Mom, A Life: Part Eight
The Final Years
Dad was in a serious car accident just as they were building the new house. That, and the fact their contractor absconded with several thousand dollars necessary for the finishing work, meant the move was delayed, drawn-out and a little traumatic. They stayed with first one son and then the other (both of whom were living in town at the time) and eventually the place was completed.
In late 1997 Dad was diagnosed with prostate cancer and underwent cryogenic surgery. During follow-up another tumor was discovered and he began chemotherapy. As Mom described it from the x-rays, "It looked like a loaf of French bread wrapped around the back of his stomach." At first he responded well and they could see the tumor shrinking almost daily but suddenly something the doctors called a "wildfire" took over. In less than a month, on March 22, 1998, Dad died.
Mom continued to teach ceramics at the Senior Center and occasionally took on jobs either when she wanted extra money or just because she was bored. (She did a short stint as a dispatcher for a rental car company out at the airport one time.) She gave up driving and my brother, who had sold his house and moved in after his girlfriend died, chauffeured her around. In 2000, my brother managed to pull off a surprise 80th birthday party at the country club that included her children, grandchildren, most of her nephews and nieces, surviving sister and brother-in-law and a host of friends.
The remaining dozen years passed quietly. Mom's back had been giving her problems for decades. What with slipped and disintegrating discs and severe scoliosis she became hunched over at the waist and barely four feet tall. (She was 5' 6" most of her adult life.) As her mobility decreased she stopped going anywhere except ceramics class and doctors' appointments. We had always planned for Mom to live to at least 100, both because she thought that was a nice round number and also in hope she'd passed on longevity genes to the rest of us, but in 2008 I received a letter from her hinting at imminent problems. I moved in with Mom and my brother to help him look after her. The letter turned out to be a touch melodramatic.
Mom talked about moving to an assisted living facility but, although we got brochures and made some visits, her heart wasn't really in it and she stayed home. Her mobility became worse and she was plagued by occasional incontinence and so stopped going to ceramics out of what might best be called anticipatory embarrassment. She most definitely did not want her friends to see her deteriorating.
Mom was diagnosed with moderate Alzheimer's in 2010. She never discussed the diagnosis and I often wondered if one of the effects of the disease was that the implications never really sank in with her. She was put on a drug that noticeably slowed its progress, and for the six months immediately after the diagnosis she showed real improvement both physically and mentally. We even made one last visit to the ceramics class at the Senior Center.
Eventually, though she spent her days mostly on the couch reading and watching TV, although she no longer enjoyed watching sports as she found she didn't understand the rules or the point of the games any more and had no patience for anything lasting longer than a half hour or so. She read continuously, both magazines and large print books from the library.
She still dressed herself (with an increasingly eccentric creativity), made her own bed and did her own laundry (or tried to. We took that last chore away from her after she washed some disposables and filled the dryer with cubic feet of fluff). She had a great appetite and ate everything we made for her enjoying the occasional glass of wine with dinner. Although she had more and more trouble finding the right word, she never lost verbal capability and always recognized people. Her biggest problem was insomnia which could keep her bouncing up and down all night long and exhaustedly napping all the following day.
In February 2012, I noticed a decline in Mom's cognitive abilities. Despite the doctor's warnings about the inevitability of Alzheimer's, Mom had been so stable for so long that it came as something of a shock. During an appointment in early March, her GP noted a spike in her blood pressure and asked if she had a living will and DNR order on file. He recommended we post it on the refrigerator. Mom's insomnia was worse and she was a little more agitated than usual over the following weekend and then, sometime over night or, more likely, early Monday morning, her heart just gave out.
Mom died at home, in her room, Monday March 12, 2012, fourteen years after Dad. She was three months shy of 92.
Post Script
This sketch of Mom's life turned out to be a lot longer than I'd originally planned, yet it is still far, far too short to do her any kind of justice. I haven't mentioned her sense of adventure and willingness to try anything at least once. She'd go out in the woods with us kids to explore the "cave" we found. She had us all grilling Japanese food on hibachis and eating with chopsticks back in the '60s. She taught tolerance (no excuses) and encouraged intellectual curiosity. She's why I was listening to Stravinsky and Berlioz at age eleven and owned the complete Yale edition Shakespeare at thirteen (best junior high school graduation present ever!) and why I can cook for myself well enough to entertain in several different styles. ("You're either going to get married or stay single. If single, you're not rich enough to eat out every night so you'll starve if you don't know how to cook. And if you get married I'm not going to have some other woman complain I gave her a helpless son.")
Thanks, Mom. I love you, too.
Showing posts with label Medications. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Medications. Show all posts
Wednesday, May 23, 2012
Thursday, May 17, 2012
Mom, A Life: Part Eight
Mom, A Life: Part Seven
Sunshine, Real Estate and Art
Using the money from the sale of the Connecticut house and the property in Arizona, Mom and Dad built a new, small ranch house on the property they had bought on the north end of town. Unfortunately, the developers had opened up huge tracts all at once and so people moving into town bought and built all over resulting in isolated houses on barren streets across the peninsula.
The city was billed as a planned community but it was really just an artificial one. No plans were made for any commercial development commensurate with the expected residential population. Hundreds of miles of canals were dug across the city but, in an attempt to save money and with total disregard for future traffic growth, bridges across the canals were intentionally built narrower than the roads. To this day the city hall, police department and post office all sit in the middle of nowhere, miles from the naturally developing center of town as does the library (but in a different direction).
So, of course, Mom and Dad got their real estate licenses. At first they sold houses and condos as agents for a larger firm. Mom's heart wasn't really in the profession and she ended up mostly sitting open houses and model condos. After a couple of years they realized it would be decades before their "neighborhood" filled in and they bought a condo in an 8-unit building "downtown." At least it was within walking distance to stores.
Mom requalified as a nurse in Florida and did some work at the local hospital but didn't enjoy it saying the profession had changed too much over the years for her to really keep up. The technical aspects were difficult as were all the new drugs to memorize.
It was about this time that Mom and Dad came back up north and kidnapped my brother and his dog. My brother had moved in with me after mustering out of the Air Force and brought the dog with him from California but he was showing symptoms of depression, partly from his military experiences, including scraping two of his pilot friends off the runway when they'd crashed, and the death of his best friend, an innocent bystander in a high-speed police chase in Connecticut. They thought a change of scene would do him good, showed up one weekend, packed him up and took off. It worked.
Dad opened his own agency but it didn't really go anywhere until he met some commercial developers and started specializing in buying up and consolidating lots into workable commercial size properties. Mom left the business and concentrated on her artwork. She had enjoyed painting over the years, mostly still lifes in oil on canvasboard although she did a huge owl with glowing yellow eyes in acrylics on cloth and hung it at the top of the back stairs in Connecticut where it scared her grandson so much he would only ever use the front stairs. They moved again, this time to a larger higher-end condo where Mom figured out how to make beads from rose petals and began creating necklaces and earrings, some of which she sold, some of which she gave away and some of which are now in the local historical society collection. It was also around this time that she became interested in ceramics.
At first Mom was content to decorate premade greenware, experimenting with paint effects and glazes. Soon, however, she started creating completely original works, mostly flowers: roses, chrysanthemums and lily pads although she also did some dessert dishes and rice bowls. She took lessons at the senior center and eventually the staff asked if she would teach the class, which she did until her fine motor skills started to go and her work became clunky. Eventually she went back to using greenware and finally stopped when her painting started getting muddy, too.
Succumbing to the Gypsy urge one last time, Mom and Dad sold the condo and built a last house, the one my brother and I now share, in a neighborhood that was finally filling in.
Sunshine, Real Estate and Art
Using the money from the sale of the Connecticut house and the property in Arizona, Mom and Dad built a new, small ranch house on the property they had bought on the north end of town. Unfortunately, the developers had opened up huge tracts all at once and so people moving into town bought and built all over resulting in isolated houses on barren streets across the peninsula.
The city was billed as a planned community but it was really just an artificial one. No plans were made for any commercial development commensurate with the expected residential population. Hundreds of miles of canals were dug across the city but, in an attempt to save money and with total disregard for future traffic growth, bridges across the canals were intentionally built narrower than the roads. To this day the city hall, police department and post office all sit in the middle of nowhere, miles from the naturally developing center of town as does the library (but in a different direction).
So, of course, Mom and Dad got their real estate licenses. At first they sold houses and condos as agents for a larger firm. Mom's heart wasn't really in the profession and she ended up mostly sitting open houses and model condos. After a couple of years they realized it would be decades before their "neighborhood" filled in and they bought a condo in an 8-unit building "downtown." At least it was within walking distance to stores.
Mom requalified as a nurse in Florida and did some work at the local hospital but didn't enjoy it saying the profession had changed too much over the years for her to really keep up. The technical aspects were difficult as were all the new drugs to memorize.
It was about this time that Mom and Dad came back up north and kidnapped my brother and his dog. My brother had moved in with me after mustering out of the Air Force and brought the dog with him from California but he was showing symptoms of depression, partly from his military experiences, including scraping two of his pilot friends off the runway when they'd crashed, and the death of his best friend, an innocent bystander in a high-speed police chase in Connecticut. They thought a change of scene would do him good, showed up one weekend, packed him up and took off. It worked.
Dad opened his own agency but it didn't really go anywhere until he met some commercial developers and started specializing in buying up and consolidating lots into workable commercial size properties. Mom left the business and concentrated on her artwork. She had enjoyed painting over the years, mostly still lifes in oil on canvasboard although she did a huge owl with glowing yellow eyes in acrylics on cloth and hung it at the top of the back stairs in Connecticut where it scared her grandson so much he would only ever use the front stairs. They moved again, this time to a larger higher-end condo where Mom figured out how to make beads from rose petals and began creating necklaces and earrings, some of which she sold, some of which she gave away and some of which are now in the local historical society collection. It was also around this time that she became interested in ceramics.
At first Mom was content to decorate premade greenware, experimenting with paint effects and glazes. Soon, however, she started creating completely original works, mostly flowers: roses, chrysanthemums and lily pads although she also did some dessert dishes and rice bowls. She took lessons at the senior center and eventually the staff asked if she would teach the class, which she did until her fine motor skills started to go and her work became clunky. Eventually she went back to using greenware and finally stopped when her painting started getting muddy, too.
Succumbing to the Gypsy urge one last time, Mom and Dad sold the condo and built a last house, the one my brother and I now share, in a neighborhood that was finally filling in.
Thursday, January 26, 2012
Desperate Response Update
I may have been a bit premature regarding the beneficial effects of the sleeping pill I gave Mom two nights ago.
Today she disavowed all knowledge of, and any responsibility for, the letter she wrote. She didn't do it, she doesn't know who did and it's not her handwriting anyway.
And then she picked it up and added another couple of lines to the end.
At least she only got up once last night.
Today she disavowed all knowledge of, and any responsibility for, the letter she wrote. She didn't do it, she doesn't know who did and it's not her handwriting anyway.
And then she picked it up and added another couple of lines to the end.
At least she only got up once last night.
Wednesday, January 25, 2012
Desperate Response Pays Off
I finally gave Mom a sleeping pill last night. Actually they're more anti-anxiety pills than anything else. We've had the prescription for a couple of months now but I haven't wanted to use them because the doc said they would negatively affect her memory and cognitive abilities, which is the last thing she needs. I'd rather put up with some level of insomnia.
Last night, however, was out of control. Mom went to bed at 9:00, her usual time. She was up again at 10:30, then 11:30, then 12:15, 12:45, 1:30 and finally 2:00 A.M. So I broke down and offered her a sleeping pill which she accepted. I figured she wouldn't suffer any damage from just one.
I don't know when she got up this morning but it was early. When I woke up she was already out on the couch having just written a two-page letter to a friend of hers. I stole a look at it when she went to the bathroom.
Normally her "letters" are rambling, stream-of-consciousness, barely legible scrawls only one or two sentences long. This, however, was mostly coherent, with paragraphs and everything and, except for a couple of passages in the middle and one at the end, readable. She starts off with greetings to her friend, well-wishes and a brief explanation of how she, herself, is faring. She writes about our "acquiring" a cat, my brother's relationships, and Other Brother's holiday visit here with his kids (which was almost a month ago). There may be something in there about the orchids and roses.
We're considering making a "translation" as best we can since even her good handwriting requires study and some interpretation and her friend is almost as old as she is. Then we'll send both the original and the cleaned up copy.
I'm thinking the solid sleep she finally got last night may have helped her brain functions a bit. I'm still only going to give her the pills as sparingly as possible.
Last night, however, was out of control. Mom went to bed at 9:00, her usual time. She was up again at 10:30, then 11:30, then 12:15, 12:45, 1:30 and finally 2:00 A.M. So I broke down and offered her a sleeping pill which she accepted. I figured she wouldn't suffer any damage from just one.
I don't know when she got up this morning but it was early. When I woke up she was already out on the couch having just written a two-page letter to a friend of hers. I stole a look at it when she went to the bathroom.
Normally her "letters" are rambling, stream-of-consciousness, barely legible scrawls only one or two sentences long. This, however, was mostly coherent, with paragraphs and everything and, except for a couple of passages in the middle and one at the end, readable. She starts off with greetings to her friend, well-wishes and a brief explanation of how she, herself, is faring. She writes about our "acquiring" a cat, my brother's relationships, and Other Brother's holiday visit here with his kids (which was almost a month ago). There may be something in there about the orchids and roses.
We're considering making a "translation" as best we can since even her good handwriting requires study and some interpretation and her friend is almost as old as she is. Then we'll send both the original and the cleaned up copy.
I'm thinking the solid sleep she finally got last night may have helped her brain functions a bit. I'm still only going to give her the pills as sparingly as possible.
Wednesday, November 2, 2011
A Temporary Glitch
Some section of Mom's brain shut down last night.
Just before it was time to change her Alzheimer's medication patch and start her eye drops, she got up to go to the bathroom promising to return "in a minute". Twenty minutes later, I went to check up on her (she can sometimes take a long time in there so I wasn't worried). She was in her room, rearranging clothing carefully laid out on her bed. I asked if she was coming out soon and reminded her it was past time for the meds. She said, "Yes," so I went back to the living room.
Another forty minutes gone by, I checked again. She was still in her room, in the dark, having tried and failed to change clothes for no obvious reason. The end result being she had put her underwear on over her pants. (It was funnier in Woody Allen's Bananas.) I turned on the light and tried explaining this to her several times with no success.
Finally, after a couple more visits from me and over two hours late for her meds, she emerged wearing a pullover shirt as a skirt (not for the first time). At that point I didn't care and quickly changed her patch and administered the drops. It was an hour past her normal bedtime. She sat on the couch.
Then she turned to me and said, "Where do you go after you're done working here?"
"Nowhere, Mom. I live here with you."
"Really. I don't recognize you. Have we met?"
"I'm your son."
"I never knew that. And what about the others?"
"There are no others, Mom. It's just the three of us. You and your two sons."
"Upstairs?"
"There is no 'upstairs'. This is a ranch house. My room is across the hall from yours."
"I know that. I meant downstairs. You live here?"
"Across the hall."
"And yet I've never seen you before. I don't know why we've never met."
"You see me every day, Mom. I make your breakfast and I make your dinner and I give you your eye drops every day."
"Really. I never knew that."
"Well, you did know it but you just forgot."
"Well, it's good to know. Again." I did have to smile at that.
After that, she folded up some of her clothes I had just taken from the dryer and went to bed. She slept through the night without interruption and, in fact, I could hear her gently snoring through her door.
This morning she awoke at her usual time, bright, chipper, cheerful and fully cognizant. She knows me, knows where she is and recalls nothing of last night's episode. Maybe it was just a combination of exhaustion and over-concentration from trying to dress in the dark.
Just before it was time to change her Alzheimer's medication patch and start her eye drops, she got up to go to the bathroom promising to return "in a minute". Twenty minutes later, I went to check up on her (she can sometimes take a long time in there so I wasn't worried). She was in her room, rearranging clothing carefully laid out on her bed. I asked if she was coming out soon and reminded her it was past time for the meds. She said, "Yes," so I went back to the living room.
Another forty minutes gone by, I checked again. She was still in her room, in the dark, having tried and failed to change clothes for no obvious reason. The end result being she had put her underwear on over her pants. (It was funnier in Woody Allen's Bananas.) I turned on the light and tried explaining this to her several times with no success.
Finally, after a couple more visits from me and over two hours late for her meds, she emerged wearing a pullover shirt as a skirt (not for the first time). At that point I didn't care and quickly changed her patch and administered the drops. It was an hour past her normal bedtime. She sat on the couch.
Then she turned to me and said, "Where do you go after you're done working here?"
"Nowhere, Mom. I live here with you."
"Really. I don't recognize you. Have we met?"
"I'm your son."
"I never knew that. And what about the others?"
"There are no others, Mom. It's just the three of us. You and your two sons."
"Upstairs?"
"There is no 'upstairs'. This is a ranch house. My room is across the hall from yours."
"I know that. I meant downstairs. You live here?"
"Across the hall."
"And yet I've never seen you before. I don't know why we've never met."
"You see me every day, Mom. I make your breakfast and I make your dinner and I give you your eye drops every day."
"Really. I never knew that."
"Well, you did know it but you just forgot."
"Well, it's good to know. Again." I did have to smile at that.
After that, she folded up some of her clothes I had just taken from the dryer and went to bed. She slept through the night without interruption and, in fact, I could hear her gently snoring through her door.
This morning she awoke at her usual time, bright, chipper, cheerful and fully cognizant. She knows me, knows where she is and recalls nothing of last night's episode. Maybe it was just a combination of exhaustion and over-concentration from trying to dress in the dark.
Saturday, September 3, 2011
And . . . We're Back! (Temporarily)
Just like that Mom's awareness has snapped back into something much closer to normal. I'm beginning to think the insomnia is a major factor in her recent fogginess. I present negative evidence:
The last couple of nights she has been staying up later than usual which means going to bed really tired, which means really falling asleep and staying there. She's only gotten up once or twice to go to the bathroom and has gone back to bed instead of staying up. As a result, she's been rising much earlier (between 7 and 8 a.m.). She's napping somewhat less and is much more alert when awake. She's been reading her book again (although not in any consistent order). Her sense of humor is back. (When I gave her her morning eye drops accurately she said, "Right on the nose!" I said, "No. Right in the eye! I'm trying to avoid your nose!" She laughed.)
Unfortunately, I don't believe this will last.
We see the doctor later this month. I'll ask if there is anything we can do for her sleep issues but this is apparently one of the symptoms of Alzheimer's so I'm not very optimistic.
The last couple of nights she has been staying up later than usual which means going to bed really tired, which means really falling asleep and staying there. She's only gotten up once or twice to go to the bathroom and has gone back to bed instead of staying up. As a result, she's been rising much earlier (between 7 and 8 a.m.). She's napping somewhat less and is much more alert when awake. She's been reading her book again (although not in any consistent order). Her sense of humor is back. (When I gave her her morning eye drops accurately she said, "Right on the nose!" I said, "No. Right in the eye! I'm trying to avoid your nose!" She laughed.)
Unfortunately, I don't believe this will last.
We see the doctor later this month. I'll ask if there is anything we can do for her sleep issues but this is apparently one of the symptoms of Alzheimer's so I'm not very optimistic.
Friday, May 27, 2011
Brain Teasers
We went to Mom's neurologist where her vital signs were very good and she failed all the tests. She couldn't come up with the year, month or day. (Hey, she spent eighty years in the Twentieth Century, of course she's more comfortable there.) She couldn't name the president or explain what was "different" about him. She did remember, after concentrating on it, which town she was in. And she completely failed the pop quiz at the end. (The doctor asks her to remember three words and then, later, when she least expects it, asks her what the words were. For the record: "magazine", "purse" and "picture.") I did like her response: "Why does he need to know that?"
The doctor renewed her prescription for the Exelon patch and we'll see him again in six months.
The doctor renewed her prescription for the Exelon patch and we'll see him again in six months.
Monday, January 31, 2011
Mom-Sequiturs
I administer eye drops to Mom every day, once in the morning and twice in the evening. One Rx is for glaucoma and the other is for macular degeneration. Mom used to do it herself but it wasn't working because, in the end, all she was doing was pulling out her lower eyelid and dribbling drops down her cheek (she wasn't even getting close) so now I do it.
I have to warm the drops in my hand since she is very sensitive to the "cold" (room temperature) liquid and she doesn't put her head back far enough (because of the strain it puts on her spine--which is why she wasn't able to get near her eyes when she was doing it herself) and she tends to flutter her eyelids so the drops often end up in her eyelashes or on her cheek anyway (except, unlike when she was doing it herself, I keep at it until we succeed) so she comments whenever we hit it just right.
Last night we got one drop square on her left iris. First try.
She smiled and exclaimed, "Bird's eye!"
I have to warm the drops in my hand since she is very sensitive to the "cold" (room temperature) liquid and she doesn't put her head back far enough (because of the strain it puts on her spine--which is why she wasn't able to get near her eyes when she was doing it herself) and she tends to flutter her eyelids so the drops often end up in her eyelashes or on her cheek anyway (except, unlike when she was doing it herself, I keep at it until we succeed) so she comments whenever we hit it just right.
Last night we got one drop square on her left iris. First try.
She smiled and exclaimed, "Bird's eye!"
Thursday, January 27, 2011
Reading Habits
Mom has started reading again. I attribute this almost entirely to her Exelon patch.
Before, she would read and re-read and re-read the same magazine article or catalog page. It looked like OCD but it was really just her inability to absorb anything she read. At one point she asked for a book and I got a large-print mystery from the library for her but she quit it half way through saying she'd read it already and that it was all familiar. It was a new release so I know she hadn't seen it before. She's done the same thing with sports on TV, claiming to have seen the game before and either "knowing" how it comes out or wondering why "they" changed things this time.
But, lately, things seem to have changed. She is now on her third book in six weeks (another mystery) and is not only completing them but enjoying them as well. She's using a bookmark to keep place and I do not see her starting over, going back, repeating pages or otherwise betraying any indication she is not getting the full experience.
She also seems to be forgetting fewer words and she even remembers what day it is--sometimes (usually on weekends ever since I instituted French toast Sunday breakfasts).*
*It's a question the docs always ask and it's not really fair IMHO since all her days are pretty much the same and tend to run together.
Before, she would read and re-read and re-read the same magazine article or catalog page. It looked like OCD but it was really just her inability to absorb anything she read. At one point she asked for a book and I got a large-print mystery from the library for her but she quit it half way through saying she'd read it already and that it was all familiar. It was a new release so I know she hadn't seen it before. She's done the same thing with sports on TV, claiming to have seen the game before and either "knowing" how it comes out or wondering why "they" changed things this time.
But, lately, things seem to have changed. She is now on her third book in six weeks (another mystery) and is not only completing them but enjoying them as well. She's using a bookmark to keep place and I do not see her starting over, going back, repeating pages or otherwise betraying any indication she is not getting the full experience.
She also seems to be forgetting fewer words and she even remembers what day it is--sometimes (usually on weekends ever since I instituted French toast Sunday breakfasts).*
*It's a question the docs always ask and it's not really fair IMHO since all her days are pretty much the same and tend to run together.
Friday, November 12, 2010
One Orbit
Hard to believe it's been a full year since coming to Florida.
Mom is worse off than when I got here but not as bad as she would be without the meds and attention. There is no way my brother could both work and keep an eye on her by himself. The Exelon patches seem to be working for the most part, although they are--at best--a holding action. Her physical strength has also improved somewhat. She definitely wants to do more and sometimes does.
The weather has run its full cycle and we are back in the dry season. Summer was not as bad as I imagined it would be but this time of year is glorious. Cool, dry, clear starry nights in the low sixties/upper fifties and warm, dry sunny days in the low eighties. Mom and I sit in the lanai and watch birds and butterflies and the breeze blowing through palm fronds. This is what it's all about.
The only thing missing is mountains. This place is sooo flat!
Mom is worse off than when I got here but not as bad as she would be without the meds and attention. There is no way my brother could both work and keep an eye on her by himself. The Exelon patches seem to be working for the most part, although they are--at best--a holding action. Her physical strength has also improved somewhat. She definitely wants to do more and sometimes does.
The weather has run its full cycle and we are back in the dry season. Summer was not as bad as I imagined it would be but this time of year is glorious. Cool, dry, clear starry nights in the low sixties/upper fifties and warm, dry sunny days in the low eighties. Mom and I sit in the lanai and watch birds and butterflies and the breeze blowing through palm fronds. This is what it's all about.
The only thing missing is mountains. This place is sooo flat!
Tuesday, October 26, 2010
Things That Go Bump in the Night
Mom has suffered from insomnia on and off over the past two weeks. normally she gets up a couple of times during the night to go to the bathroom but this is different. This weekend she got up both nights around midnight (she normally goes to bed between nine and ten), fully dressed and asking where the daylight was. Saturday night she went back when I convinced her it was still the middle of the night but she was back again an hour later and stayed up on the couch 'til three. Sunday was almost as bad except she knew it was nighttime and she had insomnia. She stayed up until three again and only went to bed because my brother got up and chased her off to her room.
Last night she promised me she would not come out again (except for the normal bathroom breaks) and she kept her word. I don't know if she actually slept (we'd had a busy day, with a doctor's appointment and everything and she was very tired) but she kept her word.
I intend to ask the doctor if the accumulated effects of the Exelon patch might be giving her too much nervous energy and disrupting her sleep cycles.
Last night she promised me she would not come out again (except for the normal bathroom breaks) and she kept her word. I don't know if she actually slept (we'd had a busy day, with a doctor's appointment and everything and she was very tired) but she kept her word.
I intend to ask the doctor if the accumulated effects of the Exelon patch might be giving her too much nervous energy and disrupting her sleep cycles.
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