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.