I am a fixer. I feel it as a plus and a negative. My husband’s dementia is leaving him more broken each day.
I can’t fix that. How can I help? How can I avoid doing harm.
I am out of the house, joining an aerobics class or having coffee with a friend. He calls or these days has his aide dial for him.
With each sweet sad call I receive from him I see how much he is breaking, reason and sense falling away.
He plays with time (and each call has a focus on time) as if it were a toy and a mystery. Running the winder on his beautiful Hamilton watch as if it were a rag doll. He calls to ask what time it is.
He asks when I am coming home and when his aide is leaving, or that is what he means although he asks when she’s coming.
He calls to find out “just one more time” when “they,” his lone PT who has Capgrased into a couple of guys, are coming. Each time he asks he receives the answer with the same astonishment, “at 4pm,” he repeats, voice rising in surprise.
Like me Burt’s OT likes to fix things. It’s in her job description but it’s also in her modus operandi.
Our apartment and Burt’s equipment for daily living have benefited from her interventions.
She can’t fix his dementia or make his diagnosis go away.
She can implement small changes that add comfort to his care.
I can gather inspiration from that.
this is our life 