Mom's follow up appointment with Dr. N. went as well as could be. We got there at just the right time, so there was no waiting in the waiting room. We did have to wait in the exam room for about ten minutes, but at least Mom didn't have to undress, so we managed to pass the time in the little room until the doctor arrived.
He's a wonderfully patient and observant doctor, as all doctor's should be, and the consult was fairly short. After mentioning to him that the "sundowners" is still one of the more disturbing "side effects" of the Alzheimer Disease, he prescribed a new drug for Mom called Haloperidol. This drug is actually an anti-psychotic, often prescribed to people afflicted with schizophrenia. It's a very tiny dosage (I think it was .5 milligrams, but I'll have to double check), and we were told to give it to her everyday around two in the afternoon.
The side effects? The usual. I'm not crazy about all these drugs going into her system, and I'm quite sure the "old Mom" wouldn't be either, but if they help her from experiencing moments of complete and utter confusion and hysteria, I suppose it's worth using them. At least Dad and I still practice the most effective "treatment," which is support, guidance, love and understanding. Mom wants some chocolate at four-thirty in the afternoon, just before dinner? Fine. Mom wants to lie down on the couch at ten-thirty in the morning? Fine. Mom wants to get up and walk around the table? No problem. As long as we keep her fluid and without fear and anxiety, this seems to be the best treatment for this nasty, unforgiving disease.
So, with the new prescription in hand, a promise to check in by phone with the doctor's aide in one week, and a new appointment set for three months from now, we got back in the car, escaping the frigid February air, and quietly drove back to our town. We stopped at a bank, then at the drug store, then Dad ran into the market to pick up a few things. All this time, Mom remained calm and quite. She had her sunglasses on, and I'm quiet sure she had her eyes closed. I didn't push her to talk while we were waiting in the car. Best to let her rest.
Back home, we helped her take off her coat and mittens and scarf and shoes, and all she wanted to do was get back to her couch and rest. I left them while Dad was preparing their lunch, and a couple of hours later, I went back for an hour or so. Mom lay quietly on the couch the whole time, and Dad told me he gave Mom her dose of the new drug around three in the afternoon. At four, when it was time for me to leave, she was still fairly calm, but I don't know what happened after I left. Probably too soon to know how much of an effect the Haloperidol will have on her behavior yet.
This morning she has her bath with Maria, and then she's been invited to the ladies luncheon. I'm assuming she'll go, and perhaps I should go, too, but neither one asked me to. She might be okay, but all I know is, everything is tiring to her. Just being awake is tiring to her.
You just want to hug her and kiss her all over, anything to take away her suffering. Once in a while she still smiles, sometimes she "cracks a joke." Sometimes the "old Mom" says something, sometimes the confused Mom says something you can't quite understand. Often she yells at Dad, kind of "blaming" him for her suffering, which is only natural, and he continues to be strong. He doesn't take it personally. He is always aware that her brain is injured and she can not help her behaviors.
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