The next morning, despite almost a doubling of all the meds, we – he – continued on about the car, and going to get our car, and what kind of egomaniac was I to leave our car (at some undetermined location.) This slowly evolved, after breakfast, showers, and other diversions, into a simmering temper and a cheerful determination that we were leaving for “home” soon. Home at some unknown and unspecified location, of course. And accompanied by an explanation that he was very very afraid of just about everything (which is true and must be an awful way to live).
By then I was torn between getting him into a care home as soon as possible or just dropping him off at the Emergency Room immediately. Too bad they don’t have boxes for unwanted dementia patients like some of the churches do for abandoned babies.
I felt myself getting quite sick, and that calmed Don down again, although — Note to would-be nurses – being asked if you are ok every 2 minutes does little to help the patient!
Some Gregorian chants helped calm my stomach and his overactive fear factory. But did nothing to change the determination to leave for home. As well as pity and anger at how stupid I was not to know what he was talking about.