Dream Therapy
When caring for a loved one with cognitive decline, it is very helpful to record one’s thoughts. In the past I might have discussed them with Hubby, but now that is quite impossible as he misconstrues whatever I try to communicate. There are many kinds of diaries that one might begin. I have had many over a lifetime. My first white leather diary had a tiny key to keep my thoughts secure so that my parents would not invade my private space. In it one might find that “Eddie walked me home” or that “Bobby smiled at me.” Thoughts entirely too private to share with anyone when I was at the age of thirteen.
Today I write the Dementia Diary chapters to share what I have experienced and efforts which have succeeded, or even failed, in caring for Hubby.
Beginning years ago, my Dream Diary, (also on my computer, as I type far faster than I can write longhand) is full of interesting dreams that I remembered upon waking, and then went on to interpret. I am not interested in what Freud has to say about dreams, or anyone else for that matter. Do not be shocked, please! By analyzing my own dream, I can put what I believe to be the issues to rest.
Last night my dream was full of very strange stories and images. The one that I recall most vividly woke me up. A friend had asked me to hold her baby and to take it into the nursery. I gently placed it on the changing table. A second later the baby had fallen to the floor. I was horrified. Picking up the infant, I wondered if I could get away with not telling the mother what had happened. Then I realized that a bruise was forming on the baby’s head, and that I might be accused of intentionally abusing the child. I told the mother immediately and then woke up.
It is my theory, and I am sticking to it, that my immediate interpretation of my own dream is the valid one. My mind went to 4 AM when I heard Hubby in the bathroom. The noise woke me out of my slumber and I continued to lay under my yummy pink blanket debating whether or not I should get up to see that he is alright. Of course, I should. And I did.
Recently, when Hubby went unattended to the toilet, he took a terrible fall which caused a hematoma the size of half a tennis ball on his back, and the entire left side of his body with black and blue bruising, torn skin and bleeding on his arm and elbow – not to mention a week of horrid pain to follow.
How could I not conclude that the baby in the dream, was actually Hubby? Like the baby, he has been placed in my care (by life, marriage, fate, G-d), and any dereliction of that care could cause him terrible harm. In the dream, I was distracted and did not see the baby fall, just heard it hit the floor, much as I hear Hubby scream for help each time when he takes a fall when no one is nearby. (This is why we try to have someone accompany him constantly.) Unfortunately, he still demands privacy in the “loo.” (You can take the Brit out of London, but you cannot take London out of the Brit!) Leaving him even for a few minutes is a risk, but engaging his anger at not respecting his privacy has other repercussions.
One might think that these repeated experiences somehow become normal, and that one gets used to them. In fact, it appears that I am actually submerging them into my subconscious so that I can continue to function another day.
There are many stresses that caregivers/spouses recognize from moment to moment, and then there are others which we suppress. It is unlikely that others will share these experiences with you. Perhaps they do not remember their dreams at all, or have no inclination to analyze them. Either way, the stresses take their toll. Any effort to release the pressure building up in one’s body and brain, is worth considering.
Dr. Freud is probably fuming at my audacity! (translation; No PhD in Psychology or Psychiatry, and yet, she is full of her own theories!). The other day I was at a party and met a couple where both the husband and wife explained that they were therapists. My immediate response – I am a therapist too! The only difference is that I have no certification or relevant degrees! That, in case you do not know the Yiddish language, is a perfect example of Chutzpah!
