Tag Archives: caregiver support group

“Sometimes you can’t see the forest for the fire”

Posted in November by

We’ve arrived at the place where simple things are becoming difficult. We no longer live on easy street where weeks go by without a visit from signs of dementia.

Where it was once a ‘some-time’ thing, now Alzheimer’s has come to take up part-time residence.

Who’s to say how many years Miss Cathy has before she lives in a permanent state of confusion.

Three years ago, long before mom’s recent decline but sometime soon after she was first diagnosed I advised her to prepare for this day (or something much like it).

I suggested that she write down lists of contacts; names and addresses of all the people (friends and family) that she talked to on a regular basis as well as her favorite TV shows; the times and channels so that she would have them for easy reference later on when her memory failed and she’d forgotten all things familiar.

I also suggested (while she was still ‘sharp’ and more or less ‘herself’) that she make a point of flexing her mind ‘muscle’ and practice crosswords or put a jigsaw puzzle together, anything that would help her mind stay active instead of just sitting in front of the television hour upon hour, day in and day out then laying in bed for the rest of the evening, letting her intellect go soft.

She had other ideas of course, as is the case with most people who are in denial and not ready to accept what lies ahead, she let my ‘suggestions’ go in one ear and out the other.

My fear was that Miss Cathy’s mind was getting soft but her head was hard and she did what she’d always done, which was exactly what she wanted, regardless of anything I or her doctors’ advised.

So, she did very little to prepare for today and today (as has been true every other day for the last several months) she cannot read a page on a book, dial a number on the telephone (usually connecting with the wrong person at the wrong number) and gets confused by the everyday routines and objects that should be as familiar to her as the nose on her face.

Today she retains less and less new information and the old knowledge she once possessed is harder to grasp.

And since she never bothered to write down the things I asked for I’ve had to become somewhat of a Sherlock Holmes to decipher “who” she intends to call, “what” she’s searching for and “where” her favorite programs are on TV.
(I’ve since started compiling some lists of my own (of Miss Cathy’s social life) to go along with my medical notes).

When these new challenges first presented themselves I tried to get her to use sense memory instead of sight or other ‘tricks’ to help her navigate through her day or operate familiar things but she was quick to anger.

“I done told you I can’t see, I don’t know when you people are going to understand that I can’t see anything!”

“You people?”

So now I’m part of the preverbal you people and she can’t see that I’m the one person by side supporting her on a daily basis.

No matter, she can’t see the irony that her protests are just validating what I was trying to get her to ‘see’ but I can.

Oh well, like Miss Cathy is want to say, “Sometimes you can’t see the forest for the fire.”

The Group: Pt. Vlll

Posted in October by

*Jane (not her real name) had the full attention of everyone in the group so she continued her **‘share’.

“I’ve cooked breakfast for my husband everyday for forty years and I’ve always asked him what he wants to eat when he sits down at the table to read the paper in the mornings, but now he blows up if I ask him what kind of eggs he wants; oatmeal or cereal, fruit or coffeecake.”

“I used to love to have the grand kids over to spend the day with us but now they’re not in our house ten minutes, just being kids, laughing and running around and he starts yelling at them for no reason.”

“We have three grown kids, one lives out west and two are in the area but they won’t help, they don’t want to deal with him so they just don’t come visit anymore.”

Jane finished by looking down at the glasses hanging around her neck on a multi-colored jeweled silver chain, suddenly as quiet and still as she’d been vociferous and animated just moments before while she told her tale.

Almost instantly there were comments of support from the other members of the group, some were personal as it was obvious that they knew Jane outside of the group while others were more ‘general’ in what they had to say to her.

More than one person made note of the similarities to their own situations and offered sympathy (seemingly to her and by extension to themselves).

The facilitator listened to all that was said from around the room and then it was her turn.

The first thing she suggested (for Jane and everyone else in the room) was to put themselves in their loved one’s place and to imagine for a moment that ‘we’ were the ones with dementia, that ‘our’ whole lives had come undone (and we couldn’t understand why) and the world as we knew it was becoming a foreign place where once it had been home.

“What would that ‘feel’ like?” she asked. “Wouldn’t you be scared? Angry?”

Then she asked us to imagine what we might feel if things (activities, tasks, chores) that we used to do easily suddenly became difficult, our memory (of performing those ‘things’) no longer something we could depend on.

And where once we had been independent and strong we were suddenly dependent and weak because we didn’t understand ‘why’ the changes were happening or sometimes we might not recognize who our loved one was.
It was within this ‘mind-set’ that the facilitator wanted the group to place ourselves before she offered up a few suggestions.

* When anonymity is called for I do not use real names and sometimes alter descriptions to protect the identity and privacy of individuals that I come across in my journey

** A “Share” is a term used the world over by 12 Step and other Support Groups to describe a situation where a person has volunteered to speak openly, honestly and candidly about an issue, event, person or experience in their life

The Group: Pt. Vll

Posted in October by

By way of starting the meeting after all the ‘business and announcements’ had been taken care of, the facilitator looked around the table and asked if anyone had something they ‘really’ needed to share.

This could get interesting I thought as I relaxed and sat back in my chair; I felt as if I had popcorn and the feature film was just about to start after the previews.

I barely had time to guess who (if anyone) would speak when one of the older women sitting across from me spoke right up; she was not shy at all.

She introduced herself as *Jane (not her real name) and Jane was like a little spark plug all coiled and ready to ignite, as if she’d been waiting (however long it’d been since the last meeting) to get ‘something’ off her St Johns, knock-off twinset covered chest.

She looked to be seventy or so, somewhere in the same ballpark as Miss Cathy but with an obvious difference.

Jane was a petite woman, I’m sure her sensibly shod feet barely touched the floor (if at all) as she sat in the high backed office chair. She was very well put together; silver hair coiffed, ‘day’ make-up applied ‘just so’, she had the look of a ‘fighter’ about her, something that mom used to possess but with Alzheimer’s she’d lost that spirit somewhere along the road.

She shared about her loved one (more specifically, her husband) and his issues with anger; sudden and unexpected outbursts she said that were out of character for him and starting to scare her.

Jane said that she had known him most of her life, marrying when they were very young and that in all that time he’d never been violent or ill tempered, in fact, he was quite the opposite until he developed Alzheimer’s.

” I just don’t know what to do with him,” she said, confused because she wasn’t sure how to handle his newfound rage and worse still what she should expect next.

“I try to ask him why he’s so angry and it seems to me that just gets him more mad.”

“I’m convinced he doesn’t even know half the time.”

I found myself (unconsciously) nodding (along with some other heads I saw bobbing around the table as well) in recognition at the similarities to her story and mine )or ‘ours’ as it were).

Seems a lot of us could relate to what she was going through; her surprise, frustration, helplessness and fatigue.

The Group: Pt. ll

Posted in September by

As much as my brother and his family are ‘here for me’, and (on occasional) here to care for Miss Cathy, it’s still not the same.

Because they are not ‘here’ for the day in/day out, week in/week out events and changes (big and small) that string together to make a life (and when they ‘come to care’ whatever they experience or witness affects them differently because lets face it, they get to return to their own home and their own lives) so they can’t possible relate to the life that I live in a home that is not my own.

To be clear here, I’m just stating facts, not lodging a grievance. I signed up for who, what and where I am and do not regret any of it for a minute.

I just get lonely sometimes and wish there was someone to go through this experience with (other than Miss Cathy who, as the loved one with Alzheimer’s can’t be expected to do double duty as patient and pal).

As for the family, they call mom of course, to check on her and ask how she’s doing, but (unfortunately) it doesn’t seem to cross their mind to pick up the phone to check in on me.

So, after years of trying ‘this’ and doing ‘that’ to de-stress or re-relax, it got to a place (mentally and emotionally) for me where the isolation and “alone-ness” of it all was overwhelming. I needed more than just the occasional holiday or ‘day off’ to go out to a movie or dinner.

I knew that I needed to find someone I could talk to who could relate to what I was going through (which is a common lament among caregivers) other than bending the ear of friends far and near.

And friends, sympathetic though they may be, not being caregivers themselves, which I’m happy for them of course, still leaves me without someone to commiserate who’s going through the same thing and understands.

Sometimes, you just need someone to listen; no, more than listen, you need to be able to talk to someone who’s either walked in or is walking in your shoes and knows why at the end of the day you’re sore, can do no more but you do it anyway.

So, once again, I turned to Alz.org for help.

I knew that there were support groups out there, hell, I’d been advised to seek one out when this whole thing began but being the private (read-hardheaded) person that I am I thought I could ‘go it alone’ and apparently I succeeded because having ignored the advice to ask for help and seek out others for support, I am alone.

But, that was soon to change.