Monday, May 21, 2007
End of the Light Bulb Tale
Last week I related my cousin Dot's story about the light bulb at the Towne House. Babe and Libby were at dinner one
night in their booth in the Towne House bar, and Babe asked for a brighter light bulb. The Towne House staff went out into
night and got Babe his bulb, but Dot left before the bulb was installed.
I called my Dad and asked him what happened. His response: "I'm not talking. Ask John Carnie."
I called John Carnie Saturday and asked him how things turned out. John explained that there are five booths in the bar.
Mom and Dad sit at the end booth near the side door. All the booths have Tiffany lamps hanging above them to provide light.
Light in the Towne House is deliberately kept low and "romantic."
My mom's eyesight is not good. Dad decided Mom needed a brighter bulb so she could read her menu more easily. He asked
for the brighter bulb to help Mom.
John said that he changed the bulb immediately after my parents left the booth, after their dinner. But the new bulb
created a problem. The other four bulbs are 25W bulbs. The new bulb Dad requested was 60W. The booth looked as if it was lit
up by a spotlight.
John came up with a good solution. He told the entire bar room staff to be ready for Mom and Dad's arrival each evening
by switching from a 25W to a 60W bulb.
When Mom arrived she could see her menu and be queen bee, lit up by her extra bright light bulb.
Then when Mom and Dad departed each evening, the staff could quickly switch bulbs again from a 60W to a 25W bulb. Her
booth would again be dimly lit, in keeping with the Towne House's time-honored atmosphere.
Mom and Dad are happy. John and his staff are happy. The customers are happy.
So ends the tale of "Babe and the Light Bulb!"
Tuesday, May 15, 2007
Babe Wants a Bigger Lightbulb
My cousin Dot called me today and told me about her visit with my Mom and Dad at their restaurant recently.
Mom and Dad go up to the restaurant every day for lunch and every night for dinner. It is only a block from their apartment,
so in good weather they walk the short distance from doorstep to restaurant dining room. In bad weather they drive.
Dot said that when Dad arrived at the restaurant he immediately complained to his server that the light over his booth
in the bar was too dim.
"I want a bigger bulb here," he commanded.
Dad founded the restaurant and ran it for 30 years. These days, he is pushing 90 years old, and is nowhere near the man
he used to be. No matter. Whenever Dad asks for something, people still jump.
Dad's server spoke with the restaurant hostess. The restaurant hostess spoke with the bartender. The bartender called
my brother-in-law John Carnie, who was acting as the night manager. John spoke with a bus boy who actually went and looked
for a lightbulb.
No light bulbs!
The bus boy reported back to John. John spoke with the hostess. The hostess reported back to Dad.
"Babe," she said, "we don't have a light bulb with a bigger wattage. I'll run out and get you a new bulb from the store."
"That
won't do," my dad said. "I can't have the restaurant hostess leaving the restaurant for a light bulb. Ask someone else. Ask
a bus boy."
Babe's request was communicated down the chain of command back to the bus boy who immediately left the restaurant searching
for an all-night light bulb store.
He was successful and reappeared after a short time. He gave the bulb to the hostess, and the hostess reappeared at my
parents' table proudly carrying the new light bulb.
My parents were in the middle of their dinner.
John came over to their table. He looked at the hostess. "You're going to have to get up on Babe's dinner table to change
the bulb," he said with a smile.
This sent my mother into a tizzy. "You'd step on my dinner?" she cried.
"You're right, Libby," said John. "That wouldn't do."
He turned to my Dad. "Babe," he said, "we'll change the light bulb as soon as you leave."
Dad turned to John. "That's too late," he said.
He and John stared at each other.
Sitting at the table with my parents, Dot looked back at forth at John and Dad. "I think I'd better go now," she said.
She kissed my parents good-bye, waved to John and the hostess, and scooted off.
(Dad still likes to keep people stirred up. Even if it's just over a light bulb.)
Monday, May 14, 2007
What Makes a Person? Memory or Moment?
My cousin Dot makes frequent appearances in this blog. She runs her own business, Let Dot Do It!, and she is
a naturally gifted helper and caregiver. Many of her customers are elderly; a few have different types of dementia, including
Alzheimer's Disease.
Dot lives near my parents in Media, Pennsylvania, and often calls them on the phone and drops by to see them. Her father
died many years ago, so my Dad, Babe, is both her uncle and a second father to her.
Babe is often prickly and grumpy when Dot drops by, but my mom, Libby, is delighted to see Dot. She always remembers
Dot, but forgets that Dot has a daughter, Courtney, and a new baby grandson Colin. It is Dot's pleasure that she gets to reintroduce
Colin to my mother ("Great Aunt Libby") every time she stops by. Dot enjoys this and usually brings Colin's latest pictures
to show to Libby.
After each visit, Mom has a habit of inviting Dot to dinner.
This would be terrific except for two things: First, Mom has Alzheimer's and has very little short-term memory. And,
second, Dad is a grumpy bear and likes to hide out in his apartment (his "cave") and not see people. So Mom invites Dot but
never remembers inviting her, and Dad is not especially inclined to follow up on Mom's invitation.
As a result, Dot has yet to share a dinner with my parents.
MEMORY OR MOMENT?
According to Dot: "Libby is always so nice to me!"
This is the most important part of their relationship. Mom
never remembers their previous conversations (especially the dinner invitations) but she is always happy to see Dot. Dot may
never end up actually eating dinner with my parents, but she is drawn back to see them because of Mom's genuine pleasure when
she sees her.
Mom lives in the moment; she has almost no day-to-day memory. But she is still a loving human being. And she still remembers
important people in her life.
Like Dot.
Mom and Dot will continue to have a relationship, even if they never have dinner together. Mom's memory may be unpredictable,
but her moments with Dot are memorable.
At least for Dot.
Friday, May 11, 2007
Vision and Alzheimer's: What Does Mom Really See?
My brother Tim and my sister Lisa are worried about Mom's vision. They have taken her to an ophthamologist and she has
had one treatment for
macular degeneration of one of her eyes. But both Tim and Lisa suspect that the problem isn't purely with Mom's eyes. They think her vision problems
are also connected to her Alzheimer's Disease.
Lisa's and Tim's concern is well-placed. According to an
article in the Permanente Journal, there is a definite link between vision problems and Alzheimer's:
Recent evidence suggests that memory impairment and vision impairment are closely linked in
Alzheimer's disease and that special testing for vision impairment can improve early detection and treatment of dementia.
Visual images, attention, memory, awareness, and salience are tightly bound together in the cerebral cortex; under normal
circumstances, these functions perform seamlessly to produce a visual reality of the external world. Alzheimer's disease--now
considered a chronic illness--unravels the fabric of reality woven together over a lifetime of experience: The disease produces
disconnected threads of visual perception, memory, and cognition.
I asked Lisa what she is noticing about Mom's visual perception. I asked if Mom had trouble seeing
things close or faraway. Lisa said, "You know, Mom. It's impossible to describe. She just has trouble making sense out of
what she is seeing."
For example, Mom reads two newspapers each day, cover to cover. I've always thought this was admirable
and a way for Mom to stay connected to the world. But Lisa now tells me that she suspects that Mom understands very little
of what she is reading. "She is reading the newspaper," Lisa said, "but I don't think she's processing anything."
And it's anyone's guess if Mom remembers anything that she has read.
I will be going home in two weeks, so I will check on Mom and report on what I see in this blog.
Thursday, May 10, 2007
The D'Ignazio Family Solar System
(knock on wood) Things are stable around the D'Ignazio household in Media, PA. It feels a little as if we are all part
of a family solar system.
Babe is the sun.
Libby is planet Mercury revolving closest to the sun, completely in thrall to the awesome heat and brilliant light of
the sun.
My brothers and sister are the inner planets, Venus, Earth and Mars.
I am the dwarf planet Pluto revolving in an eccentric orbit out near the edge of the solar system.
Or I am a comet that flies in from the outer reaches of the solar system, flares up briefly as its path whips it around
the sun, then blazes away again into cold, dark space.
All of us revolve around "the Babe" and feel his mysterious yet immense gravitational pull. All of us feel like independent
worlds, sufficient to ourselves, but bending in our orbits so we don't stray too far from the star in the center of our universe.
Monday, May 7, 2007
An Accident of Civilization?
According to a report in the
Globe & Mail, some scientists are beginning to look at Alzheimer's Disease as an accident of civilization.
In ages past, humans only lived 20, 30 or 40 years. But, thanks to modern science and technology, our life spans have
been pushed commonly into the 70s, 80s and 90s. Scientists feel that our bodies were never designed to live this long. As
a result, our aging bodies begin to show unusual traits and characteristics if they last longer than originally intended.
One of these traits is the accumulation of beta-amyloid, the gluey protein fragments in the brain that develop
into plaques that kill brain cells and cause Alzheimer's Disease.
We all want to live longer, so what are we going to do?
Fortunately, another group of scientists is working on counteracting these beta-amyloid fragments by reducing the amount
of tau protein in the brain. Mice whose tau proteins were genetically reduced showed a resistence to Alzheimer's
Disease even when their brains were attacked by the beta-amyloid.
These scientists are cautious about when this finding may be turned into a medication. Thus far, their tests have been
conducted exclusively on
laboratory mice.
Let's think for a moment about what all of this means.
Due to the medical advances of civilization our bodies live unnaturally long. This causes them to develop symptoms
never experienced in previous ages by human beings. Civilization has caused this situation. And civilization (in the form
of scientists and researchers) is now rushing in to treat these unnatural symptoms with new, unnatural drugs and medical agents
that battle the conditions caused by the previous wave of civilization.
And this process will undoubtedly be repeated over and over again in the future.
The word "natural" after awhile becomes fuzzy and irrelevant. All that is important is the endless pursuit of a longer
life. And science and technology will continue to advance so we can keep tweaking ourselves and extending our lives longer
and longer.
In the meantime, millions of people are developing new diseases, like Alzheimer's, as the guinea pigs of these life-extending
miracles.
All in the name of civilization.
Friday, May 4, 2007
Dividing the Weekend into Fourths
Usually my weekends are all the same: errands
on Saturday, church on Sunday. But last weekend was different. Last weekend I did a triathlon on Saturday morning and walked
the Relay for Life for two hours in the afternoon. Saturday evening I helped to run our tables for two ministries at our church
ministry fair. Sunday morning I continued working the ministry fair. Sunday afternoon I helped to coordinate our church team
for the Race of Grace, an area-wide event that raises funds for families who lack adequate healthcare.
Now it’s Friday, and I’m still recovering
from last weekend.
The weekend was exhausting, but it has
made for a great four days of talking with my mom. Mom’s memory from her Alzheimer’s is pretty thin. She doesn’t remember
our conversations from day to day. This has allowed me to split my busy weekend into four parts. Every day this week I have
told Mom about only one part of my weekend—but always a different part.
MONDAY: “Mom,” I said, “I did a triathlon
last weekend.” Mom oohs and aahs about my triathlon, and we say good-bye.
TUESDAY: “Mom, I walked the Relay for Life
last weekend.” Mom is very impressed and we talk about the Relay for Life and how it provides funds to help scientists find
a cure for cancer.
WEDNESDAY: “Mom, I worked on our church
Ministry Fair last weekend.” Mom gives me lots of credits for working at two tables in our ministry fair.
THURSDAY: “Mom, we coordinated over 100
members of our church and we walked a 3.1 mile course Sunday afternoon to raise money for families in our community who lack
adequate health care.” Mom is extremely impressed with this and keeps writing down facts and figures to share with Dad.
FRIDAY: To see if Mom has remembered what
I've told her all week long, I ask: "Mom, do you remember what I did last weekend?
“Nope,” says Mom. “What did you do last
weekend? Were you busy?”
