Husband's last camping trip

Husband's last camping trip

Wednesday, March 7, 2012

The long and winding road

Just about settled in. All that's left are the hanging of the pictures, wind chimes and solar lights.

Can I tell you how much I love my new kitchen? So much more space. It's just so much more than the old house. And, believe it or not, the rent is cheaper here. Can we all say, yay?

Husband was in and out yesterday. He would sleep, wake, walk around, sleep, wake, walk around. If I compare him to say, last month, there has been a great changed in him. The memory issues are far greater than before. He doesn't seem to retain anything anymore. I hate looking at his eyes. They are void of life, dark and haunting. Blank. It's hard looking at those once full of life eyes.

When husband was using only the cane to walk, he would leave it in one room, forget where he left it and the hunt would be on. We have a new issue now. He leaves the walker all over the house. Several times yesterday, I would go into the kitchen, living room or hallway to find the walker. I would take it to him in the bedroom, tell him he left it in the kitchen, he would look at me with that blank stare, saying nothing. Told him he needs this to help him walk, please don't leave it, use it. No response. Nothing.

Sometimes, he will come into the living room, holding onto the walls for dear life. I will ask him where the walker is. He looks at me as if he does not know what I am talking about. It will take some time, but, it seems to finally register with him, I will go get the walker for him, and he will use it.

I woke up this morning to find husband having a slight seizure. If you have ever watched someone vibrate, well, it's not pretty. There have been, at times, moaning associated with the seizures. This started a few days ago. Is he having pain? I don't know. When a seizure comes on, I immediately want to reach for the phone to call 911. Then, it subsides.

I wish we could see Dr A more often. However, with this type of disease, obviously there is no cure, so, it would not be beneficial to see the Dr more than every 3-6 months. All Dr A does is prescribe drugs that help control the seizures. That's all anyone can do. That's the hard part. Nothing can be done about it. Nothing.

I think I will take him to his dad's today. Give me a break, let him see his dad. It's hard for his dad to see him as well. I'm sure he has a hard time watching his only child go through what his wife went through. He's still having a hard time accepting it. He's still in denial.

So, this disease is making it's way through husband's body and mind. It's virtually moving through as expected. 2 years ago, I read what they go through. OK, fine and dandy. One day, I thought back then, he too will go through this or that. That one day has come to live in my house. All those symptoms I read about, is now here and present. It has done a fine job destroying a once big, healthy, strong, full of life man.

There are times I wish it were over with, for him. The man I knew is gone anyway. I don't wish him dead, I wish it were just over. Is that wrong? I don't know. But, I can't help my feelings. If anyone were to judge me for thinking this way, I would gladly invite them to walk a mile in my shoes, then, we'll talk.

This road we are travelling on comes with no guide. You wing it. Fly by the seat of your pants. Making life or death decisions. Not easy, this road. No, not easy at all.

1 comment:

  1. Your next to last paragraph speaks loudly to me, as I said something very similar this week to my husband, about my grandma.

    She has been living in a Sr apartment facility had a mini-stroke, and is in the associated nursing home for rehabilitation for a few weeks. She is mad she is there. So she is peeing on herself every day because, "that'll show them!"

    The long slow death of dementia, whether at 40 or 90, robs so much dignity, and it is hard, indeed, for we family members to witness. I love my grandma so much, but "she" is already gone. The amazing, vibrant woman who farmed and raised kids and loved on grandbabies - she is gone. I find that sometimes, and with increasing frequency, I long for the release of death for her.