Tuesday, November 15, 2011

Living in the Moment (and the Therapeutic Benefits of Shock and Stress)

Yesterday evening, after dinner, Mom suddenly became much more actively engaged in her surroundings. Usually, she sits on the couch and watches her game shows her only comments being that "Wheel of Fortune" takes the answers off the screen too soon, before she can read them, and "Jeopardy" contestants don't speak loudly enough for her to hear. (If I turn the volume up any more all the neighbors will hear it before she does.)

Last night, suddenly, she began commenting (appropriately) on the puzzles, the questions and answers, the prizes, etc. She was catching almost everything and was completely and intensely there. After the games, she read her book until her usual bedtime. As it approached, I said nothing, thinking maybe she had the energy to stay up for a while longer but, right on the stroke, she closed the book and announced she was turning in.

An hour later, it turned weird again.

She suddenly reappeared in the living room, fully dressed, to announce her regret that "that woman" had to leave so soon before she (Mom) could thank her (the imaginary woman) for dinner.

I said, "There is no woman, Mom. There never is. No one else comes in here. I fixed your dinner. I watched TV with you. I gave you your drops."

"You made dinner?"

"Yes, Mom. Like always. No one else comes in."

"Well, not now. It's late."

Not ever, Mom. It's just us."

"Well thank you for dinner, then. And thank her, too."

"I will, Mom. I will. Now go back to bed." She did.

Another hour later she pushed her walker around the corner again.

"Now what's the matter?" I asked.

"I just wanted to let you know that I'm a very light sleeper so if there's anything you need just call and I'll hear you." Now, the thing is, when she does finally get to sleep almost nothing will wake her and certainly not someone calling out since she's virtually deaf at this point.

"O.K. The only thing I need right now is for you to go to bed and stay there. No more getting up every hour. O.K.?" Which she did. And stayed there. All night.

Early this morning I woke up thinking I'd heard someone call out. I listened at her door and checked up and down the hallway. As I went back to my room I heard: "Hello?!"

Her room was pitch black when I entered. She was on the floor with her pillow, wrapped in her sheet a corner of which was hung up on a straight-back chair. She had fallen out of bed--the far side of her bed-- which meant rolling over at least twice just to get there and once more to fall out. She was still fully dressed. She wasn't hurt but was in a space too small for her to turn over onto her knees which might have allowed her to pull herself up. After scooching her around so her back was against the bed I got my arms under hers and lifted her up to sit on the mattress. When I asked what had happened she explained in full, lucid detail. somehow, the shock of the event and the subsequent stress jolted her mind into alertness.

I rearranged her bed and she went back to sleep, still fully dressed. She woke up later than usual this morning but (at least as of breakfast) still remembers the events of last night. Apparently, sufficient adrenaline can, temporarily at least, overcome Alzheimer's.

No comments:

Post a Comment