His Emotions

"Me, me, me," I hear you cry.  What about his grief?  Isn't he the one with the horrifying condition?"

Blessedly, he no longer seems terribly troubled by his losses, though in the early stages he often expressed his sorrow through explosive verbal rages.  But these behaviors weren't odd for him as for most of our lives together he could be explosive and angry in public and private.  Most often with me, however, he would express his anger with a scowl and silence, appropriate for a member of the Silent Generation.

When we first got together I couldn't predict his future behaviors.  I fell in love with him one night in December, 1971, when he cried in front of me.  There was a force in me that wanted to salve his sadness.  I later learned that this openness was an anomaly though I was already bound to him with a connection far deeper than conscious awareness.

Early in the dementia he fought with its effects, protecting his ego as he has all the life that I've known him, with his fierce countenance and an angry voice.  And before I understood the damage the transient ischemic attacks were making in his brain, I got angry in return.  I yelled when I returned home from a day out after the washing machine flooded its room.  I argued with him when he constantly criticized the world and people around him and when he found the negative side of everything.  I criticized him when he was mean to people in public.

But once my previous mental health therapist observed that Will probably had dementia I began to get training and learned about the condition.

But first, a pause to explain what I mean by "condition."  Dementia isn't a single disease.  It's an encompassing term for a whole passel of diseases that result in a loss of executive function.  I've heard and read from a variety of sources that there are between 50 and 100 different types of dementia.  What Will has is Vascular Dementia -- the brain slowly dying from tiny arterial explosions. The best trainings I received were free through Oregon Care Partners.  I was blessed to be able to spend a morning and afternoon at a Teepa Snow presentation in Salem. From her I learned the "positive approach to care", which focuses on the importance of entering the world of person with the condition - to be with them wherever they are and to value what they can still offer to the world.  Here you see a photo of Teepa explaining how the person with dementia's vision is gradually reduced.

Teepa's teachings were echoed by some of the books and articles I read.  The most important concept is acting with compassion - providing a living space of comfort and safety and, if possible, significance.  There are still activities that Will can perform that help out around the house.  He now does the washing up.  He has always enjoyed doing the laundry and now, with my cues, he still does it, though usually he is more likely to hang up the clothes after I've put them through the wash cycle.  We still walk the dogs together in the afternoon.

So he still gets sad sometimes, I think, but he rarely admits to it when I ask him if he is.  He seems to be in a good mood most of the time even though he still dislikes Bend and Oregon and doesn't miss an opportunity to articulate his belief that almost anyplace in the world is better.  With the exception of encouraging him to do chores on occasion and walk outside with me, I don't make him do things he doesn't want to do.  I let him sit or nap if that's what he wants to do.  

I feel blessed that he has become sweeter as the condition has progressed, rather than getting angrier and meaner.  It's made my life as a carer and his life as an aged boychild more tolerable.  

And I also feel blessed that this journey has taught me to be less self-involved and narcissistic and more compassionate.  I have found that caring for Will has made me more caring for other beings in the world.