Category Archives: Caregiver

Morning walks clear the head.

Posted on by under Alzheimer's, Caregiver, Childlike

For the past week a bad cold gripped my head, a cold I caught from my husband who still insists he didn’t have one. For once, I took my own advice and lay low, resting and drinking lots of tea, force-feeding Vitamin C in various forms. I was a real grump because I couldn’t go out and play in the first snow of the season. I even forfeited my daily walks, until this morning.

img_4730Mid-morning, I heard Peter tell Nobby it was time time for a walk. The dog has adopted his master’s ways, he is not a morning dog; he needs coaxing. “Will you wait for me to get dressed so I can go with you?” I yelled. I was still in snowflake pj’s and mommy robe.

Peter smiled. “Yes! Thank  you,” he said. As I dashed upstairs I heard him tell Nobby “she” is going with us so we don’t get lost. He sounded happy. I had to hurry or he’d forget and leave without me.

We walked for nearly an hour, not so far in distance, but slowed by the dog’s need to figure out who else had walked that way.

The fresh air — mild after last weekend’s snow and near zero temperatures — revived me. Ideas began to gel, solutions to problems began to surface. By the time we came in the door, I felt better than I had in more than a week.

While I poured coffee, Peter studied the dry erase board beside me. “Today is Sunday, isn’t it?” he asked.  I nodded, then noticed he was wiping “Saturday” and “14” off the board. I’d been so wrapped up in my thoughts earlier that I hadn’t updated the message first thing, something I always do.

“Yay, you know what day it is!” I said. He smiled proudly while I updated the day and date.

Leslie called a little later. Did we want to go to a matinee and then to eat after? Yes we did. I added that information and showed the message board to Peter. Slowly, he read the words out loud, then smiled. “Something to do on Sunday,” he said.

Smiles are hard to find some days, but they are always worth looking for.

Header photo: Nobby walks Peter every day.

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2016 National Society of Newspaper Columnists’ contest finalist. 

 

Dementia: tragedy, comedy and love story.

Posted on by under Advice, Alzheimer's, Be mine, Caregiver, Dementia, Experts say, Poetic thoughts

“You know I’m not about rainbows and unicorns,” Elaine Eshbaugh, PhD writes in her first blog post of this new year. I’ve been following her “Welcome to Dementialand: Living, Loving, and Laughing through Alzheimer’s and Related Dementias” for some months. She has a “tell it like it is” style that resonates with me.

“If you are one of my regular blog readers,,” she says, “you likely have dementia or love someone with dementia. I am not going to feed you some bullcrap about becoming a better version of yourself or making 2017 the best year ever. For those of you in the trenches of Alzheimer’s or a related dementia, it may seem laughable for me to wish you a smooth path, so I won’t. My wish…is that you have the strength to endure the journey and…know when to ask for help. My hope is that you have a sense of humor to carry you through and a keen enough eye to spot [even subtle joy….”

Wise, but blunt, honest. I like that.

“I wish you hope even if hope has changed,” she says, citing couples who have planned post-retirement adventures that will never happen. Before dementia engulfed us, Peter and I were lucky enough to complete all but one trip on each of our bucket lists. Antarctica was mine, and the Terra Cotta soldiers in China was his. That worked out just fine because he insists he did go to see them, even though it was on t.v.

“Dementia is a tragedy, a comedy and a love story all at once,” Eshbaugh writes in her 12/26/16 post, “Lessons  learned…” She is amazed that families whose lives are impacted by dementia can still find humor in their situations, yet apologize for laughing.  “…They need to stop apologizing for that. No, dementia isn’t funny, but the more moments of humor you can discover on this journey, the better off you will be.”

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Tricky Nobby.

The other morning I laughed at a new trick Nobby, Peter’s dog, managed. Lately, we’ve started blaming him — “Nobby did it” — for the strange things that happen around here. For instance, Nobby often takes his Invisible Fence collar off and hides it; he went to Kroger’s and paid for a Hershey bar with his VISA card; he puts food needing refrigeration in a cupboard and leaves things that should be in the freezer on the basement floor. The most recent trick is the most amazing yet. Somehow he managed to unplug a lamp, take its shade off, remove the bulb and hide it!

Yesterday was his ninth birthday, old in “dog years. ” I chuckled at the twist on the old saying You can’t teach an old dog new tricks. I’m here to tell you, an old dog can teach himself new tricks!

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Thanks to Elaine Eshbaugh, PhD, Associate Professor of Gerontology and Family Studies, University of North Iowa for permission to quote.
Header photo: Lisa Frank, 2013 Facebook.

Cure for common cold!

Posted on by under Alzheimer's, Caregiver, Dementia, Sickness & Health

On New Year’s Eve, with no bubbly in sight, my husband started hiccuping, or hiccoughing as he would spell it. Uh oh, I thought, he’s getting a cold.

I dosed him with vitamin C in the form of Clementines, cups of sweet, hot tea, and homemade elderberry cough syrup. He grimaced and muttered at all my attempts, so I gave up and went to bed. Later, I was awakened from a sound sleep by a cacaphonus hiccup accompanied by an echoing, hacking cough. “Arrrrgh-h-h-h!” I groaned.

“Sorry,” he whispered. He always attempts to be very quiet so as not to wake me. He twisted and yanked at the covers and  finally settled onto his side. “HUH-HUHH-CK,” he said. “Sorry.”

He was asleep instantly, but the staccato sounds continued. I pulled my pillow over my head. “Try holding your breath.”

“Why?”

“To stop your hiccups,” I said, though from experience I knew it would not.

He didn’t even try. The bursts continued until I suggested that he might sleep better if he went into the other bedroom.

“Why would I sleep better there?”

“Because I won’t poke you all night!”

He clomped down the hall and I drifted to sleep. I knew I hadn’t handled that well, but, I rationalized, no one dies from hiccups.

Later still, Peter got up to use the bathroom, but forgot he was sleeping in the guest room. He returned to our bed, grabbed for the covers but instead got my arm which I’d flung across to his side. Both of us yelped. “What are you doing?” I said.

“Coming back to bed…I thought you were sleeping in the other room…”

“No, you were!” He plodded back down the hall.

Sunday morning, froggy-voiced, weepy-eyed, drippy-nosed, and still hiccuping, he croaked, “Good morning.” His voice was in the basement.

“How do you feel?” I asked. He patted himself all over and grinned. I rolled my eyes. That’s always his answer to my how-do-you-feel question.

His symptoms continue to this moment. He’s in the next room watching television, hacking and sniffling and still hiccuping endlessly. When I asked how his cold was this morning, he shook his head and said indignantly, “Cold? I don’t have a cold. Sneezing a bit, that’s all.” He coughed hard enough to untie his shoes and knock his socks off.

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And that, Readers, is how I discovered the cure for the common cold, at least at our house. Dementia, dementia,  that’s the cure. Peter insists he is not sick, does not have a cold or a cough or a hiccough. Since he doesn’t have a cold, there’s nothing for me to catch.

Knocks the achoo right out of the Kleenex™ factory, doesn’t it?

Be gentle with yourself, you’re doing the best you can.

Posted on by under Advice, Alzheimer's, Caregiver, Experts say, Seasons, Thankful

Notices for books by, for and about caregivers show up in my email every day. I follow blogs by women  who are caregivers, and by experts who advise them…advise us. The common thread is, be kind to yourself and remember, you’re doing the best you can at a very hard job.

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Monday, Leslie collected Peter at ten for Christmas shopping and lunch. She volunteered for the job. She, and Carolynn too, always lift his spirits and make him laugh with their teasing. I’m sure he enjoyed the day, even though he didn’t remember where they’d been.

After they’d gone, I spent a long hour on the phone straightening out a niggling problem, the sort of thing I despise doing. After that, I thought, I should go to the grocery. But, no, dammit, I would get coffee at Our Daily Bread, a favorite haunt. I’m so glad I did. While I dawdled over coffee and cranberry/orange scone, I read two excellent story drafts by writer friends. Un-in-ter-rupt-ed. I felt a bit guilty that I enjoyed being there without Peter, but I confess, I savored it.

As I was about to leave, a young woman waved from across the room. Stephanie, a gardener friend, worked her way to my table and gave me a hug. “So nice to see you out like this,” she said. “I know how hard things must be, but obviously, you have ‘time off’ today.” She’d just been to Florida visiting her father who has Alzheimer’s too. “I understand what you’re going through,” she added.

Stephanie, with her million-dollar smile and twinkling eyes, helped make my day.

After that, I did get a few things at Kroger’s. While in the card aisle, looking for an anniversary card for my husband, a wheelchair-bound, sweet elderly lady asked me to help her find a Christmas card for a dear friend. I picked out several, but cost was an issue. She really liked an eight dollar one, but wanted something in the five dollar range. I found one with a message she loved. She thanked me over and over.

I hope I helped make her day.

Leslie stayed for a cup of tea after she brought Peter home even though I knew she had lots to do at her house.

She made my day all over again.

This morning, both daughters texted, Today is the shortest day of the year. Won’t be long until time to cut the grass, as my dad always said on the Winter Solstice.

Their reminders made me chuckle and made this day.

 

Header photo: Christmas cookie selection at Our Daily Bread.

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A down day turned up.

Posted on by under Alzheimer's, Caregiver, Childlike, Laughter

Early morning and already there were signs that it was going to be a down day. The salt and pepper shakers were in the butter compartment of the fridge, mustard, in the silverware drawer, and we were nearly out of bread. Nothing gets my day off to a worse start than having to do without toast. Lately, Peter has been eating almost a loaf a day — two pieces of toast, three sandwiches for lunch, and at least three slices with jam at various times during the evening.

Down.

But I eked out two slices from the end of the loaf.

Up.

When Peter came downstairs, he turned the television on first thing, as usual, but the growling that followed was not on “Today.” I ignored him for a few minutes hoping he’d figure out that if he stopped pushing all the buttons the remote would “catch up” to his impatient demands.

Down.

But I gave in. He looked up with a silly smile and continued jabbing buttons. “Um, were you actually going to call somebody? That’s the phone!”

He shook his head and laughed and so did I. Might as well.

Up.

Later I asked if he wanted to go shopping. He was waiting by the door before I changed into my best jeans. My husband is always ready to “go to the shops.” No sooner did I back out the drive than he started asking, “Any news from upstate?” Even though I’d said no, he continued, “Do they have snow?” The same questions six times in seven  miles. I counted.

Down.

I parked midway between TJMaxx and Barnes & Noble. A way to get in my morning walk and finish Christmas shopping in one. I found what I wanted quickly and checked out. We headed in the general direction of the car to stow my purchases. Ah, but where had I parked? Peter really enjoyed that laugh — up — as we sloshed and searched — down.

Version 2At the bookstore, I found what I wanted so fast that Peter was disappointed. He loves to wander at Barnes & Noble. “How about a coffee?” I asked to make up for my quick trip. I ordered a java chip frappacino — up — and asked if he wanted his usual cappuccino? “Yes, whatever that is,” he said. For the twenty minutes we sat over coffee he asked, four more times, “Any news from upstate?”

Down.

When we got home, Peter looked at the clock and yelped, “It’s gone one! Have I had lunch?”

Down.

“No, just coffee, nothing to eat. Make a sandwich.” He liked that idea. I went to the basement to wrap Christmas presents. When I came up, he had his Santa hat on and was working on a 500-piece puzzle. He’d marked out its one-by-three foot dimensions carefully, correctly.

Up.

img_4517Header: Peter puzzles.

2016 National Society of Newspaper Columnists’ contest finalist. 

Say a lot in few words.

Posted on by under Advice, Caregiver, Defined

When our friends Jerry and Shelia visited, Shelia took me aside to  ask, “Does Pete worry about anything?”

“No,” I said.

She smiled. “He doesn’t have to, you take care of everything. He has no worries.”

I nodded and she gave me a hug. There was nothing more to say, and for effervescent, talkative Shelia, that in itself was saying a lot.

2016 National Society of Newspaper Columnists’ contest finalist. 

 .

Nobby did it.

Posted on by under Alzheimer's, Caregiver, Childlike, Problems

Finding everyday things in strange places has become a daily occurrence at our house. I’ve found a milk carton in the bread drawer, Peter’s green coffee mug in the fridge’s butter keeper. Salt and pepper shakers and Coleman’s mustard are often in there too — that little compartment can hold a lot. One morning there was a plastic baggie filled with potatoes beside his chair in the family room, and the electric kettle was sitting next to the burner of our gas stove. The latter, a disaster waiting to happen.

Lately Peter insists it’s my fault that he’s never known he should put liquid soap into the sink to wash things that don’t go in the dishwasher. Likewise, it’s my fault I never told him where to put the teaspoons after I finally found all of them wrapped neatly inside a place mat. And after I’d searched all over the kitchen for the box of tea I knew I’d bought a few days before, Peter was as surprised as I was when he pulled the box out of the little table beside his chair.

“Ah ha!” I said.

“How did this get in here?” he asked.

I rolled my eyes and raised my left eyebrow, but I was smiling. “Nobby did it,” I said.

This morning around 11:30, I reminded Peter he still hadn’t taken the dog for his early walk. “I know, we’re going now,” he said. He fumbled with Nobby’s harness — he can hardly manage it anymore, but gets angry if I try to help — and started out the door wearing only a light sweater over his shirt.

“You’ll need your jacket and a hat,” I said

“But it looks like summer outside,” he said. “Looks like the sun is going to come up.”

“Peter, it’s nearly noon, the leaves are all gone, and it’s gray and cloudy and cold.”

“Oh-h, well…yes-s…,” he said as he went to get his jacket.

I sat down to write this post. Minutes later, my husband, zipped into his jacket, came up behind me. He held the dog’s leash and collar in his hand, but Nobby wasn’t attached. “Do you think Nobby wants to go for a walk? Is it too cold for him?”

“No, he’s got his fur coat on,” I said. “Go, go.” 

“OK, we’ll  back soon,” he said.

“Thanks for the warning,” I said, using one of his well-worn sayings. He laughed.

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Header photo: Peter asks Nobby if he did it.

2016 National Society of Newspaper Columnists’ contest finalist. 

 

 

Remember? November.

Posted on by under Alzheimer's, Caregiver, Dementia, Remember

Lately, my husband’s downhill run has gotten steeper, faster. When we used to bicycle together, we both preferred climbing hills to zooming down them. The  inherent thrill of a downhill scared both of us. That’s still true, though neither of us bikes anymore, and we don’t really talk about his descent. I can’t imagine how difficult it is for him although he still uses his “braking” mechanism: corny jokes and silly laughs.

We eked out a chuckle the other day. The doorbell rang. As usual Peter wouldn’t answer it though he made sure I’d heard it. A young man stood on the step holding a gorgeous bouquet. A bright beautiful cheery surprise after a trying few weeks.

img_4348Peter was working on the daily sudoku. I walked in holding the flowers. When he looked up his eyes popped, his mouth fell open, and the ruddy color drained from his cheeks. He glanced quickly at the date at the top of the newspaper page. “November,” he said. “That’s not you…is it?”

“Not me what? My birthday? No.”

“Are they for me?”

“No-o,” I laughed, “for me, from Carolynn and Robin. November is ‘Caregivers’ Month,'” I said. He didn’t question that. He doesn’t recognize that I’m his caregiver, and insists he doesn’t need one.

I put the flowers on the kitchen table. At dinner that evening he studied them. “Have those been there all along? You know, for months and months?”

“No, they came this morning.”

“Did I know that.”

I nodded.

Minutes later he asked again, then again, and again.

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Header photo: Colorful November.

2016 National Society of Newspaper Columnists’ contest finalist. 

Another good thing.

Posted on by under Alzheimer's, Caregiver, Dementia, Remember, Vote

Periodically, over several years writing this blog, I’ve posted about the occasional “good things” that are a part of our dementia journey, my husband’s and mine. Another became apparent two days ago.

In addition to being totally flattened by the outcome of the presidential election, I was steamrolled by an intestinal bug. As we sat at the dinner table Friday evening, Peter started making silly faces at me. Apparently I was lost, thinking dark thoughts while waiting for him to finish his pork barbecue and cole slaw. It hadn’t taken me long to eat half a baked potato.

When he finally got my attention he asked, “What’s wrong?”

I’m sure I sighed. “Just thinking about the election,” I said.

He nodded. “What will happen?” he asked.

“I dunno’.” Another sigh.

“Do you think he’ll win?”‘

screen-shot-2016-11-13-at-1-21-34-pmWhat? Wait! Really? Admittedly, my English husband never got his U.S. citizenship, has never voted here, but didn’t he understand the election was over?  He did not. All my ranting and carrying on in recent months, the enormous photo of the president-elect on the front page Wednesday morning, the endless news reports I’d watched, us watching Secretary Clinton’s concession speech together, none of that had soaked in?

But see, that’s a good thing. He doesn’t remember while I wish I couldn’t.

Header photo: Post election sun still shines.

2016 National Society of Newspaper Columnists’ contest finalist. 

 

Apples and pears…stairs.

Posted on by under Alzheimer's, Caregiver, Laughter, tears, Remember, Thankful

Peter looked at the lunch I was fixing for myself, my usual apple, chunk of Cheddar cheese, glass of milk. “Where did you get the apple?” he asked.

I pointed to the old wooden bowl that has always occupied our kitchen, that is always filled with fruit, and the occasional veg.

“Oh, I didn’t know that was there.” He picked out a piece of fruit, came back to the sink and turned on the water.

“That’s a pear,” I said as he washed it off.

Instantly, he collapsed laughing, his face as red as the apple’s cheeks, eyes twinkling. He hugged me. “I know it’s a pear, silly. I’m not that far gone.” I laughed with him and savored the hug.

That far gone, no, but he is more and more confused by the day, less and less able to find words or remember the simplest things. Still, I was grateful for the moment, the laugh, and the hug!

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Fruit with acorn squash.

Header photo: What a pair, pear.

2016 National Society of Newspaper Columnists’ contest finalist.