The Descent into Hell (probably not yet)

I’ve resisted for a long time putting Bob onto any anti-depressants (our doctor recently suggested he thought it was time) even though I’ve been on the lowest dose of Prozac since my gyno treated me for hot flashes and then, after the diagnosis of AzD, we decided I should stay on it.
I tried going off last summer, thinking I didn’t need it. Within a week I was short tempered, irritable and rushed; you can only imagine the kind of reaction that provoked in dh.
The one steadfast rule of Alzheimer’s is that the emotion you project is the one you get back. Maybe that fact is why I’ve started watching the Dog Whisperer -- to get some training.
Of late, Bob’s been a bit depressed, definitely more frustrated, and irritable. He gets angry at me. He doesn’t hear well, asks me to repeat, and when I do so with a raised voice, he puts his fingers in his ears.

Today in complete frustration, I slammed the front door after he’d stepped out on the porch. Despite the fact that the storm door was closed between us, he decided that I slammed on purpose with the intent of damaging his hearing.

Remember: logic has no place in this world.

Eventually, I went off and walked on my own. When I returned, we tried to wrestle through this, but he felt hated and wronged.

The most horrible thing about this disease is that the caregiver really does have it too. S/he doesn’t get the same compassion or understanding. For sure her “patient” never understands the depths and lengths of emotional control and personal loss required and experienced.

Today Bob told me that he has been naïve and he now accepts the general view among his group of men friends about their caregiver wives: “They’re trying to have some little fun thing. They’ve got the power.” An exact quote: I wrote it down the minute after he said it.

What an incredibly cruel disease. Either I need more drugs or he does.