Days of Caring

Yesterday Bob had a physical therapy evaluation to see if he still needed services. He is transferring himself fairly well, from wheelchair to bed or bedside commode--when he remembers he only has one intact leg. That coupled with the fact that Medicare only pays for so many therapy visits per year, he will no longer be receiving those services.

The PT (physical therapist) had two students with her yesterday. Bob recited a story that he had an incident of passing out seven weeks ago "to the day". Please note, in the nineteen months we have been here, Bob has never passed out.

Bob also told that two years ago, "to the day" he was in a car wreck and his wife lost her left foot. Of course Robbie has both feet. We all smiled at each other.

One of the ladies made a comment about how quiet it is out here in the country. Robbie started telling how they don't live here, they just come over here so Bob can get therapy. Again we all just smiled.

Bob and Robbie have lived on this property for many, many years.

Her Father crossed over in the early 1960's. After lunch today she asked Bob, 'Why come Daddy to have the car and not you?"

He mumbled something at her. It satisfied her, for the moment.

Next she wanted to know her baby sister, Wanda's number. Bob responded with 223-2222. I seriously doubt that has ever been Wanda's number. I know it has not been for the past two and a half years.

She wants to call Wanda and have her either come get them and take them home or call her Daddy and tell him to come get them.

Bob will take spells that he never made enough money to buy no house or land. I go get the deed out and make him a copy. He'll read it and tell me that he doesn't remember signing it, but that sure is his signature and it says he owns this place.

Until the amputation this past July (2008), Bob knew his age, birth date, address and that this was his home. The trauma of going to the hospital almost always alters the mental state of a person with Alzheimer's, and rarely if ever in a good way.

Robbie will come to the table sometimes and look at Dave and ask, "Do you like this place you got out here? Has your daddy come out and looked at it yet? What does he think about you living way out here?"

She doesn't wait for an answer to one question before rattling off the next one. She knows Dave by name, but not that he is her brother. Dave just says, "Naw, Daddy hasn't come here yet." Within a few hours she'll back to some semblance of reality--at least that Dave is her brother.

I had bought two very large cinnamon buns to split in half for dessert for all four of us after dinner. I had started supper and walked in the bedroom to get a knife (We keep them in for safety.) Bob was in his bedroom talking to Robbie. Apparently, he can move that wheelchair much faster with out us watching than he does when we are. . .

As I came back into the common area, Bob was going back into his room, using only his foot to move the chair. I walked over and asked him why he could not use his hands to move the chair---he had a cinnamon roll in his hands and was chewing on some.

I walked back over to get something out of the fridge and guess what? BOTH cinnamon rolls were gone and the empty box was on the shelf.

Reckon I have learned my lesson about locking the fridge when I leave the room for even a moment.