Every time I start to write this post, something else happens that makes it invalid and I have to start again. But I am determined to finish this, because now I'm at the stage where I need more help.
But first, I need to bring you up to speed.
In September, the VA diagnosed my grandfather (I'll just say Dan from here out) with Alzheimer's. We've all known his memory has been failing for quite some time, but the doctors felt it went beyond dementia. He's now on a pill called donepezil. I don't think it helps much, but that's just me.
We had a family appointment at the VA with the memory care doctor in October, where the doctor explained it again to Dan and my mother (Deb), who was in significant denial about the diagnosis in September. The doctor explained to them how his memory was failing and what exactly this meant. (I had heard this before, so this appointment was specifically for Deb and Dan (again)). She also recommended assisted living for his safety. After Dan's accident in June, St. Gertrude's also recommended assisted living, so since then, Jake and I had been looking into options.
Prior to the appointment in October, Jake and I narrowed it down to four places, and went and visited each one, finally choosing St. Therese Southwest on the border of Eden Prairie and Hopkins. We were on the fence between that one and another, but the deciding factor was the fact that Aunt Sis is at this one as well. They would have the opportunity to visit each other, and we as a family could visit them both at the same time.
We had a room picked out and have been working on getting everything together for the Aid & Attendance benefit, so we're ready to go at any time. What is standing in my way is Deb.
She insisted that we try a day program first, we have been sending Dan to SarahCare in Savage for the past few weeks. However, the VA only covers two days a week of this, and more days is not something we can pay for out of pocket right now. Not that we want to do that anyway - he has friends that want to come pick him up sometimes, and he still likes to go to the Legends a couple nights a week. Even so, I can't stay at home with him anymore.
So I talked to Deb on Sunday night and told her that I planned on putting Dan in St. Therese's within the month. Crying, she told me we would be killing him by taking him away from his home, but I disagree. I think that with all the social prospects (which the doctor said would be good for him) and the fact that people wanting to see him and take him out wouldn't have to check with me first, it would be a great move for him. Yes, it will be difficult at first, but he needs more than we can offer right now. I can't be here all the time, and neither can Deb or Jake. And when Deb is here, she's not upstairs with him. I tried to explain all these things to her, and in the end, she asked for me to wait until after Christmas. I may not have a choice, since I can't really do this without complete family support.
So my request for my family is to help me with Deb. I ask that family and friends (of about her age or older) call and talk to her. Assure her that she's doing the right thing. Moving my grandfather is the right idea. Two days ago, he fell again, and while it wasn't serious and he wasn't hurt, I fear that it could be worse one day.
I've worked very hard to keep my grandfather safe and healthy, and sometimes at the opposition of my mother. All I'm asking is that you help me to give her that final push. Jake and I have already done all the work; all she needs to do is just accept it and help us remind him (again and again) that this is best for him.
Talking to Dan is going to be difficult too, because he doesn't remember one day to the next, so I'm sure he's forgotten the appointment already, even with my talking to him about it. But one issue at a time.
Deb's number (and forgive me for the spam filter) is: 952-five eight three - five four zero three. She's not home (usually) from 9am to 7pm, Monday through Friday, but she comes home early on Mondays quite often. I would also recommend trying Dan's number: 952- four four seven five nine one seven.
Thank you all. Call me or write if you have questions, comments, or want more details. My number is: 952-four eight four - three two eight five.
While I am posting this online, I will call those of you not on Facebook or that I don't have emails for. But if my younger cousins (that is, my age) want to do me a favor and tell your parents about this, that would help too.Oh, and I'm sure I don't have to mention this, but don't tell her I asked you to call. That's a conversation I don't want to have later. :-P
Wednesday, November 7, 2012
Tuesday, August 7, 2012
The Grandfather Diaries 8/7/2012
Today I was working on phone calls, emails, and research. I've always been good at research, but these days I have to push myself to be even better. I cannot allow myself to miss anything. I have to search every corner and edifice of the internet to make sure that I find every option available to my family regarding my grandfather.
After the staff at St. Gertrude's told us that my grandfather needed 24-hour care due to his memory getting worse, my mother, brother and I have been with him almost all the time. That's not to say that he doesn't get alone time or can't leave the house. On the contrary, he's a very busy man. Despite not being able to drive anymore (which he resents us for), my grandfather gets out quite a bit, going to luncheons, playing cards, seeing friends. At least, it seems a lot to me. But to him, he's lost quite a bit of freedom.
Today was a tough day for us. Every day I come over and sit with him, making sure he has lunch, stays clean (I won't elaborate on that; you can guess), and gets where he needs to go. This is in addition to what I did before his accident: bills, light cleaning, and really whatever else he needed me to do. Thankfully, I have my husband and my cousin to help with yard work, which can really be time consuming. But it wasn't the full day of typical house maintenance that was difficult. No, today was a mental challenge.
At some point, and whether this was due to something I said or did I can't say, something clicked in my grandfather's head. He realized I had been there every day and that I wasn't just there to entertain myself. No, he figured out - and remembered for long enough to talk to me about it - that I was there watching him. Babysitting. This happened while we were outside on the porch chatting away.
Reminding me once again that I needed to get a job, I countered with expressing that he would be pretty bored without me around. From there, I stumbled into an argument that I had never hoped to find myself in. He bombarded me with questions on why I was there and why I felt I had to watch him all the time. Why I took him to work and why he was never alone and didn't have the freedom to go where he liked when he liked. Did I feel that he couldn't take care of himself?
That's exactly what I thought, and I told him so. As I said, this was an argument, and not a one-sided reprimand. However, while I was caught off guard, I'd like to think that I handled it pretty well. That is to say, I didn't break down crying after some of the things he said, and that was hard enough in itself.
My grandfather went on to say that he wasn't doing as bad as I thought. His memory was fine, he wasn't having any medical problems, and I should let him drive again. He also felt as though I was "checking up" on him at work. This surprised me particularly, because this is only his second week back, and I don't usually stick around while he's working. I stayed for an hour last night because he told me he'd buy me dinner for all my work around the house (and I wasn't going to pass up a free meal).
I explained to him that yes, he was having problems. His memory isn't as good as it used to be, and he needed help to get things done around the house. He also has been having some incontinence problems, and forgetting the clean-up that comes with it. I couldn't explain all that very well though... Something about telling your grandfather that he needs to change his underwear more is a bit difficult. Once again, though I know he doesn't remember the first time, I tried to explain to him what the doctors have been telling me: that he needs 24-hour care and that I can't leave him by himself during the day. I tried to add some humor to it, suggesting that the state would find me incompetent and I'd be in trouble. "Let me talk to them," he said, his voice almost pleading. I couldn't look at him for a moment. I shook my head and told him that there was no shame in your family helping you when you needed it. And he does need it.
After our conversation had settled down a bit, aided in part by the dog running toward a squirrel, I went inside to compose myself. Tears had come to my eyes and damned if I was going to let him see that.
If I learned anything today, it was how hard (and yet, important) it is to be honest with him while at the same time trying to humor him. For the past few weeks, we've just let him think that we were hanging around for our benefit. Because we like to. And that isn't a lie, but I certainly spend a lot more time at my grandparents' house than I otherwise would. I've had to tell him several times that he can't drive and why, and that eventually, things were going to have to change.
It was a frustrating day, but I can't be angry with him. He has lost his freedom and privacy, and I can't fault him for being upset. And I can't be upset with him. He's like a small child or a baby - helpless. And he doesn't understand.
Taking him away from home and putting him somewhere else is going to kill him. And most likely me with him.
After the staff at St. Gertrude's told us that my grandfather needed 24-hour care due to his memory getting worse, my mother, brother and I have been with him almost all the time. That's not to say that he doesn't get alone time or can't leave the house. On the contrary, he's a very busy man. Despite not being able to drive anymore (which he resents us for), my grandfather gets out quite a bit, going to luncheons, playing cards, seeing friends. At least, it seems a lot to me. But to him, he's lost quite a bit of freedom.
Today was a tough day for us. Every day I come over and sit with him, making sure he has lunch, stays clean (I won't elaborate on that; you can guess), and gets where he needs to go. This is in addition to what I did before his accident: bills, light cleaning, and really whatever else he needed me to do. Thankfully, I have my husband and my cousin to help with yard work, which can really be time consuming. But it wasn't the full day of typical house maintenance that was difficult. No, today was a mental challenge.
At some point, and whether this was due to something I said or did I can't say, something clicked in my grandfather's head. He realized I had been there every day and that I wasn't just there to entertain myself. No, he figured out - and remembered for long enough to talk to me about it - that I was there watching him. Babysitting. This happened while we were outside on the porch chatting away.
Reminding me once again that I needed to get a job, I countered with expressing that he would be pretty bored without me around. From there, I stumbled into an argument that I had never hoped to find myself in. He bombarded me with questions on why I was there and why I felt I had to watch him all the time. Why I took him to work and why he was never alone and didn't have the freedom to go where he liked when he liked. Did I feel that he couldn't take care of himself?
That's exactly what I thought, and I told him so. As I said, this was an argument, and not a one-sided reprimand. However, while I was caught off guard, I'd like to think that I handled it pretty well. That is to say, I didn't break down crying after some of the things he said, and that was hard enough in itself.
My grandfather went on to say that he wasn't doing as bad as I thought. His memory was fine, he wasn't having any medical problems, and I should let him drive again. He also felt as though I was "checking up" on him at work. This surprised me particularly, because this is only his second week back, and I don't usually stick around while he's working. I stayed for an hour last night because he told me he'd buy me dinner for all my work around the house (and I wasn't going to pass up a free meal).
I explained to him that yes, he was having problems. His memory isn't as good as it used to be, and he needed help to get things done around the house. He also has been having some incontinence problems, and forgetting the clean-up that comes with it. I couldn't explain all that very well though... Something about telling your grandfather that he needs to change his underwear more is a bit difficult. Once again, though I know he doesn't remember the first time, I tried to explain to him what the doctors have been telling me: that he needs 24-hour care and that I can't leave him by himself during the day. I tried to add some humor to it, suggesting that the state would find me incompetent and I'd be in trouble. "Let me talk to them," he said, his voice almost pleading. I couldn't look at him for a moment. I shook my head and told him that there was no shame in your family helping you when you needed it. And he does need it.
After our conversation had settled down a bit, aided in part by the dog running toward a squirrel, I went inside to compose myself. Tears had come to my eyes and damned if I was going to let him see that.
If I learned anything today, it was how hard (and yet, important) it is to be honest with him while at the same time trying to humor him. For the past few weeks, we've just let him think that we were hanging around for our benefit. Because we like to. And that isn't a lie, but I certainly spend a lot more time at my grandparents' house than I otherwise would. I've had to tell him several times that he can't drive and why, and that eventually, things were going to have to change.
It was a frustrating day, but I can't be angry with him. He has lost his freedom and privacy, and I can't fault him for being upset. And I can't be upset with him. He's like a small child or a baby - helpless. And he doesn't understand.
Taking him away from home and putting him somewhere else is going to kill him. And most likely me with him.
Tuesday, May 8, 2012
When It Rains, It Pours... and then Floods.
I had a wonderful trip to Japan this last week, where I visited my husband Andrew who is temporarily stationed at the Yokosuka Navy base. He's out there for a month, which isn't a long time, considering how long most deployments go. I arrived right in the middle of his stint, and arrived home yesterday already missing him.
How much I miss him is increasing exponentially with every obstacle I encounter.
While I was away, Minnesota had a couple nights of thunderstorms with rain. It filled up our downstairs room's egress and overflowed into the room through the window. The carpet was soaked. The furniture looks okay though, and this could have been much worse. Especially since we use the room as our computer room. I can imagine what sort of electrical nightmare that could have been. But thanks to friends and family - and a panic return call from my over-seas sailor - I have a good grasp on the situation, and am not going to let it get me down.
Then there are the wasps. I found three inside the house when I got home. Two of the little devils were by the deck screen door, dead, thankfully. I also found one downstairs next to the water heater. Andrew had suggested weeks ago that the wasp I had found near the garage door had come in through a vent, and after finding two upstairs, I was curious to look around and see if any more came in. This one was still alive, albeit barely. So I find myself still wondering - where are they coming from? This brings my inside-the-house wasp total to five this year. Our sliding door to the deck must be crap. Or the wasps are magical and can go through glass. That's all I need...magic wasps.
Andrew might know how to deal with these wasps better than I, but he's not around to be the man, so I have to be tough. I keep telling myself this. Be strong. Be the man. Kill the bugs that would harm you and your guinea pig. Boy, I miss him.
A couple of my plants started to grow while I was gone, though two were completely submerged in water. At least with this flooding problem, I can just dump out the excess and perhaps try to drill a hole into the plant boxes to prevent this from happening again. Sounds easy enough, right? No... I now I have wet dirt on my deck. And apparently you need a specific bit for the drill to make a hole, and not just any old screw head.
Have I mentioned that I miss my husband?
Somewhere in my youth, I really missed an important part of my education: man tasks. What to do when things go wrong. Growing up without a dad around the house (and then a mechanically challenged grandfather), you'd think that I would have had to learn this stuff for myself. And I did learn quite a few things: using a lawn-mower, killing spiders, putting furniture together. You know, maybe I should omit that spider part. I still have Andrew do that.
All too often I defer to Andrew in these situations that I can solve if I put my mind to it. I just need to focus. And it would probably help if I stop running, screaming, from the wasps.
How much I miss him is increasing exponentially with every obstacle I encounter.
While I was away, Minnesota had a couple nights of thunderstorms with rain. It filled up our downstairs room's egress and overflowed into the room through the window. The carpet was soaked. The furniture looks okay though, and this could have been much worse. Especially since we use the room as our computer room. I can imagine what sort of electrical nightmare that could have been. But thanks to friends and family - and a panic return call from my over-seas sailor - I have a good grasp on the situation, and am not going to let it get me down.
Then there are the wasps. I found three inside the house when I got home. Two of the little devils were by the deck screen door, dead, thankfully. I also found one downstairs next to the water heater. Andrew had suggested weeks ago that the wasp I had found near the garage door had come in through a vent, and after finding two upstairs, I was curious to look around and see if any more came in. This one was still alive, albeit barely. So I find myself still wondering - where are they coming from? This brings my inside-the-house wasp total to five this year. Our sliding door to the deck must be crap. Or the wasps are magical and can go through glass. That's all I need...magic wasps.
Andrew might know how to deal with these wasps better than I, but he's not around to be the man, so I have to be tough. I keep telling myself this. Be strong. Be the man. Kill the bugs that would harm you and your guinea pig. Boy, I miss him.
A couple of my plants started to grow while I was gone, though two were completely submerged in water. At least with this flooding problem, I can just dump out the excess and perhaps try to drill a hole into the plant boxes to prevent this from happening again. Sounds easy enough, right? No... I now I have wet dirt on my deck. And apparently you need a specific bit for the drill to make a hole, and not just any old screw head.
Have I mentioned that I miss my husband?
Somewhere in my youth, I really missed an important part of my education: man tasks. What to do when things go wrong. Growing up without a dad around the house (and then a mechanically challenged grandfather), you'd think that I would have had to learn this stuff for myself. And I did learn quite a few things: using a lawn-mower, killing spiders, putting furniture together. You know, maybe I should omit that spider part. I still have Andrew do that.
All too often I defer to Andrew in these situations that I can solve if I put my mind to it. I just need to focus. And it would probably help if I stop running, screaming, from the wasps.
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