A Dog Grieves Too

Ziggy is getting more spoiled.

Ziggy wants to be by my side. He used to always be by my husband's side. He objects if I put curlers in my hair because he thinks this means I will be leaving the house. He has studied me and doesn't like those curlers. Come to think of it, my late husband didn't like me in curlers either.

Ziggy sleeps with me in a twin bed whereas he used to sleep with hubby and I in a king-sized bed before the hospital bed came into the bedroom.

Ziggy needs a little variety in his doggy life, I thought. He has been outside in the fenced backyard for years while I took care of my husband. He has yet to go on a walk with me. He doesn't own a harness and a leash to walk me with. It seems to me that dogs walk their owners.

So I needed to get out of the house. We went to Pet Smart and for the first time Ziggy got to go in a store. He peed there by a shelf and I pointed this out to an employee.

His vocabulary includes the C A T word. and we went to look at the kitties and cats at Pet Smart. No match. As a matter of fact if you say "cat", Ziggy will want to go out to the backyard and chase that cat.

From an excellent selection at Plant City's Pet Smart,  I bought us two items--the harness and the leash.

He took very well to the harness and the leash and we walked around a small retention pond on the concrete path. There was another dog there walking its owner and Ziggy realized this is just what happens. We passed some ducks and he left them alone. He trudged on until we found my car.

Widows have to forge a new life also to deal with the reality of no longer being a couple. Meanwhile Ziggy is snoring on the floor by me. So glad I have Ziggy and I guess that is why I am spoiling him now. Ziggy is part of my therapy.

Outings With My Dementia-Impaired Husband

Tuesday we wert to a concert:

THE BRIGHT STARS SENIOR IDOL SHOW 

at

Ruth Eckerd Hall in Clearwater, Florida. 

We had to go because my retired teacher friend  was performing. She was one of three performers to win the first round in our area and this was the next round. So exciting! Hubby and I set off two hours before the 6:30 concert was to begin.

I played classic oldies from my iPod on the way over--Side by Side, I Just called to Say I Love You, Ain't No Mountain High Enough, For Once in My Life, and You Are the Sunshine of My Life. I knew when we got to the concert, there would be plenty more songs that hubby and I could enjoy. 

Now hubby is adjusting (or not) to changes these days. His doctor says he has to use his walker. However, when we got to Ruth Eckerd Hall,  he wanted no part of the walker in the parking lot to get to the auditorium. I motioned for the security guard in a golf cart. But after walking by several parked cars,  he changed his mind and had me retrieve the walker. Meanwhile the golf cart appeared and hubby went off in that golf cart with the walker in the back to the concert entrance. I walked to meet him. 

It might have worked better if Sally and Jake had been able to come with us, but Sally got sick at the last moment. However, I really did want to see my friend perform. Hubby was being stubborn and wanted to go back home after our long drive before we were even seated. Someone I had met through this friend appeared and she did help hubby get to our seats in the auditorium. I have that wife nag factor, whereas someone else can get him to do things. At the intermission after six performances,  hubby wanted to go home, but I said no and he did sit down. He will not argue in public. 

My friend was the eleventh of twelve performers. She herself came out in a walker and said to the audience:

You got to do what you got to do. 

My friend performing at 
Ruth Eckerd Hall, April 22, 2014

She leaned on a baby grand piano and the Bright House staff took her walker away. Her first song was Neither One of Us and she nailed it. For her second song she was accompanied on that piano by her cousin and it was so moving. She sang I'm Still Holding On, a Christian song by Luther Barnes. She was holding on and I have to hold on also at this stage of Alzheimer's.  After the concert I sent her a text that she had nailed it. Hubby waited with his walker while I went to get our car and we went to a late dinner at Applebee's. Usually in bed at 8 pm I drank a lot of strong coffee at Applebee's and we got home way after midnight. I canceled my job substituting in a middle school for Wednesday and used that day to sleep in and work on other pressing matters. 

The next outing was today--a one-year-old birthday party for two dog siblings. One of those dogs belongs to our friends Sally and Jake, and of course we had to go! It would be our dog Ziggy's first social engagement ever. 

Now Kenny isn't available for the shave and shower at this time, so I had to perform this routine with my husband this morning.  I live such a crazy busy life and it came to the fact that I had to slow down to accomplish the shave and shower.

The wooden chair by the bed is so useful. Hubby uses that one arm for help getting up; and then he faces the chair and uses both arms while I pull his slacks up. That chair is also useful for pill taking. The morning pills went well because we used that routine established my Kenny. I have something cold for you to drink, I said as I sat in the chair and then we both took our Saturday morning pills.

The shave in the master bath went well. In the light later I realized what a poor job I had done with the shave. (Kenny does a better job with these routines.) While I shaved DH with a razor, I told him how in the middle of the night I had been able to catch that frog that lived in the master bath toilet--coming back up after it had been flushed down. Last night the frog was out of the toilet and by the shower, I reported, and I chased it to a corner and put the urinal upside down on it and he jumped in. Then I closed the urinal and brought that frog outside. Now I had to tell hubby this news one idea at a time so he understood what I said. We both laughed. 

It came time for the shower--a easy distance from the shave since the shave is always done while hubby sits on the toilet lid as a chair. That shower is right next to it.  But it was not to be!

Let me lay down for a couple of minutes before I take it was his request. He did so. I sat in our bedroom and opened mail and got on my Notebook computer and also played Words With Friends on my iPod--for an hour I did this.

Then he wanted to get dressed without taking the shower, but I had not put any clothes out for him as I always do these days. I had to really insist to get him into the shower. I even called Kenny who gave him a pep talk. It took maybe five minutes of arguing.

Finally with the shower done and hubby dressed in a cowboy shirt with a country belt on his jeans, we were able to get to the next social event--today's party for the sibling dogs who had both turned one. Our dog Ziggy was not his best--outside he peed on the jeans of the hostess, but all five dogs did get along, although Ziggy seemed shy.  Ziggy didn't understand doggy ice cream and doggy cake, but the other four dogs were happy to eat his on the paper plate on the cement. We people guests had hot dogs, chips, people ice cream and we shared a large cookie that said happy birthday to the dogs.

For the people guests

Jake gets busy filling up everyone's drinks. He always likes to be busy to feel normal I think. My hubby likes to feel normal by not using his walker and with conversation of events that probably didn't happen or are distorted at best. Jake will repeat himself more than my husband will, but they do say that every person with Alzheimer's is different. The friendship between Jake and my husband is so very fascinating to Sally and myself. 

I do wonder how long we will be able to enjoy outings. I think of my friend's words--you got to do what you got to do. I also think of the poem DO THE NEXT THING as a great motto these days. See this poem HERE.

UPDATES 

• Kenny's mother is having surgery in Orlando for possible cancer. Please pray for her. 
• I am in the process of replacing the items in my wallet--more on these adventures later.
• Plumbing issues are being addressed. Have to get the same plumber back to fix the water softener to help with the rust from our well water. Indoor problems are solved. 
• Pharis and his kids have worked in the yard and he has fixed the hole in the garage ceiling I made when my leg went through the roof last December. 
• Let me know if you wish to be in a Blogging Tour where I introduce you to three blogging friends and then they introduce me to three of their own blogging friends. 

The Winning Table Cloth

Eight trees under the table settings

Last January Sally asked me to make her a custom table cloth quilt for her birthday. She would use it at the yearly Lady's Christmas Tea to be held December 7th at her church. I have gone every year since meeting Sally and Jake. Yesterday, I went to that Tea. The room was so festive with maybe 20 round tables. Each table was decorated by the hostess and we had those pretty little sandwiches and small desserts--a genuine tea. The event featured collecting baby items for the Plant City Crisis Pregnancy Center--a wonderful cause and the Center's director shared information after the meal. 

Let me back up and tell you about the design of this round table cloth, a would-be quilt. I got the idea HERE (fabulous quilting blog Sew We Quilt, by the way).  I changed it from a table runner to a round table cloth. I used four of the five layers pictured from that blog. The top was silver, hand sewn, and two other layers were green with that brown tree trunk.  After sewing other three sides and turning it, I would sew the top of the brown trunk with  machine sticking  Then I hid the brown sewing machine stiching with the next green label. Finally the silver would have to be hand sewn to cover that second green piece. I had elaborate plans to make it an official round quilt with the batting, the backing and the edging. 

Picture From Sew We Quilt. 

Sally wanted both gold and silver and I had that cut out along with the tree pieces.

Monday, December 1st, my I had a sewing machine problem. Between substitute teaching and going to Toastmasters in the evening I stopped by Lakeland's Fabric Warehouse for help with the machine stitching. Kenny served my husband dinner that day while I also went shopping for hubby's birthday present of clothes before going to Toastmasters.

The white material (snow) was to go on the bottom and had to be eased into the gold layer and ironed to the center of the table cloth. 

Tuesday, December 2nd more problems. Ziggy had to go to the vet and I had a plumbing problem. I was able to cancel substituting 7th period and get Ziggy into the vet my 4:30. I canceled substituting on Wednesday and met the plumber at our home. Between other errands on Wednesday, I got some work on the table cloth done. Still touch and go--would it be done? Eustress is good for me.

Thursday Sally picked up hubby and brought him to Cracker Barrel Restaurant where the four of us celebrated his 76th birthday. Sally saw the table cloth on the pool table in the den.

With the brown trunk and the two green layers sewn to the table cloth by machine, I finished sewing the top silver sections of eight trees by hand while I substituted in Mrs. Watson's class on Friday. Some of those middle school students never see a woman sewing. (Usually when I substitute teach I read and write while they do their work, unless they need my help.) Friday night about 5:30 Sally picked the table cloth up from our home on the way to her church where the hostesses were preparing for the tea the next day. It was not quilted through the layers, but she was happy with it and I had been able to sleep Thursday night. 

Saturday at the tea awards were given out.

Second place, Most Creative.

First place, Most Creative.

Second place, Most Beautiful

Then the last award. 

First place, Most Beautiful--Table Six. 

Sally's table won!

Sally with the award. 

Sally credited me for my help. Now if there were to be an acceptance speech for me, and I might say something such as, I would say thanks to Sally who was very calm about my ability to finish her late birthday gift and who waited with a Plan B in case I didn't come through. Thanks to Mrs. Watson's students who were working well, waiting for my rap at the end of class. Also credit goes to Kenny who came over to our home during the tea and fixed lunch for the two Alzheimer's husbands--Jake and DH. Jake brought their puppy over to socialize with our dog Ziggy. Thanks to Ziggy for his hospitality. Thanks to Google who for $2.49 a month let me put pictures on this blog. 

Can You Teach An Old Dog New Tricks?

Can you teach an old dog new tricks?  Yes, for a six year old dog. No, for a hubby with Alzheimer's.

In our 13 years of marriage, we have always had a Maltese male dog. The first was Woofii. After Woofii had to be put to sleep, I googled Florida Maltese breeders and five days later we got Ziggy when he was a young puppy. Dogs are so good for anyone, especially for family with Alzheimer's. Ziggy is so attentive to hubby.

Several months ago I moved a chair to the bedroom that used to be in the living room for safety since hubby had fallen out of bed one morning. When it was in the living room,  Woofii used that chair to jump up on the parson's table by the front window. When we first had Ziggy, he would do that also according to HERE. But hubby is concerned that Ziggy needs to do that more now as Woofii used to do so that when we go out Ziggy will be waiting at the window when we come home like Woofii did. We apparently can't keep this chair in the master bedroom.

Now back in
living room

So upon hubby's insistence we had to move the same chair back to the living room. That chair is now by the front window so Ziggy can jump up on the front table as in hubby's long-term memory. With a little bit of reinforcement six year old Ziggy again jumps up on that parson's table by the front window. For hubby's safety, another chair is now by his side on that bed.

Seventy-five year old husbands with Alzheimer's are not so easily trained. Even the long-term memory becomes distorted. Jake and hubby have all sorts of "memories" that Sally and I cannot confirm. Hubby will often check on his memories, however, and then he innocently says to me, "Oh that's right!" (Not that I even remember everything on this blog. I had to go back to 3/21/09 to read that Ziggy once did jump up on that parson's table by himself.)

Short-term memory. Ever since 2000 when I married my husband and came to love his church and his dog Woofii,  there has been a search for the perfect property for our church and the seminary connected with it.  Every time our pastor would announce we had a possible site, land or building to purchase, hubby and I would go there to check it out. I would take pictures and often send them around by email to church members. New property for our church was one of our interests. Finally, it looks like we have that property and hubby and I have been there three times. The last time was yesterday because he had not remembered the two other times. We were actually able to go inside of the building yesterday. I took digital pictures and two of them have hubby in them.

When we came home last night, alas! Hubby had forgotten that he had been by that property yesterday. I created a slide show on my wonderful new Apple computer to show him pictures. His short-term memory is indeed leaving him.

Not to insult my hubby, 

but you can train a dog easier than a hubby. 

Hubby in Hospital--Part One

Yesterday morning I picked up Jake and drove Jake and hubby to the Senior Center where they spend Tuesdays. Jake finished his breakfast in the car but hubby still had his breakfast and had not swallowed his pills in the car. With the air of a staff sergeant I brought hubby's breakfast and morning pills into the Senior Center. Later in the day I would attend the 2 pm monthly Alzheimer's Association Support Group at First Baptist and either Sally or I would pick up the husbands.

Sally took care of a sick grandchild yesterday and did not go to the support group. She picked up our husbands about 3 pm. She came to the support group with the grandchild leaving the two husbands in her car and said that my hubby was not himself. He had not taken his pills, not eaten his breakfast nor eaten the Senior Center lunch. He had sat at the center all day. Jake was very concerned as Sally was.

I left the meeting and Sally drove hubby to where our car was parked. It took some coaching to get hubby into our car. When we got home I decided to take him to the front of the house rather than through the garage where with all the junk there and the step up to the family room. I figured easy access to the front door and no step up was the best route to his easy spot by the big screen TV.

However, hubby was not getting out of the car. I feared the worse--a stroke, although he could stick out his tongue. I called his primary care physician's office and proceeded to the emergency room at the hospital where I had gone myself last December in an ambulance.  I could get him there quickly myself without waiting for an ambulance and having to pay some of the ambulance cost that insurance doesn't cover.

After the four plus hours, the emergency room staff ruled out a urinary tract infection or a stroke. I requested  food for him and finally some came about 8:30 PM. He ate only a little--the only food all day. He had some apple sauce and a little bit of turkey, and a taste of jello.

The decision was made to admit him for further observation. I drove home last night so ready to cry. With melatonin from the health food store I was able to get maybe six hours of sleep and I came back to the hospital with this notebook computer where I am typing now and with my iPhone and its charger for contact with people outside the hospital. So glad you can use those devices in the hospital now.

The nurse came in this morning to give hubby his medicine.

Nurse: Give me your name and your date of birth.

Hubby had some trouble with these two instructions. I explained to the nurse that she asked him two questions and he only responds to one idea at a time.

"By law you have to give the date of birth when I give you your medicine," my husband's nurse said.

He was able to give his name and date of birth finally with one question at a time. 


Me to the nurse: What if they have dementia and can't give you their date of birth?

Nurse: I keep going until they can answer something-- maybe they can give the year.

Me: He can't give you that. (He will just cover himself by saying that he doesn't bother with those details because he can check a calendar for the year.)

She proceeded to give him his medicine in apple sauce! I have to try that!

APPLE SAUCE!

The answer for the Pill Pusher me!

In order to be released, my husband needs to see the neurologist. Also, he is really shakey on his feet.



pottery dog, apple sauce



Perhaps hubby is going into a further stage of Alzheimer's. Out of ignorance or bliss I considered my husband in the first stage of Alzheimer's. Stages are different for everyone. Last year a nurse and reporter had contacted me to use hubby as proof of coconut oil. The reporter said I wasn't giving him enough, however, but whatever I have given him I feel has kept him fairly functional for a long time (since December of 2008).

Hubby kept asking: When was the last time we were home? When can I leave this jail? He told the nurse, I have seen you for two weeks. (He has no concept of time now.) I bring a ceramic dog to the hospital and he has this nicknack on his chest, reminding him of our dog.

I am sleepy here at the hospital. Going in search of coffee or caffeine. Thanks for your prayers, folks.

An Email Story and National Make a Difference Day

Today is Oct. 27th National "Make a Difference Day".  I posted that fact on the Alzheimer's section group board on Pinterest.

Sally sent me the following e-mail story about an angel (dog) and a grouchy father. Get ready to cry and think about what you can do today.

"Watch out! You nearly broad sided that car!" My father yelled at me. "Can't you do anything right?"

Those words hurt worse than blows. I turned my head toward the elderly man in the seat beside me, daring me to challenge him. A lump rose in my throat as I averted my eyes. I wasn't prepared for another battle.

"I saw the car, Dad. Please don't yell at me when I'm driving.My voice was measured and steady, sounding far calmer than I really felt.

Dad glared at me, then turned away and settled back. At home I left Dad in front of the television and went outside to collect my thoughts. Dark, heavy clouds hung in the air with a promise of rain. The rumble of distant thunder seemed to echo my inner turmoil. What could I do about him?

Dad had been a lumberjack in Washington and Oregon. He had enjoyed being outdoors and had reveled in pitting his strength against the forces of nature. He had entered grueling lumberjack competitions, and had placed often. The shelves in his house were filled with trophies that attested to his prowess.

The years marched on relentlessly. The first time he couldn't lift a heavy log, he joked about it; but later that same day I saw him outside alone, straining to lift it. He became irritable whenever anyone teased him about his advancing age, or when he couldn't do something he had done as a younger man.

Four days after his sixty-seventh birthday, he had a heart attack. An ambulance sped him to the hospital while a paramedic administered CPR to keep blood and oxygen flowing.
At the hospital, Dad was rushed into an operating room. He was lucky; he survived. But something inside Dad died. His zest for life was gone. He obstinately refused to follow doctor's orders. Suggestions and offers of help were turned aside with sarcasm and insults. The number of visitors thinned, and then finally stopped altogether. Dad was left alone.
My husband, Dick, and I asked Dad to come live with us on our small farm. We hoped the fresh air and rustic atmosphere would help him adjust.

Within a week after he moved in, I regretted the invitation. It seemed nothing was satisfactory. He criticized everything I did. I became frustrated and moody. Soon I was taking my pent-up anger out on Dick. We began to bicker and argue.

Alarmed, Dick sought out our pastor and explained the situation. The clergyman set up weekly counseling appointments for us. At the close of each session he prayed, asking God to soothe Dad's troubled mind.

But the months wore on and God was silent. Something had to be done and it was up to me to do it.

The next day I sat down with the phone book and methodically called each of the mental health clinics listed in the Yellow Pages. I explained my problem to each of the sympathetic voices that answered in vain.

Just when I was giving up hope, one of the voices suddenly exclaimed, "I just read something that might help you! Let me go get the article.”

I listened as she read. The article described a remarkable study done at a nursing home. All of the patients were under treatment for chronic depression. Yet their attitudes had proved dramatically when they were given responsibility for a dog.

I drove to the animal shelter that afternoon. After I filled out a questionnaire, a uniformed officer led me to the kennels. The odor of disinfectant stung my nostrils as I moved down the row of pens. Each contained five to seven dogs. Long-haired dogs, curly-haired dogs, black dogs, spotted dogs all jumped up, trying to reach me. I studied each one but rejected one after the other for various reasons too big, too small, too much hair. As I neared the last pen a dog in the shadows of the far corner struggled to his feet, walked to the front of the run and sat down. It was a pointer, one of the dog world's aristocrats. But this was a caricature of the breed.

Years had etched his face and muzzle with shades of gray. His hip bones jutted out in lopsided triangles. But it was his eyes that caught and held my attention. Calm and clear, they beheld me unwaveringly.

I pointed to the dog. "Can you tell me about him?" The officer looked, then shook his head in puzzlement. "He's a funny one. Appeared out of nowhere and sat in front of the gate. We brought him in, figuring someone would be right down to claim him. That was two weeks ago and we've heard nothing. His time is up tomorrow." He gestured helplessly.

As the words sank in I turned to the man in horror. "You mean you're going to kill him?"

"Ma'am," he said gently, "that's our policy. We don't have room for every unclaimed dog."

I looked at the pointer again. The calm brown eyes awaited my decision. "I'll take him," I said. I drove home with the dog on the front seat beside me. When I reached the house I honked the horn twice. I was helping my prize out of the car when Dad shuffled onto the front porch.  "Ta-da! Look what I got for you, Dad!" I said excitedly.

Dad looked, and then wrinkled his face in disgust. "If I had wanted a dog I would have gotten one. And I would have picked out a better specimen than that bag of bones. Keep it! I don't want it" Dad waved his arm scornfully and turned back toward the house.

Anger rose inside me. It squeezed together my throat muscles and pounded into my temples. "You'd better get used to him, Dad. He's staying!"

Dad ignored me. "Did you hear me, Dad?" I screamed. At those words Dad whirled angrily, his hands clenched at his sides, his eyes narrowed and blazing with hate. We stood glaring at each other like duelists, when suddenly the pointer pulled free from my grasp. He wobbled toward my dad and sat down in front of him. Then slowly, carefully, he raised his paw.

Dad's lower jaw trembled as he stared at the uplifted paw confusion replaced the anger in his eyes. The pointer waited patiently. Then Dad was on his knees hugging the animal.
It was the beginning of a warm and intimate friendship. Dad named the pointer Cheyenne. Together he and Cheyenne explored the community. They spent long hours walking down dusty lanes. They spent reflective moments on the banks of streams, angling for tasty trout. They even started to attend Sunday services together, Dad sitting in a pew and Cheyenne lying quietly at his feet.

Dad and Cheyenne were inseparable throughout the next three years. Dad's bitterness faded, and he and Cheyenne made many friends. Then late one night I was startled to feel Cheyenne's cold nose burrowing through our bed covers. He had never before come into our bedroom at night.. I woke Dick, put on my robe and ran into my father's room. Dad lay in his bed, his face serene. But his spirit had left quietly sometime during the night.

Two days later my shock and grief deepened when I discovered Cheyenne lying dead beside Dad's bed. I wrapped his still form in the rag rug he had slept on. As Dick and I buried him near a favorite fishing hole, I silently thanked the dog for the help he had given me in restoring Dad's peace of mind.

The morning of Dad's funeral dawned overcast and dreary. This day looks like the way I feel, I thought, as I walked down the aisle to the pews reserved for family. I was surprised to see the many friends Dad and Cheyenne had made filling the church.. The pastor began his eulogy. It was a tribute to both Dad and the dog who had changed his life.
And then the pastor turned to Hebrews 13:2. "Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers, for by this some have entertained angels without knowing it."

"I've often thanked God for sending that angel," he said.

For me, the past dropped into place, completing a puzzle that I had not seen before: the sympathetic voice that had just read the right article. Cheyenne's unexpected appearance at the animal shelter, his calm acceptance and complete devotion to my father, and the proximity of their deaths. And suddenly I understood. I knew that God had answered my prayers after all.

Life is too short for drama or petty things, so laugh hard, love truly and forgive quickly. Live While You Are Alive. Forgive now those who made you cry. You might not get a second time. God answers our prayers in His time--not ours.

Our Dog Ziggy

My friend from a writing class always sends forwarded e-mail. This picture is from one and captures what I want to say about dog, Ziggy.

Ziggy doesn't like me to leave the house just as hubby misses me.

I'm getting dressed and Ziggy is getting upset.

When I leave, I kiss hubby and Ziggy. When I call hubby tells me how Ziggy misses me.  Meanwhile, Ziggy is a wonderful companion for hubby while I am gone. I do not believe that my hubby would wander as some Alzheimer's patients do, because he and Ziggy are devoted to each other.


from Pinterest

Now there are dog people and cat people. We are dog people. I do think that the unconditional love of a good pet helps the stability of persons with dementia. On my husband's daily clipboard are reminders:

1. Has Ziggy been outside?
2. Has Ziggy been fed. 

Sometimes he will forget to shave, take his pills, eat lunch when I leave the house early, but care of Ziggy is his top priority. Pets are such good therapy both for persons with dementia and their caregivers/lovegivers.