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Good days are hard days
Aug. 15th, 2020 08:56 pmI'm learning, as I study my mother's Alzheimer's experience, that sometimes "good days" are the hardest days.
On days when she remembers who and where she is, she has an incredible drive to be useful and do things around the house. This drive is not matched by her cognitive ability to organize well enough to accomplish tasks. That leads her to a sense of frustration and accentuates her sense of helplessness. This leads to worries that she can't take care of herself and allows a feeling of fear and insecurity to rise.
A couple of days ago it was 98F out and she refused to change out of her long sleeve blouse and dress slacks because she remembered that she never liked showing off her legs in shorts. Not wanting to put on shorts let me note that she was connected with her past self in meaningful ways. Because she always feels cold, getting her to notice that it is hot and drink water and limit activity is always a challenge.
I kept on her to drink water and tried to encourage her to sit inside in the AC instead of outside, and that worked for much of the day. She'll follow Dad around like a puppydog and he was sitting inside, so she was mostly content.
Then, a little while before dinner I realized that I had lost her. I checked every room in the house, looked out at the garbage cans, the mail box, the car, the truck, the garden. Finally, I found her with the wheelbarrow out on the front lawn picking up sticks in her heavy dress clothes.
Of course I wanted to run out and tell her, "No no no, inside the house right this instant, young lady!" but that would hit her stubborn streak and I'd never get her inside. I brought a glass of water out to her and gave it to her to drink while I picked up a few sticks. When the water was gone I mentioned how hot it was outside in the sun and that we should go inside with Dad soon.
She argued, "But I have to do this! I wasted the whole morning and now nobody is going to pick up the sticks!"
I promised, "Tomorrow morning, when it's cool, we can come out and pick up sticks."
She was just about to relent ( I think ) when she looked over and saw the garbage and recycling bins by the road, "I have to get the bins!" She was off like a shot.
I walked along next to her and grabbed the other bin and we brought them around back to the house. She didn't want to give me her empty glass to hold while she pulled the bin (which is as big as she is), but I finally pointed out my bare feet. If the glass fell and broke I might step on it and get hurt. She let me hold the glass.
Once we got the bins out back, I handed her the glass and suggested that she walk back around to the ramp to go up to the deck. While she did this, I zooted out front and grabbed the wheelbarrow and put it away and out of sight.
I caught up with her on the deck and remarked at how hot it was out. I asked her if she could help me set the table before dinner and she perked up.
The good days are hard days. She's more there and when she's more there she suffers more acutely. It's hard to care for her and not just manipulate her into doing what I want her to do. It's really interesting to see how no two days are really the same, and the wide range of experiences she seems to be having.
On days when she remembers who and where she is, she has an incredible drive to be useful and do things around the house. This drive is not matched by her cognitive ability to organize well enough to accomplish tasks. That leads her to a sense of frustration and accentuates her sense of helplessness. This leads to worries that she can't take care of herself and allows a feeling of fear and insecurity to rise.
A couple of days ago it was 98F out and she refused to change out of her long sleeve blouse and dress slacks because she remembered that she never liked showing off her legs in shorts. Not wanting to put on shorts let me note that she was connected with her past self in meaningful ways. Because she always feels cold, getting her to notice that it is hot and drink water and limit activity is always a challenge.
I kept on her to drink water and tried to encourage her to sit inside in the AC instead of outside, and that worked for much of the day. She'll follow Dad around like a puppydog and he was sitting inside, so she was mostly content.
Then, a little while before dinner I realized that I had lost her. I checked every room in the house, looked out at the garbage cans, the mail box, the car, the truck, the garden. Finally, I found her with the wheelbarrow out on the front lawn picking up sticks in her heavy dress clothes.
Of course I wanted to run out and tell her, "No no no, inside the house right this instant, young lady!" but that would hit her stubborn streak and I'd never get her inside. I brought a glass of water out to her and gave it to her to drink while I picked up a few sticks. When the water was gone I mentioned how hot it was outside in the sun and that we should go inside with Dad soon.
She argued, "But I have to do this! I wasted the whole morning and now nobody is going to pick up the sticks!"
I promised, "Tomorrow morning, when it's cool, we can come out and pick up sticks."
She was just about to relent ( I think ) when she looked over and saw the garbage and recycling bins by the road, "I have to get the bins!" She was off like a shot.
I walked along next to her and grabbed the other bin and we brought them around back to the house. She didn't want to give me her empty glass to hold while she pulled the bin (which is as big as she is), but I finally pointed out my bare feet. If the glass fell and broke I might step on it and get hurt. She let me hold the glass.
Once we got the bins out back, I handed her the glass and suggested that she walk back around to the ramp to go up to the deck. While she did this, I zooted out front and grabbed the wheelbarrow and put it away and out of sight.
I caught up with her on the deck and remarked at how hot it was out. I asked her if she could help me set the table before dinner and she perked up.
The good days are hard days. She's more there and when she's more there she suffers more acutely. It's hard to care for her and not just manipulate her into doing what I want her to do. It's really interesting to see how no two days are really the same, and the wide range of experiences she seems to be having.
