Night Sweats in Dementiaville

Last year, while Romeo still lived with me at home, we had a particularly rough summer. Specifically, he experienced night sweats. For no apparent reason, Romeo would wake up at 2:00 or 3:00 a.m., freezing. His side of the bed was soaked. Wet with his sweat. He became cold as the sweat cooled on the sheets, and this cold is what woke him. Then he would wake me.

Of course I didn't want him to sleep in his sweat, and I wasn't about to change the bed in the wee hours of the morning. So I had him move to my side of the bed for the rest of the night, and I slept on the couch.

In the morning, I would strip everything off the bed -- everything -- and wash it all, dry it all, then put it back on the bed. This happened nearly all summer for four or five days in a week. That summer, my life was laundry. That summer, Romeo had a rough ride.

Romeo's night sweats disappeared as quickly and mysteriously as they had appeared, and he hasn't experienced them since. Once again, I repeat what is becoming my mantra of wonder: dementia is a funny thing.