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).

Back

Use it or lose it.  True.  Wanted to check exactly when I first picked up the guitar (depressingly find it is a year ago) and could not access this account.  Jumped on the password email account carousel, which is Google at its worst, in an abortive attempt to update old defunct email address and was denied denied denied.  In a devil may care WTF attitude pipped the plogger icon and lo and behold, it opened. 

So here I am in surroundings at once familiar and strange.  Have often thought of returning to record random thoughts - like yesterday; walking Mikaela to the gate on our morning constitutional, gazing at the tree trunks, one with a spot just the right size for my bum at its base, and wondering when was the last time I just sat and looked. I miss that healing limbo of Not Doing Anything when in fact I am doing very much as my hard edges, my rational borders soften and I, in some small way, become a part of nature of which I am a part.  Of which I am apart.  For that's the illusion  -  that I am apart.  Sitting and breathing and being restores a little reality to the unreality of life. 

Other random thoughts - while I try not to dwell on the slow but steady disintegration of Richard's cognitive abilities - often it's pretty brutal.  Today.  Lunch.  Him with fork tines turned down onto his stable table asking why it isn't running?  'What isn't running?' This, he says, stabbing the leaf pattern plastic top.  A minute before he'd been trying to butter the screw top of the Season All jar.  Yesterday afternoon, prior to our towing the wheelie bins to the curb (at least it's all downhill!), he talked about us dragging them up again.  'But they have to be emptied first,' I said.  When that didn't make sense, explained in detail how the big trucks would come in the morning to empty the bins and we would pick them up again and put them in the truck after.  Something we've been doing for 3 years.  I've found soiled underwear hidden in empty drawers, soiled jeans under shelves and he has this thing about socks.  Socks on the nightstand, socks on the fireplace, socks on the couch, socks multiplying like rabbits. 

We go through periods where toileting issues are not an issue, then a long dismal run where they are.  I am getting better at just getting through it and moving on.  Sometimes it takes a herculearn effort to let it go when it seems so obvious (to me) that faeces should not be found on the shower wall or shower floor, the outside of the toilet, on hand towels, under nails, on door handles. 

I briefly joined a FB group for dementia support but quickly unjoined.  Too awful.  A technicolour description of where we're headed.  I've got enough on my plate now, thanks, without depressing myself further. 

Beyond the practicalities of everyday, occasionally, seeing a photograph of Richard before I am overcome with sadness.  One thing I did read on that support group, having to grieve for the loss of someone while they're still alive, or words to that effect.  Too true.

Saw a woman in the checkout queque, snapping at her obviously demented husband because he was too slow and he didn't 'get it'.  And I wanted to say to her, I understand but you must remember, he can't help it.  Richard can't help it.  Can do nothing about his confusion, his loss of words, his loss of meaning and meaningfulness.  So I must help him as best I can; love him, slow down, be patient, support him.  Two cards I've drawn have been of help.  One said, Trust in the Path.  Okay.  I can Trust in the Path.  The other said, ask and you shall receive.  So I have asked for serenity.  If I can remain serene - it's gravy!  I have everything else.   One of the luckiest most blessed people I know so just trust and get through each day with grace and love.  That's all.