I want to know what will happen when. I admit it. I stink at Buddhism. Nevertheless here we go, as always—practicing the ineluctable art of not-knowing-ism.
Jeff is getting worse at seeing things, worse at eating things, worse at even knowing which way is up or where to place himself. Strangely, this has been accompanied (for at least the past couple weeks,) by an increased restlessness and determination that he should be doing something.
Maybe different areas of the brain have re-flashes of activity over the course of a decline, like a changing pattern of flickering lights as the power is drained from the system.
Now he thinks he should go to law school. Management of this kind of thinking remains the same. DON'T shoot the idea like a clay pigeon...just listen, understand, and respond non-commitally. Of course there is always me and the urge for truthfulness. I resist it. There is little point in saying "You can't read, drive, or find your way out of the bathroom. Just how are you going to go to law school?"
I had to shove that little urge under the couch cushion and sit on it this morning. It might actually be more sensible to just say "Ok, cool idea. Go to law school." Then bop the ball back into his court every time the thought resurfaces. Maybe that wouldn't be so bad. Sometimes Jeff can put his shoes and socks on. I bet most lawyers can do that too. It's a perfect fit.
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2 comments:
Hang in there. I'd have trouble shoving those comments under the cushions, myself.
I've just read about Dr P., in chapter 1, The Man Who Mistook His Wife For A Hat, from the book of the same name. It's by Oliver Sacks and from 1985 before the term PCA was around. Some of Dr P's mannerisms are familiar, though I expect there are other things layered on top of it too.
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