Time Has Come

Today marks one week since my husband has been at a memory care facility. I have come to the realization, at the insistence of my children (all of whom have spoken with me privately about the matter), that though I was viewing this placement as temporary, it's "time." I had researched the facility, visited the facility, he had even stayed at the facility for a week previously and done well. Well, well enough. But what a rocky start!

While I am aware that these things are never easy, I didn't have any appreciation for the potential difficulties, pitfalls, and emotions that could and would meld into a perfect storm. The complete reversal of a finally "normal" sleep pattern that I'd been working so hard to help him accomplish. The resultant behavioral issues leading to what looked to me like standoffishness and apparent rejection of my beloved by the staff. The communication breakdowns. The anger and disappointment I felt after finally coming to a decision and still not getting a moment's peace or rest. The call from the administrator after only four days -- on a Friday -- that the placement would not work and that a different placement would need to be worked out was a bitter disappointment and stressor.

Though I had been advised to stay away for the first few days of placement, I was now asked in a panic to come immediately to help calm my husband down. When I arrived, he was asleep in a chair.  It was strongly suggested that I spend as much time there as possible, especially during sundowning. The following day, he was a zombie from lack of sleep or inappropriately administered medication (not enough? wrong time? too much?) or...who knows what? I was aware that he had no idea who I was. He knew my name, but he didn't know me. Thank goodness my son decided to stay by my side all weekend, because I'm not sure I would have been able to survive it emotionally while waiting for the hammer to drop on Monday. I wanted to just pack up my husband's things and bring him home, because the situation wasn't working for anybody. And I was sure I could do a better job of taking care of him myself. I was furious. And traumatized. Again.

Monday, I engaged an agency to help with searching for a "board and care" location closer to home. My daughter and I visited several homes. It's interesting the mix of things that are available for about the same price, which is all the more reason for taking one's time with these decisions. I told myself I wouldn't be the first person to have to place, replace, and place again until the "right" blend of location, care, and adjustment can be found. I had resigned myself to the idea, even.

And then I went to spend sundowning time, the most difficult part of the day, with my husband. I parked my car, said a quick prayer, and took a deep breath as I walked through the door. And there he was, sitting at the dining table, being his "usual" self! He was pleasant with other residents and eating his meal rather than sleeping in it. He wasn't agitated, angry, or aggressive. It was downright miraculous. He was having a good day. The staff was relaxed and smiling. The administrator called me into her office.

"He's having a good day!" I smiled. She smiled back.

"Yes, this might work," she offered, "Let's give it a try."

And just like that, the cloud hanging over my head lifted. For a while, anyway. Hopefully. If he continues to have relatively good days. It can take weeks for a person in my husband's condition to acclimate to a new living situation. I know that. She knows that. We all know that. We're going to give it a few more days. And we'll see what we'll see.