Bold Experiment

After much discussion, we allowed Dair to return home to NC for the summer, with the understanding that my stepson Steve would be her caretaker. It wasn't a perfect plan, but Dair was desperate to get to the mountains and we were desperate for a break. Steve agreed to provide meals three times a day, make sure Dair took her meds and try to get her out each day to visit the senior center or nursing home.

Well, about a month into this arrangement, Steve's car ceased functioning. He had a back up vehicle, but it has no roof (that's another story for another day), so he could only travel in it on sunny days. Then it died.

Ever the social one, Dair didn't respond well to being limited to making visits to those she could only get to by foot. By the end of the summer, she was making frequent trips to the nearby ice cream parlor and various neighbors.

I understand the allure of the ice cream parlor. It is located in a building where Dair's dad once operated a general store, so she's treated like royalty there. Sheila, the owner, is very sweet to Dair and usually provides her a snack or ice cream cone for free. Sheila called us one day and said she was worried that Dair wasn't getting fed because she was eating at her place all the time. Dair has always been a good eater, especially when it comes to ice cream, and she loves anything free! Plus, when you have dementia, you don't always remember that you've already eaten.

Dair was also always going next door to Steve's house - early in the morning, late at night, in a rainstorm - just to have some company. One day he tried to walk her back to her place and she was just not ready to go. She got mad at him and started swinging her brass handled walking cane at him. He took the cane from her and she responded by standing in the middle of the yard yelling, "help, help."

So, our bold experiment didn't turn out so great after all.

2 Bogs

Dair is obsessed with the location of our dogs. She panics if they are outside and is constantly bringing them into the house and closing the gate on our porch so they won't accidently get out. I try to remind her that they are indeed dogs and it is natural for them to want and need to go outside. She's not buying it.

It has gotten so bad that if I leave Dair alone at home for any time at all, she will close the dogs up in the master bedroom. I guess she doesn't want them to go missing on her watch.

Today after she put them in our room yet again, she left me a note, scrawled on a napkin and stuck on the doorknob, to let me know where they were. It read, "2 Bogs." Luckily, I understood the message.

Annie Oakley Lives

As summer nears, Dair is itching to go back to NC to live, and she brings up the topic frequently. Karl and I try to patiently and gently tell her that her mind is not as sharp as it once was and she is no longer able to care for herself. Of course, telling someone with dementia that they have that particular illness is futile, but what else can you do?

Recently we held the discussion yet again, and Dair got quite frustrated at the idea of not being able to go home for the summer. Finally she quit arguing and stomped off, threatening as she went to "get my gun and shoot things up." A few minutes later she returned and meekly said, "I don't know where my gun is."

Hide and Seek

The thing about living with someone with dementia is that you are constantly playing a game of hide and seek. This is not usually a good thing. Like the time Dair placed a half eaten Rueben sandwich in her cookie jar and we didn't discover it for a day or so.

My extra good sense of smell has helped locate other hidden items, such as wet (with urine) adult undergarments. These have been found in a variety of places, including under the bathroom sink, in the bathtub, and hanging in the closet.

Stray Cheerios end up in houseplants and the dogs' bowls. The plastic bags that hold the daily newspaper can often be found crammed down into planters or in the bowl with the bananas.

This little game is now so routine that it didn't surprise me at all recently to open Dair's suitcase and find a cookie there amongst the wet Depends and the junk mail.

Night Sounds

One of the things I love about where we live is that our house is adjacent to a national park, so we have lovely woods behind us. On spring nights like tonight, my favorite pastime is sitting on the porch and listening to the various sounds. It is unbelievably quiet for a location in the city, and the forest provides a special soundtrack as I sit and unwind from the day.

Tonight I was listening to the distant calls of the whipporwill and an owl, underpinned by the soft cadence of frogs and a few cicadas. As I marveled at the perfect night, Dair interrupted my thoughts.

She thumped out onto the porch and said, "Well, I think I'll get ready for bed now." "Ok," I replied. A few minutes later she returned, now in pajamas and without hearing aids in place and asked, "Are you still out here?" "Yes," I said. She took a few steps toward the place I was sitting and asked a little more loudly, "Are you still out here?" "Yes," I said in a louder voice. Once more, she asked, and once more, while yelling, I replied, "Yes!!"

"Well, I'm going to bed now," Dair said. "OK," I yelled. The magic spell was broken. I followed her into the house and got ready for bed.

Birthday Spanking

Dair and I took a road trip yesterday. We drove to her home in NC to make the rounds and get her hair done. We learned that one of the ladies that she visits in the nursing home was celebrating her 100th birthday, so we stopped by to wish her well.

When we walked in, Buna, the birthday girl, had her back to us and was bent over, placing something on the floor. Dair, who happened to be carrying a walking stick with her, couldn't resist such an easy target and pretended like she was going to give Buna a lick with the cane. Thankfully, she only lightly tapped Buna on the rear. I thought to myself, "She's going to make sure Buna topples over and doesn't see 101."

This morning Dair was relating the story to her grandson, but this version was a little different. She told how Buna was bent over and then said, "And some smart aleck in the room suggested I..." and made the motion like she was whacking Buna her with the cane.
"Oh no," I retorted, "that was all your idea." Dair grinned from ear to ear.

Smarty Pants

Dair and I are in the midst of another season of bowling with the "Oldies But Goodies" League. My game is slowly improving thanks to my $3.53 bowling ball from Good Will. Dair's game is not as good as it was last year, but she still manages to beat me. At least she did until last week, when I finally beat her in one game. Then it happened again today! I know what you're thinking, I shouldn't celebrate a win over a 90 year old woman, but she's so darn competitive, and really good, so it is kind of nice to beat her once in a while.

I'm not the only one who notices all the congratulatory pats Dair gives herself on the back when she gets a strike or spare. Today the top female bowler in the league noticed Dair's first game set of four strikes and the celebration that went along with them and sneered, "She's a show off and a smart aleck." "Yes she is," I thought, "but let me see what you can do when you're 90!"

You've Got Mail

Dair has gotten extremely nosy lately. She is constantly asking where each family member is at each moment, how long they will be gone, and when they will be back. She also keeps close tabs on the dogs, and really would prefer that they never leave the house.

One of the high points of her day is the arrival of the mail. She used to get tons of junk mail and would frequently send checks to various organizations that asked for donations. We have put a stop to most of that, but the occasional junk still gets through. Once she sees it, you can't convince her to throw it away. So we try to get to the mail before her and screen out anything important or completely worthless. Unfortunately, she now watches for the mailman to arrive, and as soon as he is sighted, off Dair shuffles to meet him at the end of the driveway.

Today some mail arrived for her grandson, Stephen. It just so happened that he was visiting our house and so she opened it and showed it to him. It was a credit card offer, complete with one of those fake credit cards attached. He tore the envelope and contents in half and threw them in the trash.

After Stephen left the room, she fished the mail out of the trash and put it in her pocket. I asked her about it and she said she wanted to see what it was. I told her it was Stephen's mail and she replied, "well he lives in my house (in NC) - part of the time." I guess she thought that gave her the right to be nosy.

Keeping Score

Dair and I are bowling again in the "Oldies But Goodies" Senior League. Her game is not what it was last spring; mine is a tiny bit better than it was last year. We are third from last in the standings at this point in the season. Still, she enjoys it and is always hopeful that each week we'll get to bowl with one of "those good looking men."

This week we were paired with a team that consisted of a lady named Jean and her partner, Jeff. Apparently Jeff has some memory issues himself and during the previous week had burned his hands on a hot pot. Jeff was unable to bowl, but he showed up and watched the rest of us. For some reason the computer that kept our scores gave Jeff nine pins each frame even though he never got up from his seat and bowled a single time.

Fortunately, Dair and I had a good day and ended winning all three games against Jean and Jeff, even with his automatic 90 score. As we left the bowling alley, Dair commented, "that fellow next to us (meaning Jeff) was pretty good today."

Natural Life

As Dair's dementia progresses, we have come to the realization that she can no longer return home to North Carolina to live on her own. We periodically mention to her that she will be staying with us from now on, and each time she insists that she can take care of herself and that she will know when she is unable to do so. (This comment made by a woman who calls her granddaughter "the girl" and refers to our dogs as "the black one" and "the other one" because she can't remember any of their names!)

One recent conversation on this topic between Dair and Karl went something like this: "Mom, your brain just isn't working like it used to and you are not able to care for yourself anymore. We can't let you live alone," said Karl. "You mean I have to live here [with your family] the rest of my natural life," asked Dair. "Yes," replied Karl. "Well I might as well kill myself then," retorted Dair.

Priorities

At 90 and with dementia, Dair's short term memory is shot. We have discovered there are only a couple of shows on television that can maintain her interest since she can't remember any plot lines. The Weather Channel is a god-send because it repeats local forecasts every 10 minutes and the rest of the country's weather pretty frequently, so it always seems new and fresh and Dair doesn't have to remember what she saw just a few minutes earlier.

Her very favorite show is "The Wheel of Fortune." I really don't know what about "Wheel" appeals to her, but she refers to it as "the show with the woman in the pretty dress." She will blow off most anything else she is doing to watch it.

On Wednesdays we eat supper at Family Night at church. After the meal, the minister asks for prayer requests and then we pray. If there are a lot of sick folks, this can be a lengthy undertaking.

This week Dair was taking her time with dinner, and Karl reminded her that if she didn't finish soon, she'd miss her show. Suddenly she switched into high gear, didn't even finish her dessert (her favorite part of any meal) and dashed to the door. I guess she's not the praying type when the choice comes down to Jesus or the "Wheel of Fortune."