Rhinestone Cowboy

I've liked Glen Campbell since I was a little kid. I watched his specials on TV and memorized "Rhinestone Cowboy" while we drove across the country the summer it came out. (I'm surprised Dad didn't change the station whenever it came on as often as stations played it.) Reading about his struggles made me sad. When he recovered and cut a Gospel/Christian album, I bought it. I liked his singing and playing as much as I ever had.

A few years ago he announced he was suffering from Alzheimer's, the most common form of dementia. It was a reminder regardless of who you are, what you can do/did, or what you have in the world, the disease can strike. I'd already spent enough time volunteering with residents in the nursing home to know where he was going and was hurt to hear it. He continued touring, and I remember him commenting that although he had trouble remembering stuff, his hands remembered the music. It goes along with what we used to teach in College Reading and Study Skills--employ as many senses as you can when you are learning, including touch (for example, writing notes), because your body remembers the motions and helps your brain remember the information.

My uncle posted a link for me and my sister of Glen's daughter Ashley performing a song she co-wrote for her dad. She really nailed the journey we're all on when a loved one has dementia. Ashely explained in an interview, "I wanted to write something that expressed to my dad how much I wanted him to feel safe," she tells Rolling Stone Country. "I wanted to let him know that he didn't have to worry, that I'll take care of him when he can't take care of himself. The chorus of the song says, '[We can talk until you can't even remember my name]/Daddy, don't you worry, I'll do the remembering.' The song goes through the journey of how when you're little your parents take care of you and make the world not such a scary place. As you get older, those relationships change and kind of swap places. The kids are the ones taking care of the parents and making sure the world's not a scary place for them."

She's every bit as talented as her dad. I hope you enjoy the song too. (Thanks, Tim!)

http://www.rollingstone.com/music/news/see-ashley-campbells-home-movies-with-father-glen-20151028

 

A Dry Run

Mid-summer Mom started having problems with high blood pressure that included scary effects of numbness, tingling from her face down her arm. She went to the urgent care center because her doctor didn’t have an appointment available. Urgent care sent her to the ER. They didn’t want her driving. Thankfully, Dad had gone with her. She called me en route, and I let my boss know I might be leaving. Systolic was over 200 when she got there. 

She didn’t want me to let a bunch of people know what was happening, but I knew Dad couldn’t handle hearing all the information—wouldn’t be able to process it all—and I knew Mom didn’t need to try to handle him along with her health. I called friends of ours and told Marianne what had happened but not to put it on the prayer chain yet. Her response was, “We’re on our way.” They know where Dad is and are good at talking with him, answering the repeated questions and also working with anger. She stayed in touch with me via text messages and phone calls as I worked to get my editing done so I could leave when needed. 

When doctors decided late afternoon to admit Mom overnight to monitor her, I contacted my sister, who didn’t yet know she was at the hospital. She immediately canceled all her appointments and headed to the hospital. 

I finished my work, got what Mom needed for the night and went to join them. By the time I got there, Mom was settled in an observation room behind the ER, and she, Dad and Alice were giving the nurse a hard time. (Imagine that!) Mom’s biggest concern was getting Dad fed as he had refused to leave Mom even with Marianne staying there. Alice and I took him, leaving Mom in peace and quiet. 

Dad is to the point that he cannot stay alone for more than a few hours. He will forget to eat. He doesn’t remember where Mom has gone. He’ll get fixated on something he decides he needs to do and not be able to let it go. He doesn’t know what medicines to take when.  We had to figure out how to manage him, the dogs at the two households and my niece. 

Alice was great. Niece decided she could stay alone, which took care of her and their dogs. Alice volunteered to stay with Dad and took him to their house after dinner. I stayed with Mom a little longer to be sure she was settled and get final instructions for Dad, which we can’t do with him there. He is aware enough of what goes on that he would know we were talking about him, not with him. If not done right (“You and Terry are going to go have dinner, and she will bring you home. I’m going to play a game with the ladies.”), it’s like treating him like a little kid—something you must avoid with dementia patients.  I would stay home, which took care of my dogs, but be ready to go the few houses down, or back to the hospital, at a moment’s notice. I also remembered to let the nurses know if anything happened to call me, not Dad. 

When I got to the house, Dad was still upbeat. He had been during dinner, but I wasn’t sure what was going to happen with leaving Mom behind. We had to remind him a couple of times where Mom was, but not like sometimes, when we repeat information every few minutes. He helped me get the coffee together so he could push the button in the morning—part of his routine. I pulled Alice aside and gave her Mom’s advice, including sleep with the bedroom door open because he might go looking for her during the night and put sticky notes on the bathroom mirror and back door about Mom and one about the Tahoe being at the hospital. As I was leaving, Dad was making jokes about having an evening of fun without Mom there: a good sign. 

Alice said that he made it all the way until about 6:30 a.m. before he came looking for Mom. She reminded him of where she was, and Alice went ahead and started her day. Back at the hospital, they continued entertaining the nurses and other staff. As I wrote in an earlier blog, some things never change. 

We were grateful that test results came back normal, despite the BP still being high, and the doctors discharged her early afternoon. Dad drove her home. 

I’ve wondered what we’re going to do if Mom isn’t able to be his primary caregiver. It’s a full-time job. My job is such that I can work while with him, although I know it will slow me down. I’m not sure how it will be, though, with my dogs, as he doesn’t like dogs inside. In some ways, I think they would be good for him, but I also know it could be some stress for both of us. Assisted living is a possibility, but that’s expensive, and not my first choice for him, not now.  It’s been in the back of my mind for a long time, but Mom’s experience really brought it to the forefront. I hope it’s one of those situations where we make the plans without ever having to put them into action, but if we need to, we will pull together and make it work because that’s what we do—with the help of great family and friends.