Posted on

Insecure, Confused, but Happy and Appreciative

It would be quite an understatement to say that Kate is changing more now than at any other time since her diagnosis. Day before yesterday was a good example. Just as I have been adapting to her getting up late, she has surprised me several times over the past week. That morning she was up at 7:30. That’s at least three hours earlier than when I usually begin to wake her. It was also a day when she seemed comfortable with her surroundings. She acted like she knew I was her husband but didn’t. She was very dependent. She wanted my directions on almost every step from getting out of bed to where to go when I got her dressed. She was eager to have a shower, something I was happy about. She often resists.

We made it to Panera before 9:00 where she worked happily on her iPad an hour. Then I noticed that she was not working her puzzles, just sitting and looking a little discouraged. It was obvious she was frustrated. When I looked at what she had done, she had completed all but two pieces and couldn’t figure out where they went. I showed her, but she couldn’t understand. I put them in place for her. I felt sure that she was tired from having gotten up so early. It was early for lunch, but I decided it would be better than going home where she might nap and then have a hard time getting up.

She was quiet on the way to the restaurant. As I was helping her out of the car, she said, “I want to thank you. I feel better.” I told her I didn’t think I had done anything special but that I want to do anything I can to help her. She looked at me very seriously and said, “You do. You have no idea how much.” I am still not entirely sure what she was thinking about. It might have been the way I responded to her when she was frustrated over her puzzle. It could also have been that she imagined something as we were driving to the restaurant. As we walked to the entrance, she stopped as she always does to look and comment on the flowers just outside the door. When our server greeted her and asked her how she was doing, Kate said, “I’m doing much better now.” That’s exactly how it seemed. She was fine the rest of the day.

Eating early allowed us to get back with plenty of time before the sitter. I felt sure she would immediately head to the sofa for a nap. Instead she started working a puzzle on her iPad and continued until just before the sitter arrived. Then she decided to rest on the sofa. That’s where she was when Mary came. She greeted Mary with enthusiasm. When I told her I was leaving for my platelet donation, she smiled and said goodbye. She didn’t look at all unhappy to see me go.

When I returned, she was seated on the sofa looking at a photo book. She said, “We need you.” I took note of the fact that she said “we” and not “I.” Then Mary told me that she had not napped and explained that Kate had wanted to go outside. She stooped down to look at something in the yard or near a shrub, lost her balance, and couldn’t get up. Mary helped her but said it was difficult. I know what she means. I find that it is getting a bit challenging to get her into a sitting position when she is lying on the bed.

From what Mary told me, Kate had been a little upset and confused, but she was calm when I got home. The only problem then was that she was hot from being outside. I got out a small floor fan and used it to cool her off. Fifteen minutes later, she was fine again and ready for dinner.

At dinner we encountered something that is becoming a regular part of our dining experience now. She has difficulty knowing where she should sit. I always walk to her chair and pull it out from the table. I use my hand to direct her to the seat and say something like, “Sit right here.” Almost without exception, she interprets that as my chair and goes to the chair across the table from me. Sometimes I accept the chair she has chosen. When I have a specific reason for choosing a different chair, I may simply take her hand and guide her to the chair I selected. This, and the fact that she is very careful as she takes her seat, means that it takes longer for us to be seated than most hostesses are prepared for. Most of them seemed to be trained to remain at the table until you are seated. Of course, since we are regulars at all the places we visit, the hostesses are well aware of Kate’s diagnosis and are very understanding.

During dinner, Kate talked a good bit about what I do for her and how much she appreciated that. I told her our son was coming for a visit the next day. During our conversation, we spoke very naturally about our marriage. She commented on how happy we had been and then said, “What’s your name?” I told her, and she asked her own name. I am still amazed at how casually she does this. It’s the kind of experience that is both happy and sad. I am happy that she doesn’t seem frustrated, but it is also sad that she can’t remember. It makes me think about all the things she must not know if she is forgetting her own name and mine. What is it like to look around and not know who or what anything is? The good thing is that she still responds intuitively to people and things around her and still likes so many things. She continues to get pleasure out of life. That is something that may be hard for people without dementia to understand.

Later that night when we were in bed, she mentioned how good she feels when she is in Texas. I could tell by the way she said it that she thought she was in Texas at that moment. I didn’t say anything to dissuade her. She was happy. That’s a good way to end the day.

Posted on

Our Conversation This Morning

At 6:30 this morning as I was finishing up in the bathroom, I heard Kate say, “Hey.” I went to her bedside and asked if there were something I could do for her.

Kate:              “I want to go to the bathroom.”

Richard:        “I can help you with that.”

Kate:              “Where is it?”

Richard:        “Let me help you up, and I’ll show you.”

When she stood up, I took her hand.

Kate:              “Boy, am I glad you’re here.”

Richard:        “I’m glad to be here with you.”

As we reached the bathroom, she wanted to shed her overnight underwear.

Kate:              “This is no fun. I know it’s not for you either.”

When she finished, she went to the sink to wash her hands and brush her teeth. Then the conversation continued.

Kate:              “Richard, I’m so glad you are here. You take such good care of me.” (We embraced) “I wouldn’t know what to do without you.”

Richard:        “And I don’t know what I would do without you.”

Kate:              “What’s your name?”

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

Kate:              “Oh. What do I do now?”

Richard:        “It’s still early. You can go back to sleep if you want.”

She did, and we walked hand in hand back to bed.

Kate:              “Thank you. You know I can’t live without you.”

Richard:        “I love you and will always take care of you.”

Kate:              “You already are.”

During our entire conversation, she never displayed any sign of anxiety or panic. She was, however, feeling insecure and grateful for my help. The way she acted it sounded like a rather clear understanding that she has a serious problem and views me as someone she can trust to care for her. We talk about our love for each other all the time, but in this moment it seemed that each of us fully recognized our situation for what it is.

Posted on

A Happy Moment This Morning

For the second day in a row Kate was up early. Yesterday she was ready to get up around 9:00. Today it was only 7:30. This was one of those mornings she clearly did not realize she was in her own home or my name or relationship. Perhaps because she didn’t know who I was, she wasn’t quite as eager to have my help. Several times when I tried to help, she said (in an unflattering way), “You think you know how to do everything.”

She started warming up to me as I helped her dress. Entering the family room provided the catalyst she needed to feel better about the day. I walked with her around the room as we looked at the flowers inside and out. I told her I wanted to show her something and walked her to a photo of our son when he was about eight. She always loves this picture. Today was no exception. When she asked who he was, I told her he was our son. She reacted to the word “our” and said, “No.” I said, “Well, he is your son.” That was better. I also showed her a picture of her father.

From there we went into the kitchen where I had set out her meds. After she had taken them, she noticed a card on the island and asked what it was. It was a card from her P.E.O. sisters. I had shown it to her last night, but she had forgotten. I read it to her along with the handwritten message inside. She was touched, and tears filled her eyes. She loved the beauty of the cover page that had three hearts on it as well as the tender message itself and asked if she could take it with us. I told her that would be fine. It was still a few minutes before we left, but she held the card in her hand and admired it. She asked several other times if she could take it with us.

Once we were in the car, she held it against her breast and said, “I’m going to keep this forever.” She kept talking about how beautiful it was. As we walked from the car to Panera, she held it carefully in her hand and told me once again how much she liked it. I said, “I love you.” She said, “You know what I think. You’re a good guy, and I think I’ll learn to love you too.”

We took our table at Panera, and  she carefully placed the card standing upright so that she could look at it while eating her muffin and working on her iPad. A short time later she picked up the card and looked at it again. Knowing she wouldn’t be able to read the note, I asked if she would like me to read it for her. She did. When I read “Dear Kate,” she said, “How did they know my name?” I explained that she had been a member for many years and had served as president. She had no memory of that at all.

Incidentally, the blueberry muffin was also a big hit this morning. It was like this was the first time she had every had one. Thirty minutes after finishing it, she wanted something else. I asked if another muffin would be all right. She beamed. Thus far, the morning has been just another Happy Moment of many that she and I experience. She remembers very little, but she is not “suffering.”

Posted on

An Early and Cheerful Start to an Emotional Day

Kate got up on her own about 9:30 yesterday morning. She didn’t seem groggy at all and was quite cheerful. I took advantage of the occasion and got her to shower. That’s not something she usually wants to do, but she always likes it once she is under the water. As I helped her dry off, I joked that this must be like having her own personal spa service at home. She laughed and said, “That’s something I like about you. You have a sense of humor.”

Her good humor did not indicate a lack of confusion. As she was putting on her shoes, she pointed to the carpet and said something about her mother. I didn’t know what she was talking about, but it sounded like she saw her mother on the floor.  It turned out there was a white spec on the dark blue carpet that bothered her. I think this was one of those instances in which she just couldn’t think of the correct word. How she made a connection to her mother is a mystery.

Because she was up earlier than usual, we had a little time before we needed to leave for lunch. I decided to make use of the time by showing her pictures of her family. We began in the hallway outside our bedroom where we stopped to look at those of her grandmother and mother. I tell her the same stories each time. She is always surprised and interested. She almost always guesses that the picture of her mother is her own photo. That is not something limited to this particular picture but others that we see in her various family photo books.

As I talked about her mother, she became very emotional. She was, as usual, struck by her mother’s smile and her eyes. Despite her interest, I gave her more information than she could take in and said she thought we should move on. Then she did something I have not seen her do before. She said goodbye, touched her fingers to her lips, and placed them on her mother’s face. Her feelings for her mother are even more intense now than ever. I got the sense that she thought we were in her family’s home in Fort Worth. I guess she was thinking that we were leaving to return to Knoxville. She wanted to take the picture with us. I was about to tell her she could when she said, “Maybe this is a better place for it.” I agreed.

We still had another thirty minutes before we needed to leave, so I brought her to the family room where we looked at a photo of our daughter’s twins when they were six or seven. I suggested we sit on the sofa where I could show her the photo book of her mother’s family. She was immediately taken by it and was very emotional as I told her the names and read her the text that accompanied the photos. We didn’t get further than a few pages because she was getting too much information, and it was close to time for us to leave. She said something she has said a number of times before. As I was reading the text, she asked me to write this down so that she could have it for the album that she wants to make. It always seems strange to me that she wants me to write it down when it is already so nicely summarized in her books. Of course, I am looking at this as someone who does not have dementia.

Before leaving for lunch, she thanked me for bringing her here and commented on the many experiences we had had in this place. I am making this sound more straightforward than it really was. She couldn’t find the words she wanted. I guessed what she was trying to say, and she agreed with my interpretation.

Her emotions were obvious in several other ways at the house and the restaurant. I gave her a little mouthwash but didn’t tell her not to swallow it. I think this was a first for me, and, usually, she is insulted when I tell her. This time she swallowed it. Fortunately, it was not Listerine. She doesn’t like that and would have reacted strongly. This was a Colgate product that does not contain alcohol, so it didn’t bother her at all. When she swallowed it, I reflexively told her she shouldn’t do that. She responded emotionally with tears. This time because she had done something wrong. As with other things, she is also mindful of and very sensitive about doing the right thing. I think that is what is behind all of her questions when we are eating out. She doesn’t like to make mistakes but knows she makes a lot of them.

When we arrived at the restaurant, our server rushed over to give her a big hug. Kate was overcome with emotion and was teary all the way to the table. As we talked during our meal and in the car on the way home, she had teary moments as we talked about our marriage and children. In keeping with her growing insecurity, she expresses her expressions of appreciation for helping her. There is no question but what she recognizes she needs help and that I am the primary person who provides it.

She surprised me after lunch. She didn’t say anything about wanting to rest. She sat down with her iPad and started working jigsaw puzzles. She did need occasional help, but she worked three and a half hours without a break. She still showed no sign of wanting to rest. It was a high energy day which is very unusual. The battery on her iPad was exhausted before time for bed.

She was very talkative during and after dinner although I could not understand everything she said. In fact, I understood very little. When we adjourned to our bedroom for the day, she worked on her iPad, but her mind was on something else. The night before and last night at dinner it was clear that she thought we were having company at the house. It sounded like a big event. She had asked me if I had taken any pictures of the people the night before. I told her I would get them later. Last night she wanted to know if I had the camera ready. After a while, she asked if I had taken a picture of her. I told her I hadn’t but would be glad to do that “right now.” I picked up my phone and took it.

The one thing I could understand was her strong sense of insecurity as expressed in her exaggerated words of appreciation for me. I don’t ever recall a day in which she so frequently thanked me and expressed her feelings for me. At no time during the day did she act in the least way irritated with me.

All of her behaviors are indicative of how much she has changed over the past few weeks or months. Despite recognizing this change, I felt good about the day. She was unusually happy, and I was able to deal with her moments of insecurity. I find that I tend to be sad as I look to the future. “In the moment” I almost always feel good. The hardest thing for me to deal with is her moments of anxiety. Fortunately, they don’t occur often and are short-lived.

Posted on

A Successful Evening at Casa Bella with a Emotional Finale

Last night was Opera Thursday at Casa Bella. As I have said before, their music nights have been very important to us both from an entertainment standpoint as well as socially. Recently, however, I have been concerned because we often have six and sometimes eight people at our table. Large groups are difficult for Kate. She does much better when we are with one other couple. That has led me to think about the possibility of our moving to a table by ourselves. I haven’t mentioned that to the owner of the restaurant, and the last time we were there everything was fine. Last night was even better.

Our seating arrangement varies a little from night to night depending on the number of people at the table. The men have followed an unspoken rule that our wives sit on the side of the table facing the singers while we have our backs to them. I started to seat Kate where she sits most often. She asked where I was going to sit. I pointed to the seat across from hers and said, “I’ll be right there across from you.” She said, “I want you to sit beside me.” This is in keeping with her increasing insecurity and desire to be with me and to hold my hand. Not wanting to take the seat of the woman who would be joining us later, I helped her into the seat beside me on the other side of the table. That meant she couldn’t easily see the singers, I felt the priority was being closer together. That turned out to be a good thing for two reasons.

First, the son of the couple we always sit with was there. He took a seat at the end of the table with his mother on his right and Kate on his left. His father took the seat across from me. Although Kate can never remember the couple, she always feels comfortable with them. They are always able to put her at ease. This made for a good social experience for her.

The second reason the seating worked out well related to Kate’s response to the music. As I have noted a number of times, her emotions are exaggerated more than in the past. The music was especially good, and Kate responded accordingly. Most of the evening she didn’t respond audibly the way she sometimes does, but she was visibly moved.

The most dramatic moment came during the last song of the last set when they often sing a few ballads or showtunes. Last night they ended with “For Good” from Wicked. In the musical, this is a duet sung by Glinda and Elphaba who tell each other their lives have been changed for good by the other.

Although Kate has difficulty following conversations, I am often surprised when she responds to specific words or phrases in songs. She picks up far more than I expect. In this case, I believe she was moved by both the music and the lyrics. She began to whimper very soon and held my hand throughout the song. During the last couple of stanzas, she was moved even more. As the song ended, she put her head on my shoulder and her arm around my neck and broke into a cry. She wasn’t loud, but people nearby would have easily noticed. As we hugged, I saw a couple at the table beside us who were looking on. They are aware of Kate’s diagnosis and have been very compassionate in their response to her. When the program ended, they came over and gave her a hug.

For me it was also an emotional moment. I can’t know exactly what she was thinking. I do know that she recognizes she has “a problem” and that she needs me. I know she understands certain words and phrases from songs. Did she understand the words of the song and draw a connection to our relationship? Was she simply moved by the music and not the lyrics? I only know it was an very emotional moment.

Posted on

Does she know what lies ahead?

I don’t think I am alone among caregivers when I wonder exactly what Kate knows. By now I realize that she knows very little when it comes to her rational thought/abilities. Many times I have mentioned how often she can’t remember my name or our relationship. I take comfort in the fact that her intuitive thought/abilities are still working well. Through them she almost always recognizes me as someone very familiar and trusting.

For over a year, I have also realized that she no longer remembers that she has Alzheimer’s. At first, I wondered if I should tell her and, on one occasion, I did remind her. She hadn’t remembered, but she quickly forgot, and I haven’t said anything since. I haven’t see anything to be gained by it.

She has always recognized that she has problems and needs my help. It was only a year ago in July that she began to experience anxiety or panic over moments when she didn’t seem to know anything – where she was, who she is, who she was with. Within the past few weeks, I have sensed that she might believe that her problems were of a more serious nature, not just a periodic lapse of memory. Over the past week or two, she has said and done things that lead me to think that she knows she is declining and is afraid of what lies ahead.

Sometime in the past day and again today at lunch I felt strongly that she recognizes that through her intuitive thought. She was awake when I went to get her up for lunch. She didn’t seem frightened, but she was uneasy and insecure. She was especially eager for me to help her with everything. That follows signs of increasing insecurity and appreciation for my helping her during recent weeks.

At lunch, I said something about her mother and father. She wanted to know their names and something about them. When I said that her father was one of eight children, she said, “I know why.” I said, “Why?” She said, “Because in those days, they needed more children.” I was surprised that she came up with this and said, “You know, you are smart.” She beamed and said, “I think so too.” It was as though she was relieved to have me say that. Off and on she has said she is smart, but that has been more frequent recently. I have felt she was trying to convince herself that is true. It would be easy to think she is not given how poor her memory is and how little she is able to do.

During our conversation, she stopped and said, “I want to tell you something.” She looked very serious. I leaned closer to her. She said, “I know that you will always take care of me.” I said, “I will. You can count on that.” Her eyes filled with tears, and she said, “Thank you. I know you will.” I felt we were thinking similar thoughts about the future. There is no way I can be sure, but the look on her face made me think that.

I told her I loved her, and she said the same about me. We began to talk about our marriage, and I mentioned our children. She said, “Who are they?” I told her and she asked if I had a picture. I pulled out my phone and showed her pictures of Jesse and Kevin. She said, “Do you think they love us?” I said, “I know they do?” She choked back her tears.

In a few minutes, we got up to leave. She started whimpering and was loud enough that I saw people at two different tables look up. On the way to the exit she continued to cry softly. We stopped right there in the dining room and hugged for a moment and then went on.

I don’t know precisely what she is thinking, but she seems very concerned and doesn’t see a happy ending. I am glad she still knows that I will be with her all the way.

Posted on

Early Morning Conversation

Kate wanted to go to the bathroom just before 6:00 this morning. As I took her back to bed, she said, “You’re a nice guy. What’s your name?” I said, “Richard.” I helped her in the bed. She said, “I want to thank you. You’re a really nice guy.” I said, “That’s because you’re a really nice gal. I love you.” She said, “I love you too. We’re a good ‘two.’ (I think she meant team. That is something we often say.) <pause> What’s your name?” I said, “Richard.” She said, “What’s my name?”

No wonder I want to do the best I can for her. We love each other, and she needs me.

Posted on

Trying to Understand Kate’s Expressions of Her Feelings

Kate had another anxiety attack yesterday. This time it occurred in connection with a different kind of feeling. She wasn’t frightened by not having any memory. She was worried about being separated from me while the sitter was here. Here is the way the day unfolded.

We had a good morning. Unlike five other days in the past week, Kate showed no signs of anxiety at all. She wasn’t eager to get up for lunch, but she did so without any resistance. She was very comfortable with me. I like to think that she knew my name and relationship, but she didn’t say anything specific to confirm my suspicion. We had a nice lunch and were able to get back home in plenty of time to meet our sitter with ten minutes to spare. As I left, I told her I was going to the Y. She didn’t express any reservations about my leaving. She was tired and was resting on the sofa in the family room.

When I returned home almost four hours later, I encountered a very different situation. I heard Mary say, “There he is.” Kate said, “Where?” Then I walked into the room. Kate was seated on the sofa. She had a very worried look on her face. Mary said, “She’s been stressed.” When Kate saw me, she gave a big sigh of relief. I walked over to her. Even though she was relieved to see me, she remained upset. She said, “Are you my one?” She’s never referred to me that way, but I assumed that the word “husband” or “friend” wouldn’t come to her. I said, “I am your one.” She said, “I didn’t know where you were? I was worried.” She was more emotional than she had been when she experienced her attacks earlier in the week. I sat down beside her and tried to console her. She was appreciative, but it took her a long time to calm down. In fact, she repeatedly said, “I couldn’t imagine where you were. I knew you wouldn’t leave me.” It was thirty minutes later before she was calm again. I was surprised that she could retain a memory of her feelings for such a long time.

The rest of the evening was uneventful. As I have reflected on a number of recent experiences, I see a common thread. Her intuitive side is more “alive” now than in the past. Her feelings don’t seem to be different in kind than they were in the past, just more intense. I see that in her appreciation of music and beauty. It is very evident in her reaction to sudden noises, especially those that occur when we are in restaurants. The screams of babies and the noises of dishes as they are removed from tables by the wait staff cause her to make louder audible responses than ever before. She complains about the brightness of the sun when we walk from the parking lot into a restaurant and back again. She is bothered more than usual by the heat anytime she is outside. She is irritated by waiting. That happens at restaurants and also at the doctor’s office the other day. At several of our recent music nights at Casa Bella, she has been uneasy when seated at a table with more people than usual. She is also more easily irritated by things I say or do. She is very sensitive.

I am now connecting her anxiety attacks of this week as part of the same pattern. The loss of her rational abilities leaves her with only her feelings. While that is what provides her with a great deal of pleasure, it also brings with it a greater amount of pain than it would have in the past.

This is just one more thing that I didn’t fully anticipate. I have always tried to keep her safe and happy. This change is one that requires me to be more attentive to those things that are uncomfortable for her and minimize them as much as I can. I definitely need to work with her sitters to enlist their help when I am away from the house.

Posted on

Adapting to Change

Kate has made many changes since her diagnosis past 8 ½ years ago. They are happening more rapidly now, and they are the kind of changes that alter our social activity. Some of them are more difficult for me to accept than others. One of those is forgetting who I am. The first time I was aware of this change was a year and a half ago. At that time, I wrote about it in a post on February 22, 2018. I am copying a portion of that below.

Could she be forgetting my name?

After we ordered our lunch today, Kate looked across the table at me and asked, “What is your name?” I misunderstood her and thought she said “her name.” She said, “No, your name.” I made some lighthearted comment, and she said, “No, seriously, what is your name?” I said, “Richard,” and she said, “Creighton.” Then she asked if I had another name, and I gave her my middle name.

This is the second time in the past few weeks that she has asked my name. In each case, I first thought she was just playing games with me. My second thought was, “Could she really be forgetting my name?” Today it seemed clear that she might be doing just that. . . I know, of course, that there will be a time when she forgets my name and then forgets who I am. I am already witnessing that happen to close family members. I just hadn’t thought we could be approaching the time when her forgetting would include me. I’m not ready for this.

I wasn’t ready for that. Since that time, I have often reported on conversations similar to the one above. It has been obvious that forgetting my name and that I am her husband has become more common than in early 2018; however, my present emotional response is no longer the same as it was then. That may sound surprising to some who have not gone through this experience, but caregivers are always adapting to the changes experienced by their loved ones. Forgetting a spouse’s name and relationship is just one more.

When I first notice new things that Kate is doing or not doing, it becomes a new reminder of what lies ahead. Her recent difficulty working jigsaw puzzles on the iPad is a good example. That’s a big one because that has been her primary activity for the past two or three years. Her increasing dependence on me is another. With the passage of time, however, I become more accustomed the changes. I keep adapting to a new reality.

I am aided by the knowledge that she needs me. We have given ourselves to each other for over fifty-six years, but we have never experienced anything comparable to the way in which Alzheimer’s has taken away her ability to survive on her own. That brings about an overwhelming drive to make her as happy, safe, and comfortable as I can. That emotion tends to override any sadness that accompanies her changes.

In addition, Kate and I still enjoy life and each other even in moments when she doesn’t remember me. Yesterday she had an extended time during which she thought I was a friend, not her husband. That would have been shocking two years ago but is becoming more natural for me now.

It started when I got home to relieve the sitter. She had been resting on the sofa in the family room. There was something about the way she greeted me that made me think that she didn’t realize that I was her husband. When we talked after Cindy left, it became clear that my suspicions were correct. She didn’t ask who I was; therefore, I didn’t tell her my name or our relationship. She recognized me a someone she knows and was very comfortable with me. We enjoyed ourselves during dinner, but she didn’t say anything that made me think that she of me as anything but a good friend.

When we got home, I played YouTube videos of Pavarotti and The Three Tenors as well as Jonas Kaufmann. We both enjoyed the music. It was a nice way to end the day. Yet it still appeared she didn’t know me as her husband. That was confirmed when I got into bed. She was still awake, and I moved close to her. We talked about having a nice day. She was very comfortable. I couldn’t resist testing her and made a not-so-subtle comment about our being married. She laughed. I said, “You don’t think we are married?” Very confidently, she said, “No.” Thus we went to sleep without her ever knowing or acknowledging that we are married. That is the longest period of time she has not recognized our relationship. I had my arm around her for a short time after we got in bed. I released my arm when I turned onto my back. Then she grasped my hand and gave it a squeeze. I felt happy just to know that she still thinks we have a special relationship. I would have been very unhappy with that two years ago.

Posted on

A Good Day, But Not Without Confusion

At 7:45 yesterday morning, I heard Kate make a sound and went to the bedroom. She was awake and smiled at me when I entered the room. I sat down on the bed beside her. She was wide awake, not at all groggy. She was also in a cheerful mood. It was a great way to begin the day.

I assumed that she just wanted to get up to go to the bathroom, but I soon discovered that she was ready to start the day. As I helped her dress, she wanted to do as much as she could and said, “I’m smart you know.” That began a conversation in which she said that women are as smart as men. She questioned whether I believed that. I told her I did. She said, “Good. You gave the right answer.” She said, “Someday women are going to be doing the same things as men.” I told her there were already changes being made. I told her about the enrollment numbers of women in college and in several different fields like medicine, law, and business. She was surprised and pleased. This was not the first time she has brought up the topic of the roles of men and women and specifically the discrimination women have faced. It comes up periodically.

We got ready leisurely and arrived at Panera at 9:00. As we walked in, we stopped to talk with several friends who regularly come for coffee and conversation after morning mass. Because we don’t get to Panera very often, it was especially nice to visit with them. Kate was unusually chatty and funny. One of the men said something about himself. A woman seated a couple of seats from him quickly contradicted him. Kate said, “You must be his wife.” Then he said something to which Kate had a funny comeback. I wish I could remember what it was. It was the kind of thing you might expect from someone who jokes frequently. It was clever and so quick. We all laughed. It was especially funny coming from Kate since it was something unexpected. She didn’t sound at all like someone with dementia.

After an hour, she was ready for home. That didn’t surprise me. She had missed at least two hours of her normal sleep by getting up so early. I also expected she would rest when we returned home. That proved to be correct.

It was a day for the sitter and my day for the Y and to have coffee with my friend, Mark Harrington. We arrived home from lunch a few minutes before Mary arrived. She came in and greeted Kate while I brushed my teeth and got myself ready to leave.  When I told Kate I was leaving, she said, “You’re leaving?” This is now a common question, but she doesn’t seem as concerned as she often does. I told her I would be back. I left with a good feeling.

Upon my return home, Mary was seated in the family room. I usually expect to see Kate resting on the sofa, but she wasn’t in the room at all. Mary called to Kate to let her know I was home. She was in the back of the house. I assumed she had been resting in one of the other bedrooms, but Mary said that she had been up a while and had been walking through all the rooms in the house. She told me that she had also gone outside on the patio. Then Kate walked into the room and said, “Isn’t this a great room?” I recognized right away what was going on. For well over a year she has often thought our house belongs to somebody else and that we have been staying here. For most of the past two or three days, however, that sense has been almost constant. Her going from room to room yesterday reminded me of the one-hour “tour” she and I took of the house about a year ago when she didn’t recognize it as our home. We went to dinner right after Mary left. As we pulled out of the garage, Kate said, “Is this the first time you’ve been to my school?”

She did a little better on her iPad last night but still had problems. She didn’t get into the store as much because she asked for my help before hitting the button that takes her there. Although I spent as much time helping her, I felt better because she didn’t experience the frustration that she had the previous night. I am better able to take the demands on me to help her than I am to see her discouraged.

It was also a day when I felt she recognized me as her husband. I could be wrong. I never asked, but she never said anything to make me think she didn’t. On the way to lunch, she said, “I like you. I like being with you. I even love you.” She called me by name once in the afternoon. She also expressed her appreciation to me for being patient with her. This reminds me of something she said at lunch the other day. She had torn a paper napkin into three pieces and placed her glass of tea on one, her knife and fork on another, and her bread plate on the third. I said, “It looks like you’re all ready for your meal.” She said, “Thank you for being so understanding of all the funny little things I do.” I wonder, “Does she recognize these things really are unusual?” I would love to know all that is going on in her brain.