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.
