Shipwreck

Keith has moved into residential care. His lovely room and kindly carers mean nothing to him. It was a complete waste of time setting the room up with things he loves. They are irrelevant to him just now. The only, and absolute issue for him is that he is imprisoned, alone. He is separated from me, the person to whom he turns one hundred times a day, the person who, until now, has not let him down. He is devastated and confused by his confinement. His whole inner self is lost, a sinking ship. Every time I visit he has tied his clothes in a bundle, ready to be taken home. Every time we return from an outing, the staff have undone the bundle and put all his clothes back again.

He pleads with me to rescue him. It is the most heart-wrenching experience of my life, refusing his pleas and convincing him to stay put.

In his first three days, he ran away twice, climbing over the facility’s outer fence. Both times, he found his way back home. I am amazed at his capacity. He barely knows his name, let alone his address. Normally, he is lost within a few hundred metres of home, by foot or by car. And yet he has navigated back home from three kilometres away. Some homing instinct deep in his brain must be directing him. As a result of this instinct, the doors of the facility that open freely to the “secure” garden are now locked. The capsule is sealed. Yesterday he did not escape. Fingers crossed for today.

On the third day, the doctor placed him on a low dose of anti-anxiety medication, but I have not noticed any difference yet. In the next few days his psycho-geriatrician will review his medications. Perhaps some variation will help. But there is no medication for grief. I can scarcely endure my own grief and yet I must put it aside to comfort him. Alzheimer’s disease has stolen his mental and spiritual capacities. He has no means to modulate his pain. No explanation makes sense. No comfort warms him.

Experts at the facility and on the dementia behaviour helpline all say not to take him back home, but to persevere through the pain. This packing up to go home, this frightful grief and fear is common, they say. It will settle down over time, they say, in weeks or over a couple of months. Try not to take him out so much, they say, but spend time making positive experiences for him at the facility.

Meanwhile, even his good friend sleep is failing him. He dreams I have gone away and gotten lost. He gets up in the middle of the night and wanders around looking for me. He worries about his cruel wife. Yet again, I am completely undone. His distress is my punishment for preferencing my own life over his. I see now that part of me must go down with the ship. I want to stay afloat, but the sinking ship creates an inescapable whirlpool.  Time to take a deep breath.