Posted by: browjan | September 24, 2010

Hair Today

I looked at my schedule this morning and saw “Hair Today” and prepared myself for battle or the inevitable Hair-Wash Wars. There is nothing  quite like a mom and daughter locked in conflict especially when the authority out of necessity has shifted. Mama still doesn’t know she is no longer in charge, and as far as possible I want to keep her from that knowledge. Dementia aids in that process, but a good bit of strategy is also needed, because for Mom, hair washing is as despicable as water boarding.

When I was a child, Mama used to lay me across the counter top and wash my long curls in the big kitchen sink. “Here’s a washcloth for your eyes,” she’d remind me to avoid getting any stingy shampoo in them. She’d carefully test the water to make sure it was not too hot and not too cold. Then she’d gently pour the warm water over my hair from a plastic cup. I loved the feel of her fingers as they massaged my scalp and the sweet scent of shampoo. She’d remind me of how important it was to have clean hair. Then she’d wrap it in a big fluffy towel and I’d sit on the stool while she dried and curled it.

Today it is a battle to get Mama to take a bath or shower, wash her hair, change her clothes. These things annoy her or scare her and in her opinion are totally unnecessary. Why can’t she wear the same clothes three days in a row? It’s too cold to take a bath. Showers scare her because water gets in her ears and face. Her fingernails are just fine thank you very much and don’t you dare go near her feet with clippers. Any form of hygiene is a battleground for Mom, but once we engage in the combat, she always comes out feeling like a winner.

Today, we washed her hair in the kitchen sink. But it took several minutes of intense negotiating and subtle stipulations before she ultimately surrendered. Even though I think I am in charge, she negotiated the terms of agreement.

“I need a washcloth for my eyes,” she stated.

“Check!” I nodded.

“And, don’t get the water too hot,”

Check.

“…or too cold…”

Check.

“And a towel for my neck…”

Check.

“And don’t get any water in my ears.”

Check.

Once the stipulations were all in place, we endeavored to carry out the plan.

“O.K. I’m ready,” She announced as she prepared herself for the ultimate torture. She held the washcloth to her eyes, her face squeezed tight against the coming trial of it all. Her legs shook nervously up and down. The enemy had her, and all she could do now was endure.

I was careful to test the water that it was neither too hot or too cold. I cautiously poured the water from a plastic cup over her tight white curls. Her expression softened. “That feels good,” she said.

Tenderly, I massaged the shampoo into her hair and she breathed in the sweet scent. “That smells nice,” she announced. Her evil captor was not as horrid as she feared.

Once we were done, I wrapped her hair up in a towel, and made sure her ears were nice and dry. “That wasn’t so bad,” she told me. Then we dried and curled her hair. I showed her the end result in the mirror, but the final assessment was not in her hands.

“How’s it look?” she asked Dad.

“It looks just fine,” he assured her. And he smiled.

“I just love getting my hair done,” she informed us. We smiled, both of us glad that it was over until the next Hair-Wash Day.

It may seem a bit cheesy, but this morning when I read the words “Hair Today”, I  was immediately reminded—perhaps by the Holy Spirit—to live in the now. All all this is so fleeting. We are “hair today”, but gone tomorrow. I cannot change the past, but I can affect the future by how I respond in the present. God has given me this moment with my mom, and this moment like all moments has a purpose in His grand scheme of things. In the past, my mother washed my hair. In the present, I wash hers. In the past, she was careful to calm my fears and make hair washing a pleasant experience. I remember those moments as I encounter these times with her today. Some of these moments are here to test my attitude, my fortitude, my perseverance. Other moments glaringly reveal to me selfish aspects of my character. Still others provide an opportunity just to love. An action that bridges the past into the future. As C.S. Lewis expressed it, it is how we respond in that now that touches eternity.

Ecclesiastes 3:11
He has made everything beautiful in its time. He has also set eternity in the hearts of men; yet they cannot fathom what God has done from beginning to end.

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Posted by: browjan | June 15, 2010

The Sadness of the Soul

It is hard for me to write about the sadness of the soul, but it is a very real part of this long good-bye.

Grandma Jan didn’t talk much after I picked her up for a Mother’s Day outing. Unlike last week, when she was trying hard to communicate, yesterday she had retreated back into herself. I would talk with her, but there was little or no response.

I ordered her favorite pecan pancakes, but she didn’t want to eat them.

I tried feeding her eggs and southern grits, but she kept her mouth tightly closed and shook her head.

We picked out some cards in the gift shop. One had a gray kitty and the other a golden retriever. When we got back to the Seasons ward, I pulled out my pen and wrote on the card. She grabbed the pen from my hand and wrote, “I want to”
then she stopped as if she couldn’t finish her thought. She traced over the word “to” until it was bold and dark, but she never wrote what she wanted to do. Moments later she wrote, “I go to” and again stopped. She highlighted the word “go” over and over, but never wrote where she was going. Everything was incomplete.

Later, we sat in the big recliner and I read to her from Psalm 23.  “The Lord is my shepherd,” I knew she had memorized it as a child, but she didn’t seem to recognize it now.

“Mom, do you know these words?” I asked her. No response.

Frustrated, I vented at God. “You promised never to leave us or forsake us!”  It seemed like He had.

Words that used to encourage her, now seemed meaningless.

We sang some old hymns.  “He promised never to leave me, never to leave me alone.”

Normally, she tries to sing along. This time she listened, but no words came from her lips. Some portion of her brain is going away. Was it taking her soul, too?

“No, never alone…no never alone.”

God, what a farce.  I don’t think you can get any more alone than this.

I held her in my arms and cried. “I’m sorry, Mom. It doesn’t seem fair.”

I hugged her and held her tight for a very long time. I wondered about dying. If the physical brain is dead…how do we go on thinking in heaven? Is there a part of our soul that stays alive…that is able to reason and think and apprehend? Was Mom’s soul responding even though her mind could not?

She looked at me intently. Our eyes made contact. She smiled. And then she chuckled…a great big joyous laugh as if we shared some secret joke.

Though we were not speaking, we were communicating. We were connecting on a spiritual level. And somehow in the midst of the great sadness, I found peace in the laugh.  There is part of us that goes on knowing even though we cannot formulate the words or give voice to it. The soul still responds and knows. It gave me great comfort and hope.

, “Why so downcast O my soul, put your hope in God.” Psalm 42:5

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Posted by: browjan | April 26, 2010

Mom and the Missing Cake Book

Being a caregiver is a selfless task and I am not selfless. You will see this fact is true, when you read about Mom and the Missing Cake Book.

Sometimes, Mom’s mind is like the lady on TV who says, “I’ve fallen and I can’t get up!”  She gets in a thought and it intrenches her as if she is saying, “I have fallen into this one thought and I can’t get out.”  These trap-like thoughts grip the mind and won’t release their prey until they are resolved or replaced.

Last week the thought that ensnared her was all about a missing photo album of cakes.

It started quite innocently. We were discussing what kind of cake to make for an upcoming birthday celebration.

“I used to make cakes!” said Mom.

“That’s right, you made beautiful cakes,” replied my husband. “You were the cake decorating queen!”

“In fact,” Mom continued to reminisce, “I had a cake book. It was full of photos of cakes that I made.”

Mom was remembering that phase of her life when she took the Wilton cake decorating class with her friend Ann Spurling. Afterward, they started their own little cake business. They made cakes for all occasions–birthdays, anniversaries, graduations, and weddings. Some of their wedding cakes were quite elaborate–complete with fountains and revolving cake tops that played Pachebel Canon in D.  When it came to cakes, Mom went all out.  It was a happy memory for her, and I was glad that she was recalling it.

But then the obsessing began, she fell into the thought and she couldn’t get out.

“I wonder where that book is?” she said aloud. “George, do you know where my cake book is?”

“I don’t think we packed it when we moved,” he replied.

Now, I should have left it at that. I should have allowed Mom to think that the book no longer existed or that it was given to Goodwill or some other family member. But NO, I had to correct him. I had to say,

“Oh, no Dad. We have it! I packed it in one of the boxes.”

Now, the truth is I did think I packed it, but I had no idea where it was now. I didn’t recall unpacking it, and perhaps another family member saw it in a box and took it. Or maybe I just thought about packing it, and it was one of those things that I eventually sorted to the give away pile. Anyway, I wasn’t one hundred percent certain we had it. Regardless, the missing cake book was digging a trench in Mom’s mind, and that simple statement on my part–“We have it!”– was just the little shove that pushed her on into the trench.  She had to find that book. She had to have it. She needed to see it now.

“Don’t worry, Mom. I am pretty sure we have it. It’s here.  I’ll try to find it sometime.”  I figured Mom wouldn’t remember this discussion in ten minutes and I was safe. I wouldn’t have to worry about the cake book. I didn’t have to help her out of the trench.

The following day, Dad was upstairs looking through drawers and book shelves. What are you looking for, Dad? I asked.

“Oh, just Mom’s cake decorating book. She keeps asking me about it.”

“Tell her I have it somewhere and not to worry about it.” I replied a bit absent-minded. I had a lot of important things to do. Cake books were not at the top of my task list.

“Well, I would but she doesn’t believe you. She thinks you are hiding it from her.” Dad said in distraction as he rummaged around the desk.

The hair on the back of my neck raised ever so slightly. She doesn’t believe you?

” What do you mean Dad, why would I hide a cake book from Mom?  I imagined Mom thinking of me as some sinister cake book snatcher who secretly delights in hoarding photo albums of vintage cakes. I was offended. Moreover, I was a teeny bit irked.

“I know its silly,” he replied wearily, “But until she finds it, she won’t let it go.”

Knowing that Mom now viewed me as the Cake Book Burglar just put me in a mood. I decided I wasn’t going to help them search. Mom could just sulk in her downstairs apartment.  I was not going to get involved.  She could stay in her little thought trench…I wouldn’t help her out.

Later in the evening, Dad was rummaging again. This time he was searching for a phone number in one of his old address books.

“Whose number are you looking for, Dad?”

“Ann’s. You know the lady she did the cake decorating with.”

“Why do you want Ann’s number?” I asked.

Only I asked it with attitude. Like it was really inconveniencing me and didn’t he have better things to do than inconvenience me?

“Well, Mom wants to call her and talk about the cake decorating book.” Dad thumbed through the pages, his hands trembled as he searched for the correct phone number.

“You have to be kidding me. Don’t you dare call her and bother her about that book!” I scolded Dad as if he were a child.

Down deep, I was appalled at the idea of phoning Ann. What would she think?  How ridiculous this was getting to be!

“Well, Evie thinks that maybe Ann knows where it is…” began Dad wearily.

“Dad,” I interrupted, ” Ann moved away long ago. She can’t possibly have the cake book. Plus I think I remember seeing it. Really, Dad…don’t call her.”

But they did call Ann. And Mom talked to her for about ten minutes about cakes and photos of cakes. In truth, it was a healthy and fun conversation for Mom, a good time of remembering that lifted her slightly out of the trench.

I shouldn’t have discouraged the call. But I wasn’t thinking about Mom and how she felt, I was thinking about how I felt. I was embarrassed and irritated because Mom couldn’t stop obsessing over the book I supposedly stole from her.  The book that we still hadn’t found.

The next morning, Dad was back upstairs rummaging around and looking for the book.

“Dad, just let it go.” I was still put out by it.

“Well, Evie wants us to pray about it. She is asking God to help her find that book. I am really concerned.” replied Dad. I looked at him and saw real tears in his eyes. He was worn out from looking for the book, hearing about the book, discussing the book, and searching for the book some more.

And I had showed him no concern.

My heart did a u-turn. To me, this book was a minor irritation. It was something I could look for in my spare time. It was not at the top of my “To Do” list. But for Mom, this was everything. It was consuming her. And thus it was concerning to Dad. Dad’s ultimate pleasure in life is to make Mom happy, to meet her needs, to take care of her wants and desires. Mom’s mind could not rest until that book was found, and thus Dad would not rest until he found the book. Dad is the ultimate caregiver.

And sometimes the caregiver needs a little care.

In that one moment I saw myself in a very selfish ugly light. “Oh Lord, forgive me for being so selfish and irritable. Forgive me for not showing concern. And please–dear God–don’t let me have thrown that book in the Give Away pile.”

The Cake Book went to the top of my To Do List, and I went upstairs to the boxes that were opened but had no place to go. Boxes of odds and ends…this and that…and thank the good Lord–a book of cake photos. It had taken me all of five minutes to find something Dad had spent days looking for. Days of concern that I could have alleviated if I had shown the caregiver a little care.

I hurried back downstairs. I was ecstatic like the woman who found the lost coin or the missing contact lens in the swimming pool. I got to the top of the basement stairs.  Mom’s electric chair lift was there–the one that takes her up and down the stairway. I set the book on the chair and pushed the button. The book began its journey down the steep hallway.

“Who is that coming?” I heard Dad say.

“Someone’s using my chair,” said Mom.

“Oh look,” exclaimed Dad. “There’s something on the chair!”

“It’s my book!” replied Mom. “I knew I left it somewhere!”

Dad looked up the stairway and beamed me a smile of gratitude.  I knew he’d spend the next hour or two looking over all the cakes in the book and listening to Mom describe them. As I said, being a caregiver is a selfless task. It means you give care to the person and what concerns them.  You give of yourself in a sacrificial way without expecting gratitude in return.  I am nowhere near any of these things.  I have a lot to learn.

But I also have a really good teacher.


I have no one else like him…who genuinely cares about your welfare. Philippians 2:20

This site has ideas for ways you can Care for the Caregiver

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Posted by: browjan | April 22, 2010

The Great Cover Up

Grandma Jan

Grandma Jan never took off her wig…and then we learned the reason why.  Dealing with cover ups a new edition of The Long Good Bye.

I don’t think my mother-in-law would mind if you know that she used to wear a wig. Not all the time, but when she was in a hurry and didn’t have time to fix her hair just the way she liked it, she’d put on her wig. It was nice one and she looked very attractive in it. The year before Grandma Jan came to live with us, she started to wear her wig a lot. Since we were used to her wearing it, we didn’t think anything of it. We figured Grandma just felt nicer or more dressed up when she was wearing her wig.

It wasn’t until she moved in with us that we realized that Grandma never took off her wig. She wore it to bed and wore it into the bathroom when she took a shower. Within the first week of living with us, we learned (dry towels and not changing her clothes were subtle hints) that even though we heard the water running, Grandma wasn’t really taking a shower. We realized then that being a caretaker means taking on the battle of baths and hair washing–neither of which was Grandma willing to participate in by any means. Having raised three boys, I was used to some bath time battles. But, there is a great difference between getting your four year old to take a bath and getting your seventy year old aqua-phobic mother-in-law into the shower.  But anyway, I digress. This blog entry is not about the battle for baths or shower time skirmishes, its about covering things up.

The first thing I decided to do after Grandma Jan moved in was to make a hair appointment for her. I figured, she’d have to take the wig off to get her hair done. It was a brilliant plan. We’d get her a nice cut and then she wouldn’t want to put on the wig. As we were driving to the hair dresser, I thought maybe just maybe I ought to take a peak under the wig and see how her hair looked.

So once we pulled into the parking lot of the hair salon, I said, “Let’s go ahead and take off your wig before we go in to the hair dresser. That way she won’t have to do it.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” answered my mother in law. “I’m not sure I want to take it off at all.”

“Well, I think she will have to take it off to wash your hair,” I replied quite proud of my ability to remain calm.

“I don’t know…” she answered. “I’m not sure it will come off.”

“Well, let’s try.” I said carefully reaching up to touch her head.

“Don’t do that,” she slapped my hand away.

“Look Grandma,” I was no longer calm, “We’re going to take your wig off. We can do it nicely or we can get into it here in the car, but no matter what that wig is coming off.”

She glared at me as if I was the devil, but allowed me to begin to remove the wig. It was attached with a gazillion bobby pins. I removed them one by one.  She sat serenely like a queen awaiting the removal of her crown. Carefully, I lifted the wig from her head.

Nothing could have prepared me for what I saw, and I will spare you all the grim details. But sometime in the past, long long ago in another time and place, Grandma had carefully put her hair up in what I think you call pin curls. Each curl was in place with a criss-cross of bobby pins. Now imagine that you put Crisco food shortening all over those pin curls. That will give you a small idea of what I saw. And now that I had the wig off, it was five minutes to the hair appointment and I was horrified. How could we have allowed this to happen? How could we have not known? I blamed myself.

I took her hand, and with tears welling up I said over and over, “I’m so sorry, Mom. I had no idea.”

“Oh, it’s ok!” she replied cheerfully. She had no idea. She did not understand that her hair involved all your senses. The sight, the smell, the touch…

After my initial grief and horror over what I saw, I quickly became worried. What would the hair dresser think? Would she consider us abusive children who did not care for their mother? or worse that we were into some sort of kinky Crisco torture?

I decided to cancel the appointment.

I  asked Grandma to stay in the car and I got out and went into the hair salon. Our appointment was with LuLa a wonderful gracious Southern woman whose mother would never have worn a wig. I told her that I didn’t think we could keep the appointment. I meant to keep it brief and apologetic, but instead I started to cry. She put her arm around me and before I knew it I was telling her all about the wig and pin curls and the Crisco oil.

“Now never you mind about that,” Lula said warmly. “You just bring her in here and we’ll take care of that oily hair.”

Oh, how I love Lula. God definitely gave me the hairdresser from heaven. Grandma ended up getting the works. Her hair was washed, cut and highlighted. She came out of the salon with tresses that looked like a movie star and smelled like rose petals without the hint of lard.

Yesterday, I was reminded of how Grandma Jan kept things hidden and under wraps, when I went to try a new pair of shoes on my mother.

Although they were actually too big, she insisted they were too small and hurt her toes.

“Well, let me have a look at your toes, Mom.”

“No, no…I get too cold when I take off my socks.” answered Mom.

Her reluctance to remove her socks reminded me of Grandma Jan’s great cover up. The socks had to come off. I needed to see my mother’s toes.

But Mama wasn’t haven’t any of it. Her socks were staying on.

Finally, Dad looked up from his Solitaire game on the computer long enough to say, “She won’t let you take her socks off because her toenails are way too long, and she won’t let me cut them.”

“Oh, well, then I’ll have to cut them, or we could have the doctor do it, or I could even take you for a pedicure! How about that Mom, do you want to go for a pedicure?” I was once again quite proud of my ability to remain calm under pressure and use creative suggestions.

“Nope. George can cut my nails, I’m not taking off my socks,” replied Mom.

“Well, MOTHER,” I felt my teeth clench and my blood pressure rise, “I have to see your toes!” And I grabbed her foot and began to wrestle her for the sock.

Dad stood up, and said, “Hold on girls. We can’t do this anyway because I don’t have the blue pan. We must have left it when we moved, and I can’t cut her toenails unless she soaks her feet in the blue pan.”

“I HAVE THE PAN!” I said. (Well, actually I said it quite emphatically with great emotion like I HAVE THE TECHNOLOGY or Martin Luther King saying I HAVE A DREAM!) and I ran upstairs to fetch the basin.

By the time I got back downstairs, Dad was back to playing Solitaire, and Mom was curled up on the couch watching Bonanza. She had forgotten all about it, and so we had to start all over.

“I need to take off your socks…”

“I’m not taking off my socks…” etc etc

The entire taking off the socks thing took the remainder of the day, but eventually mom had nice soft feet and carefully trimmed nails. I offered to paint them red, but she wouldn’t hear of it! Those of you who know Mom know red toenails are a sin.

So, I guess the lesson in all of this is that even though you cover them with socks, your toenails still have to be trimmed. Or no matter how long you have been wearing that wig, you still need to wash your hair. There is probably a deeper lesson, but I’ll leave you to figure out what it is.

Oh, and that thing you been trying to cover up all these years?  Deal with it or someone else will!

Love covers all wrongs…Prov 3:12

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Posted by: browjan | April 17, 2010

A Really Good Time

Strawberry Shortcake for Breakfast!

Grandma Jan had a really good time today.

Due to illness, I hadn’t been able to see her for a week.  Our last visit was a bit depressing. All language seemed to be gone. An occasional yes or no was all she could muster. So it came as  a nice surprise and blessing  today when she was able to string several words together and even make a bit of sense.

We decided to take her to Cracker Barrel because she likes the pecan pancakes. She was very excited as we left the “Seasons” area of the retirement home.

“Don’t make the thing there,” she warned us as we approached the password protected exit. Obviously, she’s tried that  a few times on her own and set off the alarm.

“Wow, Grandma said a whole sentence,” remarked my husband Mike not in sarcasm but in disbelief and joy. It is amazing the things you take for granted–like communication– and really appreciate if you happen to get them back even if for a short time.

For Grandma, leaving the “Seasons” ward and venturing out into the regular area of the retirement home was a treat in itself.

“It’s so beauty,” she said stopping to look at the picture on the wall. It was a pretty painting of  a garden scene that I hadn’t ever bothered to notice before. “It’s just very”, she exclaimed.

Pointing out the window, she remarked, “And they did that!”

“That” was a nice garden area that Lowe’s Home Improvement had recently donated to the retirement home.They did a great job, but I hurried past it on the way in and hadn’t stopped to notice. Now, we lingered and noticed the new bird feeder and bright white rattan furniture. The whole garden was ablaze with pink and blue perennials. It was spectacular to see.

Eventually, we made it out to the car, but at a Grandma Jan pace and in Grandma Jan time. The wonderful thing about losing your sense of time and space is you never have to hurry or worry about being late. You just go one step at a time.

On the drive over to Cracker Barrel, Grandma Jan sat contentedly in the back seat. Road construction slowed our pace, but she didn’t mind a bit. Workers halted traffic as giant yellow CAT tractor  leveled the dirt for a new freeway on-ramp.

“I’ll do it one day,” Grandma said, “But it will cost you a hundred bucks.”

A sudden image of Grandma donning construction hat and climbing on board the gigantic earth mover for a hundred dollars made us all laugh.

Eventually, we got there. Mike dropped us off in front of the restaurant, which sounds fast and easy, but we are on Grandma Jan time. Getting out of the car is a painstakingly long process. After undoing her seat belt, you have to get her to move her legs so that her feet come out the door. Grandma doesn’t want to move her legs.

“Come on, Grandma, let’s move your legs so we can get out of the car,” I pulled gently on her feet.

“Ohhhhhhhh, no. No. He isn’t there yet,” she exclaimed digging her heels into the back of the seat.

“That’s OK, he’s going to park the car, we need to get out so we can go in and have pecan pancakes. But first you need to move your legs out.”

“No, I think that is over there,” she replied rolling her legs further in to the car.

Eventually, with a lot of prodding and pulling and impatient “Come on, Mom’s!” from my husband, we manage to pry Grandma from the car.

“Oh the beauty, the flavor!” she exclaimed heading for the main entrance.

If you have ever been to Cracker Barrel, you will understand this next part. The part where you get Grandma from the front door through all the rows of bird things and flower things and CD’s of Dolly Parton and Montgomery Gentry to the place where you actually eat. We would have made it all the way if it hadn’t been for the battery operated hamster in a wheel. Grandma stopped.

“What the manner is he?” she exclaimed in delight.

The Cracker Barrel lady was happy to tell Grandma all about it, and so we all stopped and admired the rotating rodent together. Then, when Grandma was ready, we moved on.

Our table was near the entrance to the seating area, so that was a blessing. We situated Grandma on the inside with me on the outside so I can help her with her food. We were certain she would want the pecan pancakes, so no menu was necessary. But then Grandma spied the table advertisement card for strawberry shortcake.

“Oh, oh, that!” she said grabbing the card.

“Don’t you want pecan pancakes, Mom?” asked Mike. “You always get the pancakes.”

“Well this is.” she said emphatically pointing to the picture. “This IS!”

And so it was. Mom had strawberry shortcake with vanilla ice cream and lots of whip cream, and she ate every bite as I spoon fed it to her. Once, I started to feed her a bite without any shortcake and she stopped me.

“Need that,” she said pointing to the cake.

It made me happy to oblige her. Grandma Jan was having a really good time.  And, nothing was going to stop it!

Not even when we headed past the rotating hamster, the singing rabbit and the display of china cups and on out to the parking lot where suddenly the string came undone on her lavender pants causing them to fall down around her ankles. Grandma stopped. She didn’t mind one bit who saw her.

“That just is,” she remarked wisely.

And that really is how it is when Grandma Jan is having a really good time.

He has made everything beautiful in its time. Ecclesiastes 3:11

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Posted by: browjan | April 15, 2010

Signs Along the Way

There are many signs along the way in this journey of the long good bye. You can read about a lot of them at the Alzheimers Association web page at:

Ten Signs of Alzheimers Disease

Grandma Jan had a different bent on it all. Not only did she manifest the symptoms or signs, she also read the signs. One at time. Out loud. Wherever we went. Grandma would read the signs for us. She read road signs and billboards and hazard signs and company signs. Where it concerned Grandma, that old song was spot on:

Signs, Signs everywhere are signs…Do this, don’t do that...

She could read the signs.

“Mom, you don’t have to read all the signs out loud,” my husband would say.

“OK!” she’d reply and quickly follow with “Harris Teeter, Exit, Shell Gasoline”…

Signs were not the only things she read aloud. She also read books, pamphlets and magazines in the waiting room of dentists, doctors and hair salons.

“Learn about pree-scrip-tion VEE-A-Gra…”

“No not that one, Mom, Here read this magazine.”

“OK…PEOPLE magazine. April 14. What Jessica Simpson Craves. Jessica flaunts her new bikini body…”

All heads in the waiting room turn towards us. Grandma has an audience!

“Wait a minute,” I interrupted. “Here, try this one…” and quickly handed her one of those famous blue Bible story books found in every medical office.

“Adam and Eve in the garden of sin…”

Our visits to the doctor were a lot like reading day at the library. While we waited for the appointment, Grandma read to her patient listeners. (Well, they were patients after all!)

Once after she read the entire pamphlet on vein care – “Get a leg up on life and let your confidence show…” I found out the man sitting near us was suffering from migraine headaches. I felt really bad about that. If I had only known, we could have read the one entitled “Managing your Migraines through Acupuncture.”

Today I took my own Mama to the doctor. She doesn’t have the same tendency to read everything out loud. That may be because she can’t see much, but she does get a certain amount of satisfaction in reading one sign on our road in and out of town.

“Baskin Robbins – Duncan Donuts…well, well, well, Baskin Robins, that sure sounds good…that’s ice cream isn’t it? Duncan Donuts, well how about that. I haven’t had that in I don’t know how long.”

“Yesterday,” Dad replies. “Yesterday you had a donut, Evie.”

“I did not.”

“Yes you did. You had a glazed donut.”

“Well, I didn’t like it.”

“What do you mean you didn’t like it, you ate four of them!” Dad hasn’t learned the rule yet that says, “Never argue with your Alzheimer loved one.”

Our doctor appointment went well. Mom had been experiencing some nausea. Since this is a new doctor, he asked a lot of questions.

“How old are you?”

“I don’t know, George, how old am I?”

“She’s 82 years old,” answered Dad.

“What are your symptoms?”

“My what?”

“Your symptoms, how have you been feeling?”

“I don’t know, George what are my symptoms?”

“Well, she’s been throwing up,” answered my Dad.

“Do you have any abdominal pain?”

“I don’t know, George, do I have any abdominal pain?”

“Now, Evie, how do I know if your stomach hurts. You need to answer the doctor.”

“No, I don’t think so.” Mom concludes.

“Well, yes she does, she moans and groans like she is having abdominal pain,” hollers Dad. “And she’s hard of hearing!”

The new doctor is very even tempered, patient. A sign of a good doctor.

“Well, you look fine to me. I don’t see any signs of dehydration…”

Mom perked right up after that. If the doctor said she wasn’t sick then she wasn’t sick. We got in the car and started heading home.

Mom sat quietly in the back until we turned onto main road.

“I sure am hungry,” she said suddenly. “Maybe we should stop and get something to eat. Baskin Robbin – that’s ice cream isn’t it? Duncan Donuts…well how about that…”

An insatiable appetite for sweets. That’s just another one of those signs along the way.

Set up road signs; put up guideposts. Mark well the path by which you came…
Jeremiah 31:21

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Posted by: browjan | April 9, 2010

The Long Good Bye

It’s called the long good bye. First they just seem forgetful, but then slowly they lose their concept of time and space and seem unable to connect with reality. Eventually, they become locked inside their bodies – unable to communicate or share a coherent thought. Slowly you lose the person you knew to Alzheimer’s Disease or dementia. It’s a long long good bye.

We first realized my mother in law was saying the long good-bye when we saw her starting to answer her junk mail, struggling to make jello, and unable to make the most basic decisions.  She would drive to church on a Tuesday and sit out in the parking lot waiting for people to arrive. Once, she stopped at a stranger’s house and asked them to tell her how to get home because she had forgotten the way. It was a sad day when the doctor told her she could no longer drive.

But, when she began to wander outside in her bathrobe, knocking on neighbor’s doors at 2 AM just to chat, sending out Easter cards in July, and burning herself on the kitchen stove that we realized she could no longer live alone. Against her wishes, we packed up her home and had her come to live with us.

I am starting this blog to chronicle our experiences as we give the long good-bye. It is not only for my mother-in-law who is in the final stages of the disease, but also for my own mother in the beginning stages of dementia. My mother-in-law now lives in “Seasons” the Alzheimer unit at a local retirement home. My mom and dad just recently made the heart-wrenching decision to give up their home and come to live with us. Dad is 86 years old, and had to admit that he could no longer deal with the care giving on his own. We are glad to have them, and thankful for the time we had with Grandma Jan before she moved into “Seasons.”  I hope this will not be a depressing blog, but a way to record the humorous and the melancholy, the challenges and the victories, as well as the benefits of living with someone as they travel this journey into the sunset with one long good bye.

I will be your God throughout your lifetime—
until your hair is white with age.
I made you, and I will care for you.
I will carry you along and save you.  Isaiah 46:4

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