JOAN’S BLOG – MONDAY, OCTOBER 5, 2009 –INDULGING IN SADNESS AND ANGER

I am repeatedly told to get angry at the DISEASE, NOT MY HUSBAND. It is the disease strangling his brain, morphing him from a reasonable, warm, loving, kind man, into a self centered, mean, irrational 2-year old. I give the same advice all of the time.

But guess what? The person whose behavior can be despicable LOOKS like my husband. He lives in my husband’s body. He lives with me. Sometimes it is not possible to separate the disease from the person, no matter how hard I try.

I referred to this situation briefly in the weekend blog. Lately, he has become apathetic AND oppositional AND irrational. What a combination. When we first moved into the new villa, he attempted to help me unpack, but his arthritic back and diabetic feet hurt so much, that he had to stop and rest every 15 minutes. I left him alone, and did all of the work myself, except for 8 totes filled with fragile items from my dining room hutch. They have been sitting in the dining room for a month. Friday night, I decided to tackle them. While I lifted, dragged, upacked, washed, got on a step ladder to put items away ( at under 5’ tall, EVERYTHING is too high for me.), he sat in the den, watching TV. For 2 hours. Finally, with my back hurting, not to mention the injured knee, and sweat pouring down my face, I asked him to please take the two EMPTY totes, and two filled with used bubble wrap into the garage. EXPLOSION!

Even I could not believe the absurdity of his indignation and offense at having been disturbed. He was “tired” and needed to “rest”, was his argument. He highly resented my interfering with those overriding needs.

I did what I always do when presented with such unreasonable behavior when I myself am exhausted and in physical pain. I tried to reason with him, telling myself as I was doing it, that I was being an idiot, breaking the #1 rule that one cannot reason with an Alzheimer’s afflicted brain. He did take the totes into the garage, but he was extremely angry about his rest being disrupted.

The point of this is not that as time and the disease progress, I will have to take over more and more of the work. The point is that this incident emphasized and highlighted to me how alone I am. Although I have tried to keep my emotions at bay, this time, I let the tears flow. Self pity, perhaps, but I could not stop myself.

I miss having my husband to depend on; to be there to lend a helping hand; to offer emotional support; to converse as an adult who can reason; to desire me as a woman, not just need me as a caregiver. This weekend, I was unable to keep the sadness from seeping through the defensive barrier I have set up around my emotions.

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The Alzheimer Spouse LLC
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