After about a year, it became clear to me that my husband belonged in a day-care program, but, of course, this was not something he’d agree to— and I knew better than to suggest it
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ast week I wrote about my decision not to confront my husband z”l with his diagnosis, something he made clear he didn’t want to know about. There were two other instances where I chose not to let him know the full story.
One resolved an otherwise insurmountable problem, the other had an even better outcome, giving him not only pleasure, but also a sense of agency. Neither involved telling him the truth, but as a caregiver, my first concern was for his safety and happiness, and telling the truth wouldn’t have allowed for either.
At a particular juncture in my husband’s illness, I realized that it was unsafe to leave him alone while I was working. There was no way he was going to accept the reality that he needed a caregiver, so I had to think out of the box to make this happen. I came up with a plan. It was complicated to initiate and sustain, but it served us well for quite a while.
We had tried a live-in caregiver, but that was a disaster, and her stay with us was short-lived. She had come with the highest recommendations but lacked what for us was an important quality: flexibility. Despite my instructions and pleas, she insisted on acting like a nurse and treating my husband like a patient.
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