Glue Is To Blame
After a difficult evening last night, which I wrote about in “Deja Vu all over again”, I was awakened to the dulcet tones of Hubby demanding my “whereabouts” from Violet. I woke up, gave him his morning hug and kiss on the head (as he is now sitting at the dining table), from the rear. He was momentarily calmed but then needed to show me something. He got up from the table and wandered into different rooms, by which time he had forgotten what he was looking for.
He did however, have a declaration to share:
“I was taking my pills and I started to vomit. It’s because of the glue!”
There is no glue in your pills. (My exquisitely thoughtful response.)
“There is glue in the little candies you give me!” (He is referring to the colorful licorice bits that we both enjoy.)
There is no glue in the candies.
“So how does the color stay on the licorice?” (A valid question which I had never pondered before.)
They melt colored sugar, dip the licorice in the sugar. When it gets cold, it gets hard. There is no glue.
(I eloquently respond, although I have no clue whether I am actually correct. Caregivers, whether they be spouses or adult family members are expected to know absolutely everything. The patient desperately needs to believe that whatever he/she cannot remember or deduce, will be clarified by the one nearby.)
Hubby does not believe me. So much for my theory. Perhaps “needing” and “accepting” are not one in the same.
“This is why I feel like throwing up when I take my pills! I tried to remove the glue on the outside, but I could not.”
Once again, I respond: There is no glue on the pills. There is nothing to be removed.
“Then why am I feeling nausea?” Another good question without a simple answer. We do need to resolve this once again, as Hubby is refusing most meals. He does however, miraculously ingest my homemade apple crumble and Magnum’s wonderful ice cream with chocolate candy chunks throughout, now sold in containers. Is the nausea psychological or physical? Certainly, one can make one’s self nauseous with a psychological reaction to something unpleasant.
Dementia is a bear. The questions he is asking are valid. The conclusions are not. Once Hubby has come to a conclusion, he repeats it so many times that it becomes his new truth. The mind with cognitive decline loses its ability to consider more than one factor at a time and thus its conclusions are more often than not, invalid.
Hubby is still with us. He is not as absent as some with more severe variations of cognitive impairment, such as Alzheimer’s may become. He still thinks and tries to understand. It is often fragmented, but that does not stop him from trying. This creates tremendous stress and confusion for him. It’s not particularly good for me either.
I too, am trying to analyze why this physical response when he swallows, has returned for him. It is just as life threatening as every twist and turn of a mutating virus. Every time we resolve one problem or find a magic pill which helps him through a difficult time, we must admit that: “It will work, until it doesn’t.” Then we begin anew.
Often, I take time to consider how fortunate Hubby really is. He has two people who worry about his care 24/7, and try to ease his discomforts in life. What of those who live in an institution where no one has the time to focus on the individual patient? I ponder what would happen to me if I were to one day, have this same condition. It does not help me to think ahead to the what-ifs of life. It is quite sufficient to deal with this moment and this day. The future remains a complex conundrum for us all.
