Snapshots of Dementia: Choose Your Battles

Posted by Marti on August 26, 2022 in Dementia | 6 comments

Choose your battles. It’s a familiar parenting principle—and one that works well for many aspects of life. Sometimes it takes a slight twist: Don’t sweat the small stuff. Look at the big picture. Don’t miss the forest for the trees. But however we say it, we mean to avoid turning small issues into big ones, which often happens when we argue or fuss. 

I’m not much of an arguer (Read: If there were an anti-confrontation vaccine, I’d be first in line.) But there was a time earlier in Tom’s dementia journey that, for some reason, I found it important to let him know when he was doing something I considered wrong or inappropriate. 

Part of that reason was that he had not yet been diagnosed. Although I suspected problems over a period of years, his first neurologist as well as a neuropsychologist told me he was fine. So when he did something that upset me or had odd, unusual behavior, I talked to him. Sometimes I corrected him. Sometimes I told him he was wrong. 

In reality, since he couldn’t control most of his actions or impulses, I was the one who was wrong. I thought my words would help Tom make some different decisions about what he said and did, but of course he couldn’t think logically anymore even if he remembered my comments. Today, armed with a new knowledge set as well as his dementia diagnosis, I approach these situations much differently.  

BEHAVIOR: Tom doesn’t answer me when I ask him a direct question. 

THEN: “When someone asks you a question, you should respond,” I remind him. “It’s how people know you’re listening to what they say.”  

NOW: I repeat my question after a few minutes or drop it altogether. Concentrating takes so much cognitive effort that he can’t focus on more than one thing. He genuinely does not hear me. And these days, he is less and less able to process enough information to give a response. I didn’t understand that then, but I do now. 

BEHAVIOR: Tom flirts with the female grocery store clerk, a practice I’ve asked him to stop. 

THEN: I don’t say anything to him at the store, but afterward, I tell him he has hurt me. I also spend time grieving over the state of my marriage. 

NOW: I either use the self-checkout line and let him “help” me with the groceries (our bags contain some rather interesting combinations) so we generally avoid such encounters. If we go through a regular line, I try to do most of the talking. If flirting happens, I ignore it (although if it ever became inappropriate, I would shut it down and explain to the clerk about dementia). 

BEHAVIOR: Although he can no longer drive, Tom acts as though he’s still in charge of our car, telling me where to stop or turn, gesturing (not in anger) to other drivers, and obsessing about our miles per gallon.  

THEN: Even when you know your backseat driver has dementia, this can be frustrating. I don’t argue with Tom, but I do ask him to stop acting as though he were the driver. “I’ve got it,” I say. 

P.S. That doesn’t work. 

NOW: I ignore his backseat driving as much as possible. He can’t drive because he’s not able to do so safely. This means when he tells me to stop or turn, I check before I follow through. He’s told me to drive out into oncoming traffic multiple times. I have to think before I act—because he can’t.  

BEHAVIOR: Tom chooses the same clothes for church or a family outing nearly every week. Although he has a whole closetful, he returns to the same two or three outfits much of the time. 

THEN: I urge him to wear something different and set out other options than his standard choices. 

NOW: I recognize that his familiar clothing equals comfort and security—and no one cares what he wears anyway. I let him choose his worn blue sweater or red Ohio state shirt for the fourth or fifth week in a row and rarely adjust his clothing unless there’s a real reason to do so. 

I’ve also learned through this process that I don’t have to be right. I may have an opinion—and I often do—but I don’t always have to share it.  When it matters, such as Tom making a choice that will cause harm to himself or others, I’ll speak up—and choose my battles.

If you have a friend or loved one who is living with dementia, what situations have moved you to “choose your battles”? In my process of doing so, I’ve had to lay down my right to be right multiple times. And guess what? That’s a right that’s often wrong.

Feel free to share your response in the comments below or on social media. Our story matters—and so does yours.