Kate does an incredible job maintaining her cheerful outlook most of the time. She does so even when she recognizes that her memory is poor and that she needs help with many of her daily activities. There have been only a handful of moments when she seemed troubled, afraid, or anxious. At least two, perhaps three, of those occurred last summer or fall. During the first two, she was able to express her feelings of concern about not knowing who she is and where she was. There have been a couple since that time when she was unable or unwilling to explain why she seemed so troubled. In each case, I focused on trying to comfort her. That worked.
She had a similar, though less intense, experience yesterday morning. At 7:30, I noticed that she had gotten out of bed and was entering the bathroom. I waited until she come out and went to her. When I reached her, I was looking for that smile I mentioned in a post yesterday. She wasn’t smiling. Instead, she looked very puzzled. I sensed this was another moment that might be an anxiety attack. I walked over to her. She said, “What now?” I put my arms around her and said, “Right now, I just want to hold you.” We held each other tightly for a moment before I suggested we go over to the bed.
At first, I thought I would help her into bed and try to comfort her as I sat beside her. I had a second thought and said, “Would you like me to get in bed with you?” She said she would like that. I took my shoes off and, fully clothed, got into bed. I asked if she could tell me what was troubling her. She said, “I don’t know.” I said, “That’s all right. The important thing is that we are together.” She agreed. Neither of us said a word for another thirty minutes before she fell asleep. Not wanting to wake her, I stayed with her another ten minutes. She opened her eyes as I started to get out of bed. I said, “I’m going to the kitchen. I’ll be there if you need me.” She smiled and closed her eyes. The crisis had passed.
This experience is another example of how well Kate’s intuitive abilities are working. It makes me think of two things. First, countering her feelings of anxiety or fear with a response that engenders comfort and security is the best approach. Before Alzheimer’s entered our lives, I would have have asked what was troubling her, and she would have been able to give me an answer. We would have talked about it. I would have tried to think of a rational way to address the problem. In this case, she couldn’t explain what was wrong, and I have learned that it doesn’t work to try to “fix things.” I am reasonably sure that this moment was like the others. She couldn’t understand anything – who she is, where she was, or what was happening to her. Telling her she has Alzheimer’s didn’t seem like the right thing. The only thing to do was comfort her. My words were of little importance. I only had to be with her. Once again that worked.
I believe there is something else that is relevant. In another post yesterday, I mentioned that she is still able to learn some things intuitively. That seems to be happening with our relationship. She is increasingly dependent on me and is aware of it. In recent months, she has been especially appreciative of things I do. Some of this comes immediately following something specific I have done. Other times, it comes out of the blue. She says things like, “I’m glad I’m with you. I couldn’t find my way home.” She also says, “When I am with you, I feel safe.” I don’t think that arises from any special fear of others. I think she may be afraid when she doesn’t know the people around her or where she is. I’ve become a “security blanket” for her. I think that is one of the reasons she sometimes wants me to stay with her and the sitter. She is comfortable with them, but the amount of time and range of experiences she has with them can’t lead to the same feeling of security. Of course, all husbands and wives develop a certain amount of interdependence, but I am talking about a feeling that goes well beyond the way she felt before Alzheimer’s. This feeling has increased with her dependence, and, up to now, has helped to ease her anxiety and/or fear in moments like yesterday.
How long will this feeling that I can offer her security last? I hope forever. That reminds me of a quote of Maya Angelou’s that I posted recently. It seems even more appropriate to me now.
“. . . People will never forget how you made them feel.”
