Let me first say that my Mom is doing well, getting stronger. Every other day, she walks on the treadmill for 15 minutes, and has been bugging me to call her doctor to see when she can go back to her water aerobics class! She has always been very fit and active. She is taking steroids to reduce the swelling in her brain from the tumor, and that wreaks havoc with her diabetes and her sleeping patterns. In a few weeks, she will be off the steroids, and at the end of September will have another MRI to find out if the tumor has shrunk and to see if there are any more popping up yet.
I have had a pretty hard time with my Dad. He has really declined in the last few years, but most noticibly in the last four months. He has been staying in a home since my Mom had her treatment. We bring him home for most of the day, about 9 or 10 am until 6 or 7 pm. Here's our conversation the first time I went to pick him up:
Dad: Well there's my little girl!
Me: I might be your youngest girl, but I'm the tallest girl in our family! (That's how I usually answer when he calls me little or youngest)
Dad: Well now, I didn't know that. (Confused and looking at the nurse): I haven't seen her in years and years!
I just kind of laughed it off and didn't contradict him.
Dad: What grade are you in now?
Me: I'm all done with school now. I'm a Spanish teacher (trying to keep it simple).
Dad: Really? A teacher?
Me: Yes, Dad, just like you were.
Dad: Like I was?
Me: You were a professor for 35 years.
Dad: I was?
When we came out to see them in April, my Dad gave me a bunch of Spanish magazines that he had been saving for me. He used to pick them up everywhere he went and save them in the garage. He knew I had started my Master's degree, and kept asking me when I would be done. So now, four months later, he doesn't remember that I'm an adult, that I finished college, started my master's, that I was teaching Spanish, or that even he himself was a professor. It was shocking.
It's strange, though, what functions do remain. He is able to read from the scriptures out loud every evening. He followed along in the hymn book singing quite well. He can do almost everything himself: put on his seat belt, brush his teeth, eat, dress. But you have to tell him every little step. Here is a typical meal:
Dad: Can I eat now?
Mom: Go ahead, but eat your corn first because the chicken is hot.
Dad: (picking up his fork) Do I use this?
Mom: Use your fingers (it was corn on the cob).
Dad: (Taking a bite) There's no stuff on this.
Mom: Put butter and salt on it.
Dad: Butter?
Mom: Here (pointing)
Dad: (Putting his corn down and picking up his fork)I better see what this is (poking at the chicken)
Mom: That's your chicken and it's too hot so don't eat it for a few minutes. Eat your corn.
Dad: My corn?
You see the pattern. Spoken words have little or no meaning for him. He repeats everything because he doesn't know what we're talking about. We have to point to things. But how do you point to "professor" or "sick"? He's actually quite amusing to listen to, but it gets frustrating at times. He often says things like "I wish I had never been born" or "When do I get to die?" or "I will be dead by next week." Which, naturally, is a little depressing.
The nurses in the home and most other people treat him like he is a child. Like a child with bad hearing. It bothers me, it makes me want to tell them all about his past. I want to put a sign on him that says "TREAT ME WITH RESPECT." They don't know that he ran away from an abusive home when he was 16, rode the rails and hitch hiked across the country, enlisted in the army, attended several prestigious universities while working, served an honorable mission in Argentina, taught Kindergarten in California, received his Masters and PhD while a young father, had ten children, was a tenured professor, managed money to raise ten children and then put every single one through college, served another mission with my mom, etc. That's not even the tip of the iceberg.
I take Dad out for a few hours every day so my Mom can rest. On one of our outings, I asked him to tell me how he met Mom. He couldn't remember. Many people with Alzheimer's can remember things from their childhood or past. I asked him a few different questions, even led him down the path a little way to see if he would remember. But he didn't. That was a little sad. He has better moments, but I would say that about 90% of the time he is as I described above.
I keep telling myself that we're doing the best we can for him, and all we can do is help him be happy for the next few years of his life. And if that means driving him by the church 5 times a day to show him that no one is there right now, well then, let's do it. It doesn't bother me. And I'm enjoying my time with him while there are no other demands on my attention (kids). He's pretty fun to be with.
Does anyone have any experience with Alzheimer's or dementia? I would love to hear some stories and/or advice.