Bipolar and Lost

Writing in my blog has been a little hard in the last year.  Not due to lack of stuff to write. Simply, because not much has changed with Grandma.  I didn't really want my blog to be as repetitious as she is.  I guess you could say, I also had a bit of writer's block.

Everyone deals with dementia differently.  I have found some offended by some of my comments.  Some have offered encouragement to keep on writing and sharing my stories.  And some have laughed with me until we cried.

Last night, I decided to stay with Grandma and give dad a night off.  I found her dialing phone numbers in the kitchen.  She dialed the number, listened to the phone, sighed and then slammed the phone down.  She did this about 10 times until I finally asked what she was doing.  She was calling Grandpa.  For those that don't know, Grandpa died almost three and a half years ago.  She found his phone number in an old phone book.  She called it and called the numbers out loud to make sure she was dialing it correctly.  She then listened to the busy signal.  She dialed her number one more time and then went into a long rant.  She was hollering about how she knows he is probably on the phone or has it off the hook.  She talked about how he was making her so mad because he was behaving like a "little bitty baby."

A new thing has occurred with her in the last few months.  She has started cussing and saying the most horrible things.  She really starts in when she gets frustrated and upset.  I can't recall one time growing up where I heard her say a curse word, not even the word "hell."

I told her to not be saying bad words.  She told me to "Shut the H.... up."  I know Grandpa caused this frustration.  I am sure he is laughing in heaven at the fit she is having.  I can see him sitting with his legs crossed, holding his wrinkled, old hands together, with a twinkle in his eye, grinning from ear to ear and snickering.

After the phone incident, Grandma started to settle down a bit.  I got her teeth and hid them in the back room.  I convinced her to take off her sweater, because it was summer time.  I had to make her go to bed.

I got ready to go to bed and realized I left my medicine in the van.  So, I went and moved the twenty something chairs in front of the door.  I got my medicine and walked back into the house.  She was up and standing in the hallway when I came back.

She looked at me "Carole Anne, is that you?"
"Yes, grandma.  It is me."
"Awe, I love it when you come and spend the night."

(Remember, this is the same lady who cussed at me 15 minutes before I went outside.)

I got her back in bed and went to bed myself.  She came in several times and had to tell me the rules to stay at her house.

Rule #1:  When, not if, the robbers break in the house, don't talk and tell my silly stories.  They will leave faster if I just shut up.

Rule #2:  Turn the flash light off your face (my phone).  If they see your face then they will know you are listening.  (I can't tell my stories.  So, what else would I be doing?)

Rule #3:  If the robber touches you, don't move.  If you move, then he will think you will want you know what!

I agreed to not tell stories, turn my phone off and not move, because I am scared of whatever she thinks is you know what!

Later on in the night, I heard her rumbling around in the house.  I heard the door squeak.  She walked across the hall and hit the bathroom door with her body.  She was heading into the bathroom. She then hit my door.  I had turned my phone off and laid real quite in the bed.  THEN.....I heard her peeing.   I wasn't quite sure at first if she was in the bathroom.  Slowly, I realized she was right outside my door.

I heard her return to bed.  I decided to go investigate and verify the worse possible scenario.  I opened my door and my bare foot, in one step, verified the evidence in front of my doorway.  Evidently, all the doors mixed her up, and she got lost on the way to the bathroom.

Lost, cussing, and bipolar is where we are with dementia.  We are hanging in there and taking care of her day and night.  My daughter is covering the daytime.  Dad and I are covering the nights.  24 hours a day trying to keep up with Grandma.  This is, by far, harder than babysitting a 2 year old.