Tag Archives: Personality changes MCI/Alzheimer’s

Dinner Out

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What a wonderful evening we had tonight. I am giddy over it.

A few years ago running out to the local Thai restaurant for an hour would not seem a big deal, especially given that we were home in time for Ralph to go to bed by his usual 8:30. We used to eat out several times a week trying new places, some fancy, some ethnic, some greasy spoons. One of the real joys we shared as a couple was food because both of us have always been adventurous eaters.

Tonight the food (though it was surprisingly good for our small town) was beside the point. The point was that Ralph actually came with me. Lately when we make plans to go anywhere–dinner, a movie, to visit our daughter– Ralph decides at the last minute that he is too tired to go, but tonight he showered and got ready without my nagging.

Of course, as I drove us into town I had to remind him whom we were meeting , my friends Francis and Susan who are sisters. Francis recently stayed at our house for two weeks; we ate together every night and she sat  with Ralph on the porch. Nevertheless, it took some serious prodding for Ralph to remember exactly who she is. He has met Susan a numerous times; she works with several of Ralph’s buddies from his twenties about whom they have gossiped with great pleasure. I don’t think she noticed that he didn’t have any memory of her or their connection.

Everyone felt new to Ralph; and Joe, a friend the sisters brought along, really was new, someone neither of us had met.  As it turned out, having new faces gave Ralph just the audience he needed. He told stories while eating whatever I ordered for him. If he repeated himself, no one particularly noticed or cared. He laughed more than I’ve heard him laugh in ages He was relaxed and completely charming. Wonderful company. The man I fell in love with years ago.

So what if he went to bed as soon as we got home? Unfortunately Ralph probably will have forgotten by tomorrow what a lovely evening we had, but  I can remember it and savor it for days. And one thing about MCI, at least at this early stage, is that I have finally begun to live in the moment, at least occasionally.

Silences

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I am not going to pretend that there were never silences in our marriage before Ralph was diagnosed with Mild Cognitive Impairment. Our arguments included the silence of resentment, the silence of fury. Ralph and I argued a lot since we were frequently on different wavelengths about everything from child rearing to national politics. But when those silences happened, I was passive-aggressive while Ralph used to be the one who eventually stormed and stomped beforehand.

…..Not to diverge but I just noticed that I write Ralph used to be the one who an awful lot     in my posts:                                                                                                                                                                                  Ralph used to be the one who complained about silences.                                                                     Ralph used to be the one who followed a regimen with medicine.                                                    Ralph used to be the one who was more outgoing.                                                                                                           Used to be the one who took care of our business affairs,                                                                                          Used to be the one who was into rules and regulations,                                                                                             The one who drove too fast.                                                                                                                                                The one who was charismatic,                                                                                                                       Who loved to analyze politics,                                                                                                                        Who was good with facts and figures,                                                                                                            Who was the family disciplinarian.                                                                                                                  Who could remember everyone’s name,                                                                                                     Who was intellectually and emotionally passionate.

Now Ralph has relinquished many of his roles, every one of those listed above. Meanwhile I am taking some but not all of them up in his place: yes, I’m the one running the business, setting the schedule if not the rules, remembering whatever needs remembering, but not picking up the slack on passion or charisma.

Sometimes, especially when I receive sympathetic comments, I wonder if I am giving people a lopsided view of Ralph here. Too much Ralph used to be.

Because the fact is, Ralph still functions on a daily basis pretty damn well. He can drive a car (even if he can’t remember directions), he can go to the hardware store and discuss why the tub leaks with our plumber, he can fix complicated machinery. He can carry on a perfectly reasonable conversation, even if he doesn’t remember it afterwards. If you met him, you would probably wonder what all my fuss is about.

Sometimes I wonder myself. After all, we have not really argued in months. Sometimes I am short-tempered and speak harshly, but he doesn’t remember long enough for my behavior to matter. And he almost never expresses anger himself. It takes very little to keep him pleased: whatever I cook for dinner is delicious these days, whatever I wear looks great, whatever he reads is interesting.

If anything, he is too easily pleased. Our lives have flattened. I am ashamed  how bored I get with Ralph’s conversations about the weather and the dog, yet how disinclined I am to share my own thoughts and feelings with him—I’m embarrassed to admit that I’ve stopped trying very hard. Writing these sentences forces me to acknowledge that while I know who Ralph used to be, I am not at all sure who Ralph is now or who we are together.

I have read enough about the later stages of Alzheimer’s to realize that down the road I may well look back on these early days of Ralph’s cognitive loss with nostalgia. But right now I’m nostalgic about our imperfect past, even those churning  silences we used to share as furious but passionate equals.

Will We Walk the Alzheimer’s Walk?

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Receiving an email reminder of the Alzheimer’s Association Walk to Stop Alzheimer’s coming up in a few months, set off a chain of reactions  I  jotted down as they were hitting my brain…bumpbumpbump…

1. I want to go on the walk. It will be a good thing to raise money for research of course, but what really appeals to me is the sense of belonging the walk implies. I imagine myself in a bright-colored t-shirt surrounded by smiling new friends.

2. I can’t sign up. Ralph will refuse to participate. If I bring it up he’ll say “just send money.” He walks every day with his dog or with me., but with other people? Other people with varying stages of Alzheimer’s: No way. He doesn’t want to be part of that world.

3. Actually, he’s not that stubborn.  I probably could convince him to participate. I could say his doctor says we should . No, I don’t have to manipulate him that way. If I’m honest and say that the walk is something I want to do, he’ll probably go along; he likes pleasing me these days.(a smile of affection  at that thought)

4. But if I do convince Ralph to walk, he won’t want to walk with other people. We would be a lonely twosome. I get support from knowing others in the same boat, while being around people with cognitive impairment only scares Ralph. And this difference is not just because he has the impairment; it also has to do with his personality versus mine. Not everything has to do with the impairment.

5. But Ralph was the extrovert for the first twenty years of our marriage. I used to resent how easily he met people. Our roles have reversed after all.

6. Maybe it’s not a great idea. Maybe I’m still too shy to walk with strangers. Maybe I’ll just send a check. Why push against my natural inclination and his current comfort zone.

7. But how can I not walk? We need to own this reality.

8. I am not sure why this walk seems so important. I have plenty of time to decide; three months can bring a lot of changes (or very few). But   this one small choice, like every small choice, crystallizes the back and forth in which I spend so much of my inner life these days.

9. And besides I keep imagining those new friends.

 

 

 

 

Drinking and Smoking and MCI

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II

I know, I know, if drinking and smoking are not good for anyone, their effect on people with memory loss has to be worse.

In fact one of the first things Ralph’s primary physician said after the diagnosis—no alcohol, no smoking.

But bad habits are hard to give up. And making someone else give them up is even harder. And to be honest, I’ve begun to wonder if maybe Ralph shouldn’t hang on to a few bad habits for a sense of normalcy. There are so many aspects of Ralph-ness he’s already letting go—the real estate dealmaker has lost his touch for number-crunching, the Bob Dylan fanatic doesn’t listen to music any more, the husband who used to only half-jokingly call himself the captain of the family passively agrees with every decision I make. Not that I’m complaining because Ralph’s temper has disappeared or because he’s become a sweeter, gentler human being; but the changes have spooked me a little.

God knows that for most of the length of our 35-year marriage I nagged Ralph repeatedly to cut down on both booze and nicotine. I have always been a bit of a stick-in-the-mud prude. I never smoked even as a kid and my drinking is limited to a very occasional glass of wine; after two I’m tipsy or worse. But I understand addictive habits; if there’s chocolate or ice cream in the house watch out.

Ralph has downed at least three or four cans a night for as long as I’ve known him. Well, actually, he probably drank closer to a six-pack many days. In fact when Ralph first started showing signs of cognitive loss, months before the MCI diagnosis, I thought his problems had to do with his Natty-Lite consumption (and I still believe it didn’t help). We talked about the connection—that he was always fuzzier at night, the same time of day he imbibed—and Ralph has actually cut down on his own. Now he drinks one or two, never more than three cans of lite beer around dinnertime, and not every night. Drinking less has obviously not cured his memory issues, and do I really want to take that bit of pleasure away?

As for smoking, Ralph went cold turkey when the kids were small and stayed nicotine free for over twenty years, but it only took one puff on a cigar at a Fourth of July party to get him hooked again five years ago. In retrospect he started smoking again around the same time that his memory began to slip, before we acknowledged it except as a joke although he may have been more worried privately than he let on.

At first he smoked just a cigar or two a day. He kept saying he was about to quit. Instead, he smoked more. He never smoked in the house; instead he’d find excuses to go off in his car or sit bundled up on the front porch on the coldest winter day lighting one cigar after another. All my nagging fell on deaf ears. The more anxious he became about his memory, the more he smoked. By the time he was diagnosed with MCI last spring, he was up to a pack a day. And remember, we’re talking a pack of cigars, cheap, skinny, smelly ones that have to be stronger than the equivalent number of cigarettes.

So last month, in an ironic turn of events, I found myself convincing him to switch back to cigarettes for two reasons: 1., he’d have to smoke a lot more of them to hit the same nicotine level he was reaching with the cigars and 2., my more selfish reason, the cigarettes wouldn’t stink up his clothes as much. The old Ralph would have fought me, but the new Ralph made the switch.

Now I remember how much I hate cigarettes smoke.

But two days ago I came across a 2012 Georgetown University study showing that nicotine may actually slow down MCI. I couldn’t quite believe, so I talked to the nurse practitioner in our neurologist’s office. She said the results aren’t in on Alzheimer’s-related dementia there is some evidence that nicotine helps with Parkinson’s.

Meanwhile, Ralph’s down to less than half a pack a day. So now I’m feeling guilty not only because he still drinks but also because he might quit smoking because of me. But I can’t bring myself to show him the Georgetown article.