Life at the VA Hospital (6/25/09)
Well, it felt like a life sentence, anyway. I took MIL for her 6-month checkup, and just as we were ready to leave, she got sick, vomited, and ended up with full-body tremors that came every 3 to 4 seconds. Damn spooky, and we ended up spending the rest of the day in the Veterans Administration Hospital ER.
I had brought my iphone for entertainment, but the battery died, and I couldn't leave Betty sitting there while I went to my car to charge it so I could keep playing Scrabble. Well, I could have, but it would have looked bad.
So we ate lunch out of the nasty vending machines (her blood sugar was low, a possible contributing factor to the tremors). I spent the day making horrible faces at Betty when nobody was looking (including her) and suffering through her endlessly repeated, "I feel so guilty ruining your day," almost as often as she suffered the tremors.
At 5pm, they finally checked her in for overnight observation, and I went home. If my kids weren't so weirded out by adults drinking alcohol, I would have self-medicated. As it was, I met my family at Tae Kwon Do class and we went out for dinner. From now on, I'm not going near the VA Hospital without my iphone charger. Yes, it's all about ME.
Oh, I suppose I should mention that MIL is fine. They think it was low blood sugar, stress, and the need for her next dose of restless leg medicine that messed her up that day. David picked her up in the morning and she's been fine since.
We're Trying Aricept (6/27/09)
The VA doctors finally agreed to prescribe this, and I gave Betty the first pill last night. It's supposed to be taken at bedtime because of potential side effects. While the TV ads say "well-tolerated by most people," when you read the printed disclaimers in the box, it causes everything short of INSTANT DEATH.
Betty is worried this morning, for example, because she had a very vivid dream, and she's afraid it's a sign that she's losing her mind. She doesn't remember getting the diagnosis of Alzheimer's (despite having been told it 50 times), but she remembers seeing the diagnosis written on a paper in a doctor's office. Actually, she saw it on our kitchen table. She's sad and worried about it, and can't stop talking about how real the dream was. I got good advice from the cute curly-headed VA doctor: I told her that the fact that she DID figure out that it was a dream is a sign that she's NOT crazy. I on the other hand...
Tuesday, July 26, 2011
Friday, July 8, 2011
"I May Be Dumb, But I'm Not Stupid"
We found about two dozen sleeping pills stashed in Betty's nightstand. We give her two at bedtime, but she's almost never ready to go to sleep when we do this, and apparently, she has been putting them in her drawer and forgetting about them. So she has collected enough pills to kill herself twice over, but doesn't see any danger in my leaving them there. I suggested that she might take two and then forget she had done it and take more, etc. See above for her response.
I think we'll skip the sleeping pills for now.
I think we'll skip the sleeping pills for now.
Sunday, July 3, 2011
OLD POSTS I CAN'T BEAR TO LOSE, pt. 2
Signs of Trouble (5/30/09)
We've had the discussion a dozen times since Betty started a kitchen fire a month after moving in. DON'T USE THE STOVE. NO, NEVER. YES, I MEAN YOU. ALWAYS. NO STOVE. EVER. NO COOKING. NEVER. NOT EVEN A LITTLE. EVER EVER EVER.
It's been months since we've had to discuss this, but yesterday I had a large package of hamburger patties defrosting on the two front burners when I heard the click-click-click-click of the ignitor. She was trying to light the burner to soften the earpieces of her reading glasses. Fortunately, she doesn't know how to use the stove, or flames would have melted the plastic wrap on my hamburger before I could have stopped her.
So we had the discussion for the 13th time, and she said that every sane person (meaning everybody except me) knows you use the kitchen stove to adjust your glasses! I tried to raise my voice just enough to make an impression on her, but apparently it didn't take, because she tried it again this morning. I heard the clicking from upstairs, but David was closer and he stopped her.
There is now a sign above the stove that says DO NOT USE THE STOVE. There is a similar sign on the patio door that says DO NOT LET ANY CATS OUTSIDE. That one has worked fairly well, except when a cat escapes, comes back to that door, and she opens it to let that cat IN, thus letting two or three others OUT.
She saw the new sign and asked, "What's wrong with the stove?" I explained, but she no longer remembers trying to use the stove, nor why she's not allowed, and so she's upset about the sign. She keeps insisting the sign is not necessary because she'd never do anything she's been told not to do, but she doesn't remember what I've told her not to do, and she certainly doesn't remember that she doesn't remember. So we do our little Dance Around the Logic Pole. If arguing with Betty was aerobic exercise, I'd be a size 4.
My Two Moms (6/9/09)
Well, not really. One's Betty, my MIL, and one's my mother, but I'm starting to see worrisome similarities. My mom lives one neighborhood north of us and it older than Betty, but comes from a long line of women who lived long lives, free of dementia. I'm afraid my mother, 89, is going to break that winning streak. She agreed to give up her car last week, but she's having more and more trouble keeping details straight in her mind. I took her shopping yesterday, along with the Korea high school student who lives with us, and Ra Youn helped my mother carry her groceries into her house. Mom had her keys in her hand, and tried to open her front door by clicking the electronic car door opener thingy. She covered up quickly when it didn't work, but I saw it.
We have a follow-up appointment with her neuro-psychologist on July 1. I'm going to insist that he take a look at her list of medications to see if there's something there that explains this, and I'm going to ask him to put her on Aricept.
We've had the discussion a dozen times since Betty started a kitchen fire a month after moving in. DON'T USE THE STOVE. NO, NEVER. YES, I MEAN YOU. ALWAYS. NO STOVE. EVER. NO COOKING. NEVER. NOT EVEN A LITTLE. EVER EVER EVER.
It's been months since we've had to discuss this, but yesterday I had a large package of hamburger patties defrosting on the two front burners when I heard the click-click-click-click of the ignitor. She was trying to light the burner to soften the earpieces of her reading glasses. Fortunately, she doesn't know how to use the stove, or flames would have melted the plastic wrap on my hamburger before I could have stopped her.
So we had the discussion for the 13th time, and she said that every sane person (meaning everybody except me) knows you use the kitchen stove to adjust your glasses! I tried to raise my voice just enough to make an impression on her, but apparently it didn't take, because she tried it again this morning. I heard the clicking from upstairs, but David was closer and he stopped her.
There is now a sign above the stove that says DO NOT USE THE STOVE. There is a similar sign on the patio door that says DO NOT LET ANY CATS OUTSIDE. That one has worked fairly well, except when a cat escapes, comes back to that door, and she opens it to let that cat IN, thus letting two or three others OUT.
She saw the new sign and asked, "What's wrong with the stove?" I explained, but she no longer remembers trying to use the stove, nor why she's not allowed, and so she's upset about the sign. She keeps insisting the sign is not necessary because she'd never do anything she's been told not to do, but she doesn't remember what I've told her not to do, and she certainly doesn't remember that she doesn't remember. So we do our little Dance Around the Logic Pole. If arguing with Betty was aerobic exercise, I'd be a size 4.
My Two Moms (6/9/09)
Well, not really. One's Betty, my MIL, and one's my mother, but I'm starting to see worrisome similarities. My mom lives one neighborhood north of us and it older than Betty, but comes from a long line of women who lived long lives, free of dementia. I'm afraid my mother, 89, is going to break that winning streak. She agreed to give up her car last week, but she's having more and more trouble keeping details straight in her mind. I took her shopping yesterday, along with the Korea high school student who lives with us, and Ra Youn helped my mother carry her groceries into her house. Mom had her keys in her hand, and tried to open her front door by clicking the electronic car door opener thingy. She covered up quickly when it didn't work, but I saw it.
We have a follow-up appointment with her neuro-psychologist on July 1. I'm going to insist that he take a look at her list of medications to see if there's something there that explains this, and I'm going to ask him to put her on Aricept.
OLD POSTS I CAN'T BEAR TO LOSE, pt. 1
I used to have three blogs, and now I'm going down to one. Well, two. But in going back to read the third blog, about living with an Alzheimer's patient, I realized I didn't want to lose all those stories... So I'm sticking them into a few posts on this blog. HOPE YOU ENJOY!
EVERY DAY IS DIFFERENT HERE (5/13/09)
Betty is very sharp today--walking fairly well, philosphizing about the mythology of God, the innate worthlessness of man, and the supremacy of viruses and insects. She was a sociology professor and still retains her intellect, at least on days like this. She doesn't want to go to the Senior Center, but she missed last Friday and Monday, and needs the physical therapy. And I need her to be gone. She'll do more talking and interacting there than she will here, so I don't feel too guilty about taking her, although she considers it a waste of time and says all anybody does there is watch TV. I think her anti-depressant is working, as is the physical therapy. She hasn't used her walker for days, and although she always looks like she's going to tall over, she hasn't done so in over a week.
Yesterday I took her to Barnes and Noble (her happy place) and left her for about 90 minutes. I was panicked the whole time, but when I came back, she was fine. She had a 2-foot tall stack of books to buy, although she'd previously agreed to settle for three books. I gave in, and it occurred to me that fewer trips is better than lots of trips, and the only way to justify not taking her is to remind her that she just spent $117.
INDEPENDENCE--IT'S NOT EASY (5/21/09)
Betty tried to fix her own lunch a few da ys ago because I was gone. She poured a large can of soup in a china bowl, warmed it in the microwave, then dropped it on the range top. I came home with one hour to prepare dinner for the family, including my mother, whom I'd invited, and found smashed china and thick soup convering the burners and running down the cabinets, and pooling on the floor. Betty was using spatulas and spoons to try to scoop the soup back into another bowl, so she could eat it. I had to show her a piece of broken bowl in her new bowl to convince her this wasn't a good idea. She wanted to help clean up the mess, which she felt terrible about causing, but this would have taken hours. She retreated to her room and had to be coaxed out to eat dinner.
After dinner she couldn't quite remember what had happened, and demanded that my 9-year-old son, who was home at the time, tell her what she had done. "Something is happening to me," she kept repeating. "I don't understand it."
I did a good job of not getting angry at her when I saw the mess, but my husband and daugher were gone, so I had to clean it up myself, and my mother showed up for dinner 45 minutes early, and it was a complete disaster. I WAS angry, but Betty was so upset with herself that I couldn't get mad at her. I tried to reassure her that it was just an accident caused by low blook sugar, and that the only thing she should have done differently was to ask Mikey to help her with the microwave. Mikey came to me later and "confessed" that although he had asked her what she was doing when he saw her with the soup, he let her proceed on her own since she wasn't actually using the stove. She's not allowed since she almost burned down the house with the toaster oven. He felt guilty that he hadn't stepped in to help her, but was torn because he's been told not to act like her babysitter unless he sees her doing something really dangerous. of course, I reassured him that he wasn't at fault, and that the only thing we lost was a can of soup and a dish.
I've had to learn to let my kids try things on their own, even if they end up causing a mess, but I can't do this with Betty. She's not going to get better, not going to retain new skills, and not going to learn from her mistakes. It's a balancing act between not insulting her by treating her like an incompetent, and not tripling my workload by letting her do things for herself.
EVERY DAY IS DIFFERENT HERE (5/13/09)
Betty is very sharp today--walking fairly well, philosphizing about the mythology of God, the innate worthlessness of man, and the supremacy of viruses and insects. She was a sociology professor and still retains her intellect, at least on days like this. She doesn't want to go to the Senior Center, but she missed last Friday and Monday, and needs the physical therapy. And I need her to be gone. She'll do more talking and interacting there than she will here, so I don't feel too guilty about taking her, although she considers it a waste of time and says all anybody does there is watch TV. I think her anti-depressant is working, as is the physical therapy. She hasn't used her walker for days, and although she always looks like she's going to tall over, she hasn't done so in over a week.
Yesterday I took her to Barnes and Noble (her happy place) and left her for about 90 minutes. I was panicked the whole time, but when I came back, she was fine. She had a 2-foot tall stack of books to buy, although she'd previously agreed to settle for three books. I gave in, and it occurred to me that fewer trips is better than lots of trips, and the only way to justify not taking her is to remind her that she just spent $117.
INDEPENDENCE--IT'S NOT EASY (5/21/09)
Betty tried to fix her own lunch a few da ys ago because I was gone. She poured a large can of soup in a china bowl, warmed it in the microwave, then dropped it on the range top. I came home with one hour to prepare dinner for the family, including my mother, whom I'd invited, and found smashed china and thick soup convering the burners and running down the cabinets, and pooling on the floor. Betty was using spatulas and spoons to try to scoop the soup back into another bowl, so she could eat it. I had to show her a piece of broken bowl in her new bowl to convince her this wasn't a good idea. She wanted to help clean up the mess, which she felt terrible about causing, but this would have taken hours. She retreated to her room and had to be coaxed out to eat dinner.
After dinner she couldn't quite remember what had happened, and demanded that my 9-year-old son, who was home at the time, tell her what she had done. "Something is happening to me," she kept repeating. "I don't understand it."
I did a good job of not getting angry at her when I saw the mess, but my husband and daugher were gone, so I had to clean it up myself, and my mother showed up for dinner 45 minutes early, and it was a complete disaster. I WAS angry, but Betty was so upset with herself that I couldn't get mad at her. I tried to reassure her that it was just an accident caused by low blook sugar, and that the only thing she should have done differently was to ask Mikey to help her with the microwave. Mikey came to me later and "confessed" that although he had asked her what she was doing when he saw her with the soup, he let her proceed on her own since she wasn't actually using the stove. She's not allowed since she almost burned down the house with the toaster oven. He felt guilty that he hadn't stepped in to help her, but was torn because he's been told not to act like her babysitter unless he sees her doing something really dangerous. of course, I reassured him that he wasn't at fault, and that the only thing we lost was a can of soup and a dish.
I've had to learn to let my kids try things on their own, even if they end up causing a mess, but I can't do this with Betty. She's not going to get better, not going to retain new skills, and not going to learn from her mistakes. It's a balancing act between not insulting her by treating her like an incompetent, and not tripling my workload by letting her do things for herself.
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