Caregiver Catch 22

I was trapped. I couldn't fly home and leave my mother alone with my father—she'd surely die from his inability to care for her. I couldn't get health care professionals to believe me—my father was always so sane in front of them. I couldn't get medication to calm him and even when I finally did, he refused to take it, throwing it in my face or flushing it down the toilet. I couldn't get him to accept a caregiver and even when I did—no one would put up with him very long. I couldn't place my mother in a nursing home—he'd take her out. I couldn't put him in a home—he didn't qualify. They both refused assisted living—and legally, I couldn't force them. I became a prisoner in my parents' home for nearly a year, trying to solve crisis after crisis, crying rivers daily, and infuriated with an unsympathetic medical system that wasn't helping me appropriately.

Geriatric dementia specialist makes diagnosis

You don't need a doctoral degree to know something is wrong, but you do need the right doctor who can diagnose and treat dementia properly. Finally, I stumbled upon a neurologist specialized in dementia, and under threat of living out his days at “Shady Pines,” my father finally consented to go. The doctor performed a battery of blood, neurological, memory tests, and CT/PET scans. He reviewed my parents’ medications and ruled out reversible dementias such as a B12 or thyroid deficiency. And then, you should have seen my face drop when he diagnosed stage one Alzheimer's in both of my parents—something all their other doctors missed entirely.

Trapped in old habits

What I'd been coping with was the beginning of Alzheimer’s (just one type of dementia), which begins intermittently and appears to come and go. I didn't understand that my father was addicted and trapped in his own bad behavior of a lifetime and his habit of yelling to get his way was coming out over things that were illogical . . . at times. I also didn't understand that demented does not mean dumb (a concept not widely appreciated) and that he was still socially adjusted never to show his "Hyde" side to anyone outside the family. Even with the onset of dementia, it was amazing he could still be so manipulative and crafty. On the other hand, my mother was sweet and lovely as she’d always been.