Dealing With Dementia

When you love someone and they have dementia, life becomes increasingly complicated.  Someone with dementia usually does not realize that they have a problem.  They are in their own mine who they always have been.  To their way of thinking they can do whatever they used to do.  They can become indignant easily, and resentful of their care taker, particularly if that care taker is their own child.

I have made all kinds of mistakes in trying to take care of my mother who is currently suffering from advanced dementia.  I have found that it is somewhat like watching a two or three year old child who is inquisitive but lacks judgement.  If a child is doing something that you think is not good for them or harmful in some way, it is easy to say something to the child even to divert them in some way.  An adult who has dementia is not so easily diverted.  You can say no do not feed the dog, and minutes later she has forgotten and is feeding the dog again. She can become indignant and argue, sometimes slamming down whatever is handy and stumping off.

At dinner time, or anytime that I am trying to get something accomplished, I have to endure a innumerable request to help.  I try to find small tasks for her to feel useful , but more and more she is less able to preform these task.  Even after helping she still continues, making my tasks at hand ever so much more difficult.

Recently, I have noticed that I am unable to explain anything to her.  When I have tried to explain, it results in making her frustrated.  I have learned, I hope, to use less words.

This is so hard to become accustom to.  Mother was once a vibrant person, capable, a care taker herself.  She has taken care of me many times through out my life.  Having had polio as a four year old child, I needed much attention.  Even after becoming an adult, there were times that mother would have to drop everything and help me and help with my family.  Once I broke my knee and could not get out of bed to care for my small boys, I stay at my parents and my mother took care of the boys and myself.  While my husband stayed in another town where we were living doing his job.  Another time I permanently broke my hip on my paralyzed leg, the doctor said my bones were too thin, so just sit there and let it heal.  By this time I was divorced with three teenage boys.  Mother moved in and took over until I was healed.

I think wanting to help me is part of her DNA something that she has done so much and feels like she should be the helper not me.  I keep trying to find a reason.

In essence the reason is her Dementia.