Living and Loving

Sometimes I consider the backwards nature of Alzheimer's. It's especially evident when simultaneously witnessing a baby develop forwards. It was a month ago to the day that I visited Dad in Potomac Homes. He drew on a napkin. I took pictures of him. He whispered sweet dirty things in Tiffany's ear.

Yesterday, I arrived at the medical unit in Englewood Hospital around noon. He was snoozing and hiccuping, at a rate of probably 30 hiccups per minute. The aide said she had just finished feeding him. His appetite was good, especially considering the ravenous two bowls of cereal he had had for breakfast. She fed him some meat and potatoes, but he didn't want all the potatoes and apparently was somewhat vocal in that. I tried waking him up. I shook his hand. I tapped his chest. I ran my fingers through his gray hair, which for the first time in my life that I could remember wasn't brushed to the side. Even sloppily. His forehead was a bit clammy. I called "Dad", "Pop", "Buddy", "John", "JY". No response. He wouldn't respond. The aide said something like talk to him, he'll hear what you're saying. But I mean... I don't talk to him. I do, but it's private. And even then, I need him on the other end to respond. I need a little quack quack here, even though it didn't occur to me to sing old mcdonald to him during the moment.

A doctor came in and asked a bunch of questions that I didn't have answers for. I felt like asking him, aren't you the one who's supposed to tell me the answers to the questions you are asking? That seemed backwards. Then he asked if I could sign a consent form as power of attorney. And I could. I guess that was one thing we had taken care of in years gone by. How fortunate. My dad declined and apparently insisted on not getting long term care insurance, but I was able to sign a document to let him get an endoscopy to find the root cause to those hiccups.

After I signed the consent, I returned to his room. I tried a few more times to awaken him. At one point, I thought I was in business as he opened his eyes. They opened. Looked blankly at me for a second, and definitely not longer, and then closed.

I don't know. Maybe he did. Maybe he didn't.

Posted by F.Newara at 08:24 PM | Permalink

I just got off the phone with Mom. She said Potomac Group Homes will not readmit Dad. The hospital determined that he could not be controlled on medication and as such he is still "combative". Potomac Homes will not admit combative people.

So now we need to find a new living arrangement for Dad. By the way, Wyeth and Elan yesterday announced that their drug for Alzheimer's in Phase II testing had hit the primary endpoint in roughly 50% of the Alzheimer's patients studied who are non-carriers of the ApoE4 gene. But unfortunately, it's most likely false hope for a bunch of reasons I don't feel like getting into. The occurence made me consider an important question. Do you give it to my Dad? No, not unless it has a great chance of reversing the disease so that he gets out of this "home". The last thing I'd want for him is to prolong this situation that he certainly doesn't want to be in. Let's face it, the whole thing sucks. And quite frankly we'd all be at peace with his passing, as terrible as I feel for saying that. But why should I? This is miserable. This is pain and suffering for all of us. I have the memories of him I need. And more importantly, I think his soul is ready to rest at peace. I sure hope so. Because this situation just isn't getting any better. Sure it's a moment-to-moment thing and there's peace, joy and harmony in every moment. But there will be peace, joy and harmony in the moments when all we have are the memories. Don't get me wrong. In the meantime, I hope and pray that there is another solution. One that works for all of us involved. But increasingly, it feels as though it's resting on my shoulders. Maybe that's the war and peace I'm living. I want to take care of him. I want to take care of other people, maybe. Every phone call I make to Alzheimer's this or that, it's like there's no no-brainer. Where is the no-brainer? Can I develop one?

Stay tuned for the first Peakin Comic Strip entiteld: "Living and Loving Alzheimer's". The first comic is titled: "Dad Goes to the Psychiatric Ward"

Posted by F.Newara at 11:43 AM | Permalink

Mom called me yesterday to inform me that she and Paul were taking Dad to the hospital psych ward. Apparently he had become "combative" at Potomac Homes, striking another resident on Saturday among some other recent disturbances. They adjusted (i.e. increased) his Depakote in an effort to sedate him but it didn't work, leading to Saturday's altercation. So they suggested we admit him to the psych ward in order to detox him or something like that. I don't quite understand it.

Mom said it was humorous because when they extracted a urine sample from Dad, a security guard and a male nurse held his legs down, she held his right arm down, and Paul held his left arm down. Dad cursed at Paul, what the hell was he doing? Then when the female nurse stuck the catheter up his penis, he screamed:

"GOD DAMMIT MANDI!"

I guess that's funny. I guess it's also scary. In his place, what the fuck is going on here anyway??

Note to A-B'Sop: This scene may be an interesting one to sketch for me to paint.

If I hadn't had a 101.6 fever, I would have been there for him. I think. Unless I'm full of shit, which is highly possible.

I just don't like it. I suppose it's denial. And that's not fair to either of us. Especially since sometimes I feel like the only one who actually cares.

He shouldn't have to be in this situation. Why is he? Forget the Alzheimer's, shit happens. But why is it that the environment around the Alzheimer's so crappy. Does it have to be? Is the only solution that I have to make a compromise? Would he have? Did he? Would I want my children to? Will I need to? Will I have lived my life such that it's not even a question of making a compromise but a desire?

Posted by F.Newara at 06:32 PM | Permalink