Going Downhill, Picking Up Speed

It started about a month ago when I had to go TDY.  While I was away, my son Mark was looking after her.  One day she fell and hit her head on one of our bookcases.  To be safe, Mark took her to the ER to have her looked at.  She fell because she was dehydrated.  Upon my return, I informed everyone at work that I’m off the road for the foreseeable future.  They all understand.

I have been planning for Carol to be admitted to a mental care facility.  I found one in Navarre, which is a little over twenty miles west of here.  Now I’ve had to kick those plans into overdrive. For the past several days, Carol has been very agitated. She has been screaming at the mirror in our bathroom. Apparently the people that only she could see have been saying bad things about her, and it's been making her very upset. She wakes up early in the morning, takes a plastic hanger and start beating on the mirror, trying to get rid of her hallucinations. And since she's been very upset, she has been getting violent. Just this past week, she has punched me, she has kicked me, and she also threw an orange at me (luckily she missed).  

Today she attacked me again and I reached the end of my tether. After speaking with my sister-in-law, I called 911 to get her out of the house and to get a psych eval. The two sheriff's deputies took her to the local hospital where she was evaluated. After 4 hours, the doctor told me that she didn't meet the criteria for a 72-hour hold. Not only did the hospital not hold Carol overnight, they gave me a prescription for a sedative. I asked them “how can I give her new meds when I can barely get her to take for meds she is already prescribed?”  It looks like I will be feeding her ice cream to give her pills.

Tomorrow I will go to Navarre to make the final arrangements with the mental care facility.  Last Tuesday I contacted Carol's neurologist about getting a doctor's order to commit her. When I send them an email, they say it will take two days for them to get back to me. They never got back to me. After I have taken care of the arrangements for the mental care facility, I will be giving Carol's doctor a phone call instead of an email and I will tell him how disappointed I am their lack of assistance in this matter. They blew me off and I am not happy about it. Once I have secured carols place at the facility, I need to shop for a bed and an end table to furnish her room.

Wish me good luck because I'm going to need it.  I have done as much as I can with her at home.  It's time for the professionals to do what they can for her.

Four More Months

Here we are, four months after I last wrote in these pages.  Four more months of trying to do what is best for Carol.  Four more months of teleworking.  Four more months of trying to stay sane.  Four more months of keeping our cats alive.  Four more months of frustration.  Four more months of fatigue.  Four more months of telling her not to turn on every light in the house because electricity isn’t free.  Four more months of telling her to keep the cats inside because they’ve been indoor cats all their lives.  Four more months of getting her to take her pills, sometimes successfully.  Four more months of imaginary people outside.  Four more months of her having conversations with the mirror.  Four more months of “put your seatbelt on.”  Four more months of keeping the front door closed.  Four more months of worrying about whether she'll fall down the stairs.  Four more months of emptying the half-full soda cans.  Four more months of saying "finish that before you open another one." Four more months of disappearing toilet paper.  Four more months of telling her "those towels are for drying off after showering, not cat blankets."  Four more months of telling her “that’s your son Greg upstairs.”  Four more months of “your mother isn’t dead, she’s fine.”  Four more months of trying to get to the mail first so she doesn’t hide it.  Four more months of telling her how to use a telephone and then getting bitched at when I do.  Four more months of “you need to see your doctor.”  Four more months of rescheduling doctor’s visits because she won’t go.  Four more months of "I'm fine" when I am probably anything but "fine."  Four more months of wondering "will this be the day she snaps?"  Four more months of being “the warden.”  Four more months of doing damn near everything.  Four more months of being wrong no matter what I do.

I have to keep telling myself “this is what you signed up for – for better or worse, in sickness and in health”…

The Colorado Trip

After we visited Carol’s sister and her family in Wisconsin last Thanksgiving, we all said the next trip was going to be to see Carol’s folks in Fort Collins, Colorado.  It was going to be awhile because I used up what little vacation time I had taking Carol to various doctor’s appointments.  I earn eight hours of personal time every pay period.  Then COVID hit. Nobody was going anywhere for a while.  As every month passed, Carol would get antsy about going.  “Can we go now? I want to see my parents!”  I had to keep telling her month after month that Colorado’s governor had the state locked down tight.  Finally, in August we thought we had our first opportunity.  But the in-laws were feeling a bit puny and told us to wait.  We waited a couple more months, then Carol had another fainting spell.  She didn’t break anything [a big relief].  I texted her dad that I want to get Carol to Colorado while she can still remember her parents.   They said “come on out”.

The first couple of days of driving went almost without incident.  The first night, we stopped in Terrell, Texas.  Greg would have been jealous because there was a Buc-ee’s truck stop across the street from the hotel [Greg LOVES Buc-ee’s].  The second day’s driving had one foul-up, and it was my fault.  The plan was to drive north through the Texas Panhandle, then take US-287 northwest from Dumas, Texas through a small corner of New Mexico, link up with I-25 north and cross into Colorado where we would spend the night in Trinidad.  The only problem is I missed the turn to US-287 and kept going north.  I wondered why we hadn’t passed Dalhart, Texas, but soon I was greeted with a “Welcome to Oklahoma” sign.  Oklahoma? WTF?  It turns out I kept going north on US-87 instead of US-287.  Moral to the story – don’t rely on your memory to navigate.  I backtracked toward Dumas, found a shortcut to Dalhart and got back on track.  We crossed Raton Pass without incident.  We were in for a bit of a shock when we got there.  Earlier in the day, it was 91˚ F in the Texas Panhandle. When we rolled into Trinidad, Colorado a couple of hours later, it was 59˚ and dropping.  This was the first bit of “foreshadowing” for our trip.  The next bit of foreshadowing came the next day.

We woke up thinking the drive northward to Fort Collins was going to be a piece of cake.  Mother Nature had other ideas.  Our first shock came as we were getting ready to leave.  It was 26˚ outside, and ice was covering my car.  Thirty minutes later [after I chipped the ice off my car], we headed north on I-25.  No sooner do we get on the freeway than we were greeted with a sign – “Road Closed 30 Miles Ahead – Find Alternate Route”.  This became the unintended theme of the road trip, but more on that later.  We had passed a sign that pointed us to La Junta, which is 60 miles east of Pueblo in the part of Colorado I call “occupied Kansas.” I had joked to Carol “want to go to La Junta?”  Ten minutes later, the joke was on us – we were going to La Junta, like it or not.  At least the road was clear, and I found a route that took us to Rocky Ford [where they grow the good cantaloupes]. US-50 took us back west to Pueblo, and in so doing right by my old high school, Pueblo County.  Thirty-nine years after graduating from there and it’s still as unimpressive as it’s always been.

We finally made it to Fort Collins a couple of hours before dinner.  There was an enormous forest fire to the west in the mountains, so everything was a bit hazy.  Carol’s folks live in a retirement community.  It’s more like a retirement condo since it’s all one building.  Lisa and Josh made it from Wisconsin the previous night, so they were already there when we arrived.  Carol’s aunt Sandy came up from New Mexico.  It was good to see them.  I wasn’t sure what to expect from my mother-in-law because she had said some harsh things to me on Facebook about Carol’s condition and whether I was doing enough for her.  There was a bit of tension when we walked in [at least I felt it – I can’t speak for her].  After the usual catching up on family things [mostly, who died], then came the usual parade of photo albums.  Carol recognized most of them.  She didn’t seem to have a problem with them.

Two days later, we got another shock – a foot of snow.  We were told to expect some snow on this trip, nut we were surprised at the amount.  Usually when it snows, it’s gone by the next day because it’s so dry.  Not so this time.  It got cold, it stayed cold.  And because the temperature stayed cold, so did the snow.  The conditions made for tough driving.  Luckily, I remembered how to drive in snow, and I think my Florida license plate scared off everyone around me. 😊  The snow and the cold resulted in us being cooped up inside.  We didn’t go anyplace except to venture out for take-out.

On our drive to Colorado, we saw numerous signs on the highway that announced "silver alerts". The definition of a silver alert is when a person aged 65 or older with dementia or Alzheimer's disease is reported missing and believed to be in peril. Carol just turned 60, but she fits the definition.  One fear I had while we were traveling was that Carol might wander off while my attention was elsewhere (bathroom break, shower, sleeping). I asked her not to go anywhere without me because I was afraid that she would get lost. On the first morning (Saturday) we were in Colorado, she tried wandering off while I was using the restroom. I caught her in the hallway before she got too far and explained why I didn't want her to be alone. She said she understood, but it went in one ear and out the other.  It happened again Sunday morning while I was showering. I got out of the shower and noticed the room door hadn't closed completely. I got dressed and looked all over our floor - no Carol.  Where to start then? Earlier in the morning we ran out of toilet paper. She was target-fixated on getting more. I headed for the front desk, thinking she might be there. I lucked out - she was there, asking for toilet paper. I was happy to have found her, but my nerves were shot in the process. Am I overreacting?

After that bit of trauma [mine, not hers], everything seemed to click after that.  On Sunday we got almost a foot of snow. The good thing is that I didn't have to drive far in the snow. The six of us [my sister-in-law Lisa and her husband Josh, Carol's mom & dad, the two of us] just sat inside and yapped about anything and everything.  There was a Packers game on [Josh was happy], then a Broncos game [the Chiefs crushed them], and no sound on the TV [it's broken]. It was 12 degrees outside - a good day to do nothing.  Josh and I spent a lot of time doing nothing while Carol’s folks brought out photo album after photo album.  Carol got a great surprise on Monday when her high school friend Anita paid a visit. She brought tea and croissants, and pictures from "back in the day". When they were discussing memories, Carol's memory was there - she remembered it all.  She can’t remember what her sister looks like, and she can’t remember my name, but she can remember the good old days.

Tuesday came, which meant Lisa and Josh had to drive back to Wisconsin so they could go back to work.  We were going to leave the same day, but Hurricane Zeta was supposed to be going through Louisiana the same time we were.  I haven’t driven through a hurricane, and I wasn’t about to start.  We delayed our departure by a day.  The good news is we missed the hurricane.  The bad news is we didn’t miss a winter storm coming through New Mexico.  We managed to make it out of Colorado and back over Raton Pass without incident, but that soon changed after we got off I-25.  We headed back towards Texas the way we came when we came upon a New Mexico State Patrolman.  He told us the road was closed because of the snow.  When we told him we were headed for Amarillo, he told us our best bet was to get back on I-25, drive down to Las Vegas, then take a shortcut to I-40.  We made it to Las Vegas and found our shortcut, but things got dicey from there.  As we traversed the “shortcut” it was obvious the snow plows hadn’t done much.  Then Carol began to sigh…loudly. When she does this, it means she’s anxious.  This was after only a couple of miles.  After eighteen more miles, then I became anxious.  I turned around and headed back to Las Vegas, abandoning our “shortcut”.  We got back to I-25 and headed south, hoping we’d intersect I-40 somewhere.  It turns out the “somewhere” was Albuquerque.  Instead of a shortcut, we added more than 300 miles to our trip.  The road was snowy, icy, and gave me a lot of stress.  I thought we might make it to Tucumcari, but because the road was crappy we opted to stop at Santa Rosa.  It was a good thing we stopped because traffic had backed up from the Texas state line.  I was exhausted and in no mood to fight any traffic.  We were both very glad to find a hotel.

The next day our destination was 30 miles northwest of Fort Worth, near Denton.  It was a long slog to get there – not because of the distance, but because of all the road construction, 18-wheeler accidents, and generally shitty traffic.  We experienced numerous delays, making a two-hour trip to Amarillo three-plus hours.  We decided to make this our last stop and push on all the way home.  We encountered three traffic jams east of Dallas, and then four more in Louisiana on I-12.  It made for a very long driving day, but we finally made it home.  Carol enjoyed her short visit with her folks very much.  I was too tired and crabby to enjoy anything – I was just the driver.  The next time we go to Fort Collins, we’re flying, COVID be damned.  I have given both of my boys permission to hit me if I ever talk about driving there again. 

It Finally Happened

Since Carol was diagnosed with dementia, I’ve been reading bits here and there about what to expect.  One thing I read told me that people with dementia might get physical as they get upset at something.  Today is that day.  The day I had been dreading for a long time finally happened – Carol attacked me.  Well, she tried to, anyway.  Luckily, none of the punches connected.  It all began innocently enough. Today was a day off from work and I slept in.  I hadn’t planned on doing much today – maybe go to the grocery store, probably clean the toilets, do some laundry before the Colorado trip, and maybe watch a German soccer game.  Other than that, there was nothing planned for today.  That lack of a plan came literally crashing to Earth while I was streaming some music from Amazon.  I heard a thunderous crash.  I ran upstairs to see what happened. I got to the bedroom and found Carol standing there.  She was ok – she hadn’t been harmed.  That was a big relief.  A bookcase in our bedroom that contained hundreds of compact discs fell over.  Luckily it didn’t fall on top of her, and miraculously there wasn’t a cat underneath all the rubble.  CDs are just things that can be replaced.  Not so Carol and our cats.

I moved the now-empty bookcase into the closet in the adjoining extra bedroom.  I figured if I got it out of our bedroom, it won’t mysteriously fall over and again and maybe hurt somebody.  As I trudged back and forth between our bedroom and the empty bedroom with hands full of CDs, Carol planted herself in the exact wrong place – in my path, right between the two rooms.  I had asked her to go away because she wasn’t being helpful, also because I didn’t want to slip up and yell at her.  She lied down on our bed.  She was out of the way, quietly supervising my clean-up progress.  She asked me to look at “something.”  I asked her what that “something” was.  There was a whole pile of “something” on the floor and I had no idea what she meant.  Then I took another arm full of CDs and put them in their new hiding place.  When I returned to the bedroom, she was looking at a Tupperware container of paper towels.  She stashes these paper towels all over the house.  The next thing I know, she’s screaming at me to go away.  She advanced at me like she was going to hit me with both fists.  I didn’t want to get hit so I intercepted both fists before they could connect.  Then she started screaming at me to get out of the house and not come back.  I told her that pile of compact discs on the floor wasn’t going to clean itself.  I also told her since I’m paying the mortgage it’s more my house than anyone’s.  That probably wasn’t helpful, but when someone is yelling at you to leave your own house, one gets a bit defensive.

What now?  I retreated to my backroom office, fired up the A/C, and started to write this while she calms herself.  Here I will sit for now.  I just hope she calms down before she remembers where the knives are…

 

An Update...

Since the trip to the ER in June, it has been quiet around the house.  No fainting spells, no bites from hungry mice.  But it's almost too quiet.  Since this COVID nonsense broke out, I have been working from home.  That means from 8am to 5pm, I’m in the backroom, doing whatever I have to do to stay busy and productive.  While I’m in “the office”, Carol is upstairs.  I don’t know what she does up there.  I’m not sure she knows either.  Everyday around 11am I go upstairs and tell her “I hear Chick-Fil-A calling.”  Her eyes light up at the prospect of getting to leave the house, even if it’s just for a few minutes.  We go there, we get our usual chicken nuggets, and then we come back home.  I go back to my hole and she goes back to hers.  In the beginning, she used to come back to my hole and ask if she could just sit there.  In between all the mind-numbing teleconferences that that seem to be accomplishing little other than the appearance of keeping busy and doing “work,” there she was – a most welcome sight.  But lately, she stopped visiting.  She tires very easily.  She’s been going to bed around 630pm.  And there she stays until it’s time to get it up and do it all over again.  Welcome to Groundhog Day.  Wash, rinse, repeat.  She sleeps, and I’m alone with my thoughts.  That’s not a very good place to be these days.   Will her next birthday be her last?  Will our next anniversary be our last? Will I ever retire or will I work until the day I die?

What is a husband to do?  Jigsaw puzzles used to interest her, but she can’t do them anymore.  Games are out of the question.  She used to beat the snot out of me at Scrabble, but that was then.  Sometimes she’ll sit with me and watch a movie, but now she has a very short attention span so she won’t watch for very long.  When I take her to get something to eat, she wonders where we’re going.  She’s slipping away, bit by bit.  I miss the love of my life.  I am at my wit’s end to try to figure out what to do with the time we have left, however long that will be.  I could write more blog posts, but I fear that would lead to self-pity and misery. 

At the end of this month, we’ll finally get to leave this house and go to Colorado to visit her parents.  It’s been hard for them as well.  They live in a senior living facility [it’s NOT a nursing home].  The governor of Colorado has been ruling the state by decree since March.  I don’t know if it has been because he’s overly cautious, or because he likes governing without a legislature.  That’s for the citizens of Colorado to decide.  We had been trying to go out there for several months, only to be told not to come for whatever reason.  Some, not all, of those reasons have to do with the governor’s actions.  About three weeks ago, I texted my father-in-law to tell him I needed to get Carol to Colorado so she could see them while she can still remember them.  Finally, we got the green light.  We will be driving out there.  I won’t risk Carol’s health with busy airports.  But again, there’s a nagging thought – will this be the last time?

One sign of normality has crept back into our lives.  Next week I go TDY to Terre Haute, Indiana for week.  The boys and Mark’s girlfriend will look after her when they can. There are some days when they have to do some living for themselves [work, school].  In those times I’ll have someone from an organization called Home Instead look after her.  I received a visit from one of their staff today.  They hadn’t been here since January [the last time business took me away], so they just wanted an update on Carol.  How’s her health?  Good.  Are your emergency contacts still the same? Yes.  Still have the three cats? Yes.  Does she still have the same doctor? No, we have a new one.  And so, it goes – everything [I think] has been arranged.  Have I forgotten anything?

Father's Day Weekend

Father's Day weekend started out innocently enough. It's Friday afternoon, I'm in the back room (my COVID "office"), and I'm running out the clock on another work week.  Then she told me about a dehydrated mouse lying in the sun.  She put a paper towel around it and gave it some water.  Then she showed me the mouse and I put it in the shade.  I went back to the "office".  That's when the fun started…

An hour later she came to the back room and said "you're going to hate me.  The mouse bit my thumb." Right - after 36 years I don't think "hate" is in the relationship vocabulary. I called immediate care for advise what to do. The nurse told me to take her to the ER.  I told Carol "congratulations - you just bought a trip to the ER".  We were there for an hour.  Now she gets rabies shots.  We have to go to the outpatient clinic for one more shot (four shots total).  When I was a kid, I heard horror stories about rabies shots, that they were given with large gauge needles through the stomach.  Today they’re given just like flu shots.  A few days ago, after her third shot, I got a letter from the Department of Health.  They concluded there was little to no risk of rabies.  She'll get the last shot next week anyway 

Saturday was quiet. It was a day to just lie around the house.  Sunday was another matter.  I was up until 2am, as is my wont on Saturday nights.  I got up at noon, to be greeted by Carol in a lot of pain. Her face was green. That's never a good sign. The pain was on her right side.  She said maybe she banged her hip on a counter or something, but she wasn't sure.  Given where the pain was, Greg thought that maybe it was appendicitis.  So I went upstairs to shower because I didn't want to look and smell like Saturday while waiting in the ER on Sunday.  

After I was done, she said she needed to use the bathroom.  She was hurting quite a bit, so I walked with her because I didn't want her to fall.  We got to the bathroom and the pain was too much - she fainted.  I was there to keep her from hitting her head on the hard floor.  Greg was upstairs and I yelled to come help me peel her off the floor.  Oddly enough, though she hurt too much to sit, she could stand.  I knew I couldn't get her to the car.  I had Greg call the ambulance.

Sitting in the ER with Carol was a stroke (mine) waiting to happen. She had been to radiology for x-rays.  No broken hip, CT scan was ok.  Maybe she had a urinary tract infection. It took awhile to get a sample the hospital could analyze. An hour later we learn there was no urinary tract infection.  While we were waiting for all the tests to come back, Carol decided she wanted to do some housekeeping.  After I helped her put her pants back on, she decided she wanted to fold up all the sheets of her hospital bed.  All the while, she's hooked up to the machines that were monitoring her vital signs.  I had visions of her fainting again and me peeling here off the floor again.  I also thought if this happened, I wouldn't be so lucky to catch her.  She just did what she felt like doing, her husband's mental health be damned.  Luckily she didn't fall again.  After all the tests came back, the conclusion was that she had a really bad upper leg muscle cramp.  The doctor told me that incidents of bad pain can induce fainting in dementia patients.  Five hours after we arrived at the ER, we were finally able to go home. My stroke will wait for another day.

A postscript - Today we got the bill for the ambulance.  It wasn't inexpensive, but luckily I have the means to pay it.  Carol looked at the bill and asked "why are you doing this for me?" I reminded her of everything that transpired on Father's Day weekend.  She doesn't remember any of it.  I certainly do.

No Crises for April or May

There aren’t any crises to report this month.  That in itself is a positive.  Today Carol talked me into going for a walk around the neighborhood.  It’s the last day of May and it’s already in the lower nineties in Northwest Florida.  Since my profile resembles that of Buddha these days, I couldn’t turn her down.  We walked around the block and she asked me about the places where I used to live.  I told her all the places, including Pueblo.  I said that’s where we met and got married.  Every now and then I ask her “remember me? I’m the guy from the courthouse,” which usually prompts a “yeah! I remember you!”  After I told her about all the places I lived, then it was my turn.  She remembered coming from Lamar, Colorado.  Then it was out to California for a long time.  She told me about her Grandma and her kids.  “Do you remember their names – Cindy and Sandy?”  “Yeah, those were the kids.  Where are they now?” I told her.

About a week ago, she misplaced her wallet.  This concerned her because it had her driver’s license and some cash [but no credit cards this time].  It’ll turn up somewhere in the house, but I’m not going to lose my own sanity trying to find it.  I went online the other day to replace her license, but found that she was eligible to have her license renewed for a few years.  I jumped at the opportunity and filled out the renewal paperwork.  This was the proverbial blessing in disguise because last year I had to get my license renewed.  I needed either a birth certificate or a passport to prove my identity.  She doesn’t have a passport, and since she lost her memory we don’t know where her birth certificate is.  But since I could renew it online, I can take my time about getting a copy of her birth certificate from Prowers County, Colorado [Lamar].  She doesn’t drive anymore, but having a driver’s license is a big deal because it’s her only photo ID. We expect the renewed license in the mail sometime the first week of June.

She is worried about seeing her parents.  She just wants to “go home.” Carol has some idea that things aren’t normal because I’ve been home a lot.  When we visited her sister in Wisconsin last fall, we all made plans to have a family reunion in Fort Collins in June.  Those plans have since gone out the window.  Her folks live in a senior living facility.  It isn’t a nursing home, but it is a place that “the virus” would put the residents at risk.  For now, the only people allowed in the place are people who are there to clean, and people who are delivering food.  If we went there, we wouldn’t get past the front door.  She really misses her folks, but going to Colorado at this point is out of my hands.  Maybe we’ll go in July.  If not then, we’ll try August.  We’re on a month-to-month slip.  It all depends on Colorado’s governor.  I think the “family reunion” plan is gone, but we’ll still make it there sometime.  Greg and Mark are both in their twenties, so they’re cordless now.  They have their own things to do like work and college.

Lately she has taken to letting our cats outside for a few minutes at a time.  When Alex was still alive, he was our only “outdoor” cat.  He would come home to sleep sometimes, eat and read his mail [ok, maybe not the last part].  Alex passed away a few years ago, and we had to put down the next-oldest cat [Bizzell] a couple of years ago because his kidneys stopped working.  That leaves us with Blackie, Smokie, and Cleo.  They’ve been indoor cats since we fostered them ten years ago.  Her letting them outside concerns me, because sometimes large birds around here like to snatch up the smaller critters for dinner.  They don’t know what cars are, and probably wouldn’t know to move out of the way if one approaches.  They don’t know what dogs are.  We don’t have a problem with dogs on the loose here, but every now and then we’ll see a stray.  I’ve said before that I’m a dog lover who is trapped in a cathouse.  I’m allergic to cats, but Allegra allows me to tolerate their presence.  I’m fairly attached to them now.  Smokie and Cleo talk to Carol.  When they do, it sounds like they’re saying “Carol.”  Blackie is the one who talks to me.  Smokie likes to sit on her lap while she’s watching TV.  When I come to bed, he’s sleeping next to her, but then he gets off the bed when it’s bedtime for me.  I have to remind her to keep the cats inside.  When I awakened from my Sunday morning medically-induced coma this morning, I heard scratching at the front door. I knew what it was, but Carol asked me “what is that noise?”  I opened the door and showed her – it was Blackie.  She didn’t remember letting him out.

While I was watching another German soccer match, I asked Carol if she remembered my name.  The answer was “no”.  She doesn’t remember having Greg or Mark.  She’s been having trouble eating lately.  Things sound good to her, but once she starts eating, she almost stops immediately.  Anything and everything make her feel nauseous.  I asked her if she wanted anything to eat.  She said she wanted something round.  “Like a hamburger?”  “Yeah.”  It’s the same with anything to drink. We have soda, water, and Power Ade, none of which appeal to her.  She said that maybe iced tea would do the trick.  I found a jug of peach-flavored Arizona tea in the pantry and put it in the refrigerator.  Maybe that will work. 

The tree people are back.  She still talks to them, and they to her.  I’m not sure what is discussed, but for now the tree people are ok, and they’re staying outside.  Since this COVID-19 madness started, I’ve been working from home. We have a room in the back of the house where I can do work [such that it is].  The other day she came in and asked me if I was ok.  She looked very concerned, like maybe I had a heart attack or something.  I assured her I was fine.  I don’t know what prompted that.  Maybe she remembered the time I went to the ER with chest pains on 4^th of July weekend several years ago.  It was not a heart attack.  I had some bad back spasms that worked around the left side of my chest to make it feel uncomfortable.  I had the feeling at work earlier in the day and didn’t think much of it.  I felt it again while we were out having dinner.  She insisted I go to the ER, and I didn’t feel like arguing with SWMBO.  The doctors confirmed what I already knew – no heart attack.  Maybe something in her synapses triggered a memory. I don’t know.

Lately she has taken to having conversations with her reflection in the mirror.  I keep telling her that it was herself that she was taking to, but she seems convinced the person in the mirror is someone else.  I guess as long as the person in the mirror isn’t threatening her, I shouldn’t worry about it.  Strangely, she’ll keep the bathroom light on and the door closed because “somebody is in there”.  I’m tempted to get some white shoe polish [the liquid kind] and write “THIS IS NOT REAL” on the mirror.