Thinking for two.

He doesn’t worry about things; he just…seems to accept he can just do what he can do and can’t do everything. He’s always been the sort of person who doesn’t think too deeply about things.

I seem to be the one who’s finding it hard because everything as it was in our lives is finished. I’m 58 and I think if I was 70 I’d be more accepting of the situation, but I’m always thinking for two people and I’m exhausted most of the time.

The paragraphs above express my feelings, but I didn’t write them. The writer, Penny, is the caregiver for her husband Harold. They live in Lincolnshire, England, and her article, “Coping strategies,” was on the Alzheimer Society’s UK website several years ago.

I search the web often for ideas that could help us, so when I came across Penny’s piece I felt a certain kinship — Peter is English and I always wanted to be. Besides, Penny understands the therapeutic effects of a cup of tea. 

 

Tea in a china cup and a McVitie's biscuit.

Tea and a McVitie’s chocolate biscuit.

 

It feels like there’s always a next step; something else to think about…going to the day centre, …getting used to the day centre, … going more often, and now…trying an overnight stay and…respite.

For us, it was getting used to the idea of Bill who started taking Peter and Nobby to nursing homes three years ago. Now Bill drives Peter to physical therapy too. Soon, I’ll add more in-home care so that I can have some respite.

There are things I miss, like having someone to discuss things with. We’re having some decorating done at the moment and I might ask Harold what he thinks, but it’s not the same.

Oh yes! In the past year a number of small house repairs needed attention, plus some major things to deal with. Even though I knew Peter couldn’t manage any of them, I wanted him to listen and lend an encouraging word at least. But if I were to say anything he’d be upset because he no longer understands the problems, nor can he help anymore.

So I whine to my daughters and to a few good friends.

I don’t look forward too far, as I would just be worried all the time. 

Penny mentions missing the things they used to do together…caravaning and dancing…but she believes things could be worse.

One day at a time, is the motto I try to adhere to.

There has been more deterioration latterly and Harold relies on me more. But I have to learn to let go each time something is lost.

Harold was only 64 when he was diagnosed, Peter, 71. I think Peter is losing ground more slowly than Harold. What keeps Peter somewhat steady, I think, is that he is now, and always has been, so bloody single-minded, the effects of a separate issue. I never thought I’d be glad that was the case.

I have wondered about giving up work, although [it] gives me a bit of respite. But that would lead to another form of stress as it would affect us financially.

We’ve been retired a long time, and we’re OK financially, but stress related to finances plagues me almost daily. But that’s another post.

Penny and I have such similar concerns — I wish we were on the same side of the pond so we could share a cuppa.

 

Screen shot 2014-09-13 at 11.19.27 AM

©Nikki McWilliams digital print; original painted in tea.

 

Note: There will be more from Penny in another post.

Sources: Living with dementia magazine, The magazine of Alzheimer’s Society UK, and www.alzheimers.org.uk/magazine

Header photo: Flower star, London market, 2006

2016 National Society of Newspaper Columnists’ contest finalist. 

Therapy goes both ways.

Several years ago, in attempt to keep Peter out and doing things with people other than me, I came up with a plan for him to take Nobby to visit local nursing homes. Therapy for patients and dog owner alike.  Win-win.

Bill, Peter’s companion, takes them and though Peter grumbles before he goes, he always comes home smiling. He loves showing off his dog. The residents he visits ask the same questions every time, so it doesn’t matter that he gives the same answers and tells the same stories week after week. He always comes back saying he’s picked his room, or that he likes one facility better than another one.

After one visit, a nurse followed them down the hall, gave Nobby an extra pat and wrapped her arm around Peter’s shoulders. “I just love y’all,” she gushed.

Peter, never one for hugs, looked sideways at Bill and whispered, “Is she talking to you or me?”

Later, Bill was still laughing when he told me the story.

 Talking points.

Martin & Anna

A couple years ago, friends in England suggested we Skype with them every few weeks. I give Peter a list of things he can talk about in case he gets stuck, which he often does, but Martin and Anna do most of the talking anyway. After the four of us chat for a few minutes, Anna and I leave the two old pals to reminisce, and I use the time, usually about forty-five minutes, to read or work outside or just sit — my therapy!

After one Skype session, Peter was extremely downcast, and that time he wanted a hug! “I can’t even talk anymore,” he said.  He shook his head and sighed. “What would I do without you?”

I struggled to think of something to make him laugh, or at least smile. “Well, you’ve never been a talker, and remember, ‘someone has to listen,’” I said, reminding him of my dad’s family-famous saying. I fixed him a cup of tea, an Englishman’s cure-all, then asked, “Well, ‘without me,’ if I weren’t around any more, which home would you choose to live in?”

He wondered what I meant.

“Which nursing home,” I said. “You often tell me you like one better than another.”

“Oh, this one!” he said.  “I’d stay right here.” He chuckled.

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Nobby and his favorite squeaky toy.

Header photo: Nobby ready for therapy dog duty.

2016 National Society of Newspaper Columnists’ contest finalist.