Since 2007 when FIL suffered his first stroke, I have become their major caretaker. MIL and I never got along but now I am her bestest friend (probably because I do everything for them). 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, especially with FIL's vascular dementia which was increasing. It all came to a head right after Christmas of 2008 when we admitted FIL 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 been hitting his wife. During this same time, we found out MIL suffered 2 minor strokes, with one involving her speech. With speech therapy she recovered fairly well and was able to continue living on her own.
Some dementia patients like my FIL have sundown syndrome which I will discuss another day. This is why we had to find somewhere for FIL. FIL though, we had to put in a dementia home. What we came across was divine intervention. The home 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.
In FIL's room, I made 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 the 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.
As soon as we one walks through the doors of this group home, there were people who understood him and his care. Usually when we go to visit, FIL is sitting at the table, talking to 3 other male residents and putting together a 30-60 piece puzzle in the only way dementia patients can, eating cookies and having a 'beer' (root beer but they swore it was Polish beer). I always swear that I am tape recording their conversations because it is hard 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.
Yesterday I got a phone call from one of the owners stating that FIL was having a hard time breathing. I had them go ahead and call 911 and said caretaker went with FIL in the ambulance until I could get out to them. I then called a neighbor to go to MIL's house and I timed my call to when she was there to let her know he was being transferred to the ER. Neighbor took MIL. Son and I took off (I am in a cast and unable to walk or drive - that story still to come).
We spent most of the day there but basically FIL's chest xray was normal, his blood work was about the same, and his EKG was the same. So they called his bad cold just a good case of bronchitis and put him on antibiotics. We are to take him back in a week to the doctor.
This is not the first scare for us with any of our parents but for me it was just a reminder of a month ago when I lost my mother because she was having a hard time breathing. Logically my brain tells me that this is the circle of life. But emotionally everything we are goes back to our parents. And so when our parents die, a large part of our lives as their child dies too. A line gets crossed over and we become the adults, and we know then that our childhood is behind us. It's funny because I had thought that occurred when I left home at 18 and when I married at 25 but it wasn't until my mother died, that I realized I was no longer a child. Maybe it's just a month after her death but this scare today just brought up so many memories of that week after she died.
Have you ever wanted to freeze time for a while? To say: stop world, slow down. Let me catch my breath! I don't know if I really want to be an adult now without parents.
