For quite a while now I have been relaying our struggles caring for a parent with dementia whose caretaker has been ill. It has been frustrating to watch their decline and although we have tried to help out (taking over major holiday meal preparation, going to doctor appointments with them, going to visit and giving respite care), it just wasn't enough. It all came to a head Monday, December 29th when we admitted hubs father for an altered mental state dementia with severe WWII flashbacks. He was in the hospital for a few days then was transferred to a psychiatric dementia lock down unit for medication and evaluation. We checked in an angry male who never raised his voice yet had hit his wife. We have been out there practically every day checking and visiting him to make sure he wasn't being turned into a drugged zombie. We have also had the medical issues with hubs mother who suffered 2 strokes during this ordeal. Life has not been dull.
After visiting over 30 some places in the past week, we settled on what we thought was best for dad - a small group home for dementia patients. It is located within a mile of his house and is the best idea I have ever come across. It was divine intervention that we found this place. It is a standard ranch home in a regular neighborhood. The only difference is there are 2 live-in caretakers and 5 dementia patients in the 4 bedroom home. The atmosphere is amazing. Calming music is played. Heavenly mouth watering home cooked food is made. The caretakers and owners have this magical calming attitude about them that just is passed on via osmosis.
During a snowstorm yesterday we had our family meeting at the dementia unit (amazingly the social worker that I had words with was not present and her supervisor had taken over FIL's case), then we took FIL's belongings and moved them into his 'new room' so when we transferred him today, he would feel like he had come home. I had made him a mural of family pictures with the names of the people in the pictures under them. Half the board was for the caretakers to write on the date. I had written in his name and today's date to start them off. I had also written on a piece of paper his name, his wife's name, his children's names, his grandchildren's names, and that all of us knew he was there and would visit him often. I had it laminated in plastic so he could carry it in his pocket so he had a constant reminder of all these things.
During another snowstorm today, we finally got him discharged a full 2 hours after we had planned and drove him to this new home. I have to stop a minute and say that the man we committed protesting with violent outbursts was a different man who walked out of there today. Did he still have dementia? Yes. That will not change but will only get worse. We know that and understand that. But he was back to his normal happy go lucky dementia self, asking us every 5 minutes the same questions over and over. Will he probably still drink after shave lotion thinking it is mouthwash? Yes unless he is watched closely.
The night we committed him, he was combative and hostile and we all walked out of the unit stunned and in tears. Little over a week later, there was an amazing difference in leaving him today. As soon as we walked through the doors of this group home, there were people who understood him and his care (aided of course by our 10 page questionnaire we had to answer of his likes and dislikes which I saw was closely read). Although the other residents had already eaten, the caretakers and owners had provided an amazing lunch for all 5 of us. They immediately enveloped FIL in the house and as we left 2 hours later to the mouth watering smells coming from the kitchen (Hungarian Goulash), FIL was sitting at the table, talking to 3 other male residents and playing cards in the only way dementia patients can, eating cookies and having a 'beer' (root beer but they swore it was Polish beer).
Next time I visit I swear I am tape recording their conversations. I had a hard time keeping a straight face and to not laugh totally out loud. Mind you none of them had any short term memory yet there were 3 males sitting at that table talking and playing cards discussing nothing yet having this amazing time. Not one single sentence uttered made any sense and the conversation was so disjointed one would admit themselves after listening to them after a few minutes. FIL just waved good bye to us, saying see you soon.
We drove MIL home and shoveled her driveway of the 8 inches she had gotten, then left to come home and shovel the 14 inches we got.
