Join the forum discussion on this post - (2) PostsIf you are like most of us, you were hard-wired not to lie. Telling a fib, no matter how trivial, makes you uncomfortable. Still, you know that sometimes it is kinder to lie. Like when your best friend who weighs 220 pounds expectantly asks if her new outfit makes her look “hot.” Or when your cousin asks if you enjoyed that great book on the the migrant patterns of whooping cranes that he gave you at Christmas. But what about when the lie that will “protect” is not so small or subjective? Caregivers of people with memory loss are confronted with this every day.
My mother has Alzheimer’s Disease. She doesn’t know it. She most certainly would not believe it. There was a time when she recognized that her memory was failing. A time when she faithfully visited a neurologist to monitor the loss of memory that was impeding her ability to accomplish daily skills such as coordinating telecommunications accounts and balancing a checkbook with ease. But as her memory loss increased, her recognition of her own problem decreased. She no longer believes that she needs to see a neurologist or that she needs assistance with her medications. This, despite the fact that without help, she will not remember to take her medication- or even eat. She now believes she needs no assistance whatsoever.
Blessed with the brightness of mind and spirit that fuels great accomplishment in life, my mother always knew what she wanted and how to get there. Believe me, she always arrived at her intended destination. She always achieved her intended goal. Today, she no longer knows what she wants or how to get there. And her previously firey mind has morphed into a volcanic fury that erupts most often at Sundown. It is then that her confusion is at its height. She demands to be assured that the visiting caretakers will not return. ”She does not need help.” “She does not like that woman.” She demands to be assured that I recognize that she does not need help. My chest pounds with the convoluted emotions of a chastised child unfairly accused as my blood pressure escalates in anticipation of the “to-lie or not to lie” dilemma. Heaven fordbid it is at that moment that I notice that the caretaker was not able to cause her to take her medicine. My mother responds to any indicator that she needs help with rage and FEAR. We are at the precipice.
The true answer is: “Yes, mom. Margaret will be here in the morning. And you do need help.”
The easy amswer is: ”I know you don’t like her, Mom. And I know you don’t need help. But we need to do this.”
The lie: “She is a witch and I regret the day she arrived to help. You don’t need any help. You are perfectly capable. I will call those evil business people who masquerade as home health care workers in the morning and make sure they never come again. But for now, would you please take your pills?”
Both the true answer and the easy answer lead to an outcome of forty minutes of loud arguing within an abyss of illogic- and only a 50% probability that the medicine will actually be consumed. The lie will lead to an outcome of peace, and medicine taken with just minor grumbling. And in the morning she will be sharper clearer, and will remember none of this.
Is the need for truth improtant enough to agitate her?
As a protector, am I responsible to protect her dignity by providing only the truth?
Or is my obligation to protect her general sense of well-being paramount?
I lie. It is a horrible choice.
For well over a year, it was a choice I could not make. I did not even recognize lying as a possibility. Then one day I met with an angel who handed me a business card titled “Elder Law Attorney.” He told me: ”You must lie. It is the kind thing to do. For her.”
He went on to explain that she is living in a world that seems rationale to her, but is not the reality of here and now. That as long as I struggled to keep her in this reality- to orient her with the logic of this “here and now”- I would cause her -and me- torment. That it makes no sense to reason with someone who is incapable of reason. That is simply a futile exercise in frustration for all involved, with no good outcome. “The trught is, in fact, to her, unkind.” he said.
At the time I winced as I rolled that sour nugget around. To lie?? To lie to my mother?? To say “yes” when I fully know the answer is “no”?
The life of a caregiver is a balancing act full of indignities. Particularly so in the case of Alzheimer’s Disease where memory loss comes and goes, from minute to minute. One minute sharp and clear- the next, confused and disoriented- the brain filling gaps in recollection with recall of events that simply did not occur.
None of the least of the indignities borne by the caregiver is the need to lie. Yet sometimes, it is the kinder response.
Do you agree? Join the TLC Chat at the Friends Forum for people who care for people with memory loss.
Tags: Alzheimer's, memory loss
I told her. It was hard and it was scary, but I did it. “Mom, The doctor says you have Alzheimer's Disease.” I was ready for screaming, crying, a scene of anguish that would last an hour. She thought about it for a minute. Then she said, emphatically and firmly, “I don't believe that.” And that was the end of it. She most likely does not remember the conversation now- but I feel better for having told her.