There were thirteen from our group of  twenty-seven at lunch last week. We usually cause quite a ruckus, chattering and laughing the way ladies who lunch do. Wednesday was no different.

At one end of the table, four of the six of us talked about dementia, more specifically the dreaded “A” word, Alzheimer’s Disease.  What I’m experiencing with my husband now is only one view of what others have experienced with their loved ones.

After I got home I tried to remember how many of the thirteen had been, or still are, on the same one-way road I’m on. Seven! Seven out of those thirteen women have cared for, suffered with, and lost or are losing mothers, sisters, aunts, brothers, husbands. Three more in our larger group are affected in one way or another, too.

There’s no laugh in this post today nor in any of the grim statistics that fall under the umbrella of dementia. But there are these thoughts about the importance of laughter from the Central California Chapter Alzheimer’s Association newsletter:

“There is nothing humorous about dementia. However, laughter can help dementia caregivers and improve the quality of life for those afflicted by the disease. Studies show that laughter boosts the immune system and triggers the release of pleasure-inducing neurochemicals in the brain. In terms of dementia-specific benefits, the greatest advantage of humor is that it provides sufferers with much needed mental stimulation. Humor challenges our loved ones to engage their minds as fully as possible [and] it’s also an effective tool for keeping social links active and reducing…paranoia and agitation that many […dementia patients struggle with.]

— Marcy Oswald, MFTI, Education & Care Specialist

 

2016 National Society of Newspaper Columnists’ contest finalist. screen-shot-2016-12-07-at-10-14-53-am

 

 

Saturday morning I circled the soccer matches — “football” to my English husband — in the sports pages and wrote the channel numbers beside each. I was determined to forge a better day than Friday had been.

When Peter finally got up, the first game — ManU at Liverpool — was about to end. “This one’s nearly over,” he said, noting the score was nil-nil with seconds to go.

“Yes, but look, Chelsea plays Crystal Palace at ten,” I said. “Then, Arsenal at Watford at half past twelve. They’re your teams, aren’t they? Should be good matches.”

He nodded. “Fulham! Arsenal! Chelsea! Crystal Palace and Watford don’t have a chance.”

“Funny, you forget all sorts of things, but you don’t forget your football teams.”

“I don’t forget anything,” he said.

Hmm, I thought. How I wish that were true.


Crystal Palace shocks the boots off Chelsea, 2-1

Watford kicks in the Arsenal, 2-1
No joy for the Chelsea and Arsenal fan in our house.

 

2016 National Society of Newspaper Columnists’ contest finalist. screen-shot-2016-12-07-at-10-14-53-am

‘Who in the world am I?’ Alice asks.

“You’re not working a puzzle,” I said to Peter one day at lunch. “Have you finished already?” (He always does a Sudoku, Wordy Gurdy, or crossword; I always have my nose in a book.)

“A puzzle?” he asked. “Do you mean you?”

I laughed. “That’s good,” I said. “Haven’t heard that one before.”

Peter laughed too. “Neither have I.”

That little glimmer of the old Peter was a peak in an otherwise down day. Our laughs lately are a bit further between, but we milk the ones that come along.

This 500-piece “Alice in Wonderland” jigsaw puzzle was a family Christmas gift several years ago. Over the past weeks, Peter put it together again, with more than a little help from Samantha, Leslie and Martin. I’ve often thought Peter’s dementia…Alzheimer’s…must make his head feel jumbled like Alice’s: “I wonder if I’ve been changed in the night? Let me think. Was I the same when I got up this morning? I almost think I can remember feeling a little different. But if I’m not the same, the next question is, ‘Who in the world am I?’ Ah, that’s the great puzzle!”

Indeed.

 

2016 National Society of Newspaper Columnists’ contest finalist. screen-shot-2016-12-07-at-10-14-53-am

Sort and organize, part two.

Several days ago I posted a list of ideas that could help dementia patients feel as if they had some control in their lives. In the post, I used Peter’s adaptations as examples.

Today, I have a new item to add. This one aimed at those for whom reorganizing the silverware drawer or separating buttons by color aren’t challenging enough.

  • Wrangle grocery carts into types—large, small, ‘kiddy cars’—in the cart corral at the grocery store!

After our shopping trip the other day, Peter unloaded our groceries into the back of the car, then walked off to return the cart. I started the engine, adjusted the mirrors, lowered the radio’s volume, checked my hair, and waited and waited and waited. Where was he?  The cart corral was only three spaces away.

I reversed slowly out of my slot and, whoa, there he was, sorting carts and fitting them together as if they were the high school band waiting to parade.

I tapped the horn. He looked up and waved to let me know he knew I was waiting. Really, the only thing I could do was laugh.

This is Peter’s idea of Organization. Photo, Eroha trollies, 26/6/11

2016 National Society of Newspaper Columnists’ contest finalist. screen-shot-2016-12-07-at-10-14-53-am

Header photo: Kroger’s on a Sunday morning

 

Say a lot in few words.

When our friends Jerry and Shelia visited, Shelia took me aside to  ask, “Does Pete worry about anything?”

“No,” I said.

She smiled. “He doesn’t have to, you take care of everything. He has no worries.”

I nodded and she gave me a hug. There was nothing more to say, and for effervescent, talkative Shelia, that in itself was saying a lot.

 

 2016 National Society of Newspaper Columnists’ contest, second place, blog category.

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‘When life gets you down … just keep swimming!’

Dory, the brilliant blue, wide-eyed tang fish who stars in “Finding Dory,” has a problem with memory loss much like my husband does. I’d forgotten that Dory was a supporting player in “Finding Nemo” (2003), so I didn’t realize forgetfulness was key to the storyline for the new movie when Leslie took us to see it.

Peter didn’t remember Nemo at all, even though we saw the movie in a theater and have watched the video several times. Nor did he remember “Finding Dory” on the Thursday after he’d seen it on Sunday. But he liked it all over again.

Dory, who hasn’t seen her parents in years, remembers the importance of family, but little else. We just enjoyed a week with family that was filled with raucous laughter and good food. Peter hasn’t forgotten the good times we’ve all had in the past, though specific memories have faded. He can’t even remember much about the past eight days.

Screen Shot 2016-07-10 at 5.17.39 PMAnytime either of is down in the dumps, I look for reasons to laugh. According to Dory, swimming would help too…if Peter knew how to swim. He can’t even float, except two feet below the surface. That’s always makes me laugh, though he doesn’t think it’s funny at all.

Credit: Disney•Pixar “Finding Dory” (2016)

 

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What can I do?

My brain had short circuited. I clutched my head and tried to figure out which problem to tackle next.  Just then, Peter peeked around the door. “Can I do anything to help?” he asked.

My pitiful smile didn’t reach my eyes. “Could you give me some peace of mind?” I asked. “That would help.”

He chuckled. “You want a piece of my mind?” he said.

The tears that had threatened dried up. Just that brief exchange lightened my mood.

Van/AK DSC01354

Photos: Sailing to Alaska (2006)

 

Well, well, well.

“Hello,” I said to my husband when I came in the door.
“Hole in the ground,” he replied.
“What?” He often responds with something he thinks is funny.
“I thought you said, ‘Well.’”
“No, I said, ‘Hello.’”
“Oh well.” He grinned.
I laughed, but maybe you had to be there.

Peter explained this hole in the ground—the Grand Canyon—to a visitor who thought he was a guide who knew what he was talking about! (2011)

Peter explained this hole in the ground—the Grand Canyon—to a visitor who thought he was a guide who knew what he was talking about! (2011)

 

Yesterday was not a good day.

Peter could not remember how to do the simplest of jobs, he was grumpy because I was “telling him what to do,” and I was grumpier because I had to repeat myself endlessly. Meanwhile nothing got done.

Besides, it was an ugly windy day, completely unlike what the weather forecaster predicted.

Late in the afternoon, Peter came to me and asked, “Is there anything else I can do wrong?”

He had a plaintive smile, and of course I melted. “I’m sorry I’ve been so grouchy,” I said.

“No, you haven’t, don’t even say that,” he said. He wrapped me in one of his increasingly rare hugs.

“But you didn’t do anything ‘wrong,'” I said, “you just didn’t do anything.” He loves it when I jab him.

He laughed and danced around the kitchen like an elf. “Ya got me!” he said, and everything was alright again.