This is a memoir piece I wrote in August 2023, nine months after I had placed him in Memory Care.
I thought that once I had Bill in the Veterans home things would be better. He would be happy with all the attention he received from the nursing staff and all the conversations he would have with the residents all day long. After all, that’s what he wanted to do when he was home - discuss his illnesses with anyone and everyone who would listen.
Well, I was wrong. Bill hates it at Memory care. He wants to come home. He doesn’t understand why he has to stay there. Every so many days, he packs up everything he has: dirty clothes, clean clothes, electronics, DOP kit, even his mini fridge and shoves it all in his laundry bag. He calls me on his iPhone, "Does the blanket belong to us? I’m trying to pack up so I’ll be ready when you come get me."
He loses his watch, his iPhone, his iPad, even his walker - twice (so far)! He calls me to say he has no toilet paper, no paper towels, no bath towels, or clean clothes.
One day he found someone in his bed. “Why can’t I lock the door? People steal my stuff.”
What’s missing? I ask. He answers, "I don’t remember."
He calls me incessantly - day and night - telling me he doesn’t want to work there anymore, they took him somewhere and he can’t find a ride home - will I come get him?
"There’s something going on here," he says. "I’m not sure what it is but something. Everybody is mad. The people here are terrible and driving me crazy."
I hear someone screaming in the background.
"Are you at home or at Oreo’s?" He has no concept that Oreo cannot live by herself.
"Are we sitting with someone at the dinner tonight? What time are you coming? My watch is in pieces, my iPad doesn’t work, the remote for the TV is missing."
After a while, my stomach is in knots. I call the staff but get the run around: “Yes, we’ll find his walker. Yes, we’ll send his laundry to the cleaners. Yes, we’ll get him more toilet paper and towels.” Only to find that it still hasn’t been done the next day.
Like everywhere else, COVID has done it's worse, and they are short staffed. That’s supposed to make me feel better but it doesn’t. I feel like crap.
Here I am trying to enjoy some semblance of life while my husband is literally going crazy. And his atmosphere isn’t helping. What have I done? Can I fix it? Should I fix it? I’m exhausted thinking about it day after day after day.
When I finally get someone to talk with me, they tell me it’s only going to get worse. I don’t know if I can do it much longer. I may have to pull him out and suffer with him. Maybe that’s the only way out. They say a caregiver can die before the patient - maybe that would be a good thing. At least I wouldn’t feel guilty, helpless, and so exhausted.
So is there anything positive about this? I have 8 min left to write so here’s the positives:
1. I’m positive I’m depressed today.
2. I’m positive I can’t really fix it.
3. I’m positive I have more good days than bad days since he went to MC.
4. I’m positive he has more bad days than good days since he went to MC.
5. I’m positive I can’t care for him 24/7 without severe depression and illness to myself.
6. I’m positive it’s going to get worse.
7. I’m positive this disease is horrible.
Is there a better solution within my income and at my physical age? How do I get through this? How do I turn off my heart? I’m too exhausted to even think about it. I just want to cry.
Those of us who see you trying to deal with your husband admire your strength and persistence. There's no handbook for this; you have to make it up as you go along. It's confusing and frustrating and exhausting.
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