Mar.12
Once again I find myself falling behind on the caregiving front. Between working shows, a broken computer and too much stress, I haven't seen dad for too long. So I went over this afternoon, even though his companion was there. I found him quiet, he seemed to recognize me but his ability to respond is so much reduced.

I had my physical last week; I asked my doc who is also a geriatrician, what goes through dad's mind when he is just looking down. Obviously no-one really knows about the minds of those with dementia, but he told me research indicated the following; to have dementia is like sitting in the eye of a hurricane or a tornado. You are in a quiet place but everything around you is swirling out of control. Everyone once in a while, however, something ends up facing upright and recognizable...this is the window or time when someone with dementia may recognize a loved one or say something very comprehensible. Then the swirling takes over again and the window is closed. This explanation helped me understand but didn't make me feel any better. I just hurt every time I see dad.

Mar.26
Once again it's been too long since I've visited dad. So I decided to spend time over lunch with him, and then take him out for a walk, since it is not so cold.

I found him in the floor dining room, sitting at his table with his bib on. I walked over to him and bent my head closely to his. Nothing happened for a few moments, but finally I think he recognized me. I wheeled him back to his room; I gave him a big hug and it was then I think he finally knew who I was. We sat quietly, so I could see if there was anything that he wished to say. His speech is virtually nonexistent, so when he does try I really have to struggle. His breathing was ragged. He did say that he felt he was going to go home soon. In my mind I was wondering if it was his only way to express that he felt he was going to die. I continued to listen; he then said he couldn't fix it. I asked dad what he meant...he said he couldn't fix anything. I told dad that I really couldn't fix things either, that sometimes having we have to deal with what we have. I didn't know what else to say.

While we sat quietly, he would look at me with a soft, quizzical smile, moving his head slowly back and forth, as if trying to orient himself. It looked like the smile of someone who was drifting away on an island, someone I would never see again. Sometimes I would ask him a simple, familiar question and he would just look at me, uncomprehending.

Dad ate a good lunch and I then took him out to Loblaws where we poked around. We then sat outside for a few more minutes; at 2:00 PM there is a special Broadway show in the rec room and dad is going, so we went back in.

I met his companion Miajan at the elevator; he took dad up to his room to change him while I went downstairs to grab some seats. My sister and her husband arrived but didn't stay long. Miajan brought dad in and we settled him, but after watching him for a while I wondered how much he would derive from the wonderful music and singing. He couldn't seem to keep his head up and stay awake. I left shortly thereafter, as I had to go to the studio for the TV show. I knew dad was in good hands.

Many weeks ago I had requested art therapy for my father; last Sunday the art therapist said she could make room for dad on Sunday afternoon. She called me over to explain something: she and dad had been in the elevator together. Dad was agitated because the elevator was stopping on all floors and not going directly to 6. So I understand he grabbed the therapists arm to express his frustration. She felt compelled to write up and incident report and informed me that as a result of this incident she would not be alone in a room with my father; she would need a member of the family present. Well, I looked at her and saw probably one of the most unempathetic therapists I have had the pleasure to meet and quite frankly if art therapy doesn't work out I won't be really upset, as I suspect dad won't feel relaxed enough to contribute anyway. A disappointment.

Mar.29
It was such a beautiful day; I planned to see dad before going to the TV studio in the late afternoon. I arrived before lunch so after it was over I took him outside to sit in the sun, just as his companion arrived. We talked about the past, to help dad and to help Miajan have a better understanding of my father's life. We talked about how he used to come home every night from work on the bus; how I probably gained my interest in business and entrepreneurship from him....anything I could think of to bring a smile or remembrance to him.

The home was putting on Camelot, so we went downstairs to watch. Dad was OK for a while but then began to get restless. I had to leave so Miajan said he'd stay there for a while longer then take dad up. It was great to see all the seniors watching with interest and enjoyment; many recognized the music and had smiles on their faces.

I have decided that dad's wheelchair is simply no loner acceptable. He was improperly measured for his first one several years ago; it was exchanged for the one he has now; however, there isn't enough back support, the seat is short and the footpads are too small. It's also h...to push. So I asked the physio at the home about getting another one through ADP (Ontario's assistive devices program). Since the first was not correctly sized, she felt we may qualify for some financial assistance. Sure enough, the paperwork came back and a new chair has been approved.