DHA and micronutrients may prevent brain shrinkage with age

DHA and micronutrients may prevent brain shrinkage with age

A Thanksgiving dessert recommendation for your Alzheimer's patient

http://www.tasteloveandnourish.com/2013/05/09/blueberry-crisp/

I made this dessert keeping in mind that my dad is addicted to sweets and we need healthier alternatives to brownies and cookies. Keeping in mind that coconut oil and blueberries are recommended for Alz patients I substituted coconut oil for the recommended butter. If anyone wants to try the same, it is a 1:1 substitution. This crisp is delicious and goes great with frozen yogurt. Every bit as good if not better then blueberry pie. Also interesting is the potential of flax seed and walnuts for protecting and preventing brain degeneration.
Happy Thanksgiving!! Peace, love and joy to all!!

She-Hulk Gripe session!!

Okay, let's begin with I am not perfect, my family is not perfect, my days are hopelessly imperfect. I have three dogs who are only mostly house broken: Penny, who makes a point of turning all of Allison's dolls into amputees and is obsessed with dragging the larger doggie beds through the tiny dog door and into the back yard (I have no idea why she prefers them out there but am impressed she is able to do it at all), Skyloe, who hordes any wrappers he can fish out of the trash behind the couch, and Fartin' Martin who pretends to be sweet but when you aren't looking will lift his leg and claim various pieces of furniture as his personal property.

There are no neatniks in my family. Kelly's room looks like a bomb went off in a teen clothing store. Allison keeps most clutter on her dresser and desk but the debris from her projects migrates under all the furniture, particularly her bed. A few days ago I was helping her scoot all the hidden rubble out from under her bed with a broom and commented that I would not be at all surprised to find Jimmy Hoffa under there. Someday she may think that was funny but at the time she just gave me confused look.

Mike...he's not clean. His quirks have become legendary. One of my favorite is his craving for whole cans of chocolate frosting, the remnants of which I find in some of the weirdest hiding places. I discovered this idiosyncrasy when we became engaged and moved in together. One morning as I was still trying to wake up, I hopped into the shower and without looking reached for the shampoo. I felt a container that was definitely not a shampoo bottle, looked down and realized I was holding a can of Betty Crocker Rich & Creamy Chocolate frosting. Did I mention I was IN THE SHOWER? Later when I spoke to him all I could say was "That's quite a habit, baby." We have been married almost 13 years and as I write this there is a half eaten can of Hershey's cake frosting on his night stand. (Incidentally, he is not fat! I don't have a clue where he puts it.) Shoes and clothing litter his side of the bed so with each residence we have occupied, his side of the bed is determined by which one is not visible from the doorway.

That is not to say I am the cleanest person, either. I have what could be deemed an organized mess. The most frequent pair of shoes are placed on my side of the bed along with my slippers, the rest going into the closet as I prefer my shoes undamaged from being kicked around...so shoes are not really my big problem. My issue: I am an incurable stacker. I have a lifelong habit of stacking items for re-use. In order to preserve my clothing I usually will wear each item (other than socks and undies) at least twice before washing. Often I will lay the item to be re-worn over the end of the bed. After a while I have a stack of reusables waiting for their next wear. Sometimes they get so overstacked that they slide to the floor. Of course, this habit extends to other things such as books, dvds and mail as well. Little towers of things to wear, watch, read and use are my personal neurosis marking every residence I have taken in my adult life.

Before becoming a caretaker, my house was chaos so to expect that my family will suddenly become cleaner because of the pressure imposed by the caretaker schedule is not only unrealistic but hilariously absurd.  It is expected of all of the caregivers to make some effort to clean up their messes as they occur so that no one person is burdened with the upkeep of dad's laundry, dishes or grocery shopping. I think it works well for Dad but sometimes it is unclear who has what additional duties beyond cleaning up after dinner. With Dad's diminished ability to recognize a problem when it occurs the ideal situation would be for each caretaker to make a cursory patrol of the house to see if anything is amiss and report back to the others if it is more then a one person job...but what is ideal and what is put into practice frequently clash.

Minor catastrophes that have gone unchecked until they bordered on major ones are as follows:

• Slow flushing toilet in a remote back bathroom that apparently all the younger kids used (because it was conveniently close to a toy room) but none felt obligated to tell us when clogged. It took a "What is that SMELL?" demand and a household search for "what died" to bring it to general attention.

• Broken, and I mean split in half, "bite you on the ass when you sit down" toilet seat in bathroom by the car port. I never heard a reasonable explanation for this but if one ever materializes I will be sure to relate it to my readers.

• Leaking sink in the kitchen causing swollen floor boards.

• Broken water heater related to the kitchen making hand washing difficult in summer and excruciating in winter. Fortunately, Dad had a separate water heater for the bedroom area so at least bathing and grooming remained reasonably comfortable until we could attend to the problem.

• Broken AC in mid summer. Much like the water heaters, Dad has two A/Cs , one for the back bedroom and one for the front of the house. This repair didn't seem to be an emergency until we realized he rarely spent time in the bedroom. Such heat as we have in Texas can be life threatening to an elderly person. Definitely an emergency.

• Pipe leak in the back yard. It was not obvious at first but when we realized during one of the driest Texas summers in decades that Dad's backyard was a swamp, the only explanation was a pipe leak. His water bill was outrageous and the additional mosquitoes when everyone was spooked about West Nile Virus were pretty scary, too.

Minor emergencies followed minor emergencies in what should be a relatively new house. Once one repair was made another unrelated one would pop up...as Mike said so eloquently, Dad's household repairs became "a plethora of 'FUCK!'"

We handle each problem as they happen but they are a drain to Dad's retirement. I have been asked, "Wouldn't a retirement community be easier, less expensive?" Well, yes, and it would kill him as I have said before. I know sooner or later we will need to start liquidating assets. Dad's SUV is not very old and has incredibly low mileage on it. It would probably be fairly easy to sell and bring a reasonable price. The problem with that is by selling the SUV the carport becomes empty creating the illusion that no one is home and possibly increasing the danger when there is no care taker at the house. For now, selling the SUV is not an option.

So what is this gripe session about? When I get home from a long day at work followed by a rousing evening of taking care of Dad, walk through the door to find a dismembered Barbie, a disemboweled dog bed, dishes in the sink rather than the dishwasher, the back door open, TV on (no one watching it), wrappers, cans and other debris on the floors and counter...let's just say I'm just a few gamma rays short of turning green and putting some offspring through the drywall.

Two nights in a row this week, Mike has awakened to me slamming things around cleaning up what should have been someone else' job on a night I take care of my father. He tries to calm me down and promises to help and light a fire under the girls butts. However, in fairness to Mike, his plate is outrageously full as well.

Today we took a family trip to the Container Store to figure out what each daughter would need to get her room together. Mike, the girls and I will have a family dinner meeting this evening. I am hoping the major discussion will be teamwork. I will let you know how that works out...but I make no promises and hope for no lies.
(to be continued, and continued, and continued)

Buddy, the Unlikely Hero!

This is Buddy, Daddy's best friend and possibly his salvation!

It is no secret that our family is way beyond animal friendly. We always had pets when I was growing up, sometimes as many as seven at a time. Dad could never turn away a stray and sometimes it almost seemed the strays of the neighborhood actually were given our address as a sure thing for a new home. There was even a time when Mom, Dad and I were sitting on the porch enjoying lunch when out of the corner of my eye I saw something blue flit through my peripheral vision and land on and antique bird cage that mom had converted into a hanging plant holder. I looked more closely and realized it was a parakeet! I motioned to Dad to look at the little lost orphan and he lit up. Without hesitation he gently approached the bird, "Hello, sweetie pie! Are you lost?" The tiny bird didn't resist as dad wrapped his hand around him and brought him inside. He then gave me his credit card and instructed me to go get a proper cage and seed for our new guest. We named him Petey the Parakeety. When we spoke about the luck of him choosing our specific house it seemed obvious that he actually landed on the antique cage  because it probably appeared to be the closest thing he could find resembling his previous home. He and Dad had a special relationship. I can honestly say that he is the only parakeet I have ever heard sing as though he was a song bird, but every morning when Dad would walk into the kitchen and greet Petey, the little blue fellow began to chirp happily like he was talking to his best friend. He was a wonderful bird and Dad loved him dearly...for an accidental pet, he was sorely missed when he eventually passed.


After Dad ended his falconry/raptor rehabilitation/re-population project we only had two cats. Although Mom was sensitive to animal dander she loved our cats, Tom and Timmy. They were indoor/outdoor cats and caused very little trouble. We were all very attached to both of them, each having lived 17 and 18 years respectively. For Mom, losing Timmy was very hard. He was her little friend, cuddling with her and comforting her when Dad would work late or have to leave for a seminar or and airshow. He died suddenly of kidney failure. I don't think Mom could open her heart to another pet like that again. Tom was everyone's cat but mostly Dad's and mine. He was tiny but tough; a brawler, familiar with every cat in the neighborhood. It seemed as if he used up not only his own nine lives but perhaps borrowed a few from Timmy. Dad adored him and when guests would come over he would pick Tom up, put him on the table and brag about how "solid" his little orange cat was. Tom was so muscular you could feel every ripple in his back and shoulders. Dad was very proud of his little scrapper. At age 17 Tom seemed like he would live forever, but one day he lost a fight and his eyes were scratched, blinding him. Tom refused to eat after that fight, willing himself to die presumably because he could not imagine continuing life as a blind cat. His little body became emaciated in a matter of three weeks. A week before Dad and Mom were to attend an out of town medical seminar, Dad said if Tom was still alive when they got back we would do the right thing and have him put down. The morning they were set to return, Tom, who was sleeping beside me woke up crying. I pulled him close and talked to him, stroking him. He only lasted another 10 minutes and I felt his breathing slipping away. I was glad Dad didn't have to make the decision to let his little friend go. Poor Tom had made up his mind to leave quietly on his own. I still consider him one of the best cats we've ever had.

It seemed neither of my parents were inclined to rush out and get a new cat or dog, after that. When Mom died, they had no pets at all. Mom had her garden, Dad had his airplanes and they had frankly been burned out by all of the animals  running their lives for so many years. Maybe they just needed a breather, especially when looking forward to retirement...but then Mom's unexpected death changed everything.

I am not sure how common was dad's reaction to losing his spouse, but he took no time off work other then the day of the funeral. In fact I think he threw himself into as many  surgeries as he could handle in order to postpone his grief for as long as possible during those first few weeks. We all worried about him coming home to an empty house after work. When we all pitched in to get Mickey, a bird seemed like a great solution...but after a while it was clear that Dad needed a better pet then just a living, eating, pooping, noisemaker. He needed a companion. The grief alone underlined his isolation enough that we were concerned for his mental health. The growing memory issues and suggestion of grief related dementia amplified our worries even more.

Right as we were in the process of hiding dad's keys and modifying our schedules to help him, my nephew, Bradley, and his girlfriend at the time bought a puppy. The beautiful black and white fur ball was completely irresistible, full of puppy energy and just the thing to distract dad from his growing loneliness. Suddenly Dad was inspired by a new idea: he wanted a dog. At first I think some of us were a bit reluctant to introduce yet another pet into his rapidly shrinking world but Dad was insistent. He had not had a dog since the late '70s and, without a partner to protest, who could really argue with such a strong need for companionship? Paula and Hillary brought Dad to the local animal shelter and browsed a wide variety of dogs. None of us were unfamiliar with the proven benefits of therapy dogs, but I do think my sisters were expecting him to choose a smaller breed. Small, it turned out, was not at all what dad had in mind. In fact, I believe he really was looking to reincarnate his childhood pet: a black labrador retriever he had named Buddy.  What he found was a gorgeous, six month old, Austrian Shepherd mix with a dark black and copper tortoise shell coat. It seemed the only name Dad would even consider was Buddy...and it suited him better then we could ever have imagined.

It was kind of funny watching Dad adjust to having a pet again. For the first few weeks he would wake up, see Buddy and ask whoever was around, "Who's dog is that? Is he yours?" forgetting that the gangly newcomer was now a permanent resident. After a while it finally sunk in. Buddy was his new companion.

We worried that such a large dog, still uncoordinated and not even fully grown, might actually be a danger given Dad's weakened physical state. Although Buddy's exuberance threatened to throw Dad off balance many times, his energy also motivated Dad outside to throw balls and frisbees. Dad had a large fence installed and a zip line leash to keep Buddy under control until he was better trained. Constantly concerned for Buddy's well being, he would loop on whether or not Buddy had been fed.
"Yes, Dad, I just fed him", we each reassured him.
"A whole can?" he pressed.
"A whole can!" we would confirm.
This loop still happens every time anyone visits. I think it is the one loop that nobody ever minds. Dad is just looking after his little friend and that loving concern is completely appropriate.

Over the year that followed his adoption, Buddy proved not only that he was a good friend but probably the best dog dad could ever have chosen. 

More than anyone else, Buddy successfully got Dad out of his chair every day. Even during a sports game, he would sit patiently in front of Dad and stare at him as if to say, "Why would anyone want to WATCH a game when you could go out and actually PLAY frisbee?" Dad would always give in and go out, enjoying tossing of whatever Buddy would bring him, watching his furry pal find sticks to show him and chase squirrels around the yard. After a nice romp, they would go inside for a snack. Buddy would wait for the last bite of whatever Dad was eating knowing that Dad would invariably share a taste with him. After that they would turn on the TV, watch a show together and play "lap puppy". I think if Buddy ever were to look at his reflection in the mirror he would be thoroughly surprised to find that he is not a Chihuahua. All Dad has to say is "Come, on!" and Buddy hops into his lap trampling Dad's stomach and groin as he finds a comfy position to nap.

Buddy is the definition of a therapy dog. He has given Dad his unconditional love, motivation to live and someone for Dad to look after...and he looks after Dad, accepting Dad as, not only his best friend, but his personal responsibility to guard and protect.  Buddy is an essential and irreplaceable part of Dad's survival and we owe him a huge debt of gratitude....and perhaps a few tons of jerky treats.
 

Note to my readers...Smile, it's a beautiful journey!

Well I tried to re-share my first blog entry and was giving a description letting you all know my intent...but blogger cut me off before I finished my comment. hahaha...Blogger is a bit impatient today. Anyway, what I intended to convey is that this journal is to help other people caring for someone they love who has any kind of affliction whether it is Alzheimer's, dementia, cancer, paralysis, etc., in such a way that they might learn to love the journey, find the humour (there is much more humor to be found in the life of a caregiver then I think is generally shared. Too much focus is placed on the sadness and desperation when the journey can be such a loving experience). I hope my readers can laugh, love and cope along with me and if they feel so inclined, share their thoughts and experiences with others as well.
Peace, all of my readers and friends.
~Erin

Perspectives: "Even the worst memories become precious"(part 2)

We all give what time we can to dad. Some of us are more generous than others with our time. I can tell you that Hillary gives her time to an extreme level, but as I mentioned before, I think it is a way of grieving for Dad before he is actually lost. I fear for her and how his eventual passing will effect her. The one thing I know for sure is that he loves her visits. Her lively conversation brightens his day, makes him laugh and, in a way, is easier on him then chatting with others because Hillary dominates the conversation. She really chatters the whole time she is there and doesn't stop until she leaves. Most of my visits start with me trying to scoot her out of the house. Like Columbo, there is always "Just one more thing..." she has to say, ask or show him.
Even Dad is shoving her out the door after a while, "Go home! Try to be a good girl!" he insists.
 "I don't have anything going on in my life to get me into trouble", she laughs (true, Dad IS her life) and then she wrangles her giant boxer dog out the door.
While this is going on, I sit back and try to stay out of the way. Her time is her time and I don't want to interfere. He so enjoys her company I don't yet have the heart to get annoyed with her. From inside the house I can hear her jabber all the way to her car. After she drives off and Dad shuffles back in, he always smiles and shakes his head. "JEEZ!!!" he sighs loudly, followed by a chuckle.
I snicker, "I know, right?? I want to tell her 'TAKE A BREATH FOR HEAVEN'S SAKE!'"  We both laugh and continue with our visit...but it's a fun note on which to begin.

In stark contrast, Paula is so very level headed and her visits are more subdued. Her entire Sunday is spent with Dad, attending church, covering bills, discussing whatever the business at hand may be, or catching a sports game on TV. She also usually surprises him with a homemade dessert of some kind. Recently I noticed that the lock on dad's back door was a little sticky and although it would probably be an easy fix, I suggested to Mike that we make an unannounced stop on Sunday afternoon to take care of the problem. Mike and I walked in and saw Dad sitting at the table eating (or, rather, not eating) lunch with Paula, her 4 year old grand daughter running around in the family room, playing. Mickey's bird cage had been pulled up to the table so he could also enjoy the company. I wondered what had transpired prior to our arrival because Paula seemed a bit tense. It could have been anything, maybe not even having to do with Dad or the visit. Dad didn't talk much. I was struck by how old and frail he looked. Was I that oblivious during my visits that I had to see him in a group to recognize how much he had aged? He seemed 10 years older then just the year before. Maybe it was just because I mostly see him at night and the dimmer lights are kind. 

We said our hellos and set to the task of fixing the door. Dad kept asking, "Who's over there? What are they doing?" and Paula would explain again and again, "Mike and Erin stopped by to fix your lock." I know that having to repeat herself was starting to get to her but at least it didn't take very long...and we are all pretty used to the loops by now.
When we finished we sat down with them for a while. Paula kept reminding him to eat and continued with the rest of the day's business, but she thanked us profusely for taking care of the lock rather then leaving it to someone else. Really it was no big deal; it needed to be done. As rigid as her approach has always appeared to me, she bids farewell with such tenderness, hugging him and kissing his cheek before she leaves. "I love you Daddy", she says softly. For a moment the rigidness is gone and his loving daughter comforts him. She is a living angel. I wonder what stage of grief she may be experiencing. She seems to have accepted our daily reality, perhaps even more so than the rest of us, but I think she wants to believe that Dad is not so far into the disease as recent events would indicate.

My readers may notice I don't bring up Tom's care giving style often. Believe me, he plays a crucial part but because our visits never overlap I never have much of an opportunity to see how he handles situations. The one thing he has to offer that the rest of us do not is his stories about flying. I am sure he fills much of his visits with new tales of aerobatic competitions, planes he's planning to build and Danielle's budding interest in becoming a pilot. He also brings his wife and Danielle to visit and, as we all do, feeds dad and Buddy, and makes sure Dad takes his meds. While he, like all of us, considers this schedule an imposition, he soldiers on and has played an important role in filling in when one of us is unable to take a shift. Considering his long work hours, his wife's illness and the fact that he has a teenage daughter, I don't think anyone could really ask much more from his contribution.


Not to be overlooked, Bradley, my nephew also takes  at least one shift a week. As a grandchild, I think it is only fair that he takes the fewest shifts. He has a new wife and a toddler to think about and having just started his engineering career I think we all can agree that if Dad were in his right mind he would be completely opposed to Bradley being shouldered with the additional burden of caring for his aging grandfather. That he contributes at all is a gift for which we are all grateful...and he does a remarkable job with the few shifts he is allotted.

When it comes right down to the brass tacks of our little group of caregivers, everyone who helps is important and no matter how large or small the effort, anything that lightens the load is appreciated. Our system of visits is probably the only barrier between Dad and a group care facility. I don't know how much longer we can endure since the symptoms are becoming more difficult to deal with daily.

My formerly eloquent father tries so hard to talk intelligently but, especially in the past three months I have noticed him grasping for words, struggling over language like trying to ride a bike through gravel. He knows instinctively what he is trying to say but can't get the traction he needs when it comes to vocalizing his thoughts. He stammers, stumbles and slides around, sometimes giving up in mid sentence. When this happens I help him out as best I can but I know it hurts his pride. Sometimes it's best to let him drop his thought or help him by changing the subject entirely.

In addition to his speech problems his mobility is becoming alarmingly limited. Dad struggles to dig himself out of his chair when nature calls. I refuse to invade his privacy when he does this but as he shuffles to the bathroom I know I won't see him again for at least a half an hour, the implication being that he struggles just as much, if not more, using the facilities then he does getting in and out of his chair. Occasionally if it seems he has been gone for an unusually long time I will call out, "Dad? You okay in there?"  I hear some shuffling followed by an annoyed, "I'm coming, I'm coming..."
"Just making sure you didn't fall in", I tease.
"Wisass..." he replies with muffled humor.

Getting up and down is one thing, but when whoever has the morning shift finds him sitting in the same chair he was in when the last caregiver left the night before, wearing the same clothes, with no lights or TV on, we all know that more then likely he has not moved since his last visit. I have read enough about Alzheimer's to know that one of the advanced stages is such loss of mobility that the afflicted patient ends up confined to a bed or chair. I fear Dad has already chosen his spot. Keeping him moving, motivating him out of it is essential if we are to continue any reasonable quality of life.
....and that's where Buddy comes in.

(to be continued with Buddy, Dad's Hero)

Perspectives: Grieving the living

Over the past few months it seems like my father's condition is getting noticeably more advanced. All of us are handling it in our own way but I think Hillary is taking it the hardest. She has always had a hard time accepting impending loss. Over the past two years she has changed her own life for the better by becoming a vegetarian and losing sixty pounds. Now, Hillary thinks she can not only slow dad's decline through diet but actually reverse his Alzheimer's. At the time of this writing, there is no known way to reverse Alzheimer's through diet or any other means. If there is a way through medication, it is still not available to the public.
I have personally begun changing certain aspects of my diet in order to postpone Alzheimer's onset should I be so unfortunate as to acquire this condition in future years. Things pop up all the time in the media...what to eat, what to avoid, what can speed up the disease and speculation on what slows it down. Personally I eat homemade salads everyday, kale, onions, fresh tomatoes and carrots are frequent ingredients. Although I am not vegetarian I eat very little meat. What I do eat is very lean. Chicken breasts are grilled or roasted, not fried. Fish  is made on the grill...never farmed, either, and I pay attention to mercury levels. All of these things are relatively easy to research on the web.

The most recent thing I am looking into is something Hillary and Paula both brought up. Apparently there is some new evidence that suggests that coconut oil can slow the progress of the disease. Now Hillary has added two enormous coconut oil capsules to his daily meds. There has been no notable difference so far but I will keep observing for any progress. Truthfully, I don't believe it is possible to reverse his condition. At this point I am more concerned about improving his quality of life, as I am sure we all are. I want whatever best serves his remaining happiness. Unfortunately, so often his happiness and what will prolong his life are completely at odds. The brilliant, creative part of him has long gone. It is a moral dilemma between health and happiness. Selfishly I want to hang onto Dad but intellectually I know he is almost 80, unable to fly or build airplanes, unmotivated to leave his house for anything other then taking Buddy out to his backyard. Hillary believes, as do I, that the Aricept isn't doing diddly squat. Even if Kale, coconut oil, tomatoes or any homeopathic remedy can slow the effects of this insidious disease, the moral question becomes: to what end? So he can look forward to Columbo re-runs, more grudging visits from increasingly weary caretakers, or more looping conversations leaving him vaguely aware of the humiliation of losing his intellectual prowess...his primary source of pride. I struggle with this every day. It is unfair and inhumane, but he is my dad and until I have a clear understanding of what is truly right for him or some genuine breakthrough in Alzheimer's treatment is available I will continue to try to make him smile and give him a sense that he is loved, and loved by many.

I believe I understand and sympathize with Hillary's pain. I think she carries tremendous guilt about Jenny's death. Hillary couldn't save Jenny although she tried for years over and over to dry her out and get her back on track. I wonder if she blames herself for that. Having personally discovered the health benefits of vegetarian diet she is convinced that that is how she will cure Dad. One time I had brought him a steak sandwich. She begged me to scrape off some of the meat. I only did it that one time. He didn't get past the first three bites. As far as he was concerned, a sandwich without meat was pointless. How could she possibly expect him to embrace this idea when he can hardly hold a reasonably complex conversation?

This is how she grieves. For Hillary, grieving is an endless maze of saving and fixing things. When it comes right down to it, we are all experiencing the stages of grief. We are grieving for those parts of Dad that disappear everyday...a death of sorts on a continuous basis. To grieve the living seems strange but it is so obvious that that is exactly what is happening. Hillary is in the bargaining phase...."If I can just feed him the right things...If I can make him like certain things...if I can get him to not like sweets, meat, fat, etc....maybe he will stay a little longer. Maybe I can cure him."

I went through the anger phase for quite a while. I resented the visits and how they cut into my time with my children. Being the only one of my family with two children in school it angered me that I was expected to carry exactly the same number of shifts as others. Even Kelly voiced her own anger at the situation. "Why do you have to be there on week nights? Don't they understand you have a family at home?" When Allison's school work started to suffer I blamed the schedule, and in effect Dad, for my inability to properly supervise her homework. Mike was unable to be home early in the evening with his wholesale store hours. Why not bring her along on visits? As I have mentioned in previous posts, Dad was beginning to ask her embarrassing questions about her physical development. Allie has a good heart and as such she is also very sensitive to comments about her physical appearance. I couldn't expose her to a repeated line of questioning likely to make her feel self conscious, no matter how well meaning Dad might be. Although her grades were good, her ADHD almost kept her from being promoted to the 6th grade because of her difficulty completing standardized tests.

Because of this struggle to insure she was promoted along with the rest of the class I almost threw in the towel. I prepared an email to Paula detailing the problems the schedule had created in the lives of my family and offering to give up any portion of my inheritance to pay for additional home care for Dad. After thinking about what I had written I sent a message to Tom asking him to read it and tell me what he thought. It took him a while to get back to me but when he did, he surprised me.
"Don't send this yet, Erin. Let's think about this. What is your main problem? Time with your kids, right?" he pressed.
"Exactly", I agreed. "My kids are paying the price because I'm never around to help them when they need me."
"Well....what about this", he suggested, "I want to fly my plane on weekends and Anne stays home with Casey on weeknights, so I'm pretty well covered. What if you trade your Monday and Wednesday shifts for my Thursday and Saturday shifts? That way you get time with your kids when it matters most and I get my flying time."
I thought about it. It really was a near perfect solution. Time with the kids would be available and there would be a nice long break in between my last shift and my next shift. I accepted his offer and am happy to say it is working out beautifully. It is fair to say that my stress level has decreased, involvement in my children's homework and activities has improved dramatically and my positive attitude is returning. A side effect is that I believe I have become more compassionate as a caretaker. For a while Dad's repeated questions were a source of constant aggravation. Once I was able to take a step back and not feel so suffocated I began to look at the bigger picture. Dad needs us so much and he is frightened. He doesn't want to die and if it's going to happen, this is the worst imaginable way from his point of view...having to witness his intellect slowly leaking away.

Recently I came to his house on a Saturday for a lunch visit. I had traded my evening shift for my nephew's lunch shift. I was pressed for time that day because I was matron of honor for a wedding and in charge of the bachelorette party that night. I had a couple of short hours to visit and then would need to cut out fast.

Usually when I walk into the house Dad greets me the same way. From his chair he sees me, throws out his arms with a bright smile and says "HEY! It's the LITTLE KID!!" and gives me a big hug and a kiss. This time was different...very different.

I walked in, greeted Buddy and walked to the TV room where Dad was sitting as usual, but he was sitting forward in his chair with a worried look on his face. Dad looked up as I entered  the room.
"Hi, Daddy...you okay?" I asked.
"Erin....?" he began.
This startled me. He had not called me by name in over a year. In fact, if he called me by name it was by one of my sisters names, never my own. I had been deemed "the little kid" or "wiseass".
I walked over and lowered myself into the chair beside him, placing my hand on his arm.
"What's wrong, Daddy?"
"Are my parents separated? I haven't seen them together in years", he said. I was thunderstruck.
"No, Dad, your parents never separated...How about we take a walk?" I suggested, trying to sort out in my mind how I would explain the last twenty years to him. He agreed to walk. It was, after all, a beautiful fall day. Dad's backyard is about half the size of a high school football field. We walked around  it twice as I explained that his father had developed prostate cancer about twenty years ago, how his mother never left his father's side. They never separated. I then related how his mother lived another ten years, into her early nineties but that by the time she passed she really didn't recognize anyone anymore. She was surrounded by her loved ones until the very end. Although he was very somber he took it extremely well. He only commented, "Wow...I don't have any memory at all of any of that."

We continued to walk and chat about the beautiful weather and how much Buddy was reveling in running through the leaves. Then Dad did something remarkable. As we walked he found a dead branch laying on the ground. It was about four feet long and water logged from the recent rain. Dad took great trouble to keep his balance as he bent to pick it up. I held his elbow to keep him from stumbling as he stood. He then shuffled over to the chain link fence with as much purpose as I had seen in him in quite some time and, holding one end of the branch, he swung it like an axe smashing it in half on the fence post. Dad looked at the remaining half in his hand and tossed it over the fence as well.
He had a strange little smile on his face as he shuffled back to me.
"I'm not ready to die yet," he said defiantly.
I smiled back, "That's awesome, Dad! We aren't ready for you to die either."
With that, we went back in and had lunch. Great visit. Enlightening day. I wouldn't trade it for the world.
 (to be continued)

Perspectives...starting with Mom

Alzheimer's patients view their world very differently then the people and care givers around them. They don't know how their disease effects the emotions and reactions of others because so often they are not aware of the disease symptoms as they occur. I can use a lot of current examples but I think a better demonstration would be a story, not about my Dad, but about my Mom.

As I have mentioned, Dad had a plastic surgery practice. Hillary, Paula, Mom and I all worked there. As a family business, sometimes there were perks to the job. My mom had several procedures that kept her gorgeous over the years. One year, because her lips looked a bit thin, she decided to get fat injections to her lips. If you have ever known anyone who has had this procedure you may know that for the first week after the procedure it is best not to make any public appearances because your lips are bizarrely swollen. After mom's fat injections she looked quite strange...kind of like Howard the Duck. We actually called her "Mommy Ducky" for a week.  Knowing that she didn't look quite like herself Dad asked her not to come into the office during the afternoon when he was seeing patients for post-op visits and new consultations. As usual, Mom returned to work earlier then most but stayed only until after the morning surgeries as Dad had requested. One day that week, right after the morning surgeries while everyone was relaxing and grabbing a quick lunch in the kitchen, we heard a knock at the reception window at the front of the office.  "Hello?" someone was calling out, "We're trying to find the hospital. Can anyone give us directions?"

Mom bounded up to the desk, picked up a notepad and pencil, handed them to the man and woman standing at the window and started with the directions, "If you go out the front of this building you will need to turn out of the parking lot going east for about a mile...". The couple just stood there staring at mom's lips. The pencil was not moving. It was as if they were in a trance, unable to stop staring. From the kitchen Paula saw what was happening and realized that Mom's attempt to help was useless when combined with her ridiculously swollen mouth. Paula raced to the desk saying, "STOP! STOOOOP! They can't hear you! They're just watching you bounce your lips off each other!!"

I miss the hilarious stories about Mom. When she passed my world imploded. I can remember thinking, "Why can't I go with you?" It is an ache that will never go away. Sara still lived in Texas at the time. She had lost her mother two years earlier after an extended illness. A week after mom passed she could see how hard it had been for me watching my mom slip away. One day she came over with a small gift bag. "I have something for you", she said. I reached into the bag and pulled out a beautiful peach colored journal. On the inside cover she had written a note. "Write everything...all of your feelings, the love, the sorrow, the anger. I did this when my own mother passed. Sometimes I read what I wrote to her and find peace through those letters and through remembering. You  will find when you look back, even the worst memories will become precious." She also included two poems and a beautiful copy of my mother's obituary. I didn't remember writing in it and went looking for the journal yesterday. I did write in it...once. The letter to my mother was a five page outpouring of grief and guilt and a plea to her to comfort Dad who agonized that she might not have known how much he loved her. I couldn't read it all the way through so Mike read it to me.

I have kept so many of my mother's belongings... jewelry, photos, clothing. I recall so much about her...her platinum hair, her worn looking feet (the only part of her that was not beautiful), her arms, her hands, even her unpainted nails. She was so loving and extended that love so far beyond our family, volunteering to drive cancer patients and once even taking in a homeless teenager until he enlisted in the army. We never heard from him again but for a brief time he was part of our family. I have wondered what happened to him but think, perhaps, it is better not to know. She was so good to her nieces and nephews from my father's side, treating them as if they were her own children. The morning after she passed I woke to a knock at the door. It was my cousin Kris. He had walked three miles to my house and was sobbing hysterically. "I loved your mom like my own. She was so good to me, Holly, and the kids. I'm so, so sorry....". I knew what an effort he had made to walk all that way. He had serious heart problems and a staph infection because of a over-sized pin in his shoulder. My heart went out to him. Only three years later, his health problems took a turn for the worse and he followed her into the next world.

Until after Mom passed, Dad was more of a distant guardian, providing loving support when needed but never getting too close. Now with his Alzheimer's time is running out and I am desperate to know the man who I equally idolized and feared in my youth and early adulthood.With that in mind, I am finally using the journal Sara gave me. It will now be used to store brainstorms, memories, and ideas for dad. This gift was intended to be filled with thoughts and feelings. That it will be tool to help my father is ironic and perhaps a bit more fitting. I think Mom would have approved.

As I have begun writing about Dad's illness and our daily care schedule I find that I am finally following Sara's advice, her words resounding in my mind: "Write everything...even the worst memories will become precious". Sitting up in bed late at night I check if Mike is awake and if he is even remotely conscious I start to relate a new memory about dad. Obsession with trying to remember some of the minutia I have locked away has taken over my life. My mother and I were incredibly close; I could fill thousands of pages about her. Dad is a different story. As fascinating as my father is, he and I saw eye to eye on so few things. In some ways our core personalities are a lot alike. Both of us are quite grounded in our basic views, use our creative side as a tool for personal growth, have a very hard time accepting failure, and we are both profoundly stubborn. I also have a very high threshold of pain that I'm sure came from my father and even he has accused me of being too stoic in medical situations. This from the man who sewed his hand back together at the kitchen table in front of us. I think, however, that is where the similarities end.

Dad has a tendency to try to force his values on the people around him. It usually takes a personal experience or life changing event to cause him to become sympathetic to other people. I can recall a time when he became very ill for over a week. Before that happened, he was never particularly concerned when his patients complained of being hot or cold, sometimes even scolding them, "Quit your belly aching". That all changed when he got sick. The chills brought on by his illness were so uncomfortable that he never again made fun of his patients when they complained of feeling cold...in fact he went the extra mile to make sure he had plenty of blankets and warm socks in the incubator to make sure they were nice and cozy. Lesson learned and learned well.

Once when Allison and I were visiting Dad, I received a phone call on my cell from Elaine, one of my cousins. She was troubled because her mom was critically ill and Elaine needed to talk to someone who had been there. I went into the back yard with Buddy and walked around talking to her, trying to offer some insight, leaving Al to visit with Dad. While on the phone we also talked about Elaine's dad, Joe. He was my dad's youngest brother. In the course of the conversation we learned how much alike our fathers were, both very set in their beliefs particularly about career goals for their children. It seems my dad wasn't the only O'Houlihan man that thought the only worthwhile career pursuits were medicine and engineering. We finished our conversation with promises to keep in touch on a weekly basis and I made my way back into the house. As I entered through the patio door I could see Al and Dad sitting at the kitchen table deep in conversation.
"Miss me?" I asked suspiciously.
"Nah, we were just having a conversation about what Al wants to be when she grows up", Dad said with a look of personal pride.
 "Oh, I already know that", I replied, determined to cut off this destructive pattern before it started. "Circus acrobat, right Allie?"
"Uuuugh!" He groaned loudly, slumping and shaking his head in disappointment.
"International spy?" I guessed again with a wink to Al.
Her worried face changed to amusement and she lit up at my second suggestion. "YEAH!!" she laughed enthusiastically.
"Noooo!" Dad started to protest, but I cut him off.
"Allie, don't live anyone else's dreams. Do what makes you happy", I said kissing her on top of  her head.
 Fortunately Dad didn't dwell on this little power play and we still had a very nice visit.
On the way home I asked Allison what her grampa had suggested she should be when she grows up. She rolled her eyes, trying to remember and I interjected, "Engineer or doctor, right?"
"Yes!!" she said, equally surprised and relieved that I already knew. "How did you know?"
"He did the same thing to me, your uncle, your aunts and your cousins. He also tried to do that with Kelly but I wouldn't let him. Doctors and Engineers are fine things to be if that's what you want to be. Is that what you want, Al?" I asked.
"No", she admitted.
"Well, there are all kinds of engineers, but if you don't want to be an engineer and you become one anyway, do you know what kind of engineer you will be?" I baited her.
"What kind?" she asked, confused.
"A CRAPPY one!" I smiled.
We laughed. It was a great way to end the subject and make sure she knew she wasn't letting anyone down by going her own way.

(to be continued...probably tomorrow)

New Ideas, Perspectives and Escapes

I would like to ask my fellow caregivers if they struggle with giving medications to the patients in their care. Possibly because the patient in our care is also a doctor, his daily meds are a constant battle. Every visit I have to think of new responses to his irritation at being given medication that he, himself did not prescribe. Dad makes what I have called  his "asshole" face. It is a combination of irritation, condescension and victimization. He uses it in response to the process of taking care of him or if we are watching some interesting movie or program and does not want to admit he has gotten lost in the plot or forgotten the topic. I will put his meds next to his plate and he always pics up the Pradaxa (a blue and white capsule) first, gives me the asshole face and irately demands, "What's this??"
Answer #1: "It's your punishment for having children"
Answer #2: "It's a gift from the three wise men"
Answer #3: "It's a Smurf turd"  
He is rarely amused and I get his standard response..."Wiseass!"  I understand that the last thing he wants is to feel dependent on us, since that would be admitting that he can't take care of himself. Better to deflect his annoyance with an ill received joke then to get angry and try to force it on him...probably less dangerous, too.

Getting the asshole look during a movie or program is more challenging and far less amusing. It is better if he gets confused before the program really gets going. One time we started to watch City Slicker's 2, a movie he has enjoyed on clearer days, and as the opening credit cartoon continued he got lost and thought we were watching the actual movie. "This is CHAOS!!" he said angrily after staring me down with the asshole face didn't work. "Dad, it's just the opening credits!" I said exasperated. "The movie hasn't even started! Can you just wait?" He sulked through the first ten minutes of the movie, although I doubt he even remembered why he was angry. Over time I have found that movies with too much movement lose him pretty quickly and if the subject is not interesting enough to him, sometimes it is better to just turn it off and pop in a Columbo to save the evening.

No matter how hard we try as caregivers, we are human and bound to feel overwhelmed and angry. I can tell you for a fact I have had days that I am not particularly proud of as a caregiver...days that I would like to just wash my hands and be done with it all. I can tell you not to beat yourself up, that you are not a bad person for blowing up from time to time or wishing it was over, but without having contact with others who can relate, words are meaningless. In my own experience I have had days so low that as I turned the door knob to enter Dad's house, a part of me hoped I would find he had had some issue to put him in the hospital for a while just to give us all a break. Of course this never happens, he is always there in his chair ready to start hurling frustration and veiled desperation in my direction all night. Many would consider my position unusually lucky, with so many siblings directly involved in the care rotation, and for the most part they would be correct. On the other hand, it is also something of a forced march to look after Dad since he is an extremely stubborn, closed off person.

I can't help thinking if it had been Mom who had survived only to develop Alzheimer's, I think she would have been far easier to deal with and much more flexible about activities. Actually just thinking about the "what if it had been Mom" scenario, ideas for activities, hobbies and games flood into my head. Her interests were so broad, most of them could be simplified as the disease progressed.

Dad's interests are a focused few and trying to get him to venture into new territory is next to impossible. He has always been a bit of a hermit, never particularly social (his best friend lives 300 miles away and has seen him once in the past 10 years) with no regular friends or visitors other then family. Mom was the polar opposite; she participated in Garden Club, had a friend with whom she would power walk 3 miles a day, took her grandchildren to the park or the splash pond, basically loved getting out and seeing people. She was also a gifted seamstress, gardener and decorator, doing her own ceramic tile work in the master bathroom, sewing all the drapes and some of the upholstery, even dabbling in making simple stained glass windows for their home and Dad's office . How I wish Dad had this many outlets; It would make finding enjoyable outings and activities for him so much easier.

Recently Hillary brought an easel, large drawing pad and art supplies to Dad's house. As she was setting up a spot for Dad to draw he immediately began to protest, "This is yours? No, you should keep this, I don't need it". I could hear in his voice the translation, "I didn't ask you to bring this, nor do I want it. Take it back", but he was doing his very best to be polite about a kind gesture. Later I did some checking around online and discovered that drawing is highly recommended for Alzheimer's patients...the problem was getting him to try it. The next day when I came over I saw no new scribbles or sketches. Maybe we could try a sneaky approach. Certainly we could not rely on him to just naturally become inspired to draw...but perhaps setting up a subject he would find interesting would be enough of a nudge to get him in the chair. I grabbed a bar stool and one of his bird statuettes, a red parrot, and set it up next to the chair and easel. "What are you doing?" he asked. I replied, "Setting up a subject for you to draw. Hillary brought over her easel and art supplies to give you something interesting to do during the day". "Oh, she should take her things home. I don't want to take her things", he protested. Shortly after that, I sent Hillary a text letting her know what I had tried. She was so excited to know I had taken her attempt seriously and started thinking of other ways we could get him to the easel. The biggest obstacle, we felt, was that he would feel pushed if it was not his original idea. Perhaps we could tell him a little white lie and make him think it was he had expressed some interest in drawing. It was a possibility but probably would not work. Then Carrie had a truly inspired idea. Dad had been a professor and enjoyed teaching. Perhaps we could acquire a second easel and allow him to feel he was instructing us. It could work! But the next time I came over all of the art supplies were packed up. Bummer. I asked Hillary if she had had any luck but her answer was a short, "Not yet." Hillary is a talker, so a short answer is probably best left alone. It may be that the easel idea was doomed from the beginning but it sparked other ideas. Perhaps the real problem is not that he lacks motivation but the activities we are attempting hold no interest for him. Drawing and painting without a purpose might seem pointless to him. After all, when he was a surgeon he would do very complex, accurate drawings of bone and muscle structures. When building aircraft, his sketches were for the purpose of completing his project.

Perhaps puzzles would be worth trying or some other building activity. Maybe we could do some simple science experiments to see if he they would peak his interest. (This is a new idea and has not been tested. Time will tell.)

Something that definitely stimulates conversation is talking about new technology. A topic I recently brought up was the new water vapor/electronic cigarettes that people are using to quit smoking. One of my closest friends, Sara, effectively quit after almost 30 years of smoking using the e-cig. She updates me regularly on her progress. She had talked to me about quitting a few times before and I would tell her, "To be totally honest, the smoking worries me. I kinda like having you around."  Although I have tried to subdue my enthusiasm, concerned that she might backslide, I really do believe she has quit for good. I was so excited for her, I told Dad about it. He was amazed and had lots of questions about the vapor cigs. Although the conversation looped a few times, Dad was thoroughly captivated by the subject, particularly since he had such a hard time getting patients to quit before surgery. It was wonderful to see him so engaged and brightened up with interest. It is so hard to find things that captivate him that way.

Before I became a caregiver, vacations were not a high priority. Not that we never took trips, but they were just fun getaways, not escapes from reality. It seems, now, like part of my mind lives for those escapes, looking up new places to go, making plans sometimes even years in advance. They are not just important but absolutely crucial in order to maintain sanity. Without them, I might eventually give in to the urge to drop everything, scoop up my husband and kids and flee from this life permanently. After a couple trips I learned it was better to rack up some dad care IOU's rather then come back from vacation to a week long stretch of visits. I find the latter defeats the purpose of going away in the first place.

Recently, I took the girls to visit Sara in Colorado. It was a fantastic, activity filled vacation. We drove to the top of Pike's Peak and the girls had a chance to see the world from the top of a mountain; what an awe inspiring view it was! We also visited the cliff dwellings in Manitou Springs. I know the kids enjoyed it even if it was a little like a class field trip in the middle of our vacation. Probably the most amazing thing we did, though, was climb to the top of Helen Hunt Falls. It took real effort to hike up the trail, being very careful with our footing because the gravel covered path could be treacherous in steep places. The view looking down from the top of the fall was breath taking. Of course hundreds of pictures were taken on the trip, not only of the scenery but of our youngest daughters bonding and her 19 year old son, Jake, and my Kelly playing on a playground like they did when they were little and Sara lived in Texas. They have always had a chemistry that just seems to spark as soon as they reunite. Jake and Kelly are both equally attractive and it may be that part of the electricity between them is that, after being friends for so many years, they know they can comfortably be themselves around each other. Sara and I always notice and try not to fire too many knowing smiles across the room as we watch the sparks ricochet all around them. Our not-so-secret wish is that one day that sweet chemistry develops into something more...so we take lots of pictures and keep our fingers crossed. The best part of the vacation, by far, was just hanging out with old friends. I didn't want to return home and often called Mike, jokingly telling him to pack his bag, sell the house and join us. It was very hard to leave and all the way home I thought about when we might go back.

Short, two or three day breaks can sometimes be as beneficial as long ones, much like a power nap in the afternoon can be as important as a good night's sleep. Mike and I sometimes will take one night stay-cations just for a change of scenery and a little private time. For our twelfth anniversary we took a two day trip to Eureka Springs, Arkansas and stayed in a cabin with a jacuzzi tub. It was incredibly romantic and relaxing, probably the most we have ever gotten from our travel dollar. The beautiful and peaceful scenery as well as the in-town sights were a fantastic "power nap" vacation. Again, we were not yet home before we began planning to return.

I know I am getting frustrated when I start browsing vacation sites in my free time. When my mind is preoccupied with escape, it is probably time to do just that, however brief the trip may be. Then again, it may also be a sign that I need to try a fresh approach to my responsibilities as a caregiver...or maybe it's both. Nerves as well as coping mechanisms can wear thin without the occasional change of scenery. Vacations are easy. Refreshing an attitude is considerably more challenging.

(to be continued)

The Balancing Act: When Life Happens (part 4)

We all were heartbroken when Jenny died. Certainly, it was inevitable. She had been abusing her body for years, ignoring her family's pleading with her to get help. I think the real mercy is that she never had an alcohol related accident and therefore didn't take anyone's life but her own. In the weeks that followed her passing, everyone had to not only deal with the grief but an extra caregiver shift each to cover Jenny's absence. None of us realized what a large contribution Jenny had been making, but we soon found out. Jenny had been bringing over her dog, Ego, to play with Dad's dog, Buddy. Ego was old and slow, but he loved to hang out with Dad and watch Buddy run. Sometimes while I was there Jenny would call to remind Dad that she was coming to visit. "My little Ego misses his grandpa," she would say. Dad would laugh and say, "Well, bring him on over! I wouldn't want him to be unhappy". I think she really knew how to make Dad feel important and he did the same for her. We could all really have taken a lesson from her...and now she was gone.
Paula and Hillary put together memorial packets to send to some of the relatives who lived out of state. They were not as elaborate as the photo albums we made following Mom's death but they filled in the gaps for our aunts, uncles and cousins who didn't know Jenny very well. What they did know wasn't particularly flattering; a re-education was necessary to appreciate the kind hearted human she was, loving and frail, in spite of her mask of defiance.
There were other things throwing off the family equilibrium. The recession had hit my home life hard. I graduated with my bachelor of science in Accounting two months before Dad retired. I had a strong GPA and thought after Dad's office closed I would find work quickly. If only it had been so easy. I immediately papered the metroplex with resumes upon graduation. Dad was prepared to let me go early if necessary but offered to keep me on even after the official closing to help with the task of tying up all the loose ends. It ended up taking five months after he shut the doors for good before I received a legitimate job offer. A large camera and lighting company needed an accounting specialist. The job was fun and moderately paced. I got my feet wet in basic accounting...very basic...but at least there was the additional excitement of working with a company directly involved in filming and lighting movies and TV series. A year later fate decided to change my course with the 2007 Writer's Guild Strike. With nothing being written, there was also nothing to film. My location saw its first layoffs in over twenty years. As I began seeing our company's locations closing and more and more layoffs, I decided the writing was on the wall and papered the metroplex again. This time I found a new job quickly through a placement agency as a staff accountant for a fastener company and put in my resignation at the job I really didn't want to leave.

Whether I was making the right decision in leaving or not, the new job was a miserable failure. Even the commute had been a nightmare, being over an hour each way. I had bitten off more then I could chew and the demands of the job were far more then my education and time could handle.  I was asked to resign and was given two weeks as a courtesy to find another position. As disappointing as it was in a way, it was also a relief.

Fortunately (sort of) I found, through the same placement firm, a position with a CPA that would start a week after my last day at the fastener company.  The CPA was a hard worker and believed in the rights of his clients, most of whom were lesbian, gay, and transsexual couples or business that supported the LGBT community. In my interview he asked me if I had any problem working with with gay and lesbian clients or their businesses. I said, "No. Will our clients care that I'm straight? It doesn't change how the books are balanced." He liked me immediately. The CPA knew my skills were very green but decided to give me a chance anyway because he appreciated my positive attitude. I quickly learned that my new employer had serious anger management issues and saw no problem with humiliating his staff publicly. He frequently screamed, threw things and threatened to fire the whole staff. The sad thing is that personally I liked him. He was extremely generous to his employees and passionate about providing the best service to his clients. He just was very unprofessional in his treatment of his staff and as far as I was concerned he didn't have time to train me fresh out of college when he already had a hard time hanging on to other, more experienced employees. After three months he came into my office and closed the door. "It's at least half my fault", he admitted. "I knew you were inexperienced but hired you because I just really liked you".  Truthfully, I felt it was way more then half his fault but it really didn't matter. He was very generous, giving me one month of severance pay and agreeing not to tarnish my employment record. Once again, although I was disappointed at having been asked to resign, I was also relieved. There had to be a better job out there...and there was.

Before my severance was completely used up I found a job with an oil and gas engineering company that I will call OGE. The online listing jumped out at me; the job requirements listed everything I had learned at my three jobs since graduation along with other general office skills for which I was more then qualified. I went in for the interview and found out that one of the controlling partners was also a patient of my father-in-law.  Their senior accountant, Lydia, was a very nice woman with whom I hit it off immediately.  Within a week I felt right at home and the other secondary bookkeeper, Krissy, was fun to work with. We had a lot in common and often chatted as we worked. It was a perfect fit...and, sadly, fate decided that this job wouldn't last either.

For some reason, large segments of OGE began resigning to join another company...one started by a former  partner of our company who had been forced to resign and sell back his shares. While this was going on, another employee filed a law suit claiming sexual harassment by two OGE executives. I don't know whether her allegations were true but that scandal threatened the very foundation of the company. Layoffs began and the company was reduced to a skeleton crew. At first, Krissy and I thought we would be spared. How could they run an accounting department with less then three people? We were very naive.

Only a year after I was hired, the two remaining executive partners and Lydia called me into the conference room. I braced myself, knowing what was coming.  They were very kind, offering me glowing letters of recommendation that they had already prepared. Unlike the other dismissals, this one got to me. I cried as they hugged me and assured me everything would work out. They allowed me to remain in the conference room to compose myself before I went back to clean out my desk. I emerged, wandered into my office, sat down and looked over at Krissy who was waiting anxiously to know what had happened. I looked at her, not yet ready to talk, and just waved "bye-bye". She gasped, started to cry, walked over and hugged me.
"This isn't fair. I'm so sorry. I'll miss you", she said.
"I'll miss you, too", I replied. "I'll keep in touch. Maybe we can still hang out".
We have kept in touch through Facebook and have met for drinks a few times. She even helped me search for another job.

While all of this was happening, our family was becoming more and more aware of Dad's memory issues and of Jenny's downward spiral. It really felt as though our world was crumbling around us. 

Between the recession and my overall inexperience, my employment record was taking a beating.  It was five more months before I would get another serious offer. During that time I did some temping to bring in whatever income I could. For the first time I had to collect unemployment. It was a real blow to my self esteem.That was when I had my epiphany about my overall health and began running. It provided a much needed boost to my confidence...much needed because there were many more blows to come.

To further complicate matters, Mike was having job issues of his own. What was once a successful management career at a large retail jewelry chain took a turn for the worse when he was transferred to a struggling store with a hostile crew. He did his best but was unable to turn the store around. His reputation as a miracle manager was bruised. The next store didn't fare any better, not because of his efforts or his crew but because of policy and industry changes and unfavorable demographics. Jewelry is a luxury and our damaged economy hurt the industry. Considering all of this, the company was looking for someone to blame and after the CEO was fired, store level managers became the scapegoats.

Facing possible termination Mike did something I never expected; he requested a demotion. Even his regional manager was stunned by his request. He waited until after talking to the RM to explain his decision to me. He tried very hard to spin it as a good thing, more possibility for commissions, better hours, etc. I knew what his real plan was: to re-establish himself as a master salesman and eventually work his way back into management. Although the foundation of this strategy was sound, things of this sort rarely work out as planned.

Managers and employees at his company were quitting left and right based on foundering confidence in the company's stability. He was promoted back into management but by then he was already looking to leave the company. Mike was secretly courted by another large jewelry retailer. They offered him immediate placement as a manager in a store close to home. It sounded like a dream opportunity so he accepted. Long hours and unreasonable demands quickly soured his feelings about his new job. Compounding the strain, he was having arthritis flare ups and the brutal 10 hour shifts spent mostly on his feet were excruciating. His doctor prescribed him a strong pain killer. It helped.

I knew Mike's new regional manager was trying to place blame for his own mistakes on Mike but was not aware how far his RM would go to cover his own ass. One morning, as I sat on our bed sending out resumes on our lap top, Mike came home. He had only been at work for an hour; this was strange. He had a funny expression on his face.
"Hi", I said suspiciously. "What are you doing home?"
"You know how I know my new pain med is working?" he asked.
"How?" I responded, wondering where this was going.
"Because, I'm not that upset that I was fired this morning", Mike replied. Although he was smiling, I could tell he was worried how I would react.
All I could think of was how many jobs I had lost in the past three years and how he never got angry or cast judgment on me when each one was yanked away.
"You hated that job!", I laughed and said, "Let's find you something better."
All of the anxiety disappeared from his face and he jumped onto the bed and kissed me. "I love you!" he said laughing with me. It would be okay. No matter what, it would be okay as long as we were in it together.

The next two jobs were no better, but like me, he just kept getting back on the horse. In the mean time I accepted the first job that came along, bookkeeping assistant at a family owned builders supply company that I will call BSC. In the beginning it was a good job, the people seemed nice in spite of the fact that the position for which I was hired had a high turnover rate.

About five months into the job I started getting clues about the reason for the disturbing turnover of my position. The owner's grandson, Todd, was a man about my age with a volatile temper and a tendency not only to lie in order to cover his own mistakes, but also to plant "evidence" in the bookkeepers' offices so he could also assign blame. His father, George, also had an explosive temper and turned a blind eye to his son's unprofessional behavior. Todd was the heir apparent and could do no wrong. Todd's uncle, Richard, was the head of the Accounting/Bookkeeping department and was well aware of Todd's ugly tricks. Although he did his best to protect me from his nephew he was unable to make the job more tolerable. Todd's Grandfather, Doug was the primary owner of the company. He was a kind and honest man who did his best to keep the peace, but at 87 years old, he was rarely around. It was very clear that Todd looked forward to Doug's passing, and since George was in very poor health, Todd thought  he could just act like he already owned the company. Working under him was hell and most days I came home on the verge of tears.

After the first nine months I wanted to quit. There were several times when I threatened to walk out and Richard talked me into just taking the rest of the day off. The only real reason I was staying was to build a longer employment history that didn't end in layoff or forced resignation.

There were only two times that I can honestly say BSC was good to me. First was when my father had his blood clot. BSC allowed me to take extended lunches in order to relieve whoever was watching him to run any errands or just get out of the house for a few minutes. Although Todd shot me some dirty looks and made some loud over-the-shoulder remarks at my expense, for the most part the company as a whole was understanding of the necessity for less rigid rules under the circumstances.

The second incident was only a month later when my in-laws, Nick and Louise, were in France on their annual extended vacation. We received an alarming e-mail from Nick telling us that Louise was in the hospital and her blood platelets were dangerously low, so low she was in serious danger of bleeding out. Mike, his brother, Brian, and his sister, April, all hopped the first flights available, fearing they would be too late to say goodbye. From my office I was allowed to close my door and chat with them online while they were in France. Again, I received nasty looks and comments from Todd but overall understanding from the rest of the company. Miraculously, Louise survived, and what looked like an emergency trip to say goodbye turned into a wonderful family vacation for all of them. Mike Skyped with me and the kids every night he was away and as the visit dragged on the chats became tearful wishes by all of us for him to be back home. Mike returned after 10 days, glad to be home and his mother well on the road to recovery. It was one of the toughest things we had gone through together with the best possible outcome.

If these crises were not enough, in October I injured my back lifting a mountain bike onto the bike rack of my car. Actually, that was just the climactic cause; with four bulging/herniated lumbar discs and one that was torn and leaking, I'm quite sure my injuries were caused by multiple times of me lifting things far heavier than I should have attempted. The damage to my lumbar discs caused sciatica in my right leg that traveled from my butt, down my hamstring and into my calf. I also had numbness in my toes. The pain was terrible and for a while on bad days I would use a cane to reduce the pressure on that leg. I would not only need steroid spinal injections but also physical therapy. The injections and PT were very expensive. For three months I had to live with the pain while we saved the money  for the treatment. When we finally could afford it, the treatment used up not only our savings but all of my sick time and personal days as well.

Todd took every opportunity to belittle my pain by mentioning one of our employees working with psoriatic arthritis and another who had recently undergone hip surgery, rolling his eyes and acting angry when I limped from the pain. He taunted me about it so much that I had a closed door meeting with Richard. "Other people's physical problems are beside the point", I said angrily. "If I need to show you the MRI, just let me know. I'm sure my doctor would also be more then willing to give you a letter explaining the extent of my back problems if I ask him to." Richard agreed that Todd was out of line and tried to get him to back off.  He was not successful.

Dealing with the treatment and the harassment while trying to keep up with Dad's schedule was almost impossible but we did our best. Mike and I tried very hard to minimize the problem around my family. It wasn't until after I completed my injections that they were aware of the problems we were having. They didn't need one more source of stress any more then we did. The injections and PT worked wonders and the pain was gone by the time Jenny passed away.

 I toughed it out for two years at BSC but as soon as that second anniversary passed I put my resume back online. An opportunity came up just days later. Before my first interview Mike talked to me very reasonably. "Baby, don't just jump on the first opportunity this time. Shop it a bit. Your current job is in no jeopardy. Find the right job for you."

Todd's harassment had escalated lately and I was pretty desperate to escape but I listened to Mike and resolved to take his advice. The first interview was with a well established CPA firm. I was interviewed by a partner of the firm but was surprised when he told me that they had chosen my resume not for their own firm but for a powerful client who wished to remain anonymous. The interview lasted five minutes and it went extremely well. The only question that made me uncomfortable was when the partner asked, "Why are you looking to leave your current job?" I decided that the best response under the circumstances was an honest one. "Hostile work environment", I said candidly. Upon hearing this response he looked up from his note pad and directly at me, I imagine to size up my response in relation to my body language. I'm not sure what he saw but I guess he was satisfied.
"I will send your resume to our client this afternoon", he told me. "I really think you would be an excellent fit for this office...but even if they decide to continue looking I know of several clients looking for your skill set. I think we could help you find a new position easily."

Hearing this convinced me that I could trust him and that he must have had some experience with a "hostile work environment" for him to sympathize with my dilemma so quickly.

The next day I received a call. It was the client's business partner, Lisa, asking if I would have time to come in for an interview the next day. I told told her if she could arrange the interview for around noon, I could definitely work it out. No problem; the interview was set.

As I drove to my interview I kept repeating to myself, "Don't leap at the job if it is offered. Take time to think it over."

I arrived at the beautiful old downtown skyscraper, a mere ten minutes from BSC and road the antique elevator to the 8th floor. The office door was wide open but I knocked anyway. A tall, older man walked out of one of the offices. He was wearing a t-shirt with a wrinkled button down shirt over it and comfortable, day-off jeans. Never had I been interviewed by someone dressed so casually...it actually made me feel quite at ease. He introduced himself as Allen Baxter, walked me into his office and offered me a chair. The office was large and impressive and it appeared Mr. Baxter had multiple irons in the fire. He held up my resume, looked it over and said, "Yes, I think you will fit in here quite nicely. How much do you need to join our group?"
I was stunned. I had never been asked such a question on my first interview with a potential employer. I told him what I currently made. "I would prefer a lateral move but what I really need is great insurance", I began and then briefly explained Allison's IGHD.
Mr. Baxter grabbed a notepad and started writing, "I can definitely meet your current salary. I think I will just add you to my insurance. I'm pretty sure they will waive the waiting period and start you immediately if I ask them to. Let me tell you a little about it. I shopped this insurance for myself. It is the best insurance available. It will be in addition to your salary." My mind was reeling. This job offer was essentially the same as a $10K raise! He then gave me a quick tour, showing me my office and pointing out "it's lovely view of the Bass Empire".

"Do you need to give two weeks notice?" he asked. I said I would prefer it if it was okay with him. "Okay", he replied, "I will have you start on the 17th. Will that work for you?" I nodded, still trying to wrap my mind around what was happening. "Very good! Let me get you one of my cards", Mr. Baxter produced a business card and shook my hand, "Welcome aboard,  Erin!"
"Thank you so much for this opportunity! It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Baxter."
I stepped out of the building and floated to my car, still not believing what had just happened. As soon as I got to my car I called Mike.
"Well", he asked. "How'd it go?"
"I got the job!" I said, still recovering from the vertigo of the experience.
"You told him you would think about it right?" Mike said, slightly panicked.
"No, I don't think Mr. Baxter hears 'no' very often", I said with a chuckle. "Believe me, you want me to take this job."
"Okay, convince me", Mike said.
"Same salary but insurance is fully paid...and it's 'rock star' insurance".
"HOLY SHIT, BABY!" All doubt was clearly gone. "That's awesome!"
"Gotta go quit my shitty job now!" I said, thoroughly elated. Free at last!!

 I was sorry to disappoint Richard with my resignation but I was very direct with my reasons for leaving. "Hostile work environment and unprofessional behavior on the executive level", I explained. During the two weeks that followed I barely saw Todd...in fact, he took great care to avoid me entirely. It is entirely possible that his fellow executives had a big pow wow and decided it was better to walk on eggshells around me in case I was planning to sue for harassment. The front office manager at one point took me aside and asked what I had said to be treated with such respect in my last two weeks. She apparently had never seen anything like it before.  I told her about my resignation letter and she was floored. Apparently, none of my predecessors had had the nerve to put the truth in their resignation and the fact that I did had spooked the owners. I was delighted that my parting gift to Todd and his negligent family was a little nail biting. It was the least I could do after all they had done for me.

Life at the Baxter Companies is another world compared to BSC. The first few weeks felt like I was on vacation. Also, the work is more interesting and I am much more involved in the accounting processes then I was at my previous positions. My co-workers are both single mothers and if there is one thing they are flexible about it is the high priority my girls take in my life. Mr. Baxter and Lisa frequently travel so it is often just me and Deanna, the primary bookkeeper, attending to the daily office operations. Whenever Mr. Baxter comes back from one of his trips, he is always happy to see us, often giving us quick, fatherly hugs and saying, "Nice to see you again", before getting back to business. However hard life was before, Mr. Baxter and my coworkers, Lisa and Deanna, are the nicest people in the whole world. I can't imagine being happier at a job them I am now; this job was worth the wait.

I don't remember how it began but early in my employment with the Baxter Companies, Deanna and I found we had a lot in common, having both been through difficult divorces, single parenthood, alcoholism of a loved one, and aging parents. After a while I began talking to her about Alzheimer's and it's progressive effect on Dad. She was such a good listener that I wasn't sure if she was really interested or if she was just being nice. One day I started telling her about one of Dad's loops and I stopped, "I'm sorry to keep dumping all of this on you."
"You're not dumping on me", she protested, "I love hearing stories about your Dad! He's so funny, I don't even know him and I just love him." She really wasn't just being nice. She was sincerely interested.

Shortly after this she told me about a book she had read that was written by a caregiver of a man with Alzheimer's. As she talked about it I found so many things to which I could relate. I had not only gained a confidante but a new perspective on the disease that was causing me and my family so much stress. These conversations were crucial because they brought me to a change in perspective about how I was dealing with dad. I was too impatient, too redundant, not creative enough.  I could and should do so much more.
Maybe I could not change the path Dad was on, but I could change my approach and try new things. It would all work to make our journey more tolerable...and most importantly, I could actually use the disease as a tool to be closer to Dad. The beauty of Alzheimer's, if you can see it as a positive, is that even if you screw up, become aggravated,  have an argument or storm out, the next day you have a clean slate. Second chances may not be infinite but they will be plentiful and you can learn something and become a better caregiver and even a better person with each one...and you will feel better about yourself and the care you are providing for your loved one, too.