Monthly Archives: September 2012

9 months since Dad died

It’s hard to believe that it has been nine months since my dad died. So much has happened this summer, and so many of the events have reminded me of Dad.

I never would have thought that I would be taking care of Mom now, who is facing serious illness herself. I had hoped for a respite from illness, for both myself and especially for my mother. Alas, that was not really meant to be.

One of my favorite photos.

Even though I have been so busy tending to Mom these past few months, I have been keeping up with all of the Alzheimer’s events taking place this month in honor of World Alzheimer’s Month. Now that I’m spending so much time with Mom in my parents’ home, memories of Dad are everywhere. Mom still misses my dad dearly and talks about him every day.

So even though Alzheimer’s disease separated Dad from us over the last year of his life, he is still in our hearts and memories every day.

I’m keeping all of those who have dealt with Alzheimer’s in their family in my thoughts.

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Sitting in Dad’s chair

Since I’ve been living with Mom for the past couple of weeks helping to take care of her as she recovers from surgery, I’ve been spending a lot of time sitting in “Dad’s chair.” It’s nothing special. It’s an old burgundy-covered recliner that’s a little wobbly so sometimes it makes my vertigo kick in.

Dad’s favorite chair.

But it was Dad’s favorite chair in the house. He sat in it for countless hours, watching classic movies on TV, reading the newspaper or a library book, and enjoying a pint of beer in the evenings.

So even if the chair is not the most comfortable it reminds me of Dad being comfortable and in his element, before Alzheimer’s robbed him of those simple pleasures.

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A slow walk, a small gain

Today Mom and I went for a short walk after a doctor’s appointment. Mom did quite well, as I hovered around her like a mother hen, scanning the sidewalk for cracks and gravel that could cause her problems.

It reminded me of last summer, when I held on to Dad’s arm and walked around the nursing home. There was an outdoor area that he liked to spend time in. I was constantly worried he would go down on the pavement, and Mom and I would not be able to support his frail frame. Even though he was skinny, he was still more than Mom and I could manage easily.

He would also try to take off without us by his side, and had a hard time getting in and out of chairs on his own. I remember those slow, painful walks, with Dad on a search for something he could never find.

The walk with Mom was also painfully slow, but she finished with a boost in self-confidence, and an increased hope that she could return to independent living in the near future.

A simple little walk can reveal more than meets the eye.

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Mom “picked a good husband”

Mom was talking to her sister-in-law yesterday, one of the last living relatives that she still keeps in contact with. My aunt Helen is her lifeline to all of the family gossip back in Newport, TN where my mom is from.

Aunt Helen told her something her son Gary had said about my Dad long ago: “He is such a nice guy. Jane sure knows how to pick husbands.”

Mom beamed when she told me. And while Mom and Dad’s marriage wasn’t exactly storybook material, it was a solid, sweet and supportive union until the very end.

So yes, Mom chose well when she finally decided to get married. Dad didn’t fare too poorly either.

Perhaps I’m the luckiest of all, being the only child of their union.

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Dad’s nursing home experience a mystery

Dad spent about 10 months at the nursing home before he became ill and landed in the hospital, then was transferred to a skilled nursing facility where he died.

Mom spent just over six weeks at a nursing home. She still talks about the place like it’s a second home. She knew all of the workers and residents on her wing by name. She even talks on the phone with her former roommate from there.

Thanks to Mom, I knew every detail about the nursing home operations and was kept updated on all of the nursing home gossip.

Dad and I at the assisted living facility, March 2011.

It just struck me recently how little I knew about Dad’s experiences at the nursing home. Almost all of the information gleaned from his stay was from third-party sources: nurses, aides and my mom. By the time Dad entered the nursing home, he wasn’t communicating that much. What we did learn from Dad directly was that he had a falling out with his roommate. (Mom also had a falling out with her second roommate; nursing homes are not much different than high school when it comes to petty squabbles!)

On one of my visits to Dad’s nursing home, he told me which residents couldn’t be trusted. Unlike Mom, who was a social butterfly at her nursing home, Dad seemed to be a loner who didn’t interact with fellow residents. Without the dementia, I’m not sure how Dad would have reacted to having to stay in a nursing home. I think he would have been okay as long as he could have his smoking breaks!

It’s interesting to see my parents go through somewhat similar experiences (emergency surgery, long hospital stay, nursing home) but react in such different ways. I just wonder what stories I will never know about Dad’s stay at the nursing home.

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What would your parent do?

Mom is going for tests over the next couple of weeks that will let us know if her cancer has spread. We’ve been talking a lot about the pros and cons of chemo. Mom is an optimist and a fighter, but she also wants a decent quality of life. Still, I think she will probably at least try chemo to see if she could tolerate it.

That made me think about Dad, and what he would do if he were the one in my mom’s shoes. As I’ve written before, Dad avoided doctor’s visits like the plague. But he did pull through his emergency gallstone surgery and dodged death a few times over the last year of his life.

I can’t imagine Dad living with a colostomy bag. He did have urinary issues at one point which required a catheter being inserted and Dad wearing a urine collection bag attached to his leg. I think he had to wear it 1-2 months. Mom did all of the draining duties. Dad wasn’t the best patient, but he grumbled his way through the ordeal.

Mom is grinning and bearing it with her colostomy bag. She manages to crack jokes about it while we are dealing with it, but she’s also admitted it’s depressing to know she may have to deal with this for the rest of her life.

But Dad? I guess if Mom was here to take care of his colostomy bag, he would grumble his way through it. But chemo? Forget about it. I think Dad would have holed himself up in his bedroom with a pile of library books and refused to even meet with an oncologist.

It’s interesting when the two people who brought you into this world have such opposite personalities and perspectives on life. It also makes me wonder how I would react if faced with a similar situation.

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Disease a hitchhiker

I’ve been following Kathleen Cohn on the Cowbird storytelling community as she writes about her husband’s cancer journey. I started following her stories before my mom was diagnosed with cancer, but now it hits even closer to home. Her writing is eloquent, honest, heartbreaking and hopeful.

The way their doctor described her husband’s rare cancer really struck me, and seems to apply to other diseases as well:

“Along the way we picked up a hitchhiker but managed to lock him in the trunk.The goal was to keep him in the trunk. Sometimes he may get out of the trunk, and into the backseat, but we needed to keep on top of it so that he didn’t get in the front seat and grab the steering wheel.”

Certainly that can apply to cancer but also to Alzheimer’s disease. Dad had his good days and his bad days as he tried to keep control of that steering wheel controlling his life. But eventually, that dementia demon escaped the trunk, crawled over the back seat and took control of my dad’s life.

Mom doesn’t drive, but she is the world’s worst backseat driver, so I wonder how she will fare against her hitchhiker.

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Little things taken for granted

It’s easy to overlook personal mobility when it comes to growing older. Dad was able to ambulate up until the last few months of his life, and while this worried me (as he did suffer multiple falls that sent him to the ER), it also was a comfort that he wasn’t bedridden. Dad loved to walk and even if his last year was spent shuffling up and down the drab nursing home hallway, at least he wasn’t staring at a ceiling that whole time.

I went for a brief, 10-minute walk today to pick up some things from the local convenience store. The short trip is actually quite scenic, as half the way there is a walking path that borders a golf course. I have walked this same path with my parents multiple times before, but now I walk it alone. Dad is gone, and Mom is not strong enough yet for that long of a walk. She lamented that fact today, as she was so used to being independent, as Dad was before he became ill.

Most of us take our ability to walk for granted. The ability to go outside on your own, breathe fresh air and stretch your legs seems so trivial, but for my mom right now, it is not an option without someone by her side.

I don’t like to think how I will be when I get older/become sick. I have such a fierce independent streak. I’m also not a people person. At least Mom thrives on the social interactions of those who assist with her care now. All of her caregivers, from home health aides to doctors just love having Mom as a patient, because she is so easy to deal with.

I apologize in advance for the type of patient I will probably be. 🙂

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The surprise at being called a caregiver

When Mom took care of Dad at home those first few years he had dementia, I don’t think Mom considered herself a caregiver. She was simply being the dutiful, loyal wife, taking care of her husband of almost 40 years. It was automatic, no title necessary.

I feel the same way now. I’m just a daughter taking care of her mother in need. I guess since I quit my job to take care of Mom, if someone asked me what I do for a living, I might say “family caregiver” since I’m living off of Mom for now. 🙂

So today it was odd when I received a discount for being a caregiver. It’s nice to know that caregivers are recognized in this local community (even if was just a dollar or two of savings.)

So yeah, I guess I am a caregiver. It still sounds odd, but I guess I will grow into the title.

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Dad the foam sipper

Mom was telling me today that even after Dad’s dementia had progressed, Dad would still request a beer at night as had been his nightly habit since he was an adult. (Well, back in the day, after putting in a long day at the trucking company, it would be a few beers.)

Old habits die hard, but dementia can alter old habits just the same.

Mom said Dad would just sip the foamy head off the beer and then forget about the rest of it.

He would wear a moustache of beer foam, like a confused clown, until Mom would help him wipe it off.

Poor Dad, robbed of even the smallest of pleasures.

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