Arguing with Dementia

Pancakes.  More specifically, Doug’s grandma’s buttermilk pancakes from scratch and Krusteaz, just add water pancake mix from the bag. That was it. That is what started it.  Doug had an opinion. I threw the spatula, and our first argument, as a married couple, was underway.

I was raised in a home where gourmet was associated with a butler, an English accent, and a white lion-cut poodle with a pink bow.  Meals in my home were to eat, not display.  Simple was good, casseroles were expected, and leftovers were daily.  Breakfast was the fend-for-yourself meal, and buttermilk belonged on the farm.  When the Krusteaz pancake mix debuted on my childhood kitchen counter, the simplicity of just adding water made perfect sense. 

My mom and I did not spend much time together in the kitchen.  She did not share the family cooking secrets on Sundays.  Probably because there weren’t any to share, and she in no way was Martha Stewart.  Mom preferred bookkeeping and Junior League over homemaking.  I learned to cook and bake by watching the occasional mom moments in the kitchen and by trial and error, using Cream of Mushroom soup and the Easy Bake Oven. 

Doug came from a poorer family than I did.  He learned to eat fast and make things from scratch.  He loved to cook.  He enjoyed the flavors, colors, and presentation of food.  I couldn’t care less.  Before marriage, I had prewarned him that food was not my strong suit.  I knew how to make a chopped green salad (because I ate many of them) and toast was a good staple for breakfast.  He married me anyway.  So, when he compared the delicacies of my morning display of Krusteaz pancakes that I proudly placed before him maybe two weeks into our marriage to his grandmother’s famous buttermilk pancakes…  I lost it!  We argued hot and heavy over the considerations of pancake ingredients.  It ended with me in tears and him out for a walk.  Alone.

Looking back, it’s hilarious!  At the time, my feelings were hurt, and I stewed over it for a very. Long. Time.  Pancakes I made were not displayed on our breakfast table again until our middle child begged.  He was 5!  I used Krusteaz and added water.  Doug thanked me and ate them quietly.

Doug and I are two very different people, which might be the very reason marriage has worked for us all these years.  He has challenged me, and I have challenged him.  We have not always agreed on everything, and we have argued about many things, some that mattered and others that didn’t.  Occasionally, feelings were hurt, and almost always, bridges were built.

I am the more bullheaded of the two of us.  I see it the way I see it, and I think Doug should also see it that way. I pursue.  Doug is the gentler soul of the two of us.  He let me know when it mattered to him, but he mostly skillfully guided the outcome with calm words and patience.

I learned to pick my battles as marriage lengthened into years and the children grew.  I realized along the way that a lot just needed to be left alone and that only the important needed to be pursued.  Dementia has refined that even more.  I finally understand that arguing with dementia doesn’t work and, with dementia, very little, mostly nothing, ever needs to be pursued.  Dementia is not rational.  It skews persuasion, and it cannot manipulate outcomes.  This disease amputates the complexities required to do those things successfully.  Doug is slowly losing cognitive skills like logic, reasoning, problem-solving, and decision-making. 

As a result, I notice his ability to dialogue back and forth through an entire conversation is waning.  He loses track of the point, especially in a conversation with the edge of an argument.  For example, Doug might say something that I know is not accurate.  So, up until pretty recently, I would self-righteously charge into the exchange and correct him.  I would say, for example, “No, it’s not that, it’s this.”  Before, Doug would shoot back an opinion.  Now, he flusters to defend his position and becomes confused on the point somewhere along the way.  The whole exchange leaves him feeling defeated and me feeling like a predator. 

So, I no longer pursue it.  I just change the subject all together.  It is much easier and way more peaceful to let go of the hunt to be “right” and instead validate him and redirect the conversation.

I have a friend, John.  His wife has dementia. She has had it longer than Doug.  I reached out to John during the ping-pong process of Doug’s diagnosis.  That’s when John told me the best part of this disease is that his wife does not stay mad at him longer than 3 minutes, and they never argue anymore.  “What’s the point?” He asked rhetorically, “Neither of us wins, and the goal of the argument is not remembered long enough for emphasis.”  He ended our conversation by saying, “Honestly, Karen, our house is very peaceful, and we’re having the time of our lives.”

I appreciated John’s more than optimistic viewpoint and perspective on his home life with dementia, but I did not fully understand it.   At the time, I was a deer in the headlights, trying to fix my home life and somehow make dementia go away.  I was not having the time of my life, and I did not have peace…

Now, I do. 

Now I understand that because of the way dementia is gradually and methodically taking over the rooms of the frontal and temporal lobes of Doug’s brain, he would really struggle to think up ways to scheme or plot to “win” an argument or an outcome.  Those higher-functioning waves of reason and logic are steadily being silenced.  This does not mean he never has an opinion; he does.  But Doug finds it frustrating to argue for it and can be swayed from it.  

I’ve been told once… or twice, “Don’t sweat the small stuff.”  I’m not sure if it’s age, life experience, dementia, or some of all three responsible for ringing that loud and clear in my current daily pursuits.  Pancake ingredients would never make the cut at this stage of the game, and arguing with dementia is a complete waste of time.  Life is short.  “Peacefulness” and “the time of our lives” are now top on our home life agenda.  It’s not always easy, and it’s not usually my first impulse to redirect and validate.  But I’m getting better at it and seeking peace one day at a time.   

Karen