Are We Having Fun Yet?

The answer is absolutely NO! I am not having fun. I am not enjoying this one bit.

I started touring memory care facilities this week. I don’t know how long it will take me to get the money in order and to find a place – turns out there’s a waiting list at most of the facilities – but we’re doing this as soon as possible. Moving M into full-time care.

Should I have done it long before now? Probably. Am I dreading it with every fiber of my being? Yes. No doubt about it.

The main impetus for this is how scared he is with the least change in his day and schedule. He – and all dementia patients – need routine. A schedule that stays the same every single day.

And I can’t do that with the life we live. Unfortunately, on the weekends, I stay home from work and the memory care daycare he attends is closed. And that creates all kinds of problems for him.

This past weekend, he was so angry with me because he KNEW that they were expecting him at “work” and I wouldn’t take him there. I tried everything I could to get him off the idea of going to the center.

We had a great afternoon on Saturday – we went to get our nails done . . . his toenails really needed to be cut, so I decided to take him to the salon where I get my fingernails done and ask for him to have a pedicure. He enjoyed it and I could pay them to do it.

Afterward, we got ice cream and he was happy as a clam, eating in the car and listening to the radio. But the minute we walked back into the house, he started RAGING at me that he needed to be at work.

Which is why we drove to the memory care center at 7 pm on Saturday night. Then he could see for himself that it was closed and no one was there. Of course, the whole drive back, he was crying and apologizing for the way he had acted.

I had sworn I was never going to take him to the grocery store again, but on Sunday, I felt bad for him being stuck in the house, so I asked if he wanted to go with me.

What a mistake.

As I was trying to self-check out my purchases, he was shouting that I hadn’t bought anything for him – 95% of everything in the cart was for him – and then proceeded to tell the man in line behind us that I didn’t know what the f*ck I was doing.

He’s a charmer, that one.

So, I know this move has to happen. But I wish I didn’t have to do it. I’ve seen two properties this week and I’ll see three more before I finally sit down and make a decision.

Then, as we’re getting ready for our day this morning, and he’s shouting at me that he’s NOT going to work and he doesn’t know what kind of trick I’m trying to play on him (by pouring cereal in a bowl and then putting milk on it, because he had just said, “why won’t you help me?”) he said, “I know you’re trying to put me some place and I’m not going to go.”

Are you kidding me?

I haven’t made any of the phone calls about the tour appointments from the house. I haven’t brought any of the paperwork home. I haven’t discussed it when he’s awake and when I do talk to our Younger Son about it, it’s only in the vaguest terms.

He can’t figure out how to put his shoes and socks on, but he can figure THAT out. I’ll never understand this disease.