This morning, as I went about cleaning and decluttering, he called for me. I entered our bedroom to find him on my bed. We have a split king, which in essence is two twin beds pushed together. His electric wheelchair was parked at the foot of my bed. Apparently he managed to climb onto the bed, which from the foot wasn't an easy task. Now he was hollering for help.
I tried to calm him, as he flopped and flailed around. He was frantically trying to get off my bed, but didn't seem to know where he wanted to go. I told him he needed to get back onto his bed. My cautions to be careful, or he'd fall between the beds, seemed to fall on deaf ears. He nearly slid into the ever widening gap created by his efforts to move. Grabbing his pants and arms and pulling him at an angle, he finally rested atop his own bed. He continued to flail about, ineffectively pulling at a jacket he had put on and his pants. He insisted he needed them off "now."
Helping him remove his red jacket wasn't difficult, but I wanted him to keep on his pants. He continued to try to pull them down. Unfortunately, he pulled on his catheter, as he indiscriminantly shoved him thumbs into his waistband (and missed), as he attempted to remove his pants. I told him, "Stop that! If you pull on your catheter, it will hurt you and you'll bleed. You need to leave your pants on to protect the catheter bag."
"No!" He frantically made another attempt to remove everything from his waist down. He likes to be naked as a jaybird.
"Sweetie, you have to leave your pants on. Your pants protect your cath bag. It's the last bag I have. If you poke a hole in it, we'll have a real problem. Do you remember when you poked a hole in the last one?"
"I didn't!" he exclaimed, protesting that it wasn't him who put a hole in the bag. But, the memory of what the previous incident must have been coming back to him. He had somehow poked a small hole in his cath bag and the contents leaked onto his bed. The waterproof cover prevented complete ruination of his bed, but some urine had overrun the mattress edges, still leaving me with a difficult cleanup. Cleaning the mattress left wet spots, which needed time to dry. He was unable to use his bed, until everything was dry and remade with fresh linens. He had been forced to spend the night reclined in his electric chair.
"Honey, you need to leave on your pants to protect your bag."
"I hate this cath. I want it out!"
"No, dear. You have to keep it."
"I want it out!" he yelled.
"I'm sorry sweetie, you're stuck with it for another month. Then the doctor can evaluate you and see if it can be removed. Don't pull on it or you'll hurt yourself and be stuck with it even longer." I continued to repeat the reasons why he needed the catheter and why he should leave on his pants to protect the bag.
I moved his electric wheelchair to the side of his bed and helped him transfer off the bed. As he sat in his chair, his agitation lessened. He tends to be much calmer when he sits in his wheelchair.
"What on earth were you doing?" I asked him with a big smile.
"I was getting on the bed." He seemed confused and disoriented.
Calmly and still smiling, I said, "But, you were on my bed. Why were you on my bed?"
"It looked inviting."
With this, I had to laugh. "Honey, our beds are the same."
"No, your's looked better."
"That's only because you kicked your covers into a pile."
"No, your blankets are nicer."
"No, dear, our blankets are the same. I bought them both at Costco. They are the same size, with the same item number. The only difference is the color and pattern."
"No, your's is better," he said resolutely. He developed the idea that my blanket was better than his some time ago. Nothing would change his mind.
"So, was my bed better?" I asked, curious to discover his thoughts.
"No. It was worse."
All I could do was smile and laugh. The incident had passed and I could leave him to his own devices for a while.
#Dementia #Dementia humor #Humor
