3 Days of Decline

As far back as 2001, we knew there was something wrong with Dad. By 2005 he was on anti-psychotic and anti-Schizophrenia medications but his primary physician avoided an official diagnosis. In 2007, he began prescribing Alzheimer’s medications, sent him to a psychiatrist and a neurologist… but still no diagnosis. I have read his medical charts, so has his most recent primary physician. There was never a point when he was actually diagnosed but the introduction of various medications tell a tale all their own.

This insidious disease spread slowly through his brain. His rate of decline amazingly having its own pace. But things have taken a surprising (to me) turn. His physical and mental decline are accelerating faster and faster. They have reached a point far beyond my control. Far beyond anyone's control.

Day before yesterday he decided to give up. He no longer wishes to live. More than anything on earth, he wants to “go home”. He spent the morning waiting alternately for his “Mommy” or the school bus. His speech was starting to slur. When asked where he was, he repeatedly responded, “England”. He constantly fretted saying that he doesn’t understand why we are keeping him here against his will. He was still able to help with his transfers from bed to potty chair and back. But, I could easily see he was growing weaker.

Yesterday his speech not only slurred but his words rarely made sense. He slept almost constantly and it was a tremendous struggle to get him to wake up long enough to force food and drink into him. At one point, trying to get him onto the potty, we ended up falling on the floor together. On the bright side, when we went down I was able to completely break his fall…with my body. It took almost 20 minutes to get him off me and rolled into a position that allowed me to drag him backward to rest his back against the side of the bed so I could go get Richard (he was downstairs asleep) to come help me get him up and back into bed.

Today has been different. He has slept much of the day. Sometimes he is a little bit clear, other times he is a lot hazy. He is in diapers now and he he seems to have no control over his body. Richard has gotten his first clear picture of how serious things have become. He has been a big help today and for that I am grateful. I know how difficult it is for him (after all, this is his father) but I am glad he finally sees clearly what our lives, Dad’s and mine, are like now. I spoke to hospice about my growing concerns. I also requested that we check him for a urinary tract infection. If he has one, some of what is going on may be explained by that. I guess we will know more tomorrow. Richard cooked dinner tonight and we (even Jordyn) ate it in Dad’s room with him. He ate it all, sometimes lucid, sometimes not. His imaginary world is now his constant companion. I watch him slipping farther away, a little more each day. My heart hurts and I am just plain tired.