I am a gardener who happens to have dementia. I live on the Black Isle of Scotland, on a remote croft 44 km from the nearest city, Inverness. I moved to the Black Isle for health reasons around 2002, which coincided with the time of receiving a diagnosis of dementia. I rented properties in the first instance and then met someone interested in gardening and got the ‘gardening bug’. I went on to buy a property with 1.7 hectares of land. I began to grow vegetables – amazing, lovely produce – and ate what I grew.

In my early days living on the Black Isle, I had two short-lived romances. One was with someone who did not make me happy, so I had to end the relationship – not much more to say on that! The other was with a younger man, a ‘toy boy’, if you will, which was fun while it lasted. But one part of that relationship has a legacy with me still, as it was he who introduced me to gardening, and to his father, who was also a great gardener and from whom I learnt a lot. I now live alone and I am very happy about this. I can do what I want when I want. It is quiet. But I have my family in the Glasgow area and my friends on the Black Isle to turn to and meet when I need to. I have the best of both worlds! Happiness is a state of mind and I no longer worry about my life and my dementia. I try to practise mindfulness and live in the moment.

This is not how it always was for me. When I was first diagnosed, I did not cope very well. Vascular dementia, two years to live, both things I really didn't expect at the ripe age of 58. But those were the words said to me nearly 16 years ago in 2003. At this point in my life, I was young and independent, and then dementia came along and threatened both my way of life and life itself. I had begun to prepare myself for death. I was scared. I felt as if I was the most isolated I had ever been.