Signs of Trouble

We've had the discussion a dozen times since Betty started a kitchen fire a month after moving in here... DON'T USE THE STOVE. NO, NEVER. YES, I MEAN YOU. ALWAYS. NO STOVE. EVER. NO COOKING. NEVER. NOT EVEN A LITTLE. EVER.

It's been months since we've had to discuss this, but yesterday I had a large package of hamburger patties defrosting on the two front burners, when I heard the click-click-click-click of the ignitor. She was trying to light the burner to soften the earpieces of her reading glasses. Fortunately, she doesn't know how to use the stove, or flame would have melted the plastic wrap before I could have stopped her.

So we had the discussion for the 13th time, and she let me know that every sane person knows you use the kitchen stove to adjust glasses. I tried to raise my voice just enough to make an impression on her, but apparently, it didn't take, because she tried it again this morning. I heard the clicking from upstairs, but David was closer, and stopped her.

There is now a sign above the stove that says, "Do Not Use the Stove." There is a similar sign on the patio door that says, "Do Not Let Any Cats Outside." That one has worked fairly well, except when a cat escapes, comes to that door, and she opens it to let that cat IN, thus letting two or three others OUT.

She saw this sign and asked, "What's wrong with the stove?" I explained to her why I'd put the sign there, but she doesn't remember trying to use the stove, so she's upset about the sign. She keeps insisting that it's not necessary, because she'd never do anything that she's been told not to do. So I have to explain that she doesn't always remember what I tell her not to do, and she doesn't remember that this is true, so we do that little Dance Around the Logic Pole.

If arguing with her was aerobic, I'd be a size 4.

Independence--It's Not Easy

Betty tried to handle her own lunch a few days ago because I was gone. She poured a large can of soup in a China bowl, warmed it in the microwave, then dropped it on the range top. I came home with one hour to prepare dinner for the family and my mother whom I'd envited, and found smashed china and thick soup covering the burners, running down the cabinet below, and pooling on the floor. Betty was using various spatulas and spoons to try to scoop it into a bowl, which she planned to eat. I had to show her a piece of broken China in the bowl to convince her this wasn't safe. She wanted to help clean up the mess, which she felt terrible about causing, but this would have taken hours. She retreated to her room and had to be coaxed out to eat dinner.

After dinner she couldn't quite remember what had happened, and demanded that my 9-year-old son, who was home at the time, tell her what she'd done. "Something is happening to me. Something is happening to me. I don't understand it," she said.

I think I did a good job of not getting angry at her, but my husband and daughter were both gone, so I had to clean it up myself, my mother showed up 45 minutes early for dinner, and it was a complete disaster... I WAS angry, but Betty was so upset with herself that I couldn't get mad at her. I tried to reassure her that it was just an accident caused by low blood sugar, and that the only thing she should have done differently was to ask Mikey to help her.

He came to me later and "confessed" that although he had asked her what she was doing when he saw her with the soup, he let her proceed on her own since she wasn't using the stove. (She's not allowed, since she almost burned down the kitchen with the toaster oven...) He felt guilty that he hadn't stepped in to help her, but was torn because he's been told not to act like the "babysitter" unless he sees her doing something really dangerous. Of course, I reassured him that he wasn't at fault, and reassured her that it was just a can of soup.

I've had to learn to let my kids try things on their own, even if they end up causing a mess, but I can't do this with Betty. She's not going to get better, not going to retain new skills, and not going to learn from her mistakes. It's a balancing act between not insulting her by treating her like a complete incompetent and not tripling my workload by letting her help herself...

Every Day is Different Here

Betty is very sharp today--walking fairly well, philosophizing about the mythology of God, the innate worthlessness of mankind, the supremacy of viruses and insects... She was a sociology professor, and still retains her intellect, at least on days like this. She doesn't want to go to the Senior Center, but she missed last Friday and Monday, and needs the physical therapy.

She'll do more talking and interacting there than she will here, so I don't feel too guilty about taking her, although she considers it a waste of time and says all anybody does there is watch TV.

I think the Silexa (anti-depressant) is working, as is the physical therapy--she hasn't used her walker for days, and although she always looks like she's going to fall over, she hasn't fallen in over a week.

Yesterday I took her to Barnes and Noble (the Happiest Place on Earth) and left her for about 90 minutes. I was panicked the whole time, but when I came back, she was fine. She had a two foot tall stack of books to buy... although she'd previously agreed to settle for three. I gave in, though, as it finally occurred to me that fewer trips is better than lots of trips, and the only way to justify not taking her is to remind her that she just spent $117!

The Aftermath of Sweets

This day was disturbingly predictable... After the Mother's Day candy and dessert with dinner (Chocolate Thunder Down Under from Outback Steakhouse), Betty was sick and lethargic today. She threw up in the car (thankfully, the car was still in the driveway) on the way to Adult Day Care, so she stayed home and slept most of the day.

On another note, the VA called last week and they've taken her off her blood pressure/heart pill, as it seemed to be lowering her blood pressure too much. So her balance has improved, and she's walking without the walker, at least for now. Tomorrow the home health care lady is coming, and she'll take her weekly shower. It's the little things in life that keep me sane...

Candy... The Ultimate Magnet

It's Mother's Day, and Betty has been asking for chocolates for a week, so I bought a box for David to give to her. She's a diabetic on insulin, so we don't do this often--but aside from football, it's all she thinks about.

So he gave her the box, she ate a few pieces, and put it up on the kitchen counter. We were gone for several hours, and when we came back, David checked the box and she hadn't taken any more! But when she realized we were home, she asked me where the candy was--she'd forgotten where she put it! Now she's come toddling out of her bedroom three times to get "just one more piece."

We had a conversation yesterday about the connection between Alzheimer's and Diabetes, and she's brought it up several times today, but she can't stay away from the candy. Tonight we're taking her out to dinner, and she'll be miserable if she can't have dessert... We'll give in, though, because sometimes it's probably more important to make her happy, than to focus on her health. I find myself saying NO to her 10 times a day. Tonight we'll say YES. Tomorrow it's back to NO NO NO!

Making Memories

It's probably not a good thing that the best way to get MIL to remember something is to holler at her about it. The neurologist confirmed this for me, that when there's lots of negative emotions attached to an event, Betty will more likely remember it. So I've yelled at her about not going into the garage, for example, and she hasn't done it for at least a week. The garage is an issue for me because I'm worried that she'll fall, she's always barefoot, and there's a refrigerator out there in which I hide things she can't stop eating, like chocolate syrup, and things we don't want her to eat, like the cottage cheese I feed the kids, my stash of hummus, etc.

But I don't like myself very much when I yell at her. It bothers my kids, and makes me feel like a jerk, even when it works. And it's not balanced by warm and fuzzy moments of love and affection, because I never felt that and I can't fake it now. So it's balanced by moments of tolerance and even-temperedness, at best. It's balanced by my grudging purchases of foods she likes, though not as often as she wants them.

I suppose I get a few points for ordering a bunch of football DVD's for her on Amazon, because she asks to watch football at least three or four times a day, but those are things, and easy for me to provide. It's positive emotion I can't give her.

So I justify my bad temper by pointing at its effectiveness in making an impression on her and modifying her behavior, but I don't like the memories I'm making for myself.

Boundaries

MIL always had weird eating habits, but they're even weirder now. She consumed almost a pound of hummus yesterday, and I have to hide cream cheese, as she likes to cut a big slab off the bar and just eat it--no bagel, no toast... She'll pour salad dressing, gravy, and sauces in a bowl and eat them like soup, too. When you object to any of this, she really doesn't get it. Her point is that if she likes the taste of something, why not just drink it?

It's a hard question to answer. It's all about customs and etiquette, and what seems "right" and "wrong" to me.

The real issue for me, personally, is that I get all tense and irritated when she takes something out of the refrigerator. I'm forever jumping up to make sure she's not spooning food out of a container with a spoon that she's put in her mouth, etc. I've caught her doing this a few times, and my assumption is ALWAYS that she's about to do it again. She finds this insulting, of course. But if I (or my kids) suspect she's done this, we just can't eat the item ourselves, so it's all hers!

Maybe It's Me

I'm not sure which is worse--MIL in a bad mood or MIL in a good mood. When she's crabby I can be crabby back, which lets me vent, albiet childishly. When she's all perky and peppy, as she was a few days ago, I find it intensely irritating. Her sense of humor was never appealing to me--her joking comments were always sarcastic--and that hasn't changed. Now, combined with the Alzheimer's issues, it's a double whammy.

I brought her back last Wednesday from a day at the Senior Center, and wanted to feed her dinner right away. This is selfish on my part--I don't enjoy eating dinner with her--but it suits her just fine because she doesn't have to put in her dentures if she eats before or after the rest of us. The downside is that I usually have to find something she can eat that doesn't require teeth, and she usually wants to eat things that she won't be able to chew, yet doesn't want to put in her teeth... the endless, circular arguments about it drive me nuts. So after five minutes of that nonsense, I offered her the rest of the soup I gave her the day before, and she agreed to it, but as I was taking it out of the microwave she started to leave for her bedroom. I said, "Wait, Betty, your soup is ready," and she said, "Oh, I don't want soup!"

Fortunately, my husband was there, or I would have REALLY lost it. As it was, I stomped out of the kitchen and left it to him... and she just cackled away at her little joke.

She never did eat the damn soup.