Archive for the ‘A Daughter’s Journal’ Category

Doctors, Medications And The Progress Of Alzheimer’s: A Daughter’s Journal

Posted on March 5th, 2013 by karen

Marianne & Beth Whitman

by Beth Whitman

“If you or a loved one have concerns about memory loss or other symptoms of Alzheimer’s or dementia, it is important to be evaluated by a physician.”

When I see this statement on so many of the websites that deal with Alzheimer’s, my thought is always the same: “Why? Why is it important to get to a physician if there is no cure?”

Yes, there are pills you can take (if you can remember to take them) that are intended to slow the progress of the disease. But the endpoint is the same, and the pills simply hold you at a certain level of decreased functioning. Improvement is measured only by the temporary absence of decline, which comes along soon enough, that’s a fact. My personal experience has been that doctors have little impact in the treatment of Alzheimer’s, offering only short-time measures at best. I guess that might be helpful in some cases, but certainly not all.

Continue Reading

The Dance: A Daughter’s Journal

Posted on February 5th, 2013 by karen

by Beth Whitman

It started innocently enough. The book was sitting on the bookshelf. One of many that Mom would pull out, look through, and sometimes read aloud from. She had been a librarian in her younger years, and she loved having books around her, even if she wasn’t reading much. As her world started shrinking, she began to focus on a few specific books. For a while a book called Children’s Letters to God was her favorite. The mini vignettes that were the kids’ letters tickled Mom no end. At some point during the day, if the book was within her visual path, she would start thumbing through it, and eventually start reading aloud to anyone in the room:

“Dear God, I read the bible. What does begat mean? Nobody will tell me. Love, Alison.”

And then another one:

“Dear God, On Halloween I am going to wear a Devil’s costume. Is that all right with you? Marnie.”

Continue Reading

Habits and Behaviors: A Daughter’s Journal

Posted on January 8th, 2013 by karen

by Beth Whitman

Two of the behaviors that bugged me about Mom during the early stages of her Alzheimer’s disease, back before her condition was pronounced, were her almost reflexive reading aloud of every sign we encountered and her constant attempts to offer food to everyone in the room.

It wasn’t just road signs that Mom would read, but every word that came within her range of vision, including t-shirts, ball caps, etc.  When greeting a new person, her focus was not their face, but whatever words might be displayed on their person. It often caused a break in the conversation while someone tried to absorb her meaning.

“Hello, Marianne,” they would say.

“John Deere,” she would reply.

A t-shirt displaying a church message made for some particularly funny moments. “Hello, Marianne,” someone would say. “God is speaking,” Mom would respond, and then after a short pause: “High Street Congregational Church.”

Continue Reading

Tis The Season: A Daughter’s Journal

Posted on December 11th, 2012 by karen


by Beth Whitman

So much can happen in a year. The pace of Mom’s decline with Alzheimer’s has been striking when I look back to last Christmas. Last Christmas, Mom put on her signature London Fog coat and walked to the front door, heading to church even though it wasn’t Sunday. So we went for a drive past the church instead and looked up at the steeple.

Last Christmas, Mom was walking, even though, when we went to church, she sat in the wheelchair because it was that much easier to leave when the crowds suddenly became too much for her.

Last Christmas, Mom sang all the verses of the old familiar Christmas carols with her beautiful soprano voice, even though it was only in song that she could say more than a very simple sentence.

Last Christmas, Mom was laughing and smiling and offering food, always offering food, to anyone around her.

And although the past year seemed slow, it was also very fast. And every couple of weeks I would notice some new subtle shift in Mom’s behavior. The first time she used her cane upside down. The first time she was entranced by the red lights across the field outside her window, without recognizing them as the taillights of passing cars. The first time she carefully ripped a page out of her favorite book.

Continue Reading

Time To Make The Move, Part II: A Daughter’s Journal

Posted on November 29th, 2012 by karen

Arthur and Beth Whitman visiting Marianne at the Alzheimer’s Care Facility.

by Beth Whitman

For three weeks I had not been out of the house except for very short periods to shop or take care of other necessities. I had canceled or backed out of all my obligations.

Mom was failing. She couldn’t stand up any more. This is Alzheimer’s, and the part of her brain that was going now was the part that tells the body how to stand.

A friend came over to visit, and while we talked, I kept one eye on the monitor. Mom was sitting on the side of the bed and would move her upper body forward to try to push up and off the bed. She would lift herself almost into standing position. Almost, almost . . . and then, kerplunk, she’d sit right back down. Over and over and over again.

“My God,” my friend said, after observing her for a while. “It’s exhausting just watching her.”

Exhausting and heartbreaking. We were all beginning to feel just a little bit desperate. It was a relief when we heard that Glenridge, the Alzhiemer’s care facility near us, had an opening.

But I had one last moment of doubt. Was it really time? I spoke with Dad. Yes, he agreed. It was time.

So the day had come. A friend of ours who has a wheelchair-accessible van picked us up and drove us over to the Glenridge facility 10 miles away. Dad rode in another car with a friend, while Amy and I rode with Mom in the van.

Continue Reading

Time To Make The Move, Part I: A Daughter’s Journal

Posted on November 27th, 2012 by karen

by Beth Whitman

The day had arrived. Mom was going into the Alzheimer’s Care Facility. The van was coming at 11 am, so at 9 I had dressed Mom and transferred her into her wheelchair. She was ready to go. Amy and I wheeled her out into the morning sun in the front yard. Dad joined us, and Peter came from down the road to help out as well. We brought out drinks and snacks and had a little party while we waited for the van.

I was nervous, as was everyone else. But Mom was excited. She was outdoors, happily absorbing the smell of freshly cut grass, waving at the cars going by. It was the first time she’d been outside in almost two months. She was all dressed up. And she was ready to go.

Fact is, Mom had been ready for the past three weeks. She hadn’t been able to stand up, her feet were swollen, she hadn’t been getting dressed any more, and it had become extremely difficult to change her because I’m simply not able to manage her weight by myself. She always wants to go somewhere, but the best she can do after hours of trying is just to slide herself onto the chair next to the bed. Then she won’t move back, so she sleeps all night in the chair or she wets the chair and I have to call someone to help hoist her back into the bed by maneuvering a sheet under her. And all the while she is protesting, “No, no, no, no, no….  NO, NO, NO, NO, NO!!!!” Her protests escalate loudly until we have her settled and all the wet clothes removed.

But then, suddenly calm, she looks up at me. “Thank you,” she smiles.

The day before we were moving her to the facility in Glenridge, I sat next to her on the bed after one of these sessions, and she leaned against me quietly, waving her hand in front of her. “You know . . . you know . . . I’m so . . . I’m so . . . sorry . . . for you . . . and . . . and . . . that other one . . . .” Her hand motioned toward the other room where my father was sitting.

She was apologizing to me for being such a burden! My heart was breaking.

Continue Reading

Early Childhood Development: A Daughter’s Journal

Posted on November 1st, 2012 by karen

by Beth Whitman

With the exception of a chronic infection in her right eye that began with a case of shingles, Mom’s eyesight and hearing are near perfect. She has always been very attentive to what is going on around her — in fact, it’s hard to sneak anything by her. She’ll hear noises in the front of the house and wander in to find out what’s going on. Or if a car drives by on the road in the distance, she’ll comment on it.

So I was mildly surprised the day I walked into her bedroom and she failed to look up and greet me. I called her name softly — still nothing. I walked around to the side of the bed she was sitting on and leaned down toward her to look more closely. Mom had her jewelry box open and was taking each piece out, one by one, admiring each item. Utterly absorbed. I walked away without her ever noticing me.

This was a first. Not examining the contents of her jewelry box — she often opened it up and went through it. But this single-minded focus, to the exclusion of everything around her, was something I had never seen in Mom before. Usually if I walked in when she was admiring her things, she would either beckon me over to look at something with her, or if she were in the process of wrapping it, she would quickly hide the thing under her pillow and then greet me.

But this time she was completely absorbed in her immediate surroundings. And this incident marked the beginning of a shift in her behavior. She was becoming fascinated with the shape and texture — and even the response — of the objects around her. For example, Mom would spend 30 minutes turning on and off the lamp next to the couch just see what would happen each time.

Continue Reading

Whitman Family Art Class: A Daughter’s Journal

Posted on October 9th, 2012 by karen

 

by Beth Whitman

Dad had been attending an art class for almost ten years at the Methodist church in the town where he and my mom lived. So when they moved in with me, I set out to find someone who could teach an art class out at our home, as it was getting harder and harder for Mom and Dad to get around.

I found an extraordinary teacher and artist named Barbara McCarthy through the happenstance of casual conversation at coffee hour after church. Barbara began to come to our house every Tuesday at 1pm. At times there have been others in the community who joined our class, but mostly it’s just been family.

When we began, Dad was identified as the artist in the family, but all three of us participated in the class, and I was delighted to discover that Mom and I both had a talent for drawing that I had never known about. But Mom, who suffers from Alzheimer’s disease, never consciously “attended” art class — she just enjoyed being around activity. So I always made sure there was a seat for her at the table. After I set Dad up with his easel and oil paints, I would set out a drawing pad and colored pencils for Mom, and arrange a couple of things that might catch her interest as subjects. Then I would look around for a subject of my own. Generally, I had no idea what to expect — from the class, from Mom, or from myself.

Continue Reading

Stiff-Legged Walker: A Daughter’s Journal

Posted on September 27th, 2012 by karen

by Beth Whitman

Some 25 years ago Mom made the decision not to have knee replacement surgery, despite the repeated urgings of my father and us kids.

Mom never put much stock in modern medicine and was one of the early followers of natural foods and alternative medicine. It’s not so much that she disavowed medical doctors, but to her, the qualities of caring and open-mindedness in a doctor were paramount, and once she found a doctor she liked, she would stay with that doctor even if it meant having to travel to a different state. So, at the age of 65, Mom just didn’t want to face the traumatic prospect of new doctors and invasive surgery.

The cartilage in her knees was pretty much gone — a condition known as osteoarthritis — probably from all those years of running up and down Mount Washington, wearing a heavy pack, delivering supplies to the Appalachian Mountain Club Huts. Mom had been a “Happy Appie,” and she and her sister Liz instilled in me an independent and adventurous outdoor spirit that took me into the High Sierra and other wildlands of the West when I was in my 20’s and 30’s.

As she grew older, Mom preferred to simply move slowly with her stiff, arthritic legs rather than go through corrective surgery. Thus, stiff-legged walking became her trademark gait, and it grew more and more labored as her Alzheimer’s progressed, until she couldn’t stand up at all.

She had her favorite cane, and as long as people weren’t moving fast, or knocking into her, she was fine. Even though she would be considered a very high “fall risk” by current predictive models, she never fell while she was with me.

Continue Reading

Stay-At-Home Mom: A Daughter’s Journal

Posted on September 4th, 2012 by karen

Beth Whitman and mom Marianne in 1971

 

by Beth Whitman

I have recently become a stay-at-home mom for my mom, as she moves into her second childhood.

I find myself reveling in the delights of everyday quirks and wide-eyed curiosity of my ever-so-cute mother. Things that used to irritate me no end now seem sweet, and I love the challenge of finding workarounds to those stubborn behaviors that used to infuriate me.

I’ve taken many cues from Dad who is a model of patience and acceptance. But since his stroke four years ago, he’s become less able to roll with the behavioral idiosyncrasies that are part of the Alzheimer’s experience. He confessed to me not long after his stroke that he was now more prone to lose his patience and become irritated with Mom. He apologized for this but realized that he could no longer be Mom’s primary caretaker because he himself needed more care.

Continue Reading