Placating the Demons
We welcome guest blogger, Ute Carson! Ute Carson has been a writer since youth. She has published widely and was nominated three times for the Pushcart Prize. She lives with her husband in Austin, Texas. They have three daughters, six grandchildren and a clowder of cats. Please visit her website www.utecarson.com
“Honey, I think my unconscious bubbles up, and I become fearful. It feels like I’m in prison.”
He allowed me to put my arms around him.
“Stay with me,” he whispered.
I was warned that urinary infections in the elderly can bring on hallucinations, nightmares and fears, often following treatment and occurring mainly at night.
When my husband came home from the hospital after a severe urinary infection, the nightly demons appeared as predicted. He had been bedridden for several days, and the intensity of his visions took me by surprise. I was unprepared for the shock and the loneliness my husband would suffer when these nightmares overtook him.
It began with a few reprimands. My gentle husband accused me of negligence.
“You didn’t feed the cats.
“I always feed the cats,” I objected.
My response only intensified his anger.
“You did not!”
Then one night he demanded:
“Get the car out. We are leaving.”
“We can’t leave. You are weak. You’ve been lying in bed.”
“Who are you to tell me what to do ? Get the car keys. Right now.”
“Please, sweetheart. You can't drive a car.”
“Says who? If you don’t get the car keys, I’ll get them myself.”
Forcefully, he pushed my hand off his shoulder. We exhausted ourselves in a verbal battle that ended in a furious impasse. My husband was fuming. I was crying.
These nightly struggles continued, robbing us both of sleep and me of good will and patience. The themes varied, but the intensity remained constant.
Then I changed my approach. Instead of opposing the visions, I began appeasing them.
Sitting up in bed at around 2 am one night, my husband grasped my hand and whispered:
“They are coming to get us. All these men with knives. See them?” Instead of responding, “Nobody is there,” as I would have done before, I asked,
“Tell me where they are?”
“Right over there. In the corner.”
“Get our guns.”
We don’t own a single weapon, but I answered,
“Sure. I’ll get them. And where are the men with the knives?”
“Over there. Quick.”
“What now?”
“Let’s hide?”
“Where? He clutched my hand tighter.
“Maybe in the bathroom?”
“Great idea. But will it be cold on the tile floor? How about hiding under our warm comforter instead?”
He considered the suggestion for a minute.
”Good idea. But we need to keep the lights on.”
“Sure.”
We ducked beneath our covers, snuggled together and, for a while he continued:
“Are we safe?”
“We are”
We fell asleep.
There were more disconcerting incidents when my husband turned me into his enemy. In his mind I was no longer opposing his ideas and plans; I had become someone personally against him. I had switched sides.
He went straight on the attack.
““You are with the men, right?””
“Did you see me with them?”
“Of course! I can’t believe you fooled me.”
“How did I do that?”
“Don’t act innocent. You are recording this, right?"
“Should I hand you the recorder?”
“I will smash it. Or better yet, you smash it.”
“I will.”
The outburst evaporated and by morning the episode was forgotten.
Remaining by the side of a loved one is the most important lesson learned, as the outbursts and subsequent lack of remembering are not a personal attack. Instead, it’s the opposite—they are directed at the person who feels most safe.
Eventually, the demons will retreat, and even a conversation about the nightly invasions may become possible.
While much may remain hidden in the dark regions of the unconscious for the person afflicted, for the caretaker there also remains the hope that the memory of those frightening moments are buried below glimpses of hope.
