Last night, Peg would not take her meds again. I kind of blew it. Actually, let me rephrase that. I did blow it. I got really upset. One of her meds that she takes is a blood thinner, so that she does not get a blood clot, which she had a couple of years ago that nearly gave her a heart attack. There were her usual responses: “I don’t take meds at night”, “I already took them,” and “Those are not my meds”. It had been a long and trying day, and I was physically and mentally spent. It’s very infrequent that I lose my cool with Peg, but it sometimes happens. I definitely raised my voice a few octaves. In this running narrative, I’ve tried to be as honest as I can, so I do want to be honest with this loss of composure on my part. It happens. If your wife or husband has dementia and you are their sole caregiver, I’m pretty sure it will happen to you.

I touched on her needing to trust me, that I wouldn’t do anything to hurt her, that I would not lie to her. I dug deep and mentioned that, considering all that I did for her, all I asked of her was that she take her meds when I asked her to. None of it stuck. Her meds were still there on her night table in the morning. When I go to bed, usually an hour or so later after Peg goes to bed, I don’t turn the light on.

Of course, the following morning, I felt like a chump. Who wouldn’t? I apologized, I hugged her and kissed her, and I told her I was sorry. I explained why I lost my cool, explained that sometimes her mind will tell her untruths. Peg said she understood. The problem being, this morning she didn’t remember last night, and tomorrow she will not remember what I said to her today. Do you see the cycle? Peg took both her morning and evening meds fine today. Tomorrow I am calling the Free Caregivers for Dementia Counselling that is available here in Nova Scotia, and I am reaching out for help.

10 July

I’m hitting a bit of a crossroads. Two more “not taking her pills” incidents. It could be a third this morning. It doesn’t seem to matter what I say to Peg; it’s just not registering with her. She becomes quite cold in her defiance. Even when she does respond, she usually can’t finish the sentence she is saying, and even when she does, it doesn’t make any sense. There is total indifference to my plight for her own medical safety. I did reach out to Community Services, but they don’t offer one-on-one counselling. They do workshops, and their one-on-one assistance from a counselling perspective is associated with private professional counselling that one would make use of, through one’s own medical insurance, which I do have.

The Nova Scotia workshops include a free 300 page downloadable book for Caregivers, and most of it covers common-sense steps to take, the vast majority of which I have already implemented. They also recommend enlisting the assistance of family members and close friends. I do have Peg registered with Nova Scotia Community Services, so I will be reaching out to them today to see what they advise.

The distance between us really got to me yesterday. We’ve always been able to communicate with one another, or have that communication resume after a blip in the normal day-to-day routine we follow, but that is apparently rapidly diminishing. The diminishment of Peg’s medical safety with regard to her not taking her prescribed medications cannot be ignored. She is here, but she is not here. There is a huge and devastating sense of loss, and it is becoming quite clear that her mental state is indifferent. Not because she doesn’t care, but more so in that she is becoming mentally incapable of responding as she did before. That’s a really hard concept to get your head around and accept from a reality perspective.

Bruce Cooper is a disciple of Jesus, married to Peggy, with 5 grown up children, 7 grandchildren. He is retired from the Canadian Armed Forces and resides in beautiful Halifax, Nova Scotia, Canada. a.k.a. “Papa.” To read more of Bruce’s work visit Reasoned Cases For Christ.  

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