Thursday, September 26, 2019

Dementia Report 9/26/19

Good morning, friends,

How does your day begin? Mine normally starts with a phone call from our daughter with Dementia. She normally calls between 5:00 and 6:00. 

She is forgetting more and more how Siri works. This morning, I answered the call, and heard her saying, "Call Gay Lewis."  She said this over and over, even though I yelled, "I'm here!  Here I am.  Hello."  I shrieked loud enough for the neighbors to hear. She finally heard me, and then said, "Oh, there you are." She told me they'd given her a shower, meds, and she was dressed. 

She then said, "One of the nurses doesn't like me." 

"That's okay, not everyone is going to like you," I responded. I have this conversation daily. There's no point in arguing the matter. She could be right. She requires a lot of patience.

She must wait until 7:00 for breakfast, and she doesn't know what to do with herself until the residents are up and about. I suggested she look at photos in her albums. They're under her bed. Once-upon-a-time, she could find them and enjoyed the pictures. As soon as we hang up, the phone rang again. We went through the same scenerio. Same conversation. A nurse doesn't like her. She forgot what she was going to look for pictures. I tell her again.

At breakfast, she'll join her group at the table. The groups and activities can keep her busy for awhile, and that's a good thing.

Her best friend was gone yesterday. She called and asked me if she could come to our house for the day. It broke my heart to tell her no. I'm working, and I couldn't entertain her. She barely understands this. It makes her sad to not be with me. She relies on me, even though she receives care from others.

When your child asks for something that you wish you could do, but you can't do, it's sad. Especially when that child's days are numbered.

Here she is at the beginning of the disease. We didn't know what was wrong with her when this picture was taken six years ago. She's the shortest one, the one in the blue dress.  Her reasoning had begun to decline back then. We were at a stadium event and she couldn't count ten rows back and thirteen inside to find the person we'd come to see.  At that time, we thought she merely needed glasses.

I wish that had been the answer. 

Do you have a story to share? How did your day begin as a caregiver? 

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