Light at the End of the Tunnel (The Cold, That Is)

Yesterday Kate got up around 7:30, went to the bathroom and back to bed. I was pleased when I noticed in the video cam that she was about to get out of bed at 9:00. I went to her and asked if she wanted to get up. She said she did. As usual, the first thing she asked was, “Where are my clothes?” I asked if she wanted to take a shower. She looked unsure. I told her I thought it would be a good idea. She asked where she could find the bathroom. She rarely remembers. I know that she finds one if I am not with her. She must walk around until she finds one.

I went to the kitchen after seeing that she got in the shower. It wasn’t long before I saw that she was out and getting into bed. It was still early, and I know that she likes to stay in bed after her shower so I let her stay there an hour or more. While she was resting, she had a coughing spell about ten minutes. She seemed to be getting along pretty well as she was dressing and on the way to lunch. I didn’t hear any signs of wheezing then or the rest of the day.

She also got along well while we were at the restaurant. She had her usual memory problems, but they seemed worse yesterday. It started with one of the pictures of Frank Sinatra on the restaurant walls. Over and over she asked his name, sometimes within seconds. It is virtually impossible for her to retain information. We had chatted for about twenty minutes when she said, “What is my name?” She followed that with “What is your name?” After I told her, I asked, “Do you think we’re connected?” She said, “Are we married?” This time she didn’t seem skeptical the way she usually does and didn’t say anything.

When we got home, I decided to show her a TCU video on YouTube. Her brother Ken had let me know about it last week. She was fascinated to see the campus as well as some parts of Fort Worth. Like the music videos, the one we watched was followed by many others that were similar. She was well entertained and never worked on her iPad that was in the chair beside her.

After forty-five minutes to an hour, she took a break. While she was in the bathroom, I put in a DVD of her father’s family movies from the mid-1930s to the early-1940s. She was enthralled and whimpered as she watched. We were watching on the TV in our bedroom. Almost an hour later, she got up and walked over to me. She was very teary. She said, “Would you lie down with me?” When we got on the bed, she said, “I love my family. <pause>  My aunts and uncles. They’re all gone now.” I asked if she wished I hadn’t shown the video. She said, “Oh, no. I am glad you did. It just makes me sad. I said, “You must be glad to know that we have this video to remind us of them.” She said she was. I wasn’t surprised. The family movies have always been treasured memories. Of course, for Kate and for the other relatives her age or slightly older, they aren’t memories because they were taken either before they were born or when they were quite young.

While we were talking, we got a call from our daughter Jesse. We had a nice conversation catching up on her family. Kate greeted her when she called and said goodbye when we hung up. She was glad Jesse had called, but she did not participate in our conversation.

We took a break to get a bite to eat before the Super Bowl. When we got home, she waited for me to lead her to the back of the house. I said, “Would you like me to lead the way?” She said, “I could do it, but I would feel better if you did.”

She worked on her iPad for a while. Then she was tired and went to bed. I helped her get undressed and in her night clothes. She seemed especially confused. I had to tell her what to do every step of the way.

She went to bed around 8:30. I continued watching the Super Bowl until it was over around 10:00. When I got in bed, I thought she was sleeping soundly. Then I heard her whimpering. Periodically, she was shaking. I asked what was wrong. She said, “I don’t know.” I asked if she were afraid of something. She said she wasn’t. I asked her what I could do to help. She said, “Just stay with me.” That’s what I did. I gently stroked her back and talked softly about the good things we have experienced during our marriage. It wasn’t long before she was asleep, and so was I.

As I look back on the day, I don’t think there was anything she did that she hasn’t done before. Nonetheless, she seemed more like someone with dementia than she has in the past. During the afternoon, I received a phone call from a friend about our going with them to a concert in Asheville the last of May. I told him I appreciated the invitation, but I was very unsure because of Kate’s recent decline. At this point, I don’t know what to expect by then.

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