The Most Predictable Time of the Day

I’m never quite sure what Kate will be like when she wakes up. Confusion is common. A number of times she has been very disturbed. Sometimes she appears perfectly normal. That is, she doesn’t appear confused until she asks, “Where are we?” Sometimes she seems wide awake and happy. Other times, she acts like I am about to interfere with her rest. She is usually right about that.

Mornings represent a striking contrast with our evenings. She almost always feels completely at ease. I can’t identify a precise time this happens. I know it starts much earlier in the day when we leave the house. That is true whether we leave at 9:30 or 10:00 for Panera or closer to noon for lunch.

In her second book, Dementia with Dignity, Judy Cornish devotes the major portion of her book to “mood” and its relevance for those who care for people with dementia. She talks about the ability of PWD to read their caregivers moods. Having learned the importance the senses of PWD, I don’t find that surprising. This ability has significant implications for relating to PWD. Caregivers face many things they cannot control. It’s frustrating. Controlling mood, however, is something that caregivers can, at least to some extent, control. Whatever the caregiver’s mood, the PWD can read that and is more likely mimic it. If the caregiver is uneasy, the PWD is likely to become uneasy as well.

In earlier posts, I have suggested that Kate becomes more relaxed throughout the day. I have attributed that to the accumulation of information that makes her feel comfortable. She may not be any better at remembering the names of people and places, but she senses a lot of things with which she is familiar from the past. Cornish’s views on mood are making me think more carefully about my role as a “manager” of them. I am more sensitive to the fact that I can play a role in making her more or less at ease.

When I think about it, I believe our everyday experiences tell us one person’s mood can affect someone else. I have often said in this blog that “When Kate is happy, I am happy.” That isn’t unique to the relationship of caregivers and PWD. That is true for spouses, for parents and their children, or even for one stranger encountering another.

There are at least two important differences, however, in the relationship of a caregiver and the PWD. First, the PWD has lost her rational ability to control her emotions or to work with someone else to do so. Second, the caregiver is the one who is “officially” in charge. If any changes are to be made, it is the caregiver’s responsibility to make them.

In relationships between spouses, we generally expect  both people to have sufficient rational ability to play a role in maintaining the appropriate moods (though we know that isn’t always the case). The same is true for strangers. It’s a bit different with parents and children. In this case, parents are in charge, and part of their responsibility is teaching their children learn rational ways to behave in social relationships. Children can learn. PWD can’t.

With these things in mind, I believe I have unconsciously assumed that management of Kate’s mood is part of my caregiving role. I wasn’t aware that my own mood might be making a difference in hers. Well, to be honest, I have felt that coming in to wake her in the morning has sometimes made her grumpy. That seems legitimate. If were sleeping soundly and didn’t see any reason to get up, I might be grumpy too. That is why I started waking her up so gently. I usually play music that I know she enjoys for 15-30 minutes before making an effort to rouse her. Even then, I wake her gently and allow plenty of time to avoid my rushing her.

Following this procedure seems to work, but not always. That is when I have to work harder not to push. I try to be very careful in the way I speak to her. I am as calm and relaxed as I can be. There are times when I say, “You don’t have to rush. You have plenty of time.” She sometimes doubts me and says somewhat gruffly, “Are you sure?” I continue to be calm, and her mood begins to change. It isn’t unusual for her to apologize for the way she spoke to me.

This isn’t always easy for a caregiver. For many, it’s very hard. That’s because our emotions often play such a key role in how we respond to things that irritate us. The role of a caregiver demands a greater emphasis on our rational skills than our roles in other relationships. We have to double our efforts. Our loved ones cannot do it. They have lost those skills.

Let’s go back to the fact that Kate’s mood is at its best in the evening. I believe creating that mood starts in the morning when she gets up. It’s no challenge at all if she wakes up in a good mood. There is little work to be done except to reinforce it throughout the day. If she is grumpy, however, it’s going to require a rational control of my responses in order to shift her mood. I am grateful she responds so easily. I love the reward of a good mood that peaks in the evening. It’s a great way to end the day.

Bedtime Conversation

I am glad to report that the rest of our day yesterday went well. It was a good day. Once again, I want to underscore that did not mean any improvement in Kate’s memory or her confusion. In fact, the past few days she seems to be worse. I say it was good because she was happy and that we enjoyed ourselves.

Throughout the day she couldn’t remember my name and our relationship. Neither could she remember her own name. The difference from the morning was her not showing any signs of being frightened. When she wanted to know my name or hers, she asked as naturally as one might say, “Would you pass the butter, please?” The day ended in a conversation that was just that natural.

Kate got in bed about thirty minutes before me. The past few months I’ve been playing a variety of soft music while we go to sleep. Most of the time I play instrumental music. Last night I put on an old Nat King Cole album. When I got in bed, she said, “I like that. Who’s singing?” I told her. She asked, “What do you want me to do in the morning?” I said, “Well, we’re having lunch with a couple we know from Casa Bella’s music nights. We’re supposed to meet them at noon. I’ll probably get you up around 10:00 so that you will have time to shower and dress.” She said, “Who’s that singing?” I told her again. She said, “Tell me exactly what we’re going to do tomorrow.” This time I repeated what I had said before but added that we might drop by to see a friend who just returned home from the hospital and rehab and then come back to the house until time for dinner. She said, “Who’s singing?” I told her again. She said, “Tell me what we’re going to do tomorrow. Again, I repeated myself. She said, “Who’s that singing?” I said, “Nat King Cole. That’s one of our oldest albums (now streaming from Amazon rather than the original LP), and we’ve been together a long time.” She said, “How long?” I said, “Fifty-six years, and I still love you.” She said, “I love you too.” I said, “We have a lot to be grateful for.” She said, “Like what?” I said, “Well, we have two children that we’re very proud of.” She said, “We have children? Are we married?” I said, “Yes, we’re married and have two children.” She said, “What’s your name?” I told her. Then she asked her name.

We went through two or three more rounds of these questions and answers before Kate said, “I’m going to sleep now.” I told her I was going to do the same. It wasn’t long before we were both asleep. I know I was.

More Confusion and Anxiety

Kate had another anxiety attack this morning. I had just come out of the bathroom and was walking to my closet to get dressed when she said, “Hello.” She sounded quite normal. I walked to the bed and asked if she wanted to go to the bathroom. She didn’t. Then I sat down on the bed and said, “Good morning. Could I help you with anything?” She looked puzzled and said, “I don’t know.” I recognized that she had waked up and had no idea where she was or who I was. I said, “You seem a little confused. I’d like to help you.” She said, “Where am I?” I told her she was in our bedroom in Knoxville. She said, “Who are you?” I gave her my name and told her I was her husband. She didn’t appear to recognize me. This started a circle of the same questions for the next few minutes.

I told her she was the daughter of Elizabeth and Carl Franklin. She didn’t react. I mentioned our children. She still didn’t respond with any sign of recognition. After a few minutes of these same questions, I told her I was getting cold and would like to come around to the other side of the bed and get in with her. She looked very suspicious. I said, “Would that be all right?” She said yes.

Once I was in bed, I began to talk softly to her about her family and our relationship. None of this sparked the kind of recognition that I was hoping for. I asked her if she would like to look at one of her family photo books. That didn’t appeal to her. It wasn’t long before I mentioned the three-ring-binder that is a “memory” book I made for her. I asked if she would like me to read it for her. She liked that. I brought it from the family room and read through the whole thing. It’s not all that long, but it seemed to do the trick. It has the names of her grandparents, parents, children and grandchildren. It also contains information about our first date, courtship, wedding, places we have lived, places we have traveled, etc.

It probably took about 10-15 minutes for me to read it to her. About half-way through, she began to smile as she recognized some of the people and places. By the end, she was completely relaxed. It looked like she was falling asleep. I told her that I was thinking about getting some breakfast and asked if that would be all right or if she would like me to stay. She said, “Stay.” I remained in bed with her another 10 minutes. She was sound asleep. I got up and dressed and ate breakfast.

After breakfast, I read a couple of Twitter messages. I looked up at the video cam and noticed that Kate was sitting up on the side of the bed. I went back to her and found that she had gone to my closet and picked out a pair of her pants and my underwear. She was wearing them when I walked in. She didn’t seem the least bit confused, but she wasn’t cheerful. As I tried to help her with the rest of her clothes, she was insistent on doing it herself. It wasn’t long before she needed help with her bra and socks and asked for help. I feel sorry for her when this happens. She wants so much to be independent, but she really can’t do everything for herself. I think it is good for her to try, but sometimes I jump in to help before she is ready.

By the time she was dressed, she was back to normal. It was about 8:45. I took her to Panera for a muffin. While there, we had a good experience with one of the employees who works behind the counter. After we had been there about twenty minutes, the employee stopped by our table to speak to Kate. She is a very cheerful person. I commented on that, and she told us that cancer changed her life. She is a survivor and thankful for every day. Kate was energized talking with her.

We’re back home now. Kate worked on her iPad a little while and is now napping. I’m not surprised. She was up at least two hours earlier than normal and that was after being awake for an hour or so around 6:15.

We always seem to recover from these moments/periods of confusion, but I fear they are becoming more common. That coupled with the number of other changes she is making remind me that we are in a different place now. These are more challenging times.

A Reminder of How Sharp She Can Be

Today as we left the restaurant where we had lunch, I saw a decal for the University of Miami. I commented that we don’t see many of those around here and that my dad had wanted me to go there mainly because it was close to home. She said, “If you had done that, you wouldn’t have met me.” Intending to be playful I said, “I might have met some glamorous Miami girl.” I waited a moment for her comeback. She paused just long enough that I thought she hadn’t heard me. Then she said, “She probably would have thrown you out in a couple of months.” I told her she was sharp and congratulated her on a perfect reply.

An Experiment and Unintended Consequences

The word “experiment” means a trial of some kind. For those of us with a background in research, it usually suggests a rather formalized methodology to determine the relationship among a set of “variables.” Most experiments are not of this nature. They are much less formal (and, therefore, less controlled) experiments that all of use to solve problems we face in everyday life. Caregivers do a lot of this. I am no exception. Let me tell you about an experiment I conducted two nights ago.

As I mentioned in an earlier post, I’m concerned about Kate’s sedentary lifestyle. She doesn’t exercise, and over the past year we have become less active. Now it is getting harder for her to get out of a seat of almost any kind, especially a low one. She walks slowly as though she might be in pain. She tells me she is not feeling pain. I think she is just becoming stiff. We know that she has arthritis in her knees. I’ve been looking for ways to keep her more active physically in order to postpone the day when she needs a wheelchair.

I thought she would enjoy and benefit from some time in our spa. Over the past two years, she has shown no interest in getting in the pool or spa. It’s actually stronger than that. She has resisted the idea, and I haven’t pushed her. I decided I needed to try a different approach. Knowing that she can no longer fit in her old swimsuits, I ordered one online last week. It arrived on Friday. Now all I needed to do was find a way to get her to put it on and get in the spa.

As we arrived home from dinner Sunday night, I told her I wanted her to help me with something when we went in. She said she would. Once inside, I gave her the swimsuit. I told her I had bought it and wanted her to try it on to see if it fit. She agreed. I felt a small measure of success, but the bigger problem might be getting her in the water.

She put on the suit, and I told her I wanted to put on mine as well. I explained that I wanted to experiment with something in the spa and needed her help. She didn’t protest. Getting in the spa required care, but was not too difficult. At first, I tried to help her step down to a step about ten inches from the surface of the water. She was quite nervous. I gave up on that and suggested she sit on the edge of the spa. From there I was able to help her sit on the step and then slide over to the seated area.

Once she was in the spa she was relaxed and started talking. She loved looking around her backyard where she used to spend much of her time tending to her plants. The water was also a comfortable temperature. I showed her how she could move her legs as though she were riding a bicycle. I commented about its being an easy way to exercise her joints. She agreed but only moved her legs for a moment. We spent about an hour talking. Any number of times she said that we ought to do this more often. My experiment was working better than I hoped. I was thinking that next time I could get her to move a little more.

When we were ready to go in, I got out first with the intent of extending my hands to her and helping her get out. She was frightened again and unable to follow my instructions. I finally got her in a seated position on the step inside the spa and on top of the seating area. The problem then was her not having enough strength to get up on her own and my not having enough strength to pull her up without a little help from her. She was too frightened to do anything. I got her to roll over onto the deck of the pool. That is when I discovered how hard it is to get her up when she is flat on the floor and emotional as well. I had another idea. I thought it would be easier if I took it one step at a time. I got on my hands and knees and asked if she could do that. If so, I might be able to lift her. She couldn’t understand what I wanted her to do. I can’t remember exactly what worked, but I got her up after several tries. So much for my bright idea of the spa for exercise.

I haven’t given up totally on the idea. I think it might be easier and safer if we used the pool instead. We have four steps at the shallow end. It should be much easier for her to walk down the steps with my assistance. We could do the same on the way out. I’m going to think about it a little more. I’m not quite ready to try again.

Visit With Friends

On Saturday, Kate and I visited Angie and Tom Robinson in Nashville. That followed my previous post about Kate’s difficulty with conversation. I think that put all of us on alert. Before we left, I had a brief phone conversation with them. I didn’t have any good suggestions except to keep in mind that she can talk about her feelings about things without remembering the actual facts. I also told them I didn’t have any special concerns and thought the visit would go well. That belief was based on the fact that we have a long history together. Our friendship goes back to undergraduate school. Even if she couldn’t remember their names or any of the facts about them, I thought her intuitive abilities would help her feel at ease. Having felt that way, I also told them I would step in if I felt there was a way that I could facilitate the conversation. As it turned out, the visit went well. The best indicator of that was Kate’s remark right after we got in the car. She said, “They’re a nice couple.” If she had felt otherwise, she would have said so.

We had a good time, but this visit was distinctly different from others. To me, it seemed like Kate exhibited more of her symptoms than before. When she said goodbye to Angie, she said, “It was nice to meet you.” Tom later told me in an email that she had told him “It was good to see you and, Oh, . . .” and then pointed to Angie. It was obvious Kate couldn’t remember Angie’s name. They also got to hear her snap at me one time. There were a number of other times that she hadn’t been able to follow or understand something that was said and had to ask us to repeat or explain.

One especially interesting thing happened. Kate picked up a book by Bishop Spong that was on the table in front of her. We have heard him speak at Chautauqua on at least four different occasions, but I doubt that she remembered him. I think she was caught by the book’s title, Unbelievable. She leafed through it and found a number of topics that intrigued her. Once she wanted me to read a portion of a chapter. I read a line or so. It was obvious that this was going to be too much for her (and for the rest of us as well). In a follow-up email, Tom took note of her interest. It’s the kind of thing one might assume is unlikely for a person with dementia. As I have noted in other posts, this represents an interesting intersection of rational and intuitive abilities. She no longer possesses the rational ability to understand many things, but she retains an intuitive feeling that intellectual things are important and/or interesting. She wants to know far more than she is able to grasp. That’s a sad thing, but she doesn’t seem to be disturbed. Once she realizes she can’t understand something, she lets it go. I am always glad to see that she retains her interest in intellectual and social issues.

One final note about our time with the Robinsons is that they did notice her physical deterioration. She has considerably more trouble getting up from a seated position as well as walking, especially when it comes to going up and down curbs or anything that she thinks is a high elevation. I have been increasing concerned about this myself. I attribute it to the fact that she is far more sedentary now than in the past. She doesn’t exercise at all, and we don’t go out as much as we did before. When we are at home, she spends all of her time resting, sitting while working on her iPad, or looking at family photo albums. At the rate she is going, she will soon be using a walker. I would like to postpone that and a wheelchair as long as possible. There is always something new that requires attention.

The Challenges of Conversation

Kate has always been adept at handling conversations in ordinary social situations even though she is a bit introverted. Her mother was very gifted in the same way. In addition, she grew up in a large family, many of whom lived in the same town and went to the same church. Her life was filled with many experiences that enabled her to develop her conversational skills.

The skills she developed over the years served her well when Alzheimer’s entered the picture. She was able to get along quite well without feeling insecure or revealing her Alzheimer’s to other people. That has gradually changed over the years. She is now handicapped in three ways. First, the loss of memory deprives her of a significant amount of information that is useful in conversation. Think a moment. When you bump into a friend or acquaintance, you are usually able to call them by name or remember the connection you had with that person (someone you worked with, played bridge with, was a member of your same book club, etc.). You probably remember if that person is married, has children, has a particular interest, and many more bits of information. When Kate encounters someone, she has none of those things to go on.

The second deficit she has is that she has difficulty understanding the conversations in which she finds herself. That leaves her unable to follow up on something the other people have said. These days her participation is heavily oriented to questions that ask who or what is being talked about and asking for explanations of the content or specific words. Her vocabulary has decreased significantly. That has to add another measure of confusion.

Third, dementia makes it harder for a person to process information. It is never easy to understand what is said, but it is especially difficult given the normal speed with which people speak. While Kate is trying to process the first bit of information someone is saying, the other person is already on to the second, third, fourth, or fifth bit of information. It is simply overwhelming. In restaurants where Kate experiences most conversations, there are also many distractions that occur simultaneously. The noise level itself can present a problem understanding what others in your party are saying. Sometimes a serving tray overturns or the server comes to the table to take your order. All these things make it hard for Kate and others with dementia to process information.

I’m thinking of these things because Kate and I had dinner the other night with a couple we know from our music nights at Casa Bella. Apart from sitting with them at Casa Bella, we have eaten out with them at least six or eight times in the past eight months. Two of those times were overnight trips to Flat Rock, NC, where we had dinner and attended a show at the Playhouse. She cannot remember them at all. I’ve never seen any sign that she recognizes them – even intuitively.

That night we went to a new restaurant and had an excellent meal. The other couple and I are the talkers. The restaurant was very noisy, and we sat near a server’s station where they dropped dirty dishes on top of one another. Kate hardly spoke during the entire evening. I believe the only words she spoke were questions regarding the menu or for clarification about something that was said. We ordered a cheese and hors d’oeuvres platter. Her vision problem prevented her being able to identify some things. Kate and I shared a large platter of paella for our entrée. She liked it but said nothing about it. I worried about how she was getting along, but there was simply no way to make the situation much easier for her. When I asked how she enjoyed the evening after we left, she said it was a nice evening. By that time, I’m not sure she could even remember what it had been like.

That is just one of a few other similar occasions with friends. It is just one more marker on this journey. I am grateful that she has gotten along so well in the past, but I don’t like the direction in which we are moving. In addition, it feels like the changes are coming more quickly now.

This afternoon we are visiting our longtime friends Tom and Angie Robinson in Nashville. I will be eager to see how that goes.

Lunch Conversation

During our lunch yesterday, Kate asked my name and then hers. She picked up the last name we have in common. Then I said, “Now, do you know how we are related?” (That’s something I don’t do very often. I never want to disturb her when she can’t answer, but she almost always engages in these conversations without any concern at all about not remembering.) This time she said, “Tell me.” When I did, she looked startled and said, “Excuse me?” I said, “That’s right. I’m your husband. You look puzzled.” I don’t recall exactly what she said. Here is what she was trying to say. “I was trying to think of the words I wanted to say but couldn’t. They are words I shouldn’t say.” She wasn’t clear, but I believe she was trying to say she was so surprised that she wanted to use profanity but couldn’t remember the words. I said, “Your surprised.” She said, “Don’t you think I should be surprised if we are married and I couldn’t remember?” I said, “Yes.” She said, “See, I’m smart.” I said, “I know you are. You are very perceptive and insightful.” She didn’t care for my translation and said, “I would say I’m smart.”

This was one of those times when she simultaneously shows that her memory is gone along with an intuitive sense about the situation. Her intuitive abilities permit her to see some things while her memory continues to fail.

Dealing with Squamous Cell Carcinoma

Except for our regular appointments with our doctors and dentists, Kate and I have had little reason for medical treatment since her diagnosis. A year ago, Kate’s arthritis in her right knee led us to an orthopedic clinic for a shot of cortisone. She has gotten along well since then although she complained of a little pain a few months ago. More recently, I have asked her on several occasions if she felt any pain. She has always said she didn’t.

Four or five weeks ago, I noticed a small growth at the edge of her upper lip. It had been well over five years since she had seen her dermatologist. I made an appointment, and the doctor performed a biopsy. A week later, I received a call that the she has a squamous cell carcinoma. We arranged an appointment to have it removed. It was scheduled for noon yesterday.

I much preferred an afternoon appointment. That would have been much easier for Kate and for me as well. That’s because I would have to wake her earlier to have lunch before the surgery. Unfortunately, we would have had to postpone the appointment until much later. They didn’t recommend that.

Every time I face getting her up early, I do so with a bit of trepidation. This time there was no problem at all. Although I had to wake her, she got up easily. That enabled us to have a leisurely lunch and arrive at the doctor’s office twenty minutes before noon. I didn’t mention where we were going until lunch. Kate didn’t understand why we needed to see the doctor and quickly forgot. I explained again on the way over, but she never really grasped the problem.

The doctor who was to perform the surgery was not her regular dermatologist. This doctor is a specialist in squamous cell carcinoma. He immediately noticed that it was hard to see the spot where the biopsy had been taken. Her dermatologist had either removed a large portion of it or it had diminished since the biopsy. The specialist summarized five or six options for treatment. They included complete surgical removal, radiation, freezing, and a topical chemical treatment that we could give at home twice a day for three weeks. After a brief discussion, we settled on the chemical treatment. That requires a compounding pharmacist. I took the prescription to the pharmacy, but they said it would be 24 hours before they would have it ready. I’ll pick it up later today.

As you might expect, the whole process was confusing for Kate. I tried to translate the doctor’s explanations, but she never really understood why she was there and that she had almost had surgery. In this situation, I didn’t think that was a bad thing. She didn’t seem annoyed or frustrated by it all. She wanted to understand what the doctor was saying. She just couldn’t.

I had a United Way meeting at 1:30 and had arranged for our sitter to meet us at the dermatologist’s office at 1:00. She arrived a few minutes before that as we were checking out. Perfect timing. This was one of those times it was really nice to have a sitter. She was able to take Kate home while I went to my meeting. Kate mentioned that she was hungry, so they dropped by Panera on the way. That meant she had a second lunch, but it also helped Kate pass the time until I got home later.

The balance of the day went well. At dinner, we ran into three people we know and had nice conversations with them. At home, we watched an Andre Rieu concert from London on YouTube. Kate enjoyed it more than usual. I’m glad to report it was a good day.

Feeling Good About My Decision to Move

Tomorrow it will be two weeks since I made a deposit on an apartment in a local continuing care retirement community. That gives me another two weeks before I either have to back out and get my deposit back or move forward with a full down payment. At this point, I still feel good about my decision and doubt seriously that I will change my mind before the down payment is due.

For ten years, I taught a Sunday school class of seniors that were mostly ten or more years older than I. During that time quite a number contemplated such a move and found it a hard one to make. I understand that, but I have felt quite differently about it. When Kate was first diagnosed, I had my personal preferences regarding her care. I wanted to keep her at home, but I also felt I should keep all my options open. I have not changed that position. After all, there was, and still is, no way I could predict what our circumstances might be like in the years ahead.

Kate’s diagnosis changed a lot of my thinking. The first was that I immediately began to reinterpret everything she was doing. I finally understood her behavior was result of her Alzheimer’s. That made me significantly more understanding. It also placed her care at the center of my life. That doesn’t mean that I gave up doing all the things l like, but it did mean that everything I have considered doing since then has taken her care into account. Until the past six to eight months, I’ve been able to do that by focusing on things we can do together and engaging a sitter to give me twelve hours a week for myself. As she has declined, I’ve been increasingly concerned about what would happen to her if something happened to me. I don’t have any existing health issues, but Kate and I are at about the same as our parents when they began to show signs of diminished health.

Thus, my decision to explore a CCRC was heavily motivated by a desire to establish a plan for Kate should I experience a major health problem. I am happy to say that I immediately felt better when I put down a deposit. Even though the new building won’t be ready for almost two years, we will have access to other benefits of the community like the adult day care, assisted living, or memory care. In other words, my decision has opened up another set of options that were not previously in place.

But that isn’t the only reason I feel comfortable. For many years, Kate and I have felt we wanted to make life as easy as possible for our children as we age. I believe taking this step accomplishes just that. We had already taken some steps to make them aware of what they would need to know if one or both of us were to die. They have all of our financial, medical, and legal information as well as the contact information they would need. I feel that moving to a CCRC would be an added measure of security for us and for them.

There are several other things that were also relevant. I had already decided I didn’t want to remain in our house after Kate is gone. I don’t enjoy all the things that are required to care for a house and lawn. I can hear my friends saying, “Wait a minute, don’t you already have a housekeeper and people who take care of the yard?” That is true, but they don’t do everything that needs to be done. Besides, I still have to manage everything. I would rather have someone else do that for me even if it isn’t done exactly as I would like it or on my time table. My dad lived to be 100 and was active until his stroke at 96. I, too, want to be active. Having an apartment rather than a house will allow me to focus on other priorities.

I doubt that I would have made the decision if there had been an available apartment when I sought information. As it is, I have time to get ready. It gives me two years to close the home we have lived in for twenty-two years. The fact that the building is two years away also gives me plenty of time to reconsider my decision. I feel secure, but not locked in.