Last few days have been mostly … well, irritating to the point of wit’s end. Endless questions about “When we are going home,” coupled with a lack of comprehension so deep that the use of fork and knife is becoming problematic, and he frequently asks “Who are you?”
Perhaps it is all aggravated by the fact that i know have a week’s respite schedule for each of the remaining months of the year. We will see if next week’s break at The Lodge is as positive for Don as the first one, because I am truly at the end of my rope.
Certainly here at home he is agitated, restless, very afraid (yesterday he refused to eat his hash browns – his favourite breakfast – because “I’m afraid of them”) and easily irritated. Not exactly a happy camper, and not easy to handle. I have resorted to more medication and I am trying to stay aware that under the layer of reasonableness (is that a word?) induced by the meds, there is a deep and plummeting dementia.
Fortunately, after the medication took effect, I was able to find some photos of Ontario under snow, and that seems to have settled the prospect of driving 3500 miles for now. He, who used to read maps and the atlas for recreation, has no concept any more of distance, space, geography.
He seems to have given up on money, having decided the business cards with his poem on them are as valuable (and who is to argue with that!) He can be diverted by the birthday cards I saved for him.This morning i sat there showing him the cards and thinking to myself, how much i would like to have cards addressed to him showing up in the mailbox — just one every three months or so, from all the people who say they care so much for him.