Monthly Archives: September 2016

Do I know where I am?

Posted on by under Alzheimer's, Caregiver, Dementia, Family, Laughter, Remember

Peter was unusually silent. “Something wrong?” I asked. I was driving along a narrow road so could only glance at him.

The silence lengthened. “Do I know where I am?” he said at last.

Whoa, what?  “Do you mean this instant, here, on this road?”

“Yes.”

“Well, we just left Carolynn and Bill…we’re heading home…we’ll soon be in Waterville…” I paused to see if my words rang his bell. “Remember last week, on the way here, we had to stop for a parade in Waterville?”

Nothing.

I thought back to that Saturday. The long drive north had been uneventful until we got to Waterville (pop. 1,548), where we were blocked by a parade longer than the main thoroughfare. Stuck, twenty minutes away from Carolynn’s front door. I fumed, but Peter said, “It’s a pretty day. We’ve got time.”

“But I want to be there, not sitting here.” 

Forty minutes later we were zooming along the downhill drive to — whoops — Road Closed and Detour signs. “OK, I know how to get there from here, I used to bike along this road.” Several miles later I turned left onto another favorite bicycling road. “Do you remember? We used to ride along here a lot.”

Peter sighed. “You seem to know your way around.”

“We lived here seventeen years!”

“You did. I didn’t.”

A right at the next stop sign, then a quick left and we were on their street. “You sure know your way around,” Peter said again.

“We lived here seventeen years!”

“I didn’t,” he insisted.

When I turned into their drive, he sat up straight and smiled. “I didn’t know we were coming here!” His eyes sparkled and when Carolynn and their two Westies ran toward us he chuckled. He knew where he was.

I laughed. “I’ve told you for weeks we were coming to see them…”

“I. Didn’t. Know.”

…

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Bill and Peter in front of a rock-hugging tree.

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Big Guy and/or It.

Throughout our visit, his usual confusion at being away from home eased a bit. After a couple of nights he was able to get from our bedroom to the bathroom and back without going into their room or Carolynn’s office. He didn’t even try to remember Duffy’s or Lily’s names, calling them instead “Big Guy” and/or “It.” He didn’t understand how to use the Wii remote to play golf or bowl with Bill, but he had fun trying. He could still keep track of the dominos played and plan moves accordingly. Bill took him fishing, golfing, and shopping; Carolynn and I took him to the farm stand; I took him to the Polish butcher and past our old house. He remembered the butcher, but had no memory of living in that house. It does look quite different — terrible — minus the two enormous maple trees in front.

…

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Bill, Lily and Duffy follow Peter around Moss Lake as if he knows the way.

But now, headed south again, Peter had asked if he knew where he was. I reminded him of all the things we’d done, his outings with Bill, our hike in the Adirondacks with the dogs. He shook his head. “Sorry, I just don’t remember.”

But I do. I remember a visit special for the girl-time with Carolynn and her friend Robin, a visit with friend Lisa, time off from caregiving thanks to Bill taking charge, and the laughs. Always the laughs.

I won’t forget.

Header photo: Walk in the Adirondack Park.

2016 National Society of Newspaper Columnists’ contest finalist. 

 

Left? Right. Left. Wrong!

Posted on by under Advice, Alzheimer's, Control

We were having lunch at Lefty’s. As always, Peter looked at the menu, then at me and asked, “What do I usually have?”

imagesAs always, I said, “You can have something different.” It does absolutely no good to encourage him to try other things on Lefty’s or any other restaurant’s menu. I looked up at the large blackboard where daily specials are posted. “Oh, look, pork BBQ burger, yum! I’ll bet that’s good.”

Peter looked at the board. “No, I’ll have what I usually have…” His eyes asked the question again.

“A Lefty’s burger with fries then?” I’d already settled on a turkey reuben, my favorite, or I would have had the special myself. So much for branching out from “the usual.”

Later, while waiting for the check, Peter looked at the blackboard again. “Pork BBQ burger,” he said. “That sounds good. I should have ordered that.”

I sputtered. “I tried to get you to have it, but you wouldn’t.”

“Pfff, never saw the sign.”

I raised my left eyebrow at him. “It’s just like when we traveled in England,” I said. “You drove and I navigated. Every time we came to an intersection or a roundabout you’d ask which way. If I said ‘left,’ you’d turn ‘right.’ I’d insist, ‘left,’ and you’d say ‘wrong.'” Peter was confused. “In other words, no matter what direction I said, you thought I was wrong, so you’d turn the opposite way. I never did learn that I should have said ‘right’ when I mean ‘left.’ We’d have gotten where we were going a lot quicker, and with less fuss.”

A smile tempted his lips. He didn’t remember specifically the time lost on tiny English lanes, but down deep, he knew what I meant.

Continuing my argument, I said, “So my point is, an hour ago, if I’d looked at the list of specials and said, ‘Ew-w, yuck, pork BBQ burger’ sounds awful,’ you would have ordered it.

“No-o, I didn’t see it,” he insisted.

Ri-i-ight.
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2016 National Society of Newspaper Columnists’ contest finalist. 

Prompt. Hint. Jog. Nag.

Posted on by under Alzheimer's, Caregiver, Control, Dementia

Bill, my husband’s kindly helper, arrived a bit early. We sat at the kitchen table chatting, while waiting for Peter and Nobby to get ready for their weekly therapy dog visit to a nursing home. Finally, Peter clomped through the kitchen.

“How ya’ doin’, Pete?” Bill asked.

Peter stopped, turned, and said, “You’ll have to ask her.” He nodded towards me. “She knows how I am.” He was laughing.

Bill laughed too. “Maybe you don’t want to know what she thinks,” he said.

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Peter carries Nobby’s leash.

“Oh, he knows what I think,” I said. “I tell him all the time.” I didn’t know what had prompted Peter’s remark, but perhaps it was because I’d had to remind him several times that he needed to put on a clean shirt and brush Nobby before Bill arrived.

There are lots of caregiver hints on-line. I’ve tried to lay out clothes for him to wear or attach a note to clean pants and shirt. I set the stove’s timer to remind him he needs to get ready. Nothing works. He will not wear what I’ve selected and he crumples my notes. When the timer goes, he calls to me saying something’s beeping in the kitchen.

Bill and I continued chatting, while Peter tried to put Nobby’s harness on. He doesn’t like me to help and yanks it away from me — his dog, he’ll do it!  Actually, Nobby is so smart I think he could buckle himself up better than Peter can these days. Not so long ago he tried to harness the tail end of the dog, and another time he fastened it in place without getting Nobby’s head through the apparatus.

All relatively little things, but frustrating to both of us —me for having to prompt, hint, jog, nag, and him for having to be…reminded.

Laugh, you just have to laugh.

Header photo: Nobby waits patiently for his walk.

2016 National Society of Newspaper Columnists’ contest finalist. 

‘Try to remember and if you remember then follow.’

Posted on by under Alzheimer's, Caregiver

Peter held up handful of baby carrots. “These are cold,” he said.

“You just took them out of the fridge.”

“Yes…but…feel them.”

Uh oh, the fridge was playing tricks again. Sometimes the crisper drawer turns its contents into veggie popsicles. “Here, I’ll put them in the sun on the windowsill,” I said.

Peter carried on making his lunch which never varies: beef or pastrami sandwich with splotches of Coleman’s mustard and margarine, plus a few carrots, a pile of crisps, and any fruit I sneak onto his plate. He reached into the bag of carrots. “These are cold,” he said.

“Yes, look, some are thawing.” I pointed to the cup sitting in the sun.

“What would I do without you to keep me straight?” he said, shaking his head and laughing.

“I guess you’d be eating a lot of frozen carrots,” I said.

As a learn-by-doing caregiver, I try to make my husband continue to do whatever he can. If I were to let him slide, his downward progression would be much faster I believe. Friends are amazed that he still walks the dog — “Nobby walks me twice a day,” he says — and that he  mows the grass, also twice a day sometimes. And he continue to pick up sticks and comb the rugs’ fringe with whatever implement he can find.

Yesterday I caught him using an antique silver meat fork for the job. Not only was it too hefty for the aging fringe, I didn’t like the idea of using a pretty old fork on a rug. I yelped. He stormed off. I immediately felt guilty. He was back within minutes to ask if I needed any help.

“Why don’t you walk Nobby?”

“He walks me twice a day.”

“I know. He’s ready to take you right now.” The dog flopped his tail hopefully.

“Oh, wait, you could get fish while you’re out,” I said. I’d written down what I wanted from the fish ladies.

“Where are they now?” he asked.

“Across from the rugby field…”

“Right, I remember. What do you want again?

“It’s on that paper. Take it with you.”

“Don’t worry, I will. Where are…?”

“Across from the rugby field.”

“Right.” Nobby led Peter out of the house. The door slammed.

I sat down in front of the computer. I had a few minutes to write! The door slammed again. I heard Peter behind me. “Across from the rugby field,” I said without waiting to hear the question. He chuckled. The door slammed.

Keeping my cool is nearly impossible sometimes, but when I think how frustrating it must be for him to try to remember simple instructions, I simmer down.

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Carrots thaw, Peter mows, and in his right hand, he holds a bunch of sticks.

Header photo: Carrots in the sunshine.

2016 National Society of Newspaper Columnists’ contest finalist.