life were taken from her gradually, piece by piece. She'd been a keen cook and baker and she was baking Welsh cakes on her baking stone well into her ninety-eighth year, but she'd forget to add the sugar or the salt or leave them on the bakestone a moment too long. Those were some of the first signs. She used to sew and crochet and she'd delight in telling people that when my father was little, she'd made his entire school uniform, even down to the grammar school blazer, with the barathea material she'd bought in Pontypridd market, and she'd bought the school badge and sewed it on. But that solace of sewing and using her hands had escaped her more and more in her final years. The postman would see her in the window, sitting there, no longer sewing, but looking out and watching the world go by. My grandma loved to walk. When my sister and I were little, we'd go on walks on Nelson mountain, picking blackberries and blueberries, but more and more, as she got further into her 90s and the dementia was firming its grip, she'd think that she could walk further than she could, and would keep on walking on the uneven paths near her home, being totally oblivious to the danger of falling. I remember her calling my parents' house one day and I'd answered it and she asked me, 'Why is it that I can't do all of the things that I used to do?', and she wished that she could walk and walk. She'd get frustrated and she'd be lonely, and even though my parents visited her every day, as well as carers, she'd feel sad and forget that they'd been. When her condition deteriorated, she agreed that she'd be more comfortable and more safe in a home, though she did still fall, and after one fall, she went to Prince Charles Hospital with my mother and she was kept - a lady in her nineties; 99 years of age - on a trolley in a corridor for nine hours. This was not the fault of the doctors or the nurses or the ambulance crew; it was the fault of the system that underfunds its health service to the extent that a lady of 99 was left without specialised support in the middle of the night. We need dementia services across primary care and for hospitals and care homes to be integrated and properly funded. We need to invest and research into how to diagnose dementia more accurately and we desperately need more support for patients and their families after diagnosis so that they aren't robbed of yet more agency. But, Dirprwy Lywydd, in spite of the sadness that marked her final years with us, my grandma had a very happy life. And although dementia robbed her of so many memories, she was singing until the end. She loved to sing. Her favourites were 'Danny Boy' and 'Mother Machree' and she sang both on her hundredth birthday. I've never known anyone else to sing 'Mother Machree', so whenever I hear those words, I think of her and I'll share some of those with you in closing, Dirprwy Lywydd. 'There's a place in my mem'ry, / My life, that you fill, / No other can take it, / No one ever will. / Sure, I love the dear silver / That shines in your hair, / And the brow that's all furrowed, / And wrinkled with care. / I kiss the dear fingers, / So toil-worn for me, / Oh, God bless you and keep you, / Mother Machree.'
Welsh: Mae'r meddwl dynol yn beth gwerthfawr a bregus. Rydym yn byw gyda'n hatgofion a phan gânt eu dwyn oddi wrthym a chyflwr fel dementia yn gafael, gall fod yn greulon ac yn wanychol. Fel y clywsom, amcangyfrifir bod 50,000 o bobl yng Nghymru yn byw gyda dementia, ond mae'n effeithio nid yn unig ar unigolion, ond ar deuluoedd cyfan sy'n gorfod ymdopi â galar a cholled bob dydd, er bod eu hanwyliaid yn eistedd o'u blaenau. Roedd dementia ar fy mam-gu, Doreen. Bu byw hyd nes ei bod hi dros ei chant oed, ond cymerwyd blynyddoedd olaf ei bywyd oddi wrthi'n raddol, fesul darn. Roedd hi wedi bod yn gogydd ac yn bobydd brwd ac roedd hi'n pobi pice ar y maen ar ei charreg bobi tan ei bod bron yn 98 oed, ond byddai'n anghofio ychwanegu'r siwgr neu'r halen neu'n eu gadael ar y garreg bobi eiliad yn rhy hir. Dyna oedd rhai o'r arwyddion cyntaf. Roedd hi'n arfer gwnïo a chrosio a byddai'n dwli dweud wrth bobl ei bod wedi gwneud gwisg ysgol gyfan i fy nhad pan oedd yn fach, yn cynnwys y siaced ysgol ramadeg gyda'r defnydd brethyn main a brynasai ym marchnad Pontypridd, ac wedi prynu bathodyn yr ysgol a'i wnïo ar y siaced. Ond fe welodd golli'r cysur a gâi o wnïo a defnyddio ei dwylo fwy a mwy yn ei blynyddoedd olaf. Byddai'r postmon yn ei gweld yn y ffenestr, yn eistedd yno, heb fod yn gwnïo mwyach, ond yn edrych allan ac yn gwylio'r byd yn mynd heibio. Roedd fy mam-gu wrth ei bodd yn cerdded. Pan oedd fy chwaer a minnau'n fach, byddem yn mynd ar deithiau cerdded ar fynydd Nelson i bigo mwyar duon a llus, ond fwy a mwy, wrth iddi fynd ymhellach i mewn i'w 90au ac wrth i'r dementia dynhau ei afael, byddai'n meddwl y gallai gerdded ymhellach nag y gallai, a byddai'n parhau i gerdded ar y llwybrau anwastad ger ei chartref, yn gwbl ddall i'r perygl o gwympo. Rwy'n ei chofio'n ffonio tŷ fy rhieni un diwrnod a minnau'n ateb, a gofynnodd i mi, 'Pam na allaf wneud yr holl bethau y byddwn yn arfer eu gwneud?', a dyheai am allu cerdded a cherdded. Byddai'n teimlo'n rhwystredig a byddai'n unig, ac er bod fy rhieni'n galw gyda hi bob dydd, yn ogystal â gofalwyr, byddai'n teimlo'n drist ac yn anghofio eu bod wedi bod yno. Pan ddirywiodd ei chyflwr, cytunodd y byddai'n fwy cyfforddus ac yn fwy diogel mewn cartref, er ei bod yn dal i gwympo, ac ar ôl un gwymp, aeth i Ysbyty'r Tywysog Charles gyda fy mam a chafodd ei chadw - menyw yn ei nawdegau; 99 mlwydd oed - ar droli mewn coridor am naw awr. Nid bai'r meddygon na'r nyrsys na'r criw ambiwlans oedd hyn, ond bai'r system sy'n tanariannu ei gwasanaeth iechyd i'r graddau fod gwraig 99 oed wedi'i gadael heb gymorth arbenigol ynghanol y nos. Mae arnom angen gwasanaethau dementia ar draws gofal sylfaenol, ac ysbytai a chartrefi gofal wedi'u hintegreiddio a'u hariannu'n briodol. Mae angen inni fuddsoddi ac ymchwilio i sut i sicrhau diagnosis mwy cywir o ddementia ac mae taer angen mwy o gefnogaeth arnom i gleifion a'u teuluoedd ar ôl cael diagnosis fel nad ydynt yn cael eu hamddifadu o ragor o rym. Ond Ddirprwy Lywydd, er gwaethaf y tristwch a nodweddai ei blynyddoedd olaf gyda ni, cafodd fy mam-gu fywyd hapus iawn. Ac er i ddementia ei hamddifadu o gymaint o atgofion, roedd hi'n canu tan y diwedd. Roedd hi wrth ei bodd yn canu. Ei ffefrynnau oedd 'Danny Boy' a 'Mother Machree' a chanodd y ddwy gân ar ei phen-blwydd yn gant oed. Nid wyf erioed wedi clywed neb arall yn canu 'Mother Machree', felly pan glywaf y geiriau hynny, rwy'n meddwl amdani hi a hoffwn rannu rhai o'r geiriau gyda chi wrth gloi, Ddirprwy Lywydd. 'Mae lle yn fy ngof, / Fy mywyd, mi wyt ti'n ei lenwi, / All neb arall ei gymryd, / Fydd neb byth yn ei wneud. / Rwy'n caru'r arian annwyl / Sydd yn disgleirio yn dy wallt, / A'r talcen sydd yn rhychog i gyd, / Ac yn grychiog â gofid. / Rwy'n cusanu'r bysedd annwyl, / Ac ôl traul arnynt er fy mwyn i, / Bendith Duw arnot a'i ofal amdanat, / Mam Machree.'