Home Alone

A preliminary assessment with a small monitor that Dean wore at home one night led to a decision for a complete sleep study to check his breathing while he slept, which meant a possible diagnosis of sleep apnea.

When they called me to schedule it at one of the sleep clinics here in town, I asked numerous questions about their setup and procedures out of concern for Dean's peculiar night-time needs. When I described his fall risk and symptoms of dementia, she determined that a hospital setting might be warranted for his safety.

So after four emergency room visits last month between the two of us (see my previous post), when each time a hospital stay seemed quite possible, Dean finally earned his hospital stay just to monitor his nighttime sleeping habits! And it wasn't even through the emergency room!

I wasn't about to complain though. It would mean a night of freedom for me, and since it was in the hospital, that also meant freedom from worry. On the way home, after dropping him off at the hospital in the evening, I thought about how to celebrate my night alone. Should I go shopping, eat at a restaurant, go see a friend?

But then I thought, no, I'll just go home and enjoy my freedom there. It would be a night of relaxation. I would choose a DVD to watch, without haggling over the choice with someone and having to pause it every time that person got up to leave the room. I would leave lights on in rooms I left, without having to go back and turn them off if I forgot. I would leave the toilet seat up or down as I pleased, and not even change the toilet paper roll immediately when it ran out. I might not even pick up after myself. My purse and keys would remain ON the table, instead of under it out of sight.

The evening was sounding more and more inviting. Only occasionally did I harbor thoughts of how Dean was faring at the hospital. Or how the hospital staff was faring with him there.

It wasn't until I got home with him the next morning that I learned that perhaps he was not enjoying his night away as much as I was. When I got there he seemed perfectly happy, feasting on his second pastry and downing a glass of orange juice.

The truth came out in the answering machine messages that awaited me when I got home. Three times he had called and told me that I could come and get him any time. He sounded rather desperate to get home, so it was good I got there when I did.

Evidently they had tried a C-PAP on him during the night, when he showed signs of needing one to see if it would make a difference. He said his nose felt like it was burning, with all that air blowing in there. Oh, my, I hope we can resolve this and find the best overall solution if he does have sleep apnea. I'm trying not to think about it.

Those messages on our answering machine still play in my mind though. I too am anxious to go home...home to heaven, where true rest and relaxation exists for an eternity, and not just a brief night while our loved ones struggle somewhere else. Help me not to lose my zeal for that homecoming called The Second Coming. "This world is not my home..."

Blowing Up Balloons

Another blurp in the medical history books for a Mr. Dean, aka Idaho or Shortcut, (my everloving caregivee-husband). Never thought I'd have to take him to the doctor for blowing up a balloon too hard. Yes, believe it or not, he seems to have ruptured one of his salivary glands (parotid gland, if you want to get medically technical).

I swear he was trying to make as many annoying noises as he could with this balloon he got ahold of the other day. I finally got tired of asking him to tone it down. He was obviously enjoying the highly-pitched squeaks and fart sounds he was creating.

Then I noticed the sounds stopped and he brought to my attention a great big egg-sized lump on the left side of his face, right below his ear on the jawline. Naturally, I went into panic mode inside and asked him how long it had been there. Well, of course, he didn't know. He just felt this pop or something on the side of his face after blowing real hard on the balloon, and there it was!

I tried to stay cool, calm, and collected and careful enough not to feel the lump too vigorously, so as not to burst it or anything. But I was naturally curious whether this would go away by itself. It was evening time, so thought I'd let it wait till the next day before I starting dialing some medical professionals.

Everyone I talked to the next day said it probably needed medical attention, because it was still there in the morning, though not as big. So I took him to the doctor's office that afternoon (their after-hours-you-don't-need-an-appointment time). Fortunately the diagnosis was not as complicated as I'd feared and the doctor just prescribed an antibiotic in case some bacteria might escape. He suspected it would go away on its own though, so we're just waiting to see.

What could I possibly have learned from this silly experience, you ask? Well, I, like Dean's balloon-blowing, have a tendency to blow things out of proportion sometimes. Causing my "worry-wart", like a lump, tendencies to overpower my otherwise calm exterior. During these times I'm sure there must be a worry lump there someplace, if I took the time to look for it.

But, most of the time my worries prove to be unfounded. The final "diagnosis" is not nearly as dramatic as I'd feared. I need the Lord's help not to blow so hard on my "balloons" too.

Silly Pleasures

I've heard of people with dementia having wandering behaviors, and I just naturally think of them taking a walk through the neighborhood...actually someone else's neighborhood by the time they get through. Police are often called to assist in these haphazard excursions of the elderly.

But I would like to declare another genre of wandering behavior. It might be called telephone wander lust. Every time Dean sees an 800-number lately he feels compelled to call it. I can't tell you how many times I have rescued him from being a scam target.

The nurse at his doctor's office even called me the other day, wondering if we had put in a request for a back brace. I timidly explained that it was the result of one of his calls, answering a TV ad. It's getting downright scary what he might get himself involved in. And I don't know how to reel him in from this silly and potentially harmful practice.

Most of the time he just gets them to mail us information, as if we don't get enough junk mail already. And speaking of mail. I've also had to be careful of his mailing in postcards and ordering "stuff" with any postage paid invitations that he happens to come across. It doesn't matter what it is, if the word "free" is on it, he wants it. I'm trying to be the first one to the mailbox these days, but it isn't always easy.

I'm not sure why these activities are so enjoyable to him. I think he just has a desire to reach out and feel like he's still a normal human being, who can conduct business on his own.

Perhaps I shouldn't be so harsh with him and allow him these pleasures as long as I can. My first instinct is to get rid of the television, toss out our landline phone, and get our mail delivered to a post office box. But then again, I'll probably just wait and see where it all goes.

After all, isn't God just as patient with some of my silly pleasures?

Birthday "Boy"

This has been an unusual birthday year for Dean. Number one, he admits that he doesn't know when he's looked forward to his birthday so much (on December 4). For months now, he has been counting the months, then days, then even hours, reminding all his family and friends that it was getting close. And it's not even a big-zero event yet (waiting for that one next year--the big 7-0).

Not surprisingly he woke up at three in the morning on the day of his birthday and I heard him softly singing "Happy Birthday" to himself! It certainly left me wondering what's come over this man. Is it just part of his dementia?

When I mentioned that perhaps he was experiencing a second childhood and reliving what a birthday felt like when he was a kid, he said that his birthday was recognized growing up, but as he looks back on it, it probably was rather combined with Christmas.

Sensing his enthusiasm now though I made sure I baked him a cake from scratch. One of his favorites, a carrot cake. I was glad his birthday came on a day he attended Easterday, his day program, so he was able to share the cake with the other clients there (almost like having a party).

The night before, I showed him my present. A new quilted flannel shirt that he was really needing to keep warm (a size larger than last year's, and it's almost impossible to get him to wear a coat these days.) I could tell he was anxious to show it off to his friends the next day.

After he came home from the day program on his birthday, I took him out to eat at a Mexican restaurant he's been wanting to try. My daughter and our two granddaughters topped his day off by surprising him when we got home with a visit that included a beautiful neck scarf, a candy bar, some M&Ms, and homemade cards and pictures.

To make the day even more special, my sister called him that night and he gave her a minute-by-minute account of his special birthday. I was amazed at the childlike nature of his birthday enjoyment.

Seeing the difference in his birthday enthusiasm this year made me stop and think about my looking forward to the Second Coming. Am I as anxious for that event as I should be? Wouldn't Jesus love to see a little more childlike excitement on my part in looking forward to it?

Christmas is nice for celebrating Christ's birth, but shouldn't the Second Coming be with the same holiday spirit? I wouldn't want God to feel shortchanged and not get the celebration that He deserves.

His new shirt (with hoodie)!

My Wasted Silent Treatment

This past week Dean and I just happened to get in a tiff right before bedtime. Therefore he told me to shut up and I, being the normal wife, told him I'd be happy to, thinking that a good, long silent treatment would surely teach him a lesson. Tomorrow morning he would wonder why I still wasn't speaking to him.

But tomorrow came and Dean woke up as if nothing was amiss. Even with my quiet demeanor, it dawned on me that with his memory loss, my desire for revenge was doomed from the start. He would never be able to make the connection between my silence and any of his rude behaviors. So I determined that I would play dumb about our previous annoyance and all would be good.

I wondered why this scenario didn't happen more often. Why do I seldom have ammunition I want to throw at him over an extended period of time? Then I remembered that we failed to say our usual good-night to each other that night. More often than not it comes with a blanket apology from both of us, but usually initiated by Dean, for any wrongs we may have done to each other during the day.

This nightly apologizing has been an essential element of our marriage, especially since the dementia, but how necessary it is in any marriage.  It's why Paul advises us to "let not the sun go down upon your wrath" (Ephesians 4:26). Yep, it's best to take care of it the night before. Not with angry vengeance in our heart, but with apologies.

Perishable Items

Much to my dismay, I've discovered that nothing is safe for disposal in our trash. At least not when my hubby is around. My daughter, unbeknownst to me, threw a desktop calendar, the kind that covers your whole desk, in our outdoor trash bin the other day. Dean rescued it and now has it on our dining room table for doodling purposes. Sigh...

But this behavior doesn't surprise me. I've been "hiding" our trash for some time now. It started with our empty toilet paper rolls. Anything cardboard, if it's dry, is salvageable to him. Then it moved to plastic  containers (any size, shape will do). Including the containers that come every day with his "meal on wheels". These items are taking up the space of a whole cupboard now. And at times I hardly have room in my refrigerator, because of all his bottles which he fills up with water. Making them look useful, I guess.

I've found some devious ways to fight this, because reasoning with him about it always falls on "deaf ears". Gradually removing some of the items secretly, leaving some prominently displayed, so it looks like some of his treasures remain, is my best option. Otherwise I have learned to "bury" trash pretty well. I've even been known to dispose of items in the middle of the night, before the trash company picks it up on the curb.

As I think about Dean's tendency to save things these days, I'm reminded of God, who thankfully also has this problem. God evidently is passionate about saving people. It says in II Peter 3:9 that He is "...not willing that any should perish, but that all should come to repentance." I'm sorry, Satan, you can't change this about God either. God consistently is in the business of pulling people out of the garbage so they won't perish. That's just who He is. He doesn't make disposable people.

Pills Again

After a quick search, I see that I've already written nine times about Dean's pills since I began this blog. Our life seems to revolve around these little critters, so here's one more story about a "pill scare".

Last Friday night Dean hollered to me from the kitchen that he'd forgotten to take his pills that morning. He could see that pills were still in their morning slot in the weekly pill organizer he uses.

This happens occasionally, and usually it's nothing to worry about. But seconds later, he reports that he didn't take them the night before either! Now that would be something to worry about, so I dropped what I was doing and raced to the kitchen to verify what he was telling me.

We discovered that he was thinking it was the next night, Saturday night, so naturally there were pills in Saturday morning and Friday night that he hadn't taken yet. Whew, what a relief to see that although we had made a mistake in what day it was, it was not a mistake with great consequences, like not taking his pills would have been.

We've all made multiple mistakes during our lifetimes, but our merciful God races to our rescue to help oversee the situation, just as I raced to the kitchen. We can be sure in His capable Caregiver hands, our lives will make sense in eternity, if we've turned our lives over to Him and simply make the call for His help.

Remembering to Be a Husband

I was rather disgruntled when I woke up to find that Dean had forgotten to take his pills. Today was one of the three weekly days that he goes by medical van to an adult day structure, and normally the only thing I do physically to help him get ready is put on his socks.

This morning was one of the few times I was lazy and went back to sleep after putting his socks on, thinking that for once he'd make it out the door on his own alright. But alas, it seems about 90% of the time I don't remind him to take his pills, he forgets. This meant I had to drive all the way to the rec center, a couple of miles away, to give him the pills myself.

Just last night I was marveling though at something Dean always manages to remember. He never neglects to lock the front door of our house at night. I always check, just to make sure, but invariably he gets it done. It must be some manly, protective activity that he has held on to all these years. It's so sweet that he has honed in on that important duty. Well, I guess he does remember to put the trash can out to the curb once a week too. Very seldom does he forget that husbandly chore either.

God appears this way to me sometimes too. When it seems He's forgotten about taking care of me and I'm left in charge of getting it all done, I know in my heart there are some vital protections He still provides, including taking away my sin/trash. Lord, help me accept your never-failing love and mercies, and know that they are of far more value than my mere "busyness" of life.

I've always liked this picture. Is he leaning on me or protecting me? Maybe a bit of both!

"Unplug for a Day" Challenge

This has been the summer of the ice bucket challenge fundraiser for ALS. All month I've seen friends douse themselves with ice water to raise awareness of this neurodegenerative disease that eventually results in total paralysis. The ice water is apparently to remind them of the nerve-shocking effects of ALS. What a successful fundraiser this has been for their organization!

I wonder, what kind of fundraiser would be useful in making others more aware of symptoms of dementia and brain injury? Short term memory loss, in and of itself, doesn't sound too frightening, but I'm sure there must be something that would allow one to experience the life changing event that it is.

Perhaps the activity that would most closely simulate what it's like with dementia would be to "unplug" for a day. No electricity, no technology, for a whole day.

I will attempt to relate this to Dean's present life:

• Without proper lighting, our senses would change...Dean has this challenge with vision in only one eye and with little periphery vision in the other. He falls a lot, just like we might in the dark. His other senses suffer too. Limited hearing in just one ear and having no sense of smell are what he lives with every day.
• No electricity would make our daily tasks more challenging...Dean has difficulty with many chores we take for granted. Taking a shower, for instance, is a major undertaking.
• No technology means no cell phone or computer. For us, this would be very limiting, especially if all our contact info is on our phone...Dean misses every day the enhanced communication and socialization that these gadgets bring into our lives. But not having a cell phone or Blackberry for some might be like having part of their memories erased. Say hello to Dean's world.
• No television or entertainment...Dean's greatest desire is to interact socially with his friends, and this has become more and more difficult as dementia takes over his life. He misses this activity as much as people would miss their television programs.

Yes, Dean misses out on a lot in life: his senses, ability to perform simple tasks, being able to remember what he did just a short time ago, and just interacting normally with others. In a sense, he has become "unplugged".

But God has not left him powerless. Many times angels have kept him from falling. He has a faithful wife caregiver who is able to perform the work he can no longer do, and most of all, he has retained his desire and ability to worship God. Human relationships may have suffered, but his spiritual relationship with God has never been better.

If caregiving for Dean has taught me anything about life, it's the meaning and value of being "plugged" into God.

P.S. Remember to donate to www.biane.org

Babysitting, Old and Young

Two big events this past week added to my already exhausted body. But I wouldn't have missed them for the world.

Vacation Bible School with my two granddaughters was wonderful. Watching them do the motions and singing the celebration songs, learning about how to trust God through the story of Moses, seeing their eyes light up with a new craft each night. These were priceless moments I was privileged to share with them.

Then yesterday was Jenna's big 6-year-old birthday bash. The kids went swimming in their apartment complex pool, enjoyed a bouncy house, and of course, the traditional ice cream and cake. I loved every minute of it. And so did Dean. Although I was beginning to worry about his third helpings on the eats, and how many times we had to refill his soda and chips.

But we made it through the week. I have made up for lost time with more sleep this weekend. Bracing up for another week of babysitting my three charges (I include Dean in the count.)

Babysitting for the young and the old certainly has its challenges, but it has also taught me about the human condition. When I am weak, He makes me strong. Some days I'm weak on patience, but strong on perseverance. Then sometimes I stumble with my physical ailments, but He gives me strength to get through it. I'm constantly reminded of my humanity, but also of my need for divinity to step in. Thank you, God, for getting me through one more week.

"Therefore I take pleasure in infirmities, in reproaches, in necessities, in persecutions, in distresses for Christ's sake: for when I am weak, then am I strong." II Corinthians 12:10

Our Tame Holiday

As with most people, I still look forward to holidays and celebrations of important events. Problem is the older we get, coupled with Dean's dementia issues, our holidays are getting more and more tame.

For the Fourth of July we casually watched the neighbors' fireworks from the safety of several blocks away. This wasn't always necessary before our new next-door neighbors moved in. Even last year we could serenely take in the festivities right from our own front yard swing.

These new younger families are the firecracker-light-'em-yourself type though, so things got really noisy and festive on our street last night. (Besides, I was afraid the air would get too smoke-filled. Being on oxygen, I'm sensitive to that. Learned my lesson with that a few years back.)

Finances what they are and keeping the food diet trimmed down with the healthiest foods we can afford, we didn't exactly splurge on holiday treats either. But I relented and got some vanilla ice cream to go with our frozen strawberries and blueberries, presenting a patriotic red, white, and blue dessert to eat while we watched the colorful displays in the sky.

I can totally relate to soldiers suffering with brain injuries and P.T.S.D. though. They must not have looked forward to hearing the pop-pops all through the night. What terrible memories these fireworks must hold for them. Or anyone who comes from a war-torn country.

Not having had their experiences though, I try to focus on the glorious appearing of Jesus in the clouds someday. That event will make all our attempts to beautify the sky on the Fourth seem like nothing. But there will be people then who will also dread it and others who rejoice that it's finally happening.

"...and they shall see the Son of man coming in the clouds of heaven with power and great glory." Matthew 24:30

Let's all be ready!

Growing Up

What a wild week it's been for caregiving Dean and babysitting grandchildren. A new baby cousin has caused my babysitting to kick in double time for awhile, so I've watched them every day this week, instead of just two.

That in itself keeps me reeling, but add that to the fact that the two darlings have had the flu all week, and you can readily see why my life activities have stepped up a notch. One adjustment is for me to take a morning nap, instead of afternoon, since their mom's working second shift now. But that hasn't been too hard. Hey, I'd take one in the morning AND the afternoon if I could. I call it my oxygen-energy snooze (it really is a recharge--I love my bi-pap!)

There is one bright spot for me though. My youngest granddaughter, the three-year-old, has mastered fastening her own seatbelt now in the car. I won't have to breathlessly lean over her every time, trying to click up for safety.

One time this week though, Dean was in the car with us going somewhere. I was just rejoicing to hear two clicks coming from the backseat area, when Dean pipes up, "Can you help me with this?" You guessed it. He was holding up his seatbelt latch. I wanted to cry, laugh, and strangle him with it at the same time. But I tried to remain calm and forget that my beloved husband will never grow up.

Can we Christians sometimes be accused of never growing up? God forbid I would ever disappoint God that way. We are babes to Him til the day we die, but at least we can be changing and growing the whole time here. Lord, help me to please you with my childlike desire to "grow up". And you are just the One to help me do it.

P.S. He really did need help with his seatbelt, by the way. Let's just hope it won't be habitual.

The Not-So-Super Bowl

This is the first time I have felt driven to write a blogpost right after writing another one on www.caregiving.com. It's called "My Soapbox" there. But the topic is so pertinent and timely, I just can't help myself.

It pertains to the Superbowl game last night. Like everyone else, I get fired up about the game, but from a whole different perspective than most people. My readers here understand all too well the challenges of my life as a caregiver, so I don't have to describe to you what it's like to live with someone with a brain injury and its resulting dementia.

My problem with football is that we are being entertained by watching men, and unfortunately our youth, getting battered in ways that will affect them for the rest of their lives. The most insidious injury though to me is that of brain or head injury, concussions.

They used to call it "getting your bell rung". You can imagine how the sound of that makes me cringe, because it illustrates the lighthearted attitude of past years, before we knew much about the workings of the brain. I heard a TV commentator say recently that we have learned more about the brain in the last five years than we knew for centuries before that.

So the stark reality is that with football players retiring or leaving the game for various reasons, we have seen symptoms of a disorder that has been identified as chronic traumatic encephalopathy. It has been undeniably linked with repeated concussions that some of these players sustain over their careers in the league. It was previously thought to occur only with professional boxers, but has now been linked with the sport of football as well.

Young people are particularly in danger, and that is the sad part about us dragging our feet about doing something about the problem. We are putting their delicate brains in jeopardy, and all for the sake of the game. I realize sports are good for kids. But there has to be safer methods to foster team spirit and boost self-esteem, without the competitiveness and injuries to their bodies that we are encouraging.

OK, I'll get off my second soapbox today. Read the book "The League of Denial" for more information!

Whose Child Is This?

The evidence is mounting that my granddaughter has dementia. It is evidently of a very early-onset variety, but she certainly mirrors her grandpa's symptoms, the more I'm around the two.

For instance, when my three-year-old granddaughter came in the house the other morning (my turn to babysit that day), she was toting a small pearl necklace with a cardboard toilet paper roll threaded on it. Beaming with pride at her own creation, she offered me her new customized jewelry, a string of pearls with a toilet paper roll dangling daintily in front.

I was only slightly saddened to discover that it was too small to fit around my neck, but she quickly thought that our little dog would undoubtedly love to wear it, so we had to try it on her. I must say it was a perfect fit, even though the string broke within an hour, and we had to retrieve all the scattered pearls and of course, the toilet paper roll before they got lost.

This incident involving the toilet paper roll reminded me of something Dean has been doing for awhile now. I have to bury or hide anything of a disposable nature like cardboard paper rolls or plastic bottles, because he wants to find a place for them somewhere in our house. Not quite the decorative effect I desire, and besides our storage space is pretty limited.

Then he gets in the mood to leave love notes for me all over the house. Very sweet, but somewhat a waste of good notepad paper. And this is something he's always telling the granddaughters not to do. They get in "scribbling moods" too.

I'm not getting too worried about who has dementia and who doesn't around here though. There are days when I'm forgetful, easily frustrated, and generally in a cranky senior mood, or maybe it's a toddler mood, come to think of it. I suppose we are all just human after all. And God loves us just the way we are, with all our quirky, juvenile behaviors. We're ALL God's children!

bought this mug for Dean awhile back and was surprised to find out how much he liked it!

My Giver Husband

Mondays have taken on a whole new flavor since I've started watching my granddaughter during the day. It actually feels like the beginning of a work week now around here.

Dean has graciously agreed to attend another day at his adult day program--going there three times a week, rather than just two. I know it's asking a lot of him; it's not his favorite way to spend the day. But I'm sure thankful he's doing it for me.

I've convinced him that my work is doubled (actually multiplied more than that) when he is around when I'm babysitting. He asks and expects me to help him with things as much as I'm helping little Mae. I've been trying to get him to wait on himself more, even though I recognize he really does need some assistance. (This Sunday morning when he fixed our pancakes, for instance, he asked me if the peanut butter or the applesauce went on first.)

But there's also the fact that I try not to leave him alone with the girls for very long. It usually ends up with someone, usually him, getting upset about something. (Just like when some siblings can't be left alone for long.)

So you can see why my babysitting work is greater with him around. Going to his program more days is really going to lighten my load. I'm thankful that he loves me enough to do what he'd prefer not to do.

This makes me wonder if I'm willing to do what I dislike for God. Do I love Him enough to leave my comfortable house and do whatever it takes to serve Him? Are my stubborn desires getting in the way of God completing His work on earth? Lord, teach me to be as humble and giving a person as my husband. Caregivers aren't the only givers in this household.

Driving Me Crazy

My days are a blur of late. But one bright beam has entered. I won't have to do as much driving every day, as other arrangements have been made for transporting my granddaughter here for me to babysit.

I love my husband (the one with dementia) and I love my granddaughter (the "real" child), but it's very hard to tell them apart when they're both in a car. I can stand one repetitive singer (the one in the carseat), but their duets are something else.

I try not to discourage their performances though, because at least it distracts my backseat driver, who sits in the front seat, from his constant and often dangerous driving instructions. (If I went every time he said the way was clear, for instance, I would have died a thousand deaths by now.)

Isn't that typical of our lives though? The hardest part about getting to heaven is all the driving it takes. This is what wears us out so much. I'm so glad that our God has offered to do the driving for us. But when I have to be at the wheel, I'm glad He's teaching me not to listen to bad driving advice from others. There's a time to listen and a time to tune out. God will show us the times.

What a Pair

We just finished the second "trial" week of babysitting for our 3 1/2-yr.-old granddaughter every day--all day (well, during school hours--her sister is in kindergarten now). This way their mommy can get some sleep and hang on to her new third-shift employment which she just started.

The biggest unknown factor was my ability to cater to the demands of TWO toddlers during the day. Especially when there's such an age difference in the two. I think you know of whom I speak. Mae is just barely out of the "it's mine" stage, but she easily reverts to it when Grampa repeatedly wants to play with one of her toys, and there's the question, at least in her mind, of when and if she'll get it back.

Then there's also Grampa's constant requests to "keep your feet off the furniture", "put your coat by the door", "pick up your dolly", etc., etc., punctuated with frequent calls to "come give me a hug" and "why don't you answer Grampa?"

But we are adjusting around here. Mae really does love her Grampa and most of the time they get along just fine. We have separate rooms for them to "play" in, and I do my best to keep them occupied separately, especially close to naptimes (either hers or his).

The bottom line is there are lots of grandmas out there, willing to sacrifice to keep their precious little ones out of daycare. I know I'm going to give it all I've got too. It's only for a short time anyway. Keeping in mind that they don't stay "little" very long makes it easier to bear. (Wish I could say that for Grampa, who's development seems quite fragile these days.)

It makes me wonder how God can cater to us human beings, as diverse and needy as we are. Thank heaven, He makes the sacrifice to keep us close to Him as our grandma, and reminds us that this time on earth is short enough to make it all worthwhile.

Pill Panic

Don't know when I've felt such panic. The other day when we came home from the drug store with some new pain medication for Dean, I asked where the pills were. We had only been home a few minutes, but he announced that he had hid them. My heart must have skipped several beats when I immediately began every persuasion known to man (and woman) to get him to reveal the hiding place of his new powerful drug.

My first instinct for the hiding place turned out to be correct, but I didn't let him know that I had already located them in the top drawer of his dresser. I needed his willing compliance if I was going to be the administrator of this medication, a very necessary measure due to his memory issues.

And the "memory loss" argument finally won him over. By the next day, when he went to his adult day program, I had convinced him that I would put the amount of pills in the pill bottle that he needed just for that day, and hold the rest aside in another location (undisclosed to him, of course).

But then, I noticed that he was getting easily overdosed with the two pills he was allowed, resulting in slurred speech and being uneasy on his feet. So, I came up with an idea. A deceptive one, but necessary for his health and safety. I switched the few pills in the bottle to Tylenol. And if I felt he should have the "real stuff", I could give him one (just one) along with his daily pills in his pill organizer. (There's so many in there already he surely wouldn't notice one more.)

At one point I was wondering if my little "scheme" would be undetected. Because the Tylenol pills look totally different than the "real" pain pills. Different shape, different size. Would he trust me enough to accept the change without questioning the different-looking pills? Fortunately, I don't think he has so far even remembered that they are different. So, the crisis has been averted for this round.

Isn't it nice that our great God-Caregiver has the power and knows us well enough to give us substitutes when we need them? I pray that I can trust God enough to look out for my welfare, especially when my ability to make wise choices is seriously impaired. God has the situation under control, but we do need to reveal our "hiding places" and willingly allow Him to administer His will.

our trusty pill organizer, where one more pill won't be noticed

Escaped Pills

This morning when I was filling my own pill organizer, I noticed Dean's pill organizer had one of the little boxes open just a little. Much to my chagrin, Tuesday night's pill door was not only open, but there were three little "escapees" on the loose! Did they fall on the floor somewhere that only a curious dog or child would be able to locate and put in "solitaire" (i.e. their own mouth)?

Dean came into the kitchen at about that time and when I asked what he knew about the "pill break", he informed me that he had noticed that pills had dropped to the floor when he took his pills the night before. But not to worry, he found them and taken them along with his other pills. Well, there's a whole new thing to worry about...what pills were they?

They ended up being "significant" pills, but evidently Dean was able to weather the storm overdose, because, after all, here he was at five in the morning, wide awake and telling me about it with coherent speech and everything.

When bigger things start falling out of their prescribed places in our lives, we follow a similar pattern of wondering, worrying, questioning, and searching. How patient a God we have, who allows us to experience these very human responses. In the end, we often don't get our questions answered, we never find what we're looking for, and it's especially then that our worry can spin out of control.

But God has given us a special tool to help us weather these very real storms of life. It's called faith. Nothing gets the emotions under control better than a healthy dose of this worry-buster. When we turn the controls over to God, He never steers us into waters we can't handle. Things find their perspective in the bigger picture that God Himself controls.

I needed this little reminder this morning. God has the answers and He's in control.

Reminders

Been so busy this week taking care of myself that I haven't had time for much blogging. A monster cold came on like a lamb, but soon showed itself as a lion, and set me reeling again with two episodes of coughing that ended up as choking, near-911 calls. (Praise the Lord, this is the first cold I've had since last February though!)

Most of you know about my pulmonary restrictive disease, causing me to be on oxygen part of the time. My deformed chest cavity from scoliosis doesn't give me the room I need to breathe. When asked by the nurse if I was short of breath, it was tempting to report that all my breaths were short. I haven't had a deep breath in years, maybe never really. Wouldn't know one if it hit me!

But this blog isn't about me. It's about my caregiving life with my hubby dear. After returning home after a six-hour emergency room visit, my daughter (MY caregiver for the day) gave her dad the low-down on not overworking her momma while she's sick. Her lecture really seemed to influence his behavior these past few days. He has been much less needy himself and more observant of my needs, constantly asking what he can do to help.

One thing I've discovered with my illnesses though is that I need reminders for my care. Not taking my medicine or breathing treatments at regular intervals gets me in trouble every time. Seeing my medical arsenal on the washing machine may have reminded Dean of the seriousness of my condition too. It looked like this:

Living in a household with someone who has memory deficits keeps me looking for memory aids for both of us. I have to be doubly cognizant of remembering appointments, medicine times, getting bills paid on time, etc., etc.

How nice that God placed one reminder for us that happens at regular intervals, making it even easier to remember. How important to remember our "weekly date" with Him! He actually blessed a certain day and placed it in the Ten Commandments, so we would never lose it. What could be easier?