It's been a fairly quite week with Mom. The cold and snow has kept us all in, with short trips in and out for supplies or events for Dad and me in between our times with Mom.
The re-introduction of the Namenda drug seems to have helped bring her back to a little bit of a more calm state, though she is still panting during movement and sleeping most of the time. I can't wait until warmer weather so we can start getting her back outside for little walks.. I do worry that she's sitting and laying down too much. Her eating is still finicky and light, but at least she eats dinner fairly well, from what I hear from Dad.
One of the biggest gifts Dad and I have gotten the last few days is some respite. Friday night, the twenty-eighth of January, I had a big and important gig to perform in, and Dad wanted to attend the ninth anniversary of the open mic held at the basement of his church. One of the women at the church offered to come over to their house at six o'clock on that night to sit with Mom for a few hours. Mom was not too happy about the thought of it, but from what I was told, once the woman got there, she had a nice time.
Then on Sunday, my younger brother and my sister-in-law, two very very busy people who live almost three hours away, drove all the way up here and arrived at Mom and Dad's on Sunday morning at ten forty-five in the morning! I was practically in tears at their effort! I was able to leave early and have plenty of morning time to get ready for my gig, and Dad was able to linger after church and do some errands in the early afternoon. My brother and his wife left sometime around four in the afternoon.. unbelievable! So wonderful. This is the kind of team work that makes such a big difference in caring for a person with Alzheimer's Disease.
I am about halfway through reading aloud "Sons And Lovers," and though Mom still has to stop me to ask for clarification on characters and events at times, we are plugging through the story and both enjoying the dense, yet beautiful, writing. She still stops to correct me when I pronounce a word wrong.
I continue to have warm, empathetic support from friends. I was introduced to an old friend of a good friend of mine at the big gig the other night, and when I shared with him this life stage I am going through with my parents, his comments were so uplifting and soul soothing. To paraphrase;
"Enjoy these moments. Yes, she will die, so what? That doesn't take away her spirit in you, the memories you have of her. She will never go away in your heart..."
I whole heartedly agree.
Thank you to my family and friends for your help and understanding. It is reassuring and uplifting and it eases so much of the sad emotional burden that could so easily weigh me down. I am quite sure Dad would concur.
Monday, January 31, 2011
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
Sleep And Sundowning
Mom's been sleeping a lot. During the day, she alternates between her chair or the couch or a bed. Even in the chair, she keeps her eyes closed a lot.
This afternoon I asked her, "Is it easier for you to have your eyes closed, Mom?"
"Yes," she replied, "it helps me concentrate."
I feel so bad for her. She is in misery.
We picked out a new book to read together from their massive library - "Sons And Lovers," by D.H. Larwrence. Talk about a tongue twister! It makes ME tired reading it out loud. The time keeps shifting back and forth, their are so many characters.. But again, the time period is early nineteenth century and this one is set in England. I have never read it before, but she was excited to be reintroduced to the story again.
Sunday was calm. We spent the first part of the morning "watching" a movie (this is where she lies on the couch with her eyes closed, but I think she is listening.) Then I read for about an hour from the new book. Around twelve-thirty, I sprung on her that my partner was going to come over for about a half hour and sit with her so that I could run home and clean up for our afternoon gig. She didn't take that too badly at all, and she even got up and put on a headband. When he came over, he calmly came in and sat on the couch, and I raced home. Dad got home about one-twenty, so my partner was able to come home and we were able to leave at a decent time this week for the one hour trip to our gig. That went well.
This afternoon, I stayed with her for a few hours. Dad ran down town to get provisions and do banking and post office duties. Mom didn't push for me to read to her today. I don't know if it's the intense cold snap we are experiencing up here in Maine, but she was particularly tired today. The whole time I was there, she laid on the couch while a movie called "The Cardinal" was playing on Turner Classic Movies.
After Dad came home, and four o'clock came and went, she seemed to remain calm. When it came time for me to head out for home, I told her that I was going to go. I sat on the bench by the front door to put on my boots, Dad was in the kitchen, and then she rose from her chair and began to walk towards me. I said, "I'm putting on my coat now, Dad's in the kitchen, what are you doing?"
She said, "I'm going to put on my coat."
"Why?" By this time, Dad had come out to the foyer, too.
"Isn't it time for us to go home now?" she said.
Very calmly and quietly, I said, "No Mom, you are home. I am putting on my coat because I'm going home to where I live next door."
"Oh, I don't live here then?"
Dad said, "No sweetheart, you live here and Kate is going home now."
Mom looked sad and said, "Oh, I am so confused. I thought I lived here."
"You do, Mom. And I live next door, and that's why I am putting on my coat. You live here, so you are staying here."
By this time, Dad and I had led her back over to her chair. When she sat down, Mom said to Dad, "Oh, so you and I eat here together alone tonight?"
"Yes."
Dad remarked aloud that it must be the sundowners making her confused. We got her settled again and it passed. I said goodbye and went out the door, and Dad went back to the kitchen to prepare their meal.
This afternoon I asked her, "Is it easier for you to have your eyes closed, Mom?"
"Yes," she replied, "it helps me concentrate."
I feel so bad for her. She is in misery.
We picked out a new book to read together from their massive library - "Sons And Lovers," by D.H. Larwrence. Talk about a tongue twister! It makes ME tired reading it out loud. The time keeps shifting back and forth, their are so many characters.. But again, the time period is early nineteenth century and this one is set in England. I have never read it before, but she was excited to be reintroduced to the story again.
Sunday was calm. We spent the first part of the morning "watching" a movie (this is where she lies on the couch with her eyes closed, but I think she is listening.) Then I read for about an hour from the new book. Around twelve-thirty, I sprung on her that my partner was going to come over for about a half hour and sit with her so that I could run home and clean up for our afternoon gig. She didn't take that too badly at all, and she even got up and put on a headband. When he came over, he calmly came in and sat on the couch, and I raced home. Dad got home about one-twenty, so my partner was able to come home and we were able to leave at a decent time this week for the one hour trip to our gig. That went well.
This afternoon, I stayed with her for a few hours. Dad ran down town to get provisions and do banking and post office duties. Mom didn't push for me to read to her today. I don't know if it's the intense cold snap we are experiencing up here in Maine, but she was particularly tired today. The whole time I was there, she laid on the couch while a movie called "The Cardinal" was playing on Turner Classic Movies.
After Dad came home, and four o'clock came and went, she seemed to remain calm. When it came time for me to head out for home, I told her that I was going to go. I sat on the bench by the front door to put on my boots, Dad was in the kitchen, and then she rose from her chair and began to walk towards me. I said, "I'm putting on my coat now, Dad's in the kitchen, what are you doing?"
She said, "I'm going to put on my coat."
"Why?" By this time, Dad had come out to the foyer, too.
"Isn't it time for us to go home now?" she said.
Very calmly and quietly, I said, "No Mom, you are home. I am putting on my coat because I'm going home to where I live next door."
"Oh, I don't live here then?"
Dad said, "No sweetheart, you live here and Kate is going home now."
Mom looked sad and said, "Oh, I am so confused. I thought I lived here."
"You do, Mom. And I live next door, and that's why I am putting on my coat. You live here, so you are staying here."
By this time, Dad and I had led her back over to her chair. When she sat down, Mom said to Dad, "Oh, so you and I eat here together alone tonight?"
"Yes."
Dad remarked aloud that it must be the sundowners making her confused. We got her settled again and it passed. I said goodbye and went out the door, and Dad went back to the kitchen to prepare their meal.
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
Experiment Over
Monday morning, I stayed with Mom from nine-thirty until around noon, when Dad got back home from the church. For the first hour with her, she was fine with watching a movie while I quietly read and did a crossword. After that, I picked up the "Sister Anna" book, and before we knew it, Dad was back home. He heated up the chicken noodle soup and I left them to their lunch. I went down town to market and picked up supplies for the next couple of days, in anticipation of another snow / freezing rain fall on Tuesday and Wednesday.
Later on Monday afternoon, I went back over and finished up "Sister Anna." I was a little nervous reading the second to last chapter, because oddly enough, the story turned a bit dark. When we talked about that part the next afternoon, she didn't really remember it anyway, so I lucked out. She was just happy that we finished the story.
I had read until four-thirty, which gave Dad time to do stuff on his computer and what ever else. When he came back up to get wood from the wood shed and start the wood stove, Mom began her usual "sundowners;" getting up, pacing about, sitting back down, lying down, getting back up. She complained about a lot of things.. we got her to sit at the chair by the wood stove, and Dad offered to get her her nightly glass of white Riesling with a couple of ice cubes in it to water it down. She slowly agreed to that. Her hand was shaking as she sipped out the glass. She continued to act anxious. It was quite.
Then, I remembered music. With not enough time to quickly figure out how to switch the television's receiver over to the stereo, and find an appropriate music CD to put in the disc player, I suddenly remembered that the electric piano in the living room had demos on it. Hesitantly, I turned it on.
Mom perked up instantly. At first she thought I was playing the piece, some classical piece in the "Grand Piano" mode. It's the longest one, and as the piece went on, she began to hum along, then even sing out loud. The music was working; it soothed her in the face, it took her mind away. Something clicked in her (undamaged?) sub-conscience mind, and she was calmed, at least more than before. I was quite pleased with that.
As the demos kept playing in their different piano modes and sounds, Mom relaxed, finished up her wine and chewed on her ice cubes, and almost "looked like the old Mom" for a little while. Dad was able to start their dinner and I was able to finally go home without feeling too worried. What a life saver.
Tuesday it snowed all day, a good six to ten inches. I ambled over there in the afternoon, and Mom spent the afternoon between the chair and the couch, mostly watching the old movies on television. She didn't complain about too much, and I left before "crazy hour," but she seemed okay enough to do that. Though I know it's not easy on Dad, still. Later that night, when we had a moment to talk on the phone, he thought that she had had a pretty good day.
Today, Maria showed up for Mom's bath. Our neighbor had cleared our driveways out by nine, a huge gift. I went over a little before noon, greeted Mom, who was on the couch watching HGTV shows, and I told her I was going to do some clearing around their doors and walkways. This took me about forty-five minutes, then I went in just as they were sitting down to some Cream of Mushroom soup and crackers. Mom ate a little, then Dad told me (aloud) that he had checked in with Dr. N. and told him that Mom had not changed much. She is still panting during movements and anxiety, and shaking. So, with that, Dr. N. told Dad to put her back on the Namenda starting tonight, back to 10 mgs. two times a day.
Maybe because we were talking about her, or who knows, but Mom got up, not finished with her soup. She "was done." We tried to get her to finish, but she was too frustrated. Then Dad said, "Well, it must be hard with your right hand so weak and shaking. Why don't you let me feed you?" Mom agreed to that, and I said, "Let me Dad, so you can eat," and so that was what I did. And she actually finished most of her soup that way. Another first for me - spoon feeding Mom.
After lunch, she complained of being tired, so I helped her settle back down onto the couch. As she nodded in and out of sleep, the HGTV programs went on for another hour and a half. I sat quietly on the other couch, and Dad went down stairs for a nap.
When he came back upstairs, he got some wood, then joined us in front of the television. He has a habit of commenting out loud to the things he sees on the programs, and his comments upset Mom. She yelled at him and decided to get up and go to the bedroom. We tried to get her to stay, Dad offered to leave the room, but she insisted, so of course, we obliged. I tucked her in with a throw over the covers. Dad came up and we chatted quietly in the kitchen for a few minutes. Next thing you know, she's up, saying "What about Saturday night?" (She had overheard me talking about my concerns with a gig this weekend.)
Arg. So, we explained what we were talking about, and back to the bedroom we went. I tucked her back in again, and explained that I was going home now and Dad was now in the living room.
"What's the living room?" she said.
"That's the room you were just in, the one with the television in it."
"Oh, yea, okay."
So, perhaps getting her back on the Namenda is good.. Dad and I have noticed little lapses in her cognitive reality the last few days as the drug wore down to nothing (well, today was the first morning of zero Namenda, but the experiment is now over and so back we go.) Dr. N. explained that if there was going to be a change, we would have noticed it right away. We have noticed no change in her behaviors, as well as a drop in her ability to think right (on Monday after lunch, Dad had mentioned to me, she asked him "When were they going to get picked up to go home?" They were home.) And then this question about what the living room was..
Hopefully, the reintroduction of the drug will alleviate some of that again. Naturally, we can't expect much.
Later on Monday afternoon, I went back over and finished up "Sister Anna." I was a little nervous reading the second to last chapter, because oddly enough, the story turned a bit dark. When we talked about that part the next afternoon, she didn't really remember it anyway, so I lucked out. She was just happy that we finished the story.
I had read until four-thirty, which gave Dad time to do stuff on his computer and what ever else. When he came back up to get wood from the wood shed and start the wood stove, Mom began her usual "sundowners;" getting up, pacing about, sitting back down, lying down, getting back up. She complained about a lot of things.. we got her to sit at the chair by the wood stove, and Dad offered to get her her nightly glass of white Riesling with a couple of ice cubes in it to water it down. She slowly agreed to that. Her hand was shaking as she sipped out the glass. She continued to act anxious. It was quite.
Then, I remembered music. With not enough time to quickly figure out how to switch the television's receiver over to the stereo, and find an appropriate music CD to put in the disc player, I suddenly remembered that the electric piano in the living room had demos on it. Hesitantly, I turned it on.
Mom perked up instantly. At first she thought I was playing the piece, some classical piece in the "Grand Piano" mode. It's the longest one, and as the piece went on, she began to hum along, then even sing out loud. The music was working; it soothed her in the face, it took her mind away. Something clicked in her (undamaged?) sub-conscience mind, and she was calmed, at least more than before. I was quite pleased with that.
As the demos kept playing in their different piano modes and sounds, Mom relaxed, finished up her wine and chewed on her ice cubes, and almost "looked like the old Mom" for a little while. Dad was able to start their dinner and I was able to finally go home without feeling too worried. What a life saver.
Tuesday it snowed all day, a good six to ten inches. I ambled over there in the afternoon, and Mom spent the afternoon between the chair and the couch, mostly watching the old movies on television. She didn't complain about too much, and I left before "crazy hour," but she seemed okay enough to do that. Though I know it's not easy on Dad, still. Later that night, when we had a moment to talk on the phone, he thought that she had had a pretty good day.
Today, Maria showed up for Mom's bath. Our neighbor had cleared our driveways out by nine, a huge gift. I went over a little before noon, greeted Mom, who was on the couch watching HGTV shows, and I told her I was going to do some clearing around their doors and walkways. This took me about forty-five minutes, then I went in just as they were sitting down to some Cream of Mushroom soup and crackers. Mom ate a little, then Dad told me (aloud) that he had checked in with Dr. N. and told him that Mom had not changed much. She is still panting during movements and anxiety, and shaking. So, with that, Dr. N. told Dad to put her back on the Namenda starting tonight, back to 10 mgs. two times a day.
Maybe because we were talking about her, or who knows, but Mom got up, not finished with her soup. She "was done." We tried to get her to finish, but she was too frustrated. Then Dad said, "Well, it must be hard with your right hand so weak and shaking. Why don't you let me feed you?" Mom agreed to that, and I said, "Let me Dad, so you can eat," and so that was what I did. And she actually finished most of her soup that way. Another first for me - spoon feeding Mom.
After lunch, she complained of being tired, so I helped her settle back down onto the couch. As she nodded in and out of sleep, the HGTV programs went on for another hour and a half. I sat quietly on the other couch, and Dad went down stairs for a nap.
When he came back upstairs, he got some wood, then joined us in front of the television. He has a habit of commenting out loud to the things he sees on the programs, and his comments upset Mom. She yelled at him and decided to get up and go to the bedroom. We tried to get her to stay, Dad offered to leave the room, but she insisted, so of course, we obliged. I tucked her in with a throw over the covers. Dad came up and we chatted quietly in the kitchen for a few minutes. Next thing you know, she's up, saying "What about Saturday night?" (She had overheard me talking about my concerns with a gig this weekend.)
Arg. So, we explained what we were talking about, and back to the bedroom we went. I tucked her back in again, and explained that I was going home now and Dad was now in the living room.
"What's the living room?" she said.
"That's the room you were just in, the one with the television in it."
"Oh, yea, okay."
So, perhaps getting her back on the Namenda is good.. Dad and I have noticed little lapses in her cognitive reality the last few days as the drug wore down to nothing (well, today was the first morning of zero Namenda, but the experiment is now over and so back we go.) Dr. N. explained that if there was going to be a change, we would have noticed it right away. We have noticed no change in her behaviors, as well as a drop in her ability to think right (on Monday after lunch, Dad had mentioned to me, she asked him "When were they going to get picked up to go home?" They were home.) And then this question about what the living room was..
Hopefully, the reintroduction of the drug will alleviate some of that again. Naturally, we can't expect much.
Monday, January 17, 2011
Sucky Sunday
Sunday morning I arrived a little before ten. Mom had been alone for about forty-five minutes, but she seemed okay with sitting in her chair with a TCM black and white comedy on. I said hello and quickly did some light housekeeping.. Watered the two plants, swept up the tiles, took the Christmas centerpiece apart and made a smaller one out of the pine cones, and did the few breakfast dishes. After about half an hour of that, I settled down and continued reading aloud from the "Sister Anna" book.
Towards eleven-thirty, I took a break. Having decided to give up on making a big ordeal out of a lunch for her, I just peeled and cut up an apple and she nibbled on that. She always claims she's not hungry anyway. I had brought over a batch of chicken and vegetable and noodle soup I had made the night before, so I hoped she and Dad could eat that when he got home.
He finally rang at just a little before one, to tell us he was just heading into the next town but had to stop at a couple of places. Since I had stopped reading, Mom started to get anxious. She began expressing her frustration and anger towards Dad... for what, I'm not sure, but something to do with being angry with him for "not coming home when he says he will."
Reasoning with her doesn't help. He said he would be home in half an hour, so I stalled for another fifteen minutes then asked her if she'd be alright if I left. I always have to race to get ready for my afternoon job.. She said she'd be okay, so I put on my coat and was slowly starting to leave when I heard her moan from the couch.
"What is it, Mom?"
"I'm shaking like a leaf."
I stayed. She started crying, moaning in a wail. I tried to soothe her, I asked her to get up, we walked around a little bit. She said "she didn't know what to do." In the kitchen, she started to put away the small amount of breakfast dishes. I helped her by showing her where the things went, speaking softly. She went to her bed, I helped her in. She had a scowl on her face, a look of worry.
She got back up again, retired back to the couch. She did not want the television on. I stood by the sunny door and watched the driveway. I began to get annoyed with Dad myself, thinking why couldn't he plan to just come straight home from church and plan ahead so he doesn't have to stop on the way home? We both have to compromise on Sunday. He's giving up a lot on the social end of church, I'm giving up my Sunday mornings when I can practice, think about my music, help load gear.
Mom got up to use the bathroom again, it was almost one thirty. Finally, he drove in. On my way out, I asked him why he couldn't plan ahead and not stop on the way home? He snapped at me, said we'd have to find somebody else to stay with her. This upset me, feeling accused of not wanting to be there. It's just I have a commitment, too. I've even stayed home from my gig before.
So, I left upset. I left Mom and Dad upset. My afternoon sucked and now I'm going to head over there shortly so he can go do some work at the church.
Towards eleven-thirty, I took a break. Having decided to give up on making a big ordeal out of a lunch for her, I just peeled and cut up an apple and she nibbled on that. She always claims she's not hungry anyway. I had brought over a batch of chicken and vegetable and noodle soup I had made the night before, so I hoped she and Dad could eat that when he got home.
He finally rang at just a little before one, to tell us he was just heading into the next town but had to stop at a couple of places. Since I had stopped reading, Mom started to get anxious. She began expressing her frustration and anger towards Dad... for what, I'm not sure, but something to do with being angry with him for "not coming home when he says he will."
Reasoning with her doesn't help. He said he would be home in half an hour, so I stalled for another fifteen minutes then asked her if she'd be alright if I left. I always have to race to get ready for my afternoon job.. She said she'd be okay, so I put on my coat and was slowly starting to leave when I heard her moan from the couch.
"What is it, Mom?"
"I'm shaking like a leaf."
I stayed. She started crying, moaning in a wail. I tried to soothe her, I asked her to get up, we walked around a little bit. She said "she didn't know what to do." In the kitchen, she started to put away the small amount of breakfast dishes. I helped her by showing her where the things went, speaking softly. She went to her bed, I helped her in. She had a scowl on her face, a look of worry.
She got back up again, retired back to the couch. She did not want the television on. I stood by the sunny door and watched the driveway. I began to get annoyed with Dad myself, thinking why couldn't he plan to just come straight home from church and plan ahead so he doesn't have to stop on the way home? We both have to compromise on Sunday. He's giving up a lot on the social end of church, I'm giving up my Sunday mornings when I can practice, think about my music, help load gear.
Mom got up to use the bathroom again, it was almost one thirty. Finally, he drove in. On my way out, I asked him why he couldn't plan ahead and not stop on the way home? He snapped at me, said we'd have to find somebody else to stay with her. This upset me, feeling accused of not wanting to be there. It's just I have a commitment, too. I've even stayed home from my gig before.
So, I left upset. I left Mom and Dad upset. My afternoon sucked and now I'm going to head over there shortly so he can go do some work at the church.
Saturday, January 15, 2011
Snowstorm And A New Book
The snowstorm we experienced on Dad's birthday (Wednesday the twelfth) put a stop to most of the planned activities for that day. Dad called Maria and told her to stay home that morning, and they rescheduled for the next morning. The Alzheimer's support group was cancelled. Sometime during the middle of the day, we decided that my partner and I would make the chowder and cornbread at our place, and then, somehow, trudge through the snow with all of it and reheat and eat the meal and Mom at Dad's place.
However, later in the day, our wonderful neighbor, who owns all kinds of vehicles equipped for pushing massive amounts of snow around, showed up in our driveway and pushed much of the snow to the side. Then he went down the road and did the same with Mom and Dad's driveway, so, around four in the afternoon, as we were busy putting together the meal, Dad and I went back and forth over the phone, and at last, made the decision to have the meal at our place after all. My partner got in our four wheel drive "tank" and drove through the deep snow and picked them up. They arrived at five.
I poured Mom and Dad a little wine, and we sat around a couple of small plates of nibbles. At one point, Mom said, "Well, what are we waiting for?" I explained that it was Dad's birthday and he wanted to have a few moments to sit and chat.. but by a little after five thirty, we sat down to the meal.
Mom ate fairly well, but as the dinner wore on, she became more and more tired. When she was finished, I helped her to the toilet, and explained to her we just wanted to give Dad his one little pathetic birthday gift I had hastily thrown together, as well as sing "Happy Birthday" and serve some cake.
By six thirty, Mom was really anxious to go, so we all bundled up, I quickly re-shoveled the porch and walkway to the car, and my partner drove them home.
The next morning was sunny and calm, and I walked over with a snow shovel in hand just a few minutes after Maria showed up to give Mom her weekly bath. I didn't bother saying hello, I just started shoveling. First the path to the front door, then the front porch. Next, the path to the side porch and the oil tank, then the sunny porch off of their bedroom, which was piled the highest with snow drifts. Then it was on to a path to the woodshed, the wood stack area, and the screened in back porch, which is the way for Dad to get wood for their wood stove. Finally, I went over and got most of the snow off of the kitchen porch, which was also high with drifted snow.
I said hello to everybody, then went back home to shower and rest. Later I went back over and, in between finishing up two loads of their laundry, I started a new book with Mom, one I found on their bookshelf, called "Sister Anna." It's a historical novel about a young girl in an unmentioned early time period, living in an unnamed Shaker community. It seems to be set in New England, possibly Maine or Massachusetts, and the city of Boston is mentioned quite a bit. It also features Henry David Thoreau, Nathanial Hawthorne and Ralph Waldo Emerson, as fictionalized characters.
Once again, Mom was all too eager to lay on the couch, with her eyes closed, to listen. The next afternoon was the same. I had spent Friday morning doing my own laundry, and a quick run down to market for groceries for my household for two days. Back at Mom and Dad's, I read for another hour or so, and once again, Mom laid on the couch, her eyes closed, half asleep, but still listening. When it was time for me to leave, she did not protest, and even rose, with some difficulty, to say goodbye. It's getting very hard for her to get up off the couch, and now the chairs, too.
Friday night, my younger brother showed up to their place at nine at night (he had called them at six to let them know he was coming.) She was a little anxious, and we got a call from her a little after eight to see if I knew how long he would be. Luckily, I had just hung up with him (that being the first time I knew he was coming), so I was able to explain to her how long he would be. He hung around until about eleven in the morning, then went off to ski with a friend in New Hampshire.
This morning, Saturday, I ran down to the transfer station to unload some trash, then zipped over to my Aunt's weekend farm house to have a little chat with her. Dad had been stressing all week about my Aunt's invitation for Mom and Dad to go down to her condo just outside of the city for two nights and three days. They had done it last year, and they had gone out to a nice dinner and to see a movie or some other kind of entertainment. Well, this year this notion is impossible, but Dad wasn't sure how to convince my Aunt of this. So, I told him I'd go over and give her the lowdown. She had just come back from the store with some ice cream for their dessert tonight (Mom and Dad are having dinner at her place tonight), and so I sat down in her warm, sunny country kitchen and expressed my concerns and the facts. She understood at once. I'm not sure how much she understands about this disease, but I was easily able to convince her that the idea, though a loving gesture, would be unwise and cause way too much stress for all involved. She lives a very busy life herself, for an eighty year old, and she's got enough to worry about, but I did also suggest to her that she was welcome to come over to their place any time and read to her. She seemed dubious, perhaps because of the unpredictable winter weather, but at least I put the notion out there.
So, at two-thirty, after my weekly walk with my neighbor, I went back over and read for another hour. This time, Dad joined us, sitting in his chair with his eyes closed, too. What a rapt audience I had! A little before four, I stopped, and Mom began to become worried about the impending dinner date. We nipped that in the bud by distracting her in little various ways. When I left for home, they were both sitting in front of the television set, with Turner Classic Movies on, an hour to kill before their dinner date.
When I got home, my partner asked me, "So, how is it today?" I only shrugged. He then said, "Grim?" And I replied, "Yes, it's grim." Couldn't have described it better myself.
However, later in the day, our wonderful neighbor, who owns all kinds of vehicles equipped for pushing massive amounts of snow around, showed up in our driveway and pushed much of the snow to the side. Then he went down the road and did the same with Mom and Dad's driveway, so, around four in the afternoon, as we were busy putting together the meal, Dad and I went back and forth over the phone, and at last, made the decision to have the meal at our place after all. My partner got in our four wheel drive "tank" and drove through the deep snow and picked them up. They arrived at five.
I poured Mom and Dad a little wine, and we sat around a couple of small plates of nibbles. At one point, Mom said, "Well, what are we waiting for?" I explained that it was Dad's birthday and he wanted to have a few moments to sit and chat.. but by a little after five thirty, we sat down to the meal.
Mom ate fairly well, but as the dinner wore on, she became more and more tired. When she was finished, I helped her to the toilet, and explained to her we just wanted to give Dad his one little pathetic birthday gift I had hastily thrown together, as well as sing "Happy Birthday" and serve some cake.
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| January 12, 2011 |
By six thirty, Mom was really anxious to go, so we all bundled up, I quickly re-shoveled the porch and walkway to the car, and my partner drove them home.
The next morning was sunny and calm, and I walked over with a snow shovel in hand just a few minutes after Maria showed up to give Mom her weekly bath. I didn't bother saying hello, I just started shoveling. First the path to the front door, then the front porch. Next, the path to the side porch and the oil tank, then the sunny porch off of their bedroom, which was piled the highest with snow drifts. Then it was on to a path to the woodshed, the wood stack area, and the screened in back porch, which is the way for Dad to get wood for their wood stove. Finally, I went over and got most of the snow off of the kitchen porch, which was also high with drifted snow.
I said hello to everybody, then went back home to shower and rest. Later I went back over and, in between finishing up two loads of their laundry, I started a new book with Mom, one I found on their bookshelf, called "Sister Anna." It's a historical novel about a young girl in an unmentioned early time period, living in an unnamed Shaker community. It seems to be set in New England, possibly Maine or Massachusetts, and the city of Boston is mentioned quite a bit. It also features Henry David Thoreau, Nathanial Hawthorne and Ralph Waldo Emerson, as fictionalized characters.
Once again, Mom was all too eager to lay on the couch, with her eyes closed, to listen. The next afternoon was the same. I had spent Friday morning doing my own laundry, and a quick run down to market for groceries for my household for two days. Back at Mom and Dad's, I read for another hour or so, and once again, Mom laid on the couch, her eyes closed, half asleep, but still listening. When it was time for me to leave, she did not protest, and even rose, with some difficulty, to say goodbye. It's getting very hard for her to get up off the couch, and now the chairs, too.
Friday night, my younger brother showed up to their place at nine at night (he had called them at six to let them know he was coming.) She was a little anxious, and we got a call from her a little after eight to see if I knew how long he would be. Luckily, I had just hung up with him (that being the first time I knew he was coming), so I was able to explain to her how long he would be. He hung around until about eleven in the morning, then went off to ski with a friend in New Hampshire.
This morning, Saturday, I ran down to the transfer station to unload some trash, then zipped over to my Aunt's weekend farm house to have a little chat with her. Dad had been stressing all week about my Aunt's invitation for Mom and Dad to go down to her condo just outside of the city for two nights and three days. They had done it last year, and they had gone out to a nice dinner and to see a movie or some other kind of entertainment. Well, this year this notion is impossible, but Dad wasn't sure how to convince my Aunt of this. So, I told him I'd go over and give her the lowdown. She had just come back from the store with some ice cream for their dessert tonight (Mom and Dad are having dinner at her place tonight), and so I sat down in her warm, sunny country kitchen and expressed my concerns and the facts. She understood at once. I'm not sure how much she understands about this disease, but I was easily able to convince her that the idea, though a loving gesture, would be unwise and cause way too much stress for all involved. She lives a very busy life herself, for an eighty year old, and she's got enough to worry about, but I did also suggest to her that she was welcome to come over to their place any time and read to her. She seemed dubious, perhaps because of the unpredictable winter weather, but at least I put the notion out there.
So, at two-thirty, after my weekly walk with my neighbor, I went back over and read for another hour. This time, Dad joined us, sitting in his chair with his eyes closed, too. What a rapt audience I had! A little before four, I stopped, and Mom began to become worried about the impending dinner date. We nipped that in the bud by distracting her in little various ways. When I left for home, they were both sitting in front of the television set, with Turner Classic Movies on, an hour to kill before their dinner date.
When I got home, my partner asked me, "So, how is it today?" I only shrugged. He then said, "Grim?" And I replied, "Yes, it's grim." Couldn't have described it better myself.
Tuesday, January 11, 2011
Calm Again, For Now
Okay, so things are a wee bit more stable this evening.
Yesterday, I went over a couple of times.. reading aloud from "The Maine Hamlet" was most of what I did. I left for awhile, then went back in the early afternoon, and back to reading aloud I went. Towards four, after Dad ran some errands, and I started to get ready to leave, the subject of Wednesday came up, and Mom adamantly and shrilly proclaimed she was NOT GOING down to the community center to sit with the volunteer while Dad and I attend the Alzheimer's support group. She got really stressed about it, and so naturally, we said, fine fine, you don't have to go.. but it stuck with her, and she rose in agitation and protested some more. I was about to leave but I finally snapped at her, though still contained (for me), and yelled back at her to stop, get back in her chair, she does not have to go, we are just trying to work it out, we won't do anything she doesn't want.. As Dad walked down the stairs, her id shouted out, to nobody really (though I was right there in her face to hear it), "He's a fucking asshole!"
Ouch.
I settled her down and left for the night. Again, it's the god damn Alzheimer's, and everybody warns you, it ain't pretty. So there you go.
This morning, I walked in the door and she was half asleep watching a black and white noir film on TCM. I said hello, she seemed alright, and I told her I was going to go downstairs and talk with Dad for a minute. Thankfully, she didn't protest.
Dad was on the phone with his minister from the church, and when he hung up, he told me he decided not to go to the board meeting Wednesday night, and that he had the minister's full hearted blessing on that. First of all, it's Dad's birthday. Second, it's going to be snowing. And most important, it takes the edge off of the stresses with Mom.
I was relieved to hear that he made that decision, and all that was left was to decide that if Dad should be able to get down to the support group at one in the afternoon (unless the day's snowfall makes the travel down town unwise), I will stay with Mom. Better he goes than I.
I had discussed with my partner the idea of having a small birthday dinner for Dad either at our house or theirs, and he and I decided we could throw together another seafood chowder, like the one we made for Christmas, as we all loved it so much. Dad loved the idea, and we both thought it would be worth making the effort to have them come over to our place, in order to give them both a change of scenery.
I told Mom our plans, and she actually liked the idea, in a drowsy, half-aware state of enthusiasm. Hooray. A plan.
So, tomorrow morning, Maria comes (hopefully, what with the snowstorm and all) to give Mom her weekly bath, then (in theory), Dad will go to the support group at one in the afternoon, and somehow, we'll pull together a dinner and a dessert for an intimate birthday celebration at our place in the early evening.
I threw together a lunch for them, then left them to eat so I could get downtown and pull together the ingredients for the chowder and a dinner tonight, thinking ahead to possibly being snowed in for a bit and / or losing power. Then, I went back over a little before four, and spent another hour finishing up the book. Mom was fairly calm, only panting a bit when I had to help her settle back in her chair (I've been trying to say to her "shhhhhh" and "it's okay, breath deep" when I hear her pant), and once I start reading, she closes her eyes and listens.
When we finished the book, I put on my coat and Dad was in the kitchen starting to trim up the green beans he was serving for their dinner. Mom wanted to help, but with her right hand nearly useless these days, all she could do was pick up the ends and toss them in the compost bin. As I went out the door and said goodnight, they were both in the kitchen, puttering about. Calm again, for now.
Yesterday, I went over a couple of times.. reading aloud from "The Maine Hamlet" was most of what I did. I left for awhile, then went back in the early afternoon, and back to reading aloud I went. Towards four, after Dad ran some errands, and I started to get ready to leave, the subject of Wednesday came up, and Mom adamantly and shrilly proclaimed she was NOT GOING down to the community center to sit with the volunteer while Dad and I attend the Alzheimer's support group. She got really stressed about it, and so naturally, we said, fine fine, you don't have to go.. but it stuck with her, and she rose in agitation and protested some more. I was about to leave but I finally snapped at her, though still contained (for me), and yelled back at her to stop, get back in her chair, she does not have to go, we are just trying to work it out, we won't do anything she doesn't want.. As Dad walked down the stairs, her id shouted out, to nobody really (though I was right there in her face to hear it), "He's a fucking asshole!"
Ouch.
I settled her down and left for the night. Again, it's the god damn Alzheimer's, and everybody warns you, it ain't pretty. So there you go.
This morning, I walked in the door and she was half asleep watching a black and white noir film on TCM. I said hello, she seemed alright, and I told her I was going to go downstairs and talk with Dad for a minute. Thankfully, she didn't protest.
Dad was on the phone with his minister from the church, and when he hung up, he told me he decided not to go to the board meeting Wednesday night, and that he had the minister's full hearted blessing on that. First of all, it's Dad's birthday. Second, it's going to be snowing. And most important, it takes the edge off of the stresses with Mom.
I was relieved to hear that he made that decision, and all that was left was to decide that if Dad should be able to get down to the support group at one in the afternoon (unless the day's snowfall makes the travel down town unwise), I will stay with Mom. Better he goes than I.
I had discussed with my partner the idea of having a small birthday dinner for Dad either at our house or theirs, and he and I decided we could throw together another seafood chowder, like the one we made for Christmas, as we all loved it so much. Dad loved the idea, and we both thought it would be worth making the effort to have them come over to our place, in order to give them both a change of scenery.
I told Mom our plans, and she actually liked the idea, in a drowsy, half-aware state of enthusiasm. Hooray. A plan.
So, tomorrow morning, Maria comes (hopefully, what with the snowstorm and all) to give Mom her weekly bath, then (in theory), Dad will go to the support group at one in the afternoon, and somehow, we'll pull together a dinner and a dessert for an intimate birthday celebration at our place in the early evening.
I threw together a lunch for them, then left them to eat so I could get downtown and pull together the ingredients for the chowder and a dinner tonight, thinking ahead to possibly being snowed in for a bit and / or losing power. Then, I went back over a little before four, and spent another hour finishing up the book. Mom was fairly calm, only panting a bit when I had to help her settle back in her chair (I've been trying to say to her "shhhhhh" and "it's okay, breath deep" when I hear her pant), and once I start reading, she closes her eyes and listens.
When we finished the book, I put on my coat and Dad was in the kitchen starting to trim up the green beans he was serving for their dinner. Mom wanted to help, but with her right hand nearly useless these days, all she could do was pick up the ends and toss them in the compost bin. As I went out the door and said goodnight, they were both in the kitchen, puttering about. Calm again, for now.
Monday, January 10, 2011
Day To Day
Still not really out of my Mom funky depression, so I haven't had the heart to write here the last few days.
When I started, I was strong, determined, confident. These last few days, I am feeling hopeless and depressed, wishing "it" would just go away and stop dragging me down. Nothing very dramatic has happened, it's just the day to day grind, seeing Mom so beaten down by the disease. I don't know how Dad does it, he's simply amazing.
We haven't noted too much difference with the drop in the Namenda drug yet, but it is still early in the experiment. She's still nervous, shaking and panting, as well as nodding off a lot. All she wants me to do is read aloud to her. So far I've read to her "The Secret Garden," by Frances Hodgson Burnett; "An Afternoon Walk," by Dorothy Eden; "The Vines Of Yarrabee," also by Dorothy Eden; and now she has started a historical book called "A Maine Hamlet," by Lura Beam. All of these books include a lot of descriptions of flowers and landscape, clothing and foods. Two of them were set in the early 1900's, and the latest book is about life in Maine in the 1800's.
I'll read a chapter aloud to her, and then she'll lift her nodded head and open her closed eyes and stare at me, like a doggie asking for another dog treat. It seems to be the only thing she can concentrate on. My voice lulls her into a world that is the next best thing to the escape of sleep.
Yesterday, I mostly read to her. On a break, I managed to convince her to let me trim and file her fingernails, but she was anxious and bratty the whole time. Though "bratty" is really an unfair word, it's just the closest thing I can come up with to describe the behavior that the Alzheimer's brings out in her. It can be hard to separate the acting out; sometimes I think it's Mom - her real personality, being a brat - but then I have to remind myself that it's not her, it's the brain damage.
We may be getting closer to needing more help soon. I am not sure how Dad is feeling - we hardly get a chance to have a decent conversation without Mom listening and getting upset. You'd think that it would be easy for us to talk, but it's not. Either one of us has to be in her presence all of the time. I'm happy he at least gets the chance to still get out to church every week, try to live "normally" for a couple of hours. However, if he's anything like me, I know Mom is lurking in the forefront of his mind at all times....
Suckfest.
Maybe I'll feel better after today. I'm heading over soon. When I'll get a chance to vacuum, I'll never know. Can't do it with her there anymore.
Oh, and Dad's birthday is on Wednesday.. We are going to try and get all three of us down to the one o'clock AD support group in town that day, and then Dad wants to attend his church board meeting that night. Plus, Mom has her bath that morning. THAT should be a fun day.
NOT.
When I started, I was strong, determined, confident. These last few days, I am feeling hopeless and depressed, wishing "it" would just go away and stop dragging me down. Nothing very dramatic has happened, it's just the day to day grind, seeing Mom so beaten down by the disease. I don't know how Dad does it, he's simply amazing.
We haven't noted too much difference with the drop in the Namenda drug yet, but it is still early in the experiment. She's still nervous, shaking and panting, as well as nodding off a lot. All she wants me to do is read aloud to her. So far I've read to her "The Secret Garden," by Frances Hodgson Burnett; "An Afternoon Walk," by Dorothy Eden; "The Vines Of Yarrabee," also by Dorothy Eden; and now she has started a historical book called "A Maine Hamlet," by Lura Beam. All of these books include a lot of descriptions of flowers and landscape, clothing and foods. Two of them were set in the early 1900's, and the latest book is about life in Maine in the 1800's.
I'll read a chapter aloud to her, and then she'll lift her nodded head and open her closed eyes and stare at me, like a doggie asking for another dog treat. It seems to be the only thing she can concentrate on. My voice lulls her into a world that is the next best thing to the escape of sleep.
Yesterday, I mostly read to her. On a break, I managed to convince her to let me trim and file her fingernails, but she was anxious and bratty the whole time. Though "bratty" is really an unfair word, it's just the closest thing I can come up with to describe the behavior that the Alzheimer's brings out in her. It can be hard to separate the acting out; sometimes I think it's Mom - her real personality, being a brat - but then I have to remind myself that it's not her, it's the brain damage.
We may be getting closer to needing more help soon. I am not sure how Dad is feeling - we hardly get a chance to have a decent conversation without Mom listening and getting upset. You'd think that it would be easy for us to talk, but it's not. Either one of us has to be in her presence all of the time. I'm happy he at least gets the chance to still get out to church every week, try to live "normally" for a couple of hours. However, if he's anything like me, I know Mom is lurking in the forefront of his mind at all times....
Suckfest.
Maybe I'll feel better after today. I'm heading over soon. When I'll get a chance to vacuum, I'll never know. Can't do it with her there anymore.
Oh, and Dad's birthday is on Wednesday.. We are going to try and get all three of us down to the one o'clock AD support group in town that day, and then Dad wants to attend his church board meeting that night. Plus, Mom has her bath that morning. THAT should be a fun day.
NOT.
Friday, January 7, 2011
This Whole Thing Sucks
Yesterday, a frigid morning, I got over to stay with Mom a little after ten, so that Dad could go to the church to do some treasury work, get his blood test at the hospital, and do a little shopping on the way back. Mom was sitting with her book, reading away. I had wanted to try and start cleaning up some of the Christmas decor, and I got started on that right away.
The phone rang, and it was one of Dad's dearest former colleagues, who is aware of the situation. I spoke with him for a minute to explain Dad was out, then he asked to speak with Mom. She agreed, and stood with the phone in her shaking hands and spoke with him for about another minute or two. She was shaking like a leaf. I could see this was not a good day for Mom.
Soon, she asked if I would read aloud to her from the book. She was very impatient and seemed only to want to get back to the story. Like it is the only thing her damaged mind could follow. I read to her for awhile, then took a break. She went back to reading herself, trying in vain to read aloud to me a little while I quickly zipped around and tried to do more work.
I made her a simple lunch of organic chicken soup and grapes and a couple of chips and a small glass of Ensure. I had us sit at the dinning room table so that she wouldn't spill the soup on her lap. She complained a lot about this and that, and rushed through eating. She finds no joy in eating anymore. It's distressing. I don't know how Dad stays so composed day after day.
I cleaned up the dishes after lunch and then went back to reading to her aloud. Dad rang to let us know where he was at, and I continued to read aloud until he came home, sometime around two in the afternoon. While he distracted her with the groceries he brought home, I was able to zip upstairs and grab the box for the little porcelain lighted Christmas tree and as quickly as I could, I disassembled it and packed it up, not before she wandered over and moaned a little about the whole thing. Luckily for me, Dad was there to tell her it was alright and diffuse the event.
She is so worried and sad all the time. I kind of dread hanging out with her this morning, while Dad goes off to his annual physical with Dr. N. However, it's my job and if it weren't for me, who else? I can't stop thinking about her misery. Perhaps when this book she is reading is finished, she'll go back to sleeping or watching television.. but even television seems to be too confusing for her. It's way too frigid out to convince her to go outside for a walk. She's only really happy when Dad is in her view.
This sucks. And that's just me. Imagine how much it sucks for her?
The phone rang, and it was one of Dad's dearest former colleagues, who is aware of the situation. I spoke with him for a minute to explain Dad was out, then he asked to speak with Mom. She agreed, and stood with the phone in her shaking hands and spoke with him for about another minute or two. She was shaking like a leaf. I could see this was not a good day for Mom.
Soon, she asked if I would read aloud to her from the book. She was very impatient and seemed only to want to get back to the story. Like it is the only thing her damaged mind could follow. I read to her for awhile, then took a break. She went back to reading herself, trying in vain to read aloud to me a little while I quickly zipped around and tried to do more work.
I made her a simple lunch of organic chicken soup and grapes and a couple of chips and a small glass of Ensure. I had us sit at the dinning room table so that she wouldn't spill the soup on her lap. She complained a lot about this and that, and rushed through eating. She finds no joy in eating anymore. It's distressing. I don't know how Dad stays so composed day after day.
I cleaned up the dishes after lunch and then went back to reading to her aloud. Dad rang to let us know where he was at, and I continued to read aloud until he came home, sometime around two in the afternoon. While he distracted her with the groceries he brought home, I was able to zip upstairs and grab the box for the little porcelain lighted Christmas tree and as quickly as I could, I disassembled it and packed it up, not before she wandered over and moaned a little about the whole thing. Luckily for me, Dad was there to tell her it was alright and diffuse the event.
She is so worried and sad all the time. I kind of dread hanging out with her this morning, while Dad goes off to his annual physical with Dr. N. However, it's my job and if it weren't for me, who else? I can't stop thinking about her misery. Perhaps when this book she is reading is finished, she'll go back to sleeping or watching television.. but even television seems to be too confusing for her. It's way too frigid out to convince her to go outside for a walk. She's only really happy when Dad is in her view.
This sucks. And that's just me. Imagine how much it sucks for her?
Wednesday, January 5, 2011
Side Effects Of Namenda (Memantine)
What side effects can this medication cause?
Memantine may cause side effects. Tell your doctor if any of these symptoms are severe or do not go away:
- extreme tiredness
- dizziness
- confusion
- headache
- sleepiness
- constipation
- vomiting
- pain anywhere in your body, especially your back
- coughing
Some side effects can be serious. The following symptoms are uncommon, but if you experience any of them, call your doctor immediately:
- shortness of breath
- hallucination
I found this brief description of the possible side effects of Namenda, a drug used to lessen the symptoms of Alzheimer's Disease on this web site. This is the U.S. National LIbrary of Medicine National Institutes of Health.
Based on this list, from what I've observed since Mom has been on this drug, she has exhibited the following symptoms:
- extreme tiredness
- dizziness
- confusion
- sleepiness
- pain anywhere in your body, especially your back
- coughing (not extreme)
- shortness of breath
- hallucination
Okay. So, Dr. N. decided to cut the Namenda out of her treatment. Good call, I hope, for Mom's sake. The down side is, she could begin to experience more cognitive decline. This is disturbing, indeed, but nothing we shouldn't be surprised about.
Because there is no cure for Alzheimer's Disease.
Today Mom was pretty off. It could have been an after effect of her being at the doctor yesterday, getting examined, leaving the house, stressing out while she and I waited in the car while Dad ran into the market on the way home from the doctor's office - and then this morning, having her weekly bath with Maria. Naturally, Dad, Maria and I discussed some things (with Mom present, of course) and this only aggravated her mood. Dad thought she might be stressed about expecting a planned phone call later in the early afternoon from their very old and dear friends in Holland, but even when I went back over for a visit in the afternoon, all she wanted to do was read her book or be read to by me. As we approached the four o'clock hour, her anxiety really kicked up a notch; pacing, sitting, standing, questioning, expecting, disoriented.
I am hopeful and scared at the same time about the tapering off of the Namenda drug. All we can do is wait and see. Meanwhile, the doctor did prescribe a mild sedative which we can have on hand in case she has another hallucinatory breakdown which we can not calm her down from by words and caressing and reassurance alone.
Snow storms on the horizon, more appointments for Dad over the next two days scheduled, and a busy weekend for me and my partner. If only it wasn't winter, if only we didn't live so remotely, if only Mom didn't have this hateful disease.
Annual Physical
Dad and I agreed together that it would be beneficial for all parties involved if I were to attend Mom's annual physical with Dr. N., so that's what I did yesterday. Mom was not too anxious about it, however, she did exhibit her usual stress about "getting there on time." Dad and I have grown accustomed to this behavior, and we find ways to stretch the time with little distractions so we are not too early.
We were able to be with Mom the whole time, first with the nurse taking blood pressure and checking weight and height (gained eight pounds, lost a couple of inches in height) and such, and then the examination with Dr. N., who is fantastic with bed side manner, I've observed the two times I've met him (the first time was when Dad was in the hospital.)
Dr. N. immediately picked up on Mom's anxiety and rapid breathing/panting thing she's been doing for a while now. Dad and I have gotten so used to it now,we don't notice it as much, but Dr. N. really took the time to calm Mom down and spoke gently with her until she was ready for a bit more examinations. He checked out her right hand (not much that can be done, I suppose), and other vitals, but his main concern was her anxiety, and after a little discussion and research, it was decided to try and lessen the dosage of the Namenda. I couldn't be quite sure, but now that he brought it up, it does seem as if the panting thing started after she was on that drug for awhile.
So, we'll see. The dosage drop starts today, in a slow fashion. The downside is, of course, this could weaken her cognitive performance, and we sure would like for her to hold on to that as long as possible!
She is scheduled to go back the doctor in six weeks.
We were able to be with Mom the whole time, first with the nurse taking blood pressure and checking weight and height (gained eight pounds, lost a couple of inches in height) and such, and then the examination with Dr. N., who is fantastic with bed side manner, I've observed the two times I've met him (the first time was when Dad was in the hospital.)
Dr. N. immediately picked up on Mom's anxiety and rapid breathing/panting thing she's been doing for a while now. Dad and I have gotten so used to it now,we don't notice it as much, but Dr. N. really took the time to calm Mom down and spoke gently with her until she was ready for a bit more examinations. He checked out her right hand (not much that can be done, I suppose), and other vitals, but his main concern was her anxiety, and after a little discussion and research, it was decided to try and lessen the dosage of the Namenda. I couldn't be quite sure, but now that he brought it up, it does seem as if the panting thing started after she was on that drug for awhile.
So, we'll see. The dosage drop starts today, in a slow fashion. The downside is, of course, this could weaken her cognitive performance, and we sure would like for her to hold on to that as long as possible!
She is scheduled to go back the doctor in six weeks.
Saturday, January 1, 2011
Give Them What They Want
The last day of the old year and the first day of the new year have been very mild for this region, and Dad was able to gather Mom up for a little afternoon walk up to my place on both days. I missed their visit on New Year's Eve, as I was out to market, but I was told all about the positive little visit by my partner when I came home. Even though part of the message was that I wouldn't need to visit them, I couldn't resist going over anyway for a quick pop in, and to wish them a Happy New Year.
I found Mom with the new book we had started the day before. She was actually reading it, though I am not sure how much she was absorbing, at least she was taking a stab at it. When I asked her to fill me in on what had happened in the story since she took up reading it on her own, she basically reviewed to me the first two chapters which I had already read to her.. but, hey, at least she's trying.
Today's afternoon visit I was here for, and we had them come inside for a minute. Mom and Dad were in good spirits on this mild New Year's Day afternoon, and looking forward to their dinner date later at her sister's weekend farm house down the road. I grabbed my camera and walked them back home, taking a few photos along the way. Mom was quite verbal and they both passionately described the classical music program they had watched and listened to last night.
Earlier in the day, I had received an email from Dad with a link to an article published in the New York Times today. It suggests that the best treatment for AD patients is related to empathetic care giving as opposed to drugs (excluding drugs to relieve pain and discomfort.) To give the patient what they want, when they want, in a loving and attentive manner, is the best way to ease their discomfort and confusion. The success one particular nursing home was having was sited as exemplary in the movement towards this manner of approach with the care of AD patients. It's a beautiful thing, and well worth reading.
Reading this article only strengthens my and Dad's resolve to be as patient and giving with Mom's emotions and wants and needs as we can, in order to reduce her anxiety and confusion. I have seen with my own eyes the positive results this approach to care giving can have with my mother. As long as their are still no proven medical "cures"to this brain disease, the best thing to do is to focus on empathetic caregiving.
Seeing my mother "alive" in the eyes and still trying to do things like read, take walks, put away dishes or fold laundry brings me hope... or perhaps that word is too much wishful thinking.. however, it brings me a little peace of mind in this very moment to moment, day to day existence we are experiencing with her in her journey towards the inevitable darkness of Alzheimers Disease.
I found Mom with the new book we had started the day before. She was actually reading it, though I am not sure how much she was absorbing, at least she was taking a stab at it. When I asked her to fill me in on what had happened in the story since she took up reading it on her own, she basically reviewed to me the first two chapters which I had already read to her.. but, hey, at least she's trying.
Today's afternoon visit I was here for, and we had them come inside for a minute. Mom and Dad were in good spirits on this mild New Year's Day afternoon, and looking forward to their dinner date later at her sister's weekend farm house down the road. I grabbed my camera and walked them back home, taking a few photos along the way. Mom was quite verbal and they both passionately described the classical music program they had watched and listened to last night.
 |
| January 1, 2011 |
Earlier in the day, I had received an email from Dad with a link to an article published in the New York Times today. It suggests that the best treatment for AD patients is related to empathetic care giving as opposed to drugs (excluding drugs to relieve pain and discomfort.) To give the patient what they want, when they want, in a loving and attentive manner, is the best way to ease their discomfort and confusion. The success one particular nursing home was having was sited as exemplary in the movement towards this manner of approach with the care of AD patients. It's a beautiful thing, and well worth reading.
Reading this article only strengthens my and Dad's resolve to be as patient and giving with Mom's emotions and wants and needs as we can, in order to reduce her anxiety and confusion. I have seen with my own eyes the positive results this approach to care giving can have with my mother. As long as their are still no proven medical "cures"to this brain disease, the best thing to do is to focus on empathetic caregiving.
Seeing my mother "alive" in the eyes and still trying to do things like read, take walks, put away dishes or fold laundry brings me hope... or perhaps that word is too much wishful thinking.. however, it brings me a little peace of mind in this very moment to moment, day to day existence we are experiencing with her in her journey towards the inevitable darkness of Alzheimers Disease.
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