Category Archives: Memories

September 27, 2012 · 9:01 pm

Waiting room blues

Mom had to go have a test done today, prep for her upcoming oncology consultation. I wasn’t allowed to go back with Mom for the procedure, so I set in the waiting room. There was a lot of tension in the room. There was an elderly woman anxious for her mammogram to be done. Another mother-daughter combo who I believe also were there for a cancer screening. There were grim looks on many faces, sick people resigned to undergo tests that could in part, decide their fate. You want to know, but then again, ignorance (and/or denial) is bliss.

There were also people awaiting routine screening tests. I wonder how many of those people would end up being called back for suspicious test results. Hopefully none of them, but we know every day people have their worlds turned upside down by a routine test with not-so-routine results.

Mom is being a good patient by willingly going through all of these tests. I don’t think Dad would have been nearly as cooperative. He hated doctors and was bored to death in waiting rooms. And of course, when the dementia struck, certain tests would have been virtually impossible to conduct on Dad.

Maybe Dad was the lucky one, not to be spending so much time in waiting rooms and having tests done.

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September 26, 2012 · 8:39 pm

When showers become scary

There are so many things we take for granted when we are younger, and in good physical and mental health. For example, today Mom needed to get a shower.

Mom was kind of dreading it, though she has always been a clean freak. But now, due to illness and overall frailty, she can’t enjoy her bubble baths anymore. She has to sit on a shower bench to take a bath.

Today was her first shower without the home health aide. Mom is not happy about the change in her routine, which of course is understandable but still frustrating to me, as I have spent countless hours researching shower benches, bars, etc. to try to make getting a bath as safe as possible. Of course, to Mom, it’s starting to feel like the nursing home a bit, with all of the safety aids around. But today, Mom’s physical therapist told us how her mother, who suffered from dementia, “forgot” she needed her walker, took three steps, fell down and broke her hip and died three days later. So Mom knows what is at stake.

She’s also fallen in the bathtub before and possibly cracked some ribs, so she knows how dangerous getting a simple bath can be.

Mom did fine and I think she will be okay if she needs to bathe alone. Of course, watching my Mom’s frail body under the shower spray, I couldn’t help but think of Dad. In the last hour of his life, he was also getting a shower, with the help of aides at the skilled nursing facility. His body gave out, and he crumpled while in the shower. He was brought back to his bed, and CPR was performed, but he was gone.

Of course, I wasn’t there with Dad, so I’m left to imagine how that scene played out, and how aware he was of what was going on. I will never know, but those last minutes of Dad’s life still haunt me.

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September 25, 2012 · 8:33 pm

Being called by Dad’s name

When I came home today after running an errand for Mom, I heard her call out … Dad’s name.

It’s not the first time she has done this. She has started to call Dad’s name multiple times before, but usually catches herself and finishes with saying my name. She usually does this when she is frustrated or worried.

It’s just very odd being mistaken for Dad. I guess there were so many years when Mom would call out for Dad, that even now, almost a year since his death, she still feels his presence around her.

I don’t mind being mistaken for Dad. In fact, it’s kind of an honor.

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September 24, 2012 · 8:54 pm

Just a tree

Sometimes, I will be sitting in Dad’s chair and I will glance out the window and think I see Dad standing there on the front porch, smoking a cigarette.

Of course, in reality, there’s nothing out there but a gently swaying tree.

For most of his years at home, Dad’s smoking routine was a comforting habit, and a chance for some quiet time and reflection. He would pace back and forth, maybe spotting a few deer wandering around and waving to a neighbor driving by the house. There would be the obligatory hoarse smoker’s cough, along with what sounded like Dad was clearing gravel out of his throat.

As the dementia took hold, I wonder if his vice gave him as much satisfaction, or if he began to look around at a world that did not seem familiar to him. I remember my last few visits home when Dad still lived there, I would listen closely when the front door opened and Dad let out his smoker’s cough. I would peek from my bedroom window to make sure he was still there and had not wandered away.

I think I will forever see his ghost pacing back and forth out there, a trail of smoke lingering behind him.

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September 23, 2012 · 9:04 pm

Ache from the past

On top of everything else Mom is dealing with, she now has a toothache. Furthermore, Dad’s dementia might have something to do with it.

The last year Dad lived at home, she had just had some dental work done. Dad, far into his dementia at that point, socked Mom in the jaw one night as she was trying to get him ready for bed. He claimed he was “shadow boxing.”

Shortly thereafter, Dad became ill and then moved into the nursing home. Mom put aside her needs and never went back to the dentist to finish the extensive dental work that she had started.

Now she has an aching tooth, and an ache in her heart as she remembered the last time she was in the dentist’s office. Dad was with her, and in wandering mode. As she sat in the dentist’s chair, she would try to peer around and see if Dad was still in the waiting room. On one visit, he left the building and wandered down the street to a fast food restaurant. When he was reunited with Mom later, he claimed the restaurant had spiders and bugs crawling all over the windows.

So for most people, a toothache would be a minor annoyance. But for Mom, it opens old wounds created by Dad’s dementia.

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September 22, 2012 · 8:48 pm

When the caregiver becomes the patient

Mom almost had forgotten how she had taken care of a “bag” before she was stuck with her colostomy bag. Dad had a catheter inserted temporarily at one point when he was still living at home and he had to “pee into a bag” that was attached to his leg.

Mom handled the extra duty with ease. Dad was already starting to drift mentally a bit by that point, but even if he had been mentally sharp, I think he would have wanted Mom to take care of it.

Now Mom is having to deal with her own “bag” issues, in this case a colostomy and it looks like it may be a permanent thing for her to deal with. Mom mainly has a good attitude about it, but she does get down sometimes, especially when there are accidents, like today.

I have also surprised myself by stepping up and being able to manage a medical issue with some level of competence. If someone had told me a year ago I would be able to change a colostomy bag successfully, I would have told them they were crazy.

I think what I have learned so far through the illnesses of my father and my mother is that we humans can more easily adapt to change than we give ourselves credit for.

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September 21, 2012 · 7:13 pm

Why I want to defeat Alzheimer’s disease

Today is Alzheimer’s Action Day. I started The Memories Project back in January as a way to deal with my grief at the loss of my father, who died five days before Christmas 2011. In fact, I was relieved that Dad had finally escaped the evil grip of Alzheimer’s. Because there is no cure or effective treatment for this disease, death is the only way to escape.

Even though Dad was just an average guy, I didn’t want his struggle to go unheard. Since starting this blog, I’ve met (virtually) so many others who are going through similar situations with their loved ones. It is both tragic and inspiring to know there are so many family caregivers out there that sacrifice so much.

The last photo of Dad and I together, July 2011.

We all have so much to share, and blogging is a great way to vent our frustrations, educate others and honor our love for our family members struggling with dementia and Alzheimer’s.

I now find myself being a caregiver for my mother, who is battling colon cancer. Observing the differences between my mom and dad as they struggle with their diseases is enlightening. Even though colon cancer is very serious, Mom, because she still has her mental faculties, has made great strides in recovering. With my dad, Alzheimer’s robbed him of any chance he would have had of recovering from his physical maladies.

I hope that in the near future, Alzheimer’s becomes at least a more manageable disease. I’m an Alzheimer’s advocate not only for the memory of my father, but also with the knowledge that if we don’t make great strides in Alzheimer’s research soon, we will have a major global health crisis to deal with.

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September 20, 2012 · 7:26 pm

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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September 19, 2012 · 8:05 pm

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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September 18, 2012 · 8:43 pm

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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