One of these days I’m going to get used to my husband’s new reality. Every time I go visit, he seems worse to me. Which he probably is since his disease is degenerative.
What’s not cool about all of this is me going to the nursing home thinking I’ll see him and he’ll be himself, because himself has left. He’s only part there now. So every time I go I set myself up for big disappointment.
My son has suggested I visit him only once a week and I think I’ll have to take him up on that. I feel guilty not being there ALL the time, but I can’t do it. I had to finally come to terms with the fact that there is only so much me and I couldn’t take care of him at home. And now I need to let go even more.
Last week he thought I was his mother. This is pretty comical if it wasn’t so god-awful sad. My mother-in-law and I had an equal appreciation of each other. We didn’t. Appreciate each other, that is. The first time I met her, she asked me what kind of tramp I was to get engaged to a man without meeting his family. Say that with a heavy Russian-sounding accent and you have the gist of it. That was the high point in our relationship. My husband, in his healthy sane self, would have never confused me with his mother. Or if he did he would do it and then run at about 100 miles an hour to get away from me.
Today he was having trouble walking even with the walker. When I got there, he was trying to eat ice cream with his finger. I fed him his ice cream with a spoon. It seems that he can’t get the co-ordination to use utensils. I finally got him back to his room where we spent about half an hour trying to figure out how to get into bed. The minute he was in the bed with his feet up, he went to sleep. His eyes shut a few times and he’d try to keep them open and then finally – snooze. He had a nice deep sleep while I knit just a little.
I hope they find a cure for this awful disease soon – Parkinson’s and cortical basal degeneration or both or whatever. I know he’s past the point where any cure would help him in this lifetime. The poor fella. I can’t say that ours was a marriage made in heaven, but he has been there annoying me for a good long time.
Wednesday is his 75th birthday. I’m going to get him McDonald’s and take it for lunch. It’s not a big celebration, but he’ll enjoy it. I’m not sure at all that he’ll be here for the next birthday.