A year and a half ago one of my good friends lost his wife to cancer. She died suddenly of a massive brain embolism. It was heartbreaking talking to him and listening to what he was going through. Things I, as an alzheimer's spouse, will never go through. Two stand out for me. He would reach for her in sleep and wake because she wasn't there and wonder where she was for just that second or two and then it would hit him again. And he would be lost in thought and think of something and realize he should tell her and want to and it would hit him again. He sobbed like a child telling these things because he was trying to face it and knew she was gone but he couldn't absorb the suddeness. And everytime it felt like the same shock. Having to realize again that she was gone.
Absorb the suddeness. How alien to what our lives are.
That same fellow told a story to us one night at his cottage just four years ago. My wife was not yet diagnosed and I thought she might have some depression and adjustment about recently having retired. It was one of those long nights at the dinner table, eight of us telling stories and he told this story about her parents who were in their 90's.
Her father had decided to take a bath and sat soaking in the tub so long that he found when he tried to get up he couldn't. He didn't have the strength to get up. He called his wife who came in to see what was wrong. They drained the bathtub and dried him sitting in the bathtub but he just couldn't begin to get up.
After waiting and trying and putting a shirt on him to warm him up they finally wrestled him over the wall of the tub and got him on the the bathroom floor. They tried together to get him up and couldn't and he was getting cold so she got his pants and they wrested them on. He just could not use his legs at all.
Finally they decided to try and drag him so they came up with the idea of turning the bath mat over and rolling him onto it and dragging him into the bedroom. They thought the best thing was to get him into bed somehow.
They stuggled to slide him out of the bathroom and then foot by foot slid him on the mat into the bedroom. By this time he had a bit of strength back and together they wrestled him up onto the bed both of them completely exhausted.
The eight of us were all somewhere above 55 and we all said 'why didn't they phone 911?' or why didn't they phone one of the children? It took several hours from the time he realized he couldn't get up to the time they finally both fell asleep completely exhausted by the ordeal. There we were in our certainty not realizing that within just a few years one of us would be dead from cancer and another would be facing the ordeal of Alzheimer's.
I will always remember that story. It was the moment the shoe dropped that I had heard many such pieces of stories that up until that moment I had always blocked subconciously as something I didn't want to know. Such as when my aunt drove into another town following a car when she was supposed to be driving home.
It's a look into the life I will not have. It's why I now look at old couples with some envy. They have each other. When I can't get out of that bathtub, I can call out until I'm blue in the face. My cats may come in and have a look - but they're not much at pulling rugs around.
That couple are still at home by the way. It was one of the hardest moments for my friend to tell them their daughter had passed. He's the one that told them. Life has it's dreaded gates that we must pass through. And my friend has moved on to someone he met on eHarmony. She has now developed a serious disease and if she makes it she will likely be on dialysis for the rest of her life. Right now my friend seems set to help her through this and move forward. I haven't had that phone call yet to help him talk this out. He's lost his wife, found someone, and now she is in danger of also being lost.
All I know is that when I'm expiring in that bathtub I'm going to remember that story of those two 90 year olds struggling through that together. My life's not going to have stories like that in it; but, I can borrow theirs and comfort myself in it like an old blanket. It's all in how we see life. If you had to describe that in movie speak some would see life as a spy thriller, or a romantic comedy, or grapes of wrath. But I see life as Meet The Fockers.
If I get up to those pearly gates, I'm going to take Saint Peter aside and say "Look I have a few ideas. I'm thinking maybe a manual. Flesh things out a little bit." I will of course be told to sit down. Story of my life.
This reminded me of myself and two older sisters, all finally widowed. The first one was having breakfast w/her husband when he feel forward into his food and within hours had died. It was such a shock, unexpected, no warning, he was getting on in years, but essentially healthy. As is her wont, she blamed everyone--him, the doctors, and eventually she began to think of herself as the only widow victim--she was very offended--this was not supposed to happen and she never felt she got the sympathy due her. Within days she had cleaned out and donated all his clothes, she was nothing if not efficient. The other sister had a terribly difficult life, much worse than AD, but she & hubby had a life-long love affair and finally when her husband was 92, she placed him. Within days he died and she could not bear to go to the facility to see him, his death was not to be accepted. They had serious life-threatening illness, the worst personal losses, but they were together, and once he was gone, she lasted less than a year, not surprising, she was elderly herself. They'd have been the 91 y.o. couple you described. Independent, caring for each other like that. I lost my DH to AD, don't have to explain any of that, and still have some of his clothes around.
We each took widowhood in our own way and often talked about how different the circumstances were. Which was was hardest: sudden; the long good-bye; or squeezing the last drop of a difficult life and not accepting death. The first sister had one dinner date and when he asked if she minded if he smoked, she was pretty indignant, absolutely no way, he never called back. She told me when I lost DH that from now on, my life would be with other widows. The other sister, elderly but living in a retirement community with other old geezers, actually began to flirt. Well, whatta ya know! I thought it was great and she seemed to enjoy it. She'd have found someone if things had been different. I have a gentleman friend, neither want to remarry and are content living our separate lives.
I didn't know that I was dealing with a brain disease for years before DH's dx. That should not surprise anyone. We had signed health directives when we were young and healthy, never gave a thought to what might be ahead. It's good we don't know. I'm sure I would have married him even if I knew he'd get AD, but I had no idea what that would mean.
Well, that's enough of life and it's unexpected events--altho we do all die. Time to say goodnight.
Back when I was still working the midnight shift I would always stop in the morning an have coffee with my folks an see if they needed anything for the day,one morning for some reason I went straight home an Mom called an asked if I would come check on Dad,so I hurried over an he was sitting on the floor in front of his recliner,I asked how long he'd been like that an she said since last night,I then asked why she didn't call anyone an she said I thought he would get up,he'd had a stroke an after medics took him to hospital he never returned home.
My mother in law died of CHF at 84, still being allowed to believe that her oldest son, my husband, had Lyme Disease. Sure, why not? She herself considered AD to be the most dreaded Dx she could ever hear, although the combination of steroids and O2 insufficiency she suffered in her last couple of years left her pretty wacky herself.
In a related vein to Emily's anecdote, my Dad died in June at 97, and I had made Steve's AD seem much milder to him than it really is. Fortunately, while I still took Steve with me to visit him, he was able to compensate sufficiently to make that believable. Things have changed rather quickly and this week, placement happened. I am so grateful that my Dad never had to see further decline in Steve nor know that I have moved him.
My first father died in a car accident a month before my third birthday. My second father died of a massive stroke at Heathrow airport in London, coming home with my mother from a wonderful trip. When people say their hope is to die suddenly in their sleep, I think to myself that it is hard on the survivors not to get to say goodbye. On the other hand my grandmother died of Alzheimer's the long slow way--more than 10 years. I think she lived three years not recognizing any of us, and a year bedridden and almost unresponsive. It makes being told you have 6 months to live sound good--time to say goodbyes but not too much time.
My mother is in the very early stages of Alzheimer's. She and my husband used to dislike each other but now that they are both in the early stages of dementia they get along really well.
pamsc--yes, my dh "forgot" that he didn't care for a particular relative, and started treating her nicer than he ever did! Just about the only positive change in him that AD brought on! So sorry that you are dealing w/dementia in your mom and hb at the same time.
wolf--I am experiencing mixed emotions. On the practical side, I know it is best for both of us. But on the emotional side, it is definitely a milestone and makes it impossible to deny that the disease is in charge. Somehow, when he was at home, things seemed more normal; it is hard to accept that the time has come when he needs to be cared for by others.
Marilyn----I sometimes wish I could have made "placement happen." I knew that it was time for my dh to be cared for by others and perhaps wishfully thinking that he and I might have a better relationship if he could accept caring by others. But like you said, the disease was in charge and it was not to be. Mixed emotions still plague me. My thoughts are with you.