New drug
By M on Tuesday 23 January 2007, 23:31 - Journal - Permalink
By double subterfuge, Rachel and I drew mum and dad out of the house for an
'outing'. Subterfuge 1: as we pulled away in my car, Alison pulled up in hers
and let herself into the house for her weekly house-cleaning. Subterfuge 2:
when we reached our beach-side destination I diverted mum into the surgery of
Dr Humerus, the psychogeriatrician.
The diversion did not go entirely like clockwork. Mum's suspicions were aroused. When does an outing to the beach entail sitting in a waiting room? When something is afoot, that's when! And once we were inside the surgery mum was demanding to know what was going on. Luckily, perhaps, she became quite querulous and this gave a clue to the doctor that mum's reactions are unusual. A quick, but oblique, resume from me, encompassing the broken spectacles and rib, put the need for a new care or medical response beyond doubt. The doctor could see that working with despatch was important as mum's composure was rapidly wearing thin. The sooner mum was sitting at a table in a cafe, the better. The consultation was all over in less than 10 minutes, then mum and I walked down Avalon's main street to meet up with Rachel and dad.
I also mentioned to the doctor that I thought the lessening of the Aricept dosage was correlated with a deterioration in dad, perhaps also in mum. She agreed it is possible. I shall now take this up with the nursing service. I'd like them to revert to seven days a week dosage, and if that means visiting in the evenings, then so be it.
The afternoon was a clear example of how utterly incompatible mum and dad can be. Dad kept irritating mum by nattering, by introducing incomprehensible subjects of conversation, by asking unnecessary questions, and by trying to make arrangements that simply didn't need to be made.
An example of unnecessary arrangements: dad has assumed that mum is hungry, lonely and distressed while he is away at day care. He tried to explain to mum that if she got up early enough, she could have breakfast, then be ready for the meals on wheels people (who provide both human contact and comestible matter). It would be much better for her, he insisted. Several times he tried to get mum to agree to this plan. Each time he did, I tried to suggest that mum didn't need it, and that it would be better if the two of them just continued to eat their sandwiches quietly.
In the end I had to tell dad, quite flatly, that mum is usually happier when he is not there, and that his worry about her while he is at day care is misplaced. He wouldn't believe me, until mum upheld my story with surprising earnestness.
So, we embark on our new pharmacological experiment. Mum's new prescription is Risperidone at 1mg/day. I've already done a little reading on the drug, and it appears to hold some promise but needs careful monitoring for adverse effects. Mum's Aricept is to continue at 10mg/day. Just to be on the safe side I will also sacrifice white chickens at each new moon.
The diversion did not go entirely like clockwork. Mum's suspicions were aroused. When does an outing to the beach entail sitting in a waiting room? When something is afoot, that's when! And once we were inside the surgery mum was demanding to know what was going on. Luckily, perhaps, she became quite querulous and this gave a clue to the doctor that mum's reactions are unusual. A quick, but oblique, resume from me, encompassing the broken spectacles and rib, put the need for a new care or medical response beyond doubt. The doctor could see that working with despatch was important as mum's composure was rapidly wearing thin. The sooner mum was sitting at a table in a cafe, the better. The consultation was all over in less than 10 minutes, then mum and I walked down Avalon's main street to meet up with Rachel and dad.
I also mentioned to the doctor that I thought the lessening of the Aricept dosage was correlated with a deterioration in dad, perhaps also in mum. She agreed it is possible. I shall now take this up with the nursing service. I'd like them to revert to seven days a week dosage, and if that means visiting in the evenings, then so be it.
The afternoon was a clear example of how utterly incompatible mum and dad can be. Dad kept irritating mum by nattering, by introducing incomprehensible subjects of conversation, by asking unnecessary questions, and by trying to make arrangements that simply didn't need to be made.
An example of unnecessary arrangements: dad has assumed that mum is hungry, lonely and distressed while he is away at day care. He tried to explain to mum that if she got up early enough, she could have breakfast, then be ready for the meals on wheels people (who provide both human contact and comestible matter). It would be much better for her, he insisted. Several times he tried to get mum to agree to this plan. Each time he did, I tried to suggest that mum didn't need it, and that it would be better if the two of them just continued to eat their sandwiches quietly.
In the end I had to tell dad, quite flatly, that mum is usually happier when he is not there, and that his worry about her while he is at day care is misplaced. He wouldn't believe me, until mum upheld my story with surprising earnestness.
So, we embark on our new pharmacological experiment. Mum's new prescription is Risperidone at 1mg/day. I've already done a little reading on the drug, and it appears to hold some promise but needs careful monitoring for adverse effects. Mum's Aricept is to continue at 10mg/day. Just to be on the safe side I will also sacrifice white chickens at each new moon.
Comments
What a relief, that your mom not only understood but agreed with your explanation to your dad about why he needs to relax around her and allow her alone time. Interesting, too, that this is something about which he worries. Apparently he's not completely oblivious. As well, although I can't remember what I've read in your journal that suggests this, I wonder if it's possible that, despite his dementia, he is aware that the relationship problems they're now having are rooted in their relationship history and only amplified by dementia. It almost sounds like, in his demented way, he's trying to make amends and refurbish their relationship. Not that it'll work, but I find it heartening that people at the level of dementia your parents inhabit are capable of this.
I believe the exact sacrificial requirement is white chickens with red combs and wattles. I'll check my manual, though, for clarification.