I'm Better Than I Think I Am (Most of the Time)

I’m going to touch on a subject I have talked about before. It’s probably the subject every caregiver hates most to talk about. It’s definitely something I hate to admit. I am heading for a bout of “caregiver burnout”. I can feel it happening like a runaway freight train headed straight for me while I am tied to the tracks.

If you know a caregiver, give them a hug and offer to give them an afternoon off. You might just save them. I’m sure everyone feels it differently so I thought I would share a bit of how it feels to me. But first I have to explain how I get to this point. I take care of Dad round-the-clock five days a week. The other two days (Richard’s days off) I work overnight taking care of a 90 year old lady and Richard takes care of his dad. What this means is, I take care of people 24 hours a day 7 days a week. For a month at a time, I do really well, but after that I NEED a break. If I don’t get one, I start feeling like I am going to break. Imagine the emotional roller coaster caused by PMS magnified by 100 times or so and you will have a small sense of what it feels like.

I feel like I need to cry so often it disgusts me. I get horrendous headaches and I don’t sleep well. I have an extremely short fuse and it doesn’t take much to ignite it. I begin to second guess myself on every decision I make. I feel run down and can only hope I don’t get sick. I start having anxiety attacks. I pray for relief. I wish I were anywhere but here.

I feel like the very essence of me is being sucked out of my body, drained from my heart. I give so much of myself to my elderly people that there isn’t much left at the end of the day. It’s an exhaustion I never could have imagined until I had felt it firsthand. Maybe it’s because there is no “end of day” for a caregiver. You are on duty ALL the time. Even when I am sleeping, there is a monitor on in the room with me so that I can hear my charges, at home and at work. I have to be available if they need me. I’m not exaggerating when I say it’s a 24/7 job.

I have heard taking care of the elderly compared to taking care of a baby. In some ways it is and in some ways it isn’t. Babies don’t talk back or argue or sling obscenities, they can’t hit or scratch or bite. Babies are dependent in their innocence; adults are innocent in their dependence. Lifting a 20 pound baby and putting it into bed can’t compare to doing the same for a 100-200 pound adult. Honestly, you can’t even begin to compare changing a baby’s diaper to changing an adult’s. You can’t compare much about the two at all.

Try to imagine it… Your only time off is when you are going back and forth to the grocery, pharmacy, work and your child’s bus stop with an occasional trip to the bank or Walmart thrown in for good measure. Did I mention your only time off revolves around taking care of your charges needs, too? Sometimes, it can be extremely overwhelming and a bit suffocating. When you can’t get anything accomplished around the house because your charge won’t let you out of their sight. When you have a hundred things to tend to but you are cleaning the bathroom for the fourth time that day. That’s when the “burnout” begins.

Here’s a “catch 22” for you: Dad is doing so well with meeting the goals that home health set for him, they may have to release him. These companies exist to help keep people out of hospitals. Medicare figures it will be way cheaper in the long run to keep you healthy (or as healthy as you can be) than it would be if you were hospitalized. They are, of course, right in this assumption. In order for him to be recertified, he has to show a medical need for them being here. Alzheimer’s isn’t a valid reason. The get ladies who come here to work with him have given him a new lease on life. The interaction with adults outside our household is such an important part of his mental health. In his eagerness to please, he does everything they ask him to. Unfortunately, on paper that means he is getting better physically so they may have to stop coming. If he were to get sick, fall or injure himself, he would instantly be recertified. See, we are stuck between a rock and a hard place. The last thing anyone wants, least of all me, is for him to get sick or injured. I don’t want that as much as I don’t want to lose the additional help with him.
I think there should be a new study done on “caregiver burnout”.

I would be interested in knowing how much money is spent on caregiver healthcare each year. What percentage of that is Medicaid (or Medicare) dollars? Could there be less money spent in this area by providing more services such as home health to help alleviate some of the stress that caregivers deal with? Stress can lead to physical illness. I can’t afford to get sick or more levels than you can even begin to imagine.

As time goes on with his illness, things will only get worse. It’s the nature of the disease. We will float on the fringes of the healthcare system. Sometimes we will have help and sometimes we won’t. This will continue until the day arrives where I have no option but to call in hospice. Then, we will finally have available help that will stay with his case until the end. Unfortunately, that’s the way the system works, you have to be dying to get as much help as you need. I am grateful for what Medicare does do. But, to be honest, I’m pissed off at what it doesn’t do.

It seems like the contributing factors to “caregiver burnout” are endless but I keep reminding myself that I wouldn’t like the alternative any better. Mostly, I’m just mad at the disease and what it does to everybody who is touched by it. Knowing that I have a RIGHT to feel the things I feel helps a lot. Knowing that I have a support system of friends and family who lift me up helps me keep going. Knowing I will survive? That is the key to not losing my mind completely.

On The Subject of...

ON THE SUBJECT OF SKILLS: My 13 year old has proven just how big his heart is lately, not to mention how sharp his mind is. He frequently asks Dad to play cards with him. It has been a long acknowledged fact that “Pop” loves Gin Rummy. He and his “bride” played almost every day of their last few years together (and a whole heck of a lot of days over their lifetime together). Jordyn uses it as a way of connecting with him. When he can manage to get him to play, he has Pop keep score on the pretense of needing him to teach him how to keep score. This is a wonderful move on Jordyn’s part as it requires Dad to use his mind and his forgotten math skills while interacting with him on a one-on-one level.

Over the course of their two most recent games, I have seen Dad remember the rules, as well as accurately keep the score. He makes the same comments over-and-over again but Jordyn just smiles and nods. It really tickled me to hear him say, when laying a Queen down, “Look, Pop, it’s a lady.” He winked and said, “The lady is a tramp, right?” It was great seeing him turn the familiar words back to Dad, but it was even better seeing Dad light up at hearing the familiar words. As he is apt to do, he broke out in full singing voice, “That’s Why the Lady is a Tramp!”

***A sidebar: Dad will also burst into singing an old song “"APALACHICOLA, F-L-A!" that was written by Bing Crosby back in the 1940’s if anyone mentions the word Apalachicola. Richard loves to find ways to bring it into conversation just to hear his dad sing.

However, it was sad to hear Dad ask halfway through the game, “Who are you? Where did you come from?” Jordyn never missed a beat as he patiently explained, “I’m Jordyn. I’m your great grandson.”
Dad immediately said, “Sure you are. I knew that. Where do you live?”
To which Jordyn answered, “I live in the bedroom at the other end of the hall, Pop. Now, whose turn is it to deal?” The way he got him off the unsettling subject showed a maturity beyond his years. The patience he shows, most of the time, makes me proud.

I sometimes question the wisdom of raising a child in this unpredictable environment. But, every time I do, I stop myself with the realization that Jordyn is loving, compassionate and patient. He is learning to be even more so BECAUSE of the environment that surrounds him. The lessons he is learning are no less important than the ones I am learning daily, that all of us who live here are learning. I choose to believe he is going to be a better adult because of it all.


Now, ON THE SUBJECT OF MONEY… it has been an exhausting week. I was treated to a tantrum (otherwise known as a “fit” by us Southerner’s) a few days ago, the likes of which, I had never seen before. Dad decided he wanted me to cash a check for him. I asked him how much money he wanted me to get and he replied, “$5,000”. I told him that was an awful lot of money and asked what he needed it for. He was instantly enraged and rose shakily from his chair. He asked rather heatedly, “Is it my money? Can’t I have some of my money if I want it? Do I have to tell you everything?” He stomped his foot several times for emphasis as he went on, “I want some money in my wallet and if I want enough to look like a big shot then I should be able to get it. It’s none of your business why I want it. It’s your job to do what I tell you to and I want you to get me some money!”

I went into instant placation mode. I told him I would be happy to go cash a check for him the next morning because the bank was already closed for the day. I pointed out that I thought $5,000 was an awful lot of money to have to keep up with and that it might be better to get less. This began a war of negotiations that lasted more than 20 minutes. In the end, we agreed he could have $400 and he signed the check made out to “cash”. It remained a constant subject for almost 2 hours (until I finally left for work).

The following morning, I went to the bank and cashed the check. As soon as I walked in the door, I gave him the money. He made a big deal of folding it and sticking it in his pocket. I could tell he was completely confused but Richard was in the room and he tries not to discuss money in front of anyone but me. As soon as he finished his breakfast, he sat down his recliner and spread the money out on top of his newspaper, calling for me (though I was only 8 feet behind him). I sat down beside him and suggested he put the money in his wallet so it wouldn’t get lost.
He rolled his eyes (that and “Whatever” are 2 of his habits that drive me crazy) and asked, “Why did you give me all this? I don’t understand”. I reminded him that he wrote the check the previous night and had asked me to cash it for him. “But, I don’t need any money. Why would I ask you to get me $100? I don’t go anywhere so I don’t NEED any money.”

“Um, Dad, there is $400 not $100.” I counted out loud as I separated it into 2 piles one had 2 one hundred dollar bills and one had 10 twenties. He pushed my hands out of the way and gathered the money up. He painstakingly attempted to count it himself, separating it into 2 new piles. After a couple of attempts, he had a hundred and 5 twenties in each stack. Getting frustrated because he couldn’t accurately count it, and because he couldn’t remember how much it was supposed to be, he folded the piles up putting one in each of his front pockets.

He started to rise from his chair. I put a hand on his back to steady him and gave him a slight nudge while I suggested he put the money in his wallet so it wouldn’t get lost. “I have to go to the bathroom,” was his reply. “I will do it in a minute.” I am pretty sure, as he left the room I may have rolled my eyes.

When he came back 15-20 minutes later, he had money sticking out of his pocket. I reminded him he needed to put it in his wallet. Obviously exasperated, he pulled the money out of his right pocket as soon as he sat down. “Where did that come from?” he asked. I again explained that he had gotten me to cash a check for him. He pulled his wallet out and started to put it away. I suggested he put the rest of the money up, too, pointing to his left hand pocket. Confusion reigned supreme as he finished putting up the money in his hand and then dug in the other pocket. “I don’t have any more,” he said, reaching to put his wallet up. I turned to him with battling senses of alarm and resignation, “Dad, you divided the money in half and put it in both your front pockets before you went to the bathroom. Remember, I suggested you put it away in your wallet? You said you would AFTER you went to the bathroom?”

He looked at me like I was crazy, “Sweetheart, I don’t remember any such thing. I don’t even know why I have all this money.” The whole time he was talking, he was turning all his pockets out. Sure enough, he only had half the money! I assured him I would look for it and took off down the hall. I went to the bedroom and looked everywhere I could think of. I went to the bathroom and looked everywhere I could think of. I got on my hands and knees and looked under everything I could think of. I looked in, behind, and on top of everything I could think of. Alas, the money was nowhere to be found. The whole time I looked, I could hear him mumbling to himself in the other room. As I got closer I could hear him saying, “I’m going crazy. I don’t understand any of this.” As I stepped into the room, he looked at me on the verge of tears and said, “I don’t even remember what I lost!?!”

I assured him it was ok. I patted his hand and told him not to worry about it, “I’m sure it will turn up, Dad. These things have a way of working themselves out.” Then I turned the TV on and asked if he wanted a Coke. By the time I returned with it, he had obviously already forgotten the entire incident and peace was temporarily restored.

Three days later and I still haven’t found the money (still haven’t found the partial bridge he lost 4 months ago either). I am starting to think he may have flushed them down the toilet by accident. Yes, his teeth and the money. Maybe I will find the teeth someday. Maybe I won’t. Maybe I will find the money someday. Maybe I won’t. All I know for sure is we are at a point where I can no longer let him have his way about certain things. Battle lines seem to need to constantly be redrawn.

Today, he pulled out his wallet and wanted to know why he has so much money. I gave him an abbreviated version and then pulled up the image of the actual check on our bank’s website so he could see that HE wrote the check. He was greatly disturbed by the whole situation. It must be so hard to hold your head up when being confronted with your own actions. But it must be even more so when you can’t formulate a single glimpse of a memory regarding it. After several tense moments, he asked if maybe we should do something with all the money in his wallet. He suddenly realized that he might lose it.

Making a quick decision, I got smart. “Hey, Dad, why don’t you keep 2 twenties and 2 ones and I will put the rest back in the bank? If you run out of money I can always get you more. How does that sound?” The instant he acquiesced I removed the extra money and put it safely away to be taken to the bank tomorrow. I will always wonder if the teeth will turn up. I will always wonder if the money will either? I will always feel a sense of accomplishment when a crisis is averted with Dad. I will always wish they could be avoided altogether. And, without a doubt, I will always, always hate this disease.

Don't Let the Sun Go Down On Me

Elton John wrote the music for and sang "Don't Let the Sun Go Down On Me", Bernie Taupin wrote the lyrics. For a couple of months now, I have found myself singing this tune in my head daily as the sun slides lower into the western sky. It could so easily be the theme song for Sundowner's Syndrome. The only line that doesn't fit is "I can't find, oh the right romantic line". Here are the lyrics. See for yourself what I mean...


I can't light no more of your darkness
All my pictures seem to fade to black and white
I'm growing tired and time stands still before me
Frozen here on the ladder of my life

Too late to save myself from falling
I took a chance and changed your way of life
But you misread my meaning when I met you
Closed the door and left me blinded by the light

Don't let the sun go down on me
Although I search myself, it's always someone else I see
I'd just allow a fragment of your life to wander free
But losing everything is like the sun going down on me

I can't find, oh the right romantic line
But see me once and see the way I feel
Don't discard me just because you think I mean you harm
But these cuts I have they need love to help them heal



I don't think I will ever hear it again without thinking of all the people who suffer from a syndrome that is still a HUGE medical mystery. I know I will always think of Dad in particular.

Recently, I was running late getting dinner on the table one evening. As we sat down, Dad and I, I noticed that the shadows in the room were longer than usual and that Dad was moving a bit slower than usual. As the meal progressed and the darkness outside began to close in, I was startled to see Dad deteriorate right before my eyes. He became increasingly more confused. His ability to find the right words to express his thoughts became rapidly nonexistent. He began to tremble and had great difficulty getting his fork properly up to, much less into, his mouth. By the end of the meal, he was beginning to drool and could not rise from his chair by himself.

Normally, by that time of night, he is either dozing in front of the T.V. or he's already in bed. Perhaps that's why I had never seen such a dramatic downward spiral. Actually, that isn't true. The only other times I had seen anything like it were times he was hospitalized. He suffers from Hospital Psychosis as well and the Sundowner's is markedly worse when he is institutionalized. At least when he is there, I can leave the worst of it to the medical personnel. At home, it's just us, and we have to get through it the best we can. In general, things are getting worse so it stands to reason this would as well. We are both frozen here on the ladder of our life.








If you would like to read more about Sundowner's Syndrome try http://sundownerfacts.com/sundowners-syndrome/

Worth the Read (Snagged from Cyberspace)

When an old man died in the geriatric ward of a nursing home in an Australian country town, it was believed that he had nothing left of any value.
Later, when the nurses were going through his meagre possessions, They found this poem. Its quality and content so impressed the staff that copies were made and distributed to every nurse in the hospital.
One nurse took her copy to Melbourne .. The old man's sole bequest to posterity has since appeared in the Christmas editions of magazines around the country and appearing in mags for Mental Health. A slide presentation has also been made based on his simple, but eloquent, poem.
And this old man, with nothing left to give to the world, is now the author of this 'anonymous' poem winging across the Internet.


Cranky Old Man.....
What do you see nurses? . . .. . .What do you see?
What are you thinking .. . when you're looking at me?
A cranky old man, . . . . . .not very wise,
Uncertain of habit .. . . . . . . .. with faraway eyes?
Who dribbles his food .. . ... . . and makes no reply.
When you say in a loud voice . .'I do wish you'd try!'
Who seems not to notice . . .the things that you do.
And forever is losing . . . . . .. . . A sock or shoe?
Who, resisting or not . . . ... lets you do as you will,
With bathing and feeding . . . .The long day to fill?
Is that what you're thinking?. .Is that what you see?
Then open your eyes, nurse .you're not looking at me.
I'll tell you who I am . . . . .. As I sit here so still,
As I do at your bidding, .. . . . as I eat at your will.
I'm a small child of Ten . .with a father and mother,
Brothers and sisters .. . . .. . who love one another
A young boy of Sixteen . . . .. with wings on his feet
Dreaming that soon now . . .. . . a lover he'll meet.
A groom soon at Twenty . . . ..my heart gives a leap.
Remembering, the vows .. .. .that I promised to keep.
At Twenty-Five, now . . . . .I have young of my own.
Who need me to guide . . . And a secure happy home.
A man of Thirty . .. . . . . My young now grown fast,
Bound to each other . . .. With ties that should last.
At Forty, my young sons .. .have grown and are gone,
But my woman is beside me . . to see I don't mourn.
At Fifty, once more, .. ...Babies play 'round my knee,
Again, we know children . . . . My loved one and me.
Dark days are upon me . . . . My wife is now dead.
I look at the future ... . . . . I shudder with dread.
For my young are all rearing .. . . young of their own.
And I think of the years . . . And the love that I've known.
I'm now an old man . . . . . . .. and nature is cruel.
It's jest to make old age . . . . . . . look like a fool.
The body, it crumbles .. .. . grace and vigour, depart.
There is now a stone . . . where I once had a heart.
But inside this old carcass . A young man still dwells,
And now and again . . . . . my battered heart swells
I remember the joys . . . . .. . I remember the pain.
And I'm loving and living . . . . . . . life over again.
I think of the years, all too few . . .. gone too fast.
And accept the stark fact . . . that nothing can last.
So open your eyes, people .. . . . .. . . open and see.
Not a cranky old man .
Look closer . . . . see .. .. . .. .... . ME!!


Remember this poem when you next meet an older person who you might brush aside without looking at the young soul within ... . . .
we will all, one day, be there, too!
PLEASE FEEL FREE TO SHARE THIS POEM,
The best and most beautiful things of this world can't be seen or touched.
They must be felt by the heart.

"Jesus H. Christ in the Foothills"

The other day, Dad disappeared in the direction of his bedroom 11 different times over a 5 hour period. On average, he was back there 15-30 minutes each time. Each time he came back to the living room, he would wish me a good morning, ask how I had slept, tell me how much he liked my “new hair” and then ask me to fix him a bowl of cereal. And each time, I would respond as if I hadn’t heard it all already, time and time again. We were stuck cycling through his version of the movie “Groundhog Day”. For the first time in ages, I was relieved that his Sundowner’s finally arrived to break the spell he was under. I was also very thankful to have my job to go to.


Today was such a good day. I pulled out dresser drawers filled with Mom’s stuff and sat on the living room floor next to Dad and went through it all. We narrowed 7 drawers (full of photos, old correspondence, antique linens, etc.) down to 2 drawers of stuff that will need further perusal. We managed to throw out the rest. We talked and laughed and showed each other the things we found of interest. For the first time, in longer than I can remember, Dad was clear. He was alert and aware. We finally managed to accomplish something that has needed doing for over 2 years. As I write this, I am already clinging to the warmth and clarity we shared today. I wish it weren’t so fleeting.

The setting sun is the enemy once again. As the sun sank slowly in the west, Dad became more and more confused. He was shocked to learn that Richard lives here and that I am his wife... over and over again we went over it and, over and over again, he was shocked. He got me to call Richard twice so he could talk to him. He insists that nobody told him that Richard lives here and that it’s been months since he has seen him (he sees him every day!).

Apparently my being agitated causes me to count things because I seem to be all about numbers tonight. Dad opened the front door and stepped on the porch 7 times looking for “Richard and his wife”. He is excited because he will finally be meeting his daughter-in-law! At one point, he stumbled on the threshold and I reached out to steady him. With surprising strength, he knocked me backwards. I lost my balance and tumbled backwards over an ottoman landing in an inelegant heap on the floor. To which he exclaimed, “Jesus H. Christ in the Foothills”. In total, he said it 51 times between dinner and going to bed. As a rule, this particular expression is reserved for times of extreme stress. Obviously, tonight is beyond stressful to him. He sat down and rose from his chair (which is getting increasingly more difficult with each passing day) 16 times in 2 hours. I have never seen him more restless than he was tonight.

When he was finally ready to call it a night, he came to me and kissed me goodnight. He turned toward his room but only took a couple of steps before he turned around and came back to kiss me goodnight. He then, made his way halfway across the room before turning back, exclaiming, you guessed it, “Jesus H. Christ in the Foothills”! I rose and made my way to him, gently turning him back toward his room. He kissed me for the third time before finally making it into the hallway.

“Goodnight, Dad. I love you!” I called after him.

“Goodnight, Sweetheart,” came the reply. “I love you, too.” He stuck his head back around the corner and said, “Let me know when Richard and his wife get here, will ya? I need to let him know I love him, too.”

Sigh…

I'm NOT Your Dad

Sunday was Father’s Day. I put all of his gifts into a large gift bag; a new flag for the front yard (his is still good but living at the beach, they don’t last long), a 6 pack of undershirts (I threw all the old ones away the night before), his favorite cookies, imported chocolates and a collage of photographs of Mom. His delight was obvious as he pulled each item out. When he was finished, he put everything back in the bag and set it on the floor next to his chair. He was cheerful and relatively lucid and stayed that way most of the day.

Every hour or so after that, he would “discover” his gift bag and “open his gifts”. He spent the afternoon telling me what a wonderful birthday he was having and thanking me for everything. Finally, I decided we would try something a bit different. The next time he “opened” his gifts, I suggested we put the pictures of Mom on the coffee table where he could see it. He loved the idea and I spent many minutes placing it exactly where and how he wanted it on the table. The next time he “opened” his gifts I made a big deal over his undershirts, opened the package and folded them as he continued to dig through his bag. When he was done, I took the undershirts to his room and put them away. This little game continued until dinner was ready and the bag was finally empty.

At dinner, he was starting to show the signs of Sundowner’s but only slightly. By the time dessert rolled around he was still cognizant enough to ask if he was getting birthday cake to go with his ice cream. I laughed and told him between the cookies and chocolates he’d eaten all afternoon I thought he had probably had enough sweets for the day. For the first time in a very long time, we honestly had a good day. While he may not remember it, he gave me a Father’s Day to remember and cherish.



Monday morning was a totally different story. Dad didn’t wake up on the wrong side of the bed he woke up on the wrong side of Alzheimer’s. From the instant he stepped into the room, it was obvious we were going to have a rough morning. DeeAnn, The Shower Lady, was coming shortly so there wasn’t enough time to eat breakfast. I made him a piece of toast and a glass of water so he could take his meds. He wanted cereal and became quite petulant when I explained repeatedly that he could have anything he wanted AFTER his shower.
“I don’t want to wait. I want cereal now and if you don’t get it for me you can find yourself another job!”

Exasperated, I retreated to the kitchen. As soon as I turned the water on to wash a couple of dishes, he demanded I “come here right now. I’m talking to you!” Turning the water off, I looked back to him, “Yes, Dad?”
“I’M NOT YOUR DAD!” he shouted. “I have had it with you being impertinent. You can call me Bill. On second thought, you need to get your things together and GET OUT! This is my G*#d%mn house and I’m tired of you telling me what to do. YOU…ARE…FIRED!”
I took a deep breath as my hands gripped the counter until my knuckles turned white. I faced him across the bar and said, “I know this is your house, but you can’t fire me because I don’t work for you. You have been my Dad for the last 31 years so I am going to continue to call you Dad.”

Shaking with barely suppressed fury, he came around the counter. “Get the hell out of my house. I don’t want you here. You don’t do anything for me and I don’t want you to. You are fired, fired, fired!”
“You can’t fire me because I don’t work for you!”
“Oh sure, you work here for free. I’m supposed to believe that? If you are working here for free then you have something very wrong with you. Nobody works for free. Who do you work for? Give me their number so I can call them and have them fire you.”
My voice dropped to a dangerously low level, “Dad, I don’t work here. I am your daughter-in-law and I have lived here for 3 years and taken care of you. Nobody can fire me because we are in this together and we are going to be until the very end.”

Frustrated, he sat down and finally ate his toast and took his medications. I was so relieved when DeeAnn arrived just so I could walk away. As soon as she left, the nurse, Stephanie, arrived. It was obvious to her that Dad was not having a good morning. He snapped at everything I said until she finally called him out on it and asked him to be nice to me. She also explained that there are certain questions she has to ask me because I am the only person who knows the answers. Bless her heart, she really tried to get him off my back but he was there to stay.

By the time noon rolled around, I had been told to shut the f*ck up 3 times and I had been fired 4. Needless to say it was a rough morning for everybody. By the end of the day, I managed to get 6, “I’m not your Dad’s” before I got one single, “I love you, Sweetheart.” You can’t begin to imagine how grateful I was to go to work… or how much I worried about him after I left…

Kidney Update & Dad Tries to Score a Date

On Friday (June 15th), we went to see the kidney specialist. We couldn't have hoped for better news than we got. Dad's lab work was amazingly good. His kidney function rose again and is now at 47%. You may remember that he was at 45% back in March and 32% last year. He is making actual progress which is something that is virtually impossible. He is considered a medical miracle by many. For the first time in years, instead of his regular quarterly check-up, he doesn't go back until the end of December. That's 6 whole months!

Dad was in rare form during the visit. He had the doctor laughing the entire time. One thing I like about Dr. Jimenez is his genuine interest in Dad's well being. You can tell he really likes Dad and enjoys their visits.
At one point, the doctor asked Dad if he had any complaints. Dad launched into his diatribe on having his driving privileges taken away. Dr Jimenez has heard this many times before. Dad said he didn't know why they won't let him drive just that he isn't allowed to. He followed it up by seriously announcing that Dr. Bolton was the one who did it... "the son-of-a-bitch!" Our eyes locked for a brief instant before we both looked away and burst out laughing. Dad crossed his arms over his chest and jutted his chin out, "Well, he is!"

On our way out, I had to stop and make his next appointment. Dad sat down in the waiting room and struck up a conversation with an attractive lady that looked to be in her late 60's or early 70's. I was busy talking to the girl at the desk for several minutes. She was telling me how much she enjoys listening to Dad talk because he is so funny. That she looks forward to his appointments. Feeling like a proud mother who receives compliments on their unruliest child, I thanked her for her kind words and turned to leave.

Now clearly focusing my attention back on Dad, I turned just in time to hear him ask the lady he was talking to for her phone number. She started digging in her purse (I presume looking for a pen but I'm not sure). He suggested they could go out to dinner some night. Then he explained that he can't drive so somebody else would have to. "They took away my driver's license and made me sell my brand new Lincoln I had just ordered from the factory because I have a disease." Looking my way, he asked, "Sweetheart, what do I have?"

I smiled, "Alzheimer's. Dad, you know if you want to go out to dinner or anywhere else, all you have to do is ask and I will gladly drive you". I smiled at the lady as she snapped her purse shut. She smiled at me and nodded, telling Dad it had been nice talking to him and wishing him a good day.

As we walked out the door, I thought to myself how easily he could forget from one moment to the next. But he stopped me in the hall and turned to me with a twinkle in his eyes. "One of these days, I might surprise you and find a lovely lady to run away with since you won't run away with me."


I pulled into the driveway and reached to turn the ignition off. Dad stopped me, "Where are we going now?" I replied home. He asked if we could go get a burger. As I backed out of the driveway, he said he wanted to go to Appleberries (his nickname for Applebee's). As soon as we entered the building, he needed to go to the restroom. I pointed to the table where we would be sitting and then directed him to the restroom (the table is ideally situated as he can't get far from the restroom without me seeing him). I ordered our drinks and said I wanted to wait until my companion came back before ordering.

When I finally saw him about 20 minutes later, I went to assist him. We made it within 4 feet of the table before he apologized and said he needed to go back to the restroom. I asked if he would like me to order and he said, "Cheeseburger & fries," as he wandered back the way he had just come.

Another 10-15 minutes went by before I heard his voice, slightly shaky and a bit panicky, asking a waitress, "Where's Shari? I can't find Shari! Where is she?" I jumped to my feet and made it to the corner at the same time he did. His relief was visible as soon as he saw me. I assisted him to our table and we sat down. Within minutes, he was fidgeting and kept saying, "It really is cold in here, isn't it? Why is it so cold in here? I'm freezing."

Finally, I turned to him and asked if he would rather get the food to-go and take it home to eat. Of course, he thought that was a wonderful idea. I called the waiter over and asked if he could please change our order to go. 5 minutes later we were headed home.


Everything was great when we got home. For the second day in a row, Dad had not taken a nap all day. He was lucid and in good humor... until just before dinner time. As the sun sank lower on the horizon, he became disoriented and confused. He kept asking me questions like "What time do you go home? How long have you worked here? What do I pay you? Who are you married to? What does your husband do for a living? Where did you come from?" etc. For over 3 hours, I answered the same questions over and over.
By the time he finally crawled into bed, I think we were both equally ready for the day to end.