SUNNY SUNDAY
It's a gorgeous day with spring flowers filling the garden. Husband is asleep. I am pacing a bit Done some gardening. Seen to the ponies. Could cook something I suppose. Do so miss my dear husband. He's present but not here. . He really doesn't seem to understand much at all. Wondering how to live an interesting life when the person you are with is so handicapped but so needy of your being there. I really can't leave him alone for a moment before he becomes distressed and sets out to find me. I guess I just have to keep counting my blessings - and there are many.
Sunday, 5 May 2013
Saturday, 16 March 2013
Shopping
One of the sad things in life is how no-one sees you as you were - only as you are now. Once my husband who wore lovely clothes and always,always looked nice. We were a 'golden' couple.
Nowadays I pay 'buddies' to keep him company when I go horse-riding or to the gym. We tried the memory club but one thing he could remember was that he didn't like that!
Today I took him shopping for our holiday (his sister's coming too). First I have to sort out things that might suit. Get him to a changing room. Get him out of the clothes he's wearing and help him into the ones I want him to try. It all takes ages. I have to find a men's changing room where I can join him or he never emerges - just stands paralysed by indecision surrounded by clothes that are either half on or half off. I have discovered our local H&M have a disabled changing room so we have plenty of room to fumble around in. If something isn't right I can't leave him to go and find another size or he may follow me out half dressed. Anyway, partial success! We bought some trousers and t-shirts that looked OK. Back home we found the pack of pants from TK Max only had two pairs inside - someone had whipped the third pair. I should have looked more carefully but you stop worrying about these things when your partner has dementia. It's just a matter of getting on with things as best you can.
Tomorrow I'll tackle the packing
Nowadays I pay 'buddies' to keep him company when I go horse-riding or to the gym. We tried the memory club but one thing he could remember was that he didn't like that!
Today I took him shopping for our holiday (his sister's coming too). First I have to sort out things that might suit. Get him to a changing room. Get him out of the clothes he's wearing and help him into the ones I want him to try. It all takes ages. I have to find a men's changing room where I can join him or he never emerges - just stands paralysed by indecision surrounded by clothes that are either half on or half off. I have discovered our local H&M have a disabled changing room so we have plenty of room to fumble around in. If something isn't right I can't leave him to go and find another size or he may follow me out half dressed. Anyway, partial success! We bought some trousers and t-shirts that looked OK. Back home we found the pack of pants from TK Max only had two pairs inside - someone had whipped the third pair. I should have looked more carefully but you stop worrying about these things when your partner has dementia. It's just a matter of getting on with things as best you can.
Tomorrow I'll tackle the packing
Dog Days
Today was windy and rainy. Just the two of us at home. In a sunny interval we took the two dogs for a short walk. Bruce can't seem to manage long walks nowadays. As usual our whippet nosed off into someone's garden. 'I wish she wouldn't do that', I said.
'When I went for a walk with Helen (a friend), she was off into people's gardens all the time'.
'I can't believe it. Why?' he seemed interested.
'Well she's just nosey I suppose'.
'What a hard nosed bitch'.
'She's just a daft dog'.
So the conversation rambled on til I realised. He thought it was my friend disappearing into people's gardens. Oh the joys of dementia. And at least we'd talked which is often hard these days.
'When I went for a walk with Helen (a friend), she was off into people's gardens all the time'.
'I can't believe it. Why?' he seemed interested.
'Well she's just nosey I suppose'.
'What a hard nosed bitch'.
'She's just a daft dog'.
So the conversation rambled on til I realised. He thought it was my friend disappearing into people's gardens. Oh the joys of dementia. And at least we'd talked which is often hard these days.
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