Tomorrow will start our third week of adjusting to a diagnosis no one wants to hear. Really we don't want to learn anything about it either, until we are forced to.
So far we can talk about it. Not that we get anywhere with the talk, but at least we have it out in the open - on the table to examine what we can see and question what we don't understand. I've said before there is no one who can or will give us a "what to expect next" list. It just ain't out there. That is all right however, I believe there are no two people alike making the dementia journey as unique as the patient himself.
Namenda = one of the first meds a dementia patient is given, has brought him back momentarily. I say momentarily - but I truly do not know. I could get use to the "new" person who sleeps in my bed and eats at my table. However, on every hand I've been warned that it won't last.
"I don't know where I was back then", he ventures to say. For sure it was at least three weeks he wasn't here. Bodily he was; however mentally and even emotionally he was somewhere I could not get to.
Even though the Doctor asked questions that could have been probing - he could not give a correct answer. I wanted to help him, "write a sentence" as the Doctor instructed. He set there, looked up, then down and around and finally at me. I had done very well being quiet and not trying to help him, until now and I ventured, "Write a sentence on where we are going when we leave here". I may have caused a block, but at least he attempted to write a sentence.
"I don't know where you were that day or even a couple weeks before then", I go on to say while we talked about the darkness that had engulfed him. I only wish the Doctor could have seen him then and then now. He is with me 99 percent of time now. I do get questions repeated, but that is minor compared to "back then" when he was gone.
I tease that I have my merry maid back again. He has always enjoyed cleaning the kitchen for me (after all I do the cooking). It is an agreement we've always had and for several weeks my kitchen was all mine again. It is not a secret either that he does the wash.
Now that has been a source of contention for years, until he finally learned to "leave my stuff alone". In his helping, he has had to stand back when I purchased new clothes because something originally white had turned pink. Sorting the clothes and strongly suggesting he leave them the way I had sorted them finally sunk in. It really does help to have my "merry maid" back doing the wash now that he doesn't put towels in with my lingerie, or keep red clothes until there is a load to be washed by themselves.
Ain't life grand? There are times in life when things we get so upset about seems to be trivial at other times. I've learned to look at life in light of "What will it matter 100 years from now?" Getting bent out of shape doesn't help a thing. Causes ulcers and they hurt. But really - it don't help anything?
We;ll see what tomorrow holds. Until then.....
Doris
So far we can talk about it. Not that we get anywhere with the talk, but at least we have it out in the open - on the table to examine what we can see and question what we don't understand. I've said before there is no one who can or will give us a "what to expect next" list. It just ain't out there. That is all right however, I believe there are no two people alike making the dementia journey as unique as the patient himself.
Namenda = one of the first meds a dementia patient is given, has brought him back momentarily. I say momentarily - but I truly do not know. I could get use to the "new" person who sleeps in my bed and eats at my table. However, on every hand I've been warned that it won't last.
"I don't know where I was back then", he ventures to say. For sure it was at least three weeks he wasn't here. Bodily he was; however mentally and even emotionally he was somewhere I could not get to.
Even though the Doctor asked questions that could have been probing - he could not give a correct answer. I wanted to help him, "write a sentence" as the Doctor instructed. He set there, looked up, then down and around and finally at me. I had done very well being quiet and not trying to help him, until now and I ventured, "Write a sentence on where we are going when we leave here". I may have caused a block, but at least he attempted to write a sentence.
"I don't know where you were that day or even a couple weeks before then", I go on to say while we talked about the darkness that had engulfed him. I only wish the Doctor could have seen him then and then now. He is with me 99 percent of time now. I do get questions repeated, but that is minor compared to "back then" when he was gone.
I tease that I have my merry maid back again. He has always enjoyed cleaning the kitchen for me (after all I do the cooking). It is an agreement we've always had and for several weeks my kitchen was all mine again. It is not a secret either that he does the wash.
Now that has been a source of contention for years, until he finally learned to "leave my stuff alone". In his helping, he has had to stand back when I purchased new clothes because something originally white had turned pink. Sorting the clothes and strongly suggesting he leave them the way I had sorted them finally sunk in. It really does help to have my "merry maid" back doing the wash now that he doesn't put towels in with my lingerie, or keep red clothes until there is a load to be washed by themselves.
Ain't life grand? There are times in life when things we get so upset about seems to be trivial at other times. I've learned to look at life in light of "What will it matter 100 years from now?" Getting bent out of shape doesn't help a thing. Causes ulcers and they hurt. But really - it don't help anything?
We;ll see what tomorrow holds. Until then.....
Doris
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