New Vocabulary, New Experiences

     Delirium.  Haldol.  Visuospatial deficits.  Wheelchair. Handicap placard.  Frequent falls.  5-day's respite care.  These words and phrases are all becoming part of our life now.  Once again, many changes are occurring in our day-to-day life together because of the progression of disease.  Thanks to the ready-and-willing hearts and hands of our next-door friends, we have righted all the falls so far and kept Bob safe when I had to depart early in the morning and he couldn't bring himself to get dressed in time to go along.  Because of the expertise and caring of the hospice team, I have come to understand the delirium (sudden mood change) and to summon the calm I need to make a more helpful response in the moment.  Thanks to medicine, and a few adjustments over the past two weeks, Bob is much more peaceful and content again right now.  With the sturdy shoulder and gentle ways of the hospice counselor, I have been helped to imagine taking advantage of a hospice-covered 5-days of respite care at a facility in town, and will have a tour tomorrow to help my heart "picture" Bob there for that brief time.  Still to come is the handicap placard for which we applied today, and the wheelchair the hospice nurse suggests we get to make our outings a little less stressful.  (The physical therapist ruled out a walker several months ago, saying it would be hard for Bob to learn how to use it now and therefore, could actually become more of a hazard to him than a help.)  As for those "visuospatial deficits," those are problems related to not always being able to judge with his eyes where an object or his own body is in space.  And so he has some "near misses" approaching a chair, can't always find his mouth to brush his teeth or eat, can't quite get his foot into his shoe, and other befuddling (sometimes nerve-wracking) experiences.

      Amid all these new terms and experiences, there are still moments punctuated with more familiar ones--smiles, laughter, hugs, singing, and even dancing. Words have mostly escaped Bob, but not love. Nor has he lost enjoyment of the rabbit or cat or bright oriole passing through our yard. He rarely fails to point out the vivid colors of sunset over the mountains, an unusual cloud formation, or the moon rising into the night sky.  He may scowl in frustration when eating becomes a chore, but he still melts my heart with his sweet smile as he snuggles into bed and we say goodnight.  These are the moments that keep us connecting, and keep me going, even as the "going" gets tougher.