Now that my readers have had a window into my experiences as a caregiver the big question is: How do you cope with a steadily progressing brain disease when no cure is possible and the ultimate resolution of the illness could take years, in some cases decades? The answer: by finding humor in the situation. When it first began to dawn on me that we were in for a long and tedious road I began talking to various people in order to get some perspective. One of my coworkers had a friend who worked in a home for Alzheimer's patients. She said that one of the patients was a former doctor in advanced stages of dementia. He thought he was a doctor at the facility and would try to make his rounds. The nurses found the only way to keep him happy was to give him a clipboard with patients he could visit. This was a great solution....except....sometimes he didn't feel like wearing clothes. Hmmmm, what to do? I never heard how they resolved this little problem other then shooing him back to his room. I guess you do what you can and laugh at the rest.
We have tried a lot of ways to keep Dad entertained. One favorite is to watch old episodes of Columbo. On a side note, Peter Falk had Alzheimer's. I cried the day I heard he passed away. He was always a big favorite growing up and even as an adult. We would sometimes do Columbo impressions "Just one more thing...not that it's very important...". Dad loves Columbo, but as with everything, he starts looping as soon as we pop the disk in the player. "COLUMBO!" he exclaims, "He's vertically challenged"....every time. Sometimes he will add, "I think that's why you like him." Yay, another short joke....but I've been short my whole life so I'm pretty well stocked on ammo.
Comeback 1: "Not vertically challenged, Dad, travel sized for your convenience!"
Comeback 2: "Not vertically challenged...new and improved portable model with a sleek, compact design!"
Comeback 3: "No, it's 'cause he's sexy!" (actually, I use this one most often just to see Dad's reaction...cracks him up.)
He also calls attention to Columbo's "slick looking car" (It's an import, dad! How can you not love a classy import?) and the fact that he's a "snappy dresser" (Nah, Dad, he's totally hot, he must have women falling all over him). Columbo is an easy favorite and tends to be our fall back when we are out of new ideas.
We also bought another old series that few people will probably remember: Baa Baa Black Sheep. I knew this would be a home run before I even bought it. Dad loved this back in the '70s. He would watch it every week and I would make popcorn and a root beer float for him while he watched. What I didn't expect when we bought the first season for him was the landslide of loops I was about to trigger. Dad is an encyclopedia of WWII aircraft trivia....and he LOVES to give pop quizzes. Admittedly I didn't come prepared for the pilot episode. Dad would ask me "What kind of plane is that?" and I would reply, "I don't know, what is it?" He could never just answer the question, he had to fain disappointment, slumping his shoulders, groaning and putting his hand to his head...THEN he would tell me, "It's a Vought Sikorsky Corsair!! What was the model number?" Right, because if I don't know the name what are the odds I'll know the model number??? "F4U!!" he would blast at me. The irony of the model number made it easy to remember ("F" for you...for not knowing). He loves to rub it in when he knows something I don't. He acts like it's proof how much smarter he is then me, but he also doesn't know I take notes. As always the question came again a few minutes later, "What kind of plane is that?" "Corsair", I replied. "Okay, but what's the whole name?" he pressed. "Vought Secousky?" "Sikorsky!! Not too bad...but what was the model number?" ...ready...set..."F4U!"
"WOW!! How did you know that?"...oh, let me think...
He would test me about the real people on whom the series was based, other planes used in the series, and, a big point of contention, what kind of dog was Meatball, Pappy's pet. He would ask "What kind of dog is that?" and I would reply, "Bull Terrier." He would do the whole disappointed slump, groan and verbal slap, "It's a PIT BULL!" Against my better judgement I would argue, "Sorry, Dad, I know my dogs, and THAT is a Bull Terrier. A Pit Bull is a lot larger with a box shaped head." Then I pulled up both dogs on my android to prove the difference. Unfortunately, even after proving my point, somewhere in his psyche he just could not accept being wrong, so after a few minutes he would try again..."What kind of dog is Meatball, Erin?" Pulling up the picture again on my android I would insist, "He's a Bull Terrier, Dad." When he would start to protest I would again Google "pit bull" to show him the difference. This argument was never fully resolved...the idea of being proven wrong when he was so sure he was correct was unfathomable to Dad. I'm not sure why I couldn't just let him win. Maybe it's because he so often feels the need to belittle me, everyone, really, with his comparatively vast knowledge of the world. Knowing he is wrong and being able to prove it to him is a rare and sweet pleasure for now.
Mike often came over to watch "Black Sheep" with us. I prepared him well, and he aced his first pop quiz. As with anything, though, the looping quizzes grew old and tiresome. Dad would start to say, "Okay, time for a quiz....what kind of...?" and instead of waiting for the question I would just rattle off all the answers I knew, "Vought Sikorsky Corsair, F4U, B10, Greg "Pappy" Boyington, NOT a pit bull but a bull terrier...".
"Oh", he would respond, "have I already asked those questions?" We knew it was time to find another movie or series when we became a little too silly with our answers to the pop quizzes.
Question: "What kind of plane is that?"
Correct answer: Vought Sikorsky Corsair, F4U. (impressed remark from Dad here)
New answer: A blue one! (slump, groan, "why me" look from Dad)
Question: "Who is that in front of the plane?"
Correct answer: Greg "Pappy" Boyington (impressed remark)
New answer: A dude! (slump, groan, "why me")
Second guess: A white dude? ("wiseass!!!")
Question: "What kind of dog is Meatball?"
Correct answer: Bull Terrier (slump, groan, "why me")
Dad's answer: Pit bull (I never give this answer so he is never impressed)
New answer: A f-ugly one! ("wiseass!!!")
Okay, maybe it was wrong to have quite so much fun at his expense, but at least it lightened the mood for a few visits.
For a while we tried to find games he could enjoy. One really good one was Jenga. Everyone had fun and plotting his next move seemed to stimulate his mind a bit. For some reason, though he just stopped wanting to play and preferred to watch. This kind of defeated the purpose. We also tried Dominoes but he found that hard to follow so we ended up just setting them up in patterns and pushing them down. Outlets come and go but we keep trying, hoping to keep his pilot light momentarily lit. I'm sure a day will come when the light won't come on anymore, but until then we will continue as we do, trying new things.
At the end of the evening the ritual of saying goodbye begins with him hoisting himself out of his chair, stubbornly refusing help, and shuffling toward the back door, letting the dog out to do his business as we walk to the car port. I give him a hug and a kiss after dealing with the usual protests to my leaving. Then he always says the same thing, "Okay, try to be a good girl".
I reply, "I'll do my best but I make no promises. Don't throw any wild parties while I'm gone." .
"Well okay...maybe just a small one", he says with a chuckle. Then I see a glimpse of his protective side, "Remember, when you get home, one ring so I know you made it safely".
I answer with my best Lily Tomlin operator voice, "One ringy dingy!"
As I pull out of the long driveway I look back. Dad always waves goodbye with both hands. When I see this I respond with a triple honk on my horn.
Bye, Dad, see you soon.
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