The Possible Problem Identified.

We discovered, through a round about fashion, that Dad was receiving medical care for 'something' though mum wasn't quite sure what the something was.  Eventually, at the family's insistence, a doctor sat down with mum and said something like this:  'We think your husband has a kidney infection.  To treat the infection he needs to be on meds.  To keep him compliant we need to dose him to the hilt on zombie drugs.  It's highly likely that your husbands irascible attitude in the care unit was because he was in pain but couldn't tell anyone'.

I don't think Mum knew Dad was being irascible in the unit, at least, not more so than usual.  Every time the family visited we were told he was fine, hence the shock when he was moved out.  Units shouldn't lie to families.  It's not nice.

The information on the kidney infection we could digest.  But why does he seem to be getting worse? Because he certainly wasn't getting better. The Machine couldn't answer that.
They did tell us, however, to prepare for the worst.
That's shocking news when you get it!

Then one Doctor, one who didn't want to give up so easily, told Mum that they could better identify Dad's problem if he had a CT Scan.
How are you going to get him to lie still for that? the whanau asked.
We'll knock him out! they said.
Say what? the whanau said.
And be prepared for him not to respond well to that, they said.

An email was duly sent to all the whanau explaining what The Machine had suggested and the implications and asking for whanau input into the decision.  One of the questions was, 'What's the point, he's old, every one dies sooner or later'  Another was, 'If they do find something what will they do about it?  If he needs surgery there's a high chance he won't survive it because he's old, so again, What's the point?'  And then there was always the thought, 'He deserves the best.  How do we give him that?'

And while we were all mulling this over my sister's partner, who cares for mentally disabled and elderly people in their homes, asked a simple question.  'Has anyone from the Dementia Unit or Geriatrics been in to assess him?'

Well, the Machine stopped.
Ummm, actually, No, they said.
Don't you think it might be a good idea? my sisters partner said.
I guess that might be an idea, they said.

You see, when Dad was sent from his last home he went straight to a medical ward.
He was still on a medical ward.
Medical doctors were looking at him from a medical point of view which isn't always a good idea for the elderly who can't articulate how or what they are feeling.

So someone from geriatrics came in and guess what?
Dad was on the wrong drugs at too high a dose for an old fulla.
That's why he was getting worse.
Meds were changed and in no time he was improving.
No need for a CT scan.
No waiting for the worst.

'Well, bugger me! we all said.

And then, after heaving a huge sigh of relief, the Machine wanted him out.  So the search was on again for a new solution to his housing problem, because his last lovely home couldn't take him back.

Lavendar Spray

One day we were visiting Dad when the staff had to use Lavendar Spray on him.

Actually, I think they used lavender on him fairly frequently when he first moved in.  One of the reasons I liked this establishment was the fact they used alternative therapies with the clients.  Their motto was to limit reliance on medication where drugs were not required.

I failed to ask a few pertinent questions, such as which alternatives, who was their consultant, what were their qualifications etc, etc.

Basically this place used aromatherapy, which meant a lot of lavender oil, and distraction techniques.

Unfortunately Dad wasn't exactly distract-able.  At this point in time he was still aware enough to know he was not where he wanted to be.  Home.  With mum.

He still recognised the immediate family when we visited, even if it required a minute or two of prompting to get the actual name straight.  He could also, occasionally, identify some members of the extended whanau. When friends visited, he usually didn't know who they were, but he pretended to.

That's one thing Dad was good at, making anyone who came to see him feel so welcome, like a long lost friend.   It did take a few minutes for some visitors to click he had no idea who they were and was not keeping up with the conversation.

If Dad did get himself worked up into a state the staff would attempt distraction techniques and if that was looking unsuccessful they'd combine this strategy with spraying lavendar oil into the air around him.  Always talking quietly and trying to get him onto some other thought.

I'm not sure how much the lavendar contributed to Dad eventually returning to his room, grumping all the way.

Of course, the Lavendar Spray technique to settle a stubborn Alzhiemers sufferer like Dad did not always work.  On one occasion that I know of, because I was present, the staff decided to attempt some heavy handed tactics, which resulted in me and mum being upset and Dad using his walking stick as a weapon. 

Fortunately common sense did prevail and everybody backed off till we had Dad sufficiently calmed down. It was fairly obvious the best remedy for Dad was Mum staying right beside him.

Personally I would have preferred if they also utilised homeopathy.  They could have called in a homeopath, done a full consult on Dad and given him homeopathics. 

But, because homeopaths are more expensive than aromatics Dad got to smell of a lot of lavendar spray

Taking Random Pills

Mum discovered one day that Dad would pick up any random pills he found lying round the place and take those. 

I’m not actually sure if he knew what his pills were for, he just knew he was supposed to take pills.  So, if he came across a bottle of tabs, he’d ponder if he’d taken his today, decide no, and take what was on hand.  

And what was on hand?  Mums’ pills, past their due date pills, tabs from old and changed scripts.  And, according to hubby's memory, a very old bottle of my grandmothers pills – and she’s been gone for a while.  I have no idea where Dad had been scrummaging to find those.

When mum went on her holiday, there was a bottle of Dads pills on a shelf in the kitchen. Mum had pointed them out before she left.  I presumed Dad took them as a daily routine, he was, as far as I knew, still capable of that.  My presumption may have been a little off track.  One day when Dad found a bottle in the bathroom and returned it to the spot on the kitchen, he was perplexed as to why there were two bottles there.  Plus the one’s on the table in the lounge, next to his chair.  He queried which ones we thought he should take.

Which ones are yours Dad?

These I think

Is your name on them?

Oh, that would help wouldn’t it?

I looked at what he was holding.  The label on one bottle, the one he was more focused on, was so worn you couldn’t read it and the edges were coming unstuck from the plastic.  Using deduction I suggested he take the newer tabs, the ones with his name on that you could read.  I should have biffed the other ones, but didn’t.  Instead I put them in bathroom cupboard with the rational ‘these must belong to somebody’.

When mum got back from her trip and we told her about his crying she told us Dad often got upset over things, but not as extreme as we were describing.  She took him to the doctor who decided it must be his blood pressure playing up, so changed his pills.  That’s when we mentioned the pill story to Mum and she recounted her tales of catching him taking her tabs, or roaming around the house with tablet containers of unknown origin, or taking more tabs when she’d already given him his daily dose.

It’s just as well we aren’t a seriously sick bunch up north – well, not physically anyway, or lord knows what he’d have been taking.

It was time to empty the house of all unnecessary, unnamed, out of date pill bottles, because there were a few lying around.  Coincidentally, the local health promotion team were spreading the message to check your pills and clear out any non-current scripts.  Timely.  The chemist also organized for blister packs, complete with current dates, so mum could tell whether Dad was keeping up with his meds.  

These were good strategies as far as managing his medication and reducing the taking of random pills was concerned, but I don't recall it helped him much...Dad kept crying.