Recognition Near the End of My Husband's Life

End of life impressions of the care receiver are interesting. I did remind my husband that I was his loving wife Carol and we remained close to the end. I was told that with Vascular Dementia my husband would always recognize me.

I had been telling my husband that his adult son (my step-son) was going to come to visit, but he didn't recognize him when he came unfortunately.

However, my husband warmly greeted Kenny's nephew from his bed at the end of life,  with a big smile and hand shake. I really think he thought it was his son at an earlier time period. His eyesight wasn't so accurate in any case.

Esteban came by to see me the other day to check on me. I took his picture holding one of my husband at an earlier time. Maybe my husband's son looked something like he looked in the picture.

Esteban holding early picture of my husband.
Perhaps his son looked like this. 

This graphic is helpful for visiting someone who is living in long-term memory.

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. 

Remembering High School



Marianne put me up to this before my Internet went out this morning and I am not sure how long the above picture will stay on this blog. Was not sure I would ever use it. Marianne is the delightful mother whose book I reviewed recently on this blog. Andrea on her blog Maybe It's Just Me has challenged readers to blog hop today, May 25 and Marianne did it here and was disappointed that I didn't also blog hop this morning. Marianne didn't follow the directions exactly she said, and I am impaired also.

For example,  I am not ready to take out high school pictures as Andrea suggested. They are in Room #7 and I am into "hotspot" clutter and weeds in the front yard these days when I am not working or seeing to the needs of my husband. Not going there, Andrea, but you can enjoy the above picture for however briefly it stays on my blog.

Since we are senior citizens, high school is a long way back  and even though I substitute teach in high school and once taught high school along with other grades, I do not even think about it much at all. I live over 2000 miles from my high school and do not even have high school Facebook friends. 

Even hubby who does have some long-term (but little short-term) memory couldn't recall much about high school. He said he was a ham radio operator and dated girls, He cannot remember any names of girls he dated in high school. He is 75 now and I am his third wife.

In high school I do remember starching dresses and wearing those starched slips that made the skirt stick out. (Can't remember what they were called.) We did not wear pants to high school, and even when I started teaching in the late 1960s in elementary school it was a scandal even in California for teachers to wear pants--another teacher and myself were the first to do this.

My journal apparently started in college with a hunt and peck typewriter and carbon paper. (For some reason I made carbons.) During the era of the hippies while I attended San Francisco State and finished my BA at Westmont College in Santa Barbara, I wrote very philosophically and religously:

• He shall receive what he fears who bases his life on fear; he shall find serenity who accepts suffering.
• Greatness is all to the young man--incidental to the great man.
• New creatures in Christ are not stuffy stereotpyes.
• Courage to accept my vile self stews from my Hope.
• If it concerns me that men depart from my standards, must it also concern me that I depart from men's standards"? Yes, if I live to please men. But since I do not live to please men, then men need not live to please me. Hence my standards concern none save myself, and hence it should concern me only slightly that men's standards differ.
• Never doubt that God guides you, but do doubt that you are wise to His ways.
• That person is real and free who practices thinking apart from his limited scope and experiences feeling apart from his ego-centeredness.
• Why do I expect to appear perfect before men whereas I know I am far from perfect before God? It is as men know me as I am--defiled, dependent--that I approach the nearer God.
• Poetry is older than either the novel or the short story because poetry is bound up in the heart of man. All men are poets and need to develop their potentials.

So why didn't I write more poetry then? It would have been more correct to not use "man" to indicate person, but we weren't doing that yet. I took myself so seriously then!

Yet life, though serious, is also fun, renewing and joyful because of Jesus Christ whom I have known all these years. And this blog hop surely is fun.

Kinds of Memory, Christmas Travel and Home

A day before we left on our trip hubby and I were at Cracker Barrel, the restaurant/gift shop. We are seated. DH excuses himself to go to the bathroom. He isn't coming back to our table at Cracker Barrel. I go looking for him. He thought I was shopping. I bring him to the table. He is surprise that we had been seated. He doesn't remember.

DH recalls going up in a plane with Jake. I do not recall that, but have heard both DH and Jake discuss their plane trip. How do two Alzheimer's men have the same memory that Sally and I know never happened?!

Both men see that the other one is going downhill.

“Time is change; we measure its passage by how much things alter.”― Nadine Gordime

If you have Alzheimer's. however, time is so present and memories are so fickle and subjective. There may be a few recent memories, but not accurate short-term ones. Long-term memories start to become fuzzy.

I do capitalize on recent memories when I tell hubby that it is 7 am or 7 pm and time to take our pills: Sweetheart, you wouldn't want me to take your pills like I did when I landed in the hospital, so let's both take our pills NOW.

For the Christmas week we had the pleasure of flying to his son's home in another state, and enjoying family and their extended family including two great grandchildren. I became my husband's one constant as we were away from home. He even asked his own son who that son's mother is, forgetting that she is hubby's first wife.

I made daily sheets for him to remind him of what was happening and to let him know when we would be returning to Plant City, Florida. Even so he needed many reassurances from me. Sally and Jake took us to the airport and they would pick us up from the airport,

One morning on our trip he woke me asking Where is here? I explained that we were at his son's home. Although he became somewhat oriented to the lovely three story home where we stayed and he had often been before, he forgot that we had a bed and bathroom in the basement.

He said he would go downstairs.

"No, sweetheart, you need to go upstairs," I reminded him.

When he was on the third story watching TV with his son in the media room, he called me on my cell phone to see if I was anywhere around.

"I am right below you--the next story down," I reminded him. Often DH then responds that he is just checking to see if I am kicking and breathing. He wants to find out if I am kicking and breathing at our own home as well.

We heard a noise in the middle of the night and I remarked that I didn't know what it was. He said it was just the noise of an elevator. Now there was no elevator in the three story home where we were staying--but I didn't correct him.

On the trip we had wonderful hospitality and all the comforts of home. I gave DH a daily schedule and kept his clothes and toiletries where he could easily find them. But for DH, it wasn't home, confirming that Alzheimer's patients are so dependent on their spouse/caregiver and their own home.