I'm so happy to have learned the name "Wernicke's Encephalopathy" recently from my therapist. My husband and I moved in with his parents (with our two children) about five years ago, because the house was in a horrifying state of disarray. Mother-in-law "Grandma" was trying to care for Father-in-law "Grandpa" with no knowledge of medical care. The two of them drank very heavily for decades, Grandma drank on top of a high dose of Xanax.

When we first moved in, nothing made any sense. Grandma acted like we were crazy whenever we tried to talk to her about the rats in the house and in the attic space. She seemed to have blinders on when it came to the dishes piled up on the counters and in the cabinets, the fact that she and Grandpa had been wearing the same clothes for god knows how long, the rotten and rancid food and trash in the refrigerator, etc.

Grandma wouldn't let us help with Grandpa previously, so we backed off and really only heard from her if Grandpa had a fall and she couldn't get him up off of the floor. Looking back now, I know that the both of them were living in an isolated world of codependence and extreme alcoholism.

When we first arrived, Grandma used to talk to me about three inches away from my face. She seemed terrified of everything and hovered over me when I cooked or washed dishes or cleaned anything. She'd tell me "well I do it this way, because MY MOM used to do it that way..." She was never helpful and always telling me I was doing things wrong when I clearly knew what I was doing. She was afraid of the neighbors seeing us take any alcohol bottles or to the trashcans, that "someone might look inside and think we're drunks!"

I can see now that Grandpa had been in a state of hallucination and confabulation for much longer than anyone had even realized. He told wild stories that sometimes led nowhere, sent us on wild goose chases looking for things that did not exist, woke up at all hours of the night and sang " LA DA DEE DA DA DEE DAA DA..." type things and woke everyone up. He often forgot Grandma's name and called her "Mom." He seemed like he wasn't sure if he was calling for his wife or his own mother sometimes. He once asked me, "where's thing?!" when asking for Grandma. He yelled at her a lot and threw things and shoved items off of tables and shelves, often breaking everything and then moving on as though he had no recollection of what had just happened. Grandma normalized and reasoned through all of this.

Meanwhile, whenever I'd talk to Grandma about Grandpa's state, she's insist that he was as sharp as ever, had no memory issues, etc. I initially thought that she was just in disbelief, but I can see now that she thought everything that was going on was normal, she didn't remember what had just happened or the day before. She had forty years of making up excuses for Grandpa when he was drunk, so that pattern continued even after they had stopped drinking. It took me a really long time to realize that Grandma was just as lost as Grandpa.

I've spent the last five years feeling very confused by the way Grandma tells the same stories, but differently each time. She actually told me one day that I was her hero because I run the household and homeschool my kids, the very next day telling me I am lazy and to "get my shit and get out!" I later learned that this was the phrase that Grandpa used to scream at her when he was drunk and delusional and, later, when he was confused and couldn't remember what he was trying to say. At one point, Grandma told me that she'd never met her mother-in-law because Grandpa "never brought women over to meet her because that's the way she liked it!" then "Oh, no, she died before we were ever together." It took me a long time to train myself to remember that Grandma often doesn't know what the hell she's talking about, will not remember what we've talked about and not to take it personally.

The reality of the state my in-laws were in took a huge toll on my husband's mental health. His parents really hit the bottle once he left for college. The house used to be immaculately clean and both of them were smart people. He started having anxiety attacks that left him in a panicked state. He would leave in the middle of the night and drive around, terrified that someone was after him. He told me he'd hear me talking to him as he drove from parking lot to parking lot, trying to hide in the back seat, thinking that police or criminals were after him. I worried constantly, made many missing persons reports with the police and tried to track him. Grandma only ever said, "Well, we didn't RAISE him that way!" She didn't seem to understand my concern as a wife and thought I was looking to blame her for his disappearance. It turns out that he was breaking from all of the stress of seeing her lose her mind.

It's been just about five years since Grandpa passed away. When we first arrived at the house, he couldn't out of bed on his own, was wearing a tank top that Grandma never washed and had lost so much weight. Grandma hadn't been helping him to do his physical therapy exercises, hadn't been bathing him, and was only feeding him ensure and peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. He was in a terrible state. I started cooking many times a day and my husband would help to feed him. Grandma only ever seemed to want to eat things made mainly of sugar. There were a lot of arguments. Most of them were about things that didn't seem to make sense. We discovered that Grandma had been hoarding strange items, like the shiny cardboard rounds that come under a cake from the bakery. There were hundreds in stacks all around the house! There were hot cocoa cans everywhere with little bits of birdseed in them. We found at least a hundred boxes of mail- most of which had never been opened. Some of the boxes dated back to 1992. I have often wondered if something happened in 1992 that traumatized her. So much of her behavior just didn't make any logical sense and my brain kept trying to solve the puzzle!

Grandpa ended up having his heart stop suddenly one afternoon while my husband was feeding him applesauce. He just slumped over and was unresponsive. I heard them trying to get him to respond from the next room. I ran in and told Grandma to call 911. I asked if either of them knew CPR and was shocked when they both said no. I had my husband help me move Grandpa down to the floor while Grandma shouted at me to "just do it on the bed!" I had to calmly tell her that he had to be flat on the floor and to please tell the dispatcher our address. I did chest compressions for fifteen minutes until paramedics arrived. I had to continue for another fifteen minutes while she dug around in piles of trash, looking for his medical papers, because she couldn't remember if he had a DNR or not.

She couldn't remember if her own husband wanted to be resuscitated or left to die in a state of emergency.

By the time she finally found the folder, Grandpa hadn't taken a breath in more than thirty minutes. I asked my husband to take her to the front room so the paramedics could administer Narcan (because he was on prescription opioids) and defibrillate him. She started telling us that if Grandpa was dead that she wanted them to "leave him here because I don't want an autopsy done!" That seemed very strange to me. We had to physically restrain her so the medics could take Grandpa on the stretcher to the ambulance and to the hospital.

We spent the next three days at the ICU, fighting with her to let the doctors take him off of life support, as was stated in his medical records. She was frantic and nonsensical for three straight days, wanting attention from the staff and amassing free items to bring home. At one point, she found nail clippers in her purse and clipped Grandpa's finger and toe nails. Looking back now, I think she was trying to hide the fact that she hadn't been taking care of him. She had spent months at a time, between his occasional doctor visits, lying beside him, passed out drunk and on Xanax. I still feel angry at her about this from time to time. I understand now that she probably had no sense of how much time was passing between naps, how little the two of them were eating or meeting their basic needs. I also know now that she was taking Grandpa's prescription medications, including more Xanax, on top of her own while drinking.

It tore my husband apart seeing his father being kept alive by machines, knowing that he didn't want that. It made him crazy that his mother was acting absolutely bonkers while his father appeared to be suffering greatly. It was like he was having a partial seizure for seventy-two straight hours. At one point, my husband was so sleep-deprived and screwed up that he accused me of cheating on him with a stranger at the hospital. I couldn't believe my eyes and ears when he took me into a hallway bathroom and started ranting about it. I was so confused and frightened.

At the end of the three days, we had talked to the doctors and staff about talking to Grandma about letting Grandpa go. He had no signs of any brain activity, his heart and lungs weren't functioning on their own and there had been no improvement in anything in the days he had been there. Grandma started telling him not to leave, that she wanted to go with him, that the cat world be upset ifvhe didn't come home. I understand that grief is a crazy thing but, once again, she was making so little sense. She eventually agreed to having him removed from life support systems, but insisted that she be there while they do it. I warned my husband that she should not be there for that, that it wouldn't just be peaceful and he'd just go to sleep or whatever. Grandma wouldn't leave with us, so we went home to shower and make arrangements. Grandma stayed and was absolutely horrified to learn what removal from life support entails and was completely traumatized. She has hardly left her room since that day. She cancels doctor appointments at the last possible minute. She is afraid to take trash to the trash cans on the side of the house. She insists that she clean the cat litter box each day, but she leaves a plastic bag of poop hanging from the doorknob for us to take out to the bins. My husband made the arrangements for his father's cremation with the funeral home, although Grandpa had wanted to be buried in his family's plot. We couldn't afford the cost of a coffin and services. Grandma wanted us to put Grandpa's urn on the floor of her bedroom and my husband yelled at her that that was incredibly disrespectful, given the state of the room. We placed the item on the piano in the front room and it has sat there since.

It has slowly gotten easier to interact with Grandma. Recently, after cancelling her doctor appointment for nearly six months, I motivated her to shower (which she will only do of she has a doctor appointment) to let me wash her clothes, and drive her to the building. She will only go to appointments with her doctor if they are because they have to see her in person to renew her medications. After I brought her back home, she let me wash her blanket and sheet and put new ones on the bed. I told her that, in a few days when she was recovered from her appointment, that I'd help her to throw away some of the old prescription bags and garbage that are cluttering her room. This was the first time in five years that she didn't try to say she'd do it herself, make an excuse or change the subject. That felt like a win!

Today, Grandma talks to us from a reasonable distance. She eats food 3-5 times a day. She eats the food that I cook. She's learned how to chew with her dentures after spending many years with rotten, broken teeth and avoiding the dentist. She has told me that she's been saving a little bit of money and wants me to take her to buy some clothes. (She had previously told my son that she didn't wear the same shirt and pants everyday, she had multiple of the same shirt and pants. Even he didn't fall for it.) I'm going to try to get her to come along with us the next time we go out to the diner down the street. She's been weaned off of the Xanax and no longer shouts incredulous things at us or has a panic attack when we're throwing away boxes from the garage that rats have soiled and chewed up.

My husband recently got hired on with the state and is no longer having panic attacks that cause him to run away and be missing for days. He is much more calm and focused and happy.

I have been in therapy for about two years now and have been slowly unraveling all of the trauma and stress and have been learning to reprogram myself. I no longer spend hours ruminating over something Grandma said or did that made no sense. This last week, I've been reading about Wernicke's Encephalopathy and alcoholic dementia and having many "Aha!" moments. I am sleeping so much better, my nightmares are much less frequent and the house is in good order. I feel very strong and capable after years of feeling helpless and crazy. Grandma is fairly pleasant most days, occasionally asking us 4-5 times if we can pick up her prescriptions once a month, forgetting that she's already asked.

I am so grateful to have found this community. Reading the accounts of everyone else's experiences with this condition have helped me to feel like other people get it. It's unreal trying to explain what it's like to someone who's never dealt with someone in this state.