Showered Richard a few days ago.  It wasn't that long ago when I suggested I shower him he growled he'd move out before that happened.  Just answered a lovely email from Heather who wrote she'd been thinking of us, how she hopes we get the help we need  from the 'system'.  Have made an appointment with the doc to get a referral to Occupational Therapy for handrails, perhaps an addendum to the toilet, rails in the shower and whatever else they might deem necessary be installed. 

He's failing and the failing seems to be accelerating.  The day I showered him, he was mentally 'out of it'.  He falls into a daze while eating, sitting with a morsel of food poised at the entrance to his mouth.  The daze, if not broken, quickly devolves into sleep.  Now The Daze, should capitalize it as it's such a leading light in our lives, has appeared while he's standing.  Richard forgets how to open the doors, sliding glass and screen doors.  He forgets the names of his grandchildren.  He doesn't understand much beyond the basics - go here, eat this, stop that, do that.  Conversations which involve the simplest concepts are now beyond him.  We had two inappropriate urinations close together; a bed wetting (thank goodness for the Brolly Sheet!) and in the hall.  These mishaps cause him great consternation.  And I got cranky too.  The one in bed was due to his having a beer and a scotch.  Too much alcohol and he loses bladder control.  So when he woke me at 3:30 saying Holly Wake UP! I told him tough, he'd have to cope.  But of course I couldn't get back to sleep.  The other time, again waking me at 3:30, the magic time of night it seems, I was less than gracious on my hands and knees mopping up urine. 

I don't carry resentment, don't beat him over the head with it after the fact.  He can't help it really.  At the same time, I'm not going to beat myself up for being cranky either. 

His days are hard.  He has such a strong work ethic he feels he should be doing something but is unable to do much at all.  He washes the dishes, blows the hay from the truck with the blower, waters the plants, even watering the pots with nothing in them, sweeps the deck. Other than that he sits on the couch in The Daze, then complains because his ankles are swollen.  Well, do something! I rail.  Sweep, cobweb, pull weeds, do your exercises (sitting and rising from a chair without using his hands).  Yes, he says, I will, then forgets what he was going to do between the couch and the door.

Thank god he doesn't remember how he was or he'd be pathologically depressed.  When I was washing his privates, when I clip his toenails, when I tell him he doesn't need to put on a pair of underwear as he's already wearing a set, when I dress him, if he saw these things as he was, he'd be mortified.  Now he's mostly meek and grateful.

He's not doing the best job when he showers so there'll be a time soon when I can edge my way into that job permanently without hurting his feelings.  Ditto teeth brushing.   And shaving.  Next will come bum wiping.  That will be a tough one.

On a good note.  Matisse is off the prozac.  I'd ordered a batch, it got hung up in the depot so he had to go without for a few days.  What a transformation!  He's calmer, happier, hasn't sprayed, rarely wails at night, is still affectionate, that hasn't changed, and he doesn't smell like drugs or have greasy ears.  The downside is it was obviously an appetite stimulant for he's not eating as much (why can't there be a happy medium?  On drugs he ate too much. Off drugs not enough).