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.