Headbanger

Today, my Dad sat me down and said that he wanted to go home. Yep. It was one of those horribly confusing conversations where I had to remind him that he had dementia and he thought he was absolutely fine. I told him that he wasn't safe at home, he said he was. He said it's OK if Mom stays here (something I will NOT share with her) but he wants to go home. He won't starve, he says, he'll walk to a nearby hot dog restaurant. (They live in the SUBURBS. I don't even think they have hot dog restaurants in the suburbs.) He said he'd use taxis to get around. (Again, he lives in the SUBURBS. Oh and he has no money.) He said if he fell again, he'd call the paramedics. (Yeah, I'm sure they don't mind picking him up once a week.)

Madness, I tell you. Complete and utter madness.

I told him that if I could do ANYTHING other than keep him here, I would. I said that I don't rip people out of their homes without a great deal of thought. (Honestly, I wanted to tell him that this wasn't my idea of a good time either, but I was trying to stay on the positive side.)

Surprisingly, I didn't cry, but I thought about it. I was calm and cool as a cucumber.

I told him that I was sorry that he didn't feel comfortable but that we were all trying our best to make this feel like his home. He said we were doing a wonderful job. But he said he feels like a "zero" even though he is doing here exactly what he'd do at home, only safer....and with less assistance from emergency squads. (Oh and probably with a few more rules and restrictions. I run a tight ship.)

It all started when a letter arrived from the Secretary of State saying that he had to send his license to them because it was revoked. He has no memory of the neurologist telling him that he can no longer drive.

I told him again that he was unsafe to be alone. He said he didn't want to talk about it.

Five minutes later, he said we should cancel his appointment with the Internist/Memory Care MD tomorrow morning. I reminded him why we were going. It seemed futile and likely was.

Ironically, this morning I filled out an assessment that the doctor sent us. One of the sheets was about behavior. I checked 8 out of 8 areas of concern. You'd think that would have convinced me. But there's often a nagging doubt.

That seems to be the thing about dementia - constant questioning. In and out of lucidity. It's like you're checking to see who you're talking to at that moment - Regular Dad or Crazy Dad.

Crazy is as crazy does.