- Joined
- May 9, 2016
- Messages
- 1,529
- Reason
- Lost a loved one
- Diagnosis
- 06/2016
- Country
- US
- State
- MN
- City
- Minneapolis
My husband called me up today at work and said that he was not going to be able to let our housekeeper in because no matter how he tried he would not turn the doorknob.
He DID end up getting the door open. A Life Alert is coming our way, and that will have a key box on the front of the door and he will be able to just call out (not even have to push a button) for help if he needs it.
Today, he can still walk with a walker, feed himself, has a slowly diminishing use of his arms and hands. Plans are being made for more help. Someone to come in a few hours a day to start. We know it will be more than that soon. More equipment. A power chair. A chair lift for our few steps down from the first floor where he now lives his life.
We were blessed to get a portable shower and a hospital bed and a manual wheelchair all from the ALS Society.
Brian chooses not to leave the house any longer except for rare medical appointments. He does not like being "seen this way. I don't argue. I have told him I will always be happy to take him out. I would rent a van if he wanted to go out in a chair. He said going out makes him sad and reminds him of what he can't do.
I am not asking for solutions here, just making observations about his choices, just sharing what I see daily. Contrary to what this might sound like, he does not normally act morbid or sad. He watches TV with me, follows politics avidly for one thing. Still loves our animals. His mind is intact. No FTD is apparent. He can still eat and talk.
I do still have a wretched time knowing that the man who built our garage had to struggle with a doorknob today. I am glad that I still get to go home, make dinner, watch the Sopranos on Amazon Prime and Talk to my husband and hear him talk to me. I know many CALS would be overjoyed at that. I am very, very glad we still have all of that.
Realistically, though it's slipping through our fingers and I can't stop it. It's 2018, and we can't stop this.
That is so not okay, and I am not okay. I am growing to understand however that sometimes it's alright not to be okay.
He DID end up getting the door open. A Life Alert is coming our way, and that will have a key box on the front of the door and he will be able to just call out (not even have to push a button) for help if he needs it.
Today, he can still walk with a walker, feed himself, has a slowly diminishing use of his arms and hands. Plans are being made for more help. Someone to come in a few hours a day to start. We know it will be more than that soon. More equipment. A power chair. A chair lift for our few steps down from the first floor where he now lives his life.
We were blessed to get a portable shower and a hospital bed and a manual wheelchair all from the ALS Society.
Brian chooses not to leave the house any longer except for rare medical appointments. He does not like being "seen this way. I don't argue. I have told him I will always be happy to take him out. I would rent a van if he wanted to go out in a chair. He said going out makes him sad and reminds him of what he can't do.
I am not asking for solutions here, just making observations about his choices, just sharing what I see daily. Contrary to what this might sound like, he does not normally act morbid or sad. He watches TV with me, follows politics avidly for one thing. Still loves our animals. His mind is intact. No FTD is apparent. He can still eat and talk.
I do still have a wretched time knowing that the man who built our garage had to struggle with a doorknob today. I am glad that I still get to go home, make dinner, watch the Sopranos on Amazon Prime and Talk to my husband and hear him talk to me. I know many CALS would be overjoyed at that. I am very, very glad we still have all of that.
Realistically, though it's slipping through our fingers and I can't stop it. It's 2018, and we can't stop this.
That is so not okay, and I am not okay. I am growing to understand however that sometimes it's alright not to be okay.