Journal: The Dementia Monster (2014-08-06 05:18:31, Wed.)

Journal: The Dementia Monster (2014-08-06 05:18:31, Wed.)

A HEARTBREAKER

Look at the time. It's 5:18 a.m. as I start this journal entry and blog post.  Why am I up at this dark, nonexistent sun, hour? B, my husband, has to go in to work early. So, we needed to get up early. Usually, it's 615 to 630 when we get up and start our day. The truth is, if we would start every day at this time, I would love it. I am an early bird and love mornings. But, this morning is a tough one.

Why? Dementia is a monster. That's why. I don't know if you've had anyone in your family suffer from Dementia or Alzheimer's, but I can tell you this. It's tough and is a monster. My Nana died from it. It's sad to watch a strong, stubborn, full of life, determined woman die in such a terrible, slow fashion. What a monster dementia is and it reaches out its tentacles and grabs hold of everyone nearby. What a heartbreaker.

Well, now someone else close to me has dementia as well--and they live under our roof. It's Zack our 14.5 year old beagle, whom I've had since he was ten weeks old. 

It started about nine months ago or so. They call it Canine Cognitive Disorder. It's a lot like it is in humans... except they can't speak in human. They sure speak in canine and let you know what's going on, though. They have their good days, bad days, good moments, and bad moments. 

How it started was like it continues. First, he has a startle reflex, then he bolts. Then, the shaking begins. And, he forgets who he is, who we are, and all of his commands. He's anxious. He's scared, confused, and doesn't know what to do. 

B and I pet him, talk to him, try to soothe him, and hang out with him as he goes through it. Sometimes it's the middle of the night. Sometimes it's the middle of the day. There is no rhyme or reason. The sofa is his happy place. Most of the time, if we move to the sofa, he calms down. He might be in inconsolable up until then. Then, the moment we sit on the sofa, all is right with the world, or at least, safe. He calms. Thank the Lord.

It's been very few times this doesn't even work, so we have to put him on the floor and let him run it out, so to speak. He bolts, dashes, and runs in those times. We try to talk to him and pet him, but he has no idea who we are and it scares him. Eventually, he comes back (his mind does) or he tries himself out and settles. 

The one thing I have to remember and remind myself over and over, his dementia is like a lightning storm. If I remain calm, he will be as well. So, I breathe and pray, as my heart breaks and as I want to cry. I am calm for him and push all that back until I can curl up with my journal and journal it out and throw up on paper, as I call it. 

Yep. Dementia is a monster. Its tentacles wraps itself around the victim and everyone else who is near. Those tentacles squeeze the heart and make you wonder... Why God? But, as you ask that question, you know just like you are comforting the one who is demented, he is doing the same and is comforting you as well. Why God turns to thank God, be my strength and infuse me with Yours.

(Image credit: Stacy Duplease and Remembering Your Present, LLC 2014.)