Tuesday, October 31, 2006
Talk with the Face
One day Dad's operation for his cancerous leg tumor is on. The next day it is off.
Tim initially scheduled Dad's operation on Tuesday, November first -- tomorrow. Then Dad backed out. He said that
he wanted to concentrate on his swollen elbow first. He said he would focus on his leg after his elbow was taken care of.
Last week Dad went to see his dermatologist, Dr. Egan, again. After his appointment he again wants the surgery on his
leg. Tim says that Dr. Egan put the fear of God into Dad. Dr. Egan said it was better not to wait. Dad likes Dr. Egan (a female)
and listens to her.
I tried to talk to Dad on the phone to persuade him to have the surgery. As always, I got my mom first.
"Can I talk with Dad?" I asked.
Mom gave the phone to Dad.
"Dad," I said. "How's your leg doing?"
"I can't tell you over the phone," Dad replied.
"Why not?" I asked.
"I don't talk about my health on the phone," Dad said. "If you want to talk to me about my health, come here."
"But,
Dad," I said. "I'm in North Carolina. I was just there with you five days ago. It costs me $200-$300 each time I come up there
to see you."
"You should have talked with me last week," said Dad.
"Dad," I said, trying to keep my cool, "you're being unreasonable."
"So are your leaves beginning to change?" Dad asked, completely changing the subject.
I tried to get Dad back on the subject of his leg for the next couple of minutes, but I was unsuccessful. I told my brothers
and sister about Dad's new "phone rule." They agreed that Dad is being difficult. "We think Dad is beginning to lose it, too," they
said.
"He's just being stubborn," I said.
Maybe I will just have to call and tell him what I think and not wait for an answer. It's a one-sided conversation, but
at least I get to express an opinion.
Sometimes being away from home is frustrating. My sister Lisa is on vacation. My brother Owsley is not with my parents.
My mother is no longer a reliable source for "hard" information. My Dad won't talk with me on the phone.
I guess I'll call my brother Tim and bug him.
Friday, October 27, 2006
DOES MEMORY MAKE OUR LIVES?
You have to begin to lose your memory, if only in bits and pieces, to realize that memory is what
makes our lives. Life without memory is no life at all ... Our memory is our coherence, our reason, our feeling, even our
action. Without it, we are nothing ... (I can only wait for the final amnesia, the one that can erase an entire life, as it
did my mother's ... )
-- Luis Buñuel
I think about the effect of Mom's Alzheimer's on me, on Dad, on my brothers Owsley and Tim, on my sister Lisa.
But what effect does it have on Mom?
Oliver Sacks, in his remarkable book, The Man Who Mistook His Wife for a Hat, writes about a man named Jimmy whose memory stopped after 1945. After a traumatic event in the mid-1960s (probably binge
drinking), Jimmy loses all memories since World War II and is unable to form new memories. Jimmy lives from day to
day, but his brain never records anything. It exists only in the perpetual present -- or the finite past. He has a "track
record," but it goes only through his teenage years. He is cut off from any memory of his life since then.
The life of a person with Alzheimer's is even worse. In the book, Jimmy had no recollection of what he had been doing in
the previous five minutes. But he had a vivid memory of himself and the world in the 1930s and 1940s. At least he had something.
The person with Alzheimer's, by contrast, has nothing.
I've noticed how Mom greets people when they parade over to her table at the Towne House Restaurant. She is always friendly,
vivacious, engaged. She smiles, she is animated, she seems to recognize everyone.
In truth, she recognizes almost no one.
It is all a charade, a thin veneer of sociability that cloaks almost total bafflement and alienation from the familiar,
the recognized, and the known. "Who are these people?" Mom must ask herself. "Where did I meet them? What are their names?
How do they know me?"
It is part of the humanity--and the cruelty--of Alzheimer's that it enables Mom to continue greeting people so affectionately
when she has no clue who they are. The fact is, Mom doesn't have to know who they are in order to pretend to know.
She still retains her gracious, loving personality, even though it floats disembodied, without context or recollection of
familiar faces. Mom has mastered the Alzheimer's magic trick--the sleight of hand--that fools the observer into thinking
she is "just fine."
Many people must go away, touched by Mom's warm greeting, happy that she still remembers them. This is enough. She doesn't
have to be their best friend. She just has to acknowledge them, to show she appreciates them and values them. This part of
her personality lives on, it has value, and it lets Mom's life continue to have meaning. Take this part away, and you strip
Mom of her remaining humanity. Keep it, and she can still enjoy brief moments of connecting with other human beings. Mom's
memory may be a facade, but her affability and love of others is real. And we should let Mom play this role as long as she
is able.
Thursday, October 26, 2006
POT, RATS, FISH OIL & THE COMMON COLD
Things have been quiet on the home front for the past couple of days, so I'm going to pass along some news on the Alzheimer's
front:
OMEGA-3 SUPPLEMENTS SLOW MILD ALZHEIMER'S
A
study in Archives of Neurology reports that people with mild Alzheimer's can slow their memory loss by taking omega-3
fatty acid supplements. Omega-3 fatty acid is found in fish oil. Researchers in Stockholm, Sweden, followed 174 patients for
over three years. They did not see any slowing in memory loss among all the patients. But they did isolate a subgroup of people
who had mild Alzheimer's. When this group took the omega-3 supplements, their rate of cognitive decline slowed.
Researchers speculated that fish oil may be beneficial because of its anti-inflammatory effect on the brain. Also, studies
have shown that eating more fish each week reduces the risk of Alzheimer's and slows its progress once it has begun.
It is important to include fish in the diet. However, fatty fish such as mackerel, albacore tuna and salmon are also
predators and may have a higher than normal
mercury content in their tissues. It is important to eat fish with a lower mercury content since large amounts of mercury can injure the
brain, especially the brains of young children and fetuses inside expecting mothers. This is why Omega-3 supplements
might be the healthiest way to protect the brain.
COMMON COLD LINKED TO ALZHEIMER'S
Scientists at the Mayo Clinic in Rochester, Minnesota, have released a
study linking the common cold to Alzheimer's Disease. Colds are caused by the large
picornavirus family. People typically
catch one or two colds a year. Scientists now suspect that some of these viruses find their way into the brain and cause mild
brain inflammation. Brain inflammation is linked to memory loss and is a key ingredient of Alzheimer's Disease.
According to study leader, Dr. Charles Howe:
Our study suggests that virus-induced memory loss could accumulate over the lifetime of an individual
and eventually lead to clinical cognitive memory deficits.
POT-SMOKING RATS HAVE BETTER MEMORIES
Can we get Alzheimer's from a cold? This is not a pleasant thought. However, it apparently takes a lifetime of
colds to cumulatively cause Alzheimer's. The colds gradually increase brain inflammation, which can trigger Alzheimer's.
How do we deal with our inflamed brains?
One way is to take the Omega-3 supplements (see above). Another way is to smoke pot. According to a
report released by scientists at Ohio State University, key ingredients in marijuana act to reduce inflammation in the brain.
According to the study's director, baby boomers who smoked marijuana in the 1960s and 1970s rarely get Alzheimer's.
Researchers at Ohio State performed their research on rats. Scientists discovered that rats who took a synthetic drug
similar to marijuana had better memories and significantly out-performed normal rats in complicated mazes. They are now trying
to isolate the key anti-inflammation compounds in the drug to eliminate the high that the drug induces.
Bummer.
Wednesday, October 25, 2006
My Memory Is Full of Leafy, Green Vegetables!
I'll come out of the closet and make a confession: I love vegetables! It's not always been true. But in recent years
I have developed a taste for all kinds of veggies, including broccoli, collards, kale, turnips and okra.
That's why I enjoyed seeing a headline in yesterday's issue of the journal
Neurology: "Veggies Help Save Memory." Martha Clare Morris, an epidemiologist at the Rush University Medical Center in Chicago, has
just published the results of a five-year study on memory. Her team of scientists found that for people aged 65 and older
eating two servings of vegetables a day slows cognitive decline by 40 percent. According to Dr. Morris, the older that people
were in the study, the better vegetables seemed to be in preserving their memory.
Dr. Morris and her team found that people who ate leafy, green vegetables, such as spinach, kale and collards, received
the greatest memory benefits. She speculated that this might be because leafy, green vegetables have a large amount of Vitamin
E, an antioxidant, which has been shown to have a protective effect on the brain.
On the other hand, fruits that have high quantities of antioxidants do not seem to help memory nearly as much
as vegetables. Morris guesses that this may be because we often eat vegetables in salads with salad oil that contains fats.
According to Morris:
People who consume the healthy fats--vegetable oils and vegetable fats--also have lower decline in
thinking ability and lower risk of Alzheimer's disease. Fats help absorb the Vitamin E, and there appears to be an important
effect of the fats themselves.
Tuesday, October 24, 2006
The Other Woman
My parents are fiercely independent. Dad won't consider going into any kind of senior living community. He has refused
having any kind of at-home care. He even resents it when his children get too pushy and begin to nag him. He grew testy with
me last week when I tried to advise him on medical care for his swollen arm and the cancerous tumor on his leg.
"Back off," he said, sounding a little like Yosemite Sam. "My body is my business and nobody else's."
Given Dad's resistance to help from outside, I was surprised to hear that he has allowed a person to help him and Mom.
The lady, of course, had to be hired by Dad and had to meet his specifications. She is the sister of a close friend of the
family, and she spent a dozen years caring for her aged grandmother. She is the mother of five children, the wife of
a policeman, and a very competent caregiver.
She also irritates my mother.
My brothers, my sister and I were surprised at this reaction. We all thought our main hurdle was Dad when it came to
hiring a caregiver. Now we're actually more worried about Mom.
Those of you who read this blog regularly know that Mom and Dad are extremely close. It is easy to see, therefore, that
if anyone comes between them in any way, Mom is going to have something to say about it.
"I don't like that kind of woman," Mom told me the other day when she and I were together.
"What kind of woman is that, Mom?" I asked.
"The kind that insinuates herself into a situation," Mom said. "I don't trust her."
I tried to explain to Mom that Dad has hired this lady to make Mom's life easier. She is supposed to be a companion to
Mom and also help Dad and Mom do simple chores around the house.
I know what Mom is worried about. She has been Dad's sole caregiver. She helps him get dressed in the morning and undressed
at night. She fixes his breakfast in the morning. She helps bathe Dad.
The "other woman" threatens to displace Mom from one of her remaining roles. The rest of Mom's life has vanished since
her Alzheimer's has become more advanced. Her relationship with Dad is pretty much all she has left.
It would be fine to leave things as they have been. Mom needs to have meaning in her life, and Dad gives Mom that sense
of meaning. But times are changing. Mom's Alzheimer's is becoming more serious; she has trouble keeping track of things. And
Dad's health (at least judging from last week) has deteriorated.
Mom and Dad should have joined a seniors residential community years ago. Now it may be too late. They both need more
care. Mom can help; Dad can help; the kids can help. But they need more help.
Fortunately, this lady is patient. She told me last week, "It took me more than two years to win the confidence of my
grandmother. Until then, she didn't trust me."
"I'm glad you're patient," I said. "With Mom and Dad you're going to
need it."
Monday, October 23, 2006
The Slippery Slope
I was in Pennsylvania from September 29th through October 1st. That was just three weeks ago. I went back to Pennsylvania
last Thursday, and I was amazed at how much my parents' health had deteriorated.
I stayed with my parents nonstop for two days. Apparently I arrived just after a crisis in my father's health. His right
elbow has become inflamed and swollen repeatedly since last summer. This past week it became extremely swollen and extremely
painful. In addition, Dad's hand became swollen with fluid and Dad was advised he needed to start physical therapy for the
hand immediately or he might lose his use of the hand.
Tim took Dad to an orthopedics specialist, and he drained the elbow, gave Dad a shot of
cortisone and prescribed a round of
prednisone. He also told Dad to begin PT (physical therapy) for his hand. Dad started the PT on Thursday, while I was in town.
The two steroids worked a minor miracle. By Friday evening when I left, Dad had his arm out of his sling. His hand had
shrunk back almost to its normal size. And Dad was able to wriggle his fingers and make a fist.
"This prednisone is a miracle drug," Dad said. "I had a rash on my chest before I started taking it, and now it's gone.
I feel better. I sleep better. And I can actually breathe out of both of my nostrils."
DAD'S CANCER
Dad went in to see the dermatologist when I was home in September. His legs are covered in blisters and swollen from
retaining so much fluid. The dermatologist (Dr. Egan) pronounced that one of the blisters was malignant, and she sliced a
pretty good-sized hole out of Dad's leg to remove the cancer. She also said that the cancer was an aggressive
squamous cell carcinoma and that Dad should have an operation immediately to make sure all the cancer was removed before it spread into the rest
of his body.
Tim scheduled Dad's operation for November 1st at Crozier-Chester Hospital.
Dad is worried less about the operation than about "going under" with full anesthesia during the operation. He has fears
that they might discover more cancer while he is knocked out and might remove the rest of his leg before he has a chance to
protest.
Tim talked to the plastic surgeon who will probably perform the surgery (
Dr. Guy Nardella). Dr. Nardella said that Dad could receive local anesthesia for the leg with an IV sedative to calm him but not put him under.
Dad would remain fully conscious during the operation.
The day after the operation Dad can go to a Nurses' Unit at the hospital, where nurses will treat him and begin physical
therapy. If he is well enough, he can go home after only one night away from home. If not, he may have to spend a second night,
but will probably be allowed to go home then.
I JUST GOT AN UPDATE FROM LISA
It's Monday morning (10/23), and my sister Lisa just phoned me from Pennsylvania. She spent time with my parents this
weekend, and she tells me that Dad is postponing his operation on November 1st. He is still taking the prednisone and feeling
better. His arm and hand are no longer swollen. He told my brother Tim that he doesn't "want to rush into anything." He said
he would focus on his arm for the moment. He would also get an estimate of how aggressive the cancer is. If it is something
that will spread after 5 years, then maybe he won't get the operation. If it is more aggressive, perhaps he will consider
getting the operation.
The leg wound from his outpatient surgery at Dr. Egan's office is now healing on its own, according to Lisa.
MOM'S ALZHEIMER'S
Mom is worried about Dad going into the hospital. Perhaps Dad is worrying about Mom worrying about him. It all gets very
circular. This may be what is motivating him to delay getting an operation. He doesn't want Mom to worry about him going away.
As I've said in this column, Mom gets anxious if she doesn't see Dad for more than a couple of hours.
Mom's memory is about gone. I was with her for two days last week, and she wasn't able to remember anything even minutes
after it happened. I can barely imagine what kind of world it would be like to live only in the present. Anything you plan,
anything you just did disappears almost instantly. All you have is what your eyes see, what your ears hear, what your body
touches and tastes. Everything else is gone.
I'm so happy Dad is feeling better for the moment. He has temporarily regained use of his right arm and right hand. I'm
just worried that both he and Mom are on a kind of slippery slope and the only certain direction in the near future is downhill.
Wednesday, October 18, 2006
She Called Again Last Night!
Last night I was at a country-music concert with friends at the North Carolina State Fair, in Raleigh. My cell phone
began vibrating. I looked at the screen: it was Mom!
I clicked on the "receive call" button. "Hi, Mom," I whispered.
"Hi, Fred," Mom said. "I'm calling because your father is not doing very well."
"What's up, Mom?" I asked. "Is there something new?"
"Yes," said Mom. "Your father needs surgery."
"I know that, Mom," I said. "But I thought he was going in for surgery next week, or the week after."
"No," said
Mom. "I think he is going into the hospital tomorrow morning for surgery."
"Tomorrow morning?"
"Yes," she said. "I need you up here to stay with me."
Uh-oh! This sounded a lot like the conversation I had with Mom earlier in the week. (See my Monday, October 16th blog.)
"Mom," I said, "can I call you in the morning?"
"Call me in the morning," she said.
We said good-bye to each other and I clicked the "end" button on the phone.
CAUGHT IN THE MIDDLE
It's now the next morning. I haven't called anyone yet. I'm really not sure who to call. I had been calling my sister
Lisa the past couple of days. But I feel I have become a little bit annoying. There is no news about Dad's health, other than
what I already know. When I call her she tells me the same news because there isn't anything else to tell.
My brother Owsley is out of town. My brother Tim is on his way out of town.
I think I will call Mom and Dad themselves. It's just really hard to get Dad on the phone.
Tuesday, October 17, 2006
Is Mom Glued to Dad?
The phone call I received from Mom on Sunday startled me but it did not surprise me. Dad's health is so bad that we have
all been expecting something bad to happen, even though we hope and pray for the best. Also, I knew that Mom is incredibly
dependent on Dad. She gets anxious when he leaves her for more than a few minutes. She calls his office and the Towne House,
trying to find out when he is going to return to her.
The phone call startled me because now there is a real likelihood that Dad will have to go into the hospital soon, and
he might be away from home for several days.
What is Mom to do? Normally, more than an hour or two is enough to set Mom on edge. Days of absence are something beyond
anything Mom has recently known.
Is there any possibility we can "wean" Mom from Dad? We are all worried that if Dad should pass before Mom, she would
fall apart because she is so linked to him.
Can Mom stay at Lisa or Tim's house while Dad is in the hospital? Do I need to fly there to stay with her at her own
little apartment? Does Mom need a caregiver while Dad is away? Can Dad recover at home in the apartment? Will they both need
caregivers?
These are urgent, practical questions that Lisa, Tim, Owsley and I have to confront in the next couple
of days.
A BRIEF NOTE: UPDATE ON ARICEPT
Aricept and Namenda are the two drugs Mom takes to slow the progress of her Alzheimer's Disease. Mom seems
to be slipping mentally, but her decline is extremely gradual, so perhaps her medications are working.
Aricept was just approved last Friday (10/13) by the
FDA for severe Alzheimer's sufferers. Until yesterday it was only approved for mild to moderate Alzheimer's, the stage that Mom
is at. Two new studies show that Aricept continues to perform better than a placebo for people with severe Alzheimer's.
Monday, October 16, 2006
Freddie, Can You Please Come Home.
I woke up yesterday morning and was heating up the teapot when the phone rang. It was my mother. It was a little past
7 AM. She sounded tentative and vulnerable. "Freddie," she said, "can you please come home?"
"What's up?" I asked, immediately concerned.
"Your father has to go into the hospital for an operation," Mom said. "He probably will be there for a week. I can
go live with your brother or sister. But I want to stay in my own home. Can you come up here and stay with me?"
"Of course, Mom," I said. "When does he go in?"
"Tomorrow," Mom said. "Can you be here by tomorrow?"
CROSS-CHECKING MOM
After I got off the phone with Mom, I began calling my brothers Owsley and Tim and my sister Lisa. I kept calling back
to Mom and Dad's apartment and eventually got Dad.
I learned that Dad does have a doctor's appointment today, but he is not going immediately into the hospital for an operation.
After spending several hours calling and talking to family members I reached Mom again. I told her that Dad wasn't going into
the hospital for an operation.
"I know that," Mom said.
"You do?" I asked.
"Of course," said Mom.
"All right," I said. "But if Dad has to stay in the hospital, or if he has an operation, I will be ready to come up and
stay with you. I will come up immediately."
"I know that," said Mom.
"You just have to ask me," I said.
"I know," said Mom.
DAD IS NOT WELL
After checking with everyone, I learned that Dad has two different conditions: a swollen elbow and a cancer growth embedded
in his leg. He is going into the hospital today to have an orthopedist lance and drain the elbow of the fluid that is causing
him severe pain. He is also consulting with a couple of his doctors about having an operation on his leg to remove the cancer
and to perform a skin graft.
The possibility of surgery is especially serious. Dad is almost 89 years old. He has a heart condition. He is taking
coumadin for his high blood pressure. I don't know how he will react to general anesthesia and an extended hospital stay,
if that is required.
At least he is not going into the hospital today. According to Dad, he may have surgery in "one or two weeks."
Janet, Laura and I are going to Pennsylvania to visit Mom and Dad this coming Thursday.
In the meantime, I've learned that things aren't exactly stable in the D'Ignazios' little apartment in Pennsylvania.
Dad's health is precarious. And Mom is disoriented and frightened.
Thursday, October 12, 2006
Family Planning Isn't Easy
When I went home last time to visit Mom and Dad, I realized that I could be a lot more effective if I met with everyone
regarding caregiving for Mom. On Thursday, the first day I was home, I met with Lisa, Owsley and Tim. We made some progress,
thanks to a priorities list from Owsley. But we realized we were missing a crucial person: Dad.
Owsley and I set up a meeting with Dad on Saturday. but Tim and Lisa were busy. Owsley and I went ahead and met with
Dad anyway, but it was not a wise thing to do. The meeting had a disastrous ending.
I resolved to get all four children and my father together for all future meetings.
After I returned home to North Carolina, I sent my family a letter for all future meetings. In the letter I set up ground
rules so that our meetings could be productive and benefit all parties, especially Mom.
Lisa, Owsley and Tim have all gotten their letter, and they think we are on the right track.
Dad says he still hasn't seen the letter, even though I sent it a week ago.
Monday, October 9, 2006
Memory Walk 2006
This past weekend a Memory Walk was held by the Alzheimer's Association Eastern North Carolina Chapter. Similar walks
are being held this fall by Alzheimer's Association chapters all over the United States. The purpose of the walks is
to call attention to Alzheimer's Disease and to raise money to support research for a cure.
The walks are also a time for families to come together to share their stories. Family members learn that they are not
alone. Caregivers compare notes. Children, teens, sons, daughters, spouses and friends share stories about the impact of the
disease on their lives.
This year at the North Carolina memory walks participants are able to purchase tribute flags with the name of their loved
one who is suffering from Alzheimer's. Hundreds of tribute flags are hung on clothes lines along the path of the walk. They
form a powerful symbol of people's love for their friend or relative who is suffering from Alzheimer's.
They also vividly show the vast number of people who are afflicted with this terrible disease.
If you are interested in participating in a Memory Walk in your area,
click here.
To become a general sponsor of a Memory Walk or to sponsor a participant at one of our North Carolina walks,
click here.
Thursday, October 5, 2006
Don Quixote to the Rescue
I visited my family in Pennsylvania for four days last week then returned to my home in North Carolina. All four days
were intense! We had family meetings every day. Sometimes we held spontaneous meetings -- around my parents' dining
room table, in booths at my parents' restaurant, in private banquet rooms, on street corners, even in bathrooms and bedrooms.
We met constantly -- talking, crying, laughing, and shouting.
They were good meetings. But when I left town everyone was exhausted.
(I know it left me drained. When I
returned home, I immediately came down with a cold.)
My family likes having me visit them. They have even asked that I come more often. But I hope that what I do is helpful.
Everybody in Pennsylvania has to face the problems surrounding Mom and Dad daily. They live with these problems.
Then, once a month, I rush home, like Don Quixote on horseback, tilting at windmills, trying heroically to squeeze
a month's worth of problem-solving, listening, talking, kissing and hugging into only four days.
No wonder I tire everyone out!
Then I leave, and what does everyone else do? They go back to their normal, day-to-day lives and try to make sense of
my visit.
I get to live with Mom and Dad while I'm in Pennsylvania. But everyone else has to deal with them on all the days I'm
not there. I am full of energy when I arrive in town. But they have to pace themselves and be helpful to Mom and Dad day after
day after day.
Not living at home is a real trial. I keep feeling I'm not contributing enough. But if I lived at home, would I make
anything better?
My family is used to these whirlwind tours. But how would they cope with me if I hung out with them all the time?
Wednesday, October 4, 2006
Old Friends
Old friends, old friends,
Sat
on their parkbench like bookends
A newspaper blown through the grass
Falls on the round toes
of the high shoes of
the old friends.
(Simon & Garfunkel, "Old Friends")
My mother has Alzheimer’s Disease. My father
has congenital heart failure, high blood pressure, skin cancers all over his legs, rheumatoid arthritis, and half a dozen
other major ailments. No wonder we kids want them to join a continuous-care elder center or at least hire a caregiver. They
need help, a lot of help. They need a driver, a shopper, a person to help dad with bathing, a person to keep track of their
medicines and doctor’s appointments. They need a cook and a housekeeper. They need someone to take care of my mother so my
father can get a few minutes of respite.
My brothers Tim and Owsley, my sister Lisa
and I are worried that Mom will get into a car accident. She really shouldn’t be driving. But my dad just had her license
renewed.
We are worried about Dad, too. He takes
the blood thinner coumadin and could have a stroke or hemorrhage at any moment. He is incredibly feeble, yet he will not use
a walker. Instead he found a broom, chopped off the bristles, and put rubber bumpers on each end of the broomstick. That’s
the closest he would come to a cane.
What if he falls and can’t get up? Mom
might keep her wits about her. But what if she doesn’t? Or what if Dad falls when he is alone? We don’t even know what hospital
Dad wants to go to.
Dad wants us kids to be around 24/7, but
other than that he is amazingly resistant to any kind of caregiver support. He blocks us kids at every move. So, as it stands,
he and Mom are usually alone.
This is exactly what Dad wants.
THREE A.M. CONVERSATIONS
I stayed with my parents for four days
this past weekend. One night I woke up and heard my parents talking. I made a trip to the bathroom. On the way I could hear
what they were saying. They were constructing a shopping list for Trader Joe’s grocery store in Media! It was 3 A.M. and they were calmly discussing a shopping list, as if it were bright daylight outside.
This overhearing of conversations happens
a lot when I am visiting them. I live in their home with them; it’s a tiny apartment, and people’s voices carry. The conversations
are always friendly. I hear my parents joking, teasing each other, and exchanging jibes. The conversations are balanced: Mom
gives as much as she gets. The conversations are funny: Both my parents have a good sense of humor, and they use it on each
other.
Listening to my parents talk makes me realize
something very important: They are best friends. They really like hanging out together. They really like each other’s
company.
My father may be feeble; my mother may
have Alzheimer’s. But these looming facts haven’t dampened their deep and abiding friendship with each other. It still thrives
– even in the middle of the night. And it’s this friendship, among other things, that Dad may be trying to protect. It is
a quiet, private little treasure that only the two of them share. If they went into a care facility or had a full-time caregiver,
then this friendship might be threatened, or at least exposed. It could be bruised or dented by some other person or persons
becoming too involved in my parents’ lives.
For the moment, despite all sense, despite
all the reasons to the contrary, my parents want to keep things just the way they are. Their friendship defines who they are.
It gives them a powerful incentive each morning to keep on living. Maybe Dad’s stubbornness is justified. He is trying to
keep the status quo as long as he can.
Dad is fighting a losing battle against
time and its ravages against his body and Mom’s mind. But he's never
cared about the odds. He’s my dad. He just keeps fighting.
Monday, October 2, 2006
My Mom the Party Animal
This past weekend I visited my mom and dad at their home in Pennsylvania.
We had family meetings every day I was there. When we weren't meeting we were at the family restaurant, D'Ignazio's Towne
House, eating, talking, and schmoozing with the customers.
If Dad is looking for ways to stimulate Mom, he need look no further than the restaurant. When Mom and Dad sit down at
their booth in the bar, the party begins. People line up in a receiving line, waiting to speak to my parents.
The procession never stops! People from all walks of life wait patiently to spend a few moments with my parents. They
usually have a story or joke to share. Dad always seems to recognize them. Mom does a great job of pretending. (Sometimes
I can't tell if she genuinely remembers them or she is just a great actor. Either way, everyone is impressed and gratified
by her greetings!)
DINNER WITH THE DOC
My brother Owsley is friends with an extraordinary person, Dr. John Kotyo of Riddle Memorial Hospital, near Media, my
parents' home town. Every time I go up I look forward to spending time with "Dr. John" or "the Doc." He is a genuine, loving
human being. When I had my bicycle accident in July 2005 Dr. Kotyo was one of the first people to arrive at the Riddle ER
to check on me. Each fall he takes Owsley, Mom and me out to the opera in Philadelphia. Last November we saw Don Giovanni
and went to a cocktail party attended by some of the opera's richest and most illustious patrons.
The doc is a gem, but he shines most brightly when he hosts us at one of his epicurean feasts -- a dinner at one of his
"private" local restaurants. He generally has his own wines and after-dinner liqueurs stashed at the restaurant, in advance.
He knows the whole staff and is treated like visiting royalty when he arrives.
The rest of us get the red-carpet treatment just by riding on his coattails.
On Friday night, the second night I was in town, Dr. John took us to one of his special places, the Italian restaurant,
Cascata's in the nearby town of Springfield.
It was a typical five-hour dinner with the Doc. It began with nine bottles of wine being displayed on the table. Even
before we opened the first bottle we examined the wine, read the labels, and talked about the great wines that had been sampled
at past dinners.
The dinner then proceeded at a slow and leisurely pace over the next several hours. We had five courses (maybe six?)
of soups, salads, appetizers, hors d'oeuvres, entrees, pastas, desserts, after-dinner liqueurs. On and on we sailed, with
the Doc as our captain, sampling, tasting, savoring, and telling story after story.
DID YOU MISS ME?
Mom sat in the corner of the room at the back of the round table. She could look out at our table and beyond, to survey
the entire dining room at Cascata's. Throughout the five-hour dinner Mom was alert, sociable, and smiling. We engaged her
in conversation, and she acted like her old self. She was witty, feisty and traded jibes with all of us, especially with Owsley.
Somewhere around midnight we finally ran out of food, and our bellies were full. We looked around, and we were the last
customers in the restaurant. Dr. John asked for his fourth espresso coffee, but he was told regretfully that the espresso
machine was finally closed for the evening.
We spent another half hour exiting from the restaurant. In the front lobby the Doc sat us down and ran out to his car.
He returned with canvas bags full of presents. We couldn't believe it! He pulled out exotic cheeses, jellies, olives, figs
and numerous other delectable goodies. "I just wanted to give you a present," he said.
Sometime later we said our final good-byes, embraced and kissed each other for the seventh or eighth time, and made our
way to our cars.
We drove home carefully.
When we got to Mom and Dad's apartment Dad was still waiting up for Mom. I had a ball bragging to Dad about Mom. I told
him she was the life of the party and had kept up with the rest of us for almost six hours.
Mom turned to Dad and with her sweet smile she asked, "Did you miss me?"
Everyone went to bed.
WAKE UP, FREDDIE! IT'S TIME TO WALK!
The next morning (maybe six hours later?) I heard a pounding at my bedroom door.
"Wake up, Freddie!" my mom called, from the other side of the door. "It's time to walk!"
I had my head buried under the covers. It was pounding. "Whaaat?" I asked, weakly.
"We're going for a walk," Mom cried gaily, sticking her head in through the door. "Tim will be here in five minutes.
Get up if you want to walk with us."
"All right," I groaned, into my pillow. I felt more like dying than going on a walk. But I couldn't afford to miss a
walk with Mom.
Ten minutes later we were out on the street. It was a chilly day, and I had borrowed one of my Dad's giant stretched-out
sweaters as protection against the chilly breezes that swirled up and down South Avenue in Media. Dead leaves blew by me,
and I shivered.
I looked over at my mom as we walked. She was striding forward, briskly climbing the hill just past my father's restaurant.
I shook my head in disbelief. My Mom is 82 years old. The night before she had hung in there at the restaurant for six
hours of wine, rich food, and active conversation. We had only had a few hours of sleep in between. But there she was, looking
fit as a fiddle, and actually smiling!
"How do you feel?" I asked. "Aren't you even tired?"
"Nope," she said. "I feel fine. C'mon, you're not keeping up!"
I made a silent note to myself internally to try to never under-estimate my mother. She may have Alzheimer's. She may
be old. But, at least at the moment, she was way ahead of her much younger son. I can't imagine that I'll be as active as
my mom when I'm in my 80s -- with or without Alzheimer's.
I speeded up after her, trying to shake off the grogginess in my head.
I was filled with love and admiration for my mother.
