Chapter 541 - Woke In Fright
I returned to our home, finding it being enlarged, a few of the family were there, we walked out the back door, began descending a long flight of wooden stairs, she stumbled, falling forward, and downwards, over and over tumbling, ever downwards. I woke in a state of horror, suddenly remembering what my psychologist had told me to do to finalise such a dream so that it doesn't repeat on a future night: imagine a satisfactory conclusion to the dream. I did so, I imagined pulling out my phone, dialling 000, and the Ambos found nothing broken and she didn't need to be taken to hospital. The psychologist gave me a three word title to this procedure (which I forget), saying it was one of the few things his profession can advise that has lasting benefit for a patient. He also suggested writing down the happy ending but who can remember to find pen and paper in the dark?
Anyway, it was daylight, normal waking time, she was awake and as I sat on the side of my bed she asked "What date is it? What day?" "It's Friday" but I had to check my phone for the date which I sort of knew but didn't. We talked about about such matters. She thought the year was 2008 (or some number like that). She asked her age. I asked her birth year. "1942" she quickly replied. "Then take 1942 away from 2019." She couldn't. I explained doing so was difficult for me, I needed to do it in two stages, 1942 to 2000 and 2000 to 2019 then add the two results, confessing that in my family history pursuits I usually reached for pen and paper when calculating long deceased people's ages.
I mentioned that today, Friday, she would soon hear the garbage truck on its rounds. The only other day in the week that may be a signpost for her may be Wednesdays, my respite day, but she said Wednesdays are just part of the routine. She mentioned how uncomfortable she was when she regularly saw the geriatrician (for which I have discontinued the appointments) being asked questions about dates, counting and the like. Coincidentally, I told her I had such an examination at our GP's two days ago when I was unable to remember one of three words I was asked to remember by the nurse who told me on completion of the examination that there were no changes from last year. I was surprised to hear her say that, simply because I had no recollection of ever having been tested and being a wily old devil, I made no mention of my forgetfulness!
So began a normal day. After changing her Duodopa pump cassette, the flow settings, eye drops, I showered and dressed then slid her from bed onto the commode then out to her pedal machine. Except that the Wild Dog carer arrived 15 minutes late, speaking to her phone on speaker held out in front as she came through the door. The phone conversation continued as her bag etc were placed on our bench top, and from the words sounding from the phone I realised she was speaking about work to one or other of the care institutions she works for. So I said in a very loud voice, looking at the wall clock "J***, you are already 15 minutes late, how about doing your business elsewhere?" After completing the normal expected activities the woman dawdled filling in and sorting the report pages they fill in on each visit. I went about our usual breakfast activities and replaced the Exelon patch on my PWP's chest while the woman made small talk, staying more than the 30 minutes expected of her. I can imagine her telling her next client of an "emergency" that delayed her.
Last Sunday afternoon we attended a matinee performance of "Oliver" in which the son of one of the Wild Dog carers had the lead role. The hall at the local high school was less than half full and the acoustics were awful, although that did not cause or contribute to the wild dyskinesias of her legs. By interval she had enough, wanting to return home.
Last Tuesday she had no problems attending Dance for Wellbeing at the church hall, although the previous Tuesday were very bad, she felt ill, so I did not take her.
Her OCD sessions drive me to anger, even though I know I must circumvent such feelings. She uses knives, spoons, combs, paddle-pop sticks, anything at hand to clean dirt from cracks in the timber flooring, around the edge of the sink and the bench top, the edge of the hotplate, the runners of sliding doors. Surfaces, including the timber floor, are rubbed are rubbed with tissues and sometimes with blue dish cloth or foam plastic pads when she needs something more abrasive. On respite day last week I bought a squeeze mop and a long handled brush and pan for her; my idea being that having correct equipment may limit the damage she does. Of course I forgot a bucket to accompany the mop so I bought the bucket this week. A large box of multi-coloured plastic shapes containing magnets was bought from Kogan; I thought these may interest her but only mildly so. After unpacking the contents of the box just after delivery she was very keen to repack the box, but finding the flimsy internal packaging too awkward to force back into the outer box, she cut up the flimsy packaging to make it all fit, so in consequence, most of the flimsy stuff went into the bin. The carer (who has small children) helped her this last Wednesday assembling the magnetic pieces and that gave her some interest in them but that has now waned.
I have noticed that on days when her legs are dyskinetic her OCD tendencies are much reduced. I must convey this to the neurologist, although I suppose if one's legs are kicking then it is hard to pay interest to other activities.
The other day when I spoke to my GP after my geriatric test he suggested I take some respite and when I replied that organising respite for her was too difficult with the Duodopa pump etc he said "Both go, on a cruise!" I did not answer, I could not, he possibly thinks me a doddery old bloke, unable to think or speak coherently. And if he does, which I doubt, how in the name of hell can I put together enough meaningful descriptive words in a 10 or 20 minute block of time to impress upon him the ridiculousness of suggesting we go on a cruise??? I am yet to convince myself of the possibility of taking us on a motel crawl, north, south or where ever following the one night experiment down the 4 lane to Town Y some months ago after buying the collapsible commode. Escape from our routine may be a necessity, yet I wonder when she travels like a terrified mute imagining all the problems likely to occur along the way. She cannot sit in confined spaces, so rule out buses, trains and planes. On a cruise? Just getting to and from the point of embarkation would be a nightmare.
My new camera was clicked seriously for the first time on Wednesday. I drove to the look out over the town then around some of the back roads. I am not inspired to look at anything I took; I experienced more excitement buying the camera than using it.
I have discovered that having intense interest in an activity tends to help me stay alert in the evenings. About a week ago a second cousin contacted a near relative asking for information about his family line because he was unsure whether he was using the correct surname. You get the drift? A seriously screwed-up (in the full biological sense of that hyphenated word) part of my family and as I have just discovered, more complicated than other kin of mine. I accepted the challenge before another muddied the waters.Simply investing hours sorting out the family interconnections, searching for information, has kept me alert, reminds me how I felt a decade or more ago. Although I have not spoken to the 2nd cousin, his emails remind me very much of two dyslexic friends I have and also a dyslexic cousin who died last year. Each with a brilliant mind yet unable in various degrees of putting words on paper. I fear feeling at a loss once this family challenge is behind me.
Anyway, it was daylight, normal waking time, she was awake and as I sat on the side of my bed she asked "What date is it? What day?" "It's Friday" but I had to check my phone for the date which I sort of knew but didn't. We talked about about such matters. She thought the year was 2008 (or some number like that). She asked her age. I asked her birth year. "1942" she quickly replied. "Then take 1942 away from 2019." She couldn't. I explained doing so was difficult for me, I needed to do it in two stages, 1942 to 2000 and 2000 to 2019 then add the two results, confessing that in my family history pursuits I usually reached for pen and paper when calculating long deceased people's ages.
I mentioned that today, Friday, she would soon hear the garbage truck on its rounds. The only other day in the week that may be a signpost for her may be Wednesdays, my respite day, but she said Wednesdays are just part of the routine. She mentioned how uncomfortable she was when she regularly saw the geriatrician (for which I have discontinued the appointments) being asked questions about dates, counting and the like. Coincidentally, I told her I had such an examination at our GP's two days ago when I was unable to remember one of three words I was asked to remember by the nurse who told me on completion of the examination that there were no changes from last year. I was surprised to hear her say that, simply because I had no recollection of ever having been tested and being a wily old devil, I made no mention of my forgetfulness!
So began a normal day. After changing her Duodopa pump cassette, the flow settings, eye drops, I showered and dressed then slid her from bed onto the commode then out to her pedal machine. Except that the Wild Dog carer arrived 15 minutes late, speaking to her phone on speaker held out in front as she came through the door. The phone conversation continued as her bag etc were placed on our bench top, and from the words sounding from the phone I realised she was speaking about work to one or other of the care institutions she works for. So I said in a very loud voice, looking at the wall clock "J***, you are already 15 minutes late, how about doing your business elsewhere?" After completing the normal expected activities the woman dawdled filling in and sorting the report pages they fill in on each visit. I went about our usual breakfast activities and replaced the Exelon patch on my PWP's chest while the woman made small talk, staying more than the 30 minutes expected of her. I can imagine her telling her next client of an "emergency" that delayed her.
Last Sunday afternoon we attended a matinee performance of "Oliver" in which the son of one of the Wild Dog carers had the lead role. The hall at the local high school was less than half full and the acoustics were awful, although that did not cause or contribute to the wild dyskinesias of her legs. By interval she had enough, wanting to return home.
Last Tuesday she had no problems attending Dance for Wellbeing at the church hall, although the previous Tuesday were very bad, she felt ill, so I did not take her.
Her OCD sessions drive me to anger, even though I know I must circumvent such feelings. She uses knives, spoons, combs, paddle-pop sticks, anything at hand to clean dirt from cracks in the timber flooring, around the edge of the sink and the bench top, the edge of the hotplate, the runners of sliding doors. Surfaces, including the timber floor, are rubbed are rubbed with tissues and sometimes with blue dish cloth or foam plastic pads when she needs something more abrasive. On respite day last week I bought a squeeze mop and a long handled brush and pan for her; my idea being that having correct equipment may limit the damage she does. Of course I forgot a bucket to accompany the mop so I bought the bucket this week. A large box of multi-coloured plastic shapes containing magnets was bought from Kogan; I thought these may interest her but only mildly so. After unpacking the contents of the box just after delivery she was very keen to repack the box, but finding the flimsy internal packaging too awkward to force back into the outer box, she cut up the flimsy packaging to make it all fit, so in consequence, most of the flimsy stuff went into the bin. The carer (who has small children) helped her this last Wednesday assembling the magnetic pieces and that gave her some interest in them but that has now waned.
I have noticed that on days when her legs are dyskinetic her OCD tendencies are much reduced. I must convey this to the neurologist, although I suppose if one's legs are kicking then it is hard to pay interest to other activities.
The other day when I spoke to my GP after my geriatric test he suggested I take some respite and when I replied that organising respite for her was too difficult with the Duodopa pump etc he said "Both go, on a cruise!" I did not answer, I could not, he possibly thinks me a doddery old bloke, unable to think or speak coherently. And if he does, which I doubt, how in the name of hell can I put together enough meaningful descriptive words in a 10 or 20 minute block of time to impress upon him the ridiculousness of suggesting we go on a cruise??? I am yet to convince myself of the possibility of taking us on a motel crawl, north, south or where ever following the one night experiment down the 4 lane to Town Y some months ago after buying the collapsible commode. Escape from our routine may be a necessity, yet I wonder when she travels like a terrified mute imagining all the problems likely to occur along the way. She cannot sit in confined spaces, so rule out buses, trains and planes. On a cruise? Just getting to and from the point of embarkation would be a nightmare.
My new camera was clicked seriously for the first time on Wednesday. I drove to the look out over the town then around some of the back roads. I am not inspired to look at anything I took; I experienced more excitement buying the camera than using it.
I have discovered that having intense interest in an activity tends to help me stay alert in the evenings. About a week ago a second cousin contacted a near relative asking for information about his family line because he was unsure whether he was using the correct surname. You get the drift? A seriously screwed-up (in the full biological sense of that hyphenated word) part of my family and as I have just discovered, more complicated than other kin of mine. I accepted the challenge before another muddied the waters.Simply investing hours sorting out the family interconnections, searching for information, has kept me alert, reminds me how I felt a decade or more ago. Although I have not spoken to the 2nd cousin, his emails remind me very much of two dyslexic friends I have and also a dyslexic cousin who died last year. Each with a brilliant mind yet unable in various degrees of putting words on paper. I fear feeling at a loss once this family challenge is behind me.
posted by Kilpike | 12:10 pm
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