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Kate’s memory is fading quickly.

There is no way that I can measure the speed at which Kate’s recent decline in memory has occurred. I only know that she has changed more in the past two months than I can recall for any period since her diagnosis. It is no wonder that she has periodic attacks of anxiety. It’s harder to understand why she hasn’t had more.

Her sense of direction has always been poor, but her difficulty knowing where to go in the house has surprised me. I hadn’t really thought about this before. I guess I assumed she would be on autopilot in the house forever. To some extent, she still is. Yesterday, for example, she said, “Where is the bathroom?” I told her I would show her and walked her toward our bedroom. As we were leaving the family room, she turned and went into the guest bathroom. That is the one she has used most often. She must have recognized where she was the moment she walked out of the family room.

Earlier today at Panera, I asked someone I know at a nearby table to watch her a minute while I went next door to make an appointment for Kate to get her nails done. When I came back, she said, “What’s my name?” I gave her the full name, and she asked me to repeat it.

She got along well yesterday. I don’t mean that her memory was any better. I mean that she isn’t showing any sign of unusual worry or concern over her memory. I sat in the waiting area of the nail salon while she is finishing up. She  handled herself well with the person taking care of her. When I left her, there was a brief moment when she seemed to be concerned that I was leaving her. I told her I would be next door at Panera. On the whole, it is still amazing how well she gets along in brief social encounters.

Last night, we went to Casa Bella for Broadway night. We had another good evening, but it was a very challenging one for Kate. We sat at a larger table, and the entire crowd was noisy. There was absolutely no way that she could keep up with the conversation. At first, she tried. That required her asking others or me to repeat things just said. It didn’t take long before she just bowed out of the conversation.

When we got home, she walked to our bedroom without any problem. In a few minutes, I went to the bedroom. No lights were on. She was standing in the middle of the bedroom. She asked where she should go. I told her she could stay right there in the bedroom and that I would get a night gown for her. She went through the usual challenge of getting her clothes off and putting on her gown. Sequencing is a problem for those with dementia. Getting dressed or undressed involves sequencing. Now that I’m watching and helping her dress, I am getting a better understanding of this issue. I am beginning to help by telling her what to do at each step (take off your shoes, your socks, etc.).

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The way we think about our loved one’s behavior affects the way we respond to it

Sociologists look at all aspects of social behavior as components of social systems. When there is a change in one part, it has consequences for the others. We commonly hear naturalists who view the natural world in the same way. It’s easy to accept this point of view but not fully grasp its implications. For example, I am sure that quite a few people who lost power during Hurricane Florence found themselves saying, “So the power’s out. I think I’ll just . . .” only to realize that whatever they were going to do also depends on electricity. I know that every time I have the slightest injury to any part of my body, I discover how often I use that little finger, toe, etc. Little things really matter.

Over the course of Kate’s life with Alzheimer’s, l have encountered numerous instances of the importance of memory that I didn’t think of before. I am sure other caregivers encounter the same things day in and day out. One of the most common, and seemingly obvious, ones is to give instructions to a PWD with the expectation they will remember what you have told them. This is really easy to do for a long time after a diagnosis. I am sure one of the reasons is because the memory loss is not 100%. At first, Kate was still able to remember most things. As time has passed, she remembers less and less. Caregivers’ expectations don’t change as easily. On the whole, our loved ones continue to appear very normal, and we continue to treat them that way (as though they don’t have dementia). Thus, we often find ourselves frustrated when we should have understood it was our expectations that got us into trouble.

One of the most relevant examples for me right now is the tendency of caregivers to become frustrated when their loved ones ask the same questions over and over. We do this because we haven’t adjusted to the fact that they can’t remember the answers. When our loved ones change, we have to change the way we think. If not, we experience lots of frustration or irritation.

That takes me back almost eight years ago when Kate was diagnosed. Prior to that, I was pretty sure she had dementia, but I hadn’t fully changed my thinking. As a person with OCD tendencies, I found myself irritated by the disorder I saw in her behavior. The moment I heard the doctor tell us the results of her PET scan, I reinterpreted everything she was doing. That alone was worth our getting an official diagnosis. It made me a more understanding husband. That hasn’t meant that I haven’t been frustrated at times. It means that I understood why she was so disorderly and no longer blamed her. I knew she couldn’t help it. That lesson has served me well. Last night at dinner, Kate asked me at least five or six times where we were (the city). That was in addition to the approximately same number of times she asked the name of the restaurant. Each time she asked, I was able to respond as though it were the first time she asked without experiencing any frustration. I could only do that by fully recognizing that she can’t remember. Furthermore, she asks because she really wants to know. If I were in a city or restaurant whose name I didn’t know, it would seem quite reasonable to ask. I also realize that others may not be able to change their thinking so easily. I feel for them. That makes their lives so much more frustrating.

As Kate’s memory has gotten worse, I see new consequences of that loss. In particular, I am thinking of her memory of the various rooms in the house and the location of things in cabinets and drawers. I can’t know for sure what’s going on in her brain, but I’m very much aware of things that disturb my sense of order. For example, several times lately, I’ve noticed she has opened the drawers of my bedside table, taking out a few things, and leaving them on the table top. These are primarily catalogs and various cables and related electronic accessories. It has puzzled me as to why she was doing this. She had never done so before.

Since then, I’ve also noticed that she has been going through other cabinets, drawers, and closets in the house. It’s easy to notice because she never closes any of them. (That can be a problem for someone with OCD.) Yesterday was one of those days when she neglected the clothes I had picked out for her and made her own selections. I found that she had picked out three pair of socks, two pair of pants (but not a top) and taken them to the bathroom next door to our bedroom where she dropped them on the floor. (That’s the bathroom where she fell out of the shower the other day. I’m trying to steer her away from that one to our bath.) She had taken two towels off the towel racks and threw them on the floor as well as two others she had taken out of a cabinet. I took her clothes back to her room to put them up. When I did, I discovered all the cabinet doors were open in that bathroom.

All of a sudden it hit me. She’s not randomly opening drawers and cabinets. She doesn’t know where her clothes are and often doesn’t notice the clothes that I have picked out for her. That’s true even though I have carefully placed them on the chair next to her side of the bed. Now I see her behavior as quite logical. She’s looking everywhere that one could possibly put clothes. Sometimes it doesn’t take her long to find them. That’s when she opens fewer drawers. Other times it takes a lot of searching.

This also reminds me of something that seems to be getting increasing attention lately.  Most of us have heard that anger can be one of the symptoms displayed by someone with dementia. Some authorities say that is inaccurate, that anger and displays of aggression are not direct outgrowths of dementia at all. Instead, they suggest that the symptom is the PWD has misunderstood the situation. Thus, if we were to interpret the situation in the same way, we might think anger is a reasonable response.

I don’t pretend to be an authority on this matter at all, and, fortunately, haven’t had to deal with anger. I do believe, however, this is just one more example of how differently we might interpret and respond to the behavior of a person with dementia if we had a better understanding of the disease. All of us are in the learning stage, especially those who are dealing with a recent diagnosis.

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Another Difficult Moment

About 7:45 this morning, I went to the bedroom to check on Kate. I don’t know why. Knowing that she sleeps much later than that, I usually don’t check on her before 9:00 or 9:30. I am so glad I did. As I walked in, I could hear her whimpering. She has never been one to cry until the past few months during when she has experienced anxiety attacks and two recent moments when she was very sentimental. Those experiences immediately made me think about her anxiety over her memory loss. I am sure I was right.

I got in bed and held her. I asked what was wrong. At first, she didn’t say anything. She just continued to cry. She often has trouble expressing her feelings. I continued to hold her. A few minutes passed. Her cry became more than a whimper. I said, “You sound like you’re afraid. Are you afraid?” She held her head up and nodded. I said, “Life can be hard, can’t it?” Then I asked “What are you afraid of?” She said, “Losing you.” I said, “You could never lose me, I will always be with you.” Another few minutes passed. She continued to cry softly. Then she said, “I don’t even know who I am.” I told her and then told her about her parents and our children.

I have a wireless audio system that I can control with my phone. I pulled the phone out of my pocket and turned on an album of Russian sacred music. It is very peaceful. She said she liked it. I continued to hold her, and she slowly began to stop crying. Several times she said, “I don’t want to lose you.”

After a while, she said she would like to lie in bed a while. I told her I would get my computer and sit in my chair next to the bed. She rested another 45 minutes. Then she got up. She looked a little confused, but she wasn’t crying. I hope that she has already forgotten what had happened. I just wish I could keep this from happening again.

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Predicting the Future: Part 2

Since writing Part 1 the other day, I had a conversation with someone who asked what I planned to do in the long run with respect to Kate’s care. I told him that was a good question and gave him the following answer.

My desire has been and still is to keep her at home. There are several things that have influenced me to feel that way. First and foremost is the fact that three of our four parents remained at home. After Kate’s father had a stroke, he required round-the-clock care. Kate’s mother learned of someone who could move into their home and provide that care. Her father only lived four months after the stroke. That arrangement worked well. Her mother had a series of TIAs that led to vascular dementia. That also led to the need for 24/7 care. Through their mother’s friends, Kate and her brother, located someone who moved in with her and supervised three shifts of people who provided the needed care. After a year or two, the friend who had moved in to serve as a supervisor had her own health issues. That is when Kate and I brought her to Knoxville to live with us. She lived with us five years and three months with round-the-clock care provided by shifts of CNAs we engaged through an agency.

During this same period of time, my mother was diagnosed with dementia. My dad did not have the same financial resources as Kate’s parents, nor did he have the inclination to have help in their apartment. My brother and I tried any number of times to engage in-home care or to move them to an assisted living facility. Dad tried in-home care but didn’t like it. He ended up caring for my mother at home the entire time. The only help he did accept was an adult day care center. He dropped Mom off every Wednesday morning so that he could attend his Kiwanis meeting and shop for groceries. I regularly brought in meals the last year or two. Before that Dad shopped and cooked on his own. I have a new-found respect for him now. He said next to nothing about any problems he had taking care of her. I was able, however, to observe the toll it took on him. I was quite relieved to discover that he bounced back after her death. He even had a significant other who developed vascular dementia and cared for her until her death. Dad lived 11 years after my mom died and 4 years after his significant other died. He was quite a man and caregiver.

With that background, I was naturally inclined to keep Kate at home. If Dad could do it, I could as well. Besides we have long-term health insurance that will cover a large portion of the financial costs. Dad didn’t.

Since Kate’s diagnosis, I have learned much more about dementia and caregiving. I’ve read a lot of books written by caregivers. I have also followed several different forums for caregivers of PWD. It has also been almost 7 years and 8 months since the diagnosis. I’ve had vastly more personal experience as a caregiver than I had with our parents. All of that gives me a better grasp of the challenges to be faced than I did before. For quite a few reasons I have mentioned previously, I’ve had the good fortune of having a load that is  lighter than that of many people in my shoes.

That leads me to an important conclusion. I don’t believe there is one approach to caregiving that works for everyone. I believe that each caregiver has to assess the numerous ways to provide care. What are the pros and cons of care at home? Care at a facility of some type? Having a good idea of the options that are available will help the caregiver and family determine what is most desirable.

Then it is time to get practical. Do we have the financial resources available to have most or all of the options? (That rarely happens.) How well-suited am I to play the role of a hands-on caregiver? If I want to bring caregivers into the home, should I go through an agency or try to hire and manage caregivers? In either case, what kind of manager would I make? Am I ready to have people in the home 24 hours every day. What about my own family situation? What other responsibilities do I have? Am I employed now, or will I have to continue working to meet expenses?

Caregivers also need to be honest with themselves concerning their own personalities and those of the person needing care. Some people are natural caregivers. Others are not. Most of us fall somewhere in between. I continually ask myself the questions above. So where does that leave me? My desire has always been to keep Kate at home for the the entire time. Am I beginning to have reservations as she enters the final stages of her illness?

My current answer to those questions is that I am still optimistic about staying the course. Nothing new has happened to change my mind. On the other hand, I continue to keep all my options open. I do that because I don’t know what lies ahead. Kate has been very easy to care for up to now. Based on the experience with my mother and Kate’s mother who were also easy to care for, I believe Kate’s attitudes and behavior will continue to be very much like theirs. I should also add that I have never thought of providing all of her direct care myself. I have always intended to work through an agency who will provide 24/7 care. Thus, I am optimistic, but I believe I will always keep an open mind concerning what is best at the time.

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Confusion in the Evening

As we were driving home from dinner last night, Kate said, “Everything looks so different to me.” I wasn’t sure if she just didn’t recognize what she was seeing or if she thought she was in some other place than Knoxville. It wasn’t long before I discovered she was mixing up Knoxville and Fort Worth.

When we drove up to our house, she said, “I remember this house.” I said, “It’s been a nice place for us to live.” That made me think she knew that we were home, but I wasn’t sure. After we were inside, she said, “I’ll follow you.” This is becoming a pattern. She is definitely unsure of herself in the house, that is, unsure of which room is which and where she should go. I told her to follow me and walked into our family room. She said, “It looks so different now.” I said, “So you think it’s changed.” She said, “Oh, yes.” Then she said, “This is a nice room.” She looked around the room as though it were a house we had lived in years ago and said, “This is a nice house.” I agreed with her.

Then she asked me what she should do. I told her she could relax in the family room for a while if she wanted and that we might watch a little of Fiddler on the Roof later. That seemed to suit her. She took a seat in the family room and picked up her iPad. I went to our bathroom to prepare her meds for the week ahead. When I returned with her evening meds, I found that she was not working on jigsaw puzzles but looking at photos. Recently, she has been accidentally touching the photo app as opposed to the puzzle app. She wasn’t unhappy about it, but she said she was trying to find photos of TCU. There weren’t any on her iPad.

I sat down with her and did a Google search for the photos she wanted. We looked at some of the recent ones. The she wanted to see old photos. I found a few of those as well. When we had finished, she said, “Sometimes I wish we had gone to school here.” I said, “Do you mean at TCU?” She said yes. It was then that I understood that she was confusing Knoxville with Fort Worth. She thought we were in Texas. I told her we had met at TCU. Then she said how glad she was about that. It wasn’t long after that when she said something about our living in this house. Once again, it seemed like she was responding to some aspects of her surroundings as though she was in Fort Worth and others as though she knew she was in Knoxville. This is another example of the kind of things that don’t make sense to someone who doesn’t have dementia but seems quite all right to a PWD. The best way I can think of it is to compare it to dreams we sometimes have. It is not unusual at all for contradictory or impossible things to happen in the dreams of normal people. This kind of experience seems to invade the world of PWDs.

There are moments, however, when I will say something that causes her to see that she has done something strange. This afternoon, for example, before we left for dinner, she had gotten an old Time magazine, a container of deodorant, a brass knick knack that looks like a business card holder, and a ceramic coaster to take with her. As she did the other night, she saw a picture of our son and asked about bringing it and a picture of her father with her. I asked where she thought we were going. Then she put the things down and said, “I can just leave them here.” This was said without any anger or disappointment. When this happens, it appears that she recognizes that she must be doing something wrong and stops.

Before going to bed, we had two other instances of her not being able to find me in the house. That wasn’t because I was in an unusual place. In fact, I heard her call me.  “Richard, where are you?” I said, “I’m in the bedroom.” She didn’t come in. Then I heard her ask again. This time she found me. I think she had picked up the direction by the sound of my voice and not by knowing where the bedroom is. This kind of confusion is opening a whole new experience that I hadn’t really thought much about. I wonder how she will handle such things with the sitter. Kate may not want to ask her where she “should go” or do. I plan to let the sitter know that she is forgetting her way around the house.

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A Very Tender Moment for Both of Us

People who know each other well often find that they understand the thoughts and feelings of the other without the expression of words at all. Last night, Kate and I had what I believe is one of those experiences. We went to our regular pizza place for dinner. We normally go on Friday night, but we went to a more special place that night. It is a much more romantic place than where we have our pizza. The pizza place is something of a dive, a really down home place where they specialize in all the Italian comfort foods – lasagna, spaghetti and meatballs, baked zita, etc. There is nothing romantic about it, but that is where we had a very touching moment.

We took a seat in a booth on the side of the dining room near the back. At first, Kate was quiet, not saying a word. Then with a touch of sadness she reached her hand across the table to me. I took her hand in mine, and she said, “Thank you.” I said, “For what?” She answered, “For taking such good care of me. You’re a good man.” At that moment, tears welled up in her eyes and in mine. I said, “We’re both getting sentimental, aren’t we?” She nodded. We didn’t say another word. We were silent for a few minutes. Then we went ahead as though that moment hadn’t happened.

I can’t be sure of exactly what was going through her mind, but here is what I think. She thanks me frequently, but last night was different. I believe she recognizes the fact that her memory is getting weaker and that it’s not going to get better, only worse. I don’t believe she remembers that she has Alzheimer’s or even remembers what that is. She only knows she is not functioning the way she should. I believe she knows our lives will not be the same again. Even if that is not precisely what she intended, I interpret her words as a way of saying goodbye.

Will I ever know what she was really communicating? Probably not, but it made me think of an experience our TCU friends Nancy and Charlie Hardwick had a few weeks before he died. He had shown signs of dementia a year or two before Kate. He looked up from his bed into Nancy’s eyes and said, “You know I’m dying, don’t you?” She did know, but she was surprised at his clarity in recognizing it himself.

I doubt that Kate goes so far as to see her present condition as a step in the dying process, but I believe she is coming to the conclusion that she won’t get better and is grateful that I am committed to caring for her whatever lies ahead. What makes me believe this? There are several things.

First, is that she has previously conveyed her awareness of her memory loss. Though it doesn’t happen often, she even says things like, “I don’t know what’s wrong with me?”  Second, she not only recognizes that she has a problem, she works hard every day to remember my name, the names of our children and grandchildren, what city we live in, the names of the restaurants we visit. She tries, often unsuccessfully, to repeat them as if she were trying to imprint them in her brain. She obviously cares. Third, although not all the time, she is bothered by her memory problem. Her two or three anxiety attacks have been ample evidence for me. Fourth, she frequently demonstrates an ability to correctly read what is happening around her. She understands matters of life and death and suffering. She is very responsive to news reports. While she can’t grasp the explanations of news, she frequently exhibits the appropriate emotional responses to them.

Finally, the emotional way in which she expressed her appreciation last night communicates that her sense of what is happening is far deeper than a casual instance of having a problem with one of her jigsaw puzzles and my helping her solve it. She knows she has a serious problem.

It wasn’t very long ago that I thought she would simply drift away without suffering any anguish over her illness. That is clearly not true. Now I am asking “How long will this last?” I really don’t want to see her enter the next stage, but I don’t like seeing her suffer.

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More Confusion

Today Kate has been in a very good humor but continues to display much confusion. That was evident first thing this morning. I always close the door from the back of the house to our family room when I leave the bedroom each morning. That way I don’t have to worry about the radio or my music waking her. I was in the kitchen when I heard her open the door. I looked up to see her poke her head out. Then she turned around and went back to our bedroom. I walked to the bedroom and found that she had walked over to the bathroom door. She always closes it when she leaves. She didn’t walk it. She looked in and turned around and called my name. I said, “Here I am.” She said, “I was worried. I didn’t know where you were.” (By the way, that is usually my line.) I told her I didn’t mean to hide from her, that I was in the kitchen. It struck me that the house is becoming much less familiar that she didn’t know where to look for me. She had probably looked in the other bedrooms and then quickly glanced at the family room without remembering that I am usually in the kitchen until she gets up.

That thought was reinforced when we got home after lunch. She just stopped as we walked into the family room and asked me where she should go. I suggested that she take a few minutes to brush her teeth and then meet me in the family room where we could relax for a while. I led her from the family room and told her she could brush her teeth in our bathroom or the one with the guest room. She chose the latter, a frequent choice.

Once she was settled in her chair, I put on some music I knew she would enjoy and returned a phone call to a friend in New York. It is a little windy today, and she enjoyed looking out the back at the gentle swaying of the trees. When I finished my phone call, I asked if she would like to get out of the house. She did. I suggested we go to Barnes & Noble.

Before leaving, she went to the back of the house. When she returned, she was carrying a tube of toothpaste, a tooth brush, a magnifying glass, a “snow flake” globe that was a souvenir from Glen Arbor, an old bra, and a small US flag for use as a table decoration. I said, “What do you have there?” She showed me each item and put the tooth brush on the table between our chairs and left it there. Before leaving the family room, she asked (using hand signals) if she should bring a framed picture of her father and another framed picture of our son. I told her I thought we could leave them.

After we had been at Barnes & Noble for a while, she said, “What’s the theme?” I didn’t know what she meant although the only association I had was the weekly theme at Chautauqua, but we’re in Knoxville. A few minutes later, she asked, “What day is it?” This is not a typical question. I told her it was Saturday. Then she said, “When does it . . .?” She didn’t (couldn’t?) finish the question. Again, I wasn’t sure what she was talking about but connected it with Chautauqua. I asked if that was what she meant. She did. I told her it was over for the summer. She said, “Oh” and something else I didn’t understand.

Several times very close together she asked where we are. A few minutes later she said, “That looks familiar.” She was looking at the parking lot in front of B&N. Shortly after that, she looked at several murals with famous writers on the wall and said, “I remember when I took pictures of those. I remember looking up some of these men. They were very distinguished.”

After that, she looked across at me and said, “You aren’t going to leave me, are you?” I told her I would never think of leaving her. I told her I loved her and said, “You know, when we were dating, I thought I couldn’t love you any more than I did then. I was wrong. I love you much more now.” She said the same about me.

Another few minutes passed. She looked a little sad. I told her it looked like something was bothering her. She nodded. I asked if she was worried about the two of us. She said no. I asked if it were our children. She nodded again. Then I told her I didn’t think she needed to be worried about them, that they were getting along well. A few more minutes passed. She still looked like she was thinking about something that bothered her. I said, “Do you remember that old expression ‘A penny for your thoughts?’” She did. Then I said, “I don’t think you want to talk about it right now.” She nodded. I told her I could accept that and let it go.

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A Few Moments Ago at Panera

KATE: What’s your name?
RICHARD: Richard Creighton.
KATE: Your full name.
RICHARD: Richard Lee Creighton.
KATE: Richard . . . (Trying to think of the middle name)
RICHARD: It begins with an ‘’L.”
KATE: (No response. Still thinking.)
RICHARD: Lee.
KATE: Richard Lee Creighton. That’s not so hard. (Puzzled look on her face.)
RICHARD: Not too hard.
KATE: What’s my name?

I can’t imagine what it must be like to work so hard day in and day out to know something as important to her as her husband’s name as well as her own. Fortunately, this is one of the times that she doesn’t seem very frustrated or disturbed about not remembering though her puzzled look suggests a bit of concern.

Just as I was about to upload this to my blog, she asked again.

KATE: What’s your name?”
RICHARD: Richard Lee Creighton
KATE: I knew that. (But meaning, “I just couldn’t call it at that moment.)

One of the clues that convey the importance of my name to her is that all this time she has been diligently (it appears) working on her jigsaw puzzles. Then out of the blue, she looks across the table at me and says, “What’s your name?” It is obviously on her mind a lot. She wants to get it right.

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The Rest of the Day

In my previous post, I said that Kate had slept late yesterday. Here is the rest of the story. Mary arrived right on time at 1:00. I told her that Kate was still asleep but would probably be up soon. Then I left for Panera to get a bite to eat before going to the Y. During lunch, I began to feel bad that Kate would wake up to find that I wasn’t there. I decided to go back home, wake her, tell her I was leaving for the Y, and that Mary would be with her. That made me feel better, but I realize that she probably forgot that pretty quickly. That was a few minutes before 2:00.

I took a short spin on the stationary bike at the Y and then went to Starbucks to meet my friend, Mark Harrington. We get together almost every Friday after I leave the Y. At 4:00, I got a call from Mary. She said they were at Panera and wanted to know what Kate usually ate.

I got home just before 5:00. Kate and Mary were in the family room. Everything was fine though I did notice a large stack of towels that Mary had put on the dryer. She had apparently picked them off the floor after Kate’s shower. When I went back to our bathroom I noticed two cabinet drawers were open. That’s where I keep our hand towels and wash clothes. There were none in either drawer. I did see one wash cloth and hand towel that appeared to have been used and thrown on the counter. In addition, I found a pair of my underwear and wondered how it had gotten there. Later, I noticed that the drawer where I keep my underwear was open. Underwear was missing. This morning as I was checking each bathroom for things I needed to wash I found another pair.

I’ll never know exactly what motivated her, but I think she was looking for her things and couldn’t remember where they are kept. Her memory of the various rooms in the house and the location of things within them is getting weaker. This can only get worse. It calls on me to be more aware of the time she gets up so that I can guide her where to go and where to find things. I had hoped that putting out her clothes on the chair beside her side of the bed would solve this, but she seems to forget and/or not see them when she gets up. It is also possible that she sees them, goes to take her shower, and forgets that her clothes were out.

Normally, we go out to a nearby pizza place on Friday. Sometimes we go shortly after I get back home. Other times it is as late as 6:00. It’s a popular place, and I try to beat the crowd. I thought about Kate’s having had breakfast/lunch after 4:00 and thought we might need to eat a little later than usual. Then I thought about the times she is ready to eat the next meal as early as an hour or two after the previous one. My next thought was “Why don’t we do something different tonight?” We have a very nice Italian restaurant not too far from us, but we don’t eat there often. I made reservations at 6:00, and we had a really good dinner. It was a nice change from our Friday night routine.

When we got home, I watched a little of the news while Kate worked on her iPad. Because Kate had slept so late, I thought she would have trouble going to sleep. I was wrong. I played a portion of our DVD of Fiddler on the Roof. She enjoyed it but was tired. She went to bed about her normal time. It had been a very short day for her, but she never realized it.

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Sleep Takes Over This Morning

I shouldn’t be surprised that Kate is sleeping late this morning. After all, she got up at 6:00 yesterday morning and didn’t rest at all during the day. This is a day for the sitter. I wanted her to get up so that we could have lunch together before Mary arrives. At 10:00, I put on some soft music to gently wake her. When she hadn’t shown any sign of life at 10:30, I turned up the volume a bit. At 10:45, I sat down on the bed beside her and rubbed her shoulder. She opened her eyes and quickly shut them. I stayed with her a few minutes and told her I would love to take her to lunch. She gave me a little smile. In another minute, she was frowning. I decided to let her sleep some more, but I left the music up. About ten minutes later, she came into the family room looking a bit confused. I asked if I could help her. She said, “What do I do now?” I told her she could take a shower. I walked her into the bedroom and showed her the clothes that she had picked out last night. Then she said, “I want to go back to bed.” I told her that would be fine. That is where she is right now. I’ll just let her sleep. Mary will be able to take her to lunch when she arrives.