For the long and painful process of being angels: Gratitude for family caregivers

As a 75-year-old mother living alone in Boca Raton, Florida, and with my son, a computer research scientist, living in Olympia, Washington, I found it eye-opening to read "More Men Take the Lead Role in Caring for Elderly Parents" [in the New York Times].

Although I am physically fit with no major medical problems, the time will come when I need help.

But men caring for their elderly parents does not necessarily begin when debilitation sets in. My son has been my sole financial caregiver, when I have needed it, for more than 15 years, and if and when I have physical needs, I would guess he'd be there for me then also.

But it was only after reading Peter Nicholson’s perspective in the article that I realized what my son may go through: "As a teacher, he could measure his contribution by the students' progress. But with his mother, he can only watch her decline." And, "there is the lingering sense that whatever they do is not enough."

Perhaps mothers and fathers, before they grow into senility, should write a letter to their prospective caregiver, son or daughter, expressing gratitude for whatever decisions and actions they may, or may not, in the future, take in their long and painful process of being angels.

A thank-you letter in advance might ease the torment of one's beloved offspring.

-Malka Kornblatt

Read a story about tough love by a family caregiver.

Thanks to Malka for the source, the letter she wrote to the New York Times editor, published today.

With no sarcasm at all: Medication compliance and tough love with Lewy Body

Blogger KnittingDoc’s story:
This week I had three very good days in a row. So good that I overblogged on those days. Pam even said, “You’re spending a lot of time on the computer. Why don’t you take a break?” I felt well. So well that on this past Wednesday evening I began to ponder whether I really needed to take all these ‘memory pills.’ ‘Dementia pills.’ Nothing wrong with me. I don’t think I need to take them. I could go to work again. On those days you feel poorly, kick yourself a good one and get going. It’s all in your head (oops, excuse the pun).

So I mentioned it to Pam. A good mistake, I guess. Talking about tough love! The earth shook. The dogs barked. And the wind blew. I ended up stammering, “Yes, yes. I’ll take them and no, I didn’t stop taking them. I swear to God with both hands on the Bible.” Caregivers……..tough love does work! My red face grin.

Later that evening, Chad said goodnight to which I responded, “I hope you don’t die tonight.” In my heart, I was trying and meaning to say, “OK. You have a good night and sleep well.” I walked into the bedroom. Again the earth shook. Pam told me how inappropriate my comment to Chad was. I wasn’t sure what she was talking about.

Evidence of lacking good judgment twice within hours of each other. Before going to bed, she said, “You really did stop your medicine, didn’t you?” I had to convince her that I didn’t. Whether it was poor judgment, word or phrase finding difficulty or just plain not thinking, it wasn’t the real David. Pam reminded me of my past couple of years and the symptoms I’ve shown. She reminded me of my abnormal SPECT scan.

And then the next morning — Thursday. I awakened having slept poorly. I was in a fog and feeling fuzzy. My gait was a little stiff and slow. Good morning, Lewy Body Dementia. I see you’re back. Reality smacked me in the face! With no sarcasm at all, Pam said, “Do you still want to go off the Namenda and Aricept?” I had no retort……..

-David

Advice to spouses and people with Lewy Body Dementia: Be gentle with each other – and use tough love as indicated.

Read another story about a physician suffering from Lewy Body Dementia.

Thanks to Dr. David Thomas for his insight, openness and humor in the source story in his blog post, “Swallow This! Bittersweet Memory Pills.”

He squandered his trust fund: Recovery oasis for heroin users

Whitney Tower, 56, a scion of the Whitney, Vanderbilt and Drexel fortunes, squandered his trust fund and sold family treasures to support a $1,000 a day heroin habit before landing in a tough-love facility near Delray Beach, Florida seven years ago and never leaving. "If I went back to New York I'd be dead in two weeks," he said.

Whitney favors linen suits and drops the names of the fast crowd he once ran with.

But now, after three decades in and out of treatment, his social life these days is dinner at home with sober friends who have settled in Delray Beach in what experts consider the recovery capital of America. He is studying addiction counseling, and he works as an unpaid intern at a local drug treatment center.

Advice: Consider working as a volunteer, like Whitney, to help others with your condition.

Read one of our thyroid story, or read more from the source article by Jane Gross in the Nov. 16 issue of the New York Times.