My First Post In 2005 – Dementia Induced Thought’s Of Suicide

I looked back at my very first post written as a blogger, the site was different, it was called Defining Memories but I have since published on Look for the Light. I started Defining Memories in 2005 to help me mourn my Granny. It was a very dark time and writing was the perfect outlet.

I hope reading this post is as cathartic for you as it has been for me. The subject matter has changed since 2005 but the feeling and release it gives me is the same.

Thank you so much for reading and following me on my journey.

Being a caregiver to a dying loved one can leave you drained of emotion, exhausted, and frustrated. All perfectly normal feelings. I felt a quilt mixed in my bowl of emotions. I grew up knowing my grandparents wanted to die at home. I would grant the wish if possible. They inspired me, saved me from abuse, and blessed me with unconditional love.

Helping my gramps when making difficult life decisions, while working hard to remember she is my Granny. There were uncomfortable conversations, articulate to doctors how she is progressing and butt heads with family members. I ran a tight ship and had no problem telling people it was time to leave, and not allowing people over every day. God blessed me with the ability to turn my depression down and step up to the next level. Love for my Granny drove my decision to give her an extra morphine stick. She died in my hands while I kissed her goodbye.

As our population ages, the number of caregivers increases. It can seem overwhelming at times. If you don’t have a blog I would suggest checking out, it gave me an outlet. Caregivers choose to open their hearts to emotional and physical challenges. 

Dementia-Induced Thoughts Of Suicide

Today I used one of four “in case of emergency” pills to keep my Granny from hurting herself during a dementia-related meltdown brought on by my Gramps going to the grocery store. She’s had many of these episodes since her stroke almost two years ago. Today I saw the beginning of the end in her face. As I look at the three pills in the bottle, I try to accept that we will need to “ease” the trauma more times before her memory is gone.

Her stroke caused dementia, and at 84 she continues to slide downhill. The meds do a good job of controlling the anger and aggression but on days like today, nothing short of a miracle works. I had to reach for “the emergency” stash and this sank in as I watched her doze off from the effects.

Today she did not recognize her own home and thought my Gramps abandoned her in somebody else’s house while going to the grocery store. She became enraged and very self-destructive by hitting herself in the head while saying that she would rather be dead than be left “here” by herself. I tried to calm her as I always do but today nothing worked. I tried to get her to focus on what I was saying but it was too late, she was lost in her painful reality. It was a very hard choice but a drug-induced calm over self-inflicted harm is the right thing to do.

While waiting for the drug to work I showed her photos of her and my grandfather from 24 years ago, a photo of my father on a pony when he was a child, and many others I took off the walls to see if she could connect to anything. She recognized my dad but several other family members were a blur. It was so painful to watch her lose touch, it ripped my heart out.

Those four pills were the “holy grail” and they took me back to the night of her stroke when Gramps went home to try to nap and she got upset that he was not there. It took six of us to hold down an 82-year-old who barely weighed 100 lbs. Her aggression reached a point where she needed restraining. Her arms were tied to the bed yet she managed to fight. I used all of my weight to hold her down to the bed, yelling at the nurse where the hell was a shot to knock her out. The nurse did not articulate to the doctor the situation’s urgency so he did not approve a sedative. I told her if she could not articulate the need, she would pass the phone to me. I would get the message across.  The doctor ordered a sedative.

Watching her lose touch with reality is like seeing your child get hit by a car in slow motion and not being able to get a word out. I’m thankful for the time we spent together no matter how painful. I focus on the good moments and do not hold on to difficult days like this.

M