Sunday, July 18, 2010

Activities of Daily Living, they're called

Sometimes daily activities are just too difficult. I awakened this morning to my husband’s call of “Where are you?’” I was in bed where I’d been all night. He wanted to know who the other “people” in the house were. No one.

Later we spent time trying to help him remember an old friend from college whom his sister had mentioned in a phone call yesterday – no luck.

We spent more time discussing why I was desired by many men and how that made him worry. I reminded him that most of my good male friends were either married or gay and he replied, “Oh yeah. That’s a good thing for me to remember.”

I suggested a walk. As we circled our cul-de-sac, he started right down our neighbor’s drive way – he tends to walk about 10 feet behind me; fortunately I keep looking over my shoulder to check on him or I would have lost him in the yard next door. I sped after him. He didn’t want to come back up to the street but finally agreed.

The walk went fairly well for a sweaty July day.

Back home I asked if he’d like to shower; he said yes and went to the great room. I suggested he come upstairs. He said he wanted to “wash.” I let him sit there for a few minutes and then came back and said “Come on upstairs.” He said ok and started to take off his socks and shoes. Next he stood up, holding his socks, and walked into the kitchen. He was so disoriented. I picked up his shoes and led him to the shower.
Sometimes daily activities are just too difficult.

Saturday, July 3, 2010

Walking alone

This morning we drove down to Faust Park for our walk. I helped Bob out of the car and was trying to get him to see the building that houses a beautiful working carousel and where our oldest daughter and her husband had their wedding party.

Boom! I'm not watching where I'm going, trip over one of those cement parking dividers, and hit the ground hard. I felt a crunch in my right shoulder and side; for a minute I waited thinking I might have broken something. Fortunately I didn't; I don't think. I might have bruised one of those top ribs. No biggie; I'll be fine.

Funny / pathetic part of it? As I'm lying on the ground and trying to get up, feeling some pain and panic, Bob is standing above me looking all around toward the sky; he's still trying to see the building. "Bob, could you give me your hand?" He does, but it's like a wimp hand -- a hand to hold, not to lift; a fly wouldn't be helped.

By this time a young man (well, maybe 30) who'd been helping his wife get their little kid into a hiking harness comes running over and helps me up. "Are you ok?" Yes. "Are you sure? That was a hard fall." Thanks. I really am fine. I reassure him and he goes back to his family.

Meanwhile Bob is standing there trying to figure out what's going on. "Did I hear someone say 'Bob'?"
I told him there were lots of people around and we should have our walk.