My Husband Is a Communist

Dad said so. He call my husband a communist for making him wear the multipodus boot that protects his heel where the pressure sore is. That stated Dad talking about communism and capitalism.

"Russia became communist all at once. The people didn't like it. They resisted communism because it was forced on them." "Communism is being forced on me. I'm jailed in this bed and forced to wear that thing on my foot."

"China became communist slowly. That is what they did." "Because they became communist slowly, they accepted communism."

"Much of Europe is communist. That is what it is." "The Americas are not communist. That is what they are."

"I want to be a capitalist. I like capitalism. That is what I do."

Sad Question

After spending 2 hours yesterday talking about his love for Mama, Dad asked my a sad question while waiting in the doctor's office:

"Is my wife still alive?"

He had been with Mama not 15 minutes earlier. She decided not to come with us to the doctor because it is hard on me to deal with getting Dad's wheelchair and Mom's walker in and out of the car by myself.

Marriage Part 3

Dad is of the generation that never expressed feelings. When I was growing up, I don't ever remember hearing him say, "I love you" to my mother. In the past 6 months, he has talked more about love than he has for the previous 86 years.

"I fell in love with my wife. That is what I did. And she fell in love with me. That is what she did."

"We fell in love with each other. We wanted to get married in a hurry. That is what we did."

(I don't know the exact chronology, but some time after Mama and Dad met, Mama went away for several months to complete her degree at Columbia University in New York. This extended separation did not constitute "getting married in a hurry.")

"We waited until we were married to have sex. That is what we did."

"I still love my wife with all my heart. That is what I do. And my wife still loves me. She tells me 'I love you'."

"We've been married a long time. That is true of us."

Religion

Background: Dad's family was Seventh Day Adventist. Mom's family was Methodist. Dad never went to any church in my lifetime, not even to see his children sing in the choir or preform in church plays. I have only known him to go to church for his parents' funerals when I was 9 years old, my wedding, my brother's wedding, and my daughter's wedding. As far as I can tell, these are the only times he was in church since his own wedding a First Methodist Church in Dallas in 1951.

"I was raised Seventh Day Adventist. That is what I was."

"I went to Sabbath School. That is what I did."

"I loved Sabbath School. This is true of me."

"When I was in England, I went to Sabbath School every week. That is what I did." (note: this was never any part of his World War II stories, so I don't know if this is accurate or not)

"I got tired of going to church alone. That is what I did. So I went to church with everyone else on Sunday. That is what I did."

"When I went to church on Sunday, I started working on Saturdays. This is true of me."

"When I lived in Keene, I went to Sabbath School. That is what I did."

"When I moved to Dallas, everyone went to church on Sunday. That is what they did."

"I didn't like being the only one to go to Sabbath School in Dallas. This is true of me."

"My wife raised my daughter to be a Methodist. This was true of her."

"My wife and my daughter wanted me to convert. That is what they did."

"So I converted to be a Methodist. This is true of me."

"I went to church every Sunday to make my wife and daughter happy. That is what I did."

"I joined the Sunday School. This is true of me."

"Since I had never joined the Adventist Church, they turned their backs on me. That is what they did."

"The preacher wanted me to convert to Methodist, so I did. This is true of me."

"I became a Methodist and went to Southern Methodist University. That is what I did." (going to SMU was accurate)

Spitting Part 4

I talked about Dad's habit of spitting here, here, and here. It hasn't stopped being a problem; I just thought talking about it was getting boring.

I have since learned from the Lewy Body Caregivers group, that problems with spitting are not uncommon with dementia and are related to swallowing problems called dysphagia where small amounts of food and drink get into Dad's lungs. This causes his lungs to create excess phlegm that he coughs up and spits.

I think we are getting somewhere with Dad about where he spits. He has been fussed at by every adult in the house and put in "time out" without TV. What we would like him to do is to spit into a tissue and throw the tissue away. What Dad did this morning was to pick up the trashcan next to his chair and spit in it. That wouldn't have been too bad except a string of spit formed between the trashcan and his mouth. He used his hand to wipe the spit from his mouth, then wiped his hand on the furniture.

Two steps forward and one step back.

Russia

After Dad went to bed last night he became a Russian, or rather a Soviet.

"Here in Russia, we teach the atheistic religion. That is what we teach."

"There is no God. There is no God on earth. There is no God in heaven. There is no God off the earth."

"That is what we teach in Russia. We teach atheisim as a religion."

"There is no God in heaven. There is no heaven. There never was a heaven. Not in heaven or on earth. That is what we teach in Russia."

Digestion

Since tonight is Thursday, it's eat-out night. Dad had his usual--chicken fried steak, green beans, and mashed potatoes. Like always, he felt that he had to clean his plate. I guess he ate too much:

"My stomach is very full. That is what it is."

"I will go to sleep tonight. That is what I want to do. I will sleep all night. That is what I will do."

"My digestive system will work tonight while I am asleeep. That is what it will do."

"My stomach is very full now. That is what it is. But I will digest my food while I am asleep. That is what I will do."

"When I wake up in the morning my stomach will be empty. That is what it will be."

"I will eat breakfast in the morning. That is what I will do."

Conversation with Dad

I wouldn't say Dad is lazy, but when he was a young man, his mother had to tell him to "put that book down and get a job." She had to threaten to throw him out of the house if he didn't do something besides sit around and read. He's been like that ever since. Ok, I would say he is lazy.
Today:
"I'm barely alive, that is what I am."

My response--You don't have to be. Get out of your chair and DO something, and you'll be more alive.

I guess the child really does become the parent.

Plateaus and Valleys

Dad seems to plateau--stay the same--for a long time, then he takes a sudden downhill turn. He is in a downhill phase right now.

For a while now, Dad has occasionally started to undress in the family room when he thought we were taking too long to put him to bed. Tonight for the first time Dad undressed BEFORE dinner. He took off his suspenders and pants, unbuttoned his shirt, and removed it. He left his clothes in a pile in Mama's chair. Then he came to the table wearing only his undershirt, diaper, and leg wraps with his plastic pants around his knees. I guess it was a good thing he shuffles because he couldn't have walked without tripping on his plastic pants.

I re-dressed him and let him come back to the table. I had already put the salads on the table, so he started eating on his before dinner was ready. Now for as long as I can remember, Dad has liked bacon bits (imitation) on his salad. Tonight, he decided that they were too hard to chew and spit them out. He left them in a nasty pile on the table next to his salad bowl.
Dad likes to wash his food down with milk or tea. Because of his fluid retention problems and his chronic congestive heart failure, we have to limit the amount he drinks. Tonight, before he even started eating his food, he picked up his milk glass and drained most of it before I could stop him. Then, since he didn't have much milk, he had a harder time eating his dinner.

He used his fingers to eat almost everything tonight, including salad and English peas. The only piece of silverware he consistantly used tonight was his spoon for his pudding. I guess as long as it is just family, it doesn't really matter. At least he is faster eating with his fingers instead of trying to use a fork and carrying an empty fork to his mouth.

Words of Wisdom

Bits from Dad over the past week:

"I like my tongue. That is what I do." "I use my tongue to talk. That is what I do." "If I didn't have my tongue, I couldn't talk. That is what I could not do."

"I am not Chinese. That is what I am not." "I am an American. That is what I am."

"I have an overabundace of facial hair. That is what I have."

"I am a cranky old man. That is what I am." "If I grew a beard, I could be a cranky grandfather. That is what I could be."

"I will live a long time. That is what I will do." "My parents lived to be over 100 years old. That is what they did." "I will live to be over 100 years old. That is what I will do."

Pressure Sores

Since Dad is very sedentary, he is prone to pressure sores. For years, the sores have been on his backside because not only did he sit in a chair all day (refusing any kind of exercise or activity), he sat all night sleeping in his chair. We have been able to keep them under control by using hosptial-grade diapers that keep him drier and special skin cream for early-stage pressure sores.

Very shortly after we started making Dad sleep in the bed, a pressure sore began developing on his heel. We used the cream that works for his sores on his backside and put a pillow under his calves to lift his heels off the bed. Although Dad doesn't move any more than he has to, he was able to get the pillow out from under his legs. His heels were down on the bed, and he developed a serious pressure sore. We took him to his regular doctor who referrerd him to a wound specialist.

The wound specialist prescribed several things, including compression bandages for both legs. We had been putting surgical socks on Dad, but that wasn't enough. Since my mother-in-law has for years put a pillow next to her feet to keep the pressure of the covers off her feet, we wanted to try that too to see if that would help also. My husband built a cage to lift the blankets just off his feet.

All was going pretty well, just taking more time to get him up in the morning and in bed at night, until yesterday morning. When my husband came downstairs at 5:30 a.m. (our usual time), a wave of poop smell hit him. In the night, Dad had thrown off all the covers, undressed himself from the waist down, and ripped off the compression bandages. Poop was everywhere. It took my husband over an hour to get him cleaned up.

Obviously Dad can move around a lot more than he usually does when he really wants to...