Pusskin's Blog

[Pusskins]

Hello all,

I decided I would start a blog rather than have a variety of posts scattered hither and yon.

Today's visit went well. Although I had been prepared to stay longer, my beloved nodded off after lunch so I decided to steal away. I hated doing that, but felt it would be easier on both of us. Had I waited until he woke and then told him I had to leave, I could only see pain and heartache for both of us. I drove home with a heavy heart wishing I could live closer and see him more frequently. I finally managed to get his CD player going today and put on one of his favourite rock and roll CDs. It didn't have quite the desired effect I'd hoped for, but at one stage he did actually start to respond in only his inimitable way and he held me close and we danced briefly. He was quite alert today and semi-lucid at times. When I arrived, I found him in a side room, having his hair cut. His first words to me were: You're beautiful! I am so lucky he still knows me, and I treasure these moments, because I know it's not going to last. I HATE THIS DISEASE!

 

[Izzy]

How poignant, @Pusskins. Moments to treasure there amongst the sadness.

 

[Pusskins]

Now I am seriously worried. Tonight I was Googling a cure for dementia and came across an item about one type of dementia that's curable. It's known as autoimmune dementia and can be easily missed. I have no idea if John was tested for this or even if testing for it is available in NZ. I have never been 100% convinced that his diagnosis of vascular dementia was correct as the report of the scan was rather vague with nothing obvious showing in his brain scan.

 

[margherita]

Hi @Pusskins ,
I have read that the window of reversibility is 6 - 12 months from the first diagnosis , which means this sort of dementia can be cured only at a very early stage.
Please, don't torment yourself with questions which either don't have answers or, if they have, are now pointless.
You can still share good moments with your husband. Please, focus your attention on them, enjoy and treasure them.

 

[Sarasa]

Hi @Pusskins, my mother also has vascular dementia. The brain scan showed nothing obvious apart from 'normal' age related changes to her brain. Her behaviour by then was far from 'normal' and I think the diagnosis of vascular dementia was as good as any.
I know that after something happens we wished we'd picked up on earlier signs that something was amiss. My mother was always complaining about her eyesight, but as she complained in the same sentence as complaining about her favourite mike not being in the supermarket, I didn't take her grumbles seriously. Then she was diagnosed with macular dementia, rather too late for any treatment to make a great difference. I now wished I'd paid attention a few years earlier and got her eyes properly checked out. However it is likely that even if I had the outcome would have been very similar.
Please don't beat yourself up about maybes.

 

[Woo2]

I’m glad you had a good visit , the brief dance sounds very touching . think you made the right decision to slip away while he was sleeping , seems the kindest way. Take care of yourself .

 

[canary]

It sounded like a good visit. Treasure the time that you still have and dont worry about the future.

Please dont google dementia cures - you will end up falling down the rabbit hole that is fake news.

 

[jennifer1967]

dr google is the worst place to go to as you can make anything sound like its the solution. remember the good times like dancing with your husband. little moments to treasure. if not you will miss the special moments

 

[Pusskins]

The old saying: You don't know what you've got til it's gone, is so true. In a couple of months we will have been married for 47 years and together for 49, but my heart aches because I think that over the last few years we just got used to each other and perhaps I took him for granted a little. Now that he's not here, I'd move heaven and earth to have him back here with me. We are still close on the days I visit, but nothing's ever going to be the same again and there's nothing I can do about it.