Dementia marches along

Jim’s progression in this disease is accelerating more than I anticipated. As it does, his behavior and mood deteriorates.  In a sense, it seems he moved into professional care just under the wire of unmanageable at home. So, maybe, yay for me.

Anyone familiar with dementia knows that there comes a point when urinary control lapses and Jim is there now. He wears “pull-ups” and needs to be changed throughout the day and night. Meanwhile it seems he doesn’t always recognize the bathroom/toilet so he’s been peeing and pooping in his closet. So they put a locking door on his closet and he’s been mostly redirected to his toilet. And they have posted  a large sign identifying “TOILET.”

Jim clearly is horrified by the invasions of his privacy — the changing and cleaning of his nethers, help with dressing which he no longer can do on his own although he doesn’t know that. He’s angry, recalcitrant and beginning to be physically threatening and aggressive. He hit an aide last month. I have been there when he’s reacted badly to having his pull-ups changed and/or been helped to dress. It is horrendously upsetting to witness this. 

Then there is his paranoia. He thinks staff hates him, that they are misbehaving and are ignorant. This so un-Jim like. He’s always been gentle, unassuming, kind and, well, reserved and passive. He accuses me of collaborating. Thinks I have told the cops that he is being “illegal.”

I can bring him down but it takes time and slow, kind talk as well as soft touching, hugs and petting. None of which staff is supposed to do, I think.

The remnants of my Jim are fracturing and I miss him all the more. There is so little of him left. And, there are pieces of me that break into fragments as Jim deteriorates.