Thursday, November 30, 2006
More Thanksgiving Memories
Here are a couple more memorable moments from my Thanksgiving visit last week with Mom and Dad:
Thanksgiving afternoon
found us in the local Acme supermarket in Media, buying a random assortment of items for Mom and Dad's refrigerator and cupboards.
Dad can't move fast, but
he is sharp as can be. Mom and I aren't quite as sharp, but we get around pretty quickly. That made the division of labor
obvious for a shopping trip. Dad stayed in the pharmacy department, and sent Mom and me on shopping expeditions out into the
far-flung aisles of the vast store.
At one point Mom and I
were hunting for mayonnaise. As we pushed our cart past an aisle, Mom said, "What are we looking for?"
I said, "Mayonnaise, Mom."
We scanned the aisle. No
mayonnaise. We rolled our cart to the next aisle. Again she repeated her question, "What are we looking for?"
"Mayonnaise,
Mom. We're still looking for mayonnaise."
This went on for about
five aisles, until we reached the mayonnaise aisle. I was never so glad to see a jar of Hellmann’s Mayonnaise.
MOM'S MEMORY FLIPFLOPS
Mom couldn't remember the
mayonnaise, but she remembered all sorts of other things, sometimes from decades ago. Mom's memory is most remarkable when
Dad can't remember something, and Mom remembers for him. Those are moments to live for! Both of them are so proud when that
happens.
For example, Dad was thinking
about an employee of his at the Towne House Restaurant from thirty years ago. "I remember his name was Hazel," Dad said, recalling
the big, black man, with kind eyes and a gentle grin. Hazel had been Dad's right-hand man at the restaurant in the old days;
if there was a building or construction problem that needed solving, Dad called on Hazel.
“I loved that man,” said
Dad. “Why can’t I think of his last name?”
"I know," Mom said, smiling.
"It's 'Alexander!' His name was Hazel Alexander."
"Libby!" Dad exclaimed. "That's amazing! You're right. How did you
remember that?"
"I don't know," Mom said,
clearly proud of herself. "I said his name, and 'Alexander' just came."
A THANK-YOU PRAYER
I whined in this blog last
week about how my parents wouldn't be grateful for me coming to Pennsylvania. Boy, was I wrong.
I wasn't in their house
more than an hour when my Dad thanked me for coming. "Thank you, Freddie," he said. "Your mother and I really appreciate your
coming up for Thanksgiving."
And when we sat down to
breakfast, Mom said a blessing, thanking God for sending "her lovely son" home for Thanksgiving to be with her.
I don't often feel like
such a "lovely son," so when Mom said that in her prayer, I just sat their quietly and glowed.
Wednesday, November 29, 2006
Is This a Special Holiday Today?
I flew home last week to be with my parents for Thanksgiving. Here are a couple of images and moments from my visit:
ARE YOU COMING HOME FOR EASTER?
Mom called me on Tuesday, last week, before I had even left home for Pennsylvania.
"What day are you arriving?" she asked.
"Thursday morning," I said.
"Will you be here for Easter?" Mom asked.
"Easter!? Mom, I can't stay that long," I said.
"Oh, I meant Christmas," she said.
"Christmas?"
I heard Mom turn away from the phone to ask Dad. "What holiday is Freddie coming home for?" she asked.
I heard Dad answer. Mom got back on the phone. "I mean Thanksgiving," she said.
"Yes, Mom," I said, feeling relieved. "I'm coming home Thursday morning -- the morning of Thanksgiving."
"Oh, that's wonderful," she said. "We can't wait to see you!"
DRESSING DAD
I've noticed, a bit worriedly, that recently Mom has seemed less patient with Dad, and when he needles her, she flares
up at him. But I didn't see any evidence of this when I was home last week. On the contrary, I was amazed at how patient Mom
can still be with Dad.
When I first came into their apartment from the airport, Mom called me back to their bedroom where she was dressing Dad.
I sat down on the edge of the bed and watched the two of them. Painstakingly, methodically, Mom dressed Dad: pants, belt,
shirt, socks, shoes -- she did it all.
This alone was impressive. What made it even more impressive was the dialogue that took place during the dressing process.
As usual, Dad ribbed Mom. As usual, Mom fired back.
"C'mon, Libby," Dad said, as Mom carefully and gently pulled up his trousers around his knees. "You're slowing down.
I'm gonna' fire your ass if you don't speed it up."
"You couldn't get anyone half as good as me," Mom said. "And if you did, I wouldn't let you. Now, shut up, so I can finish
dressing you."
Tuesday, November 28, 2006
Hillbillies from Burkesville, Kentucky
It is an amazing thing to grow old. We can all speculate, but we really won't know what it truly feels like until we
get there.
Or hope to get there.
Mom and Dad are old. Often it makes them grouchy and cantankerous. Sometimes it makes them fuzzy and "lost." It is painful
to see how feeble they've become, especially Dad.
That is why, when I see their spirits rise, I can only stand back and admire them. I've written about the private little
conversations they hold at all hours of the day and night. I've written about how Dad deliberately stirs Mom up. And how Mom
makes it clear to Dad that she's not to be messed with.
I'm also impressed with their continuing sense of humor. They can turn painful aspects of growing old into something
funny, and then laugh about it with each other.
For example, the other day the bridge of teeth in the front of Dad's mouth fell out. Shortly after, Mom's bridge fell
out, too. When they smiled, the two of them looked like two little kids, or two NHL Hockey Players.
Or, as Dad put it, "We're like two hillbillies from Burkesville, Kentucky." (Burkesville is where Mom's dad came from,
and where she used to live when she was little. It's way far back up in the backwoods of Kentucky.)
Before they got their bridges back, my parents made a game out of smiling at each other, talking in hillbilly talk, and
having toothless kisses.
They even had a whistling contest.
Monday, November 27, 2006
I Landed the Plane Right There!
Mom and Dad were out for a drive last week when Dad suddenly saw a house up ahead that triggered a vivid memory.
"That's where I landed my little airplane," he told Mom.
Indeed, Dad had landed his airplane on the front yard of a home just outside of Media, near Ridley Creek. He was a pilot
in the Air National Guard and had a private pilot's license after the war. He delighted in flying--and landing--his airplanes
in unique locations. Although some tales may be aprocryphal, he is credited with flying under the Walt Whitman Bridge in Philadelphia;
buzzing pedestrians and shoppers on State Street, in downtown Media; and grazing the tummy of his cargo plane on the top of
Empire State Building's radio tower in New York City.
Dad is a great storyteller and he was in rare form telling Mom about his ability to land in people's frontyards. Unfortunately
he was so immersed in his stories about his airplane antics that he swerved off the road, into a ditch, and blew out two of
the tires on his BMW.
Two flat tires might have stopped most people, but not my dad. He managed to drive the car out of the ditch, down the
road and up the zig-zag, hilly driveway of his good friends, the Armitages. He and Mom ended up at the Armitages' back
porch door, ringing the door bell.
"I had a little problem with my car," he said as he entered the Armitages' house. "But I got Libby to her appointment."
And that is how Mom got to her bridge game last week with Doris Letts!
(See my Thursday, November 16, 2006, blog, "I Never Would Have Known.")
HEALTH NOTES
Tim says Mom has cataracts. Supposedly a simple operation will take care of this. Tim says it is an outpatient procedure,
and Mom could be driven home immediately after the operation.
Dad has another appointment with his dermatologist, Dr. Egan, this Thursday. Dr. Egan is recommending that Dad have the
surgery done to remove the cancer on his leg.
Although Mom and Dad still have serious health issues, I was impressed with both of them during my brief visit last week.
Both were up and about, energetic (for two 80-plus-year-old people!), and in good moods. They got around the house independently.
Mom dressed Dad each morning with patience and tenderness. They messed with each other and fought their normal battles, but
not too seriously.
They had both bounced back from the last time I had seen them, in late October.
Friday, November 24, 2006
Bonded with My Mom
I flew back from Pennsylvania to North Carolina this afternoon. I was with my parents less than a day and a half, but
I filled every minute with memorable experiences.
I called my wife Janet as my plane landed. She was already on her way to get me.
I dragged my little Japanese suitcase off the plane, down the long airport corridor, and out onto the sidewalk outside
the airport. I stood there waiting for Janet to pull up in her car.
Suddenly I had the urge to call Mom. "She'll want to know I've landed safely," I thought. I dialed her number on my cell
phone.
Mom answered. Her voice sounded sleepy.
"Hi, Mom," I said. "I'm back in North Carolina. I'm home safe."
"Freddie," she said. "I can't believe it. I was just lying down for a nap, when suddenly I began to wonder if you had
made it home safely. That same moment, you called."
"That is strange, Mom," I said. "I was just waiting on the sidewalk, when I had a strong urge to call you."
"We're
bonded," Mom said.
"We're bonded," I agreed.
Thursday, November 23, 2006
Home Again! Home Again!
It's 4:58 AM and I'm headed home!
Janet just dragged herself out of bed to run me to the airport. There's a Nor'easter blowing and drenching its way up
the east coast. And I'm about to climb onto its coattails.
Here I come.
Mom and Dad have made reservations for Thanksgiving dinner at the Towne House. Tim is picking me up at the airport at
7:55 AM when I get to Philadelphia.
I'm planning on an intense day. I want to be attentive to my parents, nonstop.
I can't wait to see Mom.
Wednesday, November 22, 2006
She Pulls Herself Together
Last night I had a conversation with my cousin Dix McComas on the telephone. Dix's Dad, Uncle Jack McComas, is my mom's
brother.
Dix was calling me to tell me Uncle Jack had a stroke. He reassured me that Uncle Jack wasn't in danger, but that it
had been a "significant" stroke. Dix said he would call me back today or tomorrow to give me more details.
After we had talked, at length, about Uncle Jack, I told Dix news of the D'Ignazio family. He asked about Mom.
I bragged about how Mom had attended Doris Letts' bridge party recently and done so well. Mom had played a good game of bridge,
seemed sharp and attentive, and was sociable with everyone.
Dix was impressed. "You know," he said. "This is exactly what Dad does. Or at least what he used to do before his stroke."
"What's that?" I asked.
"He always seemed at his sickest around me and my family," Dix said. "But when he was around others, he pulled himself
together and seemed just fine."
"That's what Doris said," I replied. "She said Mom could afford to show her illness to her family, but when she
was around company, she was always on her best behavior."
"I think that's what you do around friends," Dix said. "Around family you can afford to relax and let your guard down.
But when you are out in company, you pick yourself up and give it your best effort."
This was an insight for me. It explained why people see Mom at different levels. We family members are always telling
people how Mom is declining. But when others describe Mom to us, she always sounds so much better. Some of her friends question
whether Mom has Alzheimer's at all. One friend even got angry because she thought we had made the whole thing up.
It seems vital for older people, sick people and disabled people to get out among friends and acquaintances. When we
are with friends, we lift ourselves to a higher level.
Mom and Uncle Jack's public performances testify to the power of spirit. When a sick person's spirits are up,
when their attitude is positive, they are capable of marshalling their resources and appearing at their best. The difference
between their off-stage and on-stage characters is dramatic. Off-stage they may be ill, lackluster, declining. On-stage they
shine.
As caregivers we should nurture a person's spirit as well as their body. A low spirit can drag the body down and
send it spiralling into further illness. In contrast, uplifted spirits can raise the body--and the mind--and give an ill person,
even with Alzheimer's, moments of quality, pleasure and joy in their lives. In light of Uncle Jack's stroke, it is clear these
moments are precious.
Tuesday, November 21, 2006
'Reporter' Yeast May Help Cure Alzheimer's
Susan Liebman, distinguished university professor of biological sciences at the University of Illinois at Chicago, has
devised a tool that may speed up the search for a cure for Alzheimer's Disease.
SeniorJournal.com reported yesterday that Liebman and her team are using "reporter" yeast cells to quickly screen small groups of protein molecules
('"peptides") that might inhibit the growth of Alzheimer's
plaques.
Researchers now generally agree that globby gray protein plaques and the dead spaghetti-like protein tangles seen in
post-mortem Alzheimer's brains are not the cause of Alzheimer's. Instead there are precursors to the plaques and tangles. These precursors
are smaller protein fragments--the bad-boy peptides--that trigger the plaques and tangles. Then, once the plaques
and tangles appear, they produce the memory loss, personality change, and physical and mental disorientation characteristic
of Alzheimer's.
Leibman's discovery is valuable because using the yeast molecules Alzheimer's researchers can now screen hundreds or
even thousands of chemical compounds quickly to see if they slow or stop the formation of these pesky peptides. Their theory
is: stop the peptides, stop the Alzheimer's. Or at least: slow the peptides, slow the Alzheimer's.
HAPPY BIRTHDAY, ALZHEIMER'S!
This month (November 2006) is the 100th anniversary of the "discovery" of Alzheimer's Disease. The man who discovered
Alzheimer's Disease, Aloysius (Alois) Alzheimer, never published his findings. Alzheimer's colleague, Emil Kraepelin, referred
to the disease in his popular neurology textbook as "Alzheimer's Disease" since his buddy Alois was the one who discovered
it. The name caught on, and by 1911 European doctors were reporting hundreds of cases of "Alzheimer's Disease."
Alois Alzheimer was a German psychologist and neuropathologist. He stumbled upon the disease when he met a dementia patient
by the name of Mrs. Auguste Deter in the Frankfurt Asylum. Mrs. Deter was acting very strangely. Alois became fascinated
by her behavior and followed her around, almost obsessively. When Mrs. Deter died, Alois had her brain and her medical records
shipped to Munich to Kraepelin's lab. At the lab, Alois, Kraepelin and two Italian physicians (yay for the Italians!) stained
little, tiny slices of Mrs. Deter's brain with a newly invented silver staining technique. They discovered that the memory
section of her brain -- the hippocampus -- was overrun with goopy blobs of protein. In Alois' opinion it was this "Amyloid"
protein that had killed Mrs. Deter's neurons and eventually killed Mrs. Deter.
Alois Alzheimer died at 51, the same age as Mrs. Deter when he first bumped into her.
Monday, November 20, 2006
When I'm Eighty-Nine
When I get older, losing my hair, many years from now,
Will you still be sending me
a Valentine, birthday greetings,
bottle of wine?
If I'd been out 'till quarter to three, would you lock the door?
Will you still
need me, will you still feed me,
When I'm sixty-four?
...
I could be handy, mending a fuse, when your lights have
gone.
You can knit a sweater by the fireside, sunday mornings,
go for a ride.
Doing the garden, digging the weeds, who could ask for more?
Will you still need
me, will you still feed me, when I'm sixty four?
The Beatles, "When I'm Sixty-Four"
Dad turned 89 on Sunday. I'm only six years away from the Beatles' "sixty-four," so I have an inkling what
that will be like. But what can it possibly be like to be eighty-nine?
Dad's Pennsylvania kids held a birthday breakfast for him at Lisa's house on Sunday morning. (Good kids!)
Dad can often be a pain in the butt. But he's still ticking, and sharp as a tack. He still stirs the pot.
He looks after Mom. He gets on the telephone and makes business deals. He is generous and charming. He is still a force in
all of our lives.
Dad is eighty-nine.
Long live Dad.
Friday, November 17, 2006
You Say Good-Bye and I Say Hello
My sister Lisa said it yesterday: "You can't expect Mom and Dad to thank you for coming to Pennsylvania for Thanksgiving.
If you come, you should do it because you want to, not because they will appreciate it."
That was sobering advice. But good advice.
Dad has already told me on the phone that my short, two-day visit with them over Thanksgiving is not enough. "You zoom
in and you zoom out," he said. "How can I say good-bye when I've just said hello?"
This reminds me of the Beatles song, "Hello Good-Bye:"
You say goodbye and I say hello
Hello, hello
I don't know why you say goodbye
I say hello
Hello, hello
I don't know why you say goodbye
I say hello
I'm spending a couple hundred dollars to fly to Pennsylvania to celebrate my dad's birthday and to be with my
parents over Thanksgiving. I want to say, "Hello."
But all Dad can think of is "Good-bye."
And two days after I'm gone, after Thanksgiving is over, will Mom even remember I've been there?
Probably not.
So why am I going? It's a thankless task. Even my family in Pennsylvania is wondering why I'm coming up there
instead of spending Thanksgiving with my wife and daughter in North Carolina.
Why is it important for me to do this for Mom and Dad? Is it something I owe them? Is it something I owe myself?
The same questions could be asked of Lisa, who gets criticism from my father and indifference from my mother,
but who makes it a point each week to drive my Mom around, do errands, tidy up Mom's clothes, and keep an eye on my parents.
The same is true for my brother Tim who takes Dad to doctors appointments. The doctors recommend things to Dad, and Dad rejects
them. Or my brother Owsley who lives with my parents for extended periods of time, cooking for them, cleaning up after them,
loving them.
What reward do they get?
Or Dad himself. Dad devotes himself to Mom. He gently guides her all day long through their daily chores. He
stirs her up when she gets downhearted and withdraws. All he gets in return is anger, resentment, temper tantrums, hissyfits.
He gets little appreciation from Mom. It's not her fault, it's the Alzheimer's. But that doesn't make things easier on Dad.
If you're into caregiving, it certainly isn't for the reward. It seems that the only reason to do it is out of
love. I guess if you love someone, then getting something back is a bonus not an expectation.
You just do it because you love them.
Thursday, November 16, 2006
I Never Would Have Known ...
Yesterday I talked on the phone with my mother-in-law Doris Letts. Doris plays the card game bridge "every day
but Monday." Last week she hosted a bridge party at her home at Lima Estates, and Mom attended.
"If I didn't know her background," Doris said, "I never would have known anything was wrong. She played a good game of
bridge. In fact, she was kind of calm throughout."
Calm throughout? Mom?
I asked Doris what she and Mom talked about.
"We discussed our granddaughter Catie's and grandson Eric's upcoming weddings. She's excited. We talked about your coming
up to Pennsylvania for Thanksgiving. The whole conversation went well."
I asked Doris how she explained Mom's "good behavior."
"Getting out may be a good thing," Doris said. "I know she and Babe are deeply in love. But they both need to get out
and have some other outlet than each other. Your Dad can go to his office or make calls on the telephone. But your mom needs
someone to interact with, too.
"If I had been stuck in my condo after Bill died, I would have gone crazy. I needed someone around to confide in, someone
to have fun with. Your mother needs that, too. It is too much to place that entire burden on your father."
Wednesday, November 15, 2006
"She Intimidates Me!"
I called Mom and Dad's part-time caregiver Jone McGrath two nights ago. I asked her how she was getting along with Mom.
(See my Tuesday, October 24, 2006
blog, "The Other Woman.")
Jone replied, "Your mom intimidates me!"
This was a surprise. Jone has raised five children. She has a husband who is a policeman. She is a tough cookie.
"How do you mean?" I asked.
"She gets into her moods," Jone said. "She watches me like a hawk. She won't let anyone come between her and Babe. The
other day when I was there, they got into a tiff, and she stormed back to the bedroom and slammed the door. I was wondering
if it was best for me to keep working for them."
"Well ... ?" I asked.
"I decided two nights ago that I would become more aggressive," Jone said. "I called your dad and said I could come over.
The next morning I got in the car with them and we rode around for four hours. I tried to stay low-key and in the background,
but I really got to know them better."
"So you're going to keep trying?"
"I'm going to keep trying. Your mom can be pretty strong-minded. But she is a fine lady. She is a good person. I
had a relative with Alzheimer's and they became meaner and meaner as the disease progressed. But your Mom is still good. She's
a good girl."
Tuesday, November 14, 2006
The Slippery Slope -- Down and Up!
I spoke with Tim, Owsley, Dad, and Dad's assistant caregiver Jone McGrath today. Everyone told me that Mom and Dad are
doing "great!" Dad's elbow isn't bothering him, and his leg is stable.
If you read my blog regularly you are probably shaking your head in disbelief. Only a few days ago I spoke about the
"slippery slope," expressing my worries that Mom and Dad's health is going downhill at an alarming rate.
Now, suddenly, they're doing fine.
Maybe even better than fine. Today Mom went out and played bridge with my mother-in-law Doris Letts, the family's hotshot
card shark. Dad walked from his little apartment on South Avenue all the way into Media and back again.
Both parents are back in the Towne House each evening holding court and entertaining crowds of starry-eyed customers.
And yesterday Dad drove! (Remember, he was practically a one-armed man only a few days ago, due to the terrible bleeding
in his elbow!)
Sometimes I feel like a referee in a boxing match. The boxer is down on the mat, and I'm counting, "6 ... 7 ... 8 ...
9 ... "
"You're out!"
Perhaps I've been too hasty. Just when I'm about to count them out, Mom and Dad bounce back. It's a bit nerve-wracking.
Even so, thank God.
Monday, November 13, 2006
Just Lolly-Gagging
I called Mom and Dad this morning. It was 9:30 AM; usually Mom gets up and is making breakfast by 8:30 AM.
"Hello?" said Mom. Her voice had a dreamy, sleepy tone.
"Oops!" I said. "Hi, Mom! It's me, your son Freddie. What are you up to?"
"Lolly-gagging," said Mom.
"Lolly-gagging?" I asked.
"Lolly-gagging," said Mom. "Your dad and I are here lying in bed. We're dozing, talking
... and lolly-gagging."
Lolly-gagging? What exactly was this lolly-gagging?
Oh," I said. "It sounds great."
"It is," Mom said. "But I'm not done lolly-gagging, so I'm going to give the phone to your father. Good-bye, Freddie."
"Good-bye,
Mom."
READY TO TALK ABOUT BODY PARTS
Uh-oh. I needed to ask Dad what was happening to his swollen elbow and the squamous cell cancer on his leg. But the last
time I asked him, he got stubborn and refused to talk with me.
Dad got on the phone. Almost immediately he began talking about his health.
"I saw a doctor last week," he said. "He's prescribing something for my joints to help lower the pain."
"That's
great, Dad!"
"And I dress the sore on my leg each day with Hydrogen Peroxide and antiseptic gel. It's actually beginning to heal."
"Good, Dad!" I said. "I'm impressed."
(This was going better than I had expected. Dad was actually talking to me about his health again. The last
time I called him on the phone he told me that the only way he'd talk with me was if I flew to Pennsylvania and we talked
face to face.)
We had a great conversation. I told Dad I would be in Pennsylvania next week to take him and Mom out for Thanksgiving
dinner. He told me he loved me. And we hung up.
"Hmmm," I thought, after hanging up the phone. "I really like this lolly-gagging. I hope Mom and Dad do it as often as
possible."
Friday, November 10, 2006
Welcome Back, Fred!!
Hi to all my faithful blog readers -- especially those of you who have written me or called me to ask me, "What happened
to your blog?"
The truth is I was in a funk for a week. I was feeling out of the loop with my mom and dad, and I was frustrated that
Dad wasn't getting his surgery for his leg.
But now I'm back.
There is not much new to report. However, I've learned from talking with all three siblings (Lisa, Owsley and Tim) that
Dad is being a good boy and is still consulting with his doctors. (I was afraid he was in total denial and had just decided
to give up and wait for the cancer to kill him!)
Dad went to see a rheumatologist last week. I've learned that a rheumatologist is a joint specialist. That
is, they are experts about your bones and joints.
This is a good development. Dad's most serious joint problem is the joint between his upper arm and forearm -- i.e.,
his elbow! But he is having joint problems all over and is so stiff from his arthritis that he can barely move. Dad
had been taking painkillers but with his coumadin (blood thinner) he has been very careful about his medication. As a result,
he hasn't been able to take anything for the pain in all of his joints. I'm hopeful that the doctors will come up with a new
strategy to help relieve Dad's pain and stiffness and allow him to be more mobile.
My sister Lisa has been on vacation the past week. But Owsley and Tim have stepped up to help out. Owsley took my mom
to the opera last Sunday. Apparently Mom had a ball! She is 82 but she can still enjoy La Boheme!
