Tag Archives: Alzheimer’s Christmas

Do You See What I See-the Alzheimer’s spouse refrain

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Ralph enjoyed his Christmas from what I can tell. He was not excited about going to my daughter’s house on Chrismas Eve, but he was totally involved in “surprise present” game in which Ralph opened a big cardboard box inside which LittleBoyRalph popped up pretending to be a mechanical toy with an off and on button—both Ralphs had no problem repeating the game over and over to everone else’s delight. Nor was he excited about Christmas dinner but then was charming. I was told by several at the dinner how “good Ralph seemed, better than I expected.”

I always hate those comments, well meaning as I know they are. And KG’s recent response to my last post definitely came to mind. What he wrote—“Others don’t see what I see”—really hit home. I am struck that there are elements of daily life with Alzheimer’s that don’t get discussed because they seems so trivial in the scope of things (the weather and certain small fixations like Ralph’s daily Nutty Buddy) or slightly embarrassing (issues of hygiene come to mind and my allowing Ralph nightly beers). I see the hitches in his most basic problem solving, his passivity (often a godsend frankly, like this afternoon when I had to drive our neighborhood streets aimlessly for an hour because I had a napping child in the backseat and Ralph was perfectly happy in the passenger seat), his social disconnect when he wanders back to his bedroom despite having guests in the room talking to us. 

At the same time, I don’t think I pay the same degree of attention as I used to in the early days. I’m afraid I don’t note as carefully as I used to every small Alzheimer’s wrinkle as it crops up. I don’t worry so much about whatever new normal has arrived. Everything is normal.

I think I see Ralph as clearly as I need to. But then he still can surprise me. Ralph used to be something of an artist. After his diagnosis of MCI I found him an undemanding art class he attended weekly with great devotion for years, but then the teacher had to stop teaching and although I set up a studio-office for him behind our house here, he has not picked up a paint brush or pencil since we moved in. Until yesterday.He had found a blank artist pad I’d bought at the drugstore for LittleBoyRalph and sketched from memory our old dog house on the farm as well as some kind of fighter jet. He also wrote his name on the sketch pad to make clear it was his. It now sits between the cushion and arm of his chair. I am amazed at his initiative and his spark of pride, like a sudden blip on a flat graph line. I also wonder whether he remembers that the sketch pad, which he didn’t touch today, exists. 

Alzheimer’s Weather Has Arrived in Time for Xmas

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“Do you have the AC on?”

“No it’s 72 degrees on the thermostat”

“It’s freezing in here.”

“You might try putting on a sweater.”

“Why is it so cold.”

“It’s only 65 degree outside.”

“That’s cold.”

“It’s December. Christmas is in four days.”  

“It is?” (Our house has two Christmas trees and an advent calendar the grandkids come and mark daily)

“It was not this cold last year.”

“Yes, you complained last year too.”

“No I didn’t.”

This conversation has actually occurred in some similar form for years, here in New Orleans but also before at the farm. One of Ralph’s earliest symptoms of cognitive loss was his weakening sense of time and another was his sensitivity to the weather. In the summer he complains of the heat unendingly—while often wearing a flannel shirt. And in the winter, he cannot get warm—while ignoring the sweaters in his closet.

I have not always been as patient as I could be during these repeated conversations, but I finally have made an adjustment in our lives that might help. After resisting covering our beautiful old French windows for selfish aesthetic reasons, I have ordered solar shades for the room where Ralph most often sits. And meanwhile it will be warming up here in time for Christmas, although the temperature might not stop Ralph’s discomfort or this conversation.

As for the holiday itself, I am not sure how it will go. Now that I’ve adjusted to Ralph’s move into “moderate” Alzheimer’s, I recognize that that this may be a period in our lives that I will be nostalgic about someday because while Ralph’s cognition may be diminished, he is also undemanding; as long as I don’t set expectations too high, our day-to-day life is not that demanding —as long as Ralph’s routine is not disturbed and he can stay within its narrow confines. But Christmas is going to disturb his routine big time, 

My son and son-in-law are arriving tomorrow with their negative tests in hand. So are my sister and her husband. Everyone is coming, despite the new covid risks, largely to see Ralph, not sure where Alzheimer’s will have taken us by next Christmas. This year will be in untraveled territory enough. As recently as two years ago, our last full scale celebration, Ralph was tstill he center of our big, raucous Christmases, while I cooked and cleaned in the background. 

Now all he wants is to be left alone and he can’t remember that it is December even as I ask him to water the Christmas tree. My guess is that even when the family gathers, he will prefer not to participate. 

And that will be okay too. 

The Case of the Missing Car Keys: A Clash of Memories

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“It’s the unacknowledgement of a reality that is constantly hitting us, as spouses, in the face, but for which reasonable, constructive dialogue is either ineffective or impossible any more. Quite draining, and erodes the bond we knew and loved with our spouses.”–Jabberwalky08, responding to my last post, expresses the predicament of the spouse caregiver beautifully.

 

So Ralph’s car keys are missing. Actually he couldn’t find them the morning after his evening of too many beers, but I didn’t think too much about it when I wrote last because I assumed they’d show up. They haven’t

That first morning I’d already left the house when Ralph discovered he couldn’t find his keys. I told him where the extra set was and he seemed mollified. But that afternoon when he still had not found them, he was upset.

“You don’t remember where you put them when you got them out of my car?” Ralph asked as I helped him look. His tone was level and very polite, as if he was trying to avoid embarrassing me.

“But I didn’t get them out of your car.”

“Ok, but if you had where would you put them?”

“I would hang them on the key hook with the other key.”

“That doesn’t make sense since you’d want to hide themfrom me.”

“But I didn’t want to hide them, because I didn’t get them out of the car.”

“I remember you getting them out of the car. You were afraid I’d drive inebriated.”

“No, I had not reason to be afraid because you went straight to lie down. Anyway, I was holding raw chicken breasts when you came in the house. Don’t you remember?” Stupid question to ask, I know.

“I remember you getting the keys.”

“I didn’t get your keys.”

“But if you did, where would you hide them.”

Are you getting bored and frustrated yet?

This conversation, or a longer version, was held and repeated in several variations every time we were together. Ralph always remained remarkably calm, probably because he didn’t remember asking or answering the same questions two minutes ago. I became increasingly annoyed. “Which one of us has memory issues?” I blurted out at one point.

I have learned over time that what is remembered by someone with cognitive impairment can be just as problematic as what is forgotten. But now we were on a new level of looping memory.  We’d become a microcosm of what pundits are so busy discussing about facts, alternative facts, news and fake news. I knew I had not been out to Ralph’s car, taken his keys and hidden them. But he knew I had.

Ralph can be very convincing when he believes something, and his certainty was stronger than mine. After all, I have the niggling awareness that there have been enough occasions when I have done something similar—hiding beer cans for instance on a daily basis. I didn’t take the keys this time, but I could have and might in the future.

So I began to question myself. Could I have done something with his keys and forgotten? Was my memory going. 

NO, I really couldn’t have and didn’t. And NO, my memory is not less trustworthy than Ralph’s

BUT there was no reconciling my sense of reality and Ralph’s and no arguing to a comfortable conclusion.

It would have been a darkly depressing state of affairs except that in saying I’d taken his keys, Ralph was also acknowledging that he’d drunk too much–that the drinking caused the loss of the keys, whether by his hand or mine. That knowledge has made him more willing, at least for now, to follow my rules and schedule. Last night as he headed to the porch, I nagged him to make a check on his life list to account for the beer he was holding. He merely shrugged, but a minute later he came back inside.

“Thanks for  working so hard to keep me alive.”

I was speechless. For a moment we were living in the same reality. Then, lulled into thinking we could chat, I mentioned that our older grandchildren were arriving on Thursday.

“Why are they coming?”

“Christmas.”

“Is it Christmas? Oh so is everyone coming for Christmas?”

“No, we’re all going to New Orleans on Friday.”

“We are? Oh, I forgot.”

It has been twenty-four hours since Ralph has mentioned the missing keys; that’s good news but the bad news may be that he’s forgotten he lost them. And because we live on different planes of communication, I can’t bring myself to ask him.