Battling Burt

I need to be honest here. I said, “Stay positive.” I fully intended to do so.

Fell right off that wagon fast.

Burt refused to enjoy being out with me on Saturday. I mean, he was antsy and kept saying that he wanted to go home.

My tactic to keep him engaged was all over the place. I said I liked being outside with him, but I also put the onus on him. Don’t you like being out with me? I  said. I thought you did, wheedling a little,

It occurred to me in retrospect that he wasn’t sure who I was, so he thought he’d lost me.

Our excursions on the weekends take us further afield than Burt could manage on his walker. The aide “drives” him in the wheel chair.

The presence of a third person, our aide, seems to annoy him. I think he feels it’s intrusive. He resents having to “ride” rather than be in the driver’s seat on his walker.

After a few more minutes of just sitting, he complained he wanted to go home. This time, I said ok, go. I’m staying. (Ugh.)

I say “ugh” not just because it was a foolish approach but also  admittedly because it didn’t have the expected effect. He asked the aide to take him. Well, ultimately, he stayed. I held his hand.

And, of course, ultimately, we went home. There’s where the dinner battle went into full force.

I won’t point any fingers, but food was thrown, and an apple juice spilled halfway across the room.

At this point, I just lost it.

I hectored him as if he were able to agree to not be agitated. As if his impulsivity was something he could control with discipline.

I got away with all this because this morning, Burt is blaming “that horrible girl, don’t you remember her?”

But I know who she is. And I am chastened.