The other day, I got a message from a Twitter friend who asked how things were going with Kate and me. She had noticed that I haven’t been as regular in posting as in the past. I explained that with the progression of Kate’s Alzheimer’s life was simply getting busier. This past Sunday was a good example of what can happen in a single day.
It began early that morning. I was about to get dressed at 6:30 when Kate woke up and wanted to go to the bathroom. Afterward, I helped her dress and prepared a light breakfast. This was the earliest I ever recall her getting up for the day since she was a teacher and librarian. It was also unusual in that we ate breakfast together for the second time in the past few weeks.
Since she started the day so early, I knew she would want to rest after breakfast. She fooled me. She wanted to go home. I took her for a thirty-minute ride around town.
Once home, we spent an hour and a half looking at one of her photo books and our wedding album. Finally, she wanted to rest. That only lasted 30-45 minutes.
I suggested we go to lunch, but she didn’t want to get up. I told her she looked afraid and said I could help her. She said she didn’t “know anything” and didn’t know what was happening to her. I told her again that I could help and mentioned she had had experiences like this before. I added that in the past she began to improve after getting up. That gave her the incentive to get up although it didn’t reduce her anxiety.
On the way to the restaurant, I put on some music she likes as an effort to calm her. She didn’t pay as much attention as she usually does, and her anxiety won out over the music. She was worried about what people would think of her. She said, “They will think I’m an idiot.” I assured her they would probably not even notice anything. She thanked me and said that made her feel better. Her insight and self-awareness impressed me during this whole episode. She recognized that she was progressively feeling better.
Before arriving at Andriana’s, she said, “I know you’re my husband, but I don’t know your name.” Then she remembered it and was excited. She said, “I think I’m getting better. Maybe I’ll start remembering more.” I assured her that she would. She was bolstered by that.
She was very uneasy as we entered the restaurant. She was still afraid of what people would think about her. She improved quickly when we met the hostess who greeted us warmly. She is one of the most welcoming of the ones we know. This made her feel comfortable.
That didn’t last long. When we took our seats, she was worried, and it showed. Two women at the nearest table noticed something was wrong when Kate started to cry and wanted me to hold her hand.
It wasn’t long before our server came to the table. She, too, is very friendly and told Kate how nice she looked. Tears welled up in her eyes as she profusely thanked the server and told her how much that meant to her. She wanted to stand and give the server a hug, but the server explained and kept her social distance.
Kate continued to talk about the way she felt. She noted that she didn’t know who I was but felt like she knew me. Almost within seconds, she called me by name. She was encouraged. I picked up on that and told her she would continue to feel better; however, I wasn’t surprised when, moments later, she couldn’t recall my name or that I was her husband. She continued to feel more comfortable as we ate our meal and was fine long before we left.
Once we were home, we started on one of her photo books but soon stopped for her to rest. When she finished resting, she looked at me and wanted to know who I was. She wasn’t worried and seemed comfortable with me. She invited me to sit on the sofa with her. I said, “I’m Richard, your husband.” She didn’t buy the husband part at all and laughed. I didn’t try to convince her; however, I picked up our wedding album and proceeded to go through some of the photos. I was never sure that it had any impact on her memory, but she accepted what she saw without any questions.
We had a little time before dinner, and I suggested we call a longtime friend of hers who was her matron of honor. She wanted to call, but she told me she wanted me to do most of the talking. To my surprise she did quite well. It was not a lengthy conversation, but she seemed at ease and enjoyed herself.
Kate has always been appreciative of my care for her. Periodically, she makes an extra effort to tell me how much that means to her. She was like that at dinner that evening. It means a lot to me that she is appreciative, but I feel a touch of sadness at moments like this because I think it is heavily driven by a recognition of her dependence on me.
After dinner, she said, “Are you ready to go?” I knew that was the signal that she was ready to “go home.” We went out for another drive “home.”
We returned thirty minutes later and went to the bedroom for the remainder of the evening. It was later than usual, and I was eager to get her ready for bed. She is usually ready herself, but that was not true this time. She started arranging the things on her bedside table. Ordinarily, that wouldn’t be a problem. This time, however, she seemed obsessed about getting it just right. She invited my participation as she created a new arrangements and stood back to give it a critical eye. After almost thirty minutes, I was ready for my shower and wanted to take care of getting her in her night clothes first. She didn’t want to be rushed. Finally, I told her I was going to take my shower and would help her after I got out.
When I turned on the shower, she called me. She wanted help with her night clothes. I turned off the shower and got her into bed. I also turned on YouTube for music videos to entertain her.
After my shower, I took a seat on my side of the bed and read a book. Less than an hour later, I turned off the TV, turned on some soft music on my audio system, and prepared to get in bed. It turned out that Kate was engrossed in the YouTube music and very disappointed I had turned it off. I turned it on again and got in bed.
Kate was sitting up in bed with her back against the headboard. She continued watching the music videos for another hour before calling it a night. It was a long day for both of us.
Not every day is like this, but increasingly I am devoting more attention to Kate while at the same time trying to keep up with household responsibilities and other personal activities. This does create more stress, but I am far from overwhelmed at this point. That is because I back away from other things I need to do. One of those is writing new posts. I’m all right with that because I think I am capturing enough to convey what “Living with Alzheimer’s” is like for us.
