Tonight's picture was taken in February of 2009. Mattie was home between treatments and as you can see our living room was packed to the gills. The floor had Mattie's Christmas tree set up. Mattie received this tree as a gift from the hospital. Around the tree were train tracks and a Lego village. Then all of Mattie's Valentine's day cards, that he received from classmates, were in Ziplocs and shoe boxes. Of course around the perimeter of every room in our home were items gifted to Mattie from friends and the hospital. We literally looked like a warehouse not a home. I remember those days so well and after Mattie died, I literally left everything like it was for years. I just had no energy to address any of the piles and chaos.
Quote of the day: Everything you do has an impact. Who you are – that you are – actually matters. In an interconnected world (the only kind we have), our actions and the actions of others are inextricably linked- we are always and forever in a dance of mutual influence with those with whom we directly and indirectly participate. It is the unavoidable reality of being social creatures, only magnified by an ever-increasingly complex and interwoven societal structure. We matter to each other. ~ Paul Greiner
My dad started with another round of pooping in the shower this morning. This is becoming a more regular occurrence rather than a rare occurrence with my dad. Ironically before I take him into the shower each morning, I have him go to the bathroom. He literally had a bowel movement before putting him in the shower. But that did not matter. My dad's memory span is about 30 seconds. After which, the slate is wiped clean. In fact if we ask him today about pooping in the shower, he has NO IDEA what we are talking about. In his perspective, he never poops in the shower.
I can see why caregivers of people with dementia could potentially land up yelling at them. One could become easily overwhelmed by the behaviors and the non-stop asking of the same question over and over. I am smart enough to know that my dad has no control of his bowel movements, but that doesn't mean I enjoy the process or the clean up. In fact it is sickening.
After this morning's ordeal and the usual routine, I got my dad in his reclining chair and I hopped on a thirty minute conference call with a potential corporate sponsor for the Foundation. How I go from cleaning the shower and doing caregiver tasks, to sounding somewhat normal is beyond me. It is a feat of great proportion.
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