TheBanyanTree: Memories

[Theta Brentnall]

My poor dad is steadily losing his.  It's hard on both of us, for different 
reasons.  Until last spring he had been living with his lovely lady friend, 
Norma, up in the mountains outside of Colorado Springs.  Then he fell on 
the ice and broke his hip.  I flew out and spent a month dealing with 
hospital, nursing home and rehab.  He couldn't remember the instructions 
from his therapist for more than a few minutes, and most of the rehab 
facilities said they wouldn't accept him because it was a waste of their 
time, but I finally found one that was more patient and humane, but I had 
to be with him most of the day to remind him over and over to do the 
exercises and not do the forbidden movements.  Then I came back here and 
started looking for an assisted living place for him to move into.

We moved him out here in May and it was rough at first.  He was not happy 
with me, to say the least.  He felt like Norma had deserted him, even 
though he agreed that it was impossible for her to take care of him any 
more, and he felt like I was terrible for putting him in assisted 
living.  I had to keep reminding him that there is no way to get into our 
house without going up and down stairs, and that I don't do dinner at 5 on 
the dot.  Besides, the place is wonderful, with a happy staff, lots of 
activities, and really good food.

Gradually we got into a comfortable pattern.  I would visit every other day 
and take him out to lunch a couple of times a week.  There was a script for 
each visit.

"Where's my truck?"  At first I said it was at Norma's in Colorado, which 
for a long time it was.  Then he started to be bewildered by that.  "Why is 
it in Colorado?"  I finally realized that he had forgotten about 
Colorado.  He still remembered Norma, but to him, they had lived in Texas 
in his mobile home down on the Rio Grande border.  So then I told him it 
was at my house, which satisfied him, and when our daughter brought it out 
from Colorado, I took a picture of it by his 5th wheel trailer, which he 
left here a few years ago.

"Where is Norma?  Why isn't she here?"  So I would tell him she was at her 
house in Colorado, and we would have to discuss Colorado versus Texas, with 
him all the while shaking his head, saying "I don't remember that.  I don't 
remember that."

"Why am I here?  How long do I have to stay?"  This one is so hard.  He 
doesn't remember being in Colorado, breaking his hip, anything about the 
intervening months.  We end up going back to the stairs he can't negotiate 
and my abject failure as a good daughter who serves dinner at 5.

And five minutes later, we reprise the whole conversation again.  And 
again.  And I remind myself each time that he does not remember the last 
conversation, and I tell myself to answer each question like it was first 
time he asked it, because it just upsets him if I say, "don't you remember 
- we just discussed this five minutes ago."

Then in the summer, Gerry and I took a week and drove over to the Oregon 
coast (where we met Dee!).  I wrote my father a note about the trip and put 
it by his phone, with instructions to call me whenever he wanted.  He has a 
neat phone with pictures he can push to auto-dial the house or my cell 
phone.  Two days out, I got a call from the staff nurse, saying he was in 
the hospital.  After a day of calls back and forth, it was determined that 
he had a panic attack.  Every time I talked to him for the rest of the 
trip, he told me how sick he was.

A month later we spent the weekend at our church's family camp.  Father 
ended up in the hospital having a panic attack.  When we got back I had a 
talk with his doctor, who told me very firmly to stop feeling guilty and 
she made some changes in our schedule.  I was to visit on a much more 
random basis - do a couple of days in a row, then skip two.  Come in the 
morning, then visit in the afternoon.  Call him at random times.  And the 
next time I left town DO NOT TELL HIM!  I cried.  But eventually I had to 
admit that it worked out well.

(to be continued)

Theta