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Background: My Dad has Lewy Body Dementia. Its been almost six years since I quit going into work because my husband and I decided that we did not want to come home from work one day to a pile of ashes. Fortunately for me my employer allows me to telecommute.
I’m not a parent, so judging “Lewy’s” relative age is a bit tough. He forgets where the bath room is, and has completely forgotten how to use the commode. I have to dress him. He attempts to help but generally it makes it harder because he’s trying to take things off that I’m trying to put on him and vice versa.He feeds himself with some effort. Both our dogs love to sit under him when he eats. I hate the jelly in the long haired pooch’s mane that inevitably appears the day after her bath.Lewy sees people. Lots of people. They walk through walls and hide under the bed and in the closets. The FBI has our house wired for sound, and cameras are in every room. The TV talks directly to him. He won $200,000 three weeks ago on a game show. He still thinks Alton Brown is trying to tell him where to collect the loot.
No Dad, he’s just baking bread.
This diary begins in January of 2008.
