My search for grace and meaning after a former care partnering life with a wife who suffered from Parkinson's disease and dementia giving her a confused and disorienting world.
I started this a couple days ago while sitting in the airport and elsewhere. I mulled over many thoughts that I had about family and siblings and care giving and end of life. A great visit with my sister and only sibling alive comes to a close.
Joyce asked me if I was shifting back into caregiver mode. I am. I also think that I never left that mode or mood. I was far away but the kids were close by for Cheryl. David took it upon himself to visit his mother every day. I was able to relax a bit.
In the collection of photos below in the picture immediately above the lighthouse there is a little white speck to the left of center in an otherwise empty ocean. That is a whale spout.
When I return we ( our family) will be planning, thinking carefully about future care for Cheryl. This was a test for us all. There are lots of imponderables. What is best for Cheryl? How will we finance it? How will we respond to her needs?
I expect Cheryl to do things that she is incapable of and respond with anger when she cannot. My anger is better described as frustration. As I leave her thinking she is headed in the right direction, when I check on her later, I find that she has wandered off in some new direction. Instead of washing her face, she is cleaning the sink.
I expect others or hope that others will see our dilemma and voluntarily help in some way. Those people who do are very few in number. They are a joy to be around.
I do not expect anything from strangers but they open doors or hold the door or jump up to open the door. It is a small thing but useful.
Friends and family are all helpful in their own way. They all have lives. They all have other interests. It is self centered of me to expect them to think about us.
As we travel this road of Parkinson and related dementia changing expectations is necessary. If you do not make adjustments all that can be found is perpetual disappointment.
Perpetual disappointment leads to cynicism. Conversation becomes sarcastic. The sarcasm is wasted on dementia patients. They will only detect the underlying anger.
Cheryl uses her left side successfully only when she concentrates. Perhaps specific marching encouragement will help – left foot, right foot, left foot, and on.
If I change my expectation for her walking, perhaps I can help her improve.
If I change my expectations of family and friends perhaps I can find more happiness and less disappointment.
My sister said that maybe I should reevaluate my goals for Cheryl. I interpreted that as not specifically goals but what am willing and wanting to do for her care. Considering myself and my health in that same equation.
Hmm, lots to think about there. Recently I bought a new transfer chair to help me maneuver Cheryl around various places that I felt were too far for her to walk. My original thought was graduation and parties. We had some of those coming up.
It was a convenient method of transport so much so that I opted to take it to Florida on our little trip and not Cheryl’s super-walker from U-Step. In retrospect it was both a mistake and a smart move. I did take her “in house” walking frame. She had support at night and in our rental condo. A beach wheelchair was free for the asking we merely had to make a phone call to the life guards.
I pushed her across the street to get ice cream a couple times. that would have been a car trip if I had not had the transfer chair. — Convenient. Getting her into and out of the ladies handicap bathroom/stall — INConvenient. Live and learn mom used to say. We will keep using the transfer chair. It is how I get her out of bed to the toilet to the kitchen. It works great for that. I have not had any back issues. She does partially support herself.
I have started to think — actually I have for some time — I need to get my act together before I start helping her get her act together. In that instance I am not in a hurry for me and I can be calmer (I am still not good at that part.) at least while I am helping her. I have learned to anticipate her moves.
When we were at the neurologist earlier this week he asked if we would like to talk with a doctor associated with their practice that specializes in palliative care. We will see how this all plays out. Are we near the junction with another road?
Two days to get home. One night in a motel with a less than ideal handicap bathroom. We will get through it. Keep a positive attitude!
Music on the radio is “My Life” by Billy Joel. A great old song.
This morning as we drove away from the overnight stay, “I’m Still Standing” comes up on music list. How apt. Cheryl and I had a less than peaceful experience last night but we are still standing.
Cheryl slept pretty good last night. One of my many anxieties about this vacation trip is how well she will sleep at night. In retrospect it is a constant concern. Like everyone she is much better health and attitude wise with a good night’s rest. Parkinson merely makes that harder to achieve with regularity. Stopped overnight in Cullman Alabama she seemed to sleep okay. We snuggled for a bit until she was asleep or seemed so to me. I moved quietly to the other bed afterward.
Buckee Hat
This morning I was up at 6 AM but we are on CDT now. Cheryl awakened at 7 AM. I helped her toilet and get cleaned up and change clothes. I thanked the Almighty for the smooth start to the day. We rolled down to the breakfast area to se what we could find. I found scrambled eggs, toast and bacon for Cheryl. Her favorite these days and as she started to eat and proceeded to have a coughing fit, I cursed the Almighty for interfering with Cheryl’s need for sustenance. That was a joke of sorts but lately when she eats breakfast she suffers through a coughing fit until the phlegm drool gets down her throat and her esophagus gets its act together and she can swallow okay again. She eventually settled down and drank a little green tea.
Day two of the trip is off and running. Google says that if we do not stop we will be on the beach at 2PM. And in the shameless advertising of places to stop, LaQuinta in Cullman has executive suites- their term- that are pretty nice if you are traveling with a less than ideal mobility person.
Cheryl and I gathered last night at a place on a little river nearby with most of her brothers and sisters to celebrate nothing in particular. They just wanted to be together for a bit and share dinner.
The conversation swirled around Cheryl and a small child in the next room was testing her lungs on the building acoustical characteristics by screaming. She was probably about three years old and comfortable in her own skin. No one was scolding her.
Tari had her bluetooth cicada stuck in her ear in case there was an emergency and drank a very white pina colada. (I always saw them as yellow sometimes pink if they had a maraschino cherry garnish.) I put my cheap cellphone on the table in anticipation of Cheryl’s 7PM medication but forgot to check if the alarm was set. Nancy has gotten Gene to drink amaretto sours which is the only thing she will drink other than water. Gene usually drinks only water. Cheryl had a Pepsi because they did not have Coca Cola. Ken ordered a Captain and Sprite which I suppose is another Pepsi product. Jill drank water no ice. I had a dark colored Budweiser tasting beer (beir) on tap brewed locally by some mystery brewer specially for this restaurant. It was okay bier.
The food was excellent. The Deutsche themed restaurant offered schnitzel which I have not had for some time. Kartopfelpfannkuchen came with it. I ordered that. It was perfect. Cheryl ordered chicken tenders with the signature bourbon barbecue sauce, broccoli and apple sauce. She ate most of it which meant she both liked it and she was hungry. Barbecue chicken of some sort was the majority dish for the rest of the table. Others had a rib-eye steak and chicken cordon bleu. Those decisions made the conversation continued loudly. Cheryl had her parkie voice on which is very quiet.
The room was decorated with models of tanks and other weapons of war. Above the two marines in the front window there hung a bazooka the nemesis of tank warfare. It did not appear loaded. The current Abrams (M1) tank did not have a model present as did not the Bradley fighting vehicle. I think there was a Patton on display.
This is the sort of gathering that Cheryl’s mother Elaine would have enjoyed and as we were driving away it became apparent that Elaine had been there. She began to worry that her mom would not get home. That was our job most of the time when her mom was still alive. I assured her that her mom was where she lived now and would not need a ride. Cheryl reminded herself that her mom had passed onto another plane.
When we got home we watched TV for a bit and as it got closer to bedtime and she was more tired, she was also more confused. We talked some more about Elaine and as she remembered that her mom was in heaven, she asked, “Was there a funeral?” I replied, yes. Do you not remember? No, I do not she told me. So I started down the road of jogging her memory. Nancy got up and read a wonderful eulogy about your mom. Do you remember? Oh yes I remember that now. She talked about Bob and Mom. (Nancy did not but did a very respectable job of eulogizing her mom.) It is hard to keep calm and composed when your parkie wife wanders off into the memorial weeds. I merely acknowledged that and reminded her that we had a little luncheon in St. Clement’s lunch area. She remembered that pretty well.
She calmed down and called our son Scott with the news that we were home downstairs of grandma. After she finished her call with Scott she asked, “Is grandma not upstairs?” Her thoughts will bounce around for awhile after a big group gathering. She eventually remembered that her grandmother had passed away but became anxious for a bit that she could not remember any of it. Her grandmother’s funeral was early in our married years. I could not help her remember but we did settle on her calling her cousin Barb to find out what happened to grandma Moeller. (Today as I write this I notice that any and all of that anxiety is gone.)
Trying to keep up with conversation with her siblings is exhausting for her. They are catching up and joking around. This activity takes her back to her childhood and young adulthood. The small child screaming at random intervals seemed to add a nuance of grandchild. Her mom was there too. She was in the house on Phillips Avenue and we went home downstairs to where Aunt Jean lived. These were confusing thought patterns.
And eventually we both went to sleep.
Today after I took her to exercise class, Cheryl ate the leftovers that she brought home for lunch . She suggested that we go back there for dinner or lunch again. We will. They have food that Cheryl likes. Suggesting that we go back is a big endorsement from Cheryl.
I might get a different bier though.
Sadly this room was decorated with weapons of war or krieg as the Germans would say. All in all a good family visit.
A few minutes ago she asked me, “Are you alright?” She is having a really slow day.
She did not sleep well. Stayed up “reading” until 12:30 – 12:45 AM. Jumped back out of bed at 3 AM after having soaked the bed in an incontinence episode that has not happened for quite awhile. After changing everything and everyone we got back to bed. I woke up at 7 AM or so. It is not an unfamiliar episode.
I got her up about 9:30 AM. We had planned to go out to lunch with a friend of hers but her friend is not feeling well and canceled.
By 10:30 AM Cheryl was no longer in a hurry to get dressed and moving. She took a shower. And the world slowed down.
I listened to a podcast called – “When Life Gives You Parkinson’s.” Now I want to find a chemical manufacturer and kick his ass. Or maybe a dry cleaner and do the same thing. Idiopathic my ass. Crap on a crutch. What are we doing to ourselves?
So, at 1 PM after I had gotten her a snack and her glasses and after she was telling me about some apparitional animal outside the back window and I was staring off into space with my thoughts about our future and my worry about getting more care for her she became suddenly lucid and asked, “Are you alright?” I replied, “yes, I am fine.”
That was a baldfaced lie. Pretty soon today I will take her to an ENT doctor to be sure that her hearing problems of late are not simply due to wax or some other problem.
No I am not okay. I worry more and more about how I can care for her. I have a call in to a social worker associated with her neurologist group.I need to talk about this to someone who might give me some guidance.
My heart is broken right now and I am tired. And just maybe I need a good night’s sleep. Little small steps are in the offing. It is scary.
In a discussion last evening about bread knives with my daughter, I admired the bread knife that I bought her for some occasion in the past after discovering that she did not have a large knife for slicing the bread I had made for it. The knife that I have and use at home is a knife that has been around since my childhood. I do not really know the detailed story but Mom and Dad had this knife in their kitchens through life and they used it to slice breads and cakes.
As a child I always thought of it as “The Knife”. It is not the knife I used as a child of six years or so to slice open the back of my left index finger. The Knife was made by Federal Cutlery Co. N. Y. That is stamped into the side of the blade. The handle however looks to be my father’s handiwork. He made a couple pieces of wrought iron furniture when he was in Hughes high school. It would not surprise me if he had repaired this knife at Hughes and kept it for my Mom. Or found it somewhere in New York when they lived there shortly after the war. I was a toddler then. I do not know the story. I should have asked when Dad was still alive.
It does not cut as well it once did. Perhaps it never really cut that well but because Dad had repaired the handle and injected his love into it, it had never been let go. That is where my discussion with Anna went as I was admiring her knife and how smoothly it sliced the Irish Soda bread I had made. Perhaps it was time to let “The Knife” go?
Maybe if Dad was still alive he would tell me he did not really like how the handle do-over turned out but Mom really liked it. Dad was always trying to find the right gift for Mom. This was especially true on her birthday and Christmas. I went shopping with him a couple times. Looking back, he had a mechanical man’s sense of what would be the perfect gift but he loved her dearly.
The Knife will still be in the knife drawer but underneath the new bread knife I ordered identical to the one Anna has. The Knife and I have history together.
There are other things such as these that I have let go or am working on letting go. Some are physical, some are attitudes, some are worries.
For the past couple days Cheryl’s watch has been missing. It is THE WATCH. As a routine each night we place the watch on what I call the little hat. It is actually a little ring holder that was given to her by Anna. She put her rings and her watch on it but a little more that a year ago I purchased for her a gold chain to wear her rings as a necklace. She had lost enough weight in her hands that her rings would fall off in the car or a chair or the restaurant. This last was the scariest.
But I have digressed. –THE WATCH – has been missing since at least Wednesday. Kathy came to visit on Wednesday. I first noticed that her watch was missing in action when I made dinner and Cheryl and I sat down to eat it. She is right handed so she wears her watch on her left wrist. I noticed it was not on her wrist but I did not say anything because sometimes she does not wear it. Later when we went to bed I noticed that it was not on the little hat. For a couple days I would surreptitiously search for THE WATCH.
About noon today as she was preparing to take a shower and I was searching, I found her watch. She often puts rubber bands on collections of random items in her office. Her watch was on a book shelf in her office near some items that had been banded together. My heart leaped for joy. (I have not been following my own rule of looking around her office to see where things might be.)
Lately, however, I have become anxious about Cheryl’s mental health. The watch story is not about that, it seems to me to be slowly worsening as time goes on. And I think that I am getting used to it. (That idea makes me anxious and adds a fear of not recognizing changes immediately.) My daily notes about bedtimes, falls and other behavior are no longer daily. I note falls and other anomalies. Bedtimes are between 9:30 and 10:30 typically. Her impostor delusion (a noted behavior) seems to appear if she is up later than 11 PM and disappears into her office to “work on stuff.” Last night was one of those nights. I drove her around a four mile loop in the rain as she anxiously gripped her purse waiting to get home.
She was okay with me helping to change her clothes and get into bed when we got back. She wished me farewell and safe driving home. I left the bed room and open and closed a few doors as though I was leaving. I took off my jeans and sweatshirt that I had put on over my pajamas to make the drive. I turned off the lights and gently eased into our bedroom as her husband coming to bed. It worked. I worry that one time it will not work. So far my fear is unfounded but I still worry because I do not have another plan except for sleeping in the living area on the pull out sofa-bed.
At one time in the past I asked her if she remembered any of that. I learned that a reminder in the morning of odd behavior is unwarranted and perhaps even stupid. Introspection of failed ideas is useful.
I still wonder (and worry) about her failing memory and confusion and general mental heath. And of course how to pay for it all should she need extra care that I am unable to give her. Maybe I need some counseling? Or something to ease my mind? Engineers spend too much time what-iffing the situation.
On the morning news the U.S. Congress spent much of the taxpayer’s dollars annoying the CEO of TikTok. That social media platform gets more time per average viewer that Facebook and Twitter. Alas when will we discover the unimportance of Facebook and other social media? … except as another form of 1960’s TV.
As I loaded the dishwasher I thought of David our middle child. He and Melissa are not feeling well.
I thought about Anna as I started to write this. Perhaps I will call her later.
I sent a text to Scott and Mavis and asked about a do-over of our unsatisfactory Cracker Barrel experience. We were compensated by the manager with 4 free meals. Scott invited us for dinner instead. I volunteered dessert. It will be Cheryl’s favorite – pound cake. I cleverly ordered two box mixes when I ordered online from the Kroger near us. I rarely order from Kroger but I did the other day for pick up on Saturday.
Cheryl was worried about organizing an Easter party last night. She thinks Easter is tomorrow or next week. No matter how much I reassure her that it is not for a couple weeks yet she is worried about candy and small children and hard boiling eggs. I convinced her to sleep a little and we could do that in the morning. (I had hoped she would forget her anxiety.)
This morning as she was putting on clothes she made reference to those thoughts. I texted her sister Nancy since Nancy was part of Cheryl’s thoughts. Nancy came to visit for awhile. They talked for an hour or so.
Often on the weekend this road of Parkinson is disturbing for me. The dementia aspect of Cheryl’s Parkinson is disturbing for me. I wonder if there is a class or something I can do to feel more comfortable with helping her.
Adjunct_Wizard 