Casino Royale…Pain: Pt. ll


Miss Cathy hadn’t been gambling in awhile so the other day I asked, “Do you want to go to the casino?”

To which she queried, “Do YOU want to go to the casino?”

Oh great, answering a question with a question, my favorite way to start the day.

I’d rather poke my eyes out with a dull butter knife, but, instead I replied, “No, I don’t but YOU want to go so I’m saying that I can take you if you want.”

Of course ‘she want’ so as soon as she could put her walking shoes on, get her cane, toddle out to the car and fumble with her seatbelt we were off to her version of Paradise off the Baltimore/Washington Parkway.

She lit up like a Christmas tree in the car, absolutely giddy with the prospect of ‘hitting it big”.

Unfortunately, ‘Giddy’ didn’t translate into Miss Cathy moving any ‘faster’ so she moved at the usual snails pace once we arrived even though she was actually excited to going out amongst’m.

Mom recently said that she had a ‘feeling’ she was going to win a lot of money-not unlike countless other seniors who wind up leaving much more money than that came with but I kept that factoid to myself as I steeled myself for the outing and steered us toward Live Casino.

After dropping her off at the entrance with instructions to wait while I park, we entered together, me looking as if I’d rather be anywhere than here but focused on getting her to her beloved fifty cent slot machines without a mishap and she like ticket holder to Willy
Wonka’s Chocolate Factory.

We approached the entrance, complete with a waist high glass and chrome gate with separate doors designated for coming ‘in’ and going ‘out’, manned by not one but at least three people (kind of like the casino’s version of a Wal-Mart greeter-times three).

If you’re lucky it’s ‘Hello” or “Welcome to Live Casino” but more often than not it’s a nod, grunt or ‘Wassup’ substituting for a civil salutation.

To my surprise one of the greeters looked at me and asked, “Do you want me to get you a wheelchair?”

I was touched by the offer, but declined because lets face it, walking through the casino presented Miss Cathy with the most ‘exercise’ she’s had in months.
The bewildered look in his eyes said “your life would be a lot easier if you put her in the chair”.

I thanked him again as we toddled onward, walking arm and arm slowly but surely toward the sound of “faux coins” dropping and the whirling and spinning lights announcing another big win as if to say, “Hurry, this could be you, take a seat and claim your prize!”

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Casino Royale…Pain: Pt. l


Miss Cathy barely wants to go out anymore.

Not because she can’t, far from it, she’s just been isolating lately (and by ‘lately’ I mean the past couple of years).

Hey, I understand not being a social person, I’m pretty anti-social myself, preferring my solitude over the company of others usually (guess the apple falls from the tree to get away from the others) but I do make an effort at social intercourse and realize the value that being amongst my fellow man brings, physically and mentally.

But not mom, nope, she’s inside breathing the same air (did I mention she has an aversion to opening windows-“let’s the dust in”) and her only companions can be found on the television.

She cancels more hair salon appointments than she keeps (and those are only every six weeks) and she breaks promises to visit or go out with her girlfriend as a rule and not the exception.

I’ve written extensively about her refusal to go to a Senior Center, shopping, Community center, etc. so no need to bore you and infuriate myself by recounting any more of that here.

Maybe it’s a combination of illness, depression, inertia and the slowdown that affects most elders but in her case (not to generalize or speak to anyone else diagnosed with Alzheimer’s) it’s as if she’s taken the ‘living’ out of her life.

Suffice to say Miss Cathy is an island unto herself, the land mass is slowly sinking and being taken over by the seas of dementia.

And even though she doesn’t want to do much of anything related to leaving her condo the one thing she’s always ‘up’ for is a trip to the casino, specifically “Live” Casino which (conveniently) opened up a coupe years ago about twenty minutes drive down the Parkway from us.

She might (occasionally) forget to wipe herself but she never forgets that place.

Thankfully she doesn’t pester me to go play the fifty cent slots as often as she used to, like some junkie needing to score at a crack house.

So, I try help her scratch her gambling itch by ‘offering’ to take her every couple of months, a ‘reward as it were for here restraint.

And it’s an offer she’s yet to refuse.

#NothingLastsForever


Not their denial

Not their forgetfulness

Not their anger, nor your frustration

Not their confusion

Not their willful obstinacy

Not their incontinence

Not their inconsistency

Not their inability to recognize you

Not their malaise

Not their depression

So, remember this as you care for your loved one

Nothing lasts forever,

Not their smile
Not their laughter

Not their wisdom

Not their courage

Not your connection

Cherish the good,
Forgive the bad

What will last is the love

And that will live on…forever

A Caregiver’s Online Guide: TyTips Pt. lV


12) Don’t parent your parent the same way they parented you

Now that you have assumed responsible for the care and protection of your parent doesn’t mean it’s time for you to work out (or take out) any negative childhood grievances you may still harbor as to the way you were raised

“If” you feel you were mistreated in your childhood now is not the time for pay-back

Being a caregiver does not give you license to administer retribution for any transgressions that may have occurred

You have been entrusted as their caregiver-not judge/jury presiding over the past

Treat your loved one with the respect, love, consideration and care that you ‘wished’ you’d received or that you would hope to receive from YOUR loved one if/when (heaven forbid) you are stricken with the disease yourself

13) It’s not all about ‘them’, Carve out some ‘you’ time during the day

Take the focus off your loved one and putting it on yourself

We (as caregivers) have a tendency to make it all about our loved one 24/7 but it’s just as important to find time during the day to take care of yourself

Do something for yourself, even if it’s just for 1 hour a day; go to the gym, take a walk around the park or go to the mall for some retail thereapy, visit a church, temple or mosque to just sit, pray or meditate

14) Driving

As caregivers we are the people that are around our loved ones the most and we are best in a position to determine whether or not they should continue to drive

If you do not trust your judgment to be impartial (thinking you may be disloyal or fearful of your loved ones wrath), take your loved one to their geriatrician or primary care physician and let them decide if it’s still safe for your loved one to drive

Remember, if your loved one gets behind the wheel and has an accident, they could not only get lost, they could harm themselves and others as well (potentially fatally) and YOU may be legally held responsible for whatever occurs if you knowingly let your loved one drive knowing were a danger to themselves and others

15) Join a support group

Make sure that you have someone (or a group of people) that you can go to for help and support

Your loved one is not the appropriate person to turn to when you need to vent your frustrations or have a question regarding their care

Alz.org is great resource to find help wherever you live as well as community newspapers, newsletters, and blogs

To Be Continued: I welcome your comments or suggestions from your experiences

Happy Birthday?


“Happy Birthday Son!”

Miss Cathy said the words with love and affection as I walked into the living room on Saturday morning with the cup of coffee that she’d forgotten in the kitchen.

“Thank you”, I said, smiling down as I handed her the cup.

“That’s sweet of you to say except today’s not my birthday.”

“Todays the fourth isn’t it?”, she stated rather than asked, looking very self-righteous as any woman who was present at the birth would.

“Yes,” I replied, “today is the fourth.”

“And no mom”, I gently reminded her. “My birthday is on the eighth.”

“You’ll be fifty four?” she asked, alittle less sure of herself.

“Close”, I said,” fifty-five.”

We went round and round a couple times before she was convinced that I was right (which meant that she was wrong) and then there was a moment or two of silent recognition before the expression on here face seemed to say, ‘this is one more of those things that she was sure of that she’s not so sure of anymore’.

I sat next to her, not saying anything (after all, what is there to say really, in a moment like that? Personally I think it’s best just to be there but let her be).

We sat for a moment or two in silence while she’d collected herself and then she told me that she appreciated everything that I do for her (a much appreciated sentiment but an odd segue nonetheless).

She said she’d been meaning to tell me that my moving in to take care of her allows her to sleep peacefully at night in her own bed so she’s not afraid and that meant a lot.

Then she handed me a small stack of bills and said, “Here, I’ve got alittle present for you,”

The non-sequiturs just kept coming.

“Happy Birthday!” she said again.

I thanked her for the present and hugged her, not quite sure if she’d forgotten the conversation we’d just had about ‘when’ my actual day of birth was or if she was just acknowledging my birthday in general.

When your mother is convinced of the wrong date for your birth, not to be confused with being ‘wrong’ about the age of your child by a year (which is more or less understandable).

Hell, sometimes I forget how ‘old’ I am.

But, to not know with certainty something as fundamental as the day of the month to which you gave birth (to one of your two sons-it’s not like she’s Mrs. Duggar of “19 Kids & Counting fame) portends other ‘knowns’ to become ‘unknown’.

I just sat there, counting my money and smiling, thinking, there are so many things wrong with that exchange; suffice to say no more evidence should be needed as proof that Miss Cathy’s Alzheimer’s is advancing.

F-bombs


Miss Cathy is no stranger to how shall I say ……”salty language”. Let’s face it, she can make a truck driver blush but since her diagnosis she’s even made me wince and I’m about as vulgar as they come (I guess the foul-mouthed apple didn’t fall very far from that tree).

Last week with the redecorating and remodeling half way finished I was excited that when the ice maker for the new refrigerator was delivered that would at least signal the end of things to do in the kitchen for a while.

All of the new stainless steel appliances; stove, over the counter microwave and refrigerator came from the same big-box, discount electronic store and for the most part I was happy with the purchases.

On the day the ice maker was delivered I was surprised to see two guys at the door and not one and I was further puzzled that one of them didn’t just hand me the package and leave. The one holding the box said that they were here to “install” the ice maker so I proceeded to let them in.

Like everyone who now visits I asked them to please take their shoes off in the foyer before coming any further into the apartment. To my surprise they balked, one saying that we were their first stop of the day (as if that immunes them from bringing outside dirt inside) and that the installation wouldn’t take long. Since I wasn’t expecting them to install the ice maker (I hadn’t paid for that service-just the ice maker) I decided to not look a gift horse in the mouth and allowed them in (for some reason only the one who spoke came in and the other went back outside).

Unfortunately 45 minutes later the installer tells me that he was given the wrong ice maker at the warehouse for our refrigerator and another would have to be ordered.
I looked over at Miss Cathy on the couch after letting him out and she was fuming-not about the mistaken ice maker but about the fact that the guy didn’t take off his shoes.

I was on the phone with the store making arrangements for the correct item to be shipped and I made a point to complain about the installer’s objection to my request. When mom heard me mention the incident I could hear her in the background saying, “Let me talk to them.”

I ignored her, finishing up the conversation in my room and then I came back into the living room to tell her that I had handled it.

This seemed to calm Miss Cathy a bit but she was still worked up. “Well good”, she said, “that’s good that you know how to talk to people and get things done because I was ready to tell that fucker off and the people on the phone, too.”

“I don’t know who the fuck he thought he was saying he wasn’t going to take his shoes off, this is my house-not his!” “Makes me hot, I want to get that fucker fired!”

Alrighty then I thought, after stepping out the way of the last of the f-bombs and sitting next to her on the couch. Her reaction was kinda over the top but that’s par for the course lately so I just listened. She didn’t go on much longer and seemed appeased when I told her that the store apologized for the installer’s behavior and they were going to refund my money for the ice maker and ship and install the correct one for free.

That made her happy, crisis averted. The f-bombs are tucked away for another day, ready to drop at the next battlefield whether real or imagined.

Design in time for New Years Part IV: “Magic carpet ride” concluded


The carpet guys started in Miss Cathy’s room, which meant putting ALL of her furniture into my little room (no bigger than Anne Frank’s domicile) while they ripped up the (blood) red carpet and padding. As they worked from room to room, hallway to closets the old flooring gave way to the new. The carpet had lain there for decades so I was surprised that it surrendered so easily, I thought it would be like prying a riffle out of Charlton Heston’s cold, dead hand but it came up without a fight.

During that marathon day the installers only took a half hour break for lunch, otherwise pretty much working straight through from 11:00 am till 7:00 pm. I did give them ice water and cut up some apple slices that I shared with them (I guess a little of the suburban hostess lives deep down inside of me).

I helped move furniture and when not needed I (deep) cleaned everything (when else was I going to have a chance to clean behind (and sometimes the bottom of) such heavy furniture.

By 4 pm I was ecstatic to see the carpet go down in the living room-no more baby blue carpet to ignore and design “around” as if it didn’t exist. At 4:30 pm I got a call from Miss Cathy asking if I was on my way to pick her up. In her defense I should have called her earlier (but forgive me I was trapped behind all of the living room furniture piled into the dining room and forgot about her).

She was none too pleased when I told her that the “surprise” was taking longer than I thought, I asked if she could just “hold tight” for a little while longer and I would pick her up “soon”. She grumbled a bit but I wasn’t really listening I was so focused on getting off the phone so I hurry the guys up.

By 6pm there were still finishing touches left to do on the hallway, closets and my little room. I was starting to get overwhelmed (evidenced by the sweat that started early in the day but was now full on flop sweat) with helping the installers finish, cleaning, putting things back and now having to contend with a mother anxious to come home. I was not looking forward to calling her back.

When I called the first thing she said was that she was “ready”-I told her I wasn’t, that it would be more like 7 pm before I got there and by her reaction you’d think I was the governor denying her appeal from getting the electric chair- I wondered if the other Ty felt like this when he was getting a home ready to view on Extreme Makeovers.

At 7:30 pm the installers were finished laying all the carpet and then they helped me put the heavier pieces of furniture back and the mattresses and beds back in place. As they left I gave them each a $10.00 tip- keeping twenty dollars in my pocket that I’d originally planned to give them but I was still miffed about being kept waiting so I kept the money as my own “Ty tip”. With them gone, I couldn’t do a barefoot happy dance on the new carpet; no I didn’t have time for any of that.

I spent the next half hour putting the bric back as best I could, giving up on opening another box after I noticed time ticking away on a clock I’d unpacked. I settled for trying to “dress” the living room so that at least there would be one space intact for the “reveal”.

With no time to shower and change, I splashed some water on my face and without so much as a spritze of cologne I was off to pick up Miss Cathy, dust and sweat my only accessories. True to form, she was sitting outside in a lawn chair in her friend’s garage waiting for me. I took a deep breath, reminded myself that this day was (in fact) all for her and pinned on a nice smile as I got out to greet her.

I made a detour to Kentucky Fried Chicken, thinking a bucket of the Colonel’s greasiest and finest would distract my passenger-I never saw Pennington and the like have to placate their families with a chicken wing but so be it.

She actually thawed out a little in the car-she was probably thrown by my actually talking to her on the ride home. Once we arrived I raced ahead (well, I didn’t have to race because after all this is “toddle along” Miss Cathy we’re talking about) to “fluff” and “tszuj” before she got to the door.

Once she was at the threshold I had her take her shoes off, close her eyes and hold my hand as I led her into the living room (by her halting steps you’d think she’d never set foot into her own home before). I felt just like the TV hosts leading the unsuspecting homeowners inside.

She opened her eyes and then…….nothing, like the book case that I “revealed “ to her a few weeks previously she didn’t quite get what she was suppose to see immediately but unlike the bookcase (where I had to tell her what was new in the room) she looked around, then down and said, “Oh…my….God!” Her face was a mix of wonder, shock, (horror?) and pure pleasure at what she as seeing.

Her reaction for the next half hour or so made all the sweat, pushing and pulling worth it. She walked from room to room looking at the carpet as if it might morph back into the old flooring, saying that now she knew what had taken so long and was surprised that so much was done in so “little” time. She was stunned and just so happy hugging me that I no longer cared that I smelled like the old, rolled up carpet that earlier lay like a corpse outside ready to be carted off to wherever they end up.

I reminded her that this was a present from both Tony and I (mostly me) and I could hear her telling the story of her surprise and how “blessed” she was for the next several hours as she called everybody she could think of.

The new carpet was by far the most dramatic of the changes that were to occur. Since that day there have been new custom faux-wood blinds installed to go with the silk drapes, new furniture for her bedroom and stainless steel range, over the counter microwave and refrigerator in the kitchen just in time for New Years’.

Currently I’m in the process of removing all the old wallpaper and painting the entire apartment. The dining and living rooms are painted and I’m working my way down the hall to the bathrooms and bedrooms.

She’s been a trooper with all the chaos, adapting quickly to the changes as I box up her things, peel, prime and paint around her.

With each new “reveal” Miss Cathy’s reaction has only grown and she seems happier with each change that I’ve made. I’m not done yet but we’re still early into the “New Year”. At present I’m under budget and over joyed with the results.