When Lewy uses reasoning.

Okay, so to back up a little, I left off Monday night and I was planning on giving Dad Benadryl to help him (us) sleep. He had been VERY restless and grumpy at the end of the day and kept dozing off, so I didn't get to give him anything until about 8pm again. I decided to instead give him a dose of his Xanax instead...to calm him and maybe (?) help him sleep. I am not a fan of these types of meds, but now that he's been off the zillion other drugs he's been on, I hoped maybe we could see just what effect it would have on him, and either continue with it, or discard it altogether (I've still got all his med bottles in case he ends up actually needing them).
Over the next couple of hours, he got REALLY grumpy. He was doing circles in the kitchen again, and when we'd try to ask him if he needed help, he'd blame us for ruining his pattern. Whatever. He finally went to bed at about 10 pm, a decent hour in my book. We went to bed too.
At 5:45 am, I woke up when my 5 year old got up and came in our room. The time jolted me, because I realized Daddy had NOT woken us up that night. Thoughts of him being dead rushed through my brain. How bad is that...that my first thought when we actually get some sleep is that he's passed on...?
I go downstairs and find lights on, crumbs everywhere, several empty water bottles, and even an entire (blue-colored) gatorade bottle empty (and spillage).
So he didn't really sleep, he was just quieter, I was zonked out, or both.
As I assessed the "damage", I headed to Daddy's room, and he was totally out...but alive. Phew!
Hours passed. We all were awake, had eaten breakfast, showered, gotten dressed...and Dad slept.
And slept.
I took advantage of the time and read.
And read.
And read.
Finally at about 11:45 am, Dad scooted out of his room dazed. He just stood there, staring at me on the couch, like he wasn't sure if I was real. I asked him if he needed anything...and he said, "Yeah, I'm starving." I said, "Well, I suppose you would be, you slept through breakfast and almost lunch!".
So he ate, and I hoped he'd take a shower since he wouldn't the day before, but he said he was going back to bed.
He slept off and on all day and didn't really stir much until about dinner time. Then-husband helped him get his showering necessities together and we heard the water run for approximately 2 minutes before it was off. That can't be good. I knew my then-husband wasn't "going there" with Daddy...and I thought I just couldn't either. Cleaning up bathroom accidents has already pushed me to my limit as it is. I'm going to have to call some of my contacts to find about hiring someone, or revisiting the skilled nursing idea. Daddy is a big guy and used to be quite overweight...and showering him...I won't get graphic, but the remains of being extremely overweight does things to your body...and, well, I am just not showering him. Not gonna.
Anyway...
For the most part, his waking hours were okay. We found out he'd somehow broken the pole that holds up his clothes in his closet, and he did a bit of wandering, but nothing too exciting.
I was contemplating what do to about the sleeping issue tonight. Clearly, the Xanax helped him sleep, but obviously too much, and that was the smallest dose. As much as NOT sleeping makes him (and us) crazy, I don't want him drugged or not being able to stay awake during the day. That's one of the things that really burns me about facilities...all the residents are so drugged that they basically stay unconscious...and when they are awake, the effect of all their drugs makes them too woozy to have any sort of conversation or real interaction with anyone...as if their disease doesn't already do its part in that department. I don't want that for him if it can be avoided.
At dinnertime (5pm), when I was making his plate, I decided to crush up the same dosage of Xanax in his food, and see if giving it to him earlier, and with food, would make any difference. Worth a shot.
He ate a big dinner and ice cream and stayed up until about 9:30 pm. He had a few of his hallucinations about that weirdo "string" he always thinks is coming out of his hands and got agitated with me when I said I didn't see it. There are differing opinons from everyone on what is more appropriate to do about hallucinations. I personally just try to change the subject. It's always come back and bit me in the ass when I've gone along with it...those are the times he seems to remember all too well...and then the next time when you don't go along with it, he'll say, "but you said last time that you did see it". Oh, Lewy.
Right before bed he called out (but didn't scream) for help. I was right in the next room. He was annoyed that we'd given him a lopsided bed (?). I tried reasoning that his bed was fine, and level, and he argued, "See...right there...one end of the bed was higher, and lopsided!" I was so tired and I just couldn't say anything. He just stared at me and kept saying it was busted. I said nothing as I folded a blanket. He finally let out a big "arrrgh" and then said that he guessed he'd just have to make it work then.
I guess so.
Thank you, Lewy, for finally trying to be reasonable, because I think I was about to argue back if he kept pushing the issue.
I came downstairs at about 10 pm before I went to bed to make sure he was in bed and he was...and he'd turned off all the lights, so I turned on the bathroom and hall light for him.
I heard a noise about an hour later and went downstairs to check and the lights were off again and he was still in bed. I left them off and went upstairs and to sleep.
1 am rolls around...noise downstairs.
As I walk slowly downstairs, I hear this awful sound...but it's totally dark. As I near the corner of the kitchen, I can see the faint light from his bathroom...but as I walk into the DARK kitchen, in the shadows...is Daddy...standing at the open cabinet, eyes closed, one hand holding a bag of chips, and the other shoveling them in his mouth so fast that, seriously, it was almost frightening. It was this fast paced crunching and whoooooshing sound...it was like, well, Gremlins. You know when the Gremlins are eating everything and they are eating so fast and so loudly...? That was the scene.
Dad cracked his eyes open just enough and saw me. He immmediately started talking really, really fast, almost stuttering...
Dad: "Well, so, I was, just, just, just...soooo hungry...and well, I had to go to the bathroom and well, I, I, I, just...couldn't find, I, I, couldn't, I didn't, I, I didn't make it...and well, you said not to scream, and then I was hungry...and but...but, I couldn't help it and there's a big mess..."
Me: "Huh? Mess? Where?"
Dad: (annoyed) "Like I said, in the bathroom. I didn't make it. But you said not to scream so I didn't...and then I was hungry."
Me: (crickets)

I slooooooowly walked toward the bathroom, totally afraid of what I was about to find. I'm still looking at my Dad (it was like slow motion) as he continues to barrel through the bag of chips, and I turn my head as I walk to 3 or so feet to bathroom. Holy crap. It's everywhere. Simply everywhere.

I look toward the sky and imagine that my Mom is saying, "I told you so! Haha!!! Neeeeener, neener neeeeeeener!!!"

As I'm cleaning up, he is now crumpling the chip bag over itself, like, to close it up...and not only does the noise make me think he's going to wake everyone else up, but it dawns on me that he probably didn't even wash his hands and he's probably got stuff all over his feet...and he's in my kitchen...the kitchen we prepare meals in...that my small children get their snacks from. I shoulda known giving him his own snack pantry in his room wouldn't keep our food uncontaminated. I shuddered at the thought. Kid locks are going on the kitchen snack cabinet and fridge tomorrow.

I get the chip bag from him and throw it out. He asks if he can help with anything. I tell him that not drinking so much liquid before bed would help. That spurs the thirst conversation allllll over again and I remind him that he drinks about 3 bottles of water, gatorade and a (caffeine free) diet soda after dinner time (on top of the other 4 or 5 bottles of water or other drinks he has throughout the day). I get nowhere in this conversation. He's trying to reason that he MUST drink when he's thirsty, and he MUST eat when he's hungry...even if it IS at 1 in the stinkin' morning.
Then, as I'm finally mopping the floor, he's sitting in his chair and says to me, "You know, what IIIIII think would be a good idea is that you wake me up a few times a night".
Me: What?
Dad: I think what would help this situation is for you to wake me several times a night so I don't do this...
Me: Do what?
Dad: (getting irritated) If you would just wake me a few times in the night to use the bathroom, then maybe I wouldn't make a mess in there.

(Because me being getting no sleep is reasonable, and because me picking certain times to go to the bathroom would make him go when I wanted him to go. Sure, sure.)

Me: I think what would actually help is you not arguing with me over everything, backing off the liquids before bed, and staying in bed.

Silence.

By the time I got everything cleaned, it was almost 2 am, and I am painfully awake. I went upstairs to grab something and then-husband asks me if I heard a noise. Uh, yeah, I sorta heard a fucking NOISE. I explain the whole scenario, how I've been downstairs cleaning for 45 minutes, and he seems to (not really) feel bad that he got to sleep through the whole thing.
And so here I am telling you all about it. And Dad (and Lewy) are sound asleep.