Hostility
Hostility
Ruby – Rosie’s Mom
Sundowning is a condition frequently seen in dementia patients, marked by increased confusion and agitation as evening approaches. Even those who have been kind and loving throughout their lives can exhibit surprising and challenging shifts in personality, including hostile physical expressions.
“I hate you!” Declared my sweet and loving mom to me one evening around sunset. I had just entered her room.
She commanded, “Get your dad.”
Her tone and words were like bullets to my emotional system. My dad passed away a year ago and I knew she did not hate me, on the contrary.
When she was controlled by her sundowning condition, I had to take a deep breath and recall her doctor’s tips on what I should do during these episodes… I responded, “Let me see if I can find him?” and left the room.
In the meantime, the caregiver was trying to give her the evening medications.
My mom slapped the caregiver’s wrists and the medications fell off the caregiver’s palms. As the caregiver bent down to pick up the medication, my mom kicked her.
I was in the eyeshot of the room and saw all this transpire in seconds. I could not believe what I was seeing. I felt I was in slow motion as I walked back into the room.
“So why is dad not here?” The question was delivered more like a command for action. “Go bring him now.” she said.
I responded with the most loving and calming voice I could muster behind my tears “He went out with the kids.”
She responded, “I just saw him minutes ago.” I called him to come into the room and look at my medication and he ignored me. He never does that. What is wrong with him?”
I responded “Mom, look at the bird by your window. Isn’t that beautiful.” Before she would get upset again, I added “Dad has gone to the boy scouts summer camp. He will be back in a week. The troop needed someone just like dad to go with them. The younger scouts can really use a loving fatherly figure. I am sure you would agree.” I kept rambling in a calm voice, trying to distract her “Look mom there goes that bird again.”
I quickly put her favorite song on YouTube on her TV. I sat beside her and hugged her. Pretty soon the storm was over, and I had my mom back.
Every harsh word, every slap during those episodes, felt like a personal blow, a painful reminder of the demanding nature of caregiving. I had to stay grounded in not taking things personally and concentrate on the tips that could help us overcome these episodes: Stay Calm and Patient, Offer Reassurance, Avoid Arguments, Use Distraction Techniques, Listen and Validate Feelings and Ensure Physical Comfort.
Unfamiliar Faces
Talia and Adam’s Story
Talia entered the living room, the afternoon sun casting a warm glow through the window. Her father, Adam, sat in his favorite armchair, staring blankly at the television.
“Hey, Dad. Are you feeling okay today?” Talia asked, trying to keep her tone light and cheerful.
Adam’s eyes darted towards her, a flicker of recognition quickly replaced by suspicion. “Who are you? What are you doing in my house?” he demanded, his voice rising in alarm.
Talia’s heart sank. This was becoming more frequent—these moments when her father didn’t recognize her. “It’s me, Dad. Talia, your daughter. I come by every week.”
Adam’s face contorted in anger. “I don’t have a daughter named Talia. Get out! Now!” he shouted, standing up with his fists clenched.
Talia drew in a long, steady breath, attempting to calm her nerves and remember the techniques the doctor had suggested. “Okay, Dad. I’ll leave, but first, why don’t you sit back down and I’ll make you some tea? You always loved a cuppa Earl Grey.”
Adam hesitated, the anger in his eyes wavering. “Earl Grey, you say?”
“Yes, just the way you like it, one milk, two sugars.” Talia replied, her voice gentle and soothing.
As she prepared the tea, she heard him muttering to himself, the words a mixture of confusion and frustration. When she returned with the cup, she found him sitting back in his chair, the anger replaced by a wary calmness.
“Here you go, Dad. Nice and hot,” Talia said, handing him the cup.
Adam took it, his hands trembling slightly. “Thank you… uh, Talia, was it?”
“Yes, Dad. Talia,” she confirmed, forcing a smile.
He took a sip, his eyes closing as he savored the familiar taste. “You know, my daughter used to make tea just like this.”
Talia felt a lump in her throat. “I know, Dad. She must love you very much.”
They sat in silence for a while, the tea seeming to bridge the gap between them. Talia knew these moments of recognition were fleeting, but she cherished them nonetheless.
The day wore on, and as the sun began to set, Adam’s confusion returned. “Where is my wife? She should be home by now.”
Talia felt a pang of sorrow. Her mother had passed away years ago, but Adam often forgot. “Mom’s just out running some errands, Dad. She’ll be back soon.”
Adam nodded, the explanation placating him for now. Talia knew that tomorrow would bring new challenges, but for tonight, she was grateful for the small moments of connection they had shared.
The Midnight Wanderer
Simon and Maria
Simon was jolted awake by the sound of movement downstairs. He glanced at the clock—2:30 AM. He sighed, knowing it was his mother, Maria, again. She had been sleepwalking more frequently lately, her dementia worsening with each passing month.
He found her in the kitchen, rummaging through the drawers. “Mom, what are you doing up so late?” he asked gently.
Maria spun around, confusion etched on her face. “I’m looking for my keys. I need to go to the store and get some groceries.”
Simon approached her slowly. “Mom, it’s the middle of the night. The store is closed. Let’s go back to bed.”
“No! I have to go now!” Maria insisted, her voice trembling with urgency.
Simon inhaled a deep breath, trying to maintain a cool demeanor. “How about we sit down and have some warm milk? It might help you sleep.”
Maria hesitated, then nodded reluctantly. “Okay, but just for a minute.”
As he heated the milk, Simon kept a close eye on her, ensuring she didn’t try to leave the house. “Do you remember how we used to bake cookies together late at night?” he asked, trying to distract her.
Maria’s face softened, a hint of a smile appearing. “Yes, you loved chocolate chip cookies.”
Simon smiled. “You made the best cookies, Mom.”
They sat at the kitchen table, the warm milk between them. “Why don’t we go back to bed, and tomorrow we can bake some cookies together?” Simon suggested.
Maria looked at him, her eyes full of confusion but also trust. “Alright, Simon. Tomorrow, we’ll do it. I guess I am a bit tired.”
He helped her back to bed, tucking her in gently. “Goodnight, Mom. I love you.”
As he left her room, he felt a mixture of relief and sadness. Each night was a battle, but moments like these, where he could connect with her, even briefly, made it all worth it. He knew that tomorrow would bring new challenges, but for now, he was grateful for the small victories and the chance to show his mother how much he cared.
