The Sink Stopper: Small Changes, Big Emotional Cost, Part 2
“Where is the sink stopper?”
She asks this every day because we had to take it out.
She used to start the dishes, get distracted, and forget that the water was running. We removed the sink stopper to prevent flooding the house. It wasn’t meant to frustrate her; it was to protect her in the kindest way we could.
This way, she can still stand at the sink, rinse dishes, and feel independent—without the risk of a disaster she’d feel ashamed of later. She doesn’t have to face the embarrassment of asking why the sink overflowed again or why we “won’t just trust her.” Our goal is to help her keep her dignity as she adjusts to memory loss.
This is the kind of quiet decision caregivers make all the time: a small, practical change with a huge emotional cost—for her and for me.
From the outside, it’s just a missing sink stopper. On the inside, it’s a daily reminder that things are changing, that we’re quietly rearranging the world around her to keep her safe.
When Safety Feels Like a Betrayal
Caregiving is full of these tiny, invisible negotiations:
We move something “for safety,” and it feels like control.
We take something away “just in case,” and it feels like punishment.
We install a device or remove a hazard, and it feels like we don’t trust them anymore.
She doesn’t see the rushing water and the near-flood. She feels the loss of a familiar routine, the sting of not being believed, the insult of being managed.
And here’s the hard part: she’s not wrong. Something has been taken away. Her world is shrinking, and I am the one drawing the lines.
That’s the emotional cost caregivers carry with every “simple” safety choice. You’re not just childproofing a house. You’re trying to protect a person who remembers when they were fully in charge of their own life.
Small Adaptations, Big Difference
When you’re overwhelmed and unsure where to start, a few key adaptations can make a big difference.
To figure out which adaptation comes first, pay attention to what feels most urgent right now. Are there any safety risks in your home, or have there been any recent close calls or incidents? Look for patterns in daily routines where things often go wrong or feel most stressful.
If you have to pick just one place to begin, consider starting with the issue that would bring the greatest safety and peace of mind—like installing a motion-sensor alarm on the front door if wandering is a risk, or gathering all medications into a weekly organizer if pills are getting mixed up.
Once you’ve taken that first step, the most impactful changes for us were:
Automatic shut-off devices on the stove for safety
A motion-sensor alarm on the front door to prevent wandering
A weekly pill organizer with daily alarms for medication management
Then we started layering in simpler, low-tech supports:
Labeling kitchen drawers to reduce frustration and help her find things on her own
Large-print sticky notes on cupboards and the TV remote to make daily routines smoother
These didn’t look dramatic from the outside, but inside our home, they lowered the temperature on a hundred tiny moments of confusion and irritation.
Adapting as Needs Change
As her needs changed, we added more adaptations:
Grab bars in the bathroom to prevent falls
Nightlights in hallways and the bathroom for safe navigation after dark
A chair lift on the stairs or ramps at the doors as mobility began to decline
For more advanced stages, simple changes helped us survive the hard days:
Placing a mattress or absorbent seat pads to reduce clean-up stress if incontinence becomes an issue
Providing a simple picture phone or a phone with pre-programmed numbers so calling loved ones stayed possible even when words were harder to find
After those bigger steps, the smaller ones added up:
Color-coding keys with nail polish or stickers to avoid mix-ups
Using a step-by-step whiteboard routine in the kitchen
Posting simple checklists by the bathroom mirror to support personal care
Laying out clothes in order every morning to remove the stress of getting dressed
Each small adjustment supports her independence while keeping her safe. None of these fixes the disease, but they do smooth the edges of the day—for her and for me.
How to Choose Your First Change
When you’re right in the middle of it, everything can feel urgent. The dishes, the meds, the doors, the stove, the stairs—every corner of the house starts to look like a problem waiting to happen.
If you’re feeling paralyzed by choices, try this:
Think of the scariest “what if.” Is it a fall? Wandering? Missed meds? Flooding the kitchen? Start there.
Ask yourself what already went wrong (or almost did). Close calls are your roadmap.
Pick one concrete change that would lower your stress in that one area.
It doesn’t have to be perfect. It just has to be a step.
Maybe that first step is:
Putting a simple door alarm on the front door
Buying a medication organizer and setting daily phone alarms
Putting non-slip mats in the bathroom
Posting a morning routine checklist on the fridge
If you have to pick just one place to begin, start with the thing that lets you sleep at night. The “if this goes wrong, we’re screwed” risk—that’s your first adaptation.
You’re Not Overreacting
People on the outside might look at a missing sink stopper, a row of labels, or a door alarm and think you’re overdoing it.
What they don’t see is:
The flooded sink you cleaned up at midnight
The panic when you couldn’t find them in the house for thirty seconds
The eighth time they asked the same question in an hour, and the shame on their face when they realized it
You’re not overreacting. You’re adapting.
More information on early planning, practical tools, and local support groups can be found at:
These small changes are invisible to most people, but they’re the scaffolding that holds your day together.
A Day Built Out of Tiny Decisions
This is what a day in the life really looks like: not just doctors’ appointments and big conversations, but tiny, constant decisions like whether to leave the sink stopper in or take it out and hide it again.
The early alarms, the sink stopper debates, the labels on every drawer, the alarms on every door—these are all love in disguise. They are the unglamorous part of caregiving that no one applauds, but they’re the reason your loved one can stay home a little longer, feel a little safer, and keep a little more dignity.
If you’re standing at your own sink, wondering whether to make a change that might upset the person you love, you’re not alone. You’re doing the hard, quiet work of keeping them safe while the world keeps telling you it’s “just” a little thing.
In the next part of Dazey’s Diary, I’ll talk about another invisible weight caregivers carry: the exhaustion no one sees—and the feelings nobody wants to admit out loud.
Each small adjustment supports her independence while keeping her safe. Each decision costs you both something. And still, you keep showing up. That matters more than you know.
