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PATIENCE, PLANNING AND SUPPORT: REFLECTIONS ON DEALING WITH AGING FAMILY MEMBERS
one with Alzheimer’s is caring for the one caring for them. Our failures often matched my successes and those of my sisters in that department because of work or other family engagements.
After Dr. Jones heard from me, he turned to my mother
and asked her some questions. His questions were his
effort to probe some of the details of my observations, and even though my Mom was surprisingly aware of what was happening, she, at times, would completely make up events, people, and places that I was hearing for the first time. The gaze of my doctor friend slightly in my direction indicated that I should just let these exchanges play out. Dr. Jones patiently allowed Mom to finish what she had to say. Dr. Jones did some exams that required the mom’s participation. It appeared to test her strength, balance, gait, and whether there might be some early deterioration in balance and overall sturdiness. Once done, my ever-optimistic physician friend reassured Mom that he felt that she had early signs
of “age-related” dementia and that new medications on
the market could help hold them at bay. He wrote out a script, handed it to me, and asked me to walk Mom to rejoin my Dad. I returned only to be told that Mom was indeed showing early signs of dementia but that the medicine that he gave would, he thought, help stave it away in the short term (whatever that meant), but that the long-term effects of dementia, even with medicine, were not very promising.
I rejoined my parents in the lobby, and we walked to the
car. My Mom was unfazed at what we had just done, and as much as she could be, she was talkative, complimentary, and always planning the rest of her day. We all went to Cracker Barrel for a “debrief” and some food, but the medicine thing was lost on Mother. Yet, if I said she needed some medicine, she was more than happy to oblige. I left later to return to my office, and Dad took Mom home and called in the script.
As time went by, her mind incrementally became more troublesome to us all. We didn’t see any difference in
her with or without the medicine, even though Dad was religiously making sure that it was taken. She was slipping, and we knew it. One could hardly tell from day to day just how much, but it was very discernible over time. As far as the medicine was concerned, my family would often discuss how it was that any caregiver could even know
whether any medicine was truly working because it would require knowledge of the outcome without it. But, my
blind trust in my physician friend early on would trump
my natural suspicions about the medicine and whether the pharmaceutical industry could present any empirical data to justify marketing it.
As time went by, excursions away from home for the two
of them became less spontaneous since plans always had
to be made for handling hygiene issues. Over time, Mom’s ability to walk without falling was an issue, so considerations of independence became a larger factor than before. Dad would most times take Mom with him to do the family shopping and business because he couldn’t leave her alone at home, and on rare occasions at a store, Mom would
“give him the slip,” and then he’d panic looking for her.
In some ways, Dad was still hoping that things would level off and even get better, but in the end, that proved to be
false optimism. He and I often talked about stopping the medicine because of what he felt were “other” complications of taking it, and he would discuss his “hopes” that she
would return to normal someday. We were always a part of the conversation. He would later get a referral for another neurologist and made an appointment for Mom that he wanted me to attend. I did, and the diagnosis seemed to rely more on conversation than anything else. After an initial encounter with another physician, the doctor took me aside and confirmed that he thought Mom had Alzheimer’s. He recommended a “new “ medicine for her, which was as
good as the other. Over time, Dad had me pinging from one doctor to another in a frantic attempt to find someone who would give him any hope that things would get better, and
of course, they did not. I didn’t dare push back on his efforts since doing so would risk ruining my special relationship with my father.
A time came when Dad was at a point when he wanted answers that none of us children or doctors could give. He knew a friend from working with a local seniors organization who considered herself an expert in how to manage a
loved one with Alzheimer’s. All of us kids and Dad went to see her at her home. We talked for hours, and while she was profoundly kind, she was a little more direct than I felt then was necessary. In retrospect, she was pretty darn
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