One of the most telling changes that led Nan to live with us was her inability to provide continuous quality care for her pets. Now, Nana has always had a menagerie of pets to help fill her home with noise and activity. I've heard tales of her raising German Shepherds. At one point, I think she may have had seven animals living with her. For as long as I've known her, she has always had a small dog or two around. She most recently had two cats, some birds as well a string of replacement fish. Her pets and their care were of paramount importance to her.
When Nan moved in with us, we also got her chihuahua mix male dog. He may be three years old or so, but he is not very much older than that. When Nana lived on her own, visiting her was always made uncomfortable by this dog. He was not properly house trained or mannered. He would bark incessantly and jump every which way, biting and pulling at sleeves, pant-legs or even hair. When company came by, his behaviors were exacerbated, so he was often kenneled in a dog crate. Which led to more barking and biting, so he would be let out. Which led to more misbehaviors, which caused Nana to crate him up again. By the end of the time she was on her own, he was destroying furniture, leaving messes everywhere and as hyper as he had been as a puppy. Although we were buying groceries for Nana, including pet food for the dog and two cats, she wasn't regularly feeding her animals. They had a horrific flea infestation as well. To add to that, the dog didn't really have a name, nor did she recall even what sex dog it was. He originally had come with the name Roscoe, but that could never be remembered. It was also too similar to our male Cairn Terrier's name Rocco.
So now the little guy lives with us with Nana. Having her give up animals would be such a cruel blow to her. We have a five year old Cairn, Nessie, the four year old Rocco and a six month old golden retriever puppy named Sahara. What a bunch! However, NoName has made tremendous gains. He loves to play with the puppy, often to Nana's distress. She either thinks he is going to be seriously hurt, or she seems a bit resentful that his attention is not solely upon her.
Now, my patience in training a puppy is not very good. The two cairns are not always great at remembering their training either. We use crates for bedtime, which helps. Before Nana came, we were able to enclose our three in the kitchen area while we were at school/work, which was starting to work really well. With Nan in the house, the dogs now have open access. So now, one of my first jobs after coming home from work is cleaning up after the dogs. Ugh. It just puts me in such a negative mindset. Especially when, after a weekend of being there with the dogs, I know with the proper routine and attention, they can have two whole days with no "mistakes". Nana will sometimes pick up a spot she sees, but if she goes for the paper towels and cleaner, she often forgets what she is getting or where she is going with it. Or, she even excuses it buy saying it will just dry up. This is totally not the Nana I recall from years past.
And what do we call the dog? Right now, it is Little Guy or Little Mex or Little Buddy. Nana sometimes calls him Lilly or Precious, which were the names of her cats we had to bring to the shelter. Sometimes Nana wants to bring him to the shelter, but most of the time she wants to wrap him up and keep him stifled in her arms.
The best part is in the mornings, Nan's best hours. She doesn't want him to go outside with our dogs, even though we have a fenced in area for them. So she reports that he is potty trained and goes on the toilet with her. Now, we don't go in the bathroom with her, so I don't really know how this actually occurs, but she swears she has him all trained!
Monday, November 23, 2015
Processing
I heard someone (tv? radio? side conversation?) say they use writing to process. I guess that is what I am doing. I am hoping the "processing" is going to rid me of my shortcomings and help me maintain my patience and manners. It is still the little things that seem to strain me the most. It is like my home is not the place of respite and comfort that it always has been. However, Nana deserves to be around her family, so we keep trying.
DH and I still have evening conversations as our heads are on the pillows, often reflecting on the little things Nana does, why some are funny, and what we think we can do to minimize major issues we see. The biggest issue currently is Nan's refusal to clean herself. She has allowed me to wash her hair--twice, but refused more times. I've sort of tricked her into changing her clothes a few times. But, man oh man, there is starting to be quite the stank. She, of course, reports out that she washed up or even took a tub yesterday, last night or this morning. Nope, never happened.
I've been reading a lot about AD and dementia. I am very concerned that her frustrations with losing her independence and losing some of the last vestiges of her personal dignity will make any hygiene battle an ugly affair. I read something to the point that it is very rare to die of being a little dirty, and causing major melt-downs over this may not be worth it. A dementia patient with some lucidity doesn't want to be treated like they are a baby. Already, Nan's worst moments are when she has to be redirected or asked not to do something.
It is just so different. Nan used to have a public face in the community. She took great care in her appearance; the make-up and perfume was always applied; her acquaintances and friends might be appalled at her condition. The nana of today and ten years ago are so vastly different.
So what do we do? On a good morning, I can get some clean skivvies and clothes into the bathroom and remind her to get out of her "chore clothes" and into the clean ones ready for her. The washing items are left out for her, but she does not avail herself of them. When she is laughing and being a wise guy, we can josh about the arm pit smell from being so busy working. By the time she makes it to the bathroom, she's forgotten what she went there to do. If I remind her one too many times, she gets persnickety and loses her good humor. Nan does not like to be told what to do or not do! On the couple of occasions she's had a bout of the trots, she will do a clean up on her nether region. I don't think it is appropriate to wait around for the next round of tummy distress! Do we get a home health care worker in--a stranger to help with the most intimate of care?
DH and I still have evening conversations as our heads are on the pillows, often reflecting on the little things Nana does, why some are funny, and what we think we can do to minimize major issues we see. The biggest issue currently is Nan's refusal to clean herself. She has allowed me to wash her hair--twice, but refused more times. I've sort of tricked her into changing her clothes a few times. But, man oh man, there is starting to be quite the stank. She, of course, reports out that she washed up or even took a tub yesterday, last night or this morning. Nope, never happened.
I've been reading a lot about AD and dementia. I am very concerned that her frustrations with losing her independence and losing some of the last vestiges of her personal dignity will make any hygiene battle an ugly affair. I read something to the point that it is very rare to die of being a little dirty, and causing major melt-downs over this may not be worth it. A dementia patient with some lucidity doesn't want to be treated like they are a baby. Already, Nan's worst moments are when she has to be redirected or asked not to do something.
It is just so different. Nan used to have a public face in the community. She took great care in her appearance; the make-up and perfume was always applied; her acquaintances and friends might be appalled at her condition. The nana of today and ten years ago are so vastly different.
So what do we do? On a good morning, I can get some clean skivvies and clothes into the bathroom and remind her to get out of her "chore clothes" and into the clean ones ready for her. The washing items are left out for her, but she does not avail herself of them. When she is laughing and being a wise guy, we can josh about the arm pit smell from being so busy working. By the time she makes it to the bathroom, she's forgotten what she went there to do. If I remind her one too many times, she gets persnickety and loses her good humor. Nan does not like to be told what to do or not do! On the couple of occasions she's had a bout of the trots, she will do a clean up on her nether region. I don't think it is appropriate to wait around for the next round of tummy distress! Do we get a home health care worker in--a stranger to help with the most intimate of care?
Monday, November 9, 2015
The Pillows
Nana exhibits many repetitive behaviors. The occupy her and seem to give her a sense of purpose and a sense of accomplishment. Last night, DH was amused to no end at the pillow fiasco.
We need to limit Nana's items. She hoards and hides. She gets overwhelmed by needing to go through paper work or folding clothes or itemizing belongings. As we joined her for some television time and the Patriots game, we presumed as usual, she might have a little cat-nap in her recliner. The fireplace was at her comfort level, hot enough that DH was in shorts. The cat-nap didn't happen. The pillow placement, and replacement, and replacement, and replacement did.
Nan sleeps on the pullout sofa in the living room. She can't manage stairs, so this was our only alternative. We've replaced the mattress, and we leave it open and made so she sees it regularly. The couch has a bunch of matching throw pillow, plus she has a couple of regular pillows with the bedding.
As she was sitting there drinking her coffee, DH decided to try out the new mattress--memory foam with gel inserts placed on top of the regular one. Quite cozy, by his report. As he is wont to do, he was crooked sideways and set a few pillows askew as he tried it out. After he got up, Nana started. The pillows weren't right. She redid the pillows but then had to unfold the comforter. It didn't fit her fancy to have the top part of the comforter folded. The blanket has a different design top and bottom to change up decor if desired. She either only likes to see one design or she must not like the fold-down. Then, because she had to move a couple of pillows to adjust the blanket, the pillows had to be placed just so. Back to the recliner. Not right. Back up moving the pillows, this time matching some styles or sizes. The regular bed pillows were forgotten as they were relegated to the middle of the bed. Back to the recliner. Noticed the bed pillows. Reposition all the pillows. Retuck the bed sheet. Reposition the pillows. Back to the recliner. Oops. Back to the pillows, taking the bed pillows off and placed to the side. Honestly, this went on for at least 40 minutes. Now, DH and his mom have a great sense of humor when dealing with each other. They've always managed to get a chuckle while picking on each other, Nana giving as much as she gets. DH is laughing, asking if the pillows are okay yet, only to be told that it is her job to make sure they are okay for me--not once hearing my continued rebuttals that it doesn't matter to me, but what ever makes her comfortable.
This behavior is so unlike the woman I remember. I keep asking myself why/how. What is she seeing when they are placed? Is her mind soothed by the organization action or the final (almost uniform) placement? Is it a task she thinks of once that just gets relooped like a skipping record player?
We need to limit Nana's items. She hoards and hides. She gets overwhelmed by needing to go through paper work or folding clothes or itemizing belongings. As we joined her for some television time and the Patriots game, we presumed as usual, she might have a little cat-nap in her recliner. The fireplace was at her comfort level, hot enough that DH was in shorts. The cat-nap didn't happen. The pillow placement, and replacement, and replacement, and replacement did.
Nan sleeps on the pullout sofa in the living room. She can't manage stairs, so this was our only alternative. We've replaced the mattress, and we leave it open and made so she sees it regularly. The couch has a bunch of matching throw pillow, plus she has a couple of regular pillows with the bedding.
As she was sitting there drinking her coffee, DH decided to try out the new mattress--memory foam with gel inserts placed on top of the regular one. Quite cozy, by his report. As he is wont to do, he was crooked sideways and set a few pillows askew as he tried it out. After he got up, Nana started. The pillows weren't right. She redid the pillows but then had to unfold the comforter. It didn't fit her fancy to have the top part of the comforter folded. The blanket has a different design top and bottom to change up decor if desired. She either only likes to see one design or she must not like the fold-down. Then, because she had to move a couple of pillows to adjust the blanket, the pillows had to be placed just so. Back to the recliner. Not right. Back up moving the pillows, this time matching some styles or sizes. The regular bed pillows were forgotten as they were relegated to the middle of the bed. Back to the recliner. Noticed the bed pillows. Reposition all the pillows. Retuck the bed sheet. Reposition the pillows. Back to the recliner. Oops. Back to the pillows, taking the bed pillows off and placed to the side. Honestly, this went on for at least 40 minutes. Now, DH and his mom have a great sense of humor when dealing with each other. They've always managed to get a chuckle while picking on each other, Nana giving as much as she gets. DH is laughing, asking if the pillows are okay yet, only to be told that it is her job to make sure they are okay for me--not once hearing my continued rebuttals that it doesn't matter to me, but what ever makes her comfortable.
This behavior is so unlike the woman I remember. I keep asking myself why/how. What is she seeing when they are placed? Is her mind soothed by the organization action or the final (almost uniform) placement? Is it a task she thinks of once that just gets relooped like a skipping record player?
Intro, sort of...
Here we go. I've never been much of a journal. I never really had a diary for longer than a month or so. But, I've had a change in my life, and I think its time to try a blog to help process the change.
I'm not looking for comments or for people to connect with--in fact, I really am not sure I am going to even look too make this really public. I'm just going to relate some stuff, and hope it helps me as I progress through this new trip. And it is a trip!
Nana has moved in with us. It has take a period of months to get her here. She's now been with us 24-7 for a couple of weeks. There is so much to having her here with us, some good, some not.
So, I'm writing for catharsis. Not judgement. It'll probably be more of a "what not to do", but it will be my ramblings. No more, no less. Just me spouting off, in the hopes that the little things can be over and done with, and not seriously impact the big things.
I've got a few mantras, or maxims that have served me well. This, too, shall pass. You catch more flies with honey than vinegar. Don't be borrowing trouble. Be more like a proton than an electron. Make like a duck. I've found these are harder to follow with Nana here. I've also found I need to talk about her/us, but my immediate family is not the best audience since they are also impacted by this. Having to listen to my ramblings/grumblings/amusement is just doubling the effect, I think.
What it is. I live with my husband and youngest daughter in a small home in Maine. Our elder daughter is a freshman in college. My husband's mother has moved in with us because of her advancing dementia. She is (only) 73 years old. To add to the mix, we have two terriers and a 5 month old golden retriever puppy. Nana brings with her a 2 yr old chihuahua mix.
Where I start. I guess I'm going to haphazardly share snippets, past and present. The funny, the crazy, the OMG. Some may not be pretty. I do not want to disparage any memories of Nana, and the woman she was. But this disease sucks. And sometimes, I suck at dealing with it. It must suck for Nana, but maybe she doesn't really know how bad.
I'm not looking for comments or for people to connect with--in fact, I really am not sure I am going to even look too make this really public. I'm just going to relate some stuff, and hope it helps me as I progress through this new trip. And it is a trip!
Nana has moved in with us. It has take a period of months to get her here. She's now been with us 24-7 for a couple of weeks. There is so much to having her here with us, some good, some not.
So, I'm writing for catharsis. Not judgement. It'll probably be more of a "what not to do", but it will be my ramblings. No more, no less. Just me spouting off, in the hopes that the little things can be over and done with, and not seriously impact the big things.
I've got a few mantras, or maxims that have served me well. This, too, shall pass. You catch more flies with honey than vinegar. Don't be borrowing trouble. Be more like a proton than an electron. Make like a duck. I've found these are harder to follow with Nana here. I've also found I need to talk about her/us, but my immediate family is not the best audience since they are also impacted by this. Having to listen to my ramblings/grumblings/amusement is just doubling the effect, I think.
What it is. I live with my husband and youngest daughter in a small home in Maine. Our elder daughter is a freshman in college. My husband's mother has moved in with us because of her advancing dementia. She is (only) 73 years old. To add to the mix, we have two terriers and a 5 month old golden retriever puppy. Nana brings with her a 2 yr old chihuahua mix.
Where I start. I guess I'm going to haphazardly share snippets, past and present. The funny, the crazy, the OMG. Some may not be pretty. I do not want to disparage any memories of Nana, and the woman she was. But this disease sucks. And sometimes, I suck at dealing with it. It must suck for Nana, but maybe she doesn't really know how bad.
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