These days, well, they just seem to blend together. Because of husband, I do the same thing every day. Same time, same place. It helps with his confusion. Lately, I don't even think about doing it, it just happens. And usually at the same time as the day before. I sometimes feel like I'm on automatic pilot.
When we had gone to Denver last month for the first visit with the new Dr, I was told at the front desk that there may be a problem with our insurance. Of course, we had the visit anyway. Then, last week, I got a bill. Seems our insurance does not cover. Great. I played with the idea of just keeping this Dr, but, knew in the long run, I could not afford to self pay. What made me angry was, when I had called to make an appointment in June, while still in Albuquerque, I was told they accepted our insurance.
Back in the old days, before Alzheimer's, I would've fought tooth and nail and would've been wrapped up in anger. Now? What's the sense? What will it matter in 10 years?
I called a Neurological Clinic on Monday. Asked them if the Dr's were accepting new patients, did they accept our insurance and how soon could we get in. They were accepting new patients, they did accept our insurance and the first available appointment would be in April. 2014.
My heart sank. I then began to explain husband. His age. His disease. Family history. The rarity of it. New to the state. How, according to Dr F in Denver, husband in all probability, would not be here in April of 2014.
This girl, silent on the phone, finally spoke and said, "Can I call you back?" Within 20 minutes, she calls and says, "OK, we've got you down for Monday, at 11:30. Don't worry about bringing Medical Records, we'll get them. You will be seeing Dr K."
Husband is holding steady. When he wakes up in the morning, he is very confused and doesn't know where he is at. Once the day starts to roll, he finds his groove and does OK. By sunset, confusion starts again and he becomes agitated.
The other night, I found him in the closet. When I walked in and found him there, he looked at me as if I were a stranger. This is where my acting abilities come into play.
I make light of it, guide him back to his bed, assure him of who I am, cover him up, make a few jokes and soothe his head. He will let me guide him to bed, all the while, looking at me and frowning. Once I get him on the bed and cover him up, his eyes will dart all over the room and then back at me.
The last week or so, I have come into the bedroom and have found husband on his bed with his eyes rolling in the back of his head. I don't know if that's seizure activity or what. That rattles me to my core.
Yes, the days melt together into one, it seems. Every day is the same, yet, each day that goes by, husband drifts further and further away from me.
The days are getting shorter. And, so is time with husband.