Care Partnering, Challenges & Solutions, Toward better care

10 reasons people living with dementia get up in the night, and what often happens when they do

Contrary to what many people believe, people who live with dementia behave, for the most part, in the same way the rest of us do. Their behaviour is – again, for the most partNOT the result of their dementia or whatever disease (e.g. Alzheimer) caused it. Rather, like all behaviour, it is driven by human emotions, perceptions and physical conditions, which means that the reasons people living with dementia get up in the night are the same reasons the rest of us do.

For example, they may:

1) Feel afraid

I remember being terrified during thunderstorms when I was a kid. I would cross the hall to my parents bedroom and ask if I might crawl in with them. My mother never said no; she always lifted the covers to let me in, and then cuddled close to comfort me. When Mom felt afraid and wanted to crawl into bed with me, I also never said no.

2) Be lonely

Who among has not at some point in her or his life felt alone, lonely and disconnected – especially at night, and/or when experiencing loss. When we feel lonely, it’s natural to search out others…isn’t it?

3) Need to use to the toilet

For the last forty years or so, I’ve gotten up to have a pee on average once a night, sometimes more. Luckily, because I don’t yet have dementia, no one has drugged me for doing so. But, unless things change, if and when I get Alzheiemer disease and am locked up in a Dementia Jail, I’ll be sedated for the thing that I will have done for half a century by then because it’ll be labeled as “wandering.” How do I know? Because that’s what happened to my mom. She got up in the night to use the toilet, and as a result was drugged into a catatonic state for the next four years.

4) Feel restless / not be able to sleep

I’ve suffered from insomnia since I was a teen at which time I was prescribed Valium by my family doctor. Valium. At age 15. Drug culture then; drug culture now. The Valium didn’t stop my insomnia – I still endure it two or three times a week. When I do, I just get up. One day, if and when I have dementia of some kind, I may be labeled a “wanderer.” Maybe you will be too, unless we change the broken system.

5) Not know where they are / think they are in a strange place

Have you ever woken up while staying in a hotel or at a friend’s place, and been momentarily disoriented? You ask yourself where you are because the surroundings don’t look familiar. When this happens to me, I usually remember fairly quickly that I’m travelling and not in my own home. But during the time between waking up, and becoming re-oriented I feel confused and kind of scared. I imagine this is what it must be like for someone living with dementia, except the reorientation part may take much longer (i.e. minutes, or sometimes even hours, or days). Listen to what it might sound like when this happens, and what not to do when it does!

6) Be physically uncomfortable (i.e. hungry, thirsty, hot, cold)

Do you sometimes get up in the night for a snack? Or an extra blanket because you feel cold? Or to open the window because you’re too hot? Besides trudging to the WC at least once a night, I also get up almost every night and have a glass of soy milk and a piece of chocolate – sometimes in a sleep-walking-kind-of-slumber!

7) Have a bad dream

Ever wake up with a start in a cold or hot sweat because you’ve been dreaming something dreadful? And the dream is so vivid that you are unsure if it was dream or reality? I bet the same happens to people who live with dementia. Maybe even more often than it happens to the rest of us, particularly to those living with dementia with Lewy Bodies.

8) Have heard an unusual sound or noise

One night a few years ago shortly after I moved into a new house, I heard a big crash. I was scared to death. I didn’t get up to investigate. I hid under the covers instead. But that’s me. Some people would get up to check it out. When I got up in the morning, I found that a big mirror had fallen off the wall and onto the living room floor. Miraculously it hadn’t broken.

9) Be a “night owl” or have worked the night shift

Some people work at night all their lives. For others, being a night owl is their way of being in the world. Sleep all day, stay awake all night. And then oops! We want them to fit with our schedule. No wonder they get angry and upset.

10) Think it’s daytime, not night

So this is the one that’s out of the ordinary. It’s tough to imagine how someone might think it’s the middle of the day when in it’s the middle of the night and vice versa. Nevertheless, try to conjure up what that might be like, or read this real-life nighttime conversation between Mom and I.

Most of us respond in a normal way when we find ourselves in certain sets of circumstances. Most of us wake up in the night from time to time, or even frequently. When we do, we may get up – it’s normal to do so.

But what happens when people who live with dementia get up in the night for any of these reasons above? Their behaviour is labeled aberrant, partly because once they are up, they forget the reason why they are up, and they become lost and/or confused because of their dementia.

Is this stressful for family members who are care partners? Yes, of course. Do they get frustrated and exhausted as a result? Yes, they often do. I know, because I’ve travelled that road. Is it inconvenient and challenging for care workers in institutions when residents walk around at night? Yes, it is. But the onus is on us to find compassionate solutions to address these issues, and not to blame the behaviour we find challenging or inconvenient on those who are living with dementia, and who are behaving just as the rest of us would under similar circumstances.

And all of this is yet ANOTHER reason we need to #BanBPSD.

More posts and PDFs in the “20 questions”series.

https://myalzheimersstory.com/2018/02/02/20-questions-to-ask-when-a-care-partner-or-resident-walks-around-at-night/

https://myalzheimersstory.com/2017/05/02/wandering-is-not-a-symptom-of-dementia/

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Challenges & Solutions, Resources, Teepa Snow, Tips, tools & skills, Videos

teepa snow shows how to help someone living with dementia to put on a jacket or sweater without resistance

Image credit: Teepa Snow (screen shot from the video below)

“If only I had known,” is what I say to myself every time I see a Teepa Snow demo I haven’t seen before. This one was no exception when I first stumbled across it.

I had very few problems helping my mom get dressed. But how many times did I watch care workers struggle to do the same? Too many that’s how many! When I saw Teepa demo how easy it can be in the video below, I again wondered why EVERYONE who cares in some way for someone who lives with dementia isn’t trained in Teepa’s practical, positive approaches to care.

People who live with dementia “resist” receiving care for good reason: because, more often than not, we don’t know how to do things in ways that make them feel at ease.

Just watch the five-minute video below on how to help someone living with dementia put on a jacket or sweater in such a way that both care partners can feel good about what’s going on, and see if you don’t agree. I guarantee you will discover something you didn’t know or hadn’t thought of before.

Learn a few dead-easy techniques (including Teepa’s trademarked Hand Under Hand) that may help transform your life from misery to magic:

More here:

10+ Teepa Snow videos on dementia basics

Teepa Snow demos Hand Under Hand™ dementia care to connect, comfort and “control”

Teepa Snow demos 10 ways to calm a crisis with a person living with Alzheimer’s / dementia

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Advocacy, Challenges & Solutions, NHBPS, Toward better care

hundreds of studies make me mad as hell

I am frustrated by the fact that what is self-evident to me (and to thousands of other family care partners) appears to be a mystery to care providers, and apparently also to a whole whack of policy and decision makers who seem to require untold quantities of expensive research to confirm that which is as plain as day to dementia care advocates worldwide. Maybe someone should research why we need research to prove what is common sense and what dementia care advocates already know.

A team of 14 researchers at the University of Exeter in the UK likely spent a year or two working on this paper: Living well with dementia: a systematic review and correlational meta-analysis of factors associated with quality of life, well-being and life satisfaction in people with dementia, which was published in January 2018 in Psychological Medicine; see a layperson’s version in ScienceDaily here.

The team looked at research that spanned four decades and produced a 10-page report that came to a seven-line conclusion, which reads in part:

“Our findings suggest that efforts to improve QoL might focus on supporting relationships, social engagement and everyday functioning, addressing poor physical and mental health, and ensuring high-quality care.”

This is news?

According to the abstract, the conclusions were based on the analysis of “198 QoL studies taken from 272 articles in the meta-analysis.” It boggles my mind when I think about the amounts of money and effort that went into all those studies to come to the conclusion that people with dementia need the same things to enjoy a reasonable quality of life as people who don’t live with dementia. Hello! People who live with dementia are people, not aliens.

Wikihow gives a great list of five personal quality of life indicators for regular folk that include those in the Exeter study conclusion plus several others; here they are:

  • Quality of living conditions
  • Access to healthcare and education
  • Feelings of safety and security
  • Social interactions and relationships
  • Sense of purpose and meaning

Naomi Feil suggested a similar set of needs in her 1993 book The Validation Breakthrough, and of course there’s the person-centered model proposed by Tom Kitwood in the late 1990s, and the well-being model more recently outlined by Dr. Al Power in Dementia Beyond Disease: Enhancing Well-Being, which all say something similar in different ways.

The second half of the Exeter study’s conclusion calls for more research; it says:

“However, there is a need for longitudinal evidence that can point to ways of maintaining or improving QoL over time and enable identification of people at risk of declining QoL, so that preventive interventions can be targeted to this group.”

With all due respect to the researchers, I don’t think we need more research. We need better dementia care.

I think we need to immediately implement action plans that will transform substandard conditions in long-term care facilities and in our own communities to bring them up to acceptable levels. We need to put frameworks and programs in place that will ensure that the majority of people living with dementia attain a reasonable quality of life, whether they live in their own homes or in institutions. We are still a long way from that goal. We need to attain it before we have to maintain it!

The challenges and circumstances under which hundreds of thousands of people who live with dementia struggle every day preclude them from living well and enjoying a reasonable quality of life. These deplorable conditions include being misunderstood, stigmatized, vilified, neglected and abused, as well as being physically confined and chemically restrained, among other indignities.

It makes me mad as hell, and even more determined to be a creator of change.

#wecancarebetter

13+ needs we share with people who live with dementia

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Advocacy, Challenges & Solutions, NHBPS, Toward better care

how would we behave if we were locked in? research shows 96% of us would respond the same way many people with dementia do

I remain astonished that the vast majority of geriatricians, gerontologists, neurologists, and other medical geriatrics professionals persist in using the artificial construct of behavioural and psychological symptoms of dementia (BPSD) to describe the behaviours of people who live with dementia (PLWD) that care partners and care workers experience as challenging when it is ridiculously easy to prove (even I can do it), that such behaviour is normal under the circumstances in which PLWD find themselves.

In 2016, I created “a short survey on behaviour” and invited people to respond. The survey remains open online, and the results are consistent over time; as of May 7, 2018, 1,555 people had responded. Based on that piece of lay research alone, the only possible conclusion is that BPSD are not symptoms of dementia.

However, I am determined to gather more evidence to support my case; my goal is to stop the use of the erroneous and harmful label BPSD.

In April 2018, I created another survey (Is it normal?) related specifically to “wandering” and “exit-seeking behaviour.” As of May 7, 2018, 510 people had responded; I expect the results will be consistent over time, just as they are with “A short survey on behaviour.” It’s important to note that 90 per cent of the “Is it normal?” survey respondents indicated that, as far as they know, they do not have any form of dementia. Therefore, behaviour that 90 per cent of the respondents imagine they might exhibit under particular sets of circumstances (i.e. being trapped in their own home), could not be attributed to dementia.

A preliminary analysis of the responses to Question 6 (How would you feel/react if you were unable to leave your home when you wanted to because for some strange/unknown reason you couldn’t find the doors or, if you could find them, you couldn’t open them when you did?) may be found here.

Question 7, also an open-ended question, expands on Question 6; it asks respondents to imagine what they might do in a situation faced every day by many people who live with dementia and who exhibit what is labelled as “elopement,” trying to “escape/flee,” and/or “exit seeking” behaviour. Question 7 asks: “If you couldn’t find or open the doors to leave your home when you wanted to, what might you do? What action (if any) might you take?”

Of the 510 people who had taken the survey as of May 7, 2018, a total of 466 responded to Question 7. Here are some examples of their answers:

  • Call the watchman, call my neighbor, call my office, call my best friend. Open the windows, get on the balcony shout to someone to get help. If all fails, I could string some bed sheets on the balcony rail and slide down.
  • Try to smash my way out with something
  • Call out for help, ask people what to do, how to get out. Try to open the doors, look around for another way out. Enlist others to help. Plan a prison break. Call on the phone for help. I’d become very agitated, impatient, distrustful, restless, anxious and maybe fearful.
  • Jump out of the window
  • Look for another way out, i.e. A window, call a friend, call 911, scream out for HELP so that someone outside can hear me and help me find a way out.

To facilitate analysis, I grouped the 446 responses into six categories:

  1. Try to get help (e.g. call, ring, phone, shout, scream, yell, holler, ask, beg for help)
  2. Try to get out (e.g. climb, search, find a way out, break, smash, saw, hammer, kick, cut)
  3. Get emotional (e.g. panic, become upset, become angry, freak out, frantic, go bonkers)
  4. Don’t know (i.e. don’t know, not sure, can’t imagine)
  5. Withdraw (i.e curl up, sleep, go to bed, wait, shut down, withdraw)
  6. Do stuff (there are only two responses in this category: 1) Need to find activities to occupy myself; and 2) Do the jobs I’ve been putting off)

Here’s a graph showing the categories, as well as the percentage and number of responses in each category:

Virtually all of the ways respondents said they would react (i.e. categories 1, 2, 3, and 5) would be labelled BPSD (using the medical model). However, of the 466 respondents who answered Question 7, only 11 (2.3 per cent) said they had some form of dementia. That means a little less than 98 per cent of those who responded to question 7 either do not have dementia, or don’t know if they have it or not.

Also, of the 160 people who said they would try to escape in one way or another, slightly more than half (i.e. 87) said they would break, smash, or kick their way out.

Note: 444 of the 446 people who responded to this question identified as female.

The bottom line? Only the people who answered either “Don’t know” (n=18) or that they would “do stuff” (n=2), imagined that they would not exhibit some form of what would be labelled BPSD. That means that about 96 per cent of the respondents felt they would exhibit some form of so-called BPSD even though they don’t have dementia!

As this survey shows, when a human being is locked in and feels trapped:

Many of the behaviours that are labelled BPSD, are normal human responses to feeling or being trapped and/or threatened. What we name behaviours hugely impacts how we see and interpret them. It’s time to examine the wording of BPSD as it stands. Many of these behaviours are human responses to unmet physical, emotional and/or psychosocial needs; responses that can easily be seen as normal in the light of feeling threatened or fearful.

It’s time to reframe behavioral expressions in ways that enable us to identify their root causes and, in turn, inform improved efforts to implement humane, personalized, and effective approaches for the care of PLWD. Seniors with dementia need to be better understood and compassionately cared for, not drugged and managed to fit the constraints of a broken system.

Take the survey here.

101 potential causes of behaviour by people living with dementia that institutional care staff may find challenging

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Care Partnering, Challenges & Solutions, Love

harry and the daughter who never visited

I don’t know if the story/parable below is true or not, but I think it could be. I’ve written it based on a comment someone shared in a caregivers’ group on Facebook. One thing is sure, the lesson it contains is powerful, practical and hopeful.

Harry, who lived with Alzheimer disease, was moved into a large nursing home somewhere in the world because his family couldn’t take care of him anymore. Every Saturday, a young woman would come to visit. She always brought delicious ice cream for Harry and her to share. Harry loved ice cream. He loved the feel of the cool creaminess in his mouth, and he enjoyed tasting the different flavours: raspberry, vanilla, chocolate, and maple, which was his favourite.

He and the young woman savoured their bowls of ice cream together, and chatted about things Harry didn’t remember after she left. But each week his face lit up like a Christmas tree when she walked into his room. He was glad to see her because he often felt lonely. Even though there seemed to be lots of people around, none of them sat and talked to Harry like the young woman who brought the ice cream did. No one seemed to pay much attention to him but her.

These Saturday visits went on for several months. Then, at the end of their visit on the last Saturday in July, Harry said something to the young woman that made her terribly sad.

“My daughter never comes to visit,” Harry said. His eyes got watery, his chin started to quiver, and his voice cracked. “I think she’s forgotten me. She mustn’t care if I live or die. I wish she would come to see me like you do.”

The young woman was devastated by Harry’s words. Her heart broke in two on the spot. She had to do something to help Harry feel better.

The next week, when she came to visit, bringing ice cream as usual, she also brought an envelope, which she surreptitiously placed on Harry’s bedside table when she came in. After they’d had their treat, the young woman drew Harry’s attention to the envelope.

“It looks like you got a letter Harry,” she said. “I wonder who it’s from?”

“I don’t know,” Harry said.

“Shall we take a look?” the young woman asked.

Harry nodded. The young woman fetched the envelope from the side table. “It says ‘Dad’ on the front.” She handed the envelope to Harry, who took if from her with a slight frown on his face. “Open it,” said the young woman. “Let’s see what it says.”

Harry pulled a handwritten note from the envelope and read it to himself. A smile spread across his face.

“What does it say?” asked the young woman.

“It says ‘Hi Dad, I dropped in to see you today, but you were out. You must have been at the barbershop with Joe and Charlie when I came by. But don’t worry, I’ll come again next week, and I’ll bring some ice cream to share. See you then, Love Katherine.’”

Harry was beaming. “Katherine’s my daughter,” he said to the young woman. “She came to see me today, but I must’ve been out. She says she’s coming back next week. She’s going to bring ice cream. She’s loved ice cream since she was a little girl.”

“Oh Harry, that’s great news,” said the young woman, “I’m sure your daughter loves you very much, and she’ll be here just as she promised.”

It went on like this every week for several months. Anytime Harry felt sad that his daughter never came to visit, the young woman would draw his attention to an envelope somewhere in the room. The notes were slightly different each time: perhaps Harry was in the bathroom, or the garden, or at the dentist, or wherever when Katherine had come by. But the promise was always the same: next week, his daughter would be back, and she would bring ice cream.

Meanwhile, the young woman and Harry enjoyed many Saturday afternoons together talking about his childhood, the weather, and the birds in the feeder by the window. Sometimes the young woman read to Harry. Sometimes he told her war stories. They joked and laughed about nothing. Then, one Saturday in December, Harry’s face lit up like a Christmas tree just as it always did when the young woman walked into the room. But this time, it was different.

“Katherine!” Harry exclaimed. “I’m so glad to see you.”

“Hi Dad,” the young woman said as she gave him a big hug. “I’m happy to see you too. I brought you some ice cream. Maple, your favourite.” They spent a wonderful afternoon laughing, listening to music, singing and just being together. Harry told Katherine about the young woman who sometimes came to visit, and who also brought ice cream.

“She’s very nice,” Harry said earnestly. “But not as nice as you Katherine. You’re my daughter. No one can take your place.” Katherine reached out for Harry’s hand, squeezed it gently, and looked into his eyes. “I love you, Dad,” she said.

“I love you too sweetie,” Harry replied. “Always remember that. No matter what.

I visited with my mom virtually every day for the last four years of her life, and I was with her when she died. Sometimes she recognized me, sometime she didn’t. But it didn’t matter. What mattered was that we got to spend time together, and we created moments of joy almost every day. Just like Harry and Katherine.

https://myalzheimersstory.com/2015/04/09/20-great-questions-to-ask-when-a-loved-one-with-dementia-doesnt-recognize-you-anymore/

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Advocacy, Challenges & Solutions, NHBPS, Toward better care

how would “normal” people feel if we did to them what we do to people who live with dementia?

The more research I do, the more proof I have that the behaviours of some people who live with dementia that challenge those around them are not the result of dementia, but rather perfectly reasonable reactions to particular sets of circumstances.

In early 2017, I began an anonymous online “survey” that is both a learning tool, and a way for me to show that behaviours labelled “BPSD” are in fact normal human behaviours. You may take that survey here; you may see the results here, or in this article published in the Journal of the American medical Directors Association (JAMDA).

I started my second anonymous ongoing online survey on April 11, 2018. The vast majority of the respondent (93%) answered an open-ended question which asked how they would feel when faced with a situation that every person who lives with dementia in a “memory care unit” and others in their own homes potentially face every day.

The question asks how respondents would feel if they could not leave their living space when they wanted to because they could either not find a door, or the door(s) would not open. Of those who responded to the question, two (2) say they would remain calm; four (4) say they couldn’t imagine what they might feel.

The other 98% say they would become distressed in some way. They describe how they would feel using words such as:

  • scared/frightened/afraid/terrified (25%)
  • anxious/upset/agitated (24%)
  • trapped/claustrophobic/imprisoned (22%)
  • frustrated (20%)
  • panicked/panicky/panic (18%)

As well as others such as angry, confused, disoriented, helpless, cross, annoyed, and crazy. Many use multiple word answers; for example:

  • Trapped, a prisoner in my own home.
  • Confused, upset, suspicious, anxious, angry, frustrated, depressed, imprisoned.
  • I would be extremely upset, panicky, angry and disoriented.
  • Angry. Upset. Confused.
  • I would became frustrated, agitated, and probably angry.
  • Terrified! Confused! Helpless! Frustrated! Angry! Embarrassed! Desperate!
  • I would freak out. Total meltdown. Panic.

Of the people who have participated in the survey to date, 89% say they do not have dementia. Therefore, their reaction to being “locked in” cannot be a result of dementia.

We’ve got it all wrong when we lock up people who live with dementia in their own homes or in memory care units, and then blame dementia for their anxiety and upset. As people who live with dementia are human, they react the same way the rest of us would if we were unable to leave our living space — they feel frightened, anxious, frustrated, trapped, panicky, angry, and confused. I experienced it first hand with my mom when I didn’t know any better.

It boggles my mind that an astonishing number of medical professionals in the area of dementia care seem not to “get it.” It’s not rocket science folks. We just need to walk a mile in their shoes.

Take the survey here.

how would we behave if we were locked in? research shows 96% of us would respond the same way many people with dementia do

“wandering” is not a symptom of dementia

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Challenges & Solutions, Tips, tools & skills, Videos

20 questions to ask yourself about dementia-related incontinence

One of the first things we learn to do as toddlers is to eliminate our waste in socially acceptable ways, usually in private. The cultural norms and taboos associated with this normal bodily function are deeply ingrained; they remain with us for our entire lives.

The elderly, and people who live with dementia in the later stages may experience incontinence, and, as a result, have to wear adult incontinence products. Sadly, they may also be forced into incontinence, as my mother was, in understaffed long-term care facilities either because the staff don’t understand incontinence or they don’t have time to properly care for people.

I developed this list of 20 questions to help all of us, particularly care partners and care workers, to reflect on some of the issues surrounding incontinence in dementia care, whether that care is administered at home or in a facility.

  1. How often do you go to the bathroom every day? If somebody told you you couldn’t go when you needed to go, what would you say?
  2. When you need to use the toilet, do you know where to go? What would happen if you didn’t know where to go? How would you feel? What might you do?
  3. What is it like to be in a public place, to be desperate to go to the bathroom and to not be able to find one? How might you feel? What might you do?
  4. What would it be like to be in a strange country, to need to use the toilet, and not know how to ask where to go?
  5. What would it be like to be told you can only go to the bathroom at certain times, according to an arbitrary schedule and not when you need to?
  6. How does it feel when your bladder or bowels are full to bursting?
  7. If somebody told you to urinate or have a bowel movement when you didn’t feel the need to, would you be able to? How would you feel about it?
  8. When was the last time you peed your pants? How did it feel physically and emotionally?
  9. When was the last time you wore a diaper? What would it be like to have to wear a diaper today? If you had to wear a diaper from now on and forever, how would you feel about it?
  10. What would it be like to not be able to take care of your own personal hygiene?
  11. Have you ever been on a long drive, needed to use the toilet and been too far away from the next rest stop to hold it until you got there? What did you do?
  12. Have you ever been so desperate to pee, that you have urinated somewhere that you otherwise might not?
  13. What kinds of signs and signals do people (think children) exhibit when they need to go to the bathroom? What about you?
  14. How would you feel about having to wear a full diaper that weighed more than a kilo (i.e. more than 2 pounds) for several hours? Do you think having to do so would affect your mood and outlook? If yes, how?
  15. How often do you use the toilet with someone else in the room, or in the case of a public washroom in the cubicle with you?
  16. Would you feel comfortable having somebody clean your genitals and behind after you had urinated or had a bowel movement? If not, why not?
  17. How would you feel if, when you needed to urinate or have a bowel movement, you were told to do it in your pants?
  18. What is the relationship between bodily functions and human dignity? What is the relationship between bodily functions and shame?
  19. How would you react if you were told to do things or you started to do things that you had been told all of your life were taboo?
  20. What do you think of people who are incontinent? Do you treat them any differently than you do people who have control over their bladder and bowels? How would you feel about yourself if you were incontinent?

In closing, find good information about adult incontinence products, and watch this powerful scene from the movie Still Alice:

More lists of 20 questions related to other dementia care issues here.

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Care Partnering, Challenges & Solutions, Humour, Tips, tools & skills

turn potential dementia disasters into fun and laughter

Many dementia care partners have learned that going with the flow works magic: it can turn potential disasters into gales of laughter with very little effort. All it takes is a little bit of imagination. I stumbled on a perfect real life example shared by care partner Catherine Bixenman-salesi. in the online dementia support group USAgainst Alzheimer’s.

Catherine shared the vignette in response to an article on validation that had been posted by group administrator and dementia care author and advisor Carol Bradley Bursack.

Here’s what Catherine had to say:

“My teenaged son often corrects his grandmother, and then suffers the consequences. I, on the other hand, let her stories flow. I also enjoy adding flavour to them. This makes her perk up, and turns her from sad to glad. It also gets her talking, and gesturing with her hands. I help piece the sentences together by filling in every other word, and away we go. Last night, she noticed a commode in her bedroom. She pointed at it and in an angry tone said: ‘Not mine!’ It was a perfect opportunity for some fun.

‘Tell that lazy ass woman to take her belongings with her when she goes,’ I said with a scowl on my face. ‘I have enough work to do here without having to clean up after her!’

Mom burst out laughing. What a joyful sound it was. Of course I laughed too. It seems like a silly thing, but to her it was funny. I could have told her it was hers, which it is, and she would have denied it and become hostile. Instead, I went along with her version of reality. The result? Smiles and laughs all around.”

Kudos to Catherine! I know from my own experience that this, and other imrov techniques really works a treat. I talk about in the video clip here, and in my BANGS model here. If you haven’t tried “going with the flow,” I highly recommend you do so. Your stress level will drop and your relationship with your care partner will improve.

If you have tried going with the flow and have similar stories to share, I’d love to hear them.

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Care Partnering, Challenges & Solutions, Tips, tools & skills

how being sorry and stupid turned mad into glad

I’ve shared parts of this story before. It’s an afternoon in October 2015. Mom appears to be asleep in the recliner when I arrive at the LTCF to visit. I lean over and put my hands on either side of the chair. My face is about arms length from hers.

“Patti?” I say to check if she’s really sleeping or just resting. When she opens her eyes, I know immediately she’s unhappy. I also know exactly what to do to minimize the likelihood of things deteriorating further. In the space of about an hour and a half, I created conditions under which Mom and I could move from bad to good instead of from bad to worse. There’s nothing magic about what I did, anyone can do it.

One way is using the BANGS model I developed to help care partners and care workers effectively engage people who are living with dementia. Here’s what I did: 1) took several deep breaths 2) assessed, accepted and agreed, 3) didn’t argue or correct, 4) went with Mom’s flow, and 5) said I was sorry (a lot!).

I thought it might help others to be able to hear our real-life conversation and the transformation we effected together. The five-minute audio below is divided into three segments. The first one is when I arrive to visit Mom; the second is about an hour later when her mood is shifting; and in the last segment we’ve gone all the way from sad to glad.

From sad to glad: an example of BANGS in action

Click here to listen (I highly recommend listening while reading to fully “get it”):

Read here: 

Susan: We were both talking about nothing

Mom: Well that’s stupid.

Susan: That was stupid. (laughs) That was stupid, Mom.

(Susan turns down the loud music, which may have been contributing to Mom’s angry demeanour)

Susan: Pardon me?

Mom: You don’t lalalalala look stupid things.

Susan: I’m a silly Billy eh mom?

Mom: Yeah, and you’re stupid.

Susan: Am I? What have you got on your face here? It’s cake. (laughs) I’m happy to see you.

Mom: Well I’m not happy to see you.

Susan: No?

Mom: No. I’m not happy at all.

Susan: Are you mad at me?

Mom: Yeah, I am mad at you. Very mad.

Susan: Are you?

Mom: Yeah.

Susan: What have done?

Mom: Well it’s stupid.

Susan: I did a stupid thing?

Mom: Yeah.

Susan: Oh. Sorry about that.

Mom: Yeah, well it is stupid.

Susan: I didn’t mean it. I didn’t mean it. Is there anything I can do to fix it?

Mom: Well no, there’s nothing I can do to fix it. (Mom starts to “tap” Susan quite hard)

Susan: Oh god, you just whacked me. (The taps get lighter) Are those love taps or mad taps?

Mom: Mad taps.

Susan: Okay. Well at least they’re not very hard.

Mom: What do you mean hard?

Susan: Oh my goodness.

Mom: That’s awful thing to do.

Susan: I don’t know what I did, but whatever it is, I’m sorry I did it.

Mom: Well why did you do whatever stupid it was?

Susan: I don’t know. I made a mistake. I’m sorry.

Mom: Well, it’s sort of stupid that you didn’t –

Susan: I know I admit it. I admit it. I was stupid. I know. I don’t know why I did it Mom. It was a mistake. Is there anything I can do to fix it?

Mom: No!

Susan: Oh. Okay. Because if there was something, I would do it.

Mom: Yeah.

Susan: Yeah that’s what happened. Sorry about that. But maybe it’ll fade over time.

Mom: Well I don’t think so. 

Susan: No? Okay. Is it okay if I sit here with you for awhile? How about if we do your nails?

Mom: Well, the nails are beautiful.

Susan: Well, they could be redone I think. Shall I redo them for you?

Mom: Na na na na no I don’t want to.

(About an hour later:)

Susan: Those are nice taps.

Mom: Yeah.

Susan: Are those love taps?

Mom: Yeah, they are nice taps.

Susan: Before you were giving me mad taps. You were mad at me before Mom.

Mom: Mad at you when?

Susan: About an hour ago.

Mom: Oh well, so what.

Susan: (laughs) That’s what I said Mom – so what? It’s okay. You have a right to be mad when you wanna, Mom.

Mom: Yeah, I guess I better.

Susan: Yeah. Life is short. Do what you want.

Mom: Yeah.

Susan: Eh?

Mom: I guess.

Susan: Yep. That’s right.

(About another half hour later:)

 Susan: And then we sang “Mary had a little lamb, little lamb, little lamb…

Together: it’s fleece was white as snow…etc.

Susan: I like that nursery rhyme, it’s cute.

Mom: Well, it was a nice story.

Susan: Yeah it was a nice story, Mom. How about baa, baa..

Together: Baa baa black sheep, have you any wool…

This approach worked wonders for me on many occasions. That’s not to say it always worked, because, just as we all do, Mom had days when she was just plain unhappy — who wouldn’t have been in her circumstances? No one is happy all the time — or at least no one I know, including myself! The point is, this way of engaging someone living with dementia has a much better chance of working than arguing, correcting, and dismissing. Try it and see for yourself.

See also: Teepa Snow demos 10 ways to calm a crisis with a person with dementia

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Challenges & Solutions, NHBPS, Toward better care

101 potential causes of behaviour by people living with dementia that institutional care staff may find challenging

While researching my second JAMDA article, I came across a relatively recent paper by Dr. Jiska Cohen-Mansfield on the causes of discomfort in people who live with dementia (PLWD) in long-term care facilities (LTCFs). Cohen-Mansfield and her team developed a Sources of Discomfort Scale (SODS), as part of a larger study for the “Treatment Routes for Exploring Agitation” (TREA). The SODS lists the 20 most common sources of discomfort the researchers discovered, of which the top four are:

  1. feeling tired or sleepy
  2. sitting for too long
  3. being restrained
  4. inadequate lighting

This caused me to revisit my list of 35 things that may cause people with dementia (and you) to become uncooperative, upset, angry, anxious or “aggressive,” which I then found inadequate. Somewhere else (I don’t remember where now), I had come across the concept of separating sources of discomfort and agitation under four broad categories:

  • physical discomfort
  • psychological discomfort
  • social discomfort
  • environmental factors

Like Dr. Cohen-Mansfield, I continue to explore the root causes of the of the reasonable reactions people living with dementia have to the circumstance in which they find themselves. These reasonable reactions are also sometimes called behavioural expressions, responsive behaviours, personal expressions and, unhelpfully, “challenging behaviours.” “The broken lens of BPSD: why we need to rethink the way we label the behaviour of people who live with alzheimer’s disease” gives specific examples drawn from my personal experience of how the biomedical model misses the mark when it comes to identifying the causes of behavioural expressions in PLWD.

Based on my own experience and observations, I developed this list of 101 possible underlying reasons for the responsive behaviours of PLWD in LTCFs, grouped into the four broad categories mentioned above:

Physical discomfort (33)
  1. pain
  2. constipation
  3. incontinence
  4. forced incontinence (needing help with toileting, but no help available)
  5. being wet / soiled
  6. being assaulted
  7. being neglected and/or abused
  8. feeling hot
  9. feeling cold
  10. fatigue
  11. exhaustion
  12. hunger
  13. thirst
  14. breathing difficulties
  15. hearing problems (helpful downloadable PDF by Agnes Houston MBE)
  16. vision problems (helpful downloadable PDF by Agnes Houston MBE)
  17. sensory issues (helpful downloadable PDF by Agnes Houston MBE)
  18. reaction to food (e.g. caffeine)
  19. stomach upset
  20. being restrained
  21. dry skin
  22. itchiness
  23. poor diet
  24. malnutrition
  25. ill-fitting clothes
  26. insufficient bathing
  27. lack of exercise
  28. weakness
  29. illness (e.g. various infections including UTIs)
  30. inability to verbally communicate (e.g. aphasia)
  31. being denied touch
  32. unmet sexual needs
  33. experiencing the side effects of medications (e.g. risperidone, quetiapine,) and/or polypharmacy
Psychological discomfort (36)
  1. fear
  2. confusion
  3. frustration
  4. boredom
  5. loneliness
  6. shame
  7. depression
  8. despair
  9. hopelessness
  10. grief
  11. loss
  12. humiliation
  13. isolation
  14. lack of love
  15. lack of attention
  16. feeling out of control
  17. feeling incompetent
  18. feeling unheard
  19. feeling worried
  20. feeling panicky
  21. feeling powerless
  22. being a “stranger in a strange land”
  23. being restrained/denied one’s freedom of movement or voice
  24. being told what to do
  25. being neglected
  26. being abused
  27. not getting to do what one wants
  28. too much stimulation
  29. too little stimulation
  30. too much routine
  31. too little routine
  32. life changes
  33. being purposeless
  34. being denied pleasure and play
  35. anxiety (as a result of all of the above and below)
  36. feeling angry (as a result of all of the above and below)
Social discomfort (16)
  1. having strange people all around
  2. being in close quarters with others
  3. being isolated
  4. being punished
  5. being ridiculed
  6. being bullied
  7. too much social stimulation
  8. too little social stimulation
  9. forced activity
  10. forced inactivity
  11. being denied access to loved ones
  12. being patronized
  13. being infantilized
  14. being shamed
  15. being embarrassed
  16. being forced to interact with people one doesn’t like
Environmental factors (16)
  1. noise  (also: helpful downloadable PDF by Agnes Houston MBE)
  2. unknown sounds
  3. loud sounds
  4. radio / television
  5. too much light
  6. too little light
  7. heat
  8. cold
  9. clutter
  10. uninteresting surroundings
  11. unfamiliar surroundings
  12. change in surroundings
  13. being confined to a small space
  14. being confined indoors
  15. stale air / lack of ventilation
  16. lack of sun

This list isn’t exhaustive. To add to it, ask yourself what would make you feel uncomfortable, anxious, unwilling to cooperate, angry, “combative,” and/or upset. Correctly identifying the root cause of behavioural expressions that are problematic for care workers and LTCF staff can help us find solutions other than inappropriately medicating people with antipsychotic drugs.

the broken lens of BPSD: why we need to rethink the way we label the behaviour of people who live with alzheimer’s disease

20 questions that help explain why people with dementia get agitated and physically aggressive

See also:

https://kateswaffer.com/2018/09/10/30-normal-human-responses-6/

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