What It's Like for Carol's Husband

Bob on the Reading Room wrote a poem that says it all. See Bob's poem.

Dementia
by Max Wallack

It gallops in silently on powerful hoofs

Snatching sweet, precious, forgotten memories

Turning true-blue loyal friends into treacherous strangers

Clogging synapses with emptiness

Crumbling trust into excruciating paranoia

With bleak darkness comes the anxious wakefulness of broad daylight

And bitter terror encompasses every living fiber

"If I sleep, where will I be when I wake up?"

The compulsion to run, the paralysis of fear

Mature, child-like dependence

Retracing youthful development, but in rapid reverse

Cureless medicines, meaningless conversations

Leading up to the inevitable

Increasingly DH is asking questions about what the schedule is.  I do not at all tease him when he asks repeat questions, despite the fact everything is on the large FlyLady calendar.

We enjoyed a dinner at Cracker Barrell last night with a couple my husband had known years ago. He was very comfortable. They noticed that he had lost weight since they had seen him. They are part of his long-term memory. I don't think that they really noticed his dementia last night.

On the way home from this dinner he asked about where he worked when he retired over a year ago--he didn't remember. I reminded him that we passed it on the way home.  I need to go there, he said. We have a Christmas party to go to tonight and we will go by that business and also where we lived when we were first married over ten years ago.

Somewhat in denial about memory, he enjoys his days and trusts me. Often he tells me he loves me. We do normal socializing at this stage. I am blessed each day.