My father has dementia

That is a strange way to open this musing session, but it is such a big factor in my life. I am an only child. My mother died 34 years ago. His second wife died two and a half years ago. Since I am his legal guardian it is my duty to manage his affairs, and I have to see his needs are met. This meant that I had to put him into a Altzheimer Care Unit. That is a decision that I still, after three years and two months, makes me feel very guilty and very incapable.

He was not happy when we placed him there. He escaped at least three times, although I believe there were more times. The first time a wonderful good Samaritan found him near a busy street about 9 pm. She picked him up in her car and brought him back. The second time he got about a mile and a half away. This time he was at a very busy intersection. He had fallen into a bar ditch. By the time the administrator for the center got there, the EMS and police were there. Fortunately he was just wet and muddy with nothing (i.e. a hip!) was broken.

For 6 months his wife was "with him." I put this in quotations because she was in assisted living and he was in the locked unit. They would bring him over to her, but then all they would do is sleep. Sleep seems to be one of the things that dementia patients do the most.

Of course V, his wife, was terminal with bladder cancer. She didn't know this, but I did. I wanted to tell her, but her son who was working in another state, said he wanted the doctor to tell her. She never got to see that doctor again, but that's the story for tomorrow. When we brought her here, her son, R, wanted to get her the best of care. He wanted her in M D Anderson Cancer Center. I moved heaven and earth to get her there. My blessed husband would take her the 25 miles there. R did NOTHING. He never even took time off to come see her. He didn't come until Christmas Day when she was in a final coma before death. She died on the 26th.

My father has been there for three years, two months and 10 days. He goes further down every day, but it is a slow decline. He is in a wheel chair most of the time. I don't know if it's die to his terrible arthritis in both knees, or if it is the progression of the disease. He walks very slowly and falls often. He just turned 93. He seams to still recognize us, but has lost the ability to formulate his thoughts. He parrots what is said to him. If asked if he remembers someone when they are referred to he says yes. This is all part of the coping mechanism he used for so many years. Sunday I asked if he remembered his mother's name and he responded no.

I don't know exactly what his real functioning is, but it is so terrible to see the once active, vibrant, intelligent man the way he is now. It takes everything I have to go to visit.

Come back tomorrow to see how I finally got them out of their home (in hometown) that is three plus hours away.