The Angry Beastie
Yesterday was difficult. Hubby awoke at 6 A.M. aggressive and belligerent. We had a substitute caregiver as it was Violet’s day-off. I shall call her “M” like in the 007 James Bond films. The night before I had explained to “M” that Hubby can wake up angry sometimes… because his mood balancing medications do not last more than about 4 hours. I placed the medications in a small glass bowl to be administered as soon as he awakened.
It was the loud voices that brought me out of my deep slumber and forced me to crawl out of bed to try to help at 6:30 AM. Hubby had not taken the medications I provided. He did not trust “M” who could not tell him which pills he was being encouraged to swallow. “She is an idiot!” “She is trying to poison me!” The joyous comments continued.
“I asked her to give you these pills when you woke up.” I responded.
I tried soothing the angry beast. I too had to prove to him that they were the pills on his chart before he would consider the risk worthwhile. “M” offered Hubby coffee and his favorite ginger cookies to begin his morning. She gave him five cookies. He ate them all. Hubby appeared to be calming down and I returned to my bed hoping to pick up the dream where it left off.
Two hours later I re-entered the fray. He was still having coffee and was in the same position as when I had left them alone. I asked if “M” had given Hubby breakfast. “No. He did not want.” Was the eloquent response. She had given him another five cookies, and as each cookie has 30 calories, he had already consumed 300 calories before breakfast, and multiple cups of coffee. If Hubby had his “druthers” (a very British term, but then he is British!), he would never eat a healthy meal.
The morning went fairly smoothly until noon, when Hubby became aggressive again. It had been five and a half hours since his morning pill. Definitely time for another. Normally when he wakes up at 8 AM or later, our schedule works out well. Today was the exception. Pill number two was administered before lunch rather than afterwards and about an hour later Hubby was calm once again and we three ate a lovely lunch together with no acrimony.
Every Saturday afternoon I go to visit Ruchie (if you remember in “The Birth of The Dementia Diary”, she is the very person who thought I should write down these experiences in book form!). It is always at 5 PM. I promised I would return at 6:30 PM. Not paying attention to the number of hours which would lapse between pill number two and my return, my fault entirely… when I returned seven minutes late, ”World War Three” had erupted.
As I came in the door, insults were hurled, fury was unleased at the selfish wife who thinks only of herself. If only I had been smart enough to tell him that I would return at 7 PM, I would have been “early” instead of late. My fried brain is not as creative as it once was. Of course, it was time for pill number three, but we still needed to wait an hour before it would begin to take effect. As the insults and abuse mounted, I removed myself from the room and went to distract myself with a mindless computer game that required my full attention. Escape was the order of the moment.
Hubby began demanding that I pay “M” for her services. Both she and I tried to explain that she would be paid at 9 PM when her 24-hour shift would finish. Hubby began exclaiming that “M” should not trust me…that I was a liar and a thief and far worse epithets bounced off the walls. Sitting around the corner has always been a safe space…out of view usually means Hubby can focus on something or someone else. This time was different. His anger spiraled out of control and he came towards me with his fist clenched. I looked up at the absurd sight of a 94-year-old man intent on slugging me. As his hand came forward, I grabbed it and told him “If you ever hit me, I will call the police!” I could bring him down easily if I had to, but still the experience unnerved me. In almost 49 years of marriage, Hubby had never lifted a hand against me.
An hour after pill #3 was absorbed by his brain, he was calm again. I fixed dinner for “M” and Hubby. I had no intention of sitting at a table with him. I served the food and removed myself. He was calm and ate. I was trying not to react further.
At 8:30 PM, I paid “M” for her shift, and thanked her profusely for putting up with these terrible moments. She said she understood and I let her leave early. She had more than earned her wages. Recently, I was beginning to think that I could handle Hubby on my own, and save a substantial amount of money on Violet’s day off. How impossible that thought has proven itself to be!
Hubby was in bed when “M” left. When I returned from seeing her to the door, he smiled at me and said “I am sorry.” If I had been “super-wife”, I would have accepted the apology with no further discussion. I am unfortunately, quite human. My response … “What exactly are you sorry for? Calling me horrible names, saying I am a thief, or trying to punch me with your fist?”
“I never….!” He said:
“You certainly did!” Was my response.
A few minutes later he looked at me sitting near him and smiled; “I love you.” He spoke sweetly. I knew it was true, and yet I could not respond.
Words between us have become meaningless. Horrible words have no meaning, but they degrade the sweet ones and leave them hollow. Intellectually, I know it is the condition and not the man which causes these bizarre scenes. Emotionally, they create an emptiness beyond description which is very difficult to replenish once the sun rises again as it always does, and a new day dawns.
