Three in a Row

The other day I mentioned one of the statistical measures related to my blog. The first three years following Kate’s diagnosis, I averaged 64 entries a year. In 2018, I had 549. That was up 232% from 2017 when I made 236 entries and 412% over 2016 when I made 133. I suggested that this increase was mostly related to the actual changes in Kate’s Alzheimer’s. I simply had more to write about.

In that post I also mentioned that I have a few other measures as well. The only other one I think is especially relevant involves the various categories to which I assign each post. I assigned the most, 246,  of the 1361 posts to the category “Good Things/Good Times.” That is 18.1% of all my posts and contrasts with only 62 (4.6%) I coded negatively (“Bad Times).

I should add that many of the other posts contain specific items that could have been assigned to either category. I chose, however, to assign a post to one of these categories when I thought the central message was either “Good” or “Bad.” I don’t intend to go back through all the posts and get a more precise measure of the ratio of “Good” to “Bad” incidents, but I suspect I would find the figure for each would be closer together. That’s because I have included many specific symptoms that I might want to consider negative. I believe the way I put posts in categories is a stronger measure of my “feelings” about the way things are going even with the negative things than happen all the time. Let me give you an example.

Yesterday Kate and I went to our usual Saturday lunch at the Bluefish Café. It wasn’t long after we took our seats that Kate asked, “What is my name?” When I told her, she wanted to know my name and then how we were related. This is the kind of conversation that has become commonplace. I suspect most people overhearing our conversation might interpret it as a bad thing, very sad. That’s the way I felt the first few times she was unable to remember our names. Even now, I view her memory loss as sad; however, I interpret the whole conversation quite differently. We were having a good time. There were things she wanted to know, and I was glad that I could be the one to tell her.

After we had eaten and paid the check, we had an especially tender moment. It started when she wanted to know her parents’ names. Then she wanted me to tell her something about her mother. We held hands across the table as I told her she had a very special mother and explained why I felt that way. I talked about her kindness to people and her years as a volunteer teaching adults to read. I also told her about her mother’s having taught Sunday school for almost forty years and what a good friend she had been to so many people. She loved hearing about her mother. When I paused, she said, “Did I get to know her?” I told her she did and that her mother loved her dearly. I reminded her of photos we have of her and her mother and that the love was visible in mother’s smiles. Then I said, “And the best thing is that when she was no longer able to take care of herself, you got to care for her during the last five and a half years of her life.” I told her about her managing a staff of paid caregivers, coordinating her medical care, as well as preparing meals. She was so happy, and, as so frequently happens these days, her eyes filled with tears. I was touched by her response. It does make me sad that her memory of her mother is virtually gone, but it makes me happy to know that her feelings for her are still alive and that I have the opportunity to fill in the details she no longer remembers.

If that were all that happened, I would say we had a very good day. As it turned out there was more. When we got home, she asked what she could do. I suggested we spend some time together in the family room. I mentioned her photo books and that she could look through some of them. I pointed to the “Big Sister” album on the table between our two chairs. She picked it up and sat down to look at it. I stood behind her as she flipped the pages and read the text for her and identified the people she did not recognize. She was entranced and went through the entire 140 pages. Her brother Ken will be glad to hear that this is a gift that keeps on giving. It is a gift to me as well. I enjoy the photos, but I am especially happy just being with her in such happy moments.

Yes, we’ve had three good days in a row. I guess you know the category in which I’ll file this one and why. <g>

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