The past couple of days have been excruciating. I checked my husband into a care facility yesterday for another, longer respite. Last time when I dropped him off, it wasn't as traumatic at all, because it was just for a week. This time, it's for a month. At least a month, and then we'll see.
Filling out the paperwork was a lengthy, drawn-out affair with plenty of warnings about things that could go wrong, the probability of medication changes, the inadvisability of visiting for a few days, and all kinds of things that made me feel, frankly, like I was abandoning my husband to the whims of others rather than simply passing the baton for a while.
I put his favorite blanket on his bed, placed some older family photos (because I thought he might remember the younger people in them) on his nightstand, and organized his clothing. I made sure he ate his lunch and was comfortably ensconced in the television room with his new roommate, someone we have already visited with a friend several times. I took that to be a happy development.
But the closer it was to a good time for me to leave in order to avoid rush hour traffic, the more anxious I felt. The more emotional I became. The harder it was for me to smile and combat my tears. Somehow, even though in my mind it wasn't yet a permanent placement, I felt I was betraying a trust. I was leading a lamb to slaughter. This man who was gazing at me through confused eyes was counting on me, and I was letting him down.
How's that for believing a lie? But those were the thoughts going through my head, and I had to beat them into submission. I felt ill. There's just no way I can remotely come close to describing the experience. I was heartbroken and am bereft. Golly, I am weary of being bereft. There is just nothing uplifting about this long goodbye.
The end of March and first of April is already an agonizing time for me, with deep sorrow and painful memories. And now another one has been added to the list. I must press in close to my Lord, my Helper, my Friend, my Redeemer. There's a reason Psalm 121 is my favorite.
Wednesday, March 28, 2018
The Mad Hatter
He's wearing
His hat in the house.
The felt one
That looks like an Aussie hat.
It isn't cold in here.
But now he wears a hat always,
Not just when going out.
And he doesn't take it off.
Now he's showing me a ball cap,
And another one.
Is he asking me to choose one?
I pick the Aussie hat.
He puts one of the ball caps on
On top of the Aussie hat.
We are getting ready to go.
We walk out the door.
He isn't wearing any of the hats.
"Do you want a hat?" I ask.
"Sure," he says.
And we repeat the process all over again.
I pick a hat.
He puts it on.
We walk out the door.
He's wearing a different hat.
Or two hats.
Or no hat at all.
Where are his glasses?
It's like Groundhog Day
Around here
Every day.
His hat in the house.
The felt one
That looks like an Aussie hat.
It isn't cold in here.
But now he wears a hat always,
Not just when going out.
And he doesn't take it off.
Now he's showing me a ball cap,
And another one.
Is he asking me to choose one?
I pick the Aussie hat.
He puts one of the ball caps on
On top of the Aussie hat.
We are getting ready to go.
We walk out the door.
He isn't wearing any of the hats.
"Do you want a hat?" I ask.
"Sure," he says.
And we repeat the process all over again.
I pick a hat.
He puts it on.
We walk out the door.
He's wearing a different hat.
Or two hats.
Or no hat at all.
Where are his glasses?
It's like Groundhog Day
Around here
Every day.
It's Sundowning Time Again
In the late afternoon, I feel my energy flagging and my patience thinning. I want to sit awhile and relax. I am human, after all. But it's sundowning time again. He's anxious, nervous, agitated. He jumps up, starts pacing, and is in a hurry to "go somewhere."
"Where would you like to go?" I ask.
"Somewhere," he replies.
"Yes, but where?" I am hoping for a hint of what's going through his mind.
"Let's GO!" he demands.
"Okay, but where do you want to go?"
He points to something in the room. "This thing here," he says.
Okay. We go out to the car, pull out of the driveway, and drive around aimlessly for a half hour or so. At each stop sign, I ask him which way he wants me to turn. He seems to be enjoying himself a little and relaxing. I am encouraged as I pull back into the driveway.
"Finally!" he says, relief on his face.
We walk into the house and settle in front of the television for a little distraction. We've been home five minutes.
"Well," he says, jumping up, "Let's go home!"
"We ARE home, honey," I explain.
"Well, can we go now?!"
I hesitate. I am tired and need to prepare our evening meal. He impatiently opens the back door and storms out.
"Please close the door," I think dejectedly as I follow him out.
"Where would you like to go?" I ask.
"Somewhere," he replies.
"Yes, but where?" I am hoping for a hint of what's going through his mind.
"Let's GO!" he demands.
"Okay, but where do you want to go?"
He points to something in the room. "This thing here," he says.
Okay. We go out to the car, pull out of the driveway, and drive around aimlessly for a half hour or so. At each stop sign, I ask him which way he wants me to turn. He seems to be enjoying himself a little and relaxing. I am encouraged as I pull back into the driveway.
"Finally!" he says, relief on his face.
We walk into the house and settle in front of the television for a little distraction. We've been home five minutes.
"Well," he says, jumping up, "Let's go home!"
"We ARE home, honey," I explain.
"Well, can we go now?!"
I hesitate. I am tired and need to prepare our evening meal. He impatiently opens the back door and storms out.
"Please close the door," I think dejectedly as I follow him out.
Sunday, March 25, 2018
The Shuffle
About a month ago, we went for what now qualifies as a "walk" downtown. For the first time, I noticed that he was shuffling his feet a bit, not quite lifting them off the sidewalk. The sound is unmistakable. He hasn't been wearing his signature Western boots, because it's become too difficult for me to pull them off his resistant feet. But he was wearing them that day, so naturally I assumed he wasn't picking up his feet because he wasn't used to the boots any more.
The next day, off we went for another "walk." He was wearing comfortable walking shoes, but his gait was very slow...two steps to my one very slow, very short, sauntering step...and he was shuffling again. My heart sank.
I used to have to hurry along in order to keep up with his normal walking stride. And now he's walking like a little old man, huffing and puffing, barely lifting his feet. Not always. But usually.
Each one of these little traumatic moments is a double whammy for me. I'm reminded of my mom taking care of my dad, of my dad shuffling his feet, of his slow descent into oblivion. So I'm even more aware of my husband's decline. And I know there is no light at the end of this very long tunnel.
It's heartbreaking. And maddening.
The next day, off we went for another "walk." He was wearing comfortable walking shoes, but his gait was very slow...two steps to my one very slow, very short, sauntering step...and he was shuffling again. My heart sank.
I used to have to hurry along in order to keep up with his normal walking stride. And now he's walking like a little old man, huffing and puffing, barely lifting his feet. Not always. But usually.
Each one of these little traumatic moments is a double whammy for me. I'm reminded of my mom taking care of my dad, of my dad shuffling his feet, of his slow descent into oblivion. So I'm even more aware of my husband's decline. And I know there is no light at the end of this very long tunnel.
It's heartbreaking. And maddening.
Shake It Baby
Ah, the late afternoon!
Such a beautiful time of day
Except at our place
Please close the door
Go out or stay in
But please don't stand there
With the door open
It's cold outside
The heat is on
It's cold outside
The heat is on
Thank you
Nervous energy
Fills the whole house
Fills the whole house
Drumming fingers
First one hand
Then the other
Then both
First one hand
Then the other
Then both
Drumming
DRUMMING
Faster, faster, FASTER
Shaking out hands
As if shaking off something
First one hand
Then the other
Then both
Shaking
SHAKING
As if shaking off something
First one hand
Then the other
Then both
Shaking
SHAKING
Faster, faster, FASTER
It's a wonder they're still attached
It's a wonder they're still attached
Up and down go the knees
First one
Then the other
Then both
Faster, faster, FASTER
The table is shaking so hard
It's bouncing
The drinks are flying out of their cups
The table is shaking so hard
It's bouncing
The drinks are flying out of their cups
It feels like an earthquake in here
I don't who needs the meds more
Him
Or me
Waiting for 7:30 to arrive
This is usually over by then
It's been going on for two hours already
Two hours to go...
Somebody help me
This is usually over by then
It's been going on for two hours already
Two hours to go...
Somebody help me
Friday, March 23, 2018
Hide the Silver!
Back before we knew this illness was upon us (which makes me wonder just how long this has been going on), my husband would blame our children if something went missing. But of course they didn't have anything to do with it. He would go into our daughter's room (she was still living at home) to retrieve items he thought were his, but they weren't. They were hers. I found it astonishing at the time, but now it makes perfect sense. No amount of reasoning with him would help him to understand that the item he had in hand was not his. And that is especially true now, years later.
Alzheimer's patients have a tendency to acquire things through Five Finger Discount. Kleptomania is an impulse control disorder, and folks with advanced Alzheimer's have zero impulse control. They aren't stealing in the traditional sense of the word. Rather, the item is familiar or desirable for one reason or other, ends up in hand, goes in pocket, then is squirreled away. Candy bars, water bottles, pens, magazines, tennis balls, refrigerator magnets, restaurant silverware, earrings and other shiny objects...it's all fair game.
Is it a little embarrassing to return these items to their rightful owners? Of course. But people are surprisingly understanding of the situation and appreciative of the honesty. Thankfully!
The other day, a set of forks went missing from a place setting on the dining room table. I thought he had probably picked them up and moved them to another part of the room, or to the adjacent living room. Naturally, he vehemently denied having anything whatsoever to do with it when I casually asked if he'd seen them. They weren't in his coat pocket or in his jeans pocket. I knew they would turn up eventually, and they did: by the sink in the master bathroom. How did that happen, I wonder?
All of that to say this: If you're expecting us over at your place, or you see us walking into your store, watch him like a hawk. He's quick when he wants to be. Also, hide the silver!
Alzheimer's patients have a tendency to acquire things through Five Finger Discount. Kleptomania is an impulse control disorder, and folks with advanced Alzheimer's have zero impulse control. They aren't stealing in the traditional sense of the word. Rather, the item is familiar or desirable for one reason or other, ends up in hand, goes in pocket, then is squirreled away. Candy bars, water bottles, pens, magazines, tennis balls, refrigerator magnets, restaurant silverware, earrings and other shiny objects...it's all fair game.
Is it a little embarrassing to return these items to their rightful owners? Of course. But people are surprisingly understanding of the situation and appreciative of the honesty. Thankfully!
The other day, a set of forks went missing from a place setting on the dining room table. I thought he had probably picked them up and moved them to another part of the room, or to the adjacent living room. Naturally, he vehemently denied having anything whatsoever to do with it when I casually asked if he'd seen them. They weren't in his coat pocket or in his jeans pocket. I knew they would turn up eventually, and they did: by the sink in the master bathroom. How did that happen, I wonder?
All of that to say this: If you're expecting us over at your place, or you see us walking into your store, watch him like a hawk. He's quick when he wants to be. Also, hide the silver!
Monday, March 5, 2018
Happy Anniversary
So, we've gone another year around the sun together, he and I. We were so young and bright-eyed, with no idea what adventures we would have and what misadventures we would endure together. They said it wouldn't last. My mom agreed. Even I, if I had to be completely honest, had my doubts. Who doesn't? It's a scary proposition to make those promises to stick by a person, come what may and no matter what. It's a major commitment.
Our wedding day was gray and gloomy and cold, the last day of February. And then it rained. Boy howdy, did it rain! Sheets. Buckets. Rivers. And the wind! The bridal party was delayed leaving my mom and dad's place because the front walkway was submerged below inches of water, as was the car park. Finally, unable to hold off any longer lest the bridegroom change his mind while waiting interminably for the bride to show up at the church, my mom wrapped my gown in layers and layers of dry cleaning bags. We waded out into the tempest to the waiting vehicle, my father holding an umbrella over me to protect my hair and makeup and the beautiful gown I was carrying in my arms. The gown I had designed and my mother had lovingly made for me. He mostly succeeded.
At the church, we were unable to find an open room in which to change clothes, so that delayed us even more. Once dressed and ready, I realized I had forgotten my shoes at the house! Was somebody trying to tell me something? My older brother was so gracious in volunteering to go back and get them for me. Finally, only half an hour late, I walked down the aisle on my father's arm. I was so nervous, I was as pale as my dress. The groom looked relieved to see me. And kinda scared. That was 48 years ago.
To celebrate our anniversary, we generally go out to dinner. This year was no exception. He used to pick the restaurant, but now that's up to me. And I love sushi. I should have known this wasn't the best idea for him at dinner time, but we'd had Japanese food at lunch not long ago with no issues. Our day had been going really well, and it just never occurred to me that this wouldn't be a good plan. But even though we are not strangers to this restaurant, everything about it was disorienting and confusing for my husband.
He seemed to think the chopsticks were straws, put them in his water glass, and tried to drink through them. He couldn't figure out how to sip his soup by picking up the bowl. Or how to pick up the bowl. I got him a fork for eating, because obviously chopsticks weren't going to be happening.
I felt so bad. He didn't really enjoy the delicious food, because it was too complicated for him. So many things were in the little sections of the bento tray, a confusion of overlapping colors and shapes and reasons for being. The green of the salad touched the green of the wasabi in the next little section. I quickly removed that from his tray, lest he pop the whole thing in his mouth with distressing effect. The dark sauce for dipping the tempura vegetables was in a dark little bowl, the miso soup was in a small bowl of the same color, the tea was in a cup with no handle. And also the same color.
I removed items from his tray and separated the other foods to make it easier for him to distinguish between them, and I encouraged him to eat this and that, pointing with my chopsticks. But he didn't seem to really comprehend my meaning. That's happening a lot these days. Is he not hearing me, or is he not tracking with me? It's hard to say. He did finish the meal, more with relief than with any real joy. It was disappointing.
Happy anniversary anyway, Baby. I'm sorry the dinner wasn't what I'd hoped, but I'm glad we were able to celebrate one more year together. We showed 'em, didn't we?
Our wedding day was gray and gloomy and cold, the last day of February. And then it rained. Boy howdy, did it rain! Sheets. Buckets. Rivers. And the wind! The bridal party was delayed leaving my mom and dad's place because the front walkway was submerged below inches of water, as was the car park. Finally, unable to hold off any longer lest the bridegroom change his mind while waiting interminably for the bride to show up at the church, my mom wrapped my gown in layers and layers of dry cleaning bags. We waded out into the tempest to the waiting vehicle, my father holding an umbrella over me to protect my hair and makeup and the beautiful gown I was carrying in my arms. The gown I had designed and my mother had lovingly made for me. He mostly succeeded.
 |
| Weren't we cute? |
To celebrate our anniversary, we generally go out to dinner. This year was no exception. He used to pick the restaurant, but now that's up to me. And I love sushi. I should have known this wasn't the best idea for him at dinner time, but we'd had Japanese food at lunch not long ago with no issues. Our day had been going really well, and it just never occurred to me that this wouldn't be a good plan. But even though we are not strangers to this restaurant, everything about it was disorienting and confusing for my husband.
 |
| And a few days later, here he is using a couple of stir sticks as chopsticks to eat the jelly at a restaurant. Go figure! |
I felt so bad. He didn't really enjoy the delicious food, because it was too complicated for him. So many things were in the little sections of the bento tray, a confusion of overlapping colors and shapes and reasons for being. The green of the salad touched the green of the wasabi in the next little section. I quickly removed that from his tray, lest he pop the whole thing in his mouth with distressing effect. The dark sauce for dipping the tempura vegetables was in a dark little bowl, the miso soup was in a small bowl of the same color, the tea was in a cup with no handle. And also the same color.
I removed items from his tray and separated the other foods to make it easier for him to distinguish between them, and I encouraged him to eat this and that, pointing with my chopsticks. But he didn't seem to really comprehend my meaning. That's happening a lot these days. Is he not hearing me, or is he not tracking with me? It's hard to say. He did finish the meal, more with relief than with any real joy. It was disappointing.
Happy anniversary anyway, Baby. I'm sorry the dinner wasn't what I'd hoped, but I'm glad we were able to celebrate one more year together. We showed 'em, didn't we?
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