More Clothes Than Good Sense

Took MIL out for awhile this afternoon. Just to Hobby Lobby and the park for the toddler's benefit. While in the car MIL was complaining about having too many clothes. She said she had more clothes than good sense. Immediately, she cracked a smile and said: "well, I guess that's not that many these days."

See what I mean about an intact wit? Sometimes she's so funny, for days in fact she'll be able to catch things like that. Then, all of a sudden she takes a turn for the worse and gets really paranoid, angry and confused. There's no predictability with the ups and downs of Alzheimer's, and it isn't a ride you can exit at will. 

I think that's one of the hardest things. The not knowing each morning what you'll wake up to. 

Last Tuesday when I woke and made my way to the coffee pot she was crying in the living room. Holding a cold compress round her neck. She swore she had a brain bleed, that she had had a stroke, that the eye doctor told her if she ever heard a pop and saw red to rush to the E.R., that if the doctor wasn't in she was to see the night watchman who will know just who to call. This type of self-affirming false memory is what makes this disease so darn hard to deal with. She was in a panic. There was nothing for us to do but take her to the doctor. My FIL did just that, after we both rearranged our schedules for the day. After the appointment was made, MIL was just short of jolly. It was such a strange, abrupt turn around. It's hard to remind myself that she doesn't do these things on purpose. 

The doctor confirmed to her that the  phenomenon she experienced was due to the Alzheimer's disease, and not a stroke. She, thankfully, believed him. And she's been upbeat and cheerful since then - at least with me. 

More clothes than good sense...