Mom and Dad: Unwritten stories

So many stories I haven’t gotten to,
So many stories I’ve still got to write.
Stories that are sad, poignant, funny, and true.
Stories that I will still write.

I missed my Daddy when Alzheimer’s erased me from his mind. When he questioned why I called him Daddy, I tried Dad and Father, but he was confused by those titles as well. He responded well to “Bill” but I couldn’t bring myself to call my own father by his first name. I came to call him “Mr. Bill.”
On October 25, 2011 Daddy died.

I missed Daddy.

I miss Mr. Bill.

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Mom and Dad: The Elephant and the Flying Mustache

Mom’s Mothers’ Day hanging basket of flowers looks beautiful, if I do say so myself. Hubby and I selected quite a variety of flowers that can survive in direct sunlight, and found some unusual specimens for Mom to enjoy. Once planted, we looked around for Mom’s watering can. It was then that I remembered that the can we got her last year sprung a leak at the seam. Subsequent similar watering cans had the same problem. Not a big issue if you fill your watering can outside, but to carry it down the hall and out the door leaves a trail of water. So, on my next trip down, I stopped at a local garden store to find a watering can that would fit in their sink to fill, and not be too heavy when full of water. Dad can’t really be trusted to carry the watering can without trying to water, well, everything on the way outside.

I found the cutest selection. They had pig and elephant and frog shaped watering cans as well as traditional types with handles and spouts. I chose an elephant shaped can with an agreement from the shop owner that if it didn’t fit in Mom’s sink, I could bring it back for a full refund.

When I presented the can to Mom, she said, “What a cute elephant!” I was so pleased that she recognized the animal and called it by name. She continues to call it an elephant now a few weeks later. I don’t know what I expected her to call it, but, for her to recognize and name correctly was a pleasant surprise.

Later that day, Mom had an appointment to have her port flushed. When we entered the waiting room, it was unusually full. There was a man with a mustache sitting in the chair nearest the door to the exam rooms, and a young child waiting for his mother to finish her paperwork at the reception window. Dad gravitated to the child, and it was all I could do to keep him from lifting the child into his arms. I body blocked him as much as I could, and held him off balance enough that he couldn’t pick up the child, but I had to enlist the help of the mother to get the child out of Dad’s reach. The presence of the child distracted Dad enough that he didn’t notice the man with the mustache.

Since the main waiting room was full, we were directed to sit in another waiting area – a room previously used as a hospital room. Mom was not disturbed by being sent to an unfamiliar room, but wondered why we had never gone in there before. I explained that we are usually seen so quickly, it’s not worth even finding a seat.

In this waiting room sat a rather large teenage boy with very long, unruly hair. Dad, of course, thought the kid was a girl. Before sitting down, Dad noticed the mirror over the sink and wondered if that guy over there could see the girl? That conversation continued until the kid was called away by his father. He looked relieved to be gone from Dad’s constant badgering of that guy in the mirror to turn and see that girl. I was thankful that the kid was polite and didn’t say anything unkind to, or about, Dad.

When Mom’s turn was called, we re-entered the main waiting area, where the mustachioed man still sat right next to the door back to the exam rooms. Before we got halfway across the room, I cautioned the man to, “Please cover your mustache. Dad will try to grab it. I am NOT kidding!” That elicited snickers from people sitting nearby, but very quickly turned into uncomfortable silence when Dad rushed at the man’s face, hands outstretched, grabbing. I threw myself in front of Dad and used my entire body to physically push him out of reach of the man and attempt to coral him through the door. Dad dodged and weaved and reached around and over me while I body blocked and finally hugged his arms to his sides. We made it through the door, finally, after the man turned his face away from Dad.
Out of sight, out of mind.

Mom’s exam went as usual, with one exception. Instead of her weight and temperature being the same, she was running a slight fever. Her blood pressure has been a bit elevated lately, also. I asked the nurse if she thought this blood pressure trend should be concerning enough to get Mom on some blood pressure medicine. She checked Mom’s 6 month history and noticed the same trend. Start of appointment, blood pressure a little high at 145/95-ish. End of appointment, blood pressure hovering just below 138/80. We decided that it would be a good idea to get Mom started on some blood pressure medicine as soon as possible. Mom had an appointment coming up with her general practitioner in a few days, so I asked the nurse to forward her last 6 month blood pressures to the doctor.

With the port flush done, we headed back to the waiting room. Me guiding Dad, instructing Mom which way to turn, coaching her to lead the way so Dad would follow. As the nurse opened the door to the waiting room, I saw the man with the mustache bolt from his chair and run down the hall, covering his face with his hands. I… lost it. Oh, my gosh, the laughter and giggles! His sudden explosion startled many of the people in the waiting room and caused the receptionists to burst into giggling fits. Neither of the receptionists, nor I, could gain our composure enough to even discuss future appointments for a full minute.
Then I noticed, standing down the hall, was the man with the mustache, and the mother with her small child. Mustache was pleading with the mother to just wait there with him until Dad had left the waiting room.

Well, there’s one room full of people who will not soon forget that incident. One room full of people who will absolutely understand the cautionary, “I am NOT kidding!” And, one man who will often remember how his mustache taught him to fly.

As we walked back to the car, we passed the petunias and other flowers in the flowerbeds and borders along the sidewalks of the hospital. Dad said he thought they were beautiful. When we got back to the facility, Dad took me straight to their window to point out the flowers hanging in the basket right outside. He called them pretty and beautiful and then said, “These are prettier than those other flowers.”
Well, that’s a pretty abstract thought for someone as advanced in Alzheimer’s as Dad is.
Mom, not to be outdone, got out her new watering can and said, “This will work like a real elephant with water coming out of its nose.” I suggested she give it a try before I left. I wanted to make sure she could carry it full of water and that it didn’t spring any leaks. I was also worried that as she walked she might swing it enough for water to slosh out of the spout. She filled it and carried it with no mishaps, and was able to use it to water her flowers.

As they walked me out to the car, Dad pointed to the flower beds in front of the facility and said, “Pretty. My wife is prettier. I love you. Thanks for driving.”

I decided to ask my cousins if they could recall any stories their parents may have told of someone they knew as kids who had mustaches or beards or both. No one could think of any stories, but, I had the unfortunate opportunity to follow that up myself at a funeral just a week later. Dad’s Aunt passed away from Alzheimer’s on May 20th. I chose not to tell Mom about Aunt passing away or about the funeral. The names of Dad’s Aunt and Mom’s Aunt are close enough that I feared it would cause confusion. I could see a future of phone calls with Mom… Her telling me that her Aunt was alive and well, that she’d just seen her at breakfast, lunch, and dinner, and questioning just whose funeral did we go to? It wasn’t something I felt I needed to subject myself or Mom to, so, I left it unreported.

Mom and Dad: Mothers’ Day Beauty

Hubby and I visited Mom and Dad on Mothers’ Day and had a very nice visit. While we waited for Mom to get done futzing around, Dad decided to talk to us. While not many of the things he ‘says’ sound like words, there is no doubt he is talking. There is a tempo, a cadence; there are inflections and intonations, a certain flow to his utterances that make it clear that he thinks he is talking clearly. So we just go along with it, nodding when it seems right, laughing when it seems to have tickled him, and responding in shock or mock fear on occasions when it seems that is what he’s looking for.
Sometimes, actual words come out.
Sometimes, those actual words are in a place in the syntax that let us know that that was the correct word. On those occasions, I can sometimes piece together what else he has uttered and make sense of what he’s saying. It’s like cryptograms for speech.
He is very clear when calls Mom, “My wife,” and “Little girl.”

While we stood there listening to Dad, I very distinctly heard him say my name. I looked at him, and he said it again. Happy Mothers’ Day to me. Daddy said my name. First time in almost 2 years I have heard that. He got a great big hug from me, and a meaningful exchange of eye contact between hubby and I.

We finally made it down to the festivities. There were lots of treats set out on a table and Dad was starting to try to push his way to them. We decided to take Mom and Dad into the dining room and have them sit to wait while hubby and I got them each a plate of goodies. First, hubby brought back some glasses of punch, but Dad remembered seeing some cookies and thought that’s what he was going to get. Hubby had returned to hold our place in line, only to find out that the chef had decided to reverse the direction of the line. We would be first in the other direction. Apparently they’d set the sugar free choices at one end and people were choosing those selections because the came to them first rather than passing by to the regular desserts.

After we ate and chatted a bit, we returned to the main living room for some entertainment by a father son music team. Father sang and played guitar, son played the violin.
This was also the regular time for one of the local churches to visit, have a short service, and give communion. Their leader came to Mom to ask if she planned to attend.
Before we went in to eat, Mom’s brother and sister in law had been sitting in the living room. When we went back to listen to the program, they were no where to be found.
Mom decided she wanted to attend the service, so we delivered them to the chapel. Dad was tangled up in the leader’s dogs’ leashes, tethered to a table or chair leg, but free to wander about the room. When he made it past the dogs, hubby and I left to go work on Mom’s hanging basket.

In years past, we have built the basket while Mom and Dad watched from the comfort of their room, but this time we decided it would be much more efficient if we just presented it to her as a finished product.
It turned out so beautiful and fragrant!

Mom remembered that she couldn’t possibly over-water this type of hanging basket and wanted to get out to test that for the first time this spring.

I returned the next day with a new watering can, but that’s for another story.

Mom and Dad: Easter Sunday Family Reunion

Easter Sunday a cousin on my Dad’s side hosted a wonderful family reunion at her house. Hubby and I picked up Mom and Dad for the event. As usual, Mom wasn’t quite ready – there was still futzing to be done and nothing would stop her until she was done futzing, simple as that. We finally informed her that we were going to go visit other people in the facility while she got done doing… whatever.

In the weeks leading up to Easter, Mom’s brother had been diagnosed with cancer and undergone some chemo treatments that made him horribly sick. I had taken Mom and Dad to visit him once at the hospital, but when he was moved to a rehab facility, we would have to wear gloves and masks to visit him. I knew that there would be no way to get gloves on Dad, let alone a mask, and he would not stand outside of the room. I also knew that Mom would not be able to tolerate a mask, either. She would think there’d be no way her brother could understand her if he couldn’t see her mouth moving and would have to be continually restrained from pulling up or down the mask. So, visiting at that place was out.
Mom’s sister in law also had some serious health issues and underwent spinal surgery to repair some fractures. She was in the same rehabilitation facility just down the hall from her husband. Visiting her was out because there would be no way to keep Mom from finding out that her brother was just up the hall.
During their rehab, their children visited the facility where Mom and Dad live. They made arrangements to move them in as soon as there was a room available.
Mom was convinced of many things: 1. Her brother and sister in law would move in but would need to be in the special care unit. 2. Her brother and sister in law would not be moving in because they could not afford it and the other place was cheaper.
Then, her mind confused which nephew made a reservation for which brother and she became convinced that her other brother was going to be moving in because she was sure she’d seen his son there.
When that brother didn’t move in, she became convinced that his wife was keeping him hidden from the family. This was soon followed by believing that they had, instead, moved into a different facility that was cheaper.

So, hubby and I went up the hall to visit the brother and sister in law who actually do live there, in a regular room, not in special care.
Her brother informed us that Mom had been to their room 3 times that day to tell them about the family reunion and try to talk them into attending. When that failed, she tried to explain to them that she was not sure when we would return, so, they might miss dinner, but that was ok because there would be plenty of food at the reunion.

When we pulled out, Mom exclaimed that she had forgotten to tell her brother that they were leaving and wanted to go back in to tell him. I told her hubby and I had taken care of that when we went to visit them.

The drive was mostly quiet, which is rare with Dad in the car. Well, he was in the back seat this time, so, perhaps no real visual cues to spark conversation?

We finally arrived at my cousin’s house. All of Dad’s siblings were there, and about half of the cousins attended. Dad wanted to call one of his sisters, “My wife,” since she is the same size and shape as Mom, as well as having the same hair color and style. One of his sisters he didn’t seem to recognize at all. When his brother came to shake hands with Dad, Dad simply said, “Navy.” Twice, during the course of the day, however, Dad pointed to the other sister and said, “That’s my sister, Betty.” He knew her and he knew her name.

Mom had been convinced that we were attending a family reunion for her side of the family. No amount of reminding her that this was Dad’s side got her mind off thinking otherwise. She would say, “Oh, that’s right. I keep thinking…”
At one point, one of my cousins came over to say, “Hi!” to Mom. Mom said she couldn’t remember which one he was, but went on to say she was disappointed that her brother didn’t make it.

There were only 2 people there with facial hair. One of them, my cousin, I strongly warned about Dad’s penchant for grabbing facial hair. I followed it up by saying, “I warn people, and I tell them that I really mean it, but they for some reason don’t take me serious – until Dad gets a handful of beard and yanks. So, again, watch your facial hair when you are within arms reach of Dad. I am serious!” Minutes later, he understood exactly what I meant. At least he was prepared and dodged a full beard grab! It wasn’t the only attempt, and he got even better at dodging!

Hubby seated Mom and Dad while I started getting plates for them. There wasn’t really any place to sit away from the huge cake in the middle of the table, so it became a challenge to keep Dad from grabbing handfuls of cake, ruining it for future photos with the siblings. It took everything hubby and I could do to keep Dad out of the cake, but in the end, he barely grazed the icing, and no one noticed the smear.

When the Easter Egg Hunt for the children was done, everyone wanted to siblings to get around the cake for pictures. The cake had all of their names on it and a thank you for our great family. Up until this point, Dad had been wearing a light flannel shirt with a heavier flannel shirt over it. Mom insists that it’s a jacket and we let her believe it. Dad tries to button the shirts to each other.
As soon as intentions for pictures was announced, Mom started looking Dad over. When nearly everyone was in place, lined up, propped up, standing up behind the table, behind the cake, the cake mere inches from Dad, Mom decided that he had to take off his jacket, and started to strip it off Dad. A vision flashed before me… Mom struggling to tug and pull Dad’s sleeve off his arm, Dad grabbing the cuff of the sleeve to prevent it being removed from one hand while reaching out for the cake with the other hand. Siblings toppling in the melee to follow… Thankfully that didn’t come to fruition. Whew!
In the end, I was the proverbial deer in the headlights, stuck behind Dad trying to reign in his hands from behind by grasping his shirt cuffs and ducking down out of the picture while everyone snapped and snapped and snapped and snapped…

We had a wonderful time and got to visit with nearly everyone, but Dad started making like he was ready to leave. Once he’d eaten and got to have some of that cake, he figured it was time to go.
Hubby is so amazing with Dad. He can block his path without making him angry, redirect Dad’s attention to get him to do something like sit or stand when Dad wants to watch or touch something or someone, or go somewhere, or do something.
Most of the family pointed out to me just how wonderful my hubby is with Dad. I had to agree. He’s a keeper.

Hubby took Mom and Dad outside to walk around and admire the landscaping. I joined them as they stood at the back of the yard. As I approached, Dad said, “I love you.” I hugged him tight and said, “I love you, too, Dad.”

We got back just in time for their evening meal. I’m sure her brother was relieved to see that.

Mom and Dad: Sing Language

After the most recent visit from the Baker Boys, Mom was pleased at how the staff had arranged seating for 2 of the residents. She started by telling me that there is a lady there who sings all the time, but doesn’t seem to talk much. She sings in her room, sings in the halls, sings in the dining room. This lady was seated with another woman who seems too shy to sing out loud. Mom thought the staff did right to place these 2 women together.
I didn’t give it much thought, really.

Mom and Dad had some things they needed from the store, but taking them to the store has become just too stressful for Dad. I decided to run those errands while Mom and Dad had their evening meal.
We headed down the hallway to the dining room, Mom chattering the whole way, Dad following behind, stopping to ‘talk’ to people on the way.
Suddenly, behind us, I heard the singing lady. She sang out a note and held it. She went up a note and added some vibrato. Mom angrily said, “Oh, that’s Ann!” I turned to see Ann standing in front of a gentleman, singing and motioning as if she were teaching vocal lessons – instructing, even.
Mom tried to pick up conversation where she’d left off.
Behind us, Ann hit an even higher note, and waved her hand in the air as if willing that gentleman to sing with all his heart.
Mom flinched as the notes went higher and got louder.

Then, Mom said, “Oh, shut up, Ann!”
I lost it and suffered a ridiculous case of the giggles.

Mom and Dad: Visions of Sugar Plums

Even before Mom and Dad moved into the facility, Dad has stolen naps. In the years since, his napping has only increased. Where he used to cat nap during TV shows, now he naps at the breakfast table, on the toilet, sitting on the side of the bed – just about any time he sits, he naps. Mom has to be reminded to be extra vigilant about where Dad is sitting. He has a recliner that is really about the only safe place for him to sit unattended, otherwise he falls asleep and falls off his perch. Mom adds her own touch, by propping pillows behind Dad. She has finally been convinced that one pillow will suffice – we want Dad’s back against the back of the chair.

While Dad is napping he moves his mouth. I wondered if he was talking in his sleep? I wondered when he talks in his sleep if he is clearly understood? I wondered how he could enter that deep of sleep so quickly?

I have been paying closer attention to what Dad does while he is napping. He starts by moving his mouth, then he appears to be stretching his lips out to meet something, and then his hand comes up to his mouth as if delivering food. He chews and smiles and goes back for another bite.
I don’t know what he dreams he’s eating, but he seems to enjoy it!

I smile as I think, “Visions of sugar plums danced in his head.”

Caring For Your Parents

Who says you can’t go back home?
You went back home to care for your parents.
You started out feeling like a guest and made yourself at home. This was home and it still was; but it’s no longer your home. You’re all grown up now. You have your own family, your own home, your own life.
As a kid, you idolized your parents, you vilified your parents. As a kid, you admired and hated your parents’ parenting skills. You vowed to be just like them; you vowed to never be like them. You became them.
As a parent, you parented in your own way. You borrowed from other examples, you mixed in your own beliefs, you fell back on your parents’ style, and you struggled to justify all those things you said you’d never do. When your skills were combined with your spouse’s skills, your own family dynamic was forged.
Then your parents came to visit and you worried that they’d treat your kids the way they treated you; but they didn’t. You wondered, “Who are these people and why do I recall them so differently?”
Now you have your own grandkids and you’re not the parent you used to be. You wonder, “Where were these skills and patience with my own kids?” and “How did my kid get to be such a good parent?” You remember the pet turtle, don’t you?
You go home to care for your parents. You are a guest and you respect their home.
You go home to care for your parents in their home. Your home. You’re home. They become your parents and you are parented.
But, you went home to care for your parents. Your parenting skills return. These aren’t your grandkids – you need to establish routines and care guidelines.
You parent your parents.
For a while, their parenting skills and your parenting skills meet and mingle. You learn patience and understanding. You learn to speak up and assert yourself to protect your parents, and you wonder, “Am I respecting their wishes while looking out for what’s best for them?”
You juggle and struggle to balance the role of parenting your parents.
And you wonder, “Where was this with my own kids? What will it be like for them when it’s their turn with me?” And you think, “My God. My kids are not ready for this!”

So, what made you ready?

Mom and Dad: My Wife!

Sunday evening, March 6th, the anesthesiologist called regarding Dad’s oral surgery scheduled for Monday March 7th. He went over instructions and asked if I had any questions. I stressed the importance of keeping Mom within Dad’s line of sight at all times, and ended the conversation with an emphatic, “You absolutely must understand the importance of Dad being able to see Mom at all times. I simply can not stress that enough.”
Although he said he understood, I know that no one can really understand until they see what happens. The separation anxiety Dad feels when he looses sight of Mom is as intense as any child being dropped off at daycare coupled with an overwhelming feeling of deep loss. In that moment, it is as if he is actually watching a horrible tragedy unfold where he has but a split second to get to his wife’s side to either save her or go with her. An episode of 24 takes an hour to unfold. Dad loosing sight of Mom and going on that mental trip takes a split second to start, and ends the instant he sees Mom.

Perhaps I need to find a better way to impress upon others than by saying, “You absolutely must understand the importance of Dad being able to see Mom at all times. I simply can not stress that enough.”

Monday morning I try to get in my car, but we had freezing rain the night before, and my doors are frozen shut. I worked my way around the car trying each door. On the 3rd trip around, the driver’s door opened. Within moments of getting the door opened, the ice was clear from all windows, and I had managed to open the passenger side doors. I called Mom to make certain that she had not allowed Dad to eat anything and had not given him his medications. With that cleared up, I was on my way.
When I pulled up in front of the facility, I noticed another car in the front drive that was silver and wondered how many times Dad had tried to get out and to that car. He knows my car, but he also knows that coats on at the front entrance means they are going someplace. Sometimes any vehicle that pulls up triggers him to head for it. I hoped that this had not been the case this morning – Mom already has enough to deal with.
I parked a little back from the other car just as Mom and Dad started out the door and down the sidewalk. I jumped out and got their doors open, guiding Mom to the back seat and instructing her not to lock the door. When the door is locked, the seatbelt stops feeding freely and needs to be backed up a notch. She doesn’t understand this and gets agitated and frustrated while struggling to get fastened in.
Dad rode in the back seat until recently. When he showed signs of having difficulty figuring out how to maneuver his feet to get them back out of the car, I moved him to the front where there is more room. I have left the child proof lock on the back door to prevent Mom from opening the door which signals Dad to try to get out. Now, getting Dad into the front seat, away from his wife, takes some convincing. Making sure his fingers are out of harms way, if I can close the back door he is more likely to get into the front seat without further complaint. Sometimes he’ll even ask, “You want me to sit up here?” I smile and nod, gesturing to the front seat. He’ll look at me as if I have offered him the coveted and privileged shotgun seat, beaming with pride. I imagine he reacted the same way the first time he got to ride up front with his Dad, and I am connected to Grandpa and my aunts and uncles for a moment of rejuvenating peace.
I get behind Dad and bend my knees to form a lap that he can slide down into the seat. I hold my left arm across the top of the door frame while holding the door steady with my right because sometimes Dad hits his head, sometimes he uses the door to steady himself while he is on one leg. It must look strange as heck to observers, but it works.

We got to the dentist’s office with plenty of time to spare. Reaching over to unfasten Dad’s seatbelt, I instructed Mom and Dad to sit tight and I’d be around to let them out. Mom’s struggles had already begun – fidgeting with her seatbelt release, trying to pull the door lock up, reaching for her purse, distracted by the box of tissues on the floor, trying the door handle. Knowing she can do no harm, I get out and go around the car to open their doors. Having that handy clicker helps! The first click only unlocks the driver’s door. The second unlocks the rest of the doors. As I round the back of the car, I hit the unlock button and can reach both doors at once. Mom has usually worked out the belt clasp by then, and is ready to get out. It tickles me to recall that not so long ago, when Mom rode in the front seat and could open her own door, she would fidget until I was done getting Dad out as if to make her own grand entrance every time.
I hold her door steady so she can use it to pull herself to her feet, while reaching in to help Dad extract his arm from the seatbelt. Once that arm is free, he starts working on figuring out how to get his feet out of the car and onto the ground. Usually, by now, Mom is standing next to me waiting for Dad to get up, coaching from the sidelines.
Now it is time to watch where Dad has placed his hands. If they are near the door jamb, I can’t close Mom’s door and Dad can’t pull himself to his feet. I position my feet to best help anchor myself as Dad reaches for my hands to pull himself up. He often uses the door to pull with his left hand and my hand to pull with his right. Once he is standing, he takes a moment to steady on his feet. And, another few moments to clear the door’s arc so I can close it.
Out of the car, I hit the lock button on key fob. Nothing. Oh, swell, battery dead? It worked to unlock the doors. Click. Click. Nothing. Mental note, add battery to shopping list.

We stepped into the doctor’s waiting room. A quick scan of the other patients revealed 2 with facial hair. Dad spotted one immediately and made a beeline for him. I leapt in front of Dad and quickly cautioned the man to watch out that Dad didn’t grab his facial hair. Dad swerved around me and grabbed the mustache. The man was calm, cool, collected, and joked with Dad instantly, eyes sparkling the whole time.
God puts angles everywhere.
This all happened in the first 5 seconds after entering the office. It took 4 seconds for the receptionist to recognize that I was too distracted to answer her questions and would need a moment to get the situation under control.
Dad refused to give up his coat, but finally agreed to sit down, 2 chairs away from the nice man with facial hair… across from the other man with facial hair. Mentally I map out the distance from the reception desk and the space between Dad and the mustaches and beards.
I am not a ninja.
Deep breath.
Second caution to both men – watch your facial hair, he means no harm, he’s curious and doesn’t like hairy faces.
Return to reception desk, sign 2 places, read another place, and I hear, “Oh, Bill! Sometimes you embarrass me so much!” I turn to see the second mustachioed man smiling and laughing with Dad, while trying to protect against another mustache tug. I try to apologize, try to sympathize, and am again blessed by God’s angels – so patient, so kind, so understanding. Dad, innocent and bright eyed, full of curiosity and happiness, seems to bring out the nicest part of everyone he meets.

While I was filling out the paperwork and keeping Dad from pulling mustaches, Mom managed to remove her coat, wrap it around her shoulders, sit down, and pick up a pamphlet about diabetes and dental care.
The pamphlet emphasized flossing and brushing the tongue for proper oral hygiene and better health. Mom announced that she must be doing something right because she’s been doing this all along. I agree, and her dentist always compliments her on her good oral care habits. (If only he knew about the flossing obsession!) Mom says, “I am already doing it right. I don’t know if I knew that or if I heard it sometime long ago.”

The next few minutes either Dad is trying to grab a mustache or Mom is announcing that she is already doing the right thing by flossing and brushing her tongue. Him, then her. Back and forth until finally the first mustachioed victim is called back.
As we settle in to wait, Dad alternates between cat naps and looking around. He observes the painting on the wall and wonders if I have ever been on a boat. He watches the mailman pull up out front and come into the dentist office, confused and disappointed that he isn’t recognized like he is by other encounters with mailmen. And, Mom announces that she’s doing everything right by flossing and brushing her tongue.
Dad starts to watch the receptionists as they do their jobs. Every now and then, he’ll say something to the effect that he thinks they could speed things up and get him in soon. I suggest that he probably wouldn’t want either of them pulling his teeth. This makes him and other patients chuckle, which brings his attention back to… the mustache across the aisle.

I took advantage of these few moments of relative calm to jot down some notes and get some reminders entered into my phone calender. I had a note to ask Mom if Dad’s hearing aid batteries had come in yet. She’d sent in the order back in early January. They have never taken more than 2 weeks to arrive, so I started following the trail 2 weeks after she mailed the card. No one had called me back and I was exhausting the places I could call. When we visited the VA doctor in late February, I mentioned the battery problem and what I had done to chase down the order. He said he would put in an order to get them shipped ASAP. That had been 2 weeks prior; the batteries should have arrived by now.
“Mom, did you get the hearing aid batteries, yet?”
Mom said, “What?”
As I started to repeat the question, I was tickled by her completely unintentional play on an old joke. The chuckle came out in my voice which set off another patient, and made me laugh again.
Like I say, God’s angels are everywhere. No matter how stressful a time is, laughter can set your stress level back to 0 in a second.

Finally, the nurse came and called Dad back. As Mom started gathering up her things, the nurse assured her that she could leave her coat right where it was. Mom, of course, had to bring her purse. We led Dad to the procedure room and cautioned the doctor to watch his facial hair as Dad honed in on the mustache.
Once in the room, I guided Mom to stand in a spot where Dad could keep constant watch over her. She ended up at his side the instant he showed signs of distress. I had told the anesthesiologist that Dad finds blood pressure cuffs to be exceptionally painful and is very frightened of them. I reminded him of that the instant he tightened the cuff on Dad’s arm. An adjustment was immediately made, and I placed my hand on Dad’s chest to help hold him in place and keep him calm.
With Mom at Dad’s side holding his other hand, he stopped trying to reach across and remove the offending cuff. He hardly seemed to notice the IV go into the back of his hand, but there was a moment between swabbing the area and sticking the needle in that he tried once more to remove the cuff. I held his hand until the needle was inserted, then held his whole hand to keep him from bending his wrist.
Less than a minute later, Mom leaned in to give Dad a kiss. Dad was sound asleep.
I made eye contact with the anesthesiologist and repeated the caution, “When he wakes up, you will want Mom to be right there where he can see her. You absolutely must understand the importance of Dad being able to see Mom at all times. I simply can not stress that enough.” He nodded and said he understood.

Back in the waiting room, Mom picked up another copy of the diabetes and oral care pamphlet and read it again. She was again surprised to discover that she was going everything right.

Less than 20 minutes later, the nurse came into the waiting room to let us know that Dad was done, everything had gone very well, and he was on his way to recovery. I suggested that they have Mom in place before he awoke. The nurse said, “Well come get you as soon as he is ready to see you.”
I heard them taking Dad to the recovery room. I heard them maneuver him onto the recovery bed. I heard someone say, “He’s coming around.”
I heard Dad say, “MY WIFE!” followed by running footsteps coming down the hallway.
The nurse burst through the waiting room door and said, “He’s awake and asking for his wife.”
Yeah, I need something better than, “You absolutely must understand the importance of Dad being able to see Mom at all times. I simply can not stress that enough.”
Within a minute, Mom was entering the recovery room. As soon as Dad saw Mom, he stopped struggling to break free and relaxed. “My wife. I love her.”
I tried to keep the “I told you so” out of the smiles I gave the anesthesiologist and nurses. I hope they only saw the warmth and love that comes out in me when I see just how much that man loves that woman.
Dad was easily coaxed into sitting back down next to Mom. The nurse went over instructions and started to hand some paperwork to Mom. At first I tried to stop her form handing it to Mom, but knew that I would get it away from her as soon as we went to the drug store to fill Dad’s prescriptions.
Once instructions were complete, the nurse suggest that Mom and I go to the car and they would bring Dad out. I only had to say it once, “Let’s leave Mom in here with Dad. She can come out with you.”

I got the car doors opened and it was then that I thought to ask the nurse if the medication had been prescribed in liquid form. As soon as Dad was seated in the car, she went back in to consult with the doctor about rewriting the prescription for liquid. It took less than 3 minutes for her to return with new prescriptions. We were waved goodbye by nearly the entire staff. I could see just how deeply they were touched by their brief encounter with Dad, Mom, and Love.

At the pharmacy, I requested that the medication be flavored – cherry or some kind of berry if possible. We were told it could take half an hour to fill the order, so we went for a drive.
Earlier, I thought I heard the sound of popcorn coming from the front of my car. Dead battery in door clicker, something going on under the hood. Perhaps a drive in the country isn’t such a good idea with Mom and Dad in the car. So, we headed to the full service gas station to fill up.
The attendant asked me, “Did you know your back door isn’t shut completely?”
Well, I’ll be darned. All those trips around the car to pry open one door through the armor coating of ice, I must have tripped the back door just enough… Well, lookie there. My clicker works again, too. Yes! I told the attendant that the locking system in the car made it darn near idiot proof. It would be almost impossible to lock the keys in the car. The driver door simply will not lock if any door is open. Darn near idiot proof… Apparently I’d found the loophole.

We added a dosing spoon to the prescription order, but it proved to be too difficult for Mom to master. The child proof lids on the bottles were proving near impossible for Mom’s tiny, frail hands to operate. “Hello, CVS? Can I bring these bottles back for non-childproof lids?”
Before I left for the pharmacy, Mom insisted that I write down the instructions for the medications and tape them to the bathroom wall. She started reading the instructions and trying to understand. I mentioned that I was going to be taking the bottles with me so she might want to just take a few moments to get some rest, check on Dad, eat her sandwich, help Dad eat some applesauce, or something.
When I convinced Mom to go out and be with Dad, I left for the pharmacy. I not only took back the 2 new bottles, but another bottle that had not come from CVS pharmacy. They graciously replaced all 3 lids.
Back at the facility, I showed Mom the new lids and explained how they are much easier to work with. She tried them and agreed. I realized then that she had returned to reading the instructions before I got back, and was now confused because the bottles mentioned in the instructions were nowhere to be found.
I slowly re-introduced the new medications and the newly replaced lid on the old medication as she went through the instructions and mimed getting each medication ready for Dad. At stages along the way she would ask, “Now, when do I give this one?”
She went from reading the note, reading the bottles, back and forth between the bathroom and refrigerator, where one of the new meds was to be stored. Somewhere in the routine, she would ask, “Now, when do I give this one?”
I got involved in interacting with Dad, trying to sneak the icepack in on his cheek, trying to look to see if there was any swelling, noticing how his face became less and less slack as the numbness wore off. “Hey, Mom. Before all the numb wears off, let’s give Dad a dose of this pain killer medication.” He had eaten 2 servings of applesauce and it seemed like a good time to five him his first dose of antibiotic, too.
I walked Mom through the instructions and let her be the one to actually get each one ready. She handled the antibiotic with ease. Then came the pain reliever. She struggled and struggled with the lid. “Mom, it just twists off. Those aren’t childproof lids, they just twist.”
Mom handed me the bottle saying, “Here. You try.”

I could not budge the lid.
“Um, Mom? Did you try pushing this lid in to open it?”
“Yes. That’s how I always do it!”
I silently laughed to myself while I examined this non-childproof lid. My Mom, with her tiny, frail, arthritic hands had managed to push the lid down so hard that it had slipped the grooves. It was going to require someone much stronger than myself to get that lid back off. I pictured myself carrying that bottle back into CVS… “Help?”
The maintenance man managed to get the lid back off. Wow. I have no idea how that woman managed to get that lid on so tight. Absolutely no idea.

Dad was finally given the pain medicine and Mom was back to reading the instructions.
I divided my time between keeping Dad entertained and helping Mom work out some snag in her understanding of these new medications and where they fit into the day. At one point, while holding one of the bottles in her hand, Mom said her problem was knowing which one was which by the instructions I had written down. Each medication had the letters IC before the medicine name. Mom kept calling these letters, “Ice Cream,” and insisting that that was what was confusing her. I looked at my instructions and realized that I had only written the medicine name, not the prefix letters, “IC” and immediately corrected that.
Mom returned to trying to “Get it all into her head.” while I kept Dad occupied. Half an hour or so went by before she had another snag. This time the problem was that she wasn’t sure which bottle was which. I looked at the instructions again. They had to be simple enough, but have enough information for her to understand. I had written “IN FRIDGE” above the antibiotic. I had written the letters, “IC” before each medicine name. I had written when to take each: one as needed, one at each meal and bedtime. Where was the confusion?
Mom said, “Which one is this bottle?”
Divine inspiration: “How would you describe this bottle, Mom?”
She said, “The tall bottle. It’s taller than any of the others.”
I penned in the words, “Tall Bottle” on the instructions and wrote it again on the bottle itself.
We went back over everything. Mom was making the connection between the instructions and the words, “Tall Bottle,” but was still confused on the one in the fridge. When it finally started to stick, Mom went scurrying for the post-its. She was going to write it down so she wouldn’t forget.
“Um, Mom? Do you need to write something more than what is already on this note?” She carefully copied the entire note, adding nothing, and stuck it on the wall right next to the first.
Half an hour later, she was running through the routine flawlessly.

I hated to broach another subject on medications, but I had promised to make it easier for her to give Dad his Aricept. He started on the dissolvable tablets and Mom was having a heck of a time with them. I thought maybe Dad wasn’t letting them dissolve. Nope, Mom couldn’t get them out of the blister packs.
I think to myself, “Oh, hey, no problem! Me fix!”
I think to myself, “Well, I’ll just pop the pills out of the blister pack, put them in an Aricept bottle, and viola.”
Mom brought me the box containing the first months’ supply of Aricept dissolvable tablets in blister pack. When I opened the box, I stared in dismay. Mom had taken the scissors and cut around each pill. There was a hair’s breadth of the foil left clinging to the plastic of the blister with the pill rattling its safe little cocoon. I had to carefully trim away the foil to free each pill.
I got one of the other boxes down from the closet and popped every single pill out of the blisters. I started on the 3rd box, but had to quit before I made it all the way through because my fingers were so sore!

The last thing to address was the ice pack recommended by the dentist. He suggested half hour on, half hour off. I’d requested an ice pack when we first returned to the facility, but it had taken them some time to round something up. The aid returned with 2 fold over baggies full of ice to wrap in a towel. It was clear that Dad wasn’t going to be happy about having this towel on his cheek, but he soon saw it as a pillow – first miming sleep, then sleeping. It stayed in place for 15 minutes, the cold never making it through the towel. The melting ice, however, was starting to work its way through the towel, so I scrapped the ice in a bag idea and returned to the store to buy a reusable icepack.

I took the instruction booklet to the icepack along with the box it came in. I didn’t think it would help Mom in the least. The box had 2 different languages, each taking up 2 sides. One had the picture and grab lines, the other had the simple instructions for both hot and cold use. I don’t think Mom using the microwave to heat this pack would be a good idea.
The instruction booklet had instructions written out in 6-8 languages, complete with pictures, and included both hot and cold use as well. Again, far too much confusion, and I couldn’t find a place to simply tear off or cut out the English instructions for cold use without playing jigsaw.

When I left, I took my car to Auto Zone to find out what that popcorn sound was coming from under the hood. I popped the hood and looked – a belt, freely floating around pulleys, bouncing here and there, rattling about. I’m pretty sure it’s not supposed to do that.
The helpful gentleman from Auto Zone assessed the situation. A belt had split right down the middle throwing one half of the belt off the pulley. The other half was still riding snuggly on the pulley, so I wasn’t in immediate danger, but the loose belt could break or tie up and cause major problems. He didn’t recommend that I drive it much more, but couldn’t fix the problem there, anyway. I hoped that I’d get another 200 miles or so out of it, not having time in the next day or so to give up my car for a whole day. He couldn’t say one way or the other, but wished me luck and sent me on my way.

Well, at least it doesn’t sound like I’m popping corn as I go down the road.

Mom and Dad: Like Pulling Teeth

On a recent visit to Mom and Dad, I found Mom spooning a bite of food into Dad’s mouth. It looked like chicken and peas that she had mashed together. Mom explained that Dad had slept through lunch and so she had brought his food back to the room to see if she could get him to eat some of it. After shoveling a mouthful into Dad’s mouth, Mom went about doing something else, leaving the plate of food on the counter next to the sink.

Dad didn’t seem to be chewing the food, so I looked him in the eye and made chewing motions with my own face. He imitated me and seemed surprised to discover that he had food in his mouth to chew. I was not able to get him to swallow the food, and he would stop chewing if I stopped miming chewing. I wondered if the chicken wasn’t a little dry and got him drink of pop from the fridge. He drank the pop, but wasn’t sure it was ok for him to keep the cup and kept trying to hand it back to me.
It actually took about 3 minutes for him to swallow the mouthful of food, and I was starting to suspect that he had squirreled away some of the food in his cheek. I gently poked at his cheek, hoping to remind him there was more food over there that he needed to finish. Instead, he winced. “Yikes, Dad. Does that hurt?” Dad rubbed his cheek and jaw where I had touched it. I got him to open up so I could check in his mouth and found that there was no food left. His cheek was swollen.

“Mom? How long has Dad’s face been swollen on this side?”
She seemed to think it had just happened that day, but couldn’t point to any event that may have caused the swelling. I inquired of the staff, but they couldn’t think of any fall or injury, either.
I wasn’t willing to stick my finger into Dad’s mouth. He’s a big tease and has always thought acting like biting someone’s finger was funny. With Alzheimer’s, Dad sometimes fails to pull his punch, so to speak. I did, however, get to look into his mouth again, and decided that he really needed to see the dentist. That was Thursday February 10. I called Dad’s dentist and took the earliest available appointment they had on Valentine’s Day, my next day off work.
Before I left Mom and Dad’s that Thursday evening, I was convinced that Monday was going to be too long of a wait. Dad needed help ASAP.
Friday morning, I called the dentist back to see if they couldn’t get Dad in that day, explaining that his cheek was swollen and he was in enough pain to turn down food. Dad. Refusing food.
The only thing they had available was 4pm that day. I wasn’t scheduled to get off work until 2:30 and it takes an hour and 40 minutes to get to Mom and Dad’s. I could get off work half an hour early, but that would still be cutting it very close. I explained that we might be a few minutes late, but that I would start working on getting Mom geared toward getting Dad ready and the 2 of them waiting out front for me.
We arrived at the office with 5 minutes to spare. I do not know how.

While we waited, Dad and Mom sat. But, Dad wouldn’t stay seated. No amount of coaxing would get him back into his chair. The other man in the waiting room got a lesson in how hard it is to convince an Alzheimer’s patient to do something other than what’s in their own head. I had lost the struggle to get Dad back into his chair. I was losing the struggle to prevent him from heading back into the visible exam room where he could see the dentist at work on another patient.

The receptionist said she could take us to the room where Dad would be seen. I agreed after verifying that Dad would not be able to see the dentist from the exam chair.
After getting Dad situated in the chair, I took our coats back to the waiting room to hang up. I discovered that the only other coat on the rack was exactly like mine. Exactly. Same size, same rubbed places. Um, oh my. I don’t want to hang my coat here and have the other owner take the wrong coat. The other man said the other coat was his wife’s. He came and took it from the rack and held it for her while she finished with the dentist. We laughed at how strange it was to find an identical coat, and held them up to compare.
When I got back to the exam room, Dad had turned sideways in the chair. I got him repositioned as the dentist came in.

The dentist looked at Dad’s teeth and said he wanted an XRay. We both knew that could be very difficult, very challenging. I announced that I preferred it not be my fingers in Dad’s mouth, pointing out that the dentist certainly made more money than I did, and had better training at avoiding finger loss in patients’ mouths…
He managed to get an XRay by physically holding in place the film while I went into the hall and pushed the button. Success on the first try!
The XRay revealed that Dad had 2 teeth with dead roots – his last 2 on the bottom of that side of his mouth. They were going to have to come out; we were going to have to see an oral surgeon. In the mean time, the dentist prescribed an antibiotic and Magic Mouthwash to help numb the pain. Magic Mouthwash wasn’t something he’d ever heard of, but he spent some time on the phone with the pharmacist learning about this wonderful product that would, in all likelihood, help in Dad’s case.

I called around to half a dozen or so oral surgeons to see about getting Dad an appointment. Some would take more than 2 months to get him in. Some were only taking new patients in out of town offices, or only able to schedule appointments within a 2 month window in an out of town office.

With each call I had to stress the importance of doing this as soon as possible. Dad was experiencing discomfort and avoiding eating because of it. A failure to thrive problem was imminent! I had to explain that there was no way to explain to Dad why his face hurt. It would very much be like trying to explain to a teething baby why their face hurt. I had 3 different receptionists try to give me advice on how to explain it.

Really? What part of explaining teething pain to a baby was lost on them? To one of them I said, “I’m not sure you understood the situation as I explained it. Teething baby. Infant. Less than toddler, nearly deaf, with a vocabulary of about 10 words. There really is absolutely no way to explain it to him. And, even if something actually got through for a moment, it would be lost on him the very next moment. Lost. Gone. Back to square one.”
She simply could not understand and followed up with a, “Why don’t you just…?” question.
As patiently as I could, I said, “Explaining to Dad why his face hurts is much like trying to explain to you why explaining is useless. Neither of you are able to understand – a baby doesn’t understand the why of pain and you don’t understand the how of dementia.”

With all the calls I made, most of them, of course, wanted Dad’s name. I gave his name and the name of his dentist upon request, but set no appointment in stone until that last oral surgeon I called, who had an opening within 2 weeks.
That appointment time came, and Dad was seen by the oral surgeon on February 21. He was distressed at not being able to see Mom, and kept trying to get out of the chair. I stood at his side and kept his legs blocked from swinging off the side of the table while the dentist looked around in his mouth.
A partial plate was mentioned, briefly. Very briefly. No, I don’t think we can expect Dad to wear a partial. We might see him try to eat it, or break other teeth on it, but to wear it as intended, I just don’t see that working out.

The oral surgeon explained the process – they would gently sedate Dad via gas before administering an IV to knock him out. I would learn more about that when the anesthesiologist calls.
We turned over insurance information and waited for the office to call with an appointment time to actually do the extractions.
And, waited.
And, waited.
I expected a call before the end of the week; when I had not heard from them by that Thursday, I called them. They said they were waiting on some information from Dad’s general practitioner.
I called Dad’s general practitioner and asked why there was a hold up on the information requested? They said they had sent everything they had been asked to send via FAX.
I called the oral surgeon’s office back and was told that they still needed more information than they had received. *sigh* So, I called the general practitioner’s office back and asked to speak to the nurse in charge of sending that information. Before she could get too far into her excuses for not sending absolutely everything requested by the oral surgeon, I explained to her that Dad’s situation is nearly critical and I would absolutely not stand for any more delays caused by this office deciding what that office really needs -vs- what they’ve requested. She promised to get the rest of the information FAXed right away.

Later that day, Mom called me to tell me she had received a letter in the mail to remind them of Dad’s upcoming oral surgeon appointment. It said March 2nd at 2:00 pm, Dad was scheduled to be seen by Dr such-n-such, gave a list of things to bring (medicines taken, picture ID, insurance information) and had a questionnaire to fill out and bring with us to the office. “It has a whole lot of questions to answer!” Mom said, and she insisted that I would have to be the one to fill it out because she no longer had access to any of the information they were requesting.
“Ok, Mom. You say you just got this in the mail today?”
Yes, she had just gotten it from the mail box after lunch. She had the date and time on her calendar and hoped that I could come down that afternoon to help fill out the papers.
“I’m at work, Mom. Let me call the doctors and find out what this is about.”
I called the oral surgeon’s office. “I spoke with you this morning? You said you were waiting on some information before you could schedule. She got the appointment notice in the mail this afternoon? The mail isn’t, and never has been, that fast.” She assured me that they do not mail appointments out, they never mail out patient information packets, and they were still waiting to hear from Dad’s GP. “Still? I spoke with them after speaking with you and they said they would FAX right away…” (grr)
Next I called Dad’s GP’s office to see if they had perhaps scheduled an appointment for Dad to come in before they would release the requested information to the oral surgeon?
Nope, they didn’t mail anything out, either.
“Ok. Well, while we are on the subject, can you tell me what all you FAXed this morning after we spoke?”
Oh, nothing, yet. Blah, blah, excuse, excuse.
I explained that, due to the tons of snow we had gotten over night, I would be unable to personally drive the 80 some miles to their office and personally extract the files from their office to personally hand deliver to the oral surgeon’s office. The weather report for Friday was less than promising, but if the oral surgeon’s office reported that they had still not received the information they required by Friday morning, I would not hesitate to get into my little Honda roller skate and slide to their office. If I had to resort to that, I would, understandably, not be very happy.

I called brother and asked him to go get those papers from Mom. I needed to know what they were really about, since neither the oral surgeon nor Dad’s GP had any idea and hadn’t sent anything via mail. I also asked him to remind Mom that Dad did not have an appointment on March 2nd, that there had been some mistake.
Brother got the papers from Mom over the weekend. He called me to let me know what they said – appointment with some oral surgeon in a town nearly 100 miles from where they live. I got the number for the office from brother and on Monday morning, at 5am, called to leave a message that we would not be attending an appointment on March 2nd at their office, that I had not made any appointment with them, and that they should not contact Mom in this matter as she, too, has Alzheimer’s and would only be further confused.

March 2nd was yesterday. Mom called, all worked up, because I still wasn’t there to pick them up. “I got your Dad ready and dressed. I made him let me brush his teeth because he is going to the dentist and needs clean teeth for them to work. When are you coming?”
“I’m not coming today, Mom. Dad doesn’t have an appointment. That was just a mistake, it wasn’t the right dentist’s office. It’s a different dentist and we are not going to go there.”
Mom went from frantic to confused to saying she understood it was all a mistake to laughing about it. She didn’t remember brother telling her there was no appointment, but she seemed to remember me telling her something to that effect.

Later that evening, I get a call from brother wanting to know why I didn’t take Dad to his appointment. *sigh* I explained to him that I had called many oral surgeons. Most wanted at least Dad’s name and dentist’s name. I had made no appointments with any except the one we had already seen and I had relayed that information to him as it happened. The papers he had confiscated from Mom were from one of the oral surgeons that I had called. They had apparently contacted Dad’s dentist and gotten the address from there, sending Mom the appointment information, bypassing me. I had canceled that appointment and asked him to tell Mom while he was there with her. I had already talked to Mom earlier in the day and explained to her that there was no appointment to go to.
She had called brother frantic and pissed off because I had not taken Dad to the appointment and Dad needed that appointment, very badly!

Today, March 3rd, I called the oral surgeon Dad has already seen. Did they have all the information they needed from Dad’s GP? Did they have an appointment scheduled? Could they get it done really soon?

Dad has an appointment to have 2 teeth pulled on Monday March 7th at 10am. I called Mom and walked her through getting the appointment time entered on her calendar. I also informed her that starting now, she needs to take the aspirin out of Dad’s medication until further notice. I stayed on the phone until I was sure she had at least some idea of what I was talking about, but will need to follow up with the staff at the facility in making certain she is not giving Dad aspirin.
And, I will call her often during each day between now and Monday to remind her as well. I will most likely be going down to see her one of those days, but I worry that Mom will follow her normal OCD routine doling out their pills on Sunday refilling the reminders. That would be the day she’s most likely to give Dad an aspirin, with no previous day’s pills to compare and a whole new week to fill in…
I’m going to have to impress on brother the importance of getting there sometime early Sunday, after she’s done doing the distribution, before she’s given Dad his pills.
Funny, with him on 3rd shift, he’s not a morning person anymore. With me on 1st shift, I am. But I can’t be there when it counts that day – I’m on 1st shift.
Hubby might be starting a new job in the morning and could have to work the weekend. He won’t be able to go monitor the medicine.

It looks like I really need to go do it myself, just for my own peace of mind. Ah, time away from everything, driving in the car, listening to a good book on the CD player, leading to peace of mind over the aspirin.
Aspirin, again. Those pesky aspirin. I swear, they are going to be what breaks that one tiny thread of sanity I have remaining.

Mom and Dad: Bobby Pins and Clyde

Dad had a doctor’s appointment, and Mom was having a tough time getting either of them ready to go. When they got back to their room after lunch, Mom insisted that Dad try to use the toilet. That was when she discovered that Dad had spilled some food on his pants. While Dad sat defenseless on the toilet, Mom took his pants away and went to get some clean ones.

Mom came out of the bathroom carrying Dad’s pants and put them with the dirty clothes. She started to go to the closet to get him a clean pair, but was distracted when she found her hair brush on the back of his chair. She picked up the brush and decided that she must have been fixing her hair when I arrived, and then forgot to finish.
“That’s not all you’re forgetting, Mom.”
Mom brushed her hair a few times then turned to me and asked, “What else am I forgetting?” But, before I could answer, she went to the dresser and picked up a couple of bobby pins saying, “These fell out earlier when I was brushing my hair.”
I said, “I can see how that might happen.”
Mom put the pins back in her hair and said, “I think they should make bobby pins curve to fit your head.”
I said, “I think that’s a brilliant idea!”
Mom brushed her hair and pulled one of the bobby pins out again, “Oh, shoot!”

After a few more brush strokes, Mom was finally satisfied that her hair was good enough, but she wanted to check in the mirror. Dad was still sitting on the toilet, waiting patiently for Mom.
Mom suddenly remembered she needed to get Dad some clean pants and came back out of the bathroom.
Mom futzed around a bit until I reminded her she was getting Dad some pants. She went to the closet to find some pants, and futzed around in the closet a bit.

Dad got tired of waiting for Mom to return. I’m not even sure he realized he had no pants on, he just wanted to see his wife.

I didn’t turn my head away in time…
All at once, these three images came into my head:
1. Scott Hamilton skating, “Walk This Way“
2. Clyde from “Every Which Way But Loose”
3. And, this picture of the light shining through an Orangutan’s hair:

Yeah, put those images together and that’s pretty much what seared into my brain.

Mom and Dad: The Beat Goes On

Every month, Mom’s cousins the Baker Boys do a singing program for the residents at Mom and Dad’s facility. I try to be there for these programs whenever possible. One of the ‘boys’ sings and plays the accordion entirely by ear; the other 2 sing along. Mom has enjoyed their music for many decades and enjoys being related to the stars of the show.
The Baker Boys sing mostly hymns and gospel and the residents love to sing along. Mom has a box of 16 or so hymnals and it’s her job to hand them out to those residents who want one.
Since Mom provides the hymnals, she thinks all the songs the Baker Boys sing should come from those hymnals so everyone can follow along. So, after complaining to her Aunt (aunt also to the boys) and probably complaining to the boys as well, they decided to do all of the last program from that hymnal. Mom was very pleased.
One of the boys would call out the page number and name of the hymn, then patiently wait and repeat and wait and repeat until everyone was on the same page, or had at least given up trying to find the page. The accordion player would play an introduction then move right into the song.
I was wedged into the love seat next to Mom with Mom sandwiched between me and Dad. I put my arm around Mom’s shoulder, which makes her feel pretty special, and allows me to breathe. We share the hymnal holding duties, and I help her find the pages when needed.
One particular song, Mom had apparently complained that they play it different from the version in her hymnal. She reasoned that more people would sing along if they played the right version. So, even though he doesn’t read music, the accordion player learned this different version just for Mom. This made her feel even more special.
During the program, sitting snuggled into his side of the couch, Dad fell asleep a few times. He nodded off, and before long, Mom noticed. She started doing her paw paw claw claw thing to Dad’s arm or leg, telling him to wake up. I gave the hymnal a little shake, or let it drop a wee bit to turn her attention back to singing. Dad fell back asleep and Mom eventually noticed, again. Again she pawed and clawed at Dad telling him to wake up. I whispered, “Let him sleep. He can’t fall off this couch – he’s wedged in.”
The Baker Boys announced that they were going to do one song that wasn’t in the hymnal, but that they also didn’t expect anyone to sing along. Mom was confused. “What song? What song did he say? Are you sure it’s not in this hymnal?” And, he played the introduction. I noticed a few residents recognize the song and try to sing along. Mom said, “I thought I’d recognize the song with the introduction. I think I know it. Are you sure it’s not in this hymnal?” She spent most of the song trying to pick out enough words to place the song so she could look it up in the table of contents. She gave up just as the song ended.
During the next song, Dad’s napping caught Mom’s attention again. She pawed and clawed at his arm and leg and I whispered in her ear, “Mom, just let him sleep. Sing along with me.” Her hand stopped pawing and clawing as she returned her attention to the hymnal, but she didn’t remove it from Dad’s leg. Mom snuck a glance at me, and I smiled at her. With her hand on Dad’s leg, she had no free hand to follow the words. I told her which verse, and she finally found her place. Mom snuck a glance at Dad napping and another glance at me.
Then, I noticed she was no longer doing the paw paw claw claw thing.
She was now pawing and clawing to the music.
I had to hold back a giggle.
On the next song, I noticed that she wasn’t just keeping time, now she was playing accompaniment!
I had to bite down on both of my lips to keep from laughing.
(Just like a kid! I swear!)

Years of Mom’s music, all the different instruments she brought to use during music programs at church, Dad had always been right there to help her put things away, to make sure nothing got left behind.
After the music program had ended, we stopped to talk with the Baker Boys and the rest of the gathered family members. Mom and others marveled that the one could play the accordion so well and didn’t read music. Mom complimented him on sticking to the hymnal. We listened as they told some stories of the ‘boys’ when they were younger 50, 60, 70 years ago?
I’d been holding Dad’s hand and he kept trying to shake off my hand. I finally noticed that he was fixated on the fact that the accordion was still out of the box. The show was over and the accordion was still out of the box. Dad was somewhat agitated over the accordion not being put away and was trying to communicate to its owner that it had to be put away!
When it was finally put away, Dad had no more interest in sticking around for conversation. Neither would he sit on the couch or a chair and wait while the rest of us talked. So, I kept him busy basically going in circles, until he caught on and gave me the look that said, “Enough!”
I look forward to seeing the Baker Boys again next time.

“Oh Lord my God” paw paw paw paw
“When I in awesome wonder” claw
“Consider all” paw paw
“The works Thy hand hath made” claw claw claw claw…

Mom and Dad: Remotely Happy

I could hear accusation and panic in Mom’s voice when she called with, “Where’s that thing that makes your Dad so happy? It was here when you came to visit.”
I was at a loss. I couldn’t recall taking anything with me when I left earlier that day. That thing that makes Dad so happy?
“Could you be a little more specific?” I asked.
“It makes pictures,” she said.
I rubbed my hand over my nose and mouth, closed my eyes, and ventured a guess, “The digital picture frame on the wall?”
“No! The pictures move.”
The pictures change from one to another on the digital picture frame, so I was still confused.
“It makes the pictures move,” she nearly whined.
I could only say, “Um…”
Mom gave another clue with, “It makes them move and talk!”
“You lost the TV?” I asked, incredulously.
“NO!” Mom, by now, was exasperated. “The thing that makes your Dad so happy that makes pictures move and talk. That thing!” She declared this as if by now it should have been crystal clear what she was talking about and I was no help what-so-ever. I could picture her stomping and pointing at the ground emphatically.
“Um… the remote? Are you looking for the remote?”
“YES!” There was an air of finally in that ‘yes’ that felt like winning a game of charades against a team of deaf, signing mimes.
“Well, Mom, the last time I saw the remote, it was on the back of the couch next to your phone. Did you look there?” I asked.
“Yes,” she insisted. “I have looked everywhere! It’s nowhere to be found!”
“Ok, Mom. Let’s start over. Please check the back of the couch again. The last time I saw the remote it was on the back of the couch next to your phone. Please look there now.”
Mom, breathing heavy, suddenly shrieked in my ear, “NOW I CAN’T FIND MY PHONE, EITHER!”

I dropped my head, smacked my forehead, scrubbed my face, swallowed peels of laughter, and managed to choke out, “Let’s deal with finding one thing at a time, ok?”

I walked her through places to look, behind couch and chair cushions, behind the couch on the piano, inside the closets, cupboards and refrigerator. I listened to her breathe and grunt and mutter to herself until she said, “I need to set the phone down. I can’t look with one hand.”
(Oh, God, no. Don’t set down the phone and forget it!) “Mom, hey, why don’t you hang up and search everywhere again. Behind cushions, in the bathroom, in the fridge, under the pillows – look everywhere. Then call me back. Call me if you find it or if you don’t, ok?”
About 10 minutes later, Mom called to report that she had found the remote for the TV sitting on the back of Dad’s chair.
Now that thing was working. It was making pictures move and talk and Dad was happy again.

I couldn’t help myself. I had to ask, “So, did you find your phone?”

Mom and Dad: Batteries for Presidents

Mom kept asking for more batteries. I know that Dad’s stuffed animals go through a lot of batteries, but, she had enough to replace the batteries in each of them. Mom had stored her batteries in the cabinet under the sink.
“Mom? Here are 2 packages of batteries.”
She looked at them and said, “Oh, I know those are there. Those are for our toothbrushes.”
“How often do you need to replace the batteries in your toothbrushes?” I asked.
She took one of the packs of batteries out and studied it. “I think we have to replace the batteries about every other month. Well, mine more often than your Dad’s. He won’t always let me use his on him.”
I took the pack from her and counted through the plastic. “Mom, there are enough batteries in this package to last a year for your toothbrushes. The other package you could use for Dad’s toys.” I had to wonder if she had intentionally stored the batteries under the sink to sort of hide them? I remember back to when they still lived at home and had hundreds of batteries of all sizes in all sorts of places. Bushel baskets full of C batteries. Coffee cans of AAA’s. Paper lunch sacks of 9 volts. Shoe, cigar, and oat boxes full of D’s.
I leaned under the sink and picked up the other package, asking, “Mom, do you think you could use these batteries for Dad’s toys? At least until we get another package? I’m sure you have enough for your toothbrushes.”
We played a little game of me putting one package of batteries on the shelf over the sink, where she usually stores Dad’s toy batteries. Mom would sneak over and put them back under the sink. She would go over there under the guise of looking for something. Soon she would exclaim, “Oh, these need to be put away.” Pretty soon she’d call me over to show me something, as if to test her hiding place.
I would look at whatever she wanted to show me and discuss it with her. If need be, I’d offer to make notes for her, then, while reaching for a pen on the shelf over the sink, I’d discover that there were no AA batteries for Dad’s toys and suggest she add them to her list.
While she pawed through her papers to find her list, I’d say, “While we’re working on your list, let’s see what else you need.” I would look around on the counter top, in the cupboards, in the fridge, then finally in the cabinet under the sink – all the while ticking off things to add to the list, whenever she found the list. That’s when I would discover the extra pack of batteries under the sink and put them on the shelf over the sink.
Hours of this.
Days of this.
A week later, I thought Mom was trying to bolster her stand with those batteries. “I showed my flashlight to one of the workers and he said it needs new batteries.”
Mom has kept this folding flashlight on the headboard of their bed for years. It takes 2 AA batteries. I tested it and it worked fine, bu I asked “Did you ask him to change the batteries?”
She said, “I asked him but we don’t have the right kind of batteries for it.”
We were back to the battery game.
Later, when we were in the car, Mom said, “I didn’t show you the flashlight I was talking about. You’ll see. It needs batteries and we don’t have that kind.”
When we got back to the facility, I asked Mom to show me this flashlight that she was talking about. She went to her secret hiding place and dug out a big flashlight.
Sure enough, it took D’s and they don’t have any D batteries.
(Smack head) I should have known.
I sent an updated message to brother with Mom’s shopping list to include D batteries.

Since then, it’s rare to find Mom without her flashlight in hand.

One day, brother and I arrived at the facility at the same time. He had some paperwork to deal with first, so I went on ahead to their room. I found Dad standing in the hallway, watching Mom intently. Mom was standing in front of the door holding 2 bookmarks in her hands. These bookmarks were taped together to form a 90 degree angle. She kept reading the words off the bookmarks “Let Freedom Ring,” reaching them toward the door, pulling them back, then turning around. “Something fell off the door. I think it went out into the hall.”
I looked on the floor in the hallway. Nothing but a tiny shred of some kind of newspaper print. Tiny shred. Like 2 inches long, less than an 8th of an inch wide. “Was it this, Mom?” I asked, showing it to her.
“No. It had colors.”
“Ok, then, this can be trash?” I asked.
Mom picked up her flashlight and started looking around on the floor. She turned on the flashlight and looked under the dresser and bed. Then she got down on all 4s and looked further under the dresser and bed. “I’m sure it fell into the hallway. Do you think it went under the refrigerator?”
She stood back up and went back to holding those taped together bookmarks. “These were here on the door and there was something else here.” She tried to place them back on the door, but the peephole was in the way. She tried to grab the peephole and move it. When that failed, she started to move one of the other things hanging on their door – a bumper sticker of Dad’s ship. “There was something else here. Another paper. It fell to the floor. I’m sure it fell into the hallway.”
“I don’t see anything out there, Mom,” I said.
She went back to looking under the dresser and bed. Back down on all 4s, flashlight on, under the dresser and bed…
About this time, brother shows up and takes in the scene.
Mom, on all 4s, on the floor, flashlight beam sweeping around under everything. He looks at me with a look that questions my compassion – to allow this old woman to crawl around on the floor! He says, “Mom, give me the flashlight,” and dropped to the floor. He swept the beam around and asked, “What am I looking for, anyway?”
Mom went to the door with her taped together bookmarks, held them to the spot she wanted them to go and said, “Something fell to the floor. I think it went into the hallway.”
“What fell?” brother asked.
“A paper. It had colors. I think it was Presidents.”
Brother had no luck finding them, either. He returned the flashlight to Mom’s eager hand, and Mom returned to trying to fit the taped together bookmarks on the door. “Something fell to the floor. I think it went into the hallway.”
Brother left soon after, and Mom resumed trying to fit those taped together bookmarks on the door.
“How long ago did it fall, Mom?”
She thought a moment and said, “I think it was probably 5 minutes before you got here.”
Then, she went around to the inside of the door and looked at all the things taped back there. She reached up and removed a bookmark tucked in behind something else. “Here it is. See, I was right. It has colors on it. And Presidents. Didn’t I say it had Presidents? I put it there when everything fell off the door. I needed to get everything back in place first.”
She carefully placed the Mt Rushmore bookmark in its place and taped it to the other bookmarks. Then, she taped it to the door above Dad’s bumper sticker. Then she asked me, “Who are these men? Do you know their names?”

Here she is looking for the missing bookmark:

Here she is finding the missing bookmark:

Here she is with all the bookmarks in place:

I had to send brother a message to let him know where the missing bookmark had been found. I hope he understands why I let that old woman crawl around on the floor, now…

Mom and Dad: Crushing… wait

Dad has been having trouble swallowing pills. It may be that he is having some difficulty swallowing, but it reminds me of when I was a child. For a time I was unable to swallow pills and would crush them into applesauce or pudding. Mom said she had been doing this for Dad and it worked pretty well, as long as he didn’t steal the pudding cup while she was concentrating on smashing his medicine.

I asked Mom to show me how she was crushing his pills. The first thing she showed me was a sharp knife. A very sharp knife. She said sometimes she cuts the pills in half to see if he can take them. If he can’t, she uses the side of the blade to smash the pills. I allowed a tone of fear and urgency into my voice as is said, “Mom! No!” I wanted to take the knife away, but I know she uses it for other things, like peeling apples and slicing them for a nice snack.
Then she showed me another method – she’d use the scissors to cut the pill in half. Big, sharp, heavy, old, very sharp scissors. “Oh, Mom. That’s not good, either. Let’s find a better way.”
I asked her if she thought she could use 2 spoons, the way she taught me when I was a child. She said, “Oh, yes. I usually do it that way. That keeps the spoons out of your Dad’s reach while I break up the pills.” Then she acted out the rest of the routine. Dad hovering around while she works on his pills, spying the pudding, and making a grab and dash escape. Dad standing on the other side of the room, back turned to Mom, trying to open the pudding cup lid. Dad, frustrated, returning to Mom with the pudding cup held in his outstretched hand, asking for her help. Mom, putting down the pills and opening the pudding cup. Dad taking his prize to the other side of the room and licking pudding from the cup until he can reach no more. Dad returning with the pudding wanting help getting to the rest of it. Mom using that opportunity to stir in the pills with the spoon.

A completely symbiotic series of events.

I wondered if a pill crusher would be just too new for Mom to use. She had me convinced that she really did use the spoons to crush the pills. The knife and scissors seemed to be tools tried and rejected, and her demonstration of using them had been her attempt to show me just how clever she was to have figured them out on her own. I kept the conversation returning to crushing pills, turning her away from both the knife and scissors at her first motion to reach for them. “Mom! No!” After about the 20th re-enactment, she no longer made as if to reach for the knife, the body’s memory going away. A couple more times and she stopped reaching for the scissors. In the hours and days to follow, I brought her back around to the subject to see if the body’s memory of reaching for a knife or scissors was indeed gone.
A week later, she acted out the medication routine. Swallow attempt, swallow fail. Pill recovered, pudding retrieved from the fridge. Spoons acquired, pudding stolen. Pill crushing, pudding opened. Pill crushing, pudding returned. Pills stirred in, pudding finished. Medication taken, pudding thoroughly enjoyed. Her demonstration of crushing the pills made me consider a pill crusher again.

I bought a pill crusher that I thought Mom could use. I wasn’t sure if I could teach her to use it. She can learn some things, sometimes, but there was no guarantee this was one of those things. So, we worked on it for a while. She wouldn’t accept using any real pills to practice, so I got a tin of mints that seemed to resemble an adult aspirin in texture and breaking point.
We went through the medicine routine again and again. When she showed me how she holds the two spoons together and squeezes, complete with the struggle to put in enough strength to crush the pills, I mentioned the pill crusher. When she showed me the second crushing, I commented that it looked like a lot of strength was required and suggested trying the pill crusher.
After a few repeats, I started both mentioning the pill crusher and suggesting she try it at both ‘crushings’ in the routine.
After a few more repeats, I started showing her how to use it.
A few more, I started handing it to her and saying, “Here, try this instead.” On the next dozen or so trials, I had to show her how to use it. On the next dozen or so, she tried to open it, then handed it to me to say she couldn’t open it. I nixed that! “Oh, Mom. You can open it. It opens just like a pill bottle. It’s for medicine and opens like medicine.”
I started reminding her, “It opens like medicine because it’s for medicine.”
Soon, she was plopping that pill right into the crusher without even reaching for the spoons.
During visits and phone calls for the next week, I had her go over the medicine routine, checking that the pill crusher was firmly in her mind.
And, then it was out of my mind. I stopped asking about it. Silly me.
Mom called one evening distraught over the pill crusher. It was a mess! Far too messy to keep using. She was going back to the spoons. “Why, Mom? Are you not able to get the pills back out after they are crushed?” She kept repeating that it was so messy! Sticky, yucky mess that she had a very hard time cleaning out. Very gooey and sticky and such a gummy mess.
Sticky? Gummy? What the heck would cause that?
And, then, it hit me and I had to stifle a laugh.
“Um, Mom? Did you, perhaps, try crushing a Vitamin E capsule?”
She very emphatically said, “Yes! And it’s your fault. You wouldn’t let me use the scissors. I used to cut the Vitamin E capsule and squeeze out the goo. You said I couldn’t use the scissors to do that. Your Dad can’t swallow the Vitamin E capsule anymore. It’s too big. So, I had to crush it. Very messy.”

Mom and Dad: Merry Christmas

Mom’s birthday is just 5 days before Christmas and I’d been taking notes all year long on what to get her. There are a few things she has on every shopping list, but our trips to the store are few and far between. It is so hard on both of them to be in the big stores and winter weather makes it even more of a challenge. Dad especially is bothered by the cold and really can’t seem to find a good reason to be out in it. Mom’s birthday presents this year stocked them up on all her favorites for months. (Craisins, raisins, sunflower kernels, unsalted dry roasted peanuts, dried apricots, wheat germ, lotion Kleenex, and double A batteries.)

While Mom was opening her presents, Dad kept himself busy talking to that guy, exploring the things on the top of the dresser, chatting with his toys, napping. Each thing Mom opened, she recognized and wanted to show me the one they already had. She compared and verified that they were the same thing, and commented that it was good that I got this because the one she already had was almost empty. “Did you just know we were almost out of these?”
In the weeks to come, she showed me some of those same items saying, “Your brother brought these for us the last time he visited.”
I said, “Oh, that was nice of him.”
Mom asked, “Did you tell him we needed these?”
I said, “I may have mentioned it.”

On Christmas Day, when I got home from work, I called to wish Mom and Dad a Merry Christmas. I don’t know who Mom thought I was, but she kept saying, “I didn’t expect you back so soon.” and “Did everything go alright?” I was a bit dumbstruck and had little creativity in my responses, making references to the weather and road conditions, and vague comments on how work went.
Then, with a seamless transition, she knew who she was talking to and slipped into our normal routine.

She told me about their Christmas:
Did I tell you about the oh, um, shoes, no, stockings. Stockings. That’s right. Did I tell you about the stockings we had hung on our door? They were stockings, not socks like you’d wear. We had them hung on the door on the outside, not inside where we could see them from our room. I guess everyone had some stocking or decorations on their doors. When we went to breakfast this morning, they were gone. I said, ‘Bill, look! Our stockings are gone.’ He didn’t know what I meant. When we got back from breakfast, the stockings were back. I said, ‘Bill, look! Our stockings are back!’ He wasn’t interested. He just wanted to get back in the room. I made him look at the stockings. I don’t know where they were, but they were back, but your Dad’s was hanging where mine belongs. There was something in them! A present! The stocking that was your Dad’s but was hanging in my stocking’s place had a singing stuffed animal in it. I think that was meant for your Dad. My stocking that was hanging where your Dad’s stocking should have been had a pedometer in it.
When she finished telling me about the stockings, I said, “Well, a pedometer certainly fits you, Mother! Now you can keep track of just how much walking you do around the place! It seems each of you got something that fits you very well.”
And, she retold it.
Amazed that the stockings had been gone and then were back.
Filled with wonder like a child on Christmas morning after Santa Clause came to visit.
I suggested that maybe Santa had delivered presents to all the residents. Mom seemed pleased by the thought. She reasoned that Santa would have to deliver to all the children first, then come back around for people like her. That explained why their stockings were missing, then not missing.
And, she retold it…

As we see our children lose that belief, we remember when we, too, figured it out. It’s a moment almost all of us can recall. That feeling has stayed with us ever since.
Bittersweet?
We can never recapture that innocence.

And, yet, for Mom…

Yes, Mom, there really is a Santa Clause.

Mom and Dad: Riding the Bench

I wanted to take Mom and Dad out to eat for Veterans’ Day. A few restaurants were advertising free meals for Veterans, and I hoped that we could get a seat by going early. Mom was excited about going out to eat, but became confused about why we were going and the meaning behind the trip. She began telling residents and staff that I was taking them to a special event, the nature of which was a surprise. She was giddy with excited anticipation.

Dad refused to wear his Navy hat.

The first place we went was Applebee’s where we found a line camped out under canopied tents lining the sidewalk. The mass of people wearing those familiar caps depicting their military background signaled to Mom that we were at an event, perhaps honoring Dad’s service. The same scene frightened Dad and I could see, before we even reached the sidewalk, that there would be no humane way to stop Dad from walking right on into that restaurant if we got close enough for him to see and recognize doors. I was hearing “…hour and a half wait, and we’ve been here an hour longer than they have…” “… they told us it would be at least 2 hours…”
People were inviting us to wait with them inside the tent, out of the wind. Mom was trying to recognize people in the crowd. No one looked familiar and this disconcerted her. Momentum was carrying us forward. People extending invitations were drawing us closer to the building, closer to Dad seeing doors. Our only saving grace would be if Dad did not find those doors in his frantic search before Mom’s own search for a familiar face led us into the crowd.

Mom would be spoken to.
Dad would be spoken to.

Mom would try to place faces, remember names, searching for name tags, complaining that these events need name tags.
Dad would be frightened and confused, but might attempt to engage in conversation. His words would not be understood. Conversations would start with enthusiasm and quickly disintegrate when Dad started to babble. More often than not, the other party would beat a hasty retreat. A few would try to understand, try to hear by leaning in closer, perhaps making Dad feel even more uncomfortable.

This would prompt Dad to launch into his “Kick his ass” story, bereft of words, punctuated by body language complete with the facial expressions that used to make people flinch when he told a story they could follow. Now, he mutters and points and makes faces while I await the precise moment I can quickly explain without upsetting Dad by interrupting, and without breaking the other person’s concentration. Those moments, when someone is paying rapt attention to Dad’s stories, mean so much to him. He is so pleased when someone really appears to be listening.
And while I wait for that moment, I need to watch Mom, to be sure she doesn’t get sucked into the crowd. I call to her, but dare not leave Dad’s side. Mom’s hand slips from my grasp and I reach to bring her back.

Mom and Dad were both searching faces for familiarity, but only seeing those hats; searching the crowd, feeling confused by all these people; searching for anything familiar, finding nothing, and feeling confused and afraid.

Mom’s confusion allowed me the chance to suggest we go to another restaurant. I could not remove the conviction from her mind that we were attending an event of some sort, but I finally got her to understand that the waiting outside, be it in a tent or in the car, would simply be too much for Dad. We just couldn’t make Dad stand this close to potential food. He would not be happy waiting outside or sitting in the car. Even nearby stores would not hold his attention for more than a few minutes, but would certainly expose him to further confusion, and with so many people around, he wouldn’t be content to sit in a chair.

We loaded back into the car and headed to Bob Evans, where the parking lot was only about half full. We were greeted and led to a booth as soon as we got in the door. Mom tried working out where it would be best for Dad to sit. He is left handed and requires a little more room to maneuver than he used to. While Mom tried to figure it out, Dad tried to get into the booth.
Dad raised his right foot and tried to guide it in under the table. He was facing the table. He tried to raise his foot up over the seat, he tried to step up onto the seat. He held onto the back of the seat with one hand, the corner of the table with the other hand, and tried again and again to find a way to get one leg under the table. We could not get him to turn and slide in.
People at neighboring tables were stunned.
I was taken off guard by this new development. I mean, I had never before considered that something as routine as sliding into a booth would have been a learned behavior, subject to Alzheimer’s eraser.
Dad had forgotten how to slide into a restaurant booth. Completely forgotten. He was absolutely puzzled about how to maneuver into the seat.
I noticed a couple workers watching us and said, “Perhaps we would be better off with a table.” One was immediately found and prepared for us.

I ordered our usual meals – meatloaf for Dad, turkey for Mom, breakfast for me. Coffee arrived with the requested glass of ice to quickly cool Dad’s coffee to a safe drinking temperature. Mom asked, “Why was it we couldn’t sit over there? Was it because your Dad couldn’t fit in the booth?” Mom’s hot water arrived and she spent the next 5 minutes deciding on which type of tea she wanted to try.

A few minutes later, our server brought the biscuits and gravy part of my breakfast. She said, “It came up in the window and I didn’t want it to get cold.” I looked at it, then at Dad. He was in a restaurant and wanted food. Food was here, but it wasn’t his. I certainly couldn’t start eating it in front of him, so, my biscuits and gravy went cold while Dad tried to find a way to get that food for himself.
A few minutes later, still, my ala carte toast arrived. Again our server said she didn’t want it to get cold sitting in the window. Again I looked at Dad. He looked very hurt that none of this food was coming to him. I requested their bread be brought asap so he could at least have something to eat.
Mom and Dad enjoyed their pumpkin bread, but Dad’s was gone all too soon.
Finally, the rest of our order was brought to the table. I cut Dad’s meatloaf and checked to make sure he could eat the rest of his food without assistance. Mom dug right in to her turkey and dressing, commenting that she always saves the cranberry salad for last, because that’s dessert. Really? Well, if you get dessert, then Dad and I should, too! I ordered a couple slices of pie and some ice cream to go with Dad’s.
Dad and I were finishing our dessert while Mom was still working on her dinner. For some reason, her plate caught my attention. It had come with a mound of stuffing. Stuffing that was vanishing from her plate. Mom doesn’t eat stuffing! It’s bread. But there she was, shoveling mouthful after mouthful of stuffing into her face, yumming it up. When she’d cleaned her entire plate of everything else, she allowed herself to savor the cranberry salad.
About this time, an old neighbor couple were seated at the table behind us. He also has Alzheimer’s. We chatted some with them and found that they, too, had tried to go to one of the other restaurants with free meals for veterans, only to find a long wait for a seat.
Mom tried to explain that we were going to an event for something that Dad had belonged to. She couldn’t remember if it was the Shriner’s or the Mason’s or the Navy or even something to do with his work. She looked to me for the answer and I could only try to explain, “He’s a Navy Veteran and it’s Veterans’ Day, so we were going out to eat to honor his service.”
When she started to understand that part of our outing, she then worried that this meal had cost us a lot of money and would have been free at the other place. Maybe we could have waited afterall? I said, “Well, then, we wouldn’t have seen the neighbors.” Satisfied, Mom returned to trying to figure out just how we’d ended up at this table instead of the other.

On the drive back to the facility, Mom reminisced about attending special dinners in the past. They’d gone to monthly dinners at the “Lodge” and she was certain I had been to a few as well. They’d had regular get togethers with her siblings, and she wanted to know why those weren’t happening. She could recall special events at the church and enjoying fellowship and food in the basement. And, she tried, again, to understand what it was we had gone out to do and why we couldn’t do it.
Mom also commented that the old neighbor looked much younger for some reason. She said he sounded much younger and looked much younger. I said, “Well, like Dad, he has Alzheimer’s. Dad is now much like a toddler. Neighbor appears to be much like a teenager – much younger than his actual age. Maybe he is like Dad? He looks and acts younger because that’s where Alzheimer’s has taken him?”

Back at the facility, she tried repeatedly to explain what we had gone out for and the confusion that ensued. I just shrugged and said, “It was a good meal and we enjoyed seeing our old neighbors.”

I spent most of the ride home thinking about Dad’s difficulty getting into that restaurant booth. I thought about learned behaviors that have gone from his memory. I wondered about other learned behaviors that are still intact, but will someday be gone as well.
Getting into and out of the car was slipping away, but hadn’t vanished completely, for instance. Getting in started to become difficult when Dad no longer tried to lower his head while getting in. Now, I hold my arm across the door frame so he bumps something much softer than steel. He sometimes even says, “Watch your head.” parroting my cautions.
Getting out became a problem when he no longer remembered how to turn in the seat to get out. He would try to move his legs out the door, but ended up in unbalanced and uncomfortable positions, so I moved him to the front seat and Mom to the back. Now, Dad carries on a constant dialog from the passenger seat and Mom tries to converse over it from the back seat. Dad’s dialog is mostly mutters, babbles, and whistles with a few words thrown in, like “Red stop.” and “Go go.” and the beloved, “Fire! Fire! Fire truck!”

When I got home, I brought in my to go boxes. They contained the biscuits and gravy that had gone cold sitting on the table rather than in the warming window. Hubby was happy to have them for dinner. I tried to explain Dad’s confusion with the booth, but had no real luck recreating the scene so Hubby could understand.

The next day was my birthday, and Hubby took me out to eat. At the restaurant, I tried to reenact Dad’s attempts to figure out the bench in the booth. While it drew the attention of a few other patrons, hubby finally understood what I had been trying to explain the night before. He understood. It made sense to him, now – my staring off into space then shaking my head, saying, “A booth. I never would have thought. Not in a million years.”
I was still a little shell shocked, I think.
I hadn’t yet wrapped my mind around the loss.

Dads are our star players.
Now, Dad can’t even ride the bench.

Mom and Dad: Don’t Change the Subject

After Mom and Dad’s anniversary, Mom started to complain about beans. Mom has always liked Lima beans and now wishes they had them more often with their meals. For their anniversary, Limas were on the menu. Mom asked if I had brought in Lima beans for their meal? Had I called the facility to request Lima beans? Had they had Lima beans or had the subject of Lima beans just been brought up? Was she confusing my garden with their meal? Had my son sent Lima beans from Florida? Either way, she was happy about Lima beans, but Mom then stated that she didn’t like the beans served with their meals because the beans in the beans weren’t big enough. It took a few questions to figure out what she meant. She was upset that the green beans they were served were not big, fat pods with big beans inside. This was the subject of concern for weeks.

At the next family reunion, Mom continued to complain about the little beans. She scanned the selections at the table and wondered, “Did anyone bring beans with big beans?”

We were joined at the table by Mom’s brother, my Uncle, who also has Alzheimer’s. (He will be referred to as “Uncle” or “Brother” as I have not discussed using his name with my aunt or cousins.) I got Dad’s plate then Mom’s plate. Uncle got his own plate. I made sure Dad’s food was cut into smaller pieces and provided him with a drink. I got drinks for Mom and Uncle. I got my own plate and sat down to eat. I noticed Uncle already had dessert on his plate – Dad noticed, too. Dad kept trying to reach over and take the dessert from his brother-in-law’s plate. I went back and got dessert for Dad so he would leave Uncle’s alone.
Everything was going along just fine. Mom was, again, complaining about beans. Uncle was concentrating on his plate. Dad, having finished his own dessert, was subtly trying to sneak dessert off Uncle’s plate. I listened, answered, discussed, chatted, and gently guided Dad’s fork away from Uncle’s plate – over and over again.
Mom asked, “Why isn’t Sister-in-Law here?”
Uncle said, “She should be here.”
I offered to call and see if she was coming.
She was not planning to come. She was not feeling well. She had discussed that with Uncle before he came. He had forgotten – such is the nature of the disease.
Mom wondered why?
Uncle thought she would arrive at any moment.
I told Mom to enjoy who was here and not worry about who wasn’t.
Mom questioned why Aunt seemed to shy away from these events.
And Mom complained that the beans in the beans were too small back at the facility.
When I was finished with my plate, I returned to the potluck table to get dessert for Mom and myself.
The table was 15 feet away.
I had my back turned on Mom, Dad, and Uncle for less than 30 seconds.
I placed Mom’s dessert on her right, away from Dad.
I placed my dessert on my left, away from Dad.
Dad tried to reach my dessert.
Dad tried to reach Mom’s dessert.
Dad tried to take Uncle’s dessert.
Mom said, “I think there’s something wrong with Brother”
I searched her face, saw worry.
Mom shouted, “Brother!”
I looked at Uncle – staring straight ahead, completely blank stare.
I shouted, “Uncle!”
Now, all eyes were focused on Uncle. He wasn’t moving. He didn’t look quite right. His eyes were fixed. The only sign of life was his jaw moving.
He had choked.
A cousin shouted, “Heimlich!”
Another cousin did the Heimlich while I called 911. A big piece of chicken came out of Uncle’s mouth and he pitched forward to retch.
Uncle looked alert, for a moment. I asked, “What is your name?” and he responded correctly. He looked confused when I asked if he knew where he was.
I gave details and was transfered to the local 911 to repeat the details. I was given the address by cousin at least 3 times – it wouldn’t stay in my brain to repeat from one asking to the next.
Cousin did the Heimlich, again. More food came out. Another piece of chicken and some other less identifiable bits. Uncle pitched forward and retched.
Dad reached for Uncle’s dessert. Mom reached for Dad’s arm.
The operator asked the right questions and answered our question as to whether or not to move Uncle from his chair.
Before I was off the phone with 911 the first responder pulled into the long driveway and into the yard. The second responder was in the driveway and parking (at the gate!) within the next 15 seconds. And so on and so forth as 2 more arrived. These volunteers all lived right in the community, a small country farming town.
I stood behind Uncle, holding him upright in his chair, helping support him when he pitched forward to retch, watching his face, keeping him from leaping from his chair, talking to him, shouting his name when his eyes went back to fixed and all sign of movement stopped, helping calm him when his arms were flailing or reaching or stretching out to push back from the table.
Dad reached Uncle’s dessert. Mom reached for his arm.
The volunteers listened to his heart, checked his vitals, responded in a split second whenever I shouted, “Uncle!” each time he ceased all signs of life.
Dad reached for Uncle’s dessert. Mom reached for his arm.
His blood pressure was nil. His breathing stopped. His skin went lax. His pupils became fixed and dilated. And each time, I shouted, “Uncle!” and gently gripped his shoulders. As they worked on him, I rubbed his shoulders, talked in his ear, held him upright, and prayed.
I called his son, told him what was happening, suggested he head to the hospital, handed the phone to the head paramedic whom he knew both as a relative and colleague.
It appeared as if there was more than choking going on. Uncle had a bad heart, had a valve replaced. Medics were trying to find a pulse. They were trying to get a blood pressure reading. They were trying to find signs of breathing. They worried that he’d had a heart attack or stroke which led to the choking.
Dad reached for my dessert. Mom tried to play keep away with Dad with my dessert. I could see that dessert flying into the middle of the chaos and order surrounding Uncle and the medics. I had Mom hand it to cousin to remove from Dad’s sight. We seriously did not need Dad choking, too! With all the excitement, who would watch Dad as he ate, shoveling in big gulps of cake?
I found out later that Aunt was on the phone with her sister when the call came across the scanner. Aunt thought, “Oh, no! Elderly man with Alzheimer’s choking! Must be Bill!” It never crossed her mind that it was Uncle. After all, it was Dad who had choked before. He was an elderly man with Alzheimer’s and it just made sense to think it was Dad.
Uncle went limp. His eyes were focused on nothing, fixed, pinpointed, slack face, no sign of breathing. He looked so peaceful.
Mom looked terrified.
I yelled, “Uncle!”
This was the third time I could honestly say Uncle felt … dead in my arms. But, he looked… at peace. Part of my mind, part of my heart wondered, “Is it better to go like this than to succumb slowly to Alzheimer’s and all the ravages it will bring to Uncle in the future?”
The emergency squad sirens were heard and it was suddenly brought back to everyone’s attention that the 2nd responder had blocked the drive at the gate. He was still trying to run an IV, so cousin searched his pockets for his keys. She then ran to his vehicle and drove it out of the way of the arriving emergency squad.
I relinquished my place at Uncle’s shoulders making room for the rest of the paramedics to work on Uncle.
There was no answer at Aunt’s house.
They quickly lifted him onto a gurney and whisked him away to the back of the squad. (I swear it looked like keystone cops, all those paramedics and volunteers scrambling to get into the back of the squad.) As they raced off to the hospital, plans were made for other cousins to drive to Aunt’s house and take her to the hospital.
Soon after they pulled out of the driveway, Aunt pulled in. She was fully expecting to see Uncle among the crowd and was terribly shaken when she saw that Dad was the one among the crowd, Uncle was nowhere to be seen.
Cousin and I told her what had happened and convinced her not to attempt to drive herself to the hospital.
Within a few minutes, the cousins who had gone to pick her up pulled back into the driveway. Explanations were made and quick plans to deliver both Aunt’s and Uncle’s cars back to their house were discussed. Moments later, cousins and Aunt were racing to the hospital.
I called Uncle’s son again with an update and answered his questions about Uncle’s symptoms and presentations. They cut their day trip and were headed to the hospital. I called his sister with the news as well, suggesting that she pray and get in touch with her brother.

An hour or so later, cousin called with good news! Uncle was sitting up and answering questions. They had checked him over and were planning a couple more tests.
An hour later, the cousins who had driven Aunt to the hospital returned with much the same news. Uncle appeared to be doing well.
An hour later, cousin called to say that Uncle and Aunt were headed back home.

The reunion was starting to break up. The volunteers who had arrived on the scene in their own vehicles had all returned to pick up their cars. All had a good report on Uncle. All told of how he had responded in the squad on the way to the hospital.

Aunts, Uncles, and cousins packed their lawn chairs and picnic baskets into their cars, helped return tables and chairs to the house and barn, said their goodbyes, and drove away.

Mom wanted to see Uncle before returning to the facility. Since it was on the way, I agreed to stop at the house. When we pulled into the driveway, Uncle was walking out of the house, headed down to the driveway. We talked briefly with Aunt and cousins, and marveled at how well Uncle looked to be! Uncle didn’t seem to understand what all the fuss was about. He seemed a little embarrassed about having been in the hospital, but couldn’t really put together why he’d been there.
We visited for a few more minutes and made our moves to leave.

As I hugged Uncle, I told him how glad I was to see him doing so well!
All Uncle said was, “You were there.”

And strains of “Just Died in your Arms” by Cutting Crew blared in my head. The Doppler of a car passing sang, “Oh I,” and I was drawn back to the fact that Uncle had effectively died in my arms 3 times, “I just died in your arms…”
I fought to maintain my composure. I still had to get Mom and Dad home safely. I still had to get me home.

As I drove, Mom asked questions about her Brother. At one point, she asked what his name was.
I nearly ran off the road.
Seriously, God! How many blows do you think I can take?!?!?
And the strains replayed, “Oh I, I just died in your arms…”

Mom asked how many people were at the reunion? And, made guesses ranging from 20-63.
Mom asked why Aunt hadn’t been there? And stated that she didn’t understand why she wouldn’t come to these things.
Mom asked if she had showed up at the reunion because I had called her? And worried that her car would be in the way when the picnic returned to being a farm.
Mom asked if there had been any beans at the table? And complained that there are no beans in the beans they get at the facility.
And it was those beans we were talking about when Uncle choked.
And the song played in my head.
And the thought came unbidden, “Don’t change the subject! Everything was fine. Mom was talking about beans. Choking?!?”
And the song played in my head.
And I thanked God that Uncle was ok.
I thanked God that the event had not even registered with Dad. That Dad had been spared any concern or stress over the whole thing. He just wanted another piece of cake.
I thanked God that my cousin did the Heimlich, that his wife had the patience to repeat their address at least 3 times to me while I talked to the 911 dispatcher.
I thanked God that I had reached Uncle’s son in time to get them turned around from their day trip. A few minutes later and they would have been out on the river.
I thanked God for the responders who worked so hard to repeatedly bring Uncle back to life.
I thanked God that Aunt had no idea it was her beloved husband in danger while she drove- and that God had kept her safe on the drive to the picnic.
I thanked God that everyone had been so calm and that the responders were so good at what they did.
I thanked God until the song was drowned from my head and Mom and Dad were safely back at the facility.

Mom wondered if I had sent them Lima beans?
Dad wanted to know if we were going for a ride?

As I drove, I again thanked God.
As I passed Uncle’s street, the song played in my head.
Every time I pass his street, the song blares in my head, “Oh I, I just died in your arms…”

Mom and Dad: Changing of the guard

We knew the time would come when Mom would no longer be able to handle all of Dad’s daily living needs. For quite some time, she has struggled with getting him dressed, cleaned, and toileted. She has tried to be attuned to clues that he had to use the bathroom and struggled with the consequences of being too late. For a time, she tried to hide the accidents – partly for Dad’s pride, mostly because of the fear of loss of control. She has feared losing control of Dad’s care all along. She does not want to give up his care because he seems to hold onto life and memories surrounding her, consumed by her, still totally devoted and in love with her. Friends and family believe that neither of them would last long without the other – I suspect Mom would survive just fine without Dad, but Dad would will himself dead without Mom. Mom’s fears for Dad seem to revolve around the thought that if she is not caring for his every need, he will miss her, it will break his heart, he will decline and even die.

Mom has had to call for help with Dad a few times. Dad’s refusal to get dressed for the day or undressed for the night, or his lack of ability to understand and follow instructions have left Mom frustrated to the point of anger. There have been a number of angry outbursts and they have not all escaped the attention of staff and/or residents. I have stood outside their door listening to Mom escalate from gentle instruction to raising her voice, and have recently witnessed her ire result in a spanking. The raised voice and yelling reached a point where the staff had to do something.
I got the call. They were concerned, worried, felt bad for Dad, felt Mom was too stressed to continue with some of the responsibility. Would we allow them to take over Dad’s dressing, undressing, and toileting? We all knew the time would come.

Just a few days before that call, Mom had tried to get something away from Dad. She claims she doesn’t remember what specifically, but I suspect that at least at the time she remembered and was just too embarrassed to admit what they fought over. Mom tried to pull it (whatever ‘it’ was) from Dad’s grasp, they pulled back and forth, and finally Dad let go. Mom went flying backward and smacked her hand against a corner, badly bruising her finger. Luckily she was not seriously injured!
The next day, which is when I heard about the incident, she had a Band-aid on her finger. Every few minutes, she would comment that she must have had it too tight because she could feel the throbbing. She knew she had it too tight the night before because it throbbed all night and kept her awake but felt better when she took off the Band-aid. Every few complaints about it being too tight led to her adjusting the Band-aid, loosening it and replacing it. We were at a family reunion and, as luck would have it, one of the cousins is a paramedic. Now, Mom wouldn’t listen to me about the health of her finger, but she would certainly listen to his expert advice. I asked him to take a look at her finger knowing that he would understand the power of an ‘expert’ opinion. His own father, Mom’s brother, also has Alzheimer’s and is more likely to listen to ‘expert’ advice than to follow even the most heartfelt suggestions from a family member. He ‘diagnosed’ bruising, offered some suggestions for ice and elevation, and Mom never mentioned the finger again.

After I had OK’d staff assistance with Dad, I waited to hear Mom’s report. She called me the first evening to complain that they had come too early. They were watching Jeapordy and that was too early for bedtime. She asked them to come back around 9:00pm. She called me again at 8:45 to report that they had successfully gotten Dad ready for bed. I missed that call, but got her called back right away. She said she had called, left a message, then went straight to bed, so, my call made her get out of bed. Oh, so sorry, Mom. Back to bed then!

The next morning, she called to say that they had not shown up to help, but that was OK because she had handled it herself. I suggested that she make it a point to call for help when she is ready, until they are able to get on a regular schedule. It is new to her and to the staff, so adjustment is going to take some time.
That evening, she had Dad ready for bed before the staff showed up. They came just as she was getting Dad to lay down.
The next morning, I called to see how the adjustment was coming along. She was certain that they had not helped that morning and seemed to recall having some trouble with Dad. Later she called to say, “I got my thinking head on and remembered that they didn’t help this morning.” Apparently she thought she’d told me otherwise and felt the urge to correct that. She said it was difficult to get Dad ready, but she is used to the challenge.
During the night, Dad had taken off his Depends and hid them at the foot of the bed under the covers. Mom spent “Quite some time searching for those pants – well, we call them pants. His new pants. Depends, I guess they are.” She described how much time it took her to get Dad ready for breakfast, reciting the breakfast hours, “7:30, 8:30, 9:00″ and claimed that it had taken so long to get Dad dressed that they almost missed breakfast. I have no idea if that is true, but she repeated it throughout subsequent calls where she’d tell me she’d “Put on her thinking head.” She reasoned that being late to breakfast was ok because others don’t even bother to show up for breakfast. In her last call of the day, she said, “I got my thinking cap on and realized that they didn’t come help this morning. I even tried to give your Father a choice of pants to wear and still had to struggle.”
I called the facility to ask how things were going with the new arrangement. New routine, new workers, but they were working on getting in the groove of helping Dad. The main concern was Mom’s insistence on trying to help. I could see where Mom’s ‘help’ would be a hindrance and promised to talk to Mom about it some more and try to get her to understand how important it is to let them do their job.

August 20th was Mom and Dad’s 60th wedding anniversary. I went to visit and enjoyed the afternoon music program by the Baker Boys. Dad slept through most of the singing, in spite of Mom’s clawing at him to wake up. I’d say, “Oh, let him sleep, Mom.” Dad woke once between songs and must have had some white noise with his hearing aids. He thought they were still singing and tried to sing along. I caught the eye of one resident who turned to Dad in annoyance. My temper immediately flared and I held her gaze, not trying to hide my annoyance. She quickly lost her annoyed look and turned away. (Again, I was facing that bully from school. Do some people pick on Dad, Dad completely unaware, Mom totally aware?)

After the program, we went back to Mom and Dad’s room. Mom told me about the trouble she had that morning getting Dad dressed. Again I stressed how important it was to let the staff handle it. She said, “Oh, I know! I can call them if I need help. I told them I’d just push that button and they could come help.” She said she’d had a very hard time with Dad that morning and eventually had to call for help. Then, she laughed and said, “The girl that came to get him ready ended up having to call for help. it took 2 of them to get him dressed.” I just shook my head. It took 2 trained staff members to do something that Mom has been struggling with yet succeeding at for many, many months.
I used that opportunity to reiterate how important it was to let the staff do their job, stay out of their way, call them rather than trying and frustrating both of them – let it become routine, something Dad gets used to.

Mom returned to telling me how early they show up to help in the evenings. She had decided that she would let them come in and get Dad ready and if it was too early in the evening, well, she could just make Dad get back out of bed so they can watch their evening TV shows.
I asked if they were helping Dad with getting to the bathroom. They are supposed to be checking on him every 2 hours, helping him get to the bathroom, checking to see if he’s done anything, and cleaning him up afterward. She couldn’t be sure about that. “Well, I do remember I had to ask them for help the other day. He’d had a tinky and I couldn’t get him cleaned up. I had to call them to come help. They cleaned him up and changed his… pants. Well, we call them pants. His new pants. Depends, I guess they are.”
So, I don’t actually know if they are helping with his toileting. No one approached him while I was visiting and Mom insisted on working at getting him to use the potty before they went to dinner.

I had brought in a banana split ice cream cake for their anniversary and left instructions with the kitchen staff on how to distribute pieces. There was plenty there for 12 people and I figured there would be certain people Mom would want to share with. I hope it ended up going to those I requested and that Mom was able to share with others.
Funny. Sometimes, when I take them in a special dessert, I hear about it that evening and the next day. Other times, I hear nothing at all. We picked up an Oreo Cream Pie from Bob Evans one day when we went there for lunch. At dinner, the servers delivered 4 pieces of pie to their table. Mom called me later to ask what kind of cake that was. “I want to say it was pumpkin, but I couldn’t be sure. Do you know what kind of cake it was?” I stuck with, “Oreo cookie” for my reply. No sense correcting cake to pie and adding to her confusion.
Later she insisted, “That was a delicious apple cake. Did you make it? I thought you made it. I know you brought it. It was very good. I couldn’t remember what kind it was, but I want to say it was apple.”
Later still, it was peach.

I could hardly wait to hear what she thought of the banana split ice cream cake. When I told her about it initially, she was absolutely floored that there was such a thing as cake made out of ice cream and wanted to know just how they could make such a thing. “Wouldn’t it melt when they bake it?”
Undoubtedly.
“Do we need to give them special instructions in the kitchen?”
Nah, Mom. I’m sure they know how to prepare this dessert.

I talked to Mom this morning and she raved about the ice cream cake, “It was deeee-licious!” She said that 2 of the people who had a piece of it made a special point of coming to their table to say how delicious it was and thank them for sharing. This gave Mom a chance to bask in the attention and tell people, again, that it was their 60th wedding anniversary. When I asked if she had given pieces of the cake to other people, she said, “No? I think it was just your Father and I.” Moments later, she re-told how 2 of the people had stopped to thank them. I wondered if their tablemates had liked the cake? She was certain that the one had really enjoyed it, but the other one took it back to her room to put in her refrigerator.
Refrigerator? I hope she put it in the freezer!
“Well, I can never tell with her. I have a hard time getting her to do anything.”
I’m going to have to call her daughter to make sure there’s not a slice of melted ice cream cake festering somewhere hidden in her room, or melting all over her refrigerator.

Sixty years they’ve been together. Mom couldn’t remember where they went for their honeymoon and with the reunion and their anniversary falling so close together, she guesses they honeymooned at Buckeye Lake. I remind her that they went to Niagara Falls. “Oh, that’s right. I keep thinking it was Buckeye Lake. I need to write that down. Where was it we went, again?”
She pulled a page from a 3 ring binder and handed it to me. There were 2 articles and pictures cut out from the Society pages of the newspapers announcing her engagement to Dad. One was from the paper from Dad’s hometown, the other from Mom’s hometown. Both articles said essentially the same thing, one picture was bigger than the other. “Oooo. You made the Society pages!” Mom beamed with pride. “Yes, I did. You see what it says, there?” I read them all the way through and handed the page back to her.
Mom slid a piece of paper out of the sleeve and asked again, “Where was it we went for our honeymoon? I keep thinking it was Buckeye Lake. Is that right?” I said, “Niagara Falls.” I remember this same discussion last year. And the year before.
“Sixty years, Mom. That is amazing, really. You sure were blessed to find the right man.”
Dad said, “My wife. I love her.” He looked at the pictures from all those years ago and said, “She’s beautiful. I love her.”

Conversation returned to Dad’s added care meaning less work for Mom. I reminded her, again, to please resist ‘helping’ the staff with Dad and let them do their job. Telling her that they are getting paid to help seemed to help her understand a little better, but I can tell she is resisting the change.
It’s not easy, this changing of the guard.

Wait. What?

Hubby got a new tattoo under less than ideal conditions. He was at an outdoor event that involved thousands of people, overused port-a-pots, filthy showers, hot temperatures, and lots of dust. The tattoo got infected, of course. His leg was swelling, it was hot to the touch, he couldn’t put weight on it, and his shoes didn’t fit. It was time for a trip to the Doctor. He didn’t want to wait to see our family Doctor, so we went to the ER.

While we waited in the ER, we heard others complaining about how long they had been there. Some were pacing, some were napping, others were reading or watching TV. One young mother was comforting her child, who was laying across a few seats trying to rest. There were 2 other women with this young mother chatting in a language I couldn’t understand, but it sounded beautiful. I asked where they were from, what language they were speaking, and how they came to become Americans.

I find, when I meet someone who struggles with English, that I am amazed that they are able to speak it as well as they do. I mean, I wouldn’t be able to do anything but mime and draw pictures! It irritates me to hear other people complain about strong accents and struggles with English. Seriously, could they do better?

As time passed, we chatted with others in the waiting room – most complaining about the long wait. Hubby decided he actually could have been in and out of the Doctor’s office by now, even though it was an hour drive away.
The child slept peacefully.

One of the women sitting with the young mother returned to conversation with us. She asked hubby what he was here for and looked at his swollen leg. Then she said, “You should have gone to my practice. There is no waiting.”

Wait. What?
Hubby and I exchanged glances, thinking, ‘You’re sitting here, for hours, with a sick child and you have a practice? With no waiting?’ “Um, what kind of practice do you have?”
She told me that she and her husband are general practitioners with an office here in town.
I had to ask, stifling a giggle, “Do you only see adults?”

We were saved from making more of it when hubby was called. The nurse took one look and said, “MRSA”
Really? Doesn’t that require some kind of test to determine?

Moments later, the Doctor stuck his head in the door, said, “MRSA,” handed hubby a script for some antibiotics, and made some comment on just how common MRSA has become in this area, especially with tattoos. He didn’t even stick around long enough to hear that hubby’s tattoo had come from an event hundreds of miles away.
Hubby got his prescription filled and started taking them right away. At work the next day, he started to feel strange. Lightheaded, dizzy, disoriented, confused – all words he used to describe the feeling.
After a very close call with a dangerous piece of equipment, hubby came home and called our Doctor. He was able to get in the next day. Not MRSA, and the antibiotics he’d been prescribed were not meant for skin infections, let alone for MRSA. There was no way anyone could tell if an infection was MRSA by looking at it, but they could tell if it wasn’t, apparently.
Anyway, hubby was given new prescriptions and instructions for helping clear up the infection without it turning into a terrible scar, or MRSA.
The tattoo looks great. No scarring, no fading, and the leg has returned to it’s normal, sexy shape.

You should come to my practice…
Indeed.

Mom and Dad: Those Naughty Seniors

The assisted living facility was having a party. Mom volunteered to help make hats for everyone. She was given a stack of colorful paper, scissors, tape, and a stapler. The activities director instructed her on how to fold the paper to make the hats. By the time Mom was sure she knew how to do it, enough hats were made. Mom wasn’t convinced there were enough hats and set about counting them. The activities director didn’t wish to debate it with Mom, so she let her take the supplies and go around to ask other residents if they wanted her to make them a hat. Mom was disappointed when she got no takers.
I arrived to find Mom walking around carrying her paper hat making supplies. “Whatcha got there, Mom?” She told me all about learning to make hats and trying to get other residents involved in the party by making hats for them, too. “How many more hats do you need?” She set about telling me how many were already made and how many residents lived there. I thought it sounded like there were already enough hats, but Mom said, “Yes, but I want everyone to attend! If there aren’t enough hats, someone will feel left out and maybe not come to the next activity!” Well, carry on, then, Mom.

Mom finally decided, after a few more rejections, that she had had enough. She was ready to return to their room and rest. As we walked down the hallway to their room, Dad took off his paper hat. Mom scolded him and placed it back on his head. As soon as she looked away, Dad took it off again. “Bill! I want you to wear this hat so others can see it!” Dad took it off, Mom put it back, and back and forth it went, all the way back to their room. Each time Mom had to replace the hat, she had to set down all her hat making supplies. She scolded Dad for the extra work until I offered to carry everything for her.
When we got back to their room, Dad took off the hat again. Mom was so frustrated that she went to the medicine cabinet and got out a handful of bobby pins to secure the hat to Dad’s head. He has about 3 hairs to work with, so Mom pinned the hat to his glasses. Yeah, that looked comfortable *eye roll*

Mom wanted to show me how to make a paper hat. While she tried to remember what to do, Dad removed his hat again. I helped him get the bobby pins untangled from his hairs and removed them from his glasses. He carried the hat around for a few minutes, until Mom noticed he’d removed it again. I said, “Oh, Mom, let him take it off. He can put it back on before the party.”
As Mom puzzled out how to make a hat, Dad examined his hat. I heard him say, “Junk,” and giggle. I turned just in time to see him start to crumble the hat into a ball. “Wait, Dad…” I tried, but it was too late. Mom, clearly upset, snatched the hat from Dad’s hands and tried to smooth it out. She muttered and sputtered about it until she got it back into some kind of shape that vaguely resembled the original hat and plunked it back on Dad’s head.
Dad took the hat back off and crumpled it again. Mom was beside herself. Dad looked at her, looked at the crumbled paper in his hands, and then tore it in two. Mom … spanked Dad. Simple as that. She swatted him three times on the butt and said, “That makes me so angry! Why did you ruin that hat?” Dad was tickled by her actions and laughed.
When things started to calm down a little, I asked, “Why don’t you just make another one for him, Mom? You were working on making one – let him have the new one.”
I admit, my eyebrows were raised in surprise and my thoughts raced. What if she were to swat him around the workers? Would they step in? Would there be problems? I scolded Mom for spanking Dad and reminded her that, while his mind is regressing to like a child, he is not a child. But, when his new hat was placed on his head, he let it stay.

Later, at the party, we spent time visiting with other residents. One resident complained that she had not been allowed to sunbathe. She said she had gone outside to get some sun, but was told she had to come back in because “It didn’t look right” for her to be laying out there.
I asked, “Were you laying out there nekid? I could see where that might upset someone.”
She cackled and said, “No! I was just laying outside in the grass near my window, wearing what I am wearing now!”
She went on to say that she used to sit on the front porch with her friend, but her friend has boyfriends now and there’s no room for a third wheel. She just didn’t feel comfortable sitting on the front porch anymore and couldn’t understand why they made her come inside. She was pretty angry about the whole thing and complained that she didn’t feel it was fair not to let her sunbathe.
I asked her why she didn’t go out in the beautiful gardens area with the waterfall and putt putt and tables?
She said she’d forgotten about that place, so we took a walk out there to see if there was a good spot to catch some rays. She found a couple of places she could sit, but was still angry about being told to come in. She went back to how all she was doing was laying on her back in the grass outside her window and couldn’t see how that could possibly upset anyone.
I had to tick it off on my fingers for her, “Outside. In the grass. No blanket. No lawn chair. On your back. In the grass… At an old folks home.”
Yeah, I can see where that might have caused quite a stir. People driving by, seeing some old lady laying flat on her back in the grass, at an old folks home?
She finally got the picture and was suddenly tickled at the image. “Oh, my!” she said. “I hope I didn’t cause an accident!”
“See?” I said. “You still got it. The power to stop traffic and grab the attention of drivers, simply by getting out in the sun.”

Mom and Dad: After DC and Super Secret Pockets

It’s contagious, I swear it is. I completely forgot to write about the events that followed our trip to DC, so here without further adieu…

The day after we returned from Washington, DC, Mom put away all the items that had been left behind in that garment bag hanging on the back of the bathroom door. She called me to let me know that she did not find Dad’s suspenders in that bag, and she was upset about it. She wanted to know if Sis or I had taken them. I assured her that neither of us would have done that, but she wasn’t convinced. “Why would we do that, Mom?” She figured that since Dad now had a new pair of suspenders, maybe one of us had taken the other pair to return to the store. I assured her that neither of us was going to drive back to Washington, DC to return a pair of suspenders, especially not the older pair. Finally, after many repeatings and attempts at reasoning, she decided that it would be silly to take back the old pair.
She wondered if she should mail back the new pair and get her money back? I asked, “Do you happen to remember the name of the store where we got them? I sure don’t. There were dozens of stores in the mall and I couldn’t tell you which ones we visited, let alone which ones we bought things from.” She didn’t remember which store and decided having 2 pairs wasn’t so bad. “Two pairs? Did you find his old pair?” I could picture Dad, unhappy about being forced to wear suspenders, taking them off and hiding them.

Mom went through telling everything she could remember about the trip and questioning things she wasn’t sure about, before getting back around to the missing suspenders. Did we take them? Should she mail the new pair back?

The next day she called with good news, although she was a little embarrassed to tell me. “Did I tell you I found your Father’s suspenders?” she asked.
“His new ones?”
“No! I found the suspenders we thought we’d lost, or left back here.”
“Do tell!”
Mom explained about unpacking their things after the trip. She’d started with the garment bag, which she didn’t understand why we didn’t take with us, but it had clothing in it, so she unpacked it. “Did we just not need any of the clothing in the bag? Is that why we didn’t take it?”
She moved on to explain how she’d made certain to get all of their medications out of the suitcase and back into the cupboard before unpacking their toiletries. And, finally she got to the clothing. They had lots of clothes to take to the laundry and Dad was running out of underwear. I reminded her that Sis had done a load of laundry and asked Mom if she had found the separate stack of clean clothing. “Oh, yes, I found those, but I got mixed up and took them all to the laundry.” Well, now you know they are clean.

After Mom had unpacked all their things, she discovered pockets and zippered compartments in the suitcase. She said, “I hadn’t remembered that there were so many pockets in that suitcase!” Well, they were covered by clothing – easy to overlook.

Upon discovering all these pockets, Mom checked every one of them which led to the discovery of Dad’s suspenders – the ones she thought we’d left behind. He’d had suspenders all along. We could have avoided the whole flasher incident at Iwo Jima!

I have teased Mom about all her ‘super secret’ pockets and compartments. Her purses have zippered compartments and she always seems to lose something only to find it later stashed away in one of them. At stores and Doctor appointments, Mom will fish in her purse for that huge pink wallet, which is hard to miss; but ask her for the receipt and she can’t find it. I’ll let her search for a little while before suggesting she check one of those ‘super secret’ compartments. She’ll ask, “How do you know about those?” in an accusatory tone. I just do, Mom. I just do. Sometimes I think she claims not to be able to find something because she knows she’s zipped it into one of those compartments and doesn’t want to reveal their existence to others.
There is no reasoning that other ladies have purses. Other ladies have purses with zippered compartments. Mom’s purses are unique in her mind. Those secret compartments were probably advertised as such in the junk mail advertisements she ordered from.

One afternoon at the Doctor’s office, I was teasing Mom about hiding her list of questions in one of the ‘super secret’ compartments. This led to the discussion about other purses with zippered compartments, but came back around to how Mom’s purse is unique. Mom said, “I have not seen another purse like it!” I couldn’t help myself. “In how long, Mom? I mean, just how old is this purse?” She finally decided that she’d had the purse for more than 20 years. The receptionist said, “Well, hang onto it another 5 years. It’ll be back in style.”
Mom spent the rest of the time in the waiting room worryied that her purse was out of style, but reasoned that it was very functional, had everything she needed, and nothing she didn’t.
In the exam room, she fished through the pockets looking for her shopping list saying, “I think I need a new purse.” I offered to take her to the store after we were done – she could have more purses to choose from than a sane woman could handle. “Well, you’ll just have to go look at something else while I check purses, then. I need those secret pockets and I don’t want anyone to know!”
Again I teased her. “You’re not thinking of trying to sneak things into those secret pockets while we are in the store, are you? I’d be mortified if you were picked up for shoplifting!”
At the store, faced with hundreds of purses, Mom decided her purse was just going to have to do. One shopper, who’d listened to Mom stress over all these choices while extolling the virtues of her own purse (over and over) said, “I think your purse is very nice. You shouldn’t change a thing.” I then noticed her uniform and name tag; she was an elder care nurse for a local nursing home.
“Bless you, and thank you.” I said. She gave me a hug.
After she’d gone on her way, Mom asked, “How did you know that woman?”
“In spirit, Mom. In spirit.”

Mom and Dad: Prizes and teeth

Mom and Dad were due for their annual visit to the Dentist. Mom made the appointment for late one afternoon. I think she sometimes makes plans late enough that they couldn’t possibly get back to the facility in time for dinner. She does love Bob Evans, and Dad seems to feel comfortable there, too.

When I picked them up, Mom was quite animated about the bus trip they’d taken that morning. The facility takes a few residents at a time on field trips, to events, and on various outings. Mom likes to sign up for as many as possible. This particular trip took them to a county park for a special celebration of seniors. There were games with prizes designed so that everyone was a winner. Mom couldn’t wait to tell me about everything she won.

At one game, they selected a little plastic duck from a shallow pool of water. The number on the duck determined the prize they won. Mom won an umbrella. I said, “Well, that’s fitting. When it’s raining, people say, ‘This weather’s fit for a duck.’”
Mom assured me that the weather was beautiful. “I’m glad it wasn’t any later. It’s beastly hot outside now.” Then she fiddled with the AC vents.

They also played a fishing game. “Your Dad couldn’t figure out how to get the hook over the curtain, but they gave him a prize anyway.” She couldn’t remember what he’d won. She won some small packs of tissues. “They are the same size as the ones we use, but they are not our brand. And, they are brown.” She fished in her purse for her pack of Kleenex and double checked her pocket stash for good measure. Then she fiddled with the AC vents again.
“Are you cool enough, Mom?”
“I just wanted to make sure your Father is getting enough air back there,” she said, and turned to ask Dad if he was comfortable. Dad said, “What?” and then saw a police car on the side of the road and said, “Fire! Fire! Fire truck!”
Mom asked him a few more times if he was comfortable, then told me all about their bus trip to the park, the games they played, and how nice the weather was for the festivities.
She fiddled with the AC vents at the end of each telling. It reminded me of a sound engineer at a concert – her reaching out with both hands to touch each vent, checking that each was open and facing the right way, fingers gliding across the fins.

At the Dentist, Mom went first. Her thinking was that Dad would see what all happened and understand it for his turn. Mom still has all her teeth. Of course, the Dentist always compliments her on how clean her teeth are, especially between, and encourages her to keep flossing. I said, “You don’t need to encourage her on that!” Mom explained how she tries to brush and floss Dad’s teeth, but he’s not very cooperative most days.
Dad’s turn came, and I couldn’t imagine it going well. He wouldn’t open his mouth, and I feared he would bite down on the Dentist’s fingers. He wouldn’t mean any harm because he’d think he was just teasing, but I cautioned the Dentist to be ready for speedy retreat if Dad’s eyes got that ornery sparkle or the corner of his mouth turned up. He narrowly escaped the first of 3 bite attempts, but was able to recognize the warning when Dad tried to smile.
At this Dentist’s office, there is no hygienist, so the Dentist does the cleanings himself. I asked him to use a toothpaste or cleaner that was safe to swallow. It simply wouldn’t be possible to get Dad to swish and spit. A glass of water is to drink. Mom tried to get Dad to spit, but I cautioned her against teaching him… I could just imagine him doing that with a glass of water back in the facility dining room! She understood and sat back down. I stood in Dad’s line of sight and mimicked swishing well enough that Dad tried to imitate. Sure, he swallowed the water afterward, but he’d rinsed out most of the gritty toothpaste. A few scrapes and prods with the dental instruments later, the Dentist declared Dad’s teeth fit for another year.

We stopped at the receptionists desk to get the bill and Mom started talking about some of the pictures around the desk. While Mom talked, Dad wandered off to explore. He found the Dentist working on a mold of a patient’s teeth. Dad watched him work for a few minutes, then started wanting to touch the molds. I tried to get him to leave them alone, but the Dentist said it was fine, he couldn’t hurt anything. Encouraged, Dad picked up a piece of the molding that had been cut off as excess. While the Dentist talked about what he was doing, Dad picked up another piece of excess molding and popped it in his mouth.
I caught it just in time, startling the Dentist when I grabbed for it and shouted, “No! Don’t eat it!” Dad gave me a look full of anger for denying him his tasty prize, but the look quickly dissolved into one of sadness and loss. On some level, he understood that he has to be watched out for. It didn’t last, but for that moment he felt the loss of autonomy and he was deeply saddened.
I couldn’t help but wonder what prompted him to want to put that in his mouth. Was it because it looked like teeth?

Back at the facility, Mom wanted to show me all the prizes they had won. When she got to the little package of tissues, she took one out, tested it’s feel, folded and unfolded it, and then rubbed her nose with it. She pulled it away and looked at it, then rubbed her nose with it again. “These are not as nice as the ones we get. I don’t know why you got me these?”
Um, you don’t like them?
“No! I think we have enough Kleenex for now. You can take these back, or maybe you’ll use them. They are not as nice as the ones we usually get at Walmart. I think we have enough for now. I can check my list…” and she went to check her list.
She didn’t find Kleenex on her list, so she asked, “Did I tell you I needed Kleenex? Why did you bring these? Did I say we needed Kleenex?”
Um, no, Mom, you didn’t. I can take them if you don’t want them.
Mom set about checking her Kleenex supplies around the room. Some on the headboard of the bed, some in the bathroom. Some on the table, another box on the TV stand. Extra boxes in the closets and a small selection of pocket packs of Kleenex. Having made certain that they were good on Kleenex for the time being, Mom returned to the prize tissues, which were laying on the bed beside the other prizes.
She told me all about their bus trip, games, and prizes, showing me each in turn. This time when she got back to the pack of tissues, she picked them up and chuckled, saying, “I guess these are a nice prize. We sure do use a lot of Kleenex.”
Yes, you do, Mom. You sure do.
And, she told me about how she goes about making sure she has enough Kleenex on her at all times. A few in her pockets, a package in her purse, a package in Dad’s pocket, and a few more folded individuals in his breast pocket. An unopened pocket pack in her purse is a comfort she sometimes affords herself.
She tried another of the tissues, wondered why I’d brought them, showed me that they had plenty of tissues and said, “We sure do use a lot of Kleenex. These tissues are a nice prize.”

Could I have a couple of those for the ride home?

Mom and Dad: When Memories Collide

Mom is aware that her memory is not up to par so she keeps all kinds of lists and notes. Post-it notes speckle the entire kitchenette area of their room, which Mom transformed to be her office. We put an over-the-sink shelf along the wall that stores stamps, tape, extra post-it note packs, batteries, pens, etc. Under the shelf she has boxes of envelopes and a few other office-type things. In the sink, she keeps a few things that either don’t fit on or under the shelf, or are just too awkward or unwieldy to place anywhere else. The small counter space is piled with notes, notepads, mail, lists, cards, newsletters, and a candy jar.
Dad only cares about the candy jar.

Mom was starting to have trouble finding some of the things, “Over here in my, I call it my office.” She was certain that Dad had gotten ahold of them and maybe even threw them away. I got to thinking about the last time I had looked at her kitchenette/office and realized I had not really seen the candy jar. I suggested she move things around a little bit so the candy jar was out in the open. As soon as she exposed the candy jar, Dad swooped in for a piece of candy. When he was satisfied that Mom was going to let him get away with piecing, he slid some of the papers out from behind the candy jar and lo and behold, there was what Mom was missing. He couldn’t see the candy jar, but knew where it was supposed to be. While searching for it, he had scrambled her feng shui.

Now that Mom had her desk back in order, she went over all the notes she had made on the papers. There was a bill from a Doctor that she was very worried about. She was convinced if it didn’t get paid, the Doctor would refuse to see them again. Upon closer inspection, it was determined that these bills were part of their annual insurance deductible. I tried to convince her that brother would take care of these bills and likely already had. She was not convinced. This bill had been around for weeks, so that meant it still needed paid. I asked if she’d gotten a new bill? “No. Just this one. But, it’s been here for weeks!”
She has trouble reaching brother by phone. Sometimes she dials the wrong number – his old number, the wrong area code, his house phone. Sometimes he just doesn’t answer. I can’t tell her that he just doesn’t have the patience to handle her ramblings, or that her decline hurts him too deeply to deal with.
Then, I came on a solution that worked out very well for all concerned. Mom loves to mail cards and letters. Why not stick these bills in an envelope and mail them to brother to handle? She could even include a note with instructions, explanations, or express her concerns. So, her piles of envelopes are dwindling, her boxes of envelopes are looking neater, and she still gets to have Dad’s help with putting on stamps.
I need to get her some return address labels – she’s always loved having those!

Soon after Mom mailed some “bills” (statements) to brother, she got another statement in the mail. While it did show that the deductible had been paid, she couldn’t quite understand that part. She was now convinced that it was billed to them because they had missed paying the bill while they were in the Doctor’s office. “I know what happened,” she declared. “I’ve been racking my brain to remember and I know what it was. We were leaving the Doctor’s office and your Dad had to go potty. I took him to the bathroom while you handled the paperwork and made our next appointment. You couldn’t have paid our bill then, and when your Dad was done, we just left. I know that’s when we missed paying it. I didn’t even get an appointment card because we didn’t pay. I have called the Doctor’s office and spoken with one of the women there. She said she would look into it and call me back. She hasn’t called me back. I just know that’s what happened.” And she repeated this, verbatim, for the rest of that conversation, into the next phone call, on the next ride in the car, and on many other occasions, for days.
When Mom gets on a subject and can’t let go, there is usually something at the heart of it. I had to break it down and figure out what was the cause of it if she was ever going to move on.
Yes, there was a visit where Mom took Dad to the bathroom while I updated their paperwork. I always update their paperwork – Mom couldn’t begin to navigate that stuff anymore. That wasn’t it.
There was a visit where the appointment card was handed to me instead of to Mom. I try to direct the receptionist to hand it to Mom as I’ve already entered it into my phone. If they do hand it to me, I make sure to hand it right to Mom and let her know that this is her copy of their next appointment to hang on her calendar. If it goes straight to her hand from the receptionist, she remembers it when they return to their room. She gets it taped to that day on the calendar so that it hangs below the date, and writes the information in the space.
There was a dentist appointment not covered by insurance. In the past, we have asked that they send the bill to brother and it is taken care of from there. The receptionist always lets us know how much the bill will be before we leave so I can let brother know what to expect.

Mom could remember these events, to some extent, but she could not separate them from each other in her mind. As they all ran together, fragments melded with other fragments and became a conglomerated train of thought. There was only one way to break the cycle.
I called her Doctor and asked that someone from the office call Mom and thank her for the payment and remind her of her next appointment time.

“Did I tell you I got a call from my Doctor’s office? They just wanted to remind me of our next appointment.”
Oh? Is that appointment coming up soon?
“Not for a few weeks. But, they also wanted me to know that our account is up to date and current on payments. I’m sure glad your brother takes care of that for us now.”

Best of all, the worry was gone from her voice. She chatted about this and that, occasionally marveling, again, at the call from her Doctor’s office, but mostly just chatting about stuff.

Mom and Dad: Flowers and gardens

Mom and Dad take frequent walks around the facility. In the morning they go outside and walk the path around the building. The facility has done a wonderful job of landscaping and the flowerbeds are full of colorful blooms all summer long. Around back and outside some of the resident rooms are some tomato plants. Mom remembers gardening and admits that she never really liked all the work involved.
When I look out my window and see my garden, I am thankful that I only heard one of her complaints.

Mom was in charge of one of the family gardens as a child. She would spend hours and hours tending plants and flowers, pulling weeds, making it look just so. Occasionally the pigs or piglets would escape their pens and wreak havoc in the yard. Mom’s dislike of pigs stems from their nearly annual rampage through her garden.
The facility has a pet pig. Dad is absolutely drawn to the little oinker. Mom turns up her nose and makes derisive comments about pigs in general. Dad coaxes Mom over, “Little doggie!” he’ll laugh and beam with joy. “Pet the doggie?”
That little pig may just end up winning over Mom’s heart for all pigkind.

Now, I have a garden with veggies and flowers galore, and Mom marvels that she would never have imagined I’d like that kind of thing. This year I made sure to plant plenty of flowers that do well as cuttings so I could take them to Mom each visit. When Mom complained that she didn’t have any vases, I brought her a vase. When she mentioned that her friends always comment on her flowers she lamented that they didn’t have any vases so she couldn’t share.
I needed to brainstorm because I had enough trouble transporting one vase of flowers. So, I went to the Dollar Tree store and waited for inspiration. For 15 bucks, I bought a dozen vases, a basket, and some flower arrangement foam blocks. I cut the foam to fit the basket and cored holes out to tightly hold 6 vases. Now I can take 6 vases of flowers on each visit without spilling any of them, and I can carry the previous 6 back home without risk of breakage.
Mom loves to help chose and deliver flowers to 5 other people, and takes special care to follow up on the condition of these flowers in the days thereafter. When the last petal has dropped, she collects the vases and carefully stores them in their room.

For weeks, Mom had been reminding me that “The Baker Boys” were going to be performing at the facility. These 3 brothers sing old country church gospel to the accompaniment of an accordion, and are Mom’s cousins. I simply could not miss the show.
That morning, I collected flowers enough to fill the vases and packed them into the car. After the program, I asked Mom if she would like to help me deliver them. Of course she would!
Dad needed to use the bathroom before we could make deliveries, and I needed to retrieve the flowers from the car, so we made a plan to meet back in the hub in 15 minutes.
While I waited for them, I chatted with some of the residents and “The Baker Boys.” One woman, to whom we were going to deliver flowers, has to struggle just to move her wheelchair a tiny bit. I desperately wanted to help her, but my hands were full and she didn’t want me to let those flowers out of my sight. She couldn’t carry them, so we inched along, inch by inch, minute by minute.
Mom caught up with us not more than 30 feet from where she’d left us. I suggested she carry the flowers while I pushed our friend. Mom had a better idea. She would push. This is a common sight around the facility – Mom pushing someone to and from their room, to and from activities. As Mom pushed I kept Dad from plundering the flowers I carried.
And, then I heard Mom say, “I think you are the heaviest person I have ever pushed!”
I held in the guffaw that desperately wanted to escape…
until our friend said, “I could have lived the rest of my life without hearing that.”

Mom and Dad: Missed phone calls

When a call is missed, cell phone wallpaper is replaced by a “Missed Call” or “Voicemail” message alert. I have given up trying to explain these to Mom. It may seem simple enough to check missed calls and voicemail for most of us, but for Mom it can be very tricky. When things go awry she calls me.

“Did you call me?” she’ll ask, sounding very worried. Before I can answer, she’ll say, “I had a voicemail but there was nothing there. I missed a call. I thought it was you.”
She worries that whoever called will be offended that she didn’t answer.
She worries that someone had an emergency and she has hampered them in some way by not answering.
She worries that so-n-so has died, and goes into a litany of everyone she knows (of) who is sick.
She will tell of (past, present, imaginary) conversations with family and friends from which she learned that so-n-so is sick. A trip to the emergency room, in her mind, is a near death experience for the patient. This doesn’t stem from any opinion of the local emergency room, it’s just a major event for anyone to have to go to the hospital – like, her regular trips for port flushing at a Doctor’s office that just happens to be in the hospital, for instance.
She will read from the weekly church newsletter about church members who are in need of prayer. There will be newborn, engagement, wedding, and relocation announcements mixed in with sickness, surgery, and shut-in requests and updates.
She will try to tell about things she’s read in the newspaper depending on the time of day. If it is before their final planned evening activity, she has only glanced through the newspaper in the main ‘hub’, usually by reading over someone’s shoulder. These stories are sketchy at best, full of guesses and conjecture. If it is after the activities, she has very likely asked for permission to take the newspaper and will begin telling but end up reading the entire article. Asking for the paper involves reasoning that they will just throw the paper out when they clean up, but she’s concerned that they will lose out on something by not having that paper in the recycling bin. Staff will patiently explain that all the papers end up in the recycling bin – even those that residents leave outside their door for pick-up over night. She will tell me all of this in great detail and added dramatic intonations.

When she has run the gamut, she will ask again if I was the one who called. Sometimes (God forgive me) I will lie and say, “I sure did!”

Mom works so hard to maintain some control of Dad’s every waking moment: keeping him out of things, preventing him from going into other people’s rooms, keeping track of his keys and billfold, waking him from stolen naps, getting him to the bathroom on time or cleaning him up if they are too late, tending to his every need.
“Bill! Bill!” paw paw “Bill! Bill!” claw claw “Bill! Bill!”
It is a constant hyper-vigilance that keeps her going and focused and exhausted.
She is lonely. She needs someone to talk to. She doesn’t have much to report so she tells me about the things she did for Dad.
And she’ll ask again if I called.
And worry about the missed call.
And she’ll tell it all again.

And I tell myself, “She just needs to talk.”
I remember all those times, as a kid, I’d stand there with Mom while she did chores – not helping, just wanting someone to talk to.
I remember all those times I called her, as a young mother, just to talk. And all those times I didn’t.
I try to listen with the patience she showed me when I was the one doing the talking

She will run through her various lists: things she needs to get at the store, things she needs to ask brother, things she needs to ask a Doctor, appointments she needs to make, bills she thinks need paid or worries that brother will miss, upcoming birthdays, anniversary’s, and events.

And somewhere along the line she will have lost that sound of worry and concern in her voice. As she goes back through that litany, I realize what triggered the emotional state of mind that triggered the call.
She’s lonely. She needs someone to talk to.

She really did miss my call.