I had just finished my walk and was getting ready to complete a blog post yesterday morning when I heard Kate’s voice over the video cam. I went to her. She said, “I am glad to see you.” I said, “I’m glad to see you.” Then I asked if there was anything I could do for her. She said, “Yes,” but she didn’t say what. She was pretty groggy. I asked if she would like to go to the bathroom. She said, “Not right now.” I said, “It sounds like you would like to rest some more.” She nodded. I started to say that I would be in the kitchen when she said, “Don’t leave me. I like you to be here.” I said, “How about my going to the kitchen and getting my things and coming back and sitting in the chair right here.” She that would be fine. When I returned, she thanked me for being with her and said, “You don’t have to say anything at all. You can if you want to.” She added, “You take good care of me. I don’t know how you do it?” It’s this kind of appreciation that gives me encouragement to do everything I can for her.
Music and More
Not long after Kate and I returned home from dinner Sunday night, Kate started working on her iPad. She quickly found it too difficult and directed her attention to her hair, her toes, face, and legs. I’m not sure exactly how to describe what she does, but it reminds me of a cat that preens itself. She began by pulling her hair. I turned on the TV to one of the NFL games with the sound muted.
I didn’t watch much of the game. She wanted me to watch what she was doing. That is becoming increasingly common. A couple times in the past, she has said she wants me to make sure that she is “doing it right.” I don’t know what that is, but she thinks I do. That’s what matters. After half-heartedly watching as I also tried to catch some of the Steelers/Ravens game, she wanted me to be an active participant. I had the distinct impression she wanted my help this time to keep my attention on her. Several times, she sternly said, “Are you watching me?” One time she caught me when she said, “Tell me what I just said.” I hadn’t really had a chance to get wrapped up in the game, but I admit to giving both the game and Kate my divided attention.
I tried to be obedient when she asked me to do the things she had been doing, but she sensed my lack of enthusiasm. She wasn’t happy. I was ready to take a shower, but she wanted my help. I needed something to redirect her attention and shift her mood. Not surprisingly, I thought about music. I suggested that I look for something on YouTube.
One of the first things I saw was a video entitled “Saint Paul’s at Christmas.” I assumed it was one of their Christmas concerts. I reminded Kate of our celebrating Easter Sunday at Saint Paul’s on a trip to England quite a few years ago. I told her how much we had enjoyed the music that day and suggested this might be fun to watch.
It took only a few minutes to discover that it was actually a documentary that focused on the preparations required to manage all of the different Advent and Christmas events. That led me to tell Kate that it wasn’t a musical performance (though there was some music in the program) and asked if she would like me to find something else. By the time I asked, she was already engaged and didn’t want to change. I watched with her a short time. Before leaving to take my shower, her eyes moved periodically between the TV and me. She made sure that I was watching. When she saw me on my iPad, she told me to watch the TV. It was an interesting documentary that included the beauty of the Cathedral itself and the preparations of the choir, but I finally got up to take my shower. By this time, she had gotten in bed to continue watching. She was sitting up. That was a good sign that she was interested in the program. I know it was far too complicated for her to have understood, but she enjoyed it. Her mood had changed significantly.
It was just ending when I finished showering. The video that followed it was an Andre Rieu Christmas concert, most of which was filmed at his home in Maastricht. It is a magnificent home that was beautifully decorated. The concert was outside with abundant and colorful decorations and lighting. I thought the concert itself was the best I have seen in a while. Kate and I watched the whole program sitting up in our bed. Both of us loved it.
The video ended at 9:40. It was time for me to say good night and past time for Kate; however, the next video was the New York Philharmonic playing Dvorak’s Symphony “From the New World.” It has been a favorite of mine since playing it with my high school orchestra. Kate and I have attended many symphony concerts in the past, but she is not generally as taken with orchestral concerts. I started to turn it off. Then I suggested we just watch a portion of it. To my surprise, Kate was immediately taken with it. We watched to the very end forty minutes later. I suspect the video enhanced her appreciation of the music. Of course, the music was also familiar to her. That surely helped, but knowing why she was so enraptured doesn’t matter. She had just spent almost a full three hours enjoying a documentary, a Christmas concert, and a popular symphony. She was happy. Once again, music played a key role recovering from what started out to be an unpleasant evening.
Changes Abound
This has been a week when I feel I’ve had more to say than I’ve said. I’ve been busier with Kate, and a few holiday related tasks. In addition, I have been dealing with a few household issues, a leak in our pool, a leak in a pipe under the house, a toilet that needed fixing, and some minor electrical work. Perhaps more than anything else, I haven’t been exactly sure how to express what I want to say. It’s all wrapped up in a single word: change.
Haven’t I said that before? Yes. Maybe that’s why it’s hard for me to say it again in a way that distinguishes what is going on now from the past. I’ve devoted a little more time this week to paying attention and thinking about that rather than writing. I haven’t considered this a waste of time at all. I’ve read about authors who have made a point of saying that the “thinking” part of writing for them is the most valuable part. With that in mind, let me tell you about some of the things that are going.
Kate more frequently expresses insecurity about what to do when she wakes up, when brushing teeth and bathing, when we are in restaurants. She was especially uneasy during our Christmas dinner at Ruth’s Chris. That may have related to the somewhat more formal nature of the room, the service, and the fact that this is not a restaurant we often frequent. It had been several years since our previous visit. That was with the staff at the office and a time when her Alzheimer’s affected her much less than it does today. Whatever the cause, she was never fully at ease.
Her morning confusion seems to be more severe now. On several occasions, she was so frightened that she hasn’t wanted to get out of bed. Each time I have been able to help her recover, but it takes longer than the past. That happened day before yesterday. She didn’t know “anything.” I talked with her very slowly and calmly. She didn’t know who I was, but she trusted me. I was eager to get her up so that we could have lunch together before the sitter arrived, but I knew that rushing her would make things worse.
I put on some soothing music at a very low volume, and we talked for fifteen minutes or so. Though I talked about her parents and our children, nothing rang a bell. She became comfortable talking with me, but she was still confused. Then I decided it was time for something more upbeat. I remembered that several weeks ago she had recognized and liked the song “A Bushel and a Peck.” I played it. The minute she heard it she laughed. We were making progress. I was streaming the song from a playlist of Doris Day music, so we heard a couple of other old songs we both recognized. Then I switched to the soundtrack of My Fair Lady. By the time we got to the third track, I suggested we go to lunch. She didn’t jump right up, but she did let me ease her up, and we got ready. She was fine.
She struggles more with her clothes than in the past. Sometimes she wants to be independent, and I let her do what she can. It isn’t long, however, before she asks for my help.
Her vocabulary is diminishing. She often says, “I don’t know how to say this.” She can’t pull up the words that express what she wants to say. That is more than a vocabulary problem. It is also a problem organizing her thoughts.
Along with that she sometimes fails to recognize common objects. Ironically, that almost always happens with her iPad. When she sees it, she asks, “What’s this?” Last night I handed her toothbrush to her and didn’t know what it was or what it was for. I explained how she should use it. At Panera this morning, she looked at a napkin and asked what it was.
I have no way of measuring this, but it seems like she does not know my name or our relationship for a longer time each day. On the other hand, she almost always feels comfortable with me. She trusts me. It is when she first wakes in the morning that she is least likely to know my name or relationship. She does, however, know to call me in the morning. Most of the time, she just says, “Hey.” Interestingly, there are times during the day when she needs something and calls me by name. This seems to be a example of a simple “stimulus/response” behavior. She occasionally asks my name shortly after using it.
Our Christmas Day conversation when she couldn’t remember anything about her mother was a striking first. She has always retained strong and very positive feelings for her mother. I thought that would be the last memory to weaken. Of course, that didn’t last. I haven’t seen any similar signs since then.
There are more times like this when she seems to be in a fog. These seem to occur most frequently in the morning when she wakes or during the day after resting a while. It is like her brain closes down while resting or sleeping. Then when she opens her eyes and looks around, she doesn’t recognize anything or in some cases, she has hallucinations. After resting in her recliner a while the other day, she opened her eyes and pointed to something across the room and said, ““It’s been a long time, you know.” <pause>. Then she pointed to the ceiling and said, “Hey sit down. All of you.” (Chuckles)
She talks in her sleep more. Sometimes I talk back to her, and she speaks to me while still appearing to be asleep.
Her vision is worse. I think that accounts for some of her uneasiness when walking from the car to a restaurant and back as well as her difficulty getting seated or going up and down curbs. She frequently fails to eat food on her plate because she hasn’t seen it. Occasionally, I walk to another room after we have been talking. When I walk in moments later, she doesn’t recognize me and asks, “Where did he go?” If I say, “Who,” she usually says, “The other guy. The one I was talking to.”
She loses me easily. Sometimes that occurs when we are within a few feet of one another. The other night at a nearby pizza place, I saw that there was just one remaining booth and walked ahead of her to claim it before someone else. When I looked around she was looking for me. We looked at each other, but she didn’t recognize me until I walked closer. She was frightened that she had lost me.
Surprisingly, she seems to be rather good at seeing small spots. It is not unusual for her to eat everything on her plate and then look for tiny specks of remaining food that she picks up with her finger.
Her sleeping pattern is more erratic. She had a long period of time when she slept regularly until 11:00 or after or when I woke her. More recently, she went through a period when she would wake up early and go to the bathroom then go back to bed. I’m not sure there is a pattern anymore.
She has more problems with eating. She is particularly confused when she has both a fork and a spoon. If she has soup, she usually begins to eat it with a fork. Then I show her the spoon. After she uses the spoon, she uses it for everything else.
She also uses soups and condiments as sauces for other parts of her meal. For example, we eat lunch at Bluefin on Saturday. They prepare excellent grilled salmon that she likes. It is not unusual for her to dip her salmon in the ketchup that accompanies her sweet potato fries. I brought some lobster bisque home from lunch on Christmas along with Our sweet potato casserole. She used the bisque as a dip for the casserole.
As she was finishing her meal last night, she poured all of the remaining ice and tea onto her plate with a few pieces of chicken and began to eat the dozen or so flat, square pieces of ice along with her chicken. She didn’t leave a speck of anything on her plate or the two cups with her side dishes of strawberries and applesauce.
She is beginning to forget how to take her pills. Sometimes when I hand her a pill and a glass of water, she asks what to do with it. She occasionally puts the pill in her mouth, drinks the water, and doesn’t swallow the pill. When I hand her the next one, she says, “What do I do with this one?” I have to watch her more carefully than in the past. She can take one pill and forget the others.
Yes, life is changing. There are more things that demand my attention. Having said that, we still have a good time together. I’ll say more about that in another post.
A Difficult Morning
I have often said that I am able to lead Kate to a recovery whenever she has challenging moments. Most of those involve her confusion in the morning. More recently, she seems more frightened by sudden noises like those we hear at restaurants. She is also more irritable. I attribute that to her not understanding or anticipating my intentions when I help her. Yesterday morning all of these came together.
It began when her overnight underwear (pull-ups) failed. I was in the kitchen and heard her say something. She was upset. When I asked if I could help she said, “Get me out of here.” I got her to the bathroom. As I helped her get cleaned up and brush teeth, she alternated between wanting me to tell her what to do and resisting my help. As she usually does, she got tears in her eyes and apologized to me several times. While we were standing at the sink, I put my hand on her arm. She shrieked as though I were going to harm her. I asked why she was so upset. She cried and said, “I don’t know. I don’t know.” I believe that was a very honest answer. She really doesn’t know why, but she still feels she shouldn’t respond to me this way. I tried especially hard to respond in a gentle, caring way to comfort her.
Several times she said, “Why did you bring me here? I just want to go home.” I told her I would take her home. Then I got her dressed and took her to Panera for a muffin. Once we were in the car, she seemed fine. She even spent more time on her iPad than usual. In fact, we would have stayed longer except that it was almost time for the sitter who comes at noon on Monday. She didn’t mention going home again. The sitter came a few minutes after we got home, and Kate was just as natural with her as she is with me. I felt good as I left.
Looking back, I see the only difference yesterday morning from other challenging mornings was how upset Kate was. I don’t believe it lasted any longer than other mornings when she is confused. It does reinforce my belief that remaining calm with her and easing her into her daily routine brings about her recovery.
I hope this will continue, but I know I can’t be sure. I am reading a memoir written by a doctor who cared for his wife who had Alzheimer’s. I have identified with him in a variety of ways, especially his desire to care for his wife in such a loving way. Last night I read a section in which he relates the severe anger that his wife experienced in the late stage of the disease. Is that ahead for Kate? As they say, “only time will tell.’
The Therapeutic Value of Music and Reading
Kate and I have always enjoyed music and, especially, live performances. They have been fully integrated into our lives since her diagnosis. To start with I didn’t think of this as therapy. We were simply enjoying ourselves. A year or two later Kate experienced several panic attacks as a result of my rushing her to get to events on time. One time she hadn’t calmed down when we got in the car to leave. I turned on the second movement of Brahms’ violin concerto. We didn’t talk while it played (about ten minutes) When it was over, she was calm. Since that time, I have used music a good bit to put her at ease even if she isn’t having a panic attack. It makes her happy.
This past Sunday we attended a Christmas show that achieved the same effect. I think she must have been tired because she had gotten up early and did not rest after lunch as she usually does. I know she was a little grumpy when we walked into the theater from the parking lot. We didn’t walk far, but it was too far for her and also chilly. We sat in our seats for ten to fifteen minutes before the show began. She doesn’t like waiting and complained most of the time. I assured her she would like the show, but she was not convinced.
Her mood shifted immediately when the show started. The cast was large and included a number of young children and teens along with the adults. The music, of course, was the key factor. She audibly expressed her enthusiasm after each song. That set the stage for a very nice dinner experience.
It may well be that reading will be another tool in my arsenal to lift her spirits. I looked at my reading to her as a way to occupy her time when her use of the iPad dropped to a few hours a week after years of six to eight hours a day. That night I was looking for something more than amusement. She was grumpy again after dinner. As she began to get ready for bed, she pointed to the ceiling fan and asked me to “turn that thing off.” I told her it wasn’t on. She said, “Well turn it on.” I did, but she didn’t like it and told me to turn it off again. I started to help her with her nightgown, and she said, “I can do it myself.” As she does so often, she apologized for the things she had said, but she continued to be grumpy.
After she got in bed, I asked if she would like me to read The Velveteen Rabbit. She said she would. She didn’t say a word while I read. That was unusual. I wasn’t sure that she was listening and wondered if she might have fallen asleep. When I finished, I said, “Did you enjoy that?” She told me she did, but it was the tone of her voice that was the clearest indication she was all right. She also said that she remembered some parts from the “other time” I had read it to her. I felt good about that because she didn’t recall the book at all previously. I suggested that it made a good bedtime story and that we might do that again sometime. She liked the idea. I was glad. I found it to be a nice way to end our day together. Reading, like music, is a “Win/Win” for both of us.
This Morning
Last night I picked up an email from my friend Tom Robinson. He asked how I managed to remember the different experiences Kate and I have and especially the times they occur. In my reply, I confessed that I forget a lot. So much is happening now that it is impossible for me to remember everything. I really wish I could do a better job capturing our conversations. They would be much more effective in telling our story than my personal descriptions, but it is becoming increasingly difficult for me to remember such details. There are some occasions when I am able to write shortly after a particular incident. Such is the case right now.
It is now 8:19 Friday morning. I was up at 6:25 and had finished breakfast. It looked like this would be a morning when I would be able to walk and listen to my book. As I was preparing to do that at 7:50, I set the video cam on the island in the kitchen. When I did, I saw that Kate was about to sit up. When I reached her, she was sitting on the edge of the bed. She looked up at me and smiled. I told her it was good to see her and, especially, to see “that smile.”
As we walked to the bathroom, she said, “I sure am glad to see you.” Her tone of voice conveyed a sense of relief. It was clear that she was quite confused although she seemed to recognize me. As we returned to the bed, she repeated how glad she was to see me. She said, “What do I do now?” I told her it was still early, that I thought she should try to rest a little longer. As I pulled the covers over her, she said, “Where are we?” I told her we were in our house in Knoxville, Tennessee. We went through these same questions two or three times. Then I asked if she would like me to bring my things into the room and sit with her. She said, “Oh, yes.” That’s where I am and plan to stay until it she is asleep. Then I will slip back to the kitchen. In the meantime, I put on a Jason Tonioli album entitled Finding Peace. Most of the pieces are just piano and violin, and, as the title suggests, they are very peaceful. It is playing softly in the background. If it doesn’t help Kate get back to sleep, it may do it for me right here in my chair.
There is nothing special or particularly unusual about this experience. In that respect, it is a good one in that it captures a rather ordinary part of our lives. It’s not always like this. Sometimes she is much more disturbed by her confusion. Other times less so. It is unusual, however, for her to want me to stay with her. That is a sign of greater insecurity than most days.
There is something else about this morning that is typical. It is the way we relate to each other. She depends heavily on me and looks to me for guidance. This is true most of the time, and that makes caring for her much easier for me. It’s not always like that. There are times like two days ago when she wanted to be independent and resisted my help. That was a rough moment and only subsided when I let her take charge. That helped to re-balance the relationship. When she is on her own to dress, it isn’t long before she asks for my help. That works because I am following her rather than directing. In moments like this morning, she is ready to turn everything over to me. Making a decision about what to do can be a challenge when your mind is completely blank.
The last song on Tonioli’s album, Brahm’s Lullaby, is playing. Kate is now sound asleep. I think I’ll take my morning walk around the house (inside, of course) and listen to my book.
What Can the Horse Whisperer and Mr. Rogers Tell Us About Caregiving?
In 2011, Robert Redford produced and directed the film The Horse Whisperer. It was based on a real story about Burt Brannaman whose unconventional approach to breaking horses captured the attention of many people like me who know little or nothing about them. My crude interpretation of his method is that he establishes a relationship of trust with horses. He does this gradually in small steps by connecting with them in a non-threatening way. The result is that he achieves success without forcing them into submission but gaining their trust. He thinks this is a gentler and better way to achieve the same end.
In the past year, Mr. Rogers has also been the subject of two films. Each in different ways captures Rogers’ approach to relating to children (as well as adults if we take It’s a Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood literally). It strikes me that his approach with children was very similar to that of Brannaman’s with horses. In both cases, the men are keenly sensitive to the little things that can frighten or comfort horses or children. That includes what one says, how it is said, tone of voice, facial expressions and body language.
As I think about it, both Brannaman and Mr. Rogers have something to tell us about caregiving. As people with dementia decline, the world around them must seem strange. I know that Kate is quite insecure and looks to me for security. Even situations that have been routine for years can be a bit frightening. Yesterday, I took Kate to a hair appointment. Recently she has had trouble getting into the chair for her shampoo and expressed her feelings in a loud audible way. I helped her into the chair the last two appointments. That has worked well. This time she wanted me to stay with her and to hold my hand. During the past year, I dropped her bi-weekly massages and her pedicures because she was frightened by them.
I say this to suggest that Kate’s failure to understand the situations she faces is similar to the way horses and children react when they are confronted by something new. I have learned the hard way that I need to interact with Kate the way Brannaman relates to horses and Roger interacted with children. That doesn’t mean I don’t make mistakes. I did yesterday and was fortunate to make a comeback when I returned to a more sensitive approach.
Yesterday she wanted to be more independent, and I have grown accustomed to doing more things for her. That didn’t mix well. She seemed especially slow in getting ready for the day. She spent almost twenty-five minutes brushing her teeth and washing her arms and face. The washing of her arms and face is normal, but she took longer to do it this time. Several times when she was brushing her teeth and showering, she told me to stop helping her and said, “I am not stupid.” I apologized and backed off. It wasn’t just that I changed what I said. I also changed the tone of my voice and facial expressions. She is very good at reading those. I remained with her but didn’t offer any suggestions. I did help dry her. She appreciated that.
As she often does, she wanted to rest a little. I left her in bed for about thirty minutes before returning to see if she wanted to get up. I was careful not to suggest that she should get up or that I was pushing her. Fortunately, she said she was ready for her clothes. I only helped her when she wanted help.
After she was dressed, she wanted to lie down again. I told her that would be fine. I put on the album from the musical Annie and went to the kitchen. I returned fifteen minutes later to see if she was ready for lunch. She was in a good humor and ready to get up. From that point on everything went smoothly. One would never have guessed that she had been upset with me at all. It took almost two hours from the time I went in to get her up until we left, but it paid off. Rushing her only makes things worse. I know that well but didn’t approach her that way from the beginning.
It was clear from the time she got up that she was moving slowly. I believe if I had begun with a gentler approach, we wouldn’t have had a problem at all. I was impatient at her slowness and the fact that she spent so much time washing her face and arms when she was about to get in the shower. That didn’t make sense to me, but that was not what mattered. It probably made sense to her because she couldn’t remember that she was going to take a shower. At any rate, I have learned that it pays to be in sync with her mood and desires and move from there. I think Brannaman and Mr. Rogers would agree.
It Takes an Arsenal
We have all heard that it takes a village to raise a child. I’ve also heard a variation of that for caregivers of people with dementia: “It takes a Team.” This idea grows out of the recognition that caregivers need to rely on others for help. One part of the team would be those who are professionals like one’s primary care doctor, other specialists, as well as paid caregivers like care managers and personnel at the variety of care facilities that are cropping up in many communities. Another part would include family and close friends.
I agree that we caregivers need a team. I have that in our medical and dental professionals as well as a host of others who would never imagine they are on the team. I am thinking especially of those who work at the restaurants that serve us. I have made sure that they know of Kate’s diagnosis, and they have been very supportive. In addition, we often run into friends wherever we go. They never realize the importance of these brief encounters in lifting our spirits. I should also mention the people who are strangers like those who have helped when Kate goes to the restrooms in public places. I had one of such experience this past Sunday at a movie theater. I don’t know anything about the young woman, but she made me feel more comfortable. When Kate walked out of the restroom, she was holding the woman’s hand just as I might have done.
Beyond these things, I have also found that it pays to have an arsenal (a bag of tricks) that I can depend on when I face the various challenges that arise in caring for Kate. I have relied heavily on music and social engagement. That has worked well. We have binged on music and eating out. Over the past year and a half, I have increasingly used Kate’s family photo books, especially her “Big Sister” album that her brother Ken made for her. Life changes, however, and it’s good to have other alternatives. At the moment, my reading to Kate is becoming another significant way to provide her with pleasure.
Kate’s self-initiated activities have declined drastically. For a long time she spent most of her time on her computer and working in the yard. When the computer dropped out of the picture, it was replaced with an iPad on which she worked jigsaw puzzles. Then the yard work disappeared. That left her with only one such activity. We are almost at the end of using the iPad, but two weeks ago I started reading to her. Despite the fact that it takes more of my time, it has been rewarding for both of us. I have thoroughly enjoyed reading to her and seeing her response. It is a welcome addition to my arsenal and could become more important in the future.
Thus far we have read The Giving Tree, The Velveteen Rabbit, Charlotte’s Web, a quarter of Anne Frank: The Diary of a Young Woman, and two chapter’s of Erma Bombeck’s Family: The Ties That Bind . . . and Gag. The nice thing is that we can re-read books though I plan to keep my eyes open for new ones.
Reading is relaxing for Kate. It also has an impact on her mood. Though she doesn’t understand everything, she picks up enough to make it a pleasant experience. Last night she started to work on her iPad but soon became frustrated and wanted to go to bed. I believe she was discouraged and looked at going to bed as an escape. Once she got in bed, I asked if she would like for me to read something. She did, and I picked up The Velveteen Rabbit. We had read it several other times during the week, but he enjoys it just as much each time. I enjoy seeing her response as I read. She makes frequent comments that let me know she is listening and, at least, understands what I read in the preceding sentence if not more than that.
Last night’s experience was particularly meaningful to me. It was very much like reading a bedtime story to a child. When I finished, I told Kate I had enjoyed it and thought I would look for some other books like it. She liked the idea. Her frustration was gone. My arsenal is growing.
Another Unusual Incident
Kate and I went to opera night at Casa Bella this past Thursday night. I approach each of these evenings with both anticipation and a small measure of concern. These nights (6:00 to 8:30) have played a significant role in our therapy for almost six years. There have only been a couple of nights when Kate didn’t enjoy herself as much as usual. Those have been within the past few months and have related to changes in our seating arrangement and sometimes being part of a larger group. Now I sit beside her. That allows me to help her more easily, especially in whispering to her when she has questions.
If I had thought much about it, I would not have been concerned at all. After all, it is the Christmas season. That meant we had a generous supply of music for the season including a “sing-a-long” with “The Twelve Days of Christmas.” The crowd was caught up in the spirit of the season, and so we were.
We engaged in a little more conversation after the program ended. The result was our getting home a little later than usual. I was eager to help Kate prepare for bed and to take my shower. That shouldn’t have been a problem, but I didn’t anticipate what was about to occur.
I got Kate to the bathroom to brush her teeth, and she got caught up in the process. She always works hard to clean between her teeth even though I haven’t been unable to find anything. (I sympathize with her since I have a space between two of my teeth that seem to have nothing between but bothers me nonetheless. My dental hygienist believes it is where a crown meets the real tooth.) She took more time than usual, at least twenty minutes. She wanted me to watch what she was doing in case she wasn’t doing it the right way. This involved my watching her go from tooth to tooth using her fingernail like dental floss.
When she finished, she washed her face and arms. That wasn’t unusual except that wanted me to watch carefully. She wanted me to know exactly what she was doing. She put great emphasis on the upper portion of her forehead where her hair begins. During this process, she continually pointed her fingers toward me so that I could see what she was getting out. She sometimes refers to “them” as “thingies.” I’ve never been able to see anything but acknowledge that I have seen them.
When she got to the bed, it was time to work on the toes. She runs her fingers up and down between each toe and can repeat this process several times. That night was one of those times. Then she wanted me to do it. I complied. When she got in bed, she began to pull her hair. Several times I started to step away from the bed. Each time, she called me back saying, “I want you to see this.” This incident was not unique except for the duration. I finally got to shower almost an hour and a half after getting home. She seems to be getting more obsessed about pulling her hair, picking her teeth with her fingernail, and cleaning between her toes. I wonder how far this can go.
Morning Crisis
Yesterday, like a number of days recently, Kate was up at 7:30. That meant I didn’t get my normal walk, nor did I have time to upload a new post. This morning I was up at 5:20. I thought this would be a good opportunity to write a post about an experience we had last night. My plans changed quickly. I was about to walk out of the bedroom when I noticed that Kate was awake. I walked over to the bed to let her know I was going to the kitchen to fix my breakfast. When I reached the bed beside her, I recognized the look on her face. I said, “Are you afraid?” She nodded. I told her I could help her and that she was going to be all right? Then I said, “Would you like me to stay with you?” She said, “Oh, yes.”
She wanted to go to the bathroom. As I helped her up, she said, “You’re very nice to me. You’re the only one I can talk to.” I wasn’t sure if she knew who I was and said, “My name is Richard.” She said, “I know that. <pause> What’s your name?”
After using the toilet, she wanted to brush her teeth. I asked if she were still afraid. She said she was. I asked what she was afraid of. She said, “I don’t know. I don’t know what to do?” She talked a couple of minutes about that and said things like “I don’t know what’s going to happen to all of us.” “I just want to get out of here. I don’t really mean that, but . . .” (She didn’t finish.) “Thank you for helping me. You’re the only one I can talk to.”
I assured her that I could help her, that she could depend on me. I said, “Right now, I think you need to get back in bed and rest. We’re going to have a very nice day.” I started to leave for the kitchen for my computer, and she said, “Please stay with me.” I told her I was just getting my things from the kitchen and would be right back.
As you might expect, I turned on some soft soothing music and sat in the chair beside the bed. It wasn’t long before she was asleep.” I began to think about leaving to fix my breakfast, when she awoke and saw me. She had a smile on her face and said, “You’re here. How nice.” She seemed like herself, but now I feel I should stay a while longer. At least for now, the crisis is over.
