Yesterday a nurse contracted with our long-term care insurance company came by the house for a periodic check up on Kate’s condition. I spoke with her in advance to let her know that Kate no longer remembers that she has Alzheimer’s and that I don’t want to remind her. She was mindful of that, but the test itself was a struggle.
There seems to be no way around some of the things that are required of the people who check on the insurance company’s clients. When the nurse came in, the first thing she did was show us her photo ID. She explained that she was there in connection with the in-home care Kate is receiving and mentioned the name of the company that provides our sitter. I don’t believe Kate has understood that she has in-home care from an agency. I have only told her that the sitter is someone I have asked to stay with her while I am gone. Kate accepts that because she doesn’t want to be left alone; however, I don’t believe she thinks of herself as having a caregiver. I know she recognizes that I do just about everything for her, but I don’t think she sees me as a caregiver or that she needs one.
At this stage, I suppose none of this matters since Kate doesn’t remember that the nurse came by at all, much less what she said or asked. Nonetheless, I felt uncomfortable for Kate throughout the thirty-five-minute interview. By far the worst part was observing her miserable performance on the “test.” The nurse handled it well by explaining that there are no right or wrong answers. She was very encouraging when Kate struggled for her answers. Several times she said, “This is ridiculous.” I should add that she also said “Thank you. I appreciate your understanding.” when Kate tried very hard to remember something and couldn’t.
The test seemed rather long to me. That may well have been because Kate was only able to answer one question, and that one surprised me. The nurse asked, “Where are we right now?” Kate hesitated a moment and said, “Home.” I was ready for her to say, “Texas.” Here is a sample of questions she couldn’t answer: Her date of birth, her age, the state where she lives, her address, the President, any president, as well as the month, date, year and season we are in. The nurse also pointed to her watch and asked Kate to tell her what it was. Kate said she couldn’t see it. The nurse got up, walked over to Kate, and let her hold the watch. Kate couldn’t think of “watch.” That was one of two of Kate’s answers that surprised me. The other was correctly identifying where we were. Near the end of her questions, the nurse asked her if she thought she had any problems with her memory. She didn’t hesitate and said, “No.”
By this time, Kate has had quite a few such tests. I suspect I am not the only spouse or child to feel uncomfortable watching his loved one go through this process. Although I am concerned about the next one, I suspect that she is now reaching a point when it may not frustrate her. I know this has to be done, but it runs counter to the way I try to relate to her.
