Note: The original submission below was titled, "When it is Time for Assisted Living."
As a spouse caregiver for my wife, Clare, who was diagnosed
with young onset Alzheimer’s Disease (AD) in 2009, I have faced some very
painful decisions.
Without doubt, until recently
the most painful decision was about driving.
When I had my first discussions with Clare about how it was no longer
safe for her to continue driving, we argued like never before ... amid many
tears by both of us.
After our initial
discussions, I realized that Clare was not going to stop driving without a lot
of pressure from me.
Members of my
spouse support group at the Long Island Alzheimer’s Foundation (LIAF) had prepared
me well for those emotional discussions.
They told me that taking away the car keys was going to be a painful
decision, but one I had to make.
However, no amount of support can really prepare someone for
the crying and screaming of a spouse trying to fiercely hold onto a symbol of
independence, especially when that spouse is in denial and still feeling that
he or she can drive safely.
Although there
are differences of opinion as to when someone with AD should stop driving, I
feel very strongly that driving should end once there is an AD diagnosis
...
if not immediately, then certainly
within a few months.
Once there is an AD
diagnosis, it’s no longer a question of
if
it is unsafe to drive ... the only question is
when.
As AD worsens, one’s ability to drive safely
will become increasingly impaired, and no one can predict just when that
impairment might cause an otherwise preventable accident.
Therefore, in my opinion, it makes sense to
stop driving before people are injured or property is damaged, rather than continue
to drive until an accident actually happens.
When a loved one has AD, the caregiver must eventually decide
when to take full responsibility for completing all routine household tasks,
administering medication, and providing increased assistance with various
activities of daily living.
Along with these
decisions, when the caregiver’s need for respite time requires placing loved
ones in day care programs, or hiring part-time home companions or aides, all
can be very emotional times for caregivers.
They all were for me but, until recently, I still would still have said that
taking away the car keys was the most emotionally difficult decision I’ve had
to make as a caregiver.
However, as
Clare‘s decline spiraled downward, I’ve since had to make another decision that
proved to be even more painful than ending her driving days.
I decided it was time to place Clare in an
Assisted Living Residence (ALR).
Without
doubt, if I now had to describe the one most gut-wrenching and emotionally
draining decision I’ve ever had to make as a spouse caregiver,
this is
it.
For many months prior to making this ALR decision, I was
becoming more and more stressed due to Clare’s worsening impairment, especially
her lack of any short term memory. Her
inability to retain any information led to two very frustrating behaviors. I referred to the first one as “Groundhog
Day” syndrome. Over and over, Clare
would ask me the exact same questions, totally unaware that she was asking me
the same questions I had just answered moments earlier. It became incredibly difficult for me to respond
as if it was the first and only time she had asked me that question. The second very frustrating behavior was a
complete inability to carry out a simple one step direction because she would
forget in a matter of seconds. I would
remind her of a simple procedure, such as to place food back in the
refrigerator after eating, but she would always forget.
Cognitively, Clare was having increasing difficulties
processing information.
Acutely aware of
what was happening to her, and knowing there were fewer and fewer things she
could still do successfully at home, Clare was constantly asking to “help me”
around the house.
If I said no, she’d
get angry and say things like, “There are so few things I can still do.
Please let me do that.
I can still do that.”
If I said yes, she’d invariably start doing
that task incorrectly.
If I would
correct her or ask her to stop so I could take over, she would say with anger
in her voice something like, “Well, if you had told me to do
that, I
would have done
that.”
Of course,
I
had told her to do precisely
that, several times, but she just
couldn’t process the information or remember what I had said.
As her memory and cognition worsened, along with her aphasia,
Clare was also starting to lose her thoughts midway through asking me a
question or making a comment.
She also began
speaking incoherently at times and I was increasingly unable to understand what
she wanted to say to me.
I knew I
desperately needed more respite time and, prior to considering an ALR placement,
I gradually upped Clare’s time in day care programs.
She originally went once a week for 4 hours
and that eventually increased to four days a week for a total of 22 hours.
Whereas I appreciated the additional respite
time by myself, time spent with Clare at home was also changing.
Clare could no longer read easily or play
her favorite word games independently, and she had lost interest long ago in
piano, guitar, and other favorite activities.
Because she could no longer do anything independently, from the time we
got home after I picked her up from day care until the time we went to sleep, all
we did was watch TV together.
Often we
watched the same repeat broadcasts over and over because, to Clare, her
favorite repeat show was always “new” to her.
Clare was now feeling tired all the time and her need for
sleep increased. If she didn’t sleep for
at least 11 hours, it would be very difficult to wake her up the next morning
in time to go to day care. We would
watch TV in our den starting at 4 p.m. every weekday, go to our bedroom before
7 p.m. to give Clare sufficient time to get ready for bed, and then watch TV in
bed until 9 p.m. when I would turn off the sound so she could go to sleep. On weekends, Clare would sleep for up to 15
hours, and then we’d sit and watch TV all day unless seeing friends or family. Often when I would suggest that we take a walk
or go somewhere, Clare would say she was too tired and preferred to just sit
and watch TV. So ... we sat and watched
TV together. Whenever I would leave her
side for a few minutes to check email or to do something else, Clare would come
to find me saying she was bored by herself or didn’t know where I was.
The worst and most frustrating effect of all these changes
in our lives was that for the first time in our 46 years of marriage, matters
of personal hygiene, dressing properly and selecting clothing appropriate for
the weather, daily medication, eating, and a host of other issues were causing
daily arguments and shouting matches.
We
were arguing more in a period of several months than we had probably argued in all
of our previous years of marriage put together.
I also noticed that things were starting to “fall through the
cracks.”
I had so much on my mind trying
to help Clare get through each day that on some days I’d forget to remind her
about important matters.
All of these
“falls” invariably led to more stress, and the stress led to more arguments.
That is when I started to think about whether the time had
come for me to consider an ALR placement for Clare.
Instead of leaving our house at 9 a.m. for
day care programs and picking Clare up in time to arrive home at 4 p.m., I
envisioned that she would simply wake up in the ALR and have an even better
quality day care program during those same hours.
I could then arrive at the ALR at around 4
p.m. and there would be nothing to argue about.
With the ALR responsible for all of the activities of daily living, and
with no household tasks for Clare to “help me” with, and with no “reminders” I
would have to give to Clare, I imagined that all of our time together in the
ALR would be quality time spent hugging and talking and laughing.
We could even spend some of that time
watching TV together just as we did at home if that’s what Clare wanted to do.
I envisioned “signing her out” occasionally
so we could go to eat at her favorite restaurants, and signing her out on some
weekends so we could spend time with friends and even take short day trips as
long as her health would still allow for such activities.
The more I thought about the benefits of an
ALR placement at this time, the more I knew I had to learn more.
I intuitively knew that Clare was not going to accept an ALR
placement easily, so when I first spoke with Clare about the need to check out
ALRs, I said that it was just so we would be prepared and know where she would
go when the time came. I said that
knowing “the where” and “the when” were two different decisions. Clare readily accepted that she will need to
enter an ALR at some point, so she was okay with the decision to find “the
where.” When we did our retirement
planning well over a decade ago, we discussed what we wanted to do in the event
either of us would eventually need a high level of care. We both agreed that we didn’t want live-in
help and both preferred to enter into an assisted living facility or nursing
home what that time came. As a result of those discussions, we purchased long
term health care insurance to help cover eventual costs. However, I’m not sure that a loved one with AD,
whose brain still provides many lucent moments and who remains deeply in love
with and dependent upon a caregiver, will ever be ready for “the when.” Therein lies the source of the intense
emotional pain for the caregiver who must make that “when” decision.
I placed the “when” issue temporarily aside, and over the
course of several weeks I did my research and selected six ALRs that I thought
would provide Clare the best possible care and greatest opportunity to be
happy.
Wanting Clare to be part of the
decision-making process for “the where,” we toured facilities together and
agreed upon the one we felt was best.
We
then returned to that same ALR a second time for one more opportunity to
observe residents interacting during their lunchtime and observe resident and
staff involvement in various activities.
Still agreed that this was the best place, I returned to meet with the
director by myself the following week, signed several forms, and gave a deposit
to place Clare on a waiting list.
I left
the director’s office, got into my car, and just sat there and cried for
several minutes.
I knew that by placing a room deposit, I was accepting that
“the when” had somehow already arrived.
Intellectually, I knew that it was the right decision. Emotionally, however, I still was not
completely prepared to “let Clare go” and live apart for the first time in our
marriage. I cried a lot that day ... and
for several days afterwards. With two
other women ahead of Clare on the room waiting list, the director said that a
bed could be available for Clare in a matter of weeks, or the wait could be
several months. I was thankful that I
would still have time to prepare myself emotionally for this new reality.
Writing this article more than a month after placing that
deposit, I can now say that I feel emotionally prepared to place Clare whenever
that room becomes available.
I am
pleased that Clare is happy with “the where” and feels that the ALR we selected
will be a good place for her ... even if she feels that a placement is not
necessary yet.
However, her worsening
behaviors and our daily arguments have reinforced my emotional acceptance of
the need for such a placement as soon as a room becomes available.
I no longer feel “caregiver guilt” that all
caregivers know so well when having to make emotionally difficult decisions
that they know their loved ones do not want them to make.
Just as with the driving issue, “the when” for an ALR
placement is a decision that must be made solely by the caregiver because a
person with AD has mental impairment that precludes objective participation in
such a decision. And just like the
decision four years ago to take away the car keys, this ALR placement decision
is in Clare’s best interests. Even if
things do not work out exactly as I had envisioned, I know that once placed in
the ALR Clare will be in a safe and caring environment 24/7. She will have highly trained and highly
skilled people taking care of her. Her
daily activity schedule will allow her the socialization and mental stimulation
she needs to keep her mind actively engaged in enjoyable activities. She will eat nutritional meals each day and
be able to maintain a high quality of life with dignity. In short, she will receive all of the care I
want her to have.
Will our nights alone feel lonely? Yes.
Will our large house feel empty?
Yes. Will we miss each other? Yes.
But we will not miss those daily arguments, and we will not miss the
stress caused by those arguments. And I
will not miss the stress caused by trying to remember all that I now must
remember each day in order to properly provide for Clare’s needs.
I cannot now imagine a
decision more painful to make as a spouse caregiver ... but it is the right
decision to make at this time in our AD journey. Whenever I do receive that phone call from
the ALR director telling me that a bed is available for Clare, I’m now as
emotionally prepared as I’ll ever be to say yes. It will be an incredibly painful and
emotionally difficult day, but we will somehow get through it. It is
time for assisted living.
Published in care ADvantage, Fall 2013, Vol. 9, No. 2, pp. 10-13. Access at: www.alzfdn.org/Publications/care_advantage/issues/ca_fall13.pdf