Why did I talk so much about the mother raccoon and her two babies that visited our deck the other night???  I should have known better.  For the last hour Mary Ann has been seeing a baby raccoon or two under the bed, on the side of the bed, in the bed all around her.  It may be a very long night.

Last night was not a good one.  It was very late before she finally settled.  It pretty much never fails that the day after a difficult night, the hallucinations ramp up in activity.

I feel pretty helpless when this happens.  There is nothing I can say to convince her that they aren’t there.  I know the rule is not to tell the person seeing the hallucinations that they aren’t real.  I have searched for them in the covers and under the bed and around her back as she lay in bed, assuring her that they are not there.  If I agree that they are there, there is no hope of her getting any sleep.  I am watching her on the monitor and will head in to reassure her whenever she appears to be bothered by the….whoops, there she goes.

When I got to the bedroom, she asked if the people (there were no people) had left yet, used the commode, while she holding the corner of the sheet she said she hated the fabric hanging there, she got back into bed and told me she was going to send the raccoons over to my bed.  I encouraged her to do so…back to the bedroom again.  This time a Tums was needed.

I have read hundreds of posts from those in the Lewy Body Dementia Spouses group.  It is pretty unsettling to read how many who have LBD (Mary Ann’s Parkinson’s Disease Dementia is a dementia with Lewy Bodies) have a much worse problem with hallucinations.  I don’t relish the time when her hallucinations become worse and more constant, assuming that happens.  Given recent experience, it appears likely that it will happen.

If these hallucinations don’t subside in a couple of days, I will phone the Neurologist to see about increasing the Seroquel.  There are some scary risks that come with Seroquel, but so far she has not had problems with it.

For tonight’s challenge, I am heading off to bed early to see if my presence will help. She has been quiet for a while.  Hopefully she will get a good night’s sleep.  Tomorrow is another day.  Maybe the raccoons will have left the bedroom and returned to the deck.

If you want to write a comment about this or any of the posts on this blog, look to the column on the right side of this page, titled “Recent Posts,”  click on the name of a post and you will find a box at the end of that article in which you can write a comment.  Clicking on the title of the post you are reading will accomplish the same thing.  Comments are appreciated.

Almost done!  The four level waterfall needs only the one watt light fixtures that produce twenty watts of light at the base of each of the four levels.  They will be installed tomorrow.  

The plants are now all in place.  Brad even brought some from his own yard to put in an area above the lined portion, his gift to us.  His Dad has Parkinson’s and we have come to know his parents at the Parkinson’s Support Group meetings.  Brad has put forth extra effort at every turn.  The end result is more than Mary Ann and I could have hoped for. 

The Mallards are now in duck heaven – our back yard.  They were hanging out there last evening and came today five minutes after Brad and his crew left. 

I also hung out on the deck last evening listening to the waterfall as rain and thunder and lightening came through.   While it was raining I sat on the portion of the deck that is covered with a section of the roof.  The wind cooled the air so that the experience was wonderful. 

Mary Ann and I spent some time this morning on the deck before the day heated up.  I got her out to a lawn chair to sit for a while.  Then she got up and walked to the rail to get a better look at the waterfall.  As she started to faint, I tried to pull a chair over behind her.  It didn’t work.  I let her down to the deck.  As she lay there, I went into the house and got the transfer chair so that I would eventually be able to get her into the house.  During the morning, before, and then out on the deck she had had some small fainting spells.  The one at the rail was a substantial one, one that turns into a sort of siezure.  As usual, there was some intestinal activity that followed.  Some time I intend to ask our Gastroenterologist for an explanation of that phenomenon. 

Last night, the third in a row, Mary Ann had trouble settling down and getting to sleep.  As expected, the hallucinations have been a little more active the past few days.

The reason I titled this post “Caregiver needs Deck Therapy” is that today was a pop up day.  Most of the times I went out to talk with Brad and the crew about something, I very specifically asked Mary Ann to stay seated while I was outside.  Of course I made sure that she had ice water, the television was tuned to something she liked, and that she didn’t need to get to the bathroom.  For the most part she did as I asked during those times. 

Other than that, Mary Ann popped up every few minutes.  When I answered the phone or made a phone call, she was up.  When I went into the kitchen to put things in the dishwasher she popped up.  When I tried to get food ready for her she popped up.  When I went to the bathroom she popped up.  It seemed that pretty much every time I sat down she popped up. 

As I have shared many times, falling is a major issue.  The fact that this was also a fainting day made it even more challenging.  Last I heard, aspirating food and falling are the two most likely events to end the life of someone with Parkinson’s.  People don’t die of Parkinson’s itself.   Mary Ann was falling generally more than once a day until the torn stitches a few weeks ago.  Since then she has fallen very seldom, at least by the pre-stitch-tearing measure. 

I realized today the reason the falls have diminished so much.  I am moving very quickly to be right there whenever she stands up to walk.  I offer my elbow for her to hold, thereby stabilizing herself while walking, or I put my hand gently on the gait belt she always wears so that I can help her regain her equilibrium if she gets off balance.  The A-V monitor helps me anticipate her getting up so that I can be there by the time she is up. 

The challenge is that I can’t keep her in view every moment.  The monitor has to be plugged in and within view for me to use it.  I can’t move it with me every time I walk into the other room, head down the hall just for a moment, or go to the bathroom.  At the first sound of movement, I move as fast as I can, sometimes even managing to get this sixty-six year old body to run, to get where she is before she falls. 

Today, I must have jumped and run thirty or forty times.  That is only a guess; it may have been a thousand times!  While as her Caregiver I should just take that in stride, if every day were like today, I am not sure I could do it.  Not long ago I used the metaphor of a marionette whose strings were being pulled by someone else as a  way to describe the feelings of being a full time Caregiver.  That was the sensation today.  She popped up and my arms and legs moved. 

I needed some time on the deck this evening.  The residual heat from the day made it much less bearable than last evening.  That respite and this post are my way of settling down and allowing the frustration to dissipate.  I understand that Mary Ann’s popping up is not a malicious attempt at making my life difficult.  In her mind it has nothing to do with me.  It is my problem that I come running when she gets up.  I suppose, if that is what she is thinking, she is right.  Nonetheless, the truth is, I need to keep her from falling to the degree it is possible not only to keep her safe but to keep my life from becoming more difficult.  If she hurts herself, it hurts both of us.  And, yes, while in my most rational moments I recognize that the disease is the cause of this annoying behavior, sometimes it feels as if she doesn’t care what impact her actions have on me. 

Today is done.  There have been many good moments along with the frustrating ones.  I celebrate the new retreat center behind our house.  I suspect that there will be need for some Deck Therapy tomorrow.  Then there will be lights!

If you want to write a comment about this or any of the posts on this blog, look to the column on the right side of this page, titled “Recent Posts,”  click on the name of a post and you will find a box at the end of that article in which you can write a comment.  Clicking on the title of the post you are reading will accomplish the same thing.  Comments are appreciated.

As we look back on today, it will be remembered as a good day.  Instigated by a birthday gift, we went out a couple of days ago and bought lots and lots of plants, plus potting soil with fertilizer in it.  Yesterday we bought the trowel and hand cultivator to help us do the planting. 

Today we did round one of the planting.  It was a very hot day, so the sweat flowed freely from both of us.  Mary Ann was in an old lawn chair, one of four, that serve as our deck furniture.  (No, kids, we still haven’t gotten decent deck chairs.)  There was a steady shower of little brown seeds from the neighbor’s River Birches.  The air was full of them. 

My job was to do the planting in the large pots on the deck and an area just off the deck next to the chimney, the only shady spot we have.  It seemed to take forever just to get everything ready to go.  We had intended to do this planting for the last three days.  I was doing a bit of procrastinating, but the timing of the daytime long naps filled the times that seemed most appropriate for planting.  When the need for a nap comes, Mary Ann almost collapses into the bed and sleeps for two hours, sometimes two and a half.  It can happen up to twice a day. 

It was a big deal to finally actually get started on the task.  Plans had been frustrated for three days.  Today we got started.  It took a while to prepare the three containers on the deck.   I always asked Mary Ann what she wanted to put where as I planted.   She had had a nap earlier in the day, but she was still having a little trouble processing any questions about what to plant where.  I would end up just saying how about this, and she would answer, yes.  It is what is called the executive function of the brain that is the first to go with Parkinson’s Disease Dementia (a Lewy Body Dementia).  Things went pretty well as I got the containers filled with the plants. 

Then came the area next to the chimney.  Our kids had dug up the sod, put down landscaping fabric, covered the area with mulch, made a few holes in the fabric and put in some plants a couple of years ago. 

I headed to the garage to get a couple of rakes so that I could move the mulch to get on with the planting project.  All I did was walk from the back to the front of the house, into the garage, grabbed the rakes and headed around the house to the deck again.   Just as I was coming to the deck I heard the sound of her falling into the gate by the stairs to the lower area. 

As happens so often, when I was out of sight, she got up to do something, which she could not remember when I asked her afterward.  The falls are disturbing when in the house on the carpet.  On a wooden deck, against an open gate at the top of some steps was frightening.  My mind went immediately to the possibility of a trip to the Emergency Room. 

Gratefully, there was no damage to be found other than to our attempt at just enjoying a normal activity.  It was frustrating to me that it was the moment I was not there to help that she chose to stand up and walk.  It seemed impossible to continue doing what we had planned for so long and were enjoying doing.  The only safe thing seemed to be to go back inside where there was carpet and where with the monitor I could get to her quickly if she got up.  That decision would have stopped in midstream something we wanted to do, something that needed to be done soon if the plants were to survive.

I chose to continue the planting by the chimney.  Another time would be no better in terms of risk.  As I went on with the task, Mary Ann started to get up again.  I went up on to the deck and asked her what she was doing.  She wanted to see what I was doing.  The rail and the Air Conditioner condenser were blocking her view.  I helped her stand and asked her to hold on to the rail while I went back down to arrange a couple of plants so that she could approve their placement.  Before I went down, I pulled the lawn chair behind her so that she could sit right down if she needed to.  When I got to the plants by the chimney, I looked down at them for a moment and heard her fall into the lawn chair.  She had fainted.  I am grateful that she fell into the chair and did not go down on the deck again.  I ran up to her to hold her in the chair until she regained consciousness.

After that, she finally seemed convinced that she should not try to get up unaided again while on the deck.  I was able to finish the planting.  There is more to be done tomorrow in a couple of other areas.  We will manage somehow. 

Our version of normal includes the recognition that we may not be able to do anything we hoped to do, planned to do on a given day.  Yesterday, I had things in the car and was ready to take her to get something to eat, when the need to nap came on with a vengeance.   When that happens, she just slumps over in the transfer chair with her head on the arm or the table next to it. Today, the same thing happened shortly before we were to begin the planting.  It was delayed a couple of hours. 

Tonight I took a break three or four paragraphs ago to help her use the commode.  I saw on the monitor that she was moving.  When I got to the bedroom, she asked me to close the door because a mother and two children were outside the bedroom door.  Her eyes were wide open as she looked at what appeared very real to her.  Apparently the Thursday people (as she once called them) chose to come on Friday this week.  Of course there was no one there. 

As she got on the commode, she fainted and was out for many minutes.  Then I got her up from the commode, and just in trying to get bed clothes pulled back up, she fainted again.  Since the commode is right next to the bed (I pull it behind her to minimize the travel distance), I was able with much difficulty to shift her so that she was sitting on the bed.  After a bit, I helped her stand again to finish pulling up her PJ’s, and she fainted once more.  I finally just laid her on the bed and pulled them up as best I could, arranged her on the bed, her head on the pillow, covered her and now she is sleeping soundly.   

Our version of normal is not really very normal by most people’s standards.  But as the years have gone by, I have realized that there are very many whose normal is either like ours or much worse.  As I read the posts on the caregiving spouses of those with Lewy Body Dementia, I can put our situation into perspective.  We have a quality of life that many would envy. 

The falls tried but did not steal the joy from our day.  Plans are hard to make, but can be changed now that I am retired and make no commitments.  Our normal is very liveable in spite of its challenges.  The plants will grow (hopefully), and their will be flowers on the deck to enjoy for weeks to come. 

If you want to write a comment about this or any of the posts on this blog, look to the column on the right side of this page, titled “Recent Posts,”  click on the name of a post and you will find a box at the end of that article in which you can write a comment.  Clicking on the title of the post you are reading will accomplish the same thing.  Comments are appreciated.

I can’t remember the last time I laughed like that.  I just couldn’t control it.  My stomach hurt I was laughing so hard.  Yes, it was at Mary Ann’s expense, but I just couldn’t stop, and she finally started laughing too.

Yesterday, I started adjusting the sheet and bedspread on her bed while she was standing next to me.  Her question was almost matter-of-fact.  Did I find the squirrel foot?

She has had hallucinations often in recent months.  There have been rats and mice in her bed.  Some have bitten her.  She has seen the Thursday people, the man and woman and their two children.  In the past she has seen a cat, other people, a bird sitting on the window, strings and threads almost constantly.  She has tried to pick up things from the carpet, things that were not there.  She has seen bugs in her food and other bits and pieces of foreign matter.

“Did you find the squirrel foot?”  The question didn’t just tickle it, it set it off my funny bone like the fuse on a fire cracker.  I burst into laughter.  At first, Mary Ann did not at all think it was funny.  After a while, she started laughing at me laughing.  Then, even though the hallucination had been real for her, probably the night before, finally, she was laughing together with me at the thought of there being a squirrel foot in the bed.

It was good to laugh.  It was good for both of us.  It is interesting that a sort of relaxed warmth and affection seemed to surface after our bout of laughter.  I really don’t remember the last time we laughed like that.  Laughter doesn’t come so easily these days.

I don’t know if it is just me, or if it is common to other Caregivers.  My sense of humor seems not to be working so well any more.  I have often taken myself too seriously, but I have also enjoyed kidding around with folks.  Since I am, as they say, vertically challenged, I have endured a lot of smart-aleck comments.  My defense mechanism of choice has been to beat people to the punch and make a joke about my height before they had a chance to do it.

In earlier years, it was all great fun.  Now, I find myself moving too quickly to feeling put down or belittled when I am the object of what would have in the past seemed to be just good fun.

When someone is being light-hearted and silly, the weight of twenty-two years of battling Parkinson’s,  the daily struggles that come with that battle, sometimes steal from me the capacity to just let go and laugh.

Often when ministering to someone who had lost a loved one a couple of weeks earlier, I would observe out loud to them how hard it is to deal with people around them just going on with their normal lives, conversing with one another about trivial things as if nothing had happened, while their world was in a shambles.

Full time Caregivers who are completely immersed in the task sometimes find it hard to let go of the struggle and relax, have fun, be silly.  The Caregiving task seems to expand and fill every corner of their world, leaving little room for the trivial.

It is easy to turn into a Grump.  I have come to do grumpy pretty well.  Even so, we have our moments.  Sometimes muscles that seem to have atrophied, the silly muscles, are revived by something unexpected.   At the risk of being indelicate, we have waged war on constipation for decades.  When there is some especially normal and plentiful activity (if you catch my drift), I can’t help but celebrate with a hearty “Good Job!!!”   I laugh, even if Mary Ann doesn’t.  Who would have thought such a thing could bring such joy.  Dr. Oz would be proud!  (By the way, the first person who reveals to my lovely wife that I mentioned this in my blog, will wake up the next morning with a squirrel foot in his/her bed.)

Gratefully, twenty-two years of Parkinson’s and a couple of years of mild and periodic dementia have still not stolen Mary Ann’s wicked sense of humor.  She has a knack for surprising people with an often softly spoken zinger.

I am not really sure why, but recently, the load has seemed a little lighter, even though there has not really been any change in its contents.  It seems a little easier to relax and be sort of normal, at least our version of normal.

Maybe there is still hope for the return of a sense of humor that has seemed to wander off.  Who would have thought that the search for a squirrel foot in Mary Ann’s bed could have such power!

If you want to write a comment about this or any of the posts on this blog, look to the column on the right side of this page, titled “Recent Posts,”  click on the name of a post and you will find a box at the end of that article in which you can write a comment.  Clicking on the title of the post you are reading will accomplish the same thing.  Comments are appreciated.

Either there were two mice fighting on Mary Ann’s bed this afternoon as she was preparing for a nap, there were bubbles rolling down the hallway as she sat in front of the television earlier today, and there was a cat on the floor two pews ahead of us when we sat down for the Evening Service at church tonight or Mary Ann has been hallucinating today.   Lots and lots of times throughout the day from the time she got up in the morning until she went to bed tonight she has picked up non-existent threads from the floor, pulled them off her fingers and my hand once also.   

I knew today would be a day of hallucinations and confusion.  For reasons  almost never obvious to us when it happens, last night was one of the nights she was not able to get to sleep.  She was restless – up and down for water, trips to the commode, to eat a snack, to straighten her bedding, to reposition in bed, all demanding my participation.  Needless to say, I am not at my best today either. 

It pretty much never fails that when she does not sleep at night, the next day she regularly crosses the nearby threshold from lucidity to confusion and hallucinating.  The confusion is especially difficult since in her case it is not always clear if she is confused or talking about something real.  She wanted me to get a fruit jar from the basement to send to our Daughter whom she said wanted a clothes pin (or didn’t know what one looked like).  I haven’t yet emailed my daughter to see if they had a conversation the last time we saw her that might explain this . 

I am assuming that this episode last night and today is part of our recuperation process after traveling a couple of times in the last three weeks.  It seems as if she is more vulnerable to bouts of confusion, long daytime naps and hallucinations after traveling.  It is not always clear, however, what causes the adventures into the  part of her thinking and seeing that is not within the bounds of reality. 

Mary Ann’s first major bout of confusion came almost two years ago.  She began to faint often one day and struggle to be clear where she was and what we were doing.  She moved into a non-responsive mode.  She could sit in front of the television, eat food and, with the usual assistance, manage to get bathroom duties accomplished.  It seemed as if she had left the planet mentally.  She did not recognize our Daughter (very painful for her) when she came by to bring Mary Ann something.  By about the fourth day of this, I became convinced that she had crossed a threshold permanently.  Then, without any hint as to why, on that Tuesday morning she woke up completely lucid and conversant without a hint of confusion.  She was able to remember some of the time during her seeming mental departure. 

Parkinson’s Disease Dementia and Lewy Body Dementia have the somewhat unique and insidious characteristic of moving dramatically and quickly between confusion and lucidity.  Some recent threads of posts on the Caregivers of spouses with Lewy Body Dementia have been about the challenge of dealing with the hallucinations, confusion, sometimes paranoia.  PDD and LBD folks live on a margin between reality and somewhere else.  They can move from one place to the other without warning, with no obvious triggering event.  This is different from the somewhat predictable Sundown Effect that comes with Alzheimer’s Disease. 

One thing that Caregivers of Loved Ones with PDD or LBD struggle with is that those who visit or talk with their Loved One may only see and hear the lucidity.  They wonder what the Caregiver is talking about when suggesting that their Loved One has Dementia.  That problem can be especially troublesome when other family members don’t believe there is a problem, while the primary Caregiver is going crazy trying to deal with their Loved One and make difficult decisions. 

A number of those who post in the LBD Spouses group have far more bizarre expressions of delusional behavior and hallucinations.  Some have dealt with Capras delusions in which the person is convinced that their Caregiver (even if a spouse or child) has been replaced by someone who looks just like them.  They will ask to see the other you.  Some who have dealt with that delusion suggest simply telling the person you will go and get the real you, then they leave the room and return announcing that you are now the real person.   There is another delusion called Reduplicative Paramnesia in which the person thinks that the room has been replaced by a duplicate that is not the real one.  One Caregiver said she asked her Loved One if it would be okay to go ahead and stay in this new room.  Some Caregivers in the LBD group, who live in what they call Lewy Land, have to put up with spouses saying horrible things to them, lashing out at them, being accused of all sorts of infidelities because of the paranoia. 

When I read those posts I am grateful that Mary Ann is lucid most of the time, other than on days like this.  The most disturbing hallucinations have been the times she has seen a man and two children, then a man, woman and two children, finally accusing me of protecting them by lying when I explained to her (in what seemed like a lucid moment) that they were not really there. 

The general wisdom is not to argue with the person who is hallucinating since they are actually seeing what we cannot see.  My seat of the pants approach to her hallucinations is to explain that while she can actually see what she is hallucinating, it is not there outside of her mind, in a way that I can do anything about.  When she sees the mice in bed, I run my hands over the spot to verify they are not there.  I wait for her to throw away the threads or have her hand them to me to throw away.  I offer to take her to the place where she sees whatever it is to be. 

While she has told me that the problem is not that she is hallucinating but that I don’t believe her, for the most part, we have been able to work through the hallucinations and the confusion without major problems.  Judging from the experience of others, the time of major problems with hallucinations and confusion and paranoia will come.   

As with most Caregivers, we live in a fragile world traveling on a very narrow road with steep precipices on both sides.  It is not for the faint of heart! 

The problem is that most of us in the Role of Caregiver are  faint of heart.  We are at times scared and frustrated and out of control.  We take each moment as it comes, dealing well sometimes and poorly other times with what we encounter in a particular moment.  We just make do, and in doing so we survive to live to deal with whatever the next moment brings. 

It is interesting to me what impact the accumulation of surviving those moment by moment encounters has on our sense of value and purpose.  Even as our coping skills seem to diminish, a quiet strength appears.  It grows little by little as we endure.  I have more respect than words can express for those in the LBD Spouses online group who have traveled much farther down the narrow road that we have.  They are truly heroes. 

If you want to write a comment about this or any of the posts on this blog, look to the column on the right side of this page, titled “Recent Posts,”  click on the name of a post and you will find a box at the end of that article in which you can write a comment.  Clicking on the title of the post you are reading will accomplish the same thing.  Comments are appreciated.