Rosalee from Nebraska

After much concern over my husband Tom’s behavior changes and memory difficulties, I took him to the chief of psychiatry in a medical center for a work-up. Perhaps it was because I was a nurse, or maybe because this physician had difficulties discussing a diagnosis of Alzheimer’s, but, he called me at work and said, “We have the CAT scans of your husband’s brain and they look like those of the brain of a 75 year old man.” I was stunned. My husband was in his mid-fifties. I stifled my urge to burst out screaming and crying. I asked for an appointment to discuss this further. I felt like my dreams about all the things we would do together in our retirement suddenly vanished.
I had to be the bread-winner at that point, so I became more of a care manager. For awhile Tom was still safe to be at home alone and to drive. He could shop and fix a meal if I wrote everything down. He was a very social person, so I tried day care. He enjoyed it, but it was sometimes difficult to pick him up before it closed. When I was told that he should no longer be driving, I was able to get men from the Eastern Nebraska Office on Aging Senior Employment Program. I checked references and did a check on their driving records. I put a “Club” on Tom’s car, so he couldn’t drive it. I gave the men keys to the “Club,” but he had to give them keys to his car. He loved to go to the parks, especially ones where there was a lake. They would drive him to the park, take him to lunch, watch TV, generally keep him involved in activities and provide some companionship for him. When I had to go to out of town meetings, there were some respite rooms at what is now totally Hospice House. I had the men still pick him up during the day, and take him out for a ride or provide some activities, and I organized friends who would go in of an evening, play cards and visit with him, or take him out for ice cream.
Things finally reached the point where he had to go to a special memory care unit in assisted living. I was retired by then, so I tried to go every day, take him for a ride, or bring him home for awhile. I always brought him home for family dinners. He battled the disease for more than 20 years, but he never lost his sense of humor, and he remained affectionate and appreciative, which made it much easier to give him care. On one of the times I was taking him back from a trip to the park, he threw a pulmonary embolism, and died 11days later.