Tag Archives: dementia

November 27, 2012 · 10:09 pm

Dad lost at the post office

I was talking to one of the local shuttle drivers that used to take my dad on errands around town. This was as Dad was beginning to move into mid-stage Alzheimer’s, where he could no longer be trusted to complete even simple tasks independently. One of the chores my mom would send Dad out to do was to get the mail at the post office. The driver would drop Dad off and wait for him. This should have only taken a few minutes. Dad was in there about 10 minutes and the driver got worried, so he went inside to look for him.

He said Dad was wandering around, with a lost look on his face. He said, “I can’t find our box.” Surprisingly, he remembered what number the box was, just not where it was located. This was a task he had easily managed to do hundreds of times before.

The driver helped Dad get the mail but soon after, Mom would have to add one more chore to her growing list, as Dad lost the ability to complete even the most mundane of tasks successfully on his own.

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November 18, 2012 · 8:57 pm

Medicare broadens coverage of therapy for dementia patients

I was pleased to learn that Medicare is no longer requiring the “demonstrable improvements” mandate when it comes to covering the charges for a variety of therapy treatments for those with dementia. Most of us who have cared for a loved one with dementia know that physical therapy, speech therapy and occupational therapy can often improve quality of life. While this improvement was often not at the level Medicare required for reimbursement, it offered benefits that the indifferent eye of bureaucracy could not see.

While I have witnessed firsthand the challenges of successful rehab with a dementia patient, I think there are specific therapy programs that could brighten a dementia patient’s mood and help them better communicate their fears and frustrations. Dad somehow learned to walk again, despite being in the mid-stages of Alzheimer’s. I think it takes specially-trained therapists who know the best ways to reach dementia patients.

I hope more dementia patients can take advantage of therapy programs without their families having to worry about the financial consequences.

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November 3, 2012 · 7:06 pm

Landmines for dementia patients

Until you spend a good deal of time with a dementia patient, you can easily overlook potential triggers that will create an explosion of confusion, fear and anger in certain people with dementia.

Take for instance, the simple act of getting on and riding in an elevator. I’ve heard that a way to keep dementia patients from crossing a door’s threshold is by putting a black strip of tape on the floor, or painting a black strip on the floor. Dementia patients see this as a black void and are afraid they will fall into it. I think this is what Dad experienced as we ventured towards the elevator. As we coaxed him to join us in the elevator, he jumped back as if he had been shocked. We finally were able to get him safely in the elevator, and had him hang on to the railing at the back for support. He was very unsteady and I could feel his anxiety level rise.

Fortunately, we only had to go a few floors up so the frightening incident for Dad didn’t last very long. He forgot it as soon as he exited the elevator. The trip back down was uneventful. But I remember that “scared out of your wits” gleam in Dad’s eye. It’s not something you ever want to see on a loved one’s face, but with dementia, it becomes an expression that one sees all too often.

What the experience has taught me is to be even more aware of my surroundings, and other’s special needs. What may seem like a routine, mundane task for me may be a journey of terror for someone else.

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November 1, 2012 · 6:17 pm

Dad’s take on the hospital breakfast menu

As we roll into November, I can’t help but think about this time last year, and how the beginning of the end was about to start for Dad. But November 2010 also included a hospital stay. Dad had a gallstone removed and was recovering pretty well in a hospital in Albuquerque. He was about mid-stage in his dementia journey at this point.

Getting Dad to eat was difficult. He could still swallow just fine at this point, but the hospital food was just not appealing to him. Mom would coax and wheedle and he would eat a few bites, but that was all. While in the hospital, he became more frail due to losing weight and being bedridden. This led to his transfer to a nursing home, and his inability to ever live at home again.

But one morning at the hospital, Dad was a bit perkier. A male attendant came in to take his breakfast order. The options for the morning were rattled off: scrambled eggs, cereal or French toast.

Dad didn’t miss a beat. He asked, “Does it speak French?”

The attendant and Mom had a good laugh over that one. Dad got the French toast, and if it spoke to him, only he knew about it.

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October 27, 2012 · 6:42 pm

Dad’s tumble down the stairs

Decades before Dad developed dementia and started suffering from falls, he had a tumble down the stairs that I remember fairly clearly. In this case, another “d” word was responsible for Dad’s unsteadiness: drink.

Dad always enjoyed a couple of beers to unwind after his swing shift. There was a period when I was a small child that Dad overindulged. But after that, it was a couple of beers and that was it. I never saw him drunk as I got older, except for this one occasion that led to the fall down the stairs. I was probably a pre-teen at the time. I never did find out what caused the overindulgence that night. Did he have a bad day on the job? Did he get into a fight with Mom?

All I remember was hearing a loud crash and bolting out of bed. Turning on the lights to illuminate the stairwell, I saw Dad’s crumpled form at the bottom, trying to get up and steady himself. Mom came rushing out of their bedroom, and the two of us helped him up the stairs.

At the time, I was mildly disgusted and annoyed at being awaken in the middle of the night because my dad was inebriated. I never remember another incident like this happening.

Not until the dementia happened. Then Mom and I were once again by Dad’s side, supporting him when his body and mind could no longer support him.

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October 23, 2012 · 8:30 pm

Dad in the garden

Dad was not a big fan of the outdoors. Mom pointed out recently how he would never sit out on the quiet, peaceful back deck of their condo. He did enjoy going on long walks, but that was about the extent of his connection with nature.

But at the assisted living facility that Dad was at for almost a year, he loved to wander the grounds of the garden. It was safely enclosed to make sure the “Memory Care” residents didn’t wander beyond the walls of the facility, but it also didn’t seem like a prison. I remember Dad taking jerking, stumbling walks around the sidewalk that lined the garden and encircled a gazebo area, where families could “socialize” with their loved ones.

The last photograph of dad and I together, July 2011. We are in the garden that was attached to the memory care unit of the assisted living facility.

Other than one “field trip” it was the only time Dad was able to breathe fresh air, to escape those long, dreary hallways of the locked ward that he was confined to due to his dementia. I’m not sure if he felt better outside or not. Towards the end of his stay there, it was so hard for him to get comfortable. We were never able to fully understand why. I guessed it was because he was so emaciated and the hard metal outdoor chairs hurt his body. At any rate, he could never sit still for long. He would have to fight his mind and body hard just to stand up again, then he would be off on his tottering pace that had me racing to catch up to him and offer him support.

Dad never had a green thumb, but at the end of his life, he learned to appreciate his time in the garden.

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October 19, 2012 · 6:29 pm

The way he was before

Mom talks about Dad a lot, both before he had Alzheimer’s and when he was suffering from the terrible disease. But her favorite phrase to use when she talks about how much she misses him is, “The way he was before.”

Mom follows it up by saying she could never wish Dad back with dementia. She says it would be too cruel and too selfish.

I agree. It’s always difficult to let go of a loved one, but sometimes death is a release, and should be embraced instead of feared.

No doubt everyone who has ever had a loved one with Alzheimer’s has longed for a return to the way their loved one was before. It’s almost like a new way of indicating time: B.A. and W.A. Before Alzheimer’s and With Alzheimer’s.

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October 5, 2012 · 4:23 pm

A loyal companion gone

Mom has been missing Dad a lot lately. Now that she’s back home, she misses his presence even more than before. 40 years of daily contact is not easy to replace with something or someone new.

Over the past year, when Dad was in the nursing home, she learned to craft a new life for herself. It wasn’t easy or ideal, but she had her health then. Now that her health is in jeopardy, I think she is relying more on the good memories, before Dad’s dementia, when they had their boring yet comforting life together.

Of course, Mom had to live with a different version of Dad, the one with Alzheimer’s, for a few years. Even though that was very difficult, she had someone to take care of and protect, which made her feel needed.

Even though Mom and Dad were opposites in many ways, it is clear to me now how they fit together like puzzle pieces. Now that Dad is gone, Mom is finding it difficult to feel complete and whole again.

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September 24, 2012 · 8:54 pm

Just a tree

Sometimes, I will be sitting in Dad’s chair and I will glance out the window and think I see Dad standing there on the front porch, smoking a cigarette.

Of course, in reality, there’s nothing out there but a gently swaying tree.

For most of his years at home, Dad’s smoking routine was a comforting habit, and a chance for some quiet time and reflection. He would pace back and forth, maybe spotting a few deer wandering around and waving to a neighbor driving by the house. There would be the obligatory hoarse smoker’s cough, along with what sounded like Dad was clearing gravel out of his throat.

As the dementia took hold, I wonder if his vice gave him as much satisfaction, or if he began to look around at a world that did not seem familiar to him. I remember my last few visits home when Dad still lived there, I would listen closely when the front door opened and Dad let out his smoker’s cough. I would peek from my bedroom window to make sure he was still there and had not wandered away.

I think I will forever see his ghost pacing back and forth out there, a trail of smoke lingering behind him.

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September 23, 2012 · 9:04 pm

Ache from the past

On top of everything else Mom is dealing with, she now has a toothache. Furthermore, Dad’s dementia might have something to do with it.

The last year Dad lived at home, she had just had some dental work done. Dad, far into his dementia at that point, socked Mom in the jaw one night as she was trying to get him ready for bed. He claimed he was “shadow boxing.”

Shortly thereafter, Dad became ill and then moved into the nursing home. Mom put aside her needs and never went back to the dentist to finish the extensive dental work that she had started.

Now she has an aching tooth, and an ache in her heart as she remembered the last time she was in the dentist’s office. Dad was with her, and in wandering mode. As she sat in the dentist’s chair, she would try to peer around and see if Dad was still in the waiting room. On one visit, he left the building and wandered down the street to a fast food restaurant. When he was reunited with Mom later, he claimed the restaurant had spiders and bugs crawling all over the windows.

So for most people, a toothache would be a minor annoyance. But for Mom, it opens old wounds created by Dad’s dementia.

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