Worst of both worlds
By M on Sunday 11 February 2007, 23:57 - Journal - Permalink
In ones and twos we all assembled at mum and dad's place and discreetly checked
mum out.
She seemed less somnambulent than I have seen her, but that is not saying much. She was, however, back to her old ways: refusing the Aricept, getting irritated at the family talk around her, and at times muttering and scolding for offences recognised only in her peculiar legislature. It was truly the worst of both worlds: the undeniably corporeal vixen capable of breaking her husband's rib, and the netherworld zombie who can say only 'yes'. Both were there today. At times I was asking myself 'what have we done?'
I shall call Dr Humerus on Tuesday and tell her what I see. There now seem arguments for all of the following:
And that is just mum. Dad is losing his minor plot almost as comprehensively. Several times today Rachel or I had to give up while trying to explain something to him as it was just clearly too difficult for him to understand. Example:
Rachel is concerned because, although we make sure that food is left in the house so that the careworkers are never short when they make the evening meals, hardly ever does it appear to get used. We just don't see what mum and dad are getting to eat. Dad could not understand that we wanted to know what he was being fed. In fact we didn't even bother asking him. But he wanted to be part of the conversation and kept asking what we wanted to know. Each time it was explained he simply said either 'oh, yes we get our meals here,' or 'we get fed all right'. Yes, but what is it you actually eat? That question could not be answered.
So today, several times I said to dad, 'it is obvious you and mum cannot look after yourselves any more. You get about 15 visits a week, yet you are still on the phone to us with calls for help up to ten times a day.' No, he didn't make the connection. Apparently you can be this helpless and still be looking after yourselves all right.
She seemed less somnambulent than I have seen her, but that is not saying much. She was, however, back to her old ways: refusing the Aricept, getting irritated at the family talk around her, and at times muttering and scolding for offences recognised only in her peculiar legislature. It was truly the worst of both worlds: the undeniably corporeal vixen capable of breaking her husband's rib, and the netherworld zombie who can say only 'yes'. Both were there today. At times I was asking myself 'what have we done?'
I shall call Dr Humerus on Tuesday and tell her what I see. There now seem arguments for all of the following:
- staying off the Risperidone - as it has obviously turned mum into a vegetable
- renewing the Risperidone - as the attack-mother has not been banished
- trying something else - as neither of the above is desirable
And that is just mum. Dad is losing his minor plot almost as comprehensively. Several times today Rachel or I had to give up while trying to explain something to him as it was just clearly too difficult for him to understand. Example:
Rachel is concerned because, although we make sure that food is left in the house so that the careworkers are never short when they make the evening meals, hardly ever does it appear to get used. We just don't see what mum and dad are getting to eat. Dad could not understand that we wanted to know what he was being fed. In fact we didn't even bother asking him. But he wanted to be part of the conversation and kept asking what we wanted to know. Each time it was explained he simply said either 'oh, yes we get our meals here,' or 'we get fed all right'. Yes, but what is it you actually eat? That question could not be answered.
So today, several times I said to dad, 'it is obvious you and mum cannot look after yourselves any more. You get about 15 visits a week, yet you are still on the phone to us with calls for help up to ten times a day.' No, he didn't make the connection. Apparently you can be this helpless and still be looking after yourselves all right.
Comments
This reminds me of something that crosses my mind several times a month: There was a time, before dementia, when my mother knew that she could look after herself and was right, that she was also able to anticipate a time when she wouldn't be able to look after herself. She didn't, of course, anticipate that she wouldn't be aware that she couldn't look after herself!
Now, she absolutely can't look after herself but is convinced that she can. She even insists on this when we have minor arguments, by voicing a version of, "I got along without you before I invited you here, I can get along without you, now."
I tend to find this funny, rather than exasperating. Rarely do I counter her...only, when she insists on doing something that is clearly not in her best interests, and then I try to counter her outside of her field of awareness.
Sometimes I think that this misplaced self-confidence is a "blessing", in the sense that it dispels the fear that an undemented person generally feels when they realize they're in over their head. Of course, it also makes my job somewhat harder, but, I guess I'd rather be tending to a fearless, demented mother than a fearful, demented one.
I just rescanned your last two posts and want to mention that I am gratefully reminded of the seriousness of dealing with Medicine on behalf of an Ancient One. So far, it seems, I've been successful in these dealings (although who knows...it never fails to cross my mind when I'm thinking about my success that I might also be keeping her from treatments which might offer more success). Following the story of your experience with Risperidone, though, causes me to shudder a bit, especially when I take note that you seem to have a somewhat more cooperative, productive relationship with Dr. Humerus than I've been able to negotiate with my mother's doctors.