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A Great Day

It seems like it’s been a while since I reported on having a great day. I’m really happy to report that we had one of those yesterday. It was a day of simple pleasures, but Kate was in a particularly good mood. She was happy and talkative. The only rough spot we had was when she got up. The first thing she said was “I want to get out of here.” I explained that we were at home and got her to look out the window to the back yard. She remembered it but said again that she wanted “to get out of here.”

Apart from that she got dressed, and she seemed to have forgotten about her eagerness to leave. In fact, she was ready to leave earlier than I wanted as the restaurant where we were having lunch doesn’t open until 11:30. I stalled a little bit. She waited happily until I was ready.

We had a 1:30 appointment at Starbucks with a representative of TCU. He was in town meeting with alumni. By chance, I noticed him at Carla’s where we had lunch. He was wearing a TCU lapel pin. Kate was excited to meet someone from TCU, and we spoke briefly while he waited to see another graduate.

We went home. It was during that time that she spent time with her Mother’s Day cards that I mentioned in my previous post. She closed her eyes for about ten minutes. I feared it might be difficult for her to get up when it was time to leave, but she got up quickly.

The day before I had sent the TCU rep an email letting him know about Kate’s Alzheimer’s. I didn’t want to depend on slipping him a card if she did or said something he might think strange. As it turned out, that was a good thing. As we talked, she forgot he was from TCU. Something came up about his job with the university. She was excited to learn (once again) that he worked there. He showed us pictures of his family and told us the names of his wife and three children. It wasn’t long after that when Kate asked his wife’s name again. That would probably gone unnoticed if she hadn’t asked his wife’s name three or four other times after that.

After I had ordered drinks for Kate and me, she whispered in my ear “How am I related to you?” I said, “I am your husband.” She said, “I was hoping you would say that.” During our meeting, she was very talkative and, for the most part, what she said was accurate. I believe it was knowing his connection to TCU that sparked her enthusiasm. We chatted for an hour, and I believe she talked at least as much as I did. I think she may have talked more. I deliberately held back a number of times to let her say what she had on her mind. I love seeing her when she is so enthusiastic.

She remained cheerful the balance of the day. She has seemed more childlike in the past few days. That was definitely so yesterday. That is sad as I know that is another sign of change. On the other hand, it is good to see her happy.

She commented on death a couple of times yesterday. One occurred as we walked from the car to the hair salon where she got a shampoo. I don’t remember what she said, but it started with “When I’m gone, I want you to . . .” I think I was so taken by the way she said it that I blanked on what she wanted me to do. During our meeting with the TCU rep, she said, “We all have to die. We might as well accept that.” It didn’t seem to fit in context with what we were talking about. I believe I may be overly sensitive about her recognition that something is wrong with her. When she talks about death, it makes me wonder if that is prompted by that recognition. Since she can’t remember things for very long, I doubt it. At the same time, her intuitive abilities are still sharp. Maybe she subconsciously senses she will go before me.

After dinner, we watched a YouTube video of a PROMS concert of music by Rodgers and Hammerstein. It was a good way to finish a very good day.

I hope today will be as good. She was up at 2:00 this morning and seemed rather clear-headed for that time of morning. She even called me by name a couple of times. As I walked her back to bed, she said, “Thank you. I really appreciate all that you do for me.” I said, “I do it because I love you. We’re a team. We always will be.” She agreed and said, “We’ll get through this.” That is something she says periodically. On several occasions, I have asked her what she meant. She said, “You know.” But I don’t. Could it mean her Alzheimer’s?

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More Confusion and Confusion

Shortly after midnight last night, Kate and I had what was almost a replay of a conversation we had yesterday morning. I had gotten up to go to the bathroom. When I got back in bed, I noticed that she was awake. She said, “Where are we?” That began another conversation that lasted until 1:35. She said she didn’t know anything. As I had done the night before, I said, “That must be scary.” She said, “Very.” From there I gave her my name and hers and our relationship. I followed that by lots of the same family information I had given the last time.

Several times she said, “I don’t understand why this is happening.” I told her I didn’t either but that it had happened other times and that she improved as we talked about our lives and family. This conversation was unusual in that she was able to grasp the change in her memory (or the way she felt) as I fed her information. At one point, I asked if I was overwhelming her. She said, “No, I can tell it’s helping.” She suggested that she was remembering a few things and that made her optimistic that her memory would come back. It’s been close to a year since she had her first experience like this.

At that time, it brought about a more intense emotional response. I described it as a “panic” or “anxiety” attack. This morning’s experience was not nearly as intense, but it had an element I had not heard since last summer. She made reference to her doctor’s telling her she might get better. She said the doctor also indicated that she might not. Nonetheless, she was encouraged last night. She also talked about the support she had received from friends. This time, however, she mentioned that her memory might not come back “all the way.” I told her no matter what I would be with her to help. We both said that whatever happens, we would deal with the situation, that we were good at adapting.

The conversation ended when she said, “I think I’ll go back to sleep now.” I asked if she felt relaxed. She said she did. The crisis was over. What is lingering in my mind now is that she seems to grasp that she has something that she won’t be able to conquer. She may improve, but the problem won’t go away. Once again, her intuitive thought processes are working. She doesn’t have a name for it or understand a way to beat it, but she knows something is wrong.

Just before 9:00 this morning, I saw on the video cam that she was starting to sit up in bed. I went to her. She smiled, and I walked over to the bed and sat down beside her. I was expecting that she would be back to normal again. She wasn’t. She was just as confused as she was earlier this morning. The difference was that she wasn’t in the mood to talk about what she was experiencing. She kept saying (not in rapid succession), “I don’t know what to do.” I asked if she would like to go to the bathroom. She asked why. I told her that she usually wanted to go to the bathroom when she woke up about this time. She repeated that she didn’t know what to do. I tried the same approach that had been successful in our two previous midnight conversations. She didn’t seem to pay attention. I think she was still tired and wanted to go back to sleep. I asked if she would like to see some pictures of her family. She didn’t, but I showed her a wedding photo of our daughter and brought in the “Big Sister” album to the the cover photo. She responded with a smile when she saw it, but she wasn’t ready to look at anything else. I asked if she wanted to rest a while longer. She nodded. I asked if she would like me to stay in the room with her. She did. That’s where I am right now. She opened her eyes a few minutes ago but is asleep again. We have a 12:30 reservation for lunch. I think I’ll let her sleep until 11:00 or 11:30 before waking her unless she gets up on her own.

I don’t like all the signs I have seen over the past week or two. This isn’t a change for the better.

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Midnight and Early Morning Conversations

I’m always trying to guess what is going on his Kate’s head. Sometimes I think I have a pretty good idea. Many times, I don’t. Between midnight and 7:00 this morning we had two very different conversations. I don’t know what prompted the first one. I think I understand the second.

Just after midnight, I felt Kate move and looked over. She looked at me. Then she said, “I want you to know how much I love you.” I said, “And I love you too.” Then she said, “If I were to die today, I would . . .” She couldn’t think of the words she wanted to say. I said, “You would be grateful for all the time we had together.”  She said, “Yes, I love you so much.”

That began what must have been a 15-minute conversation in which each of us expressed how thankful we are that we found each other. It’s been a while, but she used to say, “What were the chances that a South Florida boy would end up with a Texas girl?” We often talk about the choice that each of us made to attend TCU. That decision made it possible.

At least three times in our brief conversation she repeated what she had said at the start. “I want you to know how much I love you.” and “If I were to die today . . .” Each time I filled in the last part of her sentence.

We talk about death once and a while. She often says, “We’re all going to die. It’s just part of life.” In all the other times, I knew why she was prompted to comment on dying. This time it came out of the blue. The only thing I know is that she is aware that something is wrong with her. She is having more experiences in which she is concerned about not knowing who she is, where she is, or what is going on. Was she having one of those experiences? It didn’t sound like it. She was talking to me as though she knew exactly who we are and was grateful. It does make me wonder, however, if the experiences of confusion she is having are beginning to make her think she might be dying. I don’t know, but I will be more conscious of any other signs that might suggest that.

I woke up at 5:45 and was about to get up when I heard a whimpering sound from Kate. I told her I was about to get up but wondered if she was all right. She said, “I don’t know. I don’t know where I am or why I am here.” I told her I could help her. She said, “I’m glad you’re here. I’m confused.” I said, “That must be scary.” She said it was. Then I said, “You are Kate Creighton.” She said, “Who are you?” I told her, and she repeated, “I’m glad you’re here.” I told her we had some photo books I could show her and that they would probably help her. She said, “Just talk to me,” and I did.

I put my arm around her and for the next hour told her about her parents, where she was born, our courtship, our marriage, and our children and grandchildren. At one point, I must have started to dose off. She said, “Keep talking.” At 6:50, she seemed relaxed. I said, “Are you all right. I was thinking about getting up.” She said, “I’m fine.” I got up, and she went back to sleep.

I hate for her to have these experiences, but I am glad that it is possible to comfort her when they happen. I really didn’t do much at all. I simply talked to her slowly in a comforting voice and gave her information that stimulated her intuitive thought processes. I am sure she didn’t remember any of it after I told her, but she felt safe and secure.

This is another good example of the intersection of rational and intuitive thought processes. She began the conversation with little or no rational knowledge but an intuitive sense that she should. My providing the knowledge didn’t change what she knows. It did change how she feels.

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Mood and Conversation

In my previous post I commented on Kate’s less-than-cheerful mood and a change in her conversation. She just hasn’t been talkative lately. That changed yesterday. I wish I could remember exactly what she said, but I can’t. All I can tell you is a summary of what happened.

She was up about 7:30 and went to the bathroom. This was a day when she wanted to express her independence. She didn’t want my help. I walked her to the bathroom. Then I went back to the kitchen where I could watch on the video cam to see when she had finished. After a while, I hadn’t seen her and wondered if she had come out without my noticing. Then I heard the shower. I was happy about that since she was due for one. I also knew that she would want to return to bed afterwards. That would give me a little time to take care of a few things I needed to do. It wasn’t too long before she was in bed again.

From past experience, I knew that she could easily sleep another couple of hours, but I kept checking the video cam. (In case you wondered, my iPad with the video sits to the right of my computer.) At 10:45, she had shown no sign of getting up. I went back to wake her. When I approached the bed, I saw that she was awake and asked if she would like me to take her to lunch. She gave me a confused looked as though she wasn’t sure who I was.

When I sat down on the bed, I said, “I’d like to take you to lunch.” She said, “Where are my clothes?” I always put them on the chair about three feet from her side of the bed, but she can’t remember. I pointed and told her where they were. Then she said, “What do I do now?” I told her she should get dressed. As I helped her into a sitting position, I noticed that she looked frightened. She said, “I sure am glad to see you.” On one or two other occasions, she has been awake but didn’t get up because she didn’t know what to do or where she was. I quickly assumed (correctly) that was what happened this time. She was shaking as she talked. She said, “I didn’t know what to do.” Then I felt terrible for not checking on her earlier, something I will watch more carefully in the future. I apologized and told her how bad I felt. When I did that, she immediately tried to ease my guilt. She said, “Well, it’s going to be all right now? <pause> Isn’t it?” I nodded, but she wanted me to be more affirming and again said, “Isn’t it?” I assured her it was. She still appeared to be shaken by the experience.

Unlike her earlier desire to assert her independence, she wanted me to guide her through every step she needed to take to get ready. She was too emotional to think straight about everything she needed to do. On a normal day she has difficulty, but the emotional experience she had had exacerbated the problem. Several times she reiterated how scared she had been.

On the way to, during, and after lunch she was quite talkative. While we were eating, we had a conversation similar to one I reported on a couple of weeks ago. The first one involved Christopher Columbus. She asked who he was. I tried not to get into anything too overwhelming for her to understand. She asked questions about everything. That meant it did get too complicated for her, but she was still eager to know more. I had to repeat just about everything two or three times without her ever getting it, but she was interested anyway. Somehow the conversation drifted to food that was in the New World and introduced into the Old. I Googled a list of such items and read them to her. She was like a little child discovering something she had never thought about. She couldn’t believe they didn’t always have things like potatoes or corn in Europe before then.

The next topic was World War II. She started this one when she brought up the topic of discrimination. I mentioned the Holocaust and Hitler. We didn’t get too far on that one because she got too emotional. She was both interested and shocked. She is more emotional now and starts to cry at both happy and sad things she hears about.

We got home a short time before the sitter arrived. I didn’t tell Kate that Mary was coming. I just let her in. Kate welcomed her. I told her I was going out for while. She said, “We’ll be fine.” Once again, I left with a good feeling. When I returned, they were sitting in the family room talking happily.

After Mary left, we went to dinner. When we returned home, we sat down in the family room. Ordinarily, I would watch the news while she works on her iPad. She had been in such a good mood that I didn’t want to break it by watching the news. I turned on a Barbra Streisand album as Kate started to open her iPad. The first song I selected was “Send in the Clowns.” It has always been a favorite of hers. Instead of working a puzzle, she put the iPad down and just listened. Then I to selected a number of others that I knew or thought she would like. We sat there together for an hour just enjoying the music. She loved it. I did as well, but the real treat was sharing such a happy moment together. I feel fortunate that we can have moments like these, especially this late in her disease.

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Not a Cheerful Day

Yesterday was a nice day, but Kate was not in a cheerful mood. That was most obvious in her conversation. It began first thing in the morning. She didn’t give me a smile when I went in to get her up. Although she didn’t ask, I am pretty sure that she didn’t recognize me as her husband. On the other hand, she wasn’t alarmed. She was more independent. She didn’t want my help when I gave her my hand to help her from the bed. She told me she could do it herself. As I walked her to the bathroom, she changed her mind and wanted to hold my hand. Once in the bathroom, she responded to me as someone she recognizes and trusts.

We had lunch at Casa Bella with one of our associate pastors and his wife. She has always been drawn to him, but she no longer remembers him or his wife. I reminded her of how much she enjoyed his preaching and teaching. It didn’t seem to ring a bell. The lunch went well. We enjoyed being with them. Kate talked very little. I don’t believe it related to her not remembering them. I think she was just not in a talkative mood yesterday.

Her “Big Sister” photo album was the hit of the day for her. She took it with her when we went to lunch but left it in the car. We came back to the house where she spent some time looking at it before and after our appointments for haircuts and again after dinner before working on her jigsaw puzzles.

She didn’t talk much going to and from our hair appointments or lunch and dinner. Neither did she say much while we eating last night. She didn’t seem depressed at all. She enjoyed herself. There were times when I talked to her and expected a response but didn’t get it. As I think about it now, she hasn’t been very talkative over the past week or so. This comes after a few weeks when she has been. I don’t have an explanation or even a guess as to why. It’s one of those many mysteries. I do know that I like it much more when we have conversations even if they are repeats of the same ones we always have.

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A Great Day with Kate’s Brother and His Wife

I am glad to report that yesterday’s visit with Ken and Virginia went very well. I have no idea how much of the time Kate recognized the two of them by name and/or relationship. What I know is that she enjoyed herself.

After the previous night in which she was confused about them, yesterday’s experience was a welcome one. Ken and Virginia came over about an hour before I woke Kate. When I got her up, I told her they were here and that we were going to take them to lunch. She was resting comfortably. I know she could have stayed in bed much longer, but she got up easily. When I brought her into the family room, I said, “Guess who’s here? Your brother Ken and Virginia.” They greeted her warmly, and we were off to a good start.

I had talked with Virginia about our going to the zoo after lunch. She and I both had mentioned that to Kate who responded negatively. That isn’t unusual except that her response seemed to be stronger this time. In the past, I have found that once we are there, she enjoys herself. I think it’s a good place for her because we do it leisurely, and she always finds things that are interesting. That happened again yesterday.

When we arrived, I suggested that they get out while I parked the car. Kate said, “Can’t I go with you?” That was the only indication of any insecurity I noticed the entire day. Instead of trying to take an overall tour, we went directly to the aquarium and reptile center. Kate especially enjoyed the fish. Then we went to see the Koalas and feed the Lorikeets. The latter is always a hit. Kate said she was hungry. We suggested getting ice cream which we did after leaving the Lorikeet exhibit. It was a perfect day for the zoo. Although it was windy, it was sunny and in the 70s. It was pleasant walking around as well as breaking for ice cream. From the zoo, we came home. Ken and Virginia went back to their hotel. Kate rested as well.

About an hour later, we went to dinner and then had some additional time for conversation at home. That turned out to be especially good for Kate. As people our age are prone to do, we reflected on our lives and the way we felt about the way life had turned out for us. That led to a longer conversation about our families, especially our parents. That opened the floodgates for Kate who has a strong admiration for her mother.

I doubt that any of the “facts” she told us were things that actually happened, but they did convey the truth about her feelings for her mother and herself. What she said was very self-revealing. She felt a need to live up to her mother’s reputation and found that intimidating. She told us that her mother and some of her mother’s friends had encouraged her to be her own person. She also talked about her own school achievements, especially academic ones. (These were true.) She didn’t say anything about her Alzheimer’s, but I am sure she has felt a loss of self-esteem. She often says things like “I’m smart, you know.” Or “I’m not stupid.” Indeed, she is not, but Alzheimer’s has altered brain in a way that makes it appear that she is.

I felt that this was a conversation that she couldn’t have had with anyone else. I’ll never know if she remembered their names or their relationship to her, but she clearly felt a kinship with Ken and Virginia. They listened to her and facilitated her conversation. They understood about living in her world. At one point, Ken said something about their father. Kate said, “My father did (or said) that too.” Ken started to explain that they had the same father and realized that was unimportant and let it pass. This kind of facilitation worked. Kate talked more than in a long time. I was happy for her to have such a receptive, understanding audience.

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Our Easter

Since our friend Ellen had her stroke almost four years ago, Easter has been a bit different for us. For years she hosted her church choir for lunch at her house. That is now a thing of the past, and we have replaced that custom by eating at a restaurant. That makes it pretty much the same as other days.

The day started slowly when Kate didn’t want to get up. That is the second time in the past three days. She insisted that I go without her, but I told her I didn’t feel comfortable leaving her. This comes at the same time she is beginning to rest a little more in the afternoon.

We went to lunch at a place that has an Easter buffet. That has become more difficult for her, but I seated her before going to the buffet to get her food. This required two trips as it is a bit cumbersome for me to maneuver two plates around the four or five different serving tables and then back to our own. In addition, it required me to leave Kate while I went to a separate room where the buffet was located. The meal was good, but I don’t think I will do this again. It is much easier to go where there is wait service.

Kate was in a good mood despite her not wanting to get up. That’s one of the good things about memory loss. She quickly forgets moments like this. As we were eating, she said, “What’s your name?” I said, “Richard Creighton.” She repeated it. Then I said “And I’m your husband.” She gave me a dirty look and said, “I know that.” A few minutes later, she asked, “Are  we married?” I said, “Yes.” She said, “I thought so.”

We went home after lunch. Kate said she wanted to rest and remained in bed for almost three hours. By then, it was close to dinner time. As we drove out of the driveway to the restaurant, she said, “I like this place, but I’m ready to go home.” I said, “It’s always nice to be at home.”

As we approached the restaurant, Kate said, “Are you married?” I said, “Are you?” She said, “No.” She said, “Are you?” I said, “Yes. I married a sweet gal named Kate Franklin.” Kate said, “So we are married?” I asked how she felt about that. She said she was fine. I said, “That’s good because we’ve been married a long time.” Since we were close to the restaurant, we didn’t pursue it further.

On the way back, she said, “What can I do when we get home?” For the first time, it struck me that she said “home.” I hadn’t thought about it before, but I usually feel that she doesn’t know where we are or where we are going. I think I am right most of the time, but we do go directly home after eating meals. That must be stored deep within her memory.  I suggested that we look at one of her photo books. She thought that was a good idea, and we spent well over an hour looking at one of her father’s family. She enjoyed every minute but was getting tired. We adjourned to the bedroom where she worked on her iPad until it was time to go to bed. I have had to encourage her to get to bed many nights lately, but that wasn’t necessary this time.

Even though she was in bed a good portion of the entire day, we enjoyed ourselves. After we were in bed, we talked briefly about the day and agreed it had been a good one.

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The Fickle Nature of Memory

The other night at Casa Bella I saw a woman who has been a regular the entire time we have been going to their music nights. For the first time she was without her husband. I saw her afterward and asked about him. She told me he is now in memory care. I was surprised. I’ve seen him about once a month for the past four or five years. How could I have missed that?

By now, I should know. It’s not really hard at all. Even at this late stage, Kate can get along quite well in short-term social encounters without anyone’s suspecting. The nature of most social interactions is so superficial that it’s easy to miss a “disability” that has so little or no visible signs.

As Kate’s husband, I have far more opportunity to observe the many signs that others can’t see. That makes me think of something that can be hard for others to understand. That is the surprising way in which she can switch from “knowing” to “not knowing.” One of the best examples is the issue of her “knowing” me. In a couple of months it will be a year since she first asked my name. It would easy to think that she had “forgotten” my name, that it was completey forgotten it. That wasn’t so, and it isn’t so with other memory problems.

All of us have similar experiences. We forget one moment, but we remember in another. We don’t think much about it. I believe that is why people don’t ordinarily think they may have dementia in the early stages. As time passes, the memory problems become more frequent and enduring. That’s when they take on new meaning, especially for the person herself and those close to her.

My experience with Kate has made me realize how little I knew about my mother’s dementia. I was with her a lot, but not nearly enough to understand the full extent of her problems. My father said very little. That meant I was largely ignorant of what was really going on.

Living with Alzheimer’s through Kate has opened my eyes to many things. One of those is how memory comes and goes although the trajectory is always in the direction of less ability to remember. Kate is at a stage when her memory doesn’t usually last more than a few seconds. Even then, her memory is inconsistent. What I mean is that at one moment she can remember a name. In another, she forgets it, and quickly thereafter remembers again.

Last night she put down her iPad. Suspecting that she might have gotten frustrated with it, I asked if she would like to look at one of her family photo albums. She liked the idea, and I brought her the “Big Sister Album.”

As I handed it to her, she noticed the cover photo of her and her brother. She loves that photo and almost always comments on their smiles. This time she didn’t say anything. She took a moment to look at it. Many times she recognizes both children. Other times she doesn’t. She said, “Is that me?” I told her it was. She pointed to her brother and said, “Who’s that?” I told her it was her brother Ken. Then she looked at the photo more carefully and did comment on the smiles. She was hooked.

I was about to take a shower and thought this would occupy her until I got out. I discovered, however, that she had difficulty reading the text and couldn’t recognize her family. She wanted me to help her. It wasn’t a complete failure to recognize her parents, her brother, or grandmother. Sometimes she did. Sometimes she didn’t. That could relate to the photos themselves. Some are sharper than others, and sometimes people can look a little different from different angles or when they are in different contexts.

In this case, I don’t know exactly why. I do know that her vision is affected by her Alzheimer’s. I also suspect that her memory of faces is becoming more limited as well. I also know that the loss of her rational ability prevents her from making connections that would help her guess the people in many of the photos. You and I would understand that the odds are pretty high that they would be of her parents, her grandmother, her brother, or herself. She doesn’t appear to recognize that.

I did get in a quick shower, but we spent about forty minutes going through the album. I recorded about five minutes of that time. Here are a few examples.

Richard:        “That is your Nana, and look who she’s with.”

Kate:              “Me.”

Richard:        (Pointing to Ken) “Who else is there?”

Kate:              “And who’s that?”

Richard:        “That’s Ken.”

Kate:              (Very excited.) “That’s Ken? My brother.”

Richard:        “Yes, your brother.”

Kate:              (Chuckles with excitement like a little child)

Richard:        “Now who do you think these three are?”

Kate:              “I don’t know.”

Richard:        “Those are you.”

Kate:              (pointing) “That’s me?”

Richard:        “Each one of those is you.”

Kate:              “That one too?”

Richard:        “That’s you on a tricycle.”

A Page Later

Kate:              “Oooh. That’s wonderful.”

Richard:        “Who do you think those people are?”

Kate:              “My daddy and me. . . Look each one is happy, especially me.”

We moved further through the book. We saw many more pictures of her father and her mother. Early on, she asked me their names. Each time she would repeat them. Sometimes the very next picture was her father. She would say, “Who’s that?” I would tell her, and she would ask, “What’s his name?” I would tell her, and we would go to the next picture and repeat the same questions. Not always, but sometimes. It makes me wonder what triggers memory and what causes it to disappear as rapidly as it appeared. That’s something I’ll probably never know.

I see these kind of things a good portion of every day. The servers we see in restaurants or the friends we bump into or almost anyone else we encounter on a daily basis would never know. In fact, there is much I don’t know myself. For example, I wonder how long Kate was struggling with my name before she finally asked me. I suspect she might have had some hesitation the first time. Now it is as natural to ask her name or mine as breathing air.

I believe there is something else captured in the conversation above. That is how happy she is. It is obviously saddening to see her stumble over names, but the excitement she experiences as she goes through her album offsets the sadness. I hope she is able to maintain this spirit for a long time. I know that I’m going to do everything I can to help.

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Brief Conversation This Morning

Kate had just returned from the bathroom and got into bed. I pulled the covers over her and kissed her on the cheek. That led to the following conversation.

Richard:        “I love you.”

Kate:             “I love you too. <pause> And I don’t even know who you are.”

Richard:        “I’m Richard Creighton, and I’m your husband.”

Kate:              “What?”

Richard:        “I’m your husband. What do you think of that?”

Kate didn’t say anything. She just smiled and closed her eyes. I’ll take that as a positive sign.

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Growing Confusion

I can’t say that I am observing any new symptoms of Kate’s Alzheimer’s; however, I sense that she is sinking deeper into confusion. The things I report below may sound familiar to you. Just try to imagine that the way she looks and the way she says things suggest something more serious than before.

One of those things is a more consistent failure to realize she is at home. She is routinely ready to take her toothbrush and toothpaste whenever we leave the house. I think she believes we are leaving a hotel. It is becoming commonplace for her to ask where we are when she wakes up.

It also involves an increase in the frequency with which she doesn’t know I am her husband as well as the length of time it takes for her to accept that I am. As we walked from the car to the restaurant for lunch day before yesterday, she said, “Who are you?” I said, “Richard Creighton.” She said, “I know that. Who are you?” I said, “I’m your husband.” She said, “Oh.” There was no other indication of surprise, uneasiness, or enthusiasm. She got the information she wanted and accepted it. While we were eating, she said, “Are you the owner of this place?” I don’t think I have mentioned this before, but she often attributes things to me with which I have no connection. The most common one occurs when we are listening to music in the car. She often says, “Is that you singing?”

At lunch yesterday, she asked my name and then hers. Then she asked, “Who are you?” When I told her, she didn’t believe me. I decided to tell her about our first date and our courtship while I was working at the funeral home. As I recited these experiences she began recognize them. Then I told her we would celebrate our fifty-sixth anniversary next month. I don’t mean to suggest that all her memories came back. It was just enough for her to accept that we are married. Then she asked if we have children.

She is much needier now. She is comfortable with Mary, our sitter; however, when I arrived home that same afternoon, Kate was especially glad to see me. She asked where we were and wanted to get away. She was was relieved when I told her we were at home. I don’t think she feels as comfortable asking Mary where she is.

On the way to dinner that night, she told me she really needs me. She has said this many times before, but it seems different now. Her facial and vocal expressions convey a greater need than the way she used to say it.

The other night after dinner, she wanted to know what to do. This, too, is becoming more common. I told her she could work on puzzles while I watched the news. She did that for almost an hour. Then she got frustrated. I suggested she look at her “Big Sister” photo album. She did for a while but stopped when I put on a DVD of Les Miserables.

Last night as we walked along the sidewalk to Casa Bella, she said something nice that prompted me to remind her that we have been together a long time. She asked how long. I told her almost 56 years since our wedding. She gave me a funny look and said, “Whose wedding?” I repeated that it was ours. She said, “No. You shouldn’t even joke about that.” This time I didn’t try to convince her as I did earlier at lunch.

There are lots of little things that suggest her increasing dependence. One of those is wanting to hold my hand more often than in the past. She frequently says, “I don’t need to, but I feel better.” She also wants my hand to help her in and out of the car and accepts my help buckling her seat belt. During dinner last night, she repeatedly asked me if her iced tea and water was hers. This is not new, but it is more frequent now. She is unsure of what is hers and what is someone else’s. She recognizes that she makes mistakes and doesn’t want to drink one that belongs to another person.

I have been eager to celebrate the many good times we’ve had since Kate’s diagnosis. I’ve also tried to be honest about the problems we have faced. We still have many good moments, but there is no escaping what lies ahead. It saddens me deeply to watch her slowly drift away like this, but I am heartened by hearing from others about precious moments with their loved ones who are farther along on this journey than Kate. In addition, I feel a greater resolve to make the rest of her life as fulfilling as I can.