Just Me and My Dad at the Zoo

The joy of home ownership

Mom and Dad’s house has been under some major renovations for the past couple of months. It started with yet another water leak, this time one that flooded the master bedroom on a Sunday night. After moving as much as we could out of the bedroom at almost midnight, Mom decided it was time to have the house re-piped. She’d considered it for a couple of years and even got an estimate from the plumber a few months before the flood, but this was the breaking point.

We expected a week’s preparation time, but the plumbers were available a few days after she called them. It was fun and exciting trying to get everything moved on such short notice. Dad not understanding anything that was going on added to the merriment. The plumbers were great and had the job done in two and a half days. Mom named their home the Swiss Cheese Chalet. A friend began the process of patching or totally replacing sheetrock and did all the texturizing of the walls and ceiling. He and Mom and my sister painted everything—no small task as the pipes ran through the master bedroom, bathroom, and kitchen downstairs plus the upstairs wet bar, laundry room, and bathroom. I was in charge of food for a few days.

The last step was carpeting. The insurance company would pay for only the bedroom as that was the damaged carpet. Minor technicality that the carpet runs from the bedroom to the living room, up the stairs, and throughout the upstairs. Mom opted to pay the extra for doing all the first floor and the stairs. My sister and niece helped us move everything but the large furniture either upstairs or into the dining room.  All that was left was figuring out what to do with Dad. While adding him to the stuff in the dining room was tempting because he would be contained, it was not practical as it would have led to more whining on his part.

He has his daily routine down, most of which consists of watching old TV shows from his recliner and talking to the characters in them, which at least shows he is engaging with it and understands them. The renovations had left him totally discombobulated, with belongings out of place, a bathroom sometimes being off limits, and having to sleep upstairs. We would have to disconnect the main cable receiver to have the carpet installed. No TV anywhere in the house. It would be too much. He didn’t have alternatives for the day. He doesn’t read other than parts of the newspaper. He cannot do work around the house unless it’s simple, and that has to be closely supervised. He would be confined to a small part of the house, and that would be in disarray.  

The solution

For a long time, he has mentioned that he has not gone to the zoo for years. That’s actually a true statement rather than a misfiring of his memory. Carpet installation coincided with my first weekday off work since July 4th. Rain had threatened, but I woke that morning to clear skies and a forecast of a small chance of rain later in the afternoon. Mom said that when I confirmed the zoo over running errands, and she told Dad what was up, his eyes lit up like a little kid’s.  

That was appropriate. Wherever we go, it’s like taking a kindergartener or maybe early-elementary student. We choose where we go. He asks repeatedly where we are going. He walks behind us, stopping to check out whatever catches his attention (at least that still happens) and having the occasion fit—ranging from standard fit to conniption fit, depending on the situation—when he gets frustrated. He knows who he is and who we are but not phone numbers. A problem if we get separated. He’s pretty good about waiting outside restrooms for us, but we are expecting the day he wanders off looking for us because he’s forgotten where we went.

None of that happened at the zoo other than asking where we were going and walking a few steps behind me. I’d ask if he wanted to see certain animals, to give him some control, and he always did. I read the map and led the way, attempting a route that would cover everything we wanted to see without wearing either of us out. He loved the animals, from the tiny marmosets to the elephants. We watched two silverback gorillas having a slow-motion standoff over some disagreement. He commented that it was like him and his brother. (I did not ask him which one.) At the tiger enclosure, he told me (again) about his grandfather staring down a growling big cat at the zoo years ago when Dad was little. He talked to the raccoon and the ring-tailed lemurs. Several times he pointed out where I could get a good shot with my camera.

One weird aspect was how many times I pointed out where an animal was in its enclosure, sometimes quite near us, and he would respond, “If you say so.” I’d have to give a more specific description of the animal and its location before he could see it. I don’t know whether that comes from losing language capabilities or if he’s having vision trouble. He cannot articulate a need for new glasses or if cataracts are interfering. But he never threw a fit over the difficulty and was always excited when he could see the critter, usually commenting on something specific about it that let me know he did indeed know what he was looking at.

One more stop

With his pancreatitis, I decided that food away from the zoo was safer. We went to a nearby Luby’s Cafeteria. Dining out is also an adventure with him thanks to both the dementia and the pancreatitis. I try to let him choose his meal to give him some independence, but I have to give only two options. Offer him more, and he shuts down. It’s too confusing. He was agreeable to roast chicken. They had the label, but none ready. Not wanting to hold up the line, I said, “How about roast beef?” That worked. I requested well done. Dad started to freak when the gentleman sliced off a rare piece. I softly, politely repeated that it needed to be well. He nodded understanding and reassured me that it would be, and as soon as he had a nice pile—a large pile, in fact—he took the slices back to the grill for them to cook more. By the time we had finished our other selections and were ready to pay, he had brought the plate to us with it perfectly well done and still juicy. When I went back for something later, I got the chance to thank him properly and explain how much it meant with Dad’s dementia.

The restaurant wasn’t too loud for Dad, and although he struggled to cut the roast beef, even with a steak knife, he ate plenty and was relatively satisfied with the meal overall. I was breathing a sigh of relief when he asked again about visiting his grandmother’s old house. I really didn’t want to go but also hated to say no, so I checked the address he gave me on my phone. It was not close, and he started to argue that it was. I pulled a deflect and redirect with, “I have to get home because I have to go to rehearsal tonight. I’ll owe you a trip.” He was happy with that. Whew.

I dropped him off at home as the workers were starting the stairs—the last part. Not ideal for Mom, but as much as I could do. I told her what a good day we had had and that I took a bunch of pictures that I will put into a book for him for Christmas. He won’t remember we went, but when he comments on never going to the zoo, we will pull that out and show him.

I cherish these times with him, especially when they go so well, and am grateful to be where I can help Mom and make these memories. It really was a wonderful day. Just me and my dad.

The End of Alzheimer’s Disease (and Other Dementias) Starts With Me

And you!

Yesterday I joined the Fort Bend Walk to End Alzheimer’s. This was my first actual walk. Last year I participated—raised funds, built stamina, went to the site—but the walk itself got rained out. That’s not exactly accurate. Stormed out. With a tornado warning, no less. This year the day was beautiful. Hot, but beautiful.

The walks are 5K, just over three miles. I hadn’t walked that far before, but I decided to see how much I could do. The organizers stress that you can walk as much or as little as you can. Some people join a team and raise money but don’t walk any of it because they cannot. Some volunteer at a booth instead. It doesn’t matter. Everyone is part of the fight.

The walks are kid and dog friendly, so I decided to bring Chase. I didn’t want to try to handle both Wonder Twins (him and his sister) with the crowd. Chase was ready. He’s ready for anything. Typical Brittany. He started by greeting two elementary-aged girls getting out of the car next to us. (They found us as we started walking. Their mom said they had been hoping to see Chase again.) We greeted more people at the stadium. He actually talks to people who talk to him. Sometimes he even sings. He was a hit, especially with the teenage volunteers. The crowd, estimated at 1,000+ walkers along with volunteers, committee members and staff, did not faze him. When the entire crowd stopped to listen to a soloist sing the national anthem, I told him to sit. He did for a split second, and then stood next to me again. (Take that NFL players and all you other yahoos!) His only complaint was that the opening ceremony took too long. We were burning daylight.

We merged into the crowd, and he was all business. I had wondered how he would handle walking among all the people. What people? We’re walking! Gotta end Alzheimer’s! I was surprised to see volunteers cheering us on along the route. Cheerleaders from a local middle school joined the walk and cheered about walking and wiping out Alzheimer’s the whole way. I wish I had half their energy.

A few others had brought dogs too. A couple of little ones were interested in playing with Chase. We’re walking! Gotta end Alzheimer’s! Get busy, you guys! Some kids were walking. A bunch were in strollers. Four college guys were there in their frat T-shirts. Some people carried blue flowers, indicating they have some form of dementia. Some senior citizens walked along with their walking sticks faster than Chase and I were going. We stayed out of their way. Don’t mess with old people. Especially fast ones. Who are carrying sticks. I saw two sets of seniors walking a bit faster than “have to speed up to stop.” They were moving steadily, though. We smiled at each other. Some of the teams wore special shirts rather than the ones from the Alzheimer’s Association. One team had their relationships to their loved one on the back of the shirts in gold glitter: sister, niece, nephew. He looked about five. His aunt or uncle is way too young to have dementia.

All ages. Lots of nationalities. Lots of races. A thousand stories. One goal.

End this hellacious disease.

We walked for those we love. We walked for those we’ve never met but whose stories we empathize with. We walked for those who cannot walk one themselves. We walked for those who will be diagnosed tomorrow. The next day. And all the days after until a cure is found. We may have walked for ourselves.

Chase and I took several quick water breaks for him. I kept an eye on him in the heat. When I started working up a sweat, I took off his Halloween T-shirt. I realized about halfway through that I could finish, but I didn’t want to push him. Silly me. Typical Brittany. We’re walking! Gotta end Alzheimer’s! I’m not stopping until you do! He was a great partner.

My other great partners were family members and friends who donated to support me. I set a monetary goal because we’re supposed to. I didn’t care about reaching it to win any prizes. I just wanted to raise funds for the fight. We hit the goal in a few days. (And I’m going to hang my champion medal up where I will see it and whenever I do, think about everyone who supported me.) I set a new one. We reached that one too. Thank you to all who were so generous!

I’m not setting a new goal, and I’m pleased as can be with what y’all helped me raise. I do want to pass along that the Alzheimer’s Association keeps the donation period open a few more weeks, so if anyone did not donate yet but wanted to, or you didn’t even know about the walk and want to donate, you still can. I’ve included a link to my walk page. It has my story there for why I walked this year. Please check that out whether or not you want to donate. There’s links there to make a donation either online or through the mail, and you can see a chart of how the association uses the money. It’s great!

If you’ve never done a walk like this, I encourage you to do so. You’ll make a difference. And you just might surprise yourself. 

My walk page 

Ready to walk!

We did it!

The Saga Has Begun

The difficulties of June did indeed turn into a saga. They just didn’t become a bunch of blogs—partly because of time, partly because it still seems almost surreal.

Dad’s pancreatitis is chronic. As if the dementia didn’t cause enough disruption to what was regular life, we now have a whole new set of issues related to diet. He has to eat low fat, the lower the better, and not spicy. That throws a wrench into meals all over the place. Whatever he eats, he has to take medicine that tells the pancreas not to produce any enzymes, which is what causes the pain of pancreatitis. The enzymes work on the pancreas instead of the food elsewhere in the digestive track. Pretty much every meal he makes a face about swallowing the capsules and drinking water, although he never used to have problems taking pills, and we get, “Do I have to take them?”

Mom didn’t fry much food at home and leaned toward cooking lower fat in many meals, but they did have fat in their diets—he more than she. The new low fat means no bacon. No eggs over easy in the bacon grease (or any other kind of fat). No potato chips or Fritos. No donuts, Shipley’s or otherwise. Little gravy or sauces. Small amounts of foods such as her delicious pork shoulders. Scant slices of pie or cookies.

No regular ice cream, as in no Blue Bell (if you are not a Texan, you will not understand the gravity of this situation). Dad used to have a bowl of Blue Bell pretty much every night somewhere between nine and nine thirty. He did eat other brands when Blue Bell was out of production last year, but that’s his favorite. Mom now gets him Dryer’s low fat and puts a couple of scoops in a small dish for him so he doesn’t overeat or know he’s not getting Blue Bell.

No regular butter. Dad likes butter. Sometimes he liked a little food with his butter. She has switched him to whipped butter in small amounts. Every time she puts it on the table for him, he says that it’s fake. We explain that it’s real. I’ve taken to saying that it’s the fancy-schmancy kind of real butter. He makes a dubious face and uses it.

That’s all an irritation because there’s still stuff we want to eat, like the pork shoulder or chuck burgers. Sometimes we all eat whatever he can handle. Sometimes we fix him something different, but that means cooking two meals. Now we are learning what he can tolerate, such as a small chuck burger grilled because the fat drips away, and that makes it a bit easier. But we still have to watch how much of it he eats. He’ll want extra servings of the roast or another roll with butter. No can do. That gets a dejected face.

Eating out is a bigger challenge. He has only a certain dish he likes at most restaurants, such as beef fajita enchiladas at Mexican restaurants. We could tell them no chips to avoid that fat, but Dad won’t change to tacos al carbon or fajitas that have the same meat but way less fat. Seafood restaurants mean fried shrimp. Or used to. We even have to watch other shrimp options, as they are usually cooked in butter. Burgers out are too greasy. No fries with the meal regardless of the main dish. That gets an annoyed face.

It’s a huge frustration to me because it also means I have lost my eating buddy. Mom isn’t big on stuff like fried chicken or the chili dogs at James Coney Island (Jimmy’s). I am. He is. A perfect match. Places like that were our go-to locations when we’d go without her. She got a break from thinking for two, and we got a fun meal out, yakking about all kinds of stuff as I drove, and during dinner, I’d pull out my phone and share silly stuff from Facebook that made him laugh. I still go on my own, like I would other times when I was out running errands, but it’s not the same because the fact that he cannot go with me ever again is always somewhere in my mind.

He doesn’t make a face about that. He doesn’t realize he can’t go—we aren’t going—to those places anymore. He’ll mention Jimmy’s or fried chicken, and we deflect in the moment about it being good, maybe another day, or that we’re having whatever else for dinner. And we never ever bring up those places even in casual conversation. Some of you will understand the gravity of the situation, especially regarding Jimmy’s.  

I guess there’s a benefit to the dementia. I tried to call it a blessing, but I can’t. He gets frustrated, even angry, in the moment about aspects of a meal, like not having seconds, but he doesn’t fully realize what is going on or remember later. His diet is repetitive. Lots of chicken, baked potatoes. We could feed him the same meal three times a day, and he wouldn’t know it.

There’s also the benefit from the diet. It’s healthier for all of us, and we’ve found or created some yummy recipes, such as glazes for fish, chicken and pork chops, and even some sweets, including donut muffins (see http://threewoodenspoons.com/2010/04/18/sugar-donut-muffins/ and don’t bother brushing with butter. Just use a couple of forks and roll them in the cinnamon and sugar right out of the oven). He’s lost about 20 pounds since June. Now if he’d just quit sending some of those pounds my direction when he gets rid of them.