I tend to think that how I am doing/feeling comes through my posts without my explicitly speaking to that point. Once in a while, however, I feel the need to address the issue head on. This is one of those times.
Considering everything, I still believe I am doing well. Although I experience the many frustrations that accompany this illness, I don’t feel worn down in anyway. The most significant emotion I feel is sadness. I don’t see how anyone can watch his spouse gradually lose all (and I mean all) of her abilities to function. Recently, as I have become increasingly reluctant to leave Kate alone, I have felt torn about engaging someone to be with her when I need to go out. For a long time I have wondered how I would know when that time was right. As it turns out, the kinds of changes that I have described in my recent posts have led me to feel now is the time. Intellectually, I am not having a problem with that. Emotionally, it is more difficult to accept.
Two related issues account for this feeling. One is how I can introduce this to Kate without making her feel bad. From everything she says, I believe she doesn’t realize just how far she is into this journey. I certainly don’t think she feels the need for someone to stay with her. On the other hand, as I have noted earlier, she also seems more accepting of whatever I plan for her. My explanation is that she is so tuned out of things going on around her that she doesn’t really understand and just accepts what happens. I was quite concerned about how she would respond to the nurse who came to our house yesterday. Even though I told her that the nurse was coming in connection with her Alzheimer’s diagnosis and the nurse asked a lot of questions she would not be used to answering, she never got suspicious or upset about why the nurse had come or what was to follow. She just seems to have lost her ability to process these events. That is definitely true about other things.
Now that the nurse’s interview is over, I wonder how she will respond to her first meeting with a sitter this coming Wednesday. I am generally optimistic because of yesterday’s experience with the nurse and also her previous meeting about 10 days ago with the social worker from the agency that I have engaged to provide a sitter. At the same time, I am still a bit uneasy and will be glad to have this first encounter behind us.
The second issue that concerns me is the implications of bringing in a sitter for me. It has now been 6 ½ years since Kate’s diagnosis. I have devoted myself to her throughout that time. This is something I was glad to do. We have both derived pleasure from the many things we have done. Throughout this time, I have gradually had to make changes in my own life to meet her wants and needs; however, I have wanted to do this and have never felt that I have sacrificed my life for hers.
Introducing a sitter is a sign of a real change in our relationship. Whereas she has depended on me in the past, she will come to increasingly depend on others. This represents a loss to me not just in my no longer being able to do as many things for her but also the beginning of the loss of our normal marital relationship. Life together is never going to be the same again.
Of course, the changes started long ago even before her diagnosis. Right now, however, I see a clearer departure from the earlier days. We are now entering a period that is what most people think of when they hear the word Alzheimer’s. I have heard and read about the caregivers of Alzheimer’s patients grieving the loss of a spouse or other loved one before their actual death. That is what this feels like to me. This feeling is not brand new. I have always loved music and have found it to be especially comforting since her diagnosis. I have never been one to pay much attention to the lyrics of songs, but the lyrics of some songs have caught my attention and have had a different meaning than the songs themselves then intended by the writer. I can think of two examples. The first is “If I Should Lose My Way, Please Wait for Me.” I can’t hear this without thinking of Kate’s literally and figuratively losing her way in the depths of Alzheimer’s. Recently, I heard another one called “Losing You.” The phrase “I’ll never get over losing you” spoke to me in way that I would never have noticed before.
I don’t mean to exaggerate this feeling of sadness, but I wouldn’t be honest if I didn’t acknowledge it. It seems to characterize my response to Kate’s disease than what I hear from many other caregivers. That is a major reason I say that we have been very fortunate. We still have not had to endure some of the worst aspects of Alzheimer’s. It makes me much more sympathetic for those who do.
