Dementia Diary

A Caregiver’s Dream (Nightmare)

We were walking on a pristine frozen mountain lake. The ice was clear and smooth as glass. The sun peaked over the mountain warming the air past the dew point forming a misty blanket that obscured the lake surface and moved lazily with our every step.

The sun rose higher asserting its fatherly authority, demanding the water throw off its blanket and dress for the day.

I was passionately talking while accompanying myself with hand gestures like a maestro conducting an orchestra. Our fifty-five-year union had many ups and downs but we always managed to rise above the setbacks. This was different; I, we could not fix this.

“You know you shouldn’t be driving. You have had too many close calls lately and it’s not safe! Do you remember two days ago when you walked off and forgot to turn off the stove and the chili boiled over onto the stove and on to the floor?”

I needed to have this conversation with her but it’s hard to tell a spouse she/he can no longer function safely without supervision. I turned to confront her and she was not there!

I searched frantically over the ice until I caught the reflection of her colorful jacket in the sunlight. She was under the Ice!

How could this happen?! I mused. I fell prostrate on the ice trying desperately to grab a hand or arm. Her expression was serene, not the panicked urgence of a drowning victim. Her eyes were distant, disengaged, almost tranquil.

I started screaming for help but there is no help. I remembered my cell phone. No signal! I threw it across the ice in a fit of rage! I struggled to my feet and ran (stumbled as fast as slick ice will allow) to the edge of the lake and dislodged a stone along the bank and shuffle -ran back to her.

I fell to my knees and attacked the ice around her. I heard the cracking of the ice at every blow of the rock but the damaged tomb seemed to heal itself before I could set her free. My hands bled red on the ice, my muscles atrophied with the poisoning effect of pure adrenalin, my lungs burned like fire in the cold air.

I collapsed on the ice gasping like an asthmatic in spring. I reached over to touch her cheek and mine touches the ice. It cools the furnace that is my body and I pass out from the exertion.

My breathing slows and the ice-cold water around me slaps me back to life but when I attempt to move, I feel myself slipping, slipping under the tomb. Just as I am about to take that last lethal ice water breath I wake, sitting straight up in bed gasping.

My hands cover my face and I gently rock back and forth until I convince myself that it was only a dream. I slip out of bed gently, mindful to not wake her.

Her silhouette, in that peculiar position she sleeps in now, moves gently with every breath.  I have not been discovered so I tiptoe to my chair and cover up with my blanket rocking gently, weeping softly so only the darkness and my God know.

Footnote; Only those who have been touched by this insidious disease will totally understand this. Sometimes it is hard not to slip under the ice.

Dan Fulton 7/11/23