My father-in-law died
Oct. 31st, 2011 10:48 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
naomikritzerSometimes things happen in my life, and I don't share them on LJ or Facebook because they make it clear that my house is about to be sitting empty for several days to a week, and I am mildly paranoid about advertising to the world that my house is empty. And then the dust settles, and I'm home again, and it feels sort of weird to say "so hey, this major thing happened...two weeks ago."
But there are times that it's a bit weirder to go on without talking about it at all.
Ed's father had Alzheimer's, diagnosed in late 2006 or early 2007 (I can't remember). For the last two and a half years, he lived with and was cared for by Linda, a long-time family friend (and for part of that time, Linda's partner as well). Ed called every week to talk to his father and to Linda (and to have the girls chat with his father), and we knew that he'd gone into a significant decline.
Let me detour to say that Alzheimer's is a really fucking weird disease. Imagine that the brain is one of those open mailbox things that some offices and apartment complexes use, where everyone has a little cubbyhole. Normally most of those little cubbyholes are stuffed full of information. Alzheimer's goes through and steals information out of those cubbyholes, but it doesn't do this in a uniform way. So sometimes there are cubbyholes that have been completely cleaned out, whereas others are still fine. Of course, it cleans out more and more cubbyholes as time passes.
So, for quite a while now, Edward could not get himself a snack because he could not find the refrigerator. Later, he lost the ability to find his spoon if it was next to his plate, rather than on it. He'd lost basic math. He'd lost his brisk stride. But, he could have a conversation with you, he could make jokes, and he was, in some essential ways, still himself. And he was still basically anchored in time and space: he knew who the people around him were.
This started to shift a few weeks ago, when he started asking where his parents and siblings were, and accusing Linda of being a kidnapper who'd stolen him away from his home. These episodes were transitory but had us pretty worried.
And then, as we were contemplating what-ifs and moving up our plans to visit, he fell off a (metaphorical) cliff. He developed some sort of infection, or maybe a virus -- we're not sure exactly what, because it wasn't one of the obvious things, and to properly diagnose it he would have had to be hospitalized, with lots of tests run, and when you've reached a certain point with a dementia patient who has made it clear that he desperately fears being put in a nursing home and wants to die at home, with a dog by his side, you don't open that door. Instead, you call Hospice.
We flew out to say goodbye, and then almost immediately after returning we flew out again for the funeral.
Edward was only 69. Alzheimer's sucks.
But there are times that it's a bit weirder to go on without talking about it at all.
Ed's father had Alzheimer's, diagnosed in late 2006 or early 2007 (I can't remember). For the last two and a half years, he lived with and was cared for by Linda, a long-time family friend (and for part of that time, Linda's partner as well). Ed called every week to talk to his father and to Linda (and to have the girls chat with his father), and we knew that he'd gone into a significant decline.
Let me detour to say that Alzheimer's is a really fucking weird disease. Imagine that the brain is one of those open mailbox things that some offices and apartment complexes use, where everyone has a little cubbyhole. Normally most of those little cubbyholes are stuffed full of information. Alzheimer's goes through and steals information out of those cubbyholes, but it doesn't do this in a uniform way. So sometimes there are cubbyholes that have been completely cleaned out, whereas others are still fine. Of course, it cleans out more and more cubbyholes as time passes.
So, for quite a while now, Edward could not get himself a snack because he could not find the refrigerator. Later, he lost the ability to find his spoon if it was next to his plate, rather than on it. He'd lost basic math. He'd lost his brisk stride. But, he could have a conversation with you, he could make jokes, and he was, in some essential ways, still himself. And he was still basically anchored in time and space: he knew who the people around him were.
This started to shift a few weeks ago, when he started asking where his parents and siblings were, and accusing Linda of being a kidnapper who'd stolen him away from his home. These episodes were transitory but had us pretty worried.
And then, as we were contemplating what-ifs and moving up our plans to visit, he fell off a (metaphorical) cliff. He developed some sort of infection, or maybe a virus -- we're not sure exactly what, because it wasn't one of the obvious things, and to properly diagnose it he would have had to be hospitalized, with lots of tests run, and when you've reached a certain point with a dementia patient who has made it clear that he desperately fears being put in a nursing home and wants to die at home, with a dog by his side, you don't open that door. Instead, you call Hospice.
We flew out to say goodbye, and then almost immediately after returning we flew out again for the funeral.
Edward was only 69. Alzheimer's sucks.
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no subject
Date: 2011-10-31 03:57 pm (UTC)I'm so sorry for your loss and Ed's and for the slow loss at the end.
no subject
Date: 2011-10-31 04:06 pm (UTC)I have a friend (he was an usher at Ed's and my wedding) who has frontotemporal dementia. He is 46 or 47. It's horrifying, particularly given his age.
I wish there was more they could do. Periodically there are news stories about some possible new breakthrough but nothing ever seems to pan out.
no subject
Date: 2011-10-31 04:00 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-10-31 04:06 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-10-31 04:12 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-10-31 04:24 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-10-31 04:37 pm (UTC)As for not talking about things until they are over, that deprives you of whatever emotional outlet and support you might get here, but it doesn't seem notably weird from the outside.
P.
Condolences
Date: 2011-10-31 04:42 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-10-31 04:43 pm (UTC)Heartfelt sympathies.
no subject
Date: 2011-10-31 04:45 pm (UTC)I'm sorry.
no subject
Date: 2011-10-31 05:01 pm (UTC)I'm so sorry for your family's loss.
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Date: 2011-11-08 05:18 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-10-31 05:08 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-10-31 06:25 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-11-08 05:19 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-10-31 06:45 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-10-31 07:34 pm (UTC)Yes, Alzheimer's sucks.
no subject
Date: 2011-10-31 10:26 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-10-31 11:47 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-11-01 05:28 am (UTC)My sympathies on your loss, and I hope he goes well to ... Whatever.
no subject
Date: 2011-11-08 05:22 pm (UTC)The most horrifying "unstuck in time" situation I've read about ... apparently there are nursing homes in Israel filled with death camp survivors with dementia. Can you imagine being a nurse at one of those? That has got to be one of the most stressful jobs on earth.
no subject
Date: 2011-11-01 04:14 pm (UTC)Dementia of all kinds (most of my personal experience is with late-stage Parkinson disease, vascular dementia, and brain tumours) is absolutely bloody awful.
no subject
Date: 2011-11-01 05:54 pm (UTC)My grandmother had Alzheimer's, and my great-grandmother (not a blood relation, though) had a series of debiliting small strokes. And my father's memory is going.
no subject
Date: 2011-11-02 06:26 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-11-03 04:38 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-11-13 01:40 am (UTC)My FIL is 89.