Respite

Friday afternoons, every other week, are respite afternoons, whether I like it or not. Sometimes I just wish I could take the afternoon and sleep, to forget. I guess the forgetfulness I was talking about is trying to tell me something ;-P

I have been recruited to participate in a medical study for caregivers that consists of 7 one and a half hour meetings with someone from the geriatrics department of the local university hospital. This Friday afternoon was meeting no. 6. We went for a picnic.

Strange you might think, going for a picnic when you're supposed to have a "serious" interview. That is the beauty of the whole thing, the person who interviews me is a fun loving human being. The meetings leave me a bit unsettled because they focus on various aspects of the caregiving experience, lightly skimming on the subject. The deeper reflexion comes after the meeting is over and surfaces whenever it can (like 3:20 on Saturday morning).

Today we spoke about resources that are available. Still more lists of things to take care of and to organize. I identified 2 priorities. The first is to get the local social services to send a nurse at home to take whatever blood samples are prescribed by the doctor. I don't have to dress my mother yet, she is autonomous in that respect, although choosing clothes is becoming increasingly difficult for her. The challenge is that the clothes keep moving around, from one side of the closet to the other, so that you're always looking for things. She moves them around. Is it her way of communicating that she feels lost, I wonder? So when we have to get to the hospital for blood tests before 9:30 in the morning, I have to start "directing" her to get dressed at 7:30 all the while explaining why we have to go out at this goshawful hour (and coping with outright refusals to go). The social services did not, of course, volunteer the information that this could be arranged, so I'm thankful that I found out it could.

Then I remembered that social services had said that there was a security telephone service that is available. I had forgotten (oops). Last winter, when we had a terrible bout of flu and I was so ill for a day, through the fog in my brain a clear thought came to mind. If something happens to me, Mum won't be able to call for help. Thankfully, I was able to manage by sleeping an hour at a time and putting the alarm clock to wake me up, but now I will arrange for the phone service.

The unsettling thing about dealing with mixed dementia is that it is like walking on shifting sands. You never know how the day will go or what challenges you will have to face during the day. At the end of the day, you mostly feel inadequate.