Mornings in the Oliver homestead these days have taken on a repetitive “Groundhog Day” quality, except with all the drama of a showdown at high noon at the OK Corral.

My usually mild-tempered husband, Tony, has become less than cooperative when it comes to his morning shower routine.

This has been coming on for a while, as we have been dealing with his early onset Alzheimer’s disease since 2015. As his disease has progressed, he has required more and more help with his daily personal tasks.

At first it was just to remind him to take a shower. Then it was making sure that he knew to use shower gel and to towel off. Now I supervise from start to finish.

Those with dementia often have trouble with bathing. That’s not surprising, since it comes with the loud sounds of water, cold air against the skin and feelings of vulnerability that come with removing one’s clothing.

When I was caring for my elderly mother, who had vascular dementia, I found that she usually would cooperate with me. However, when an unfamiliar hospice aide came to our house and offered to help me get my mother bathed, it was an entirely different story.

Everything started out well. Mom followed the aide into the bathroom. I was delighted that I was going to be getting some help.

A few minutes later, my mother came back out into the living room with a very displeased look on her face. Clearly, something had gone very wrong.

I soon found out what that was. My 86-year-old mother, bless her, was under the impression that she was going to be giving the aide a bath. When the aide – a stranger – turned the tables on her, Mom balked in a big way.

What I gathered from this incident was that my mother trusted me with her bathing, but she wasn’t about to trust anyone else.

Using that theory, one would assume that I’d be the one that Tony would be comfortable with for his showers. Sadly, that isn’t the case.

When Tony realizes that it’s time to get ready for the day, I can see him bracing for a fight. As he starts to remove his shirt, he’ll ball it up and throw it at me. His sleep pants sometimes are flung onto the floor. His slippers are kicked across the room. He stomps and throws a tantrum, if that’s what you call it when the person doing it is in his 60s.

Yet, when he finally gets into the shower, he’s usually OK. After all, he was a scuba diver, so he doesn’t seem to mind water in his face.

Occasionally he forgets what to do with the shower gel. Sometimes he forgets that he needs to dry off his back. Sometimes the towel gets flung at me when his bad mood continues. Thankfully, those things are not a daily occurrence.

As the one on the receiving end of all this unhappy behavior, it’s hard not to take it personally. This is my best friend shooting me looks of death and flinging his underwear at my face.

What’s a caregiver to do? In doing some research and in reaching out for help, I’ve found that making a few adjustments have helped.

I make sure that the room is warm enough, the water is not too hot and that I remain calm despite everything. I let Tony go at his own pace and I try to remind him that we’re on the same side. Most of all, I pray for strength.

When I see that he’s working himself up, I hold his hand and I softly remind him that we’re a team.

When all else fails, I let him walk away, as I did the recent morning when he just walked right back upstairs and made it clear that he was having none of it. Eventually he came around and we got it done.

The good news is that this drama only seems to last until he’s dressed and ready for breakfast. After that, he’s back to his amiable self.

Then, like in “Groundhog Day,” we get up the next morning and do it again.

• Joan Oliver is the former Northwest Herald assistant news editor. She has been associated with the Northwest Herald since 1990. She can be reached at jolivercolumn@gmail.com.