Food, glorious food!
Food is such an important part of our lives.
Some of us have too much, some of us don’t have enough. Everyone has their favorite. Everyone has the stuff they hate.
The many variants and stages of FTD are related to food in so many ways. Like most phases, the food phase is insidious in onset. You suddenly realize that your loved one is raiding the kitchen cabinets, the cookie jar, the fridge, and eating everything in sight. If they are home alone for much of the day, it may take you a while to realize this. Many FTD’ ers develop an extremely sweet tooth and will devour ice cream, candy, chocolate, puddings and pies.
As is the habit of many of us who have hit the cholesterol and sodium awareness phase of our lives, we are accustomed to watching what we eat. We try to maintain a somewhat ‘healthy’ diet and exercise when we can. Many of our loved ones have always been fit and healthy and remain so throughout their encounter with FTD. So it rather goes against the grain (if you’ll pardon the pun) to rein those habits in and let someone eat and drink whatever they like.
I learned to deal with this via a mentor and expert in all things terminal, including FTD. Her philosophy is “chocolate is love to someone who is dying”. They don’t care if they eat healthily. They don’t even know what that means anymore.
The truth is, many of us are comforted by food. Not necessarily sweets either, although they seem to be popular with FTD’ers. We all have our ‘turn to” favorites. Mashed potatoes, mac and cheese, chicken soup – sometimes it’s something that evokes a comfortable memory or just a general feeling of security.
We are consumed with the preservation of life. But I am here to tell you that my husband would never have thanked anyone, including me, for extending his life one more day in the condition that he was. As healthy as he had always been, he would prefer to eat his candy and cookies and to hell with it. I am sure that many people in the midst of FTD, if they could tell you, would say the same.
I listened to psychiatrists, psychologists and other people talk about “quality of life”. What the heck is that when you have an untreatable, incurable disease that no-one really knows much about? Comfort should be the only priority. If comfort comes in the shape of a Hershey bar, then so be it. Quality of life, like pain, should be what the patient believes it to be. This may be the single most important thing that you advocate for – what your loved one believed to be “Quality”, when they still understood their life.
Only you can hold out and give them what they want. If your goal is to make their last years, months, weeks, days as pleasurable and comfortable as possible, then, in the words of Marie Antoinette:
“LET THEM EAT CAKE!”
(I always imagine her saying this with “Daaahling” at the end, in a voice like Zsa Zsa Gabor)
At least until they can’t anymore. Then you are faced with another decision. It may be easy for you, as it was for me. I knew, without a shadow of a doubt (and had it in writing), that the last thing my husband wanted was any form of life-extending procedure, such as a feeding tube. Our thoughts were simple. If you need a feeding tube to save or prolong your life and there is no hope of recovery from your dreadful condition, what exactly are we saving you for?
This may sound extreme or heartless, but believe me, saving someone and keeping them in what can only be described as a state of purgatory, with no hope of rescue, is a decision that many people come to regret. I see it every day in my work. Because making the decision to pour liquid down a tube into someone’s stomach, is only temporary. At some point in the not-too-distant future, the decision will need to be reversed. Then you have a completely different set of emotions to deal with.
It feels like you’re killing them, starving them to death. You yearn for the cake days. The days when they would only eat Cheerios or whatever.
As odd as it sounds, that happened to me quite often through our journey. As hellish as each stage was, the next was worse. I found myself longing for days when it was only the clothes-changing that drove me crazy. Or the washing of dishes, or filling boots with rocks. Every time a new, worse period began, I would have gone back gladly.
And when it was all over, I even found myself looking back fondly on days when we drove to Day Care, or I visited one of the different facilities where my husband eventually lived. Without me. Even the most hellish of days was missed. Still is.
Funny what you think is okay. It changes every day.
Cake is okay. Chocolate is okay. Respecting someone’s wishes is okay.
Doing the right thing is okay. The right thing for you. The right thing for the one you love.
It might not be the thing or things you want to do, but that’s okay too.
Your standards of okay are different now.
Whatever, whenever are the golden rules. Long may they reign!