Another Bad Day

So, this was what they call "a bad day" for Mom. When I got over there at nine forty-five in the morning, she was still in bed, and Dad was rushing around trying to get his stuff together for another trip down town for an eye appointment and other errands. He got her out of bed, then I took over from there. Before I joined her in the bathroom, though, I read some notes Dad had wrote down in the notebook, both last night and early this morning.

Last night, she had moments of restlessness, then she ate fairly well at dinner and eventually settled down and watched television with Dad. By twenty minutes past eight, she wanted to go to bed. Around four in the morning, he was awoken by her trying to get up. He said she got up and down several times, eventually ending up on the toilet to pee. She had trouble wiping herself, and at one point, he wrote, she tried to put the toilet paper in her mouth. Back in bed, she began to babble, asking to "Go home," "Were the children okay," and even, "Where is my husband?" He finally gave in and gave her two of the Ativan pills (the mild sedatives), but they didn't seem to work, he thought.

After awhile, they fell back asleep, but naturally, it was harder for him to get back into a good sleep. Armed with this new information, I helped her at the toilet, then got her dressed. She moaned horribly about pain in one of her left toes, so once I had her settle in her chair in the living room and gave her her two morning pills and juice, I went and got a wash rag and soaked it in warm water and applied it to her toes. She said this made her feel better. I went on and made her a hard boiled egg, of which she ate three quarters of, plus most of half of a banana and a glass of Ensure. She stayed in the chair for a while with her eyes closed, listening to the music from the movie "Finnegens Wake," which was playing on Turner Classic Movies.

By this time, Dad was gone, and I just sat with Mom, eventually moving her to the couch. Around noon, the occupational therapist, Gwen, arrived, for her third visit with us, and I filled her in on the depressing events of the day. Gwen came and sat with Mom and asked her a few questions, one of them being, "Do you know where you are?" and Mom replied, "I'm home, in Maine." When I asked her that same question yesterday, she replied that she was home in Massachusetts. Go figure.

There wasn't a whole lot Gwen could do today, so I think just having her there, sitting and chatting, made it enough of an event to say something happened today. Mom's eyes were closed most of the time and she was much grumpier and short tempered then usual. Gwen reminded me that their are going to be good days and bad days, and this was one of the latter. We also managed to discuss my concern for Dad's health and sanity, like his inability to get a good night's sleep. She suggested I might consider sleeping over some night, so that Dad could sleep elsewhere in the house. I told her I had already considered that, and when I brought that up with Mom, I asked her if she thought that would be fun, and she said, "No, I don't think so."

The O.T. left, Dad came home, and I left to run some last minute errands for our planned afternoon dinner. When I got home, Dad called and admitted that he was just too tired to pack Mom up and come over here, so we agreed to pack up the meal and haul it over there. I was hoping Mom would perk up a little at the prospect of a little celebratory dinner, like she did last Saturday night with the rest of the family, but she remained kind of cranky and groggy. She did sit at the table with us, though, and ate a decent amount of the corned beef and veggies, and seemed to enjoy it. But soon enough, before any of the rest of us where finished eating, she wanted up, so I helped her up and back to her chair. She got up once or twice more as we finished eating, even coming back to her plate and eating another bite of food with her fingers, and then we cleared the dishes and I put out dessert. I had received a package in the mail yesterday with four speciality cupcakes shipped from California, with a card in the box that said "Thinking of you," from a wonderful friend and her husband up here. My friend just lost her mother to Alzheimer's Disease early last month, so her empathy for my experience is profound. I thought it appropriate to share these treats with my parents today, and they were delicious and unique.

I did the dishes and then stood in the hallway, while Mom was on the couch, and Dad began to share some day to day stuff with me. Soon enough, however, we were interrupted by Mom, who was disturbed by our conversation. So, Dad and I went and sat with her, turning off the television and quietly conversing for a few more minutes. Mom stirred then, and I helped her use the toilet. I was sitting on the bath tub in front of her, waiting for her to finish, and when she was done she said to me, "Tell the girl I'm ready now." "That's me, Mom, here we go," I replied, and helped her pull up her panties and pants. I settled her back onto the couch, and Dad said he thought he'd like to lie down on their bed for a nap, as much as he didn't want to mess up his sleep routine. Mom seemed content, so I decided to go home.

Back home, my partner and I discussed the situation some more. Mom was really confused a lot today, sometimes saying things completely out of context. At one point she said, "Come on, it's time to go." "Where?" I asked. "Next door! To our apartment!" Other times, just stuff that made no sense at all. Is today just a bad day? Will she be better tomorrow? How much longer can Dad go on without seriously jeopardizing his health? We know for a fact this is only going to get worse.

And then you begin to get pissed off about all the drugs. What's the point, you wonder, in "slowing down the disease," when it's only prolonging the confusion and suffering? How long do you try and keep them home, where they are loved and cared for, though they don't even know where they are anymore? How do you make decisions for people who can no longer make decisions for themselves?

My partner and I concluded that there simply is no "right" answer to the multi-faceted questions involved with this disease. Everybody reacts differently to all of the drugs and methods to alleviate the symptoms, and meanwhile, there is no cure and worse, the person continues to suffer a miserable existence until they die. On top of that, the care givers sacrifice and suffer, too. Have we done all we can? Is there more we could do? Who has the answers? Nobody, that's who.

Hopefully, tomorrow we'll see a brighter eyed Mom.

Mystery Solved

Arriving at the house about eleven-thirty in the morning on Friday, I could see Mom was still in the same state as the day before. As I entered the living room to greet Mom, Dad came up the stairs and was eager to tell me of his phone conversations with the doctor's office and the pharmacy. After investigation, it was discovered that the pharmacy was at fault for giving the wrong dosage of the Haloperidol. I was correct in remembering the amount was .5 milligrams.

She ingested 5 milligrams. Once on Tuesday afternoon after the doctor's appointment, and once on Wednesday afternoon after the ladies luncheon.

Short of fantasizing about getting restitution from the pharmacy (who were very embarrassed and apologetic, and naturally, will replace the drug at no cost..), the important thing is we were right, this time, about the drug having that effect on Mom. It's been decided that we will wait several days for the strong dosage to get out of her system, then start back up again with the correct dosage. Because we noticed a remarkable difference in her manner on this drug.. Moments of the "old Mom" showed through, although she could hardly stand up and walk on her own.

Relieved to have made that discovery, I helped Dad get Mom settled at the dining room table so they could eat some soup. Mom was very weak, so I spoon fed her a little bit to get her started, then she ate a few spoonfuls on her own. After lunch and a bathroom break, she settled back into her chair, and eventually, Dad ran out to the market.

While Dad was away, I read a short story out of The New Yorker to her ("Axis" by Alice Munro), and she enjoyed that. Then I turned the television on real low, and helped her settle into the couch. She drifted in and out of sleep. I worked on a crossword puzzle.

The phone rang once. Dad had a question about the grocery list. Mom smiled at the misunderstanding. Later, the phone rang a second time. This time it was Dad informing me that he had just had a fender bender, he was okay, but would be a little bit longer filling out the paper work.

Great, I thought. Just what we need, more stress. But, Mom was either asleep during the phone call or too tired to care, because she never asked me what Dad wanted, so I didn't bother telling her. He was able to drive home in the Suburu, with the whole front of the vehicle's bumper jammed in the back seats. When he got back, he was able to call the insurance company. Mom was still in the dark about the car. Good, no need to worry her any more.

So, I left to go shopping myself. My brother and a friend came up to visit and play music. My sister is arriving this afternoon for an over night and to stay with Mom on Sunday while Dad is in church. So, more respite, a little fun, problems getting worked out, mysteries getting solved.

Celebrating The Small Wins

Heading over for a night time stay with Mom so Dad can attend a board meeting at his church.

Stayed with Mom in the afternoon so that Dad could attend the Alzheimer's support group. I wished I could have gone, but it was no use upsetting Mom and dragging her down there. She's pretty "on" sometimes, despite her obvious suffering.

Dad has been amazing with his care giving, I just would like to reiterate. Patience and humor. He shared that he's learned from today's group that we need to try and create more "activities" for Mom.. though it is hard when all she wants to do is lie down and close her eyes. Can't wait for spring so we can at least take her out for walks and sunshine.

Can't come soon enough. It's hard enough, the winter here in Maine, without also trying to care for a paranoid, fearful person with Alzheimer's Disease.

Every day is another challenge. Everyday we celebrate the small wins with her. There really isn't too much time for anything else at this point.

Off I go then. Maybe I can convince her to watch some "American Idol" with me, but I'm not holding my breath. I'll be eating supper when I get home tonight, sometime around nine p.m. I'll survive.

More later...

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

You've Got A Brand New Key

Mom seemed less depressed on Sunday. She did spend much of the day napping... but at least there was less anxiety. When I arrived in the morning at about nine thirty, she sounded perky when she greeted me. We chatted a little bit, she offered me some coffee, then I just sat and read while the television lured her back into sleep.

After about an hour of that, she asked if I'd like to read to her, and so for the next hour I did, and sadly, we finished the Wharton autobiography. I gave her a late lunch, of which she ate very little, and Dad called around quarter of one to say he was on his way back.

I had considered staying home from my afternoon gig that day, but once I saw that Mom was somewhat "okay," I decided to go after all, and I'm glad I did because it was a great day at our jam.

I took Monday morning off, then went over late afternoon, around two-thirty. Dad's car was out of the garage when I got there, and Mom was napping in her chair. She greeted me pleasantly enough, and I asked her what she had been doing all day.

"This is pretty much it."

So, I got her up. We walked around the dining room table ten times, I washed the breakfast/lunch dishes and had her dry them and put them away. Dad came home with groceries and mail, just as I was making some tea, and he joined us for tea after bringing in some more firewood from outside.

Then Mom decided she wanted to go outside for a walk. At first Dad and I were skeptical about that idea, because there is snow and ice on the driveway, but she insisted, so I told her she had to change into her rubber soled boots and bundle up. She agreed to that. I changed her shoes for her, helped her put on her warmest winter jacket and button her up, wrapped a big scarf around her and plopped the big white fuzzy hat on her, and she put on her fuzzy black gloves.

We took note of the time together - it was three fourteen - and off we went, out to the icy, windy outdoors. We walked up the road a bit, then back down around. She likes to sing a song that's on a television commercial a lot these days, "Oh ~ I've got a brand new pair of roller skates, you've got a brand new key.." and that's all we know, so we hum the rest.

I tried to keep her out as long as possible, but she got cold and restless, so in the house we went.

It was three twenty one when we got back in.

"Seven minutes, Mom. Not bad."

"We're back!" she yelled down to Dad in the basement. "We were out for seven minutes!"

With a little color in her cheeks, we undressed her again, changed out of her boots back into her sandals. Dad came back upstairs and turned the television over to Turner Classic Movies, where a funny old movie called "All Night Long," a black and white picture from 1962 was playing. It featured jazz musicians and I found it very groovy. The plot was hard to follow, though, and soon Mom wanted to "sleep" again. So we propped her up on the little couch and she rested some more.

Sigh.

Tomorrow, we still plan to attend the local Alzheimer's support luncheon and discussions, just after Mom finishes her weekly bath with Maria.

Wednesday Evening

Wednesday night I went to stay with Mom so Dad could go to a concert. He had purchased the tickets a while ago, not realizing at that time that Mom wouldn't want to / be able to go, but he still wanted to make an appearance, so we compromised and he decided that he'd leave half way through the show.

Surprisingly, Mom handled the whole thing pretty well. She had had a bath in the morning, and was all fresh in clean clothes and clean hair. I was too tired myself to do much other than just sit with her (which suits her fine), and we watched a couple of episodes of "Two And A Half Men." I turned her on to the silly sitcom and she seems to enjoy it!

She had been sitting in the same chair a lot lately, and she complained a little about her sides aching a bit. Maria thought it might be time to give the heating pad habit a rest, and Mom didn't seem to mind. I gave her a gentle back rub, then asked if she'd like to try laying down on the couch for a change. She was up for that, and after a little bit of negotiating, she got settled onto the couch and liked the change of view. She even kicked off her shoes.

She asked me to bring her a small bowl of trail mix (it has chocolate bits in it.. she's got a mad sweet tooth these days), and she ate the entire bowl! I switched the channel over at seven thirty p.m. to the basketball game.. She used to be a big fan but hasn't watched baseball or football or basketball games in a while now. So, I thought this was promising. She switched to a new location (the couch) and watched something on television she hadn't watched in a long time (the basketball game.)

Though she checked her watch a few times and asked me what time it was a few times, she wasn't too stressed when I explained to her how long Dad had been gone, and what he was probably doing at that particular moment. Like, well it's seven p.m. now, so he just got there and is settling into a seat. The concert starts in half an hour. Mom would roll her eyes, then at seven thirty five p.m. I said, well the concert has just started.. etc.

Dad called around eight thirty five p.m. and said he was sneaking out and on his way home. He got back a little before nine p.m., and sure enough, shortly after he sat down to share his experience, we looked over at Mom and she had her eyes closed. We had a little giggle over that, then Mom woke up and said she wanted to go to bed. I left them to themselves and their nightly rituals, which now include Dad reading aloud from a book to her. So sweet.

Today the sun is finally shining and I hope to get over there after lunch so we can go out for a walk. I wonder if the new drug is having a positive effect?