For some time, my husband has been fixated on "sorting," "reorganizing," and putting things "away." For instance, he removes the contents of his wallet, showing me his gift cards and identification, shifting things around and counting the money (several times) before putting everything back. It isn't necessarily where it had been, but it's all back in the wallet. He's doing that right now, as a matter of fact, as I write this blog. Twice so far since I sat down, but the wallet is still in his hand, so anything can happen. Aha! Everything is coming out and being sorted yet again.
He also looks through the things that are in his dresser drawers, taking things from here and putting them there. No big deal, right? Except when he puts something away, I can't find it for him, because I don't know where he's moved it And he can't find it, either, because he doesn't remember seeing it in the first place, much less moving it to wherever it is right now.
Lately, he's started reorganizing other areas of the house and other people's things (mine, for instance), and it's a bit harder to be sanguine about the whole thing.
Last week, I was looking for a particular cookbook I'd promised to lend to a friend. It was on one of the chairs in the kitchen, waiting to leave the house with me. And then it wasn't. Where could it possibly be? I checked the bookcases. Nope. I checked the living room, the dining room, the guest room, the storage room, the family room. Nothing. He was helping me look for it, but he didn't remember what it was we were looking for. He asked me again and again, and I explained it to him again and again. Was it worse to be unable to find it, or was it worse to have to explain what it was over and over? I don't know. He hadn't seen it. He hadn't moved it.
I decided not to worry about the cookbook for now, figuring I could always buy a new one for my friend, and everything would be fine. The next day, I was moving a pile of t-shirts he had placed on the hope chest that's next to the bed in our room when, lo and behold! There it was! He didn't know how the cookbook got there. He hadn't seen it. He hadn't moved it. I concluded that I must be losing my mind (you would be, too).
Just a few minutes ago, I was putting some clean clothes in his dresser. I set about straightening the contents of a drawer to make room for what I was putting away. And that's where I discovered my latest travel diary notebook (that blog is adventures-inparadise.blogspot.com). I can't imagine what it was doing in his dresser, hidden under his clothing. I suppose he was organizing things, found it where I left it (on my nightstand), and put it away.
I've heard that Alzheimer's patients in nursing homes often are accused of stealing things. I wonder if this is how it happens. You see Mrs. Smith's pink sweater on the back of a chair. You also have a pink sweater (or you had one when you were young, or whatever), so you take it and put it away where it belongs. In your closet.
So, if you see my husband with something that doesn't belong to him, he's probably "found" it and is looking for a good spot for it. And he probably doesn't realize that it isn't his. After all, it's in his hand.
Showing posts with label confusion. Show all posts
Showing posts with label confusion. Show all posts
Friday, October 16, 2015
Thursday, July 18, 2013
Who Am I Sleeping With?
The good news is that my husband is doing very, very well. I stopped writing this diary last year. In fact, almost exactly a year ago. In a way, it was too depressing. In another way, it would have been a good outlet. And yet again, there are things I just like to hold close to my chest. Even if nobody else is ever going to know.
So, I've been skimming through my entries -- some posted, some not -- and, yes, he is doing very well. The medications have done a good job of slowing the progress of the disease. Not stopping it, mind you. That will take the miracle I continue to expect. And the mood stabilizer has worked wonderfully well. Most of the time, it's a joy to be with him. He has become much more gentle. Much more caring. Most of the time.
He is having very active dreams. Much more so than before. He talks in his sleep almost every night. Not the kind of "talk in your sleep" that most of us do, you know, muttering and sputtering and rolling over and being quiet. It's out loud. Sometimes he wakes himself up; sometimes not. But I wake up, however briefly. And so I am tired most of the time due to interrupted sleep. Or inability to go back to sleep. Whichever. So I am sometimes crabby, which makes me sad.
The strangest thing happened about a month ago. Actually, twice one week (one night and the next night), and twice the following week. But not since. Yet.
The first night, I was already half awake because the room was very quiet and still. It was odd. Then I heard, "Who am I sleeping with?" I replied, "Your wife." And he said, "Oh. That's what I thought." And then he went back to sleep. I did too, eventually, but I was in a state of disbelief. What?!
The next night, it was, "Hi, I'm Harry." And the following week, "Hi. Have we met?" And, "I'm Harry. How ya doin'?" On the plus side, he didn't seem disappointed to find out it was his wife next to him. He seemed relieved.
Now, those are some pretty vivid dreams, if you wake up and you're not too sure who's in bed with you. I hope the part before the talking was interesting and exciting. We all need interesting and exciting experiences, even if they aren't really happening.
So, I've been skimming through my entries -- some posted, some not -- and, yes, he is doing very well. The medications have done a good job of slowing the progress of the disease. Not stopping it, mind you. That will take the miracle I continue to expect. And the mood stabilizer has worked wonderfully well. Most of the time, it's a joy to be with him. He has become much more gentle. Much more caring. Most of the time.
He is having very active dreams. Much more so than before. He talks in his sleep almost every night. Not the kind of "talk in your sleep" that most of us do, you know, muttering and sputtering and rolling over and being quiet. It's out loud. Sometimes he wakes himself up; sometimes not. But I wake up, however briefly. And so I am tired most of the time due to interrupted sleep. Or inability to go back to sleep. Whichever. So I am sometimes crabby, which makes me sad.
The strangest thing happened about a month ago. Actually, twice one week (one night and the next night), and twice the following week. But not since. Yet.
The first night, I was already half awake because the room was very quiet and still. It was odd. Then I heard, "Who am I sleeping with?" I replied, "Your wife." And he said, "Oh. That's what I thought." And then he went back to sleep. I did too, eventually, but I was in a state of disbelief. What?!
The next night, it was, "Hi, I'm Harry." And the following week, "Hi. Have we met?" And, "I'm Harry. How ya doin'?" On the plus side, he didn't seem disappointed to find out it was his wife next to him. He seemed relieved.
Now, those are some pretty vivid dreams, if you wake up and you're not too sure who's in bed with you. I hope the part before the talking was interesting and exciting. We all need interesting and exciting experiences, even if they aren't really happening.
Friday, July 13, 2012
The Visit from Mom
My mom was with us for a week. I've been trying to get her to do this for a really long time, to come down to see us and stay for longer than a couple of days. Mom is nearing 90 and shouldn't be living alone in her little cottage, really, so I'd hoped she would decide to stay indefinitely at some point. Though, of course, she is steadfast in her determination to die in her own bed and in her own house, as so many folks are.
So, she came down for the baby shower [see The Nana Diaries] and planned to go back home after "Bob's 4th of July Party" on July 7th. I "took the week off" from my paying job.
Here is what I learned about the feasibility of caregiving for two adults, one with a memory impairment due to Alzheimer's, the other with regular, run-of-the-mill aging issues (lack of good balance when standing or walking, for instance, and refusal to use a cane or a walker, but willing -- on very special, few-and-far-between occasions -- to be pushed hither and yon in a wheelchair). It can't be done 24 hours a day by one person.
By the end of the week, I was ready to run away from home. Not only that, but I was desperate to go back to work. Now, I ask you: Is that normal? I was exhausted physically, mentally, emotionally, and every other "ly."
Because my mother was visiting, I went out of my way to plan interesting and pleasurable outings for us. Most were mainly for Mom, since she rarely is able to come down to see us. She's always wanted to see Filoli. She loves to window shop in high-end stores (Broadway Plaza), and one thing she unfailingly wants to do is to go to the beach to hear the ocean roar (Muir Beach). Things that would be a change of pace for my husband as well as being entertaining for all.
My husband was increasingly confused, asking the same questions over and over. "Where are we going?" "Why are we going there?" And then again. He was more agitated than normal, and more on edge than usual. There was some shortness and irritation, especially towards the end of the day when we were all tired (Is this "sundowning?"). And he became an attention hog. He was showing off for my mom, as well as being progressively more negative as each day passed. He seemed jealous of the time I was spending with my mother. The week was capped off with an explosive outburst at Bob's party that helped me to understand that, sometimes, the person in my husband's body isn't exactly the guy I married. Or maybe he is, but without appropriate filters to modulate behavior. His worst attributes were on display without the benefit of his wonderful side's veneer.
When Mom left for the ride home on Sunday afternoon, it was like someone had waved a magic wand over my husband. Relative calm returned to our home, along with good humor. I guess what they say about routine and maintaining a schedule and not doing too much bears consideration. Either that, or the 21 days of prayer and fasting for breakthrough at the church, which ended the day Mom left, have produced...breakthrough. I hope so!
I see now that under the current circumstances, Mom would have to be crazy (or desperate) to agree to move in with us, especially since she cared for Dad all those years when he had dementia. This makes me sad, because I wanted so much to do this for her. But why would she willingly come and watch me deal with what she dealt with, reliving all those memories over and over in living color? How unhappy would she be?
I'll continue to visit her regularly, as I have been doing, as long as possible. And I'll let her make her own decisions about what she wants to do and when she wants to do it. She's amazingly strong and sharp and resilient. And she's a grown-up. I love you, Mom.
So, she came down for the baby shower [see The Nana Diaries] and planned to go back home after "Bob's 4th of July Party" on July 7th. I "took the week off" from my paying job.
Here is what I learned about the feasibility of caregiving for two adults, one with a memory impairment due to Alzheimer's, the other with regular, run-of-the-mill aging issues (lack of good balance when standing or walking, for instance, and refusal to use a cane or a walker, but willing -- on very special, few-and-far-between occasions -- to be pushed hither and yon in a wheelchair). It can't be done 24 hours a day by one person.
By the end of the week, I was ready to run away from home. Not only that, but I was desperate to go back to work. Now, I ask you: Is that normal? I was exhausted physically, mentally, emotionally, and every other "ly."
Because my mother was visiting, I went out of my way to plan interesting and pleasurable outings for us. Most were mainly for Mom, since she rarely is able to come down to see us. She's always wanted to see Filoli. She loves to window shop in high-end stores (Broadway Plaza), and one thing she unfailingly wants to do is to go to the beach to hear the ocean roar (Muir Beach). Things that would be a change of pace for my husband as well as being entertaining for all.
My husband was increasingly confused, asking the same questions over and over. "Where are we going?" "Why are we going there?" And then again. He was more agitated than normal, and more on edge than usual. There was some shortness and irritation, especially towards the end of the day when we were all tired (Is this "sundowning?"). And he became an attention hog. He was showing off for my mom, as well as being progressively more negative as each day passed. He seemed jealous of the time I was spending with my mother. The week was capped off with an explosive outburst at Bob's party that helped me to understand that, sometimes, the person in my husband's body isn't exactly the guy I married. Or maybe he is, but without appropriate filters to modulate behavior. His worst attributes were on display without the benefit of his wonderful side's veneer.
When Mom left for the ride home on Sunday afternoon, it was like someone had waved a magic wand over my husband. Relative calm returned to our home, along with good humor. I guess what they say about routine and maintaining a schedule and not doing too much bears consideration. Either that, or the 21 days of prayer and fasting for breakthrough at the church, which ended the day Mom left, have produced...breakthrough. I hope so!
I see now that under the current circumstances, Mom would have to be crazy (or desperate) to agree to move in with us, especially since she cared for Dad all those years when he had dementia. This makes me sad, because I wanted so much to do this for her. But why would she willingly come and watch me deal with what she dealt with, reliving all those memories over and over in living color? How unhappy would she be?
I'll continue to visit her regularly, as I have been doing, as long as possible. And I'll let her make her own decisions about what she wants to do and when she wants to do it. She's amazingly strong and sharp and resilient. And she's a grown-up. I love you, Mom.
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