How often have we sat with someone who states clearly and matter-of-factly that something exists, but we know it doesn't. How about that someone is still living, but they died many years previously. And then, there's that nasty episode when they tell you there's something present over there, they point it out, but you see nothing. What's your reaction? Does it differ from those with dementia to those who don't?
The first school of thought is that, especially with those who suffer from a malady such as dementia, you can argue your way to snap them back to reality.
Really?
Remember, Dementia is a progressive brain degeneration that can't be "snapped" into remission. One might believe that this method is quite helpful, because they, themselves, need to see the world in black-and-white; This-is-this and that-is-that. However, once you've stated what you know is true, you may have chosen a battle that needn't have arisen.
I recall, many years ago, believing that it was helpful to keep reminding my grandmother of who was who, and what was what. However, this activity kept repeating itself and I found myself growing quite frustrated. It wasn't until years later that I realized there really is not battle to be fought, and the frustration only caused friction.
A friend of mine asked me the other day why I would lie to my mother and not tell her the simple truth about people being dead, and that she would be in memory care for the rest of her days. She believed that lying was a terrible crime against my mother. But is it?
A year ago, Mom asked me where my father was living. She then asked if they were divorced, as she couldn't recall. I told her that they were not divorced, but he was living in Mt. Calvary Cemetery. She then asked when he had died. She was upset, not because he was dead, but that no one had told her.
As time progressed, it was apparent that she would become resentful and angry with anyone who told her people were dead. It has become easier to simply state that my grandmother is now out of town (pick a state) visiting old friends and relatives, and that Dad is somewhere running errands. Even if there's a question or comment about these statements, then it goes away benignly. In her reality, they do still live.
So, the lesson here is that it is better for the patient and the escort or caregiver to play along with this game. It's not a battle unless you choose it, and winning is short-lived and hollow.
Spend your time on positive interactions rather than plodding on with their illness; it will be a reward to you both.
The first school of thought is that, especially with those who suffer from a malady such as dementia, you can argue your way to snap them back to reality.
Really?
Remember, Dementia is a progressive brain degeneration that can't be "snapped" into remission. One might believe that this method is quite helpful, because they, themselves, need to see the world in black-and-white; This-is-this and that-is-that. However, once you've stated what you know is true, you may have chosen a battle that needn't have arisen.
I recall, many years ago, believing that it was helpful to keep reminding my grandmother of who was who, and what was what. However, this activity kept repeating itself and I found myself growing quite frustrated. It wasn't until years later that I realized there really is not battle to be fought, and the frustration only caused friction.
A friend of mine asked me the other day why I would lie to my mother and not tell her the simple truth about people being dead, and that she would be in memory care for the rest of her days. She believed that lying was a terrible crime against my mother. But is it?
A year ago, Mom asked me where my father was living. She then asked if they were divorced, as she couldn't recall. I told her that they were not divorced, but he was living in Mt. Calvary Cemetery. She then asked when he had died. She was upset, not because he was dead, but that no one had told her.
As time progressed, it was apparent that she would become resentful and angry with anyone who told her people were dead. It has become easier to simply state that my grandmother is now out of town (pick a state) visiting old friends and relatives, and that Dad is somewhere running errands. Even if there's a question or comment about these statements, then it goes away benignly. In her reality, they do still live.
So, the lesson here is that it is better for the patient and the escort or caregiver to play along with this game. It's not a battle unless you choose it, and winning is short-lived and hollow.
Spend your time on positive interactions rather than plodding on with their illness; it will be a reward to you both.
The first school of thought is that, especially with those who suffer from a malady such as dementia, you can argue your way to snap them back to reality.
Really?
Remember, Dementia is a progressive brain degeneration that can't be "snapped" into remission. One might believe that this method is quite helpful, because they, themselves, need to see the world in black-and-white; This-is-this and that-is-that. However, once you've stated what you know is true, you may have chosen a battle that needn't have arisen.
I recall, many years ago, believing that it was helpful to keep reminding my grandmother of who was who, and what was what. However, this activity kept repeating itself and I found myself growing quite frustrated. It wasn't until years later that I realized there really is not battle to be fought, and the frustration only caused friction.
A friend of mine asked me the other day why I would lie to my mother and not tell her the simple truth about people being dead, and that she would be in memory care for the rest of her days. She believed that lying was a terrible crime against my mother. But is it?
A year ago, Mom asked me where my father was living. She then asked if they were divorced, as she couldn't recall. I told her that they were not divorced, but he was living in Mt. Calvary Cemetery. She then asked when he had died. She was upset, not because he was dead, but that no one had told her.
As time progressed, it was apparent that she would become resentful and angry with anyone who told her people were dead. It has become easier to simply state that my grandmother is now out of town (pick a state) visiting old friends and relatives, and that Dad is somewhere running errands. Even if there's a question or comment about these statements, then it goes away benignly. In her reality, they do still live.
So, the lesson here is that it is better for the patient and the escort or caregiver to play along with this game. It's not a battle unless you choose it, and winning is short-lived and hollow.
Spend your time on positive interactions rather than plodding on with their illness; it will be a reward to you both.
The first school of thought is that, especially with those who suffer from a malady such as dementia, you can argue your way to snap them back to reality.
Really?
Remember, Dementia is a progressive brain degeneration that can't be "snapped" into remission. One might believe that this method is quite helpful, because they, themselves, need to see the world in black-and-white; This-is-this and that-is-that. However, once you've stated what you know is true, you may have chosen a battle that needn't have arisen.
I recall, many years ago, believing that it was helpful to keep reminding my grandmother of who was who, and what was what. However, this activity kept repeating itself and I found myself growing quite frustrated. It wasn't until years later that I realized there really is not battle to be fought, and the frustration only caused friction.
A friend of mine asked me the other day why I would lie to my mother and not tell her the simple truth about people being dead, and that she would be in memory care for the rest of her days. She believed that lying was a terrible crime against my mother. But is it?
A year ago, Mom asked me where my father was living. She then asked if they were divorced, as she couldn't recall. I told her that they were not divorced, but he was living in Mt. Calvary Cemetery. She then asked when he had died. She was upset, not because he was dead, but that no one had told her.
As time progressed, it was apparent that she would become resentful and angry with anyone who told her people were dead. It has become easier to simply state that my grandmother is now out of town (pick a state) visiting old friends and relatives, and that Dad is somewhere running errands. Even if there's a question or comment about these statements, then it goes away benignly. In her reality, they do still live.
So, the lesson here is that it is better for the patient and the escort or caregiver to play along with this game. It's not a battle unless you choose it, and winning is short-lived and hollow.
Spend your time on positive interactions rather than plodding on with their illness; it will be a reward to you both.
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