Joe is getting to a point where you can get the gist of what he's saying, but he's making less and less sense. In the rounds about the lawn mower, he calls it "that thing, " "the car out there," or "that thing I ride." He points and gestures towards it, but cannot come up with lawn mower.
Another example, he came to me this morning with his sleeping sweatshirt in hand.
He asked me, "Do y'all ever wash anything around here?"
I replied, "Yes."
He held the sweatshirt up and said, "Well, here's something that's been this way for, oh, 3-4 years."
I told him, "Put it in the dirty clothes basket."
He replied, "Okay."
I think this is the first time in over a year that he's actually thought to have something washed. I've given up on trying to keep him in clean clothes. If you tell him his clothes are dirty, he's says they're not. You have to sneak into his closet after he's asleep to get them out. Everything he has is stained with food because he drops his food on his lap. A lot. He doesn't use a napkin anymore. He picks his food up with his fingers, and I think he only wipes his fingers on his pants.
I went to the doctor's office today about Dad's belligerence and his being so confrontational. The doctor gave me a prescription of Seroquel to try. It's an anti-psychotic that's supposed to restore the balance of certain natural neurotransmitters. Please, please, please let it work.
He came to me at 9:00 p.m. tonight wanting to know if I was going to cook any food. I stupidly answered his question with no and that supper had been at 5. Dumb. I knew he was wanting something to eat. You could just shoot yourself when you forget and react normally. It just confused him when I said something about supper. Bottom line, it took 5 minutes to get around to he "wanted meat." I made him a fried baloney sandwich. Nothing can be cold, no siree.
So Dad didn't start going to bed until 10:20 tonight. I got him to take the Seroquel. mmmm, need to look up how long it has to be in the system before it starts to take affect.
Dad came into the living room about 10:45 p.m. wanting "a little piece of wood." Huh? Mom and I told him we didn't have one. He insisted on looking in the basket on the table beside Mom. He wouldn't tell us what he wanted it for. We insisted. He got pissed and said it didn't matter, but he had some food in his teeth he wanted to get out. Oh. He wanted a toothpick. Yesterday I picked up a toothpick out of the bathroom that looked like it had been there 20 years. It must have been his. He has a box on the counter in there. Yet once that filthy toothpick had been thrown away, he couldn't see the whole box in front of him.
Mom stayed up late tonight. I got involved watching youtube vids, and it was midnight before I realized it. I asked her to get up while I went and unmade her bed. She didn't come and didn't come. I poked my head around the corner, and she had sat back down on the chair and gone to sleep. Now that I woke her up to go to bed, she'll probably be awake till 3:00 a.m.
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