GHOSTS
Perhaps not the best title for this posting.....Delusions is more accurate. But we called them ghosts, so that is what I'll relate. And I relate this to alert you in case you are ever in our situation.
In the last two or three years of Fabian's life and as a direct result of Parkinson's disease (According to his doctor), he saw people and even animals who weren't there. (It may also have been a result of all the meds he was on, to my way of thinking, but that is certainly open to debate.)
On more than one occasion, he would ask me to let the dogs back into the apartment (He saw several on the lanai.) I would explain that we didn't have any dogs but did have a cat. He would usually say something like "That's why the dogs don't want to come in. It's the cat." So I would open the lanai door for a few minutes and he would be contented that the dogs had come inside.
As to the people who visited, he was fond of a "pretty little girl" who would wander about the apartment by the name of Cynthia. She was a blonde child of about 7 and always laughing. Sometimes Fabian would laugh and explain that Cynthia had told him a joke. On the other hand, he hated some ogre-type fellow who "smelled bad" and was always occupying the spot where he wanted to sit. As the years progressed, I finally convinced him that these "ghosts" were not there. He still saw them but finally realized that they were figments of his imagination.
We had a real "break-through" on the day I got him to "sit" on the lap of the smelly man who was in his chair. I remember him smiling and saying "Well, that wasn't so bad."
These occurrences did not happen in tandem nor every day. But it was something we had to deal with when they arose. And the lesson I learned was "patience." It was a disease that neither of us could control, but only cope with through love and understanding.
And the irony, after all this time, occurs at night, in my half-asleep dreams. I sometimes wake up because Fabian and Cynthia are sitting on the bed, giggling like two children sharing a secret. And strangely enough, it's rather comforting. I like that.
In the last two or three years of Fabian's life and as a direct result of Parkinson's disease (According to his doctor), he saw people and even animals who weren't there. (It may also have been a result of all the meds he was on, to my way of thinking, but that is certainly open to debate.)
On more than one occasion, he would ask me to let the dogs back into the apartment (He saw several on the lanai.) I would explain that we didn't have any dogs but did have a cat. He would usually say something like "That's why the dogs don't want to come in. It's the cat." So I would open the lanai door for a few minutes and he would be contented that the dogs had come inside.
As to the people who visited, he was fond of a "pretty little girl" who would wander about the apartment by the name of Cynthia. She was a blonde child of about 7 and always laughing. Sometimes Fabian would laugh and explain that Cynthia had told him a joke. On the other hand, he hated some ogre-type fellow who "smelled bad" and was always occupying the spot where he wanted to sit. As the years progressed, I finally convinced him that these "ghosts" were not there. He still saw them but finally realized that they were figments of his imagination.
We had a real "break-through" on the day I got him to "sit" on the lap of the smelly man who was in his chair. I remember him smiling and saying "Well, that wasn't so bad."
These occurrences did not happen in tandem nor every day. But it was something we had to deal with when they arose. And the lesson I learned was "patience." It was a disease that neither of us could control, but only cope with through love and understanding.
And the irony, after all this time, occurs at night, in my half-asleep dreams. I sometimes wake up because Fabian and Cynthia are sitting on the bed, giggling like two children sharing a secret. And strangely enough, it's rather comforting. I like that.
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