As I walked into Carolyn’s room this morning my heart sank. Here we go again. Another day like yesterday.
The clues were right there in front of me. The blanket on the couch told me that the staff had moved her since I put her to bed across the room last night. But the covers were hanging off the couch, the pillow was on the floor, and she wasn’t there.
She was lying across the arms of the rocking chair, asleep. I don’t know if she intended to end up in that chair, or just toppled into it trying to walk by. She woke up immediately, and smiled when she saw me. She was ready to be rescued again!
I carefully lifted her legs and back, and pivoted her into a normal sitting position in the rocking chair. It is a light chair, with bent wood bows on each side, and a seat that suspends you like a hammock. It is very comfortable, and it is hard to get out of, too, I decided leaving her there might be a good idea.
She fell back to sleep in a minute, as I straightened her room, and got out a book to read. Today she was obviously very sleepy, unlike yesterday. The difference was so stark that I got to wondering if she didn’t take the medicines yesterday, but slid them to one side in her mouth and spit them out later. I don’t know that, but today the meds were in obvious effect.
She didn’t have the restlessness today at all. When she woke up, she made a halfhearted attempt to get up from that chair, but unlike the wheel chair this one won’t roll backwards and dump her on the floor. The arms just push down, the chair rocks forward, and if you really want to get up, a lot more effort is necessary. She never wanted to expend the extra effort, so she just sat back down and went back to sleep.
I wish I had thought of this chair yesterday. She stayed in the chair, and when she wanted to go somewhere, she would tell me, and I would put her in the wheelchair and take her. She went to the bathroom three times today, and we did two laps around the hallways. It was raining lightly outside, or I would have taken a tour of the sidewalks and parking lot, as we did yesterday.
I brought her lunch in her room, and she ate most of it. The mac and cheese went down nicely, she ate a little of the spinach, but it was kind of hard chewing for her. The vanilla pudding bowl was scraped clean.
I took her into the dining room for dinner, and sat beside her to help if necessary and prevent her from trying to stand. She ate the dessert first, as usual. I tell her it’s OK, she has lived long enough that the rules for kiddies don’t apply any longer.
Actually, that may not have been dessert. It was peach slices with cottage cheese, which she loves, but probably would be called the salad. They had ice cream for the dessert. The main course was egg salad sandwiches and potato chips. She ate half the chips, took two bites out of the sandwich, said it was good, but she was full.
She may have just gotten sleepy again, but I took her to the room, sat her on the toilet, which paid off, and then I tucked her into bed for the night. I told her I was leaving now and would be back in the morning, and she smiled and kissed me, and was snoring before I got across the room to turn off the light.
What a difference a day makes!
Last night I had another idea pop into my head I’m going to try in the future. As the disease has progressed, I have watched her memories and attitude go backwards through the years before we were married, back through the years she was a shy, bashful teenager who didn’t want me in the room while bathing or changing clothes.
Now she acts very much as a small child or toddler, and I’m wondering if maybe I might throw a blanket on the floor, put her down on the blanket, and sit down beside her to see what the reaction would be. Can’t fall if you are already on the floor, right? I am curious if she can get back up, how long it would take her to climb up and get dangerous to herself again, or if she would even try. It would not be a restraint in any fashion that I can see, but if it doesn’t upset her it might be a way for me to leave the room for a few seconds.
Tomorrow I’ll be talking to Rachel, the administrator, about her ideas on giving Carolyn the care that she is beginning to need as her dementia takes away her most basic ability to care for herself. She saved me when I first came to Durant. She knew just the right people to call and cure Carolyn of the hostility and paranoia that put her in an assisted care facility in the first place.
I love this place and so does Carolyn, but as circumstances change, maybe it is time to consider other options with more people on hand for the constant care that she is beginning to need.
However, if she was always as calm as she was today, I could handle that forever. I’d love to, in fact.
As I was posting this, I just got a call that she fell again, and her head hurts. They are calling x-ray. I'm outta here!
No comments:
Post a Comment