My niece asks a question in the car

Today my Mom... sister... 2 nieces... and I
cleaned up my mother's room to get it ready for my Dad's return.

We also gathered the recycling and garbage to take to the dumps. (where I live trash removal services are never reliable so we belong to a private "dump" grounds. On Tuesdays and Saturdays we take our garbage there.)
I and my niece drove together....

I said...

"when we get back I have to help your mom move that (in brain)think think think...thing"

she...
"What thing?"

me...
(in brain) closet.... chest... dresser... c.s.lewis... the lion... witch .... wardrobe

Because I have been more acutely aware of what happens in my brain lately
I followed myself closely as I tried to connect with
the memory
of the word
"wardrobe"

it's crazy ... but I actually had to think through C.S. Lewis to get there.
which reminds me of the point I was trying to make
in the last post
about the way my dad remembers
which then in turn
reminds me
of myself
and the possibility that I have this disease...

Okay. Here is a test to see if you are all actually reading my blog.

I have a question which I would like you to answer through comments.
There is a new test (something like a spinal tap)
which can tell whether you have
a possibility of obtaining Alzheimer's
It can't tell if you have it... or if you will have it
but it can tell if you won't
and if it is possible that you "might"

I have been thinking about taking it.
The pro would be the ability to closely monitor it and the possibility of beginning drug therapy
before the signs of it occur

The con
Knowing it is possible you may end up with it

What do you think?

my Dad's brain pain

I think ... when my father is experiencing constipation... (which he has had a few really vicious cases of lately)... that he is more aware.
Most days will pass in something like this manner:

Me: Hi Dad.
Dad: Who are you?
Me: It's your son, Kevin.
Dad: My son?!

But when constipation pain occurs here is how it goes:

Me: Hi Dad.
Dad : Kevin I haveto go to the bathroom!

It's so strange because my first reaction isn't...
"Oh, I should help my Dad get on the toilet."
but
"Hey! He remembers my name! He knows who I am."

The other day when I and 2 nurses helped him onto the toilet (it is a feat and could maybe be a successful act in some strange senior citizen cirque de toilet... et as in "ay")
he sat on the toilet doing his thing but
at the same time he flirted with one of the nurses.
I swear to god
he actually (while ON the toilet, remember)
looked at the poor girl
pointed with his finger at her... then at himself... then at her again
whispered 'me an you"
kissed his own palm
blew that kiss gently in her direction
and winked!

It was weird

I've never felt such a mixture of embarrassed... sweet... and a little disgusted

My sister seems to think that my dad becomes more aware
and then realizes he has to go
and then says my name

but I really think the pain
focuses him somehow.

I don't know much and should know more about this disease
but I do know that
Alzheimer patients cannot attain memory directly

so if asked a question
"Where were you yesterday"
They can't necessarily think back to yesterday and find the answer.

However... they can... and do connect with memories indirectly...
so that a person's face... or a song
might call up an obscure memory from years before

the memories are all still there... but the mechanism to get to them is no longer working in a logical way.
And I think the pain
increases my dad's ability
to get to the memories he needs at the moment.
Somehow the pain is like a spare tire
its not perfect
but it allows him to move better
through his memories.

And although it can be painful for him
I also love those moments
because Dad seems much more Dad than usual.

Why is life full of that stuff?
Pain and joy together...

leaving Europe with Californian white

Today my mother and I are getting on each other's nerves... (because I want to throw a lot of useless old stuff away and she wants to save the useless old stuff just in case...)
My two friends left after a summer visit to go back to The Czech republic...
I feel lonely and unloved, because I found a box of hidden treasure... paraphernalia from the first year of my exciting journey to a new life abroad. In boxes and bags I rediscovered art books, a complete poster of the popes in chronological order and pages of scribbled information about the Vatican museum from my term as a tour guide in Rome.
I also found lesson plans and student's thank you cards from my teaching days in Japan.
I also found letters and small gifts from an Italian boy who I had had a "fling which became much more than a fling" with... (a booklet of Shakespeare's sonnets translated into Italian, postcards with sweet sentences on the back, photos etc)
It was my own personal renaissance... (if you consider this blog to be the new work of art!)
My thoughts ventured back in time all afternoon... and I couldn't shake the feeling that I am entering a new life dimension... and leaving behind some of the best days of my life.
Not to mention that now... I am back living with my parents... I have no "flings which are becoming more than flings"... I am no longer teaching... and my two friends (who were at least a connection to those days) left today.
In this half melencholy spirit I find myself in...
I went back to a very old email written to a friend 6 years ago.
It was only a few days after I had quit my job and got on a plane... then a train... then a boat to Lipari an island in the middle of the Mediterranean sea.
I will share this email with you now.... I suggest drinking a glass of wine (Italian of course) and as you read remember the beautiful things from your recent past as well and toast to them.
That's what i am doing now! Except that we have no Italian wine... only white Californian... or V8 juice.

Dear Gorav,

Already I have fallen in love with two Italians.
Riccardo with whom I shared a room and Pasquale the
first cammierie who served me dinner. Oh what a
dinning club one could have in Italy.
>
The car, the shuttle, the two planes, the subway, the
train, the taxi, the ferry and the walking blah blah
blah blah... here I am in Lipari, the largest of the
Aeolian Islands. Of course Sicily is not considered an
Aeolian Island. If it were it would blow the others
out of the water (ha ha ha).
>
I have very little to say about my 30 hour journey
except that Riccardo is very handsome and sleeps like
a typical Italian male, with lots of sighs, scratching
and, oh yes, alone.
>
What of the lights in Napoli at night while the lazy
Mediterranean slips your ferry out to sea? Of course
it was absolutely serene and beautiful. It's a very
free feeling to exist in a foreign land jobless, and
having no pressures or needs... just watching some
lights twinkle (did I mention the lone star perched
directly above some ancient looking structure resting
high on a hill at the top of the Neapolitan skyline?)
>
You can sleep on a ferry. It's very relaxing, the sea.
You can wake up on a ferry too. Especially well, when
the 6am sun shines through your portal, a man runs
down your hall shouting "PROSSIMO STROMBOLI!
STROMBOLLI, PROSSIMO" and the sounds of the ferry's
anchors being released right beside where your head
rests. Anchors being released are louder than say...
the Hoth battle sequence relayed on expensive surround
sound over extremely enormous speakers. (I seem to be
stuck in a never ending plot to have my sleep
disturbed.)
>
On Lipari you must remember:
>
Rigoletto means alley.
and when an Italian who works at an Italian hotel
reaches into their English vocabulary and produces a
word resembling this word: street They may really be
referring to a rigoletto, which looks nothing like a
street at all. I know this, because I walked down
every street in central Lipari before I asked a kind
woman
"Dove e La Penzione Neri"
>
and she replied
>
"Due rigoletto Li"
>
>
Since arriving at Neri I have explored the little
community, Visited a prison were famous fighters of
freedom died under Mussolini and the fascists, ate
spectacular swordfish.
>
I spent an afternoon starring at the ocean and
consuming fresh peas raw. Oh... and the fruit! The
fruit of Sicily would blow Sicily itself out of the
water.
>
Every hour the Lipari town clock boasts its chimes.
Every fifteen minutes the Lipari clock re boasts its
chimes. I assume that this is just in case you missed
the last strike fifteen minutes ago, either that or
you are deaf and can1t hear the damned clock anyway.
>
I can hear the clock quite well from my room. It is
only slightly less clear than the ferry anchor...
>
Perhaps I am boring you. Perhaps your eyes are glazed.
I know mine are... of course that is only sleep
deprivation.

Mother

My mother has been acting depressed lately.
She sits in front of the television.
She begins a new project but minutes later she leaves it undone and returns to the TV.
Her common complaint is,
"There's never anything on."

Since I returned home I think her depression has improved.
A 42 year old returning to live with his parents isn't an easy fit.
My father hasn't even come into the picture yet but I already feel that in some ways I am taking care of my mother as well.
She likes that I have come back... and in many ways I do as well. I love it here. The small jungle... the closeness to my family... the beach is not so far away...
But a change has occurred. A change that all of us with aging parents get hit with at one time or another.
My parents are becoming my children.
With my father it is understandable. He has a debilitating disease. He cannot function without the aid of other people.
My mother however...
Since my return not a day goes by without my mother asking for my decision on something.

Should I buy a new car?
Should I go to the store?
Should I get more money out of the bank?

I feel very uncomfortable giving my mother answers.
I hedge... and when I do she gets angry at me.

A friend of mine told me.
"Whenever your mother asks you questions like this... just say 'beats me.' But make sure you say it in different ways"
(in a light voice with a confused expression) "Beats me"
(After a moment of deep thought) "Beats me"
(with a note of embarrassment for letting her down) "Beats me, ma"

So a week later I put it to the test.
We were having plumbing problems and a plumber arrived to fix them.
He was working in the basement (my mother watched television)

She asked me
"How much will it be?"
"Beats me."
"How long will it take?"
"Beats me."
"Does he take checks?"
"Beats me."
"Well, go and ask him!"

Worries

Our house is old.
I return home every summer and am reminded of all the small and large problems to be found here.
The basement leaks in 3 places.
The deck is beginning to rot.
The closets and drawers (and just about any other storage space) are packed with mostly useless things and even the more useful of them become useless because no one knows where to find them.
My parents have been married for 48 years and have accumulated 48 years worth of stuff.
And my mother is a shop-a-holic.
Outside of the house has been described by friends as "a small jungle"
My father used to be a landscape artist.
Every day he worked outside.
It was and is a magic world out there, but now the magic is hidden beneath weeds and overgrowth. It is so overgrown that at this moment (9am on a sunny August morning) the crickets cicadas and other whistling insects are happily chirping. They still think its night because the sun can't reach them through the foliage.
The driveway is eroding, the well is barely pumping water into the plumbing system and mice live here (not to mention a snake which my mother found in our kitchen a few months ago.)

These are the problems at our home. If anybody out there knows anything about plumbing, gardening, closet control or snake removal... feel free to comment.

But I think my biggest problem right now is the one I feel in my own head.

My Grandmother died in a hospital tied to a bed. She had Alzheimer disease.
My father is 74 years old and has advanced Alzheimer disease.
Am I next?

I am 42 as previously admitted. I don't feel that this is old however it is impossible to ignore that around 40 my body and mind began to noticeably change.
i can't run as fast as I used to.
Much less hair pops out of my head.
I don't sleep as deeply.
Things hurt a bit if I have been sitting or crouching in one position for too long (usually after about 35 seconds.).

I think all this is quite normal.
It is the other problems which worry me more.

My concentration is going. I've always been an avid reader. I read for hours, sometimes whole weekends passed by and the minutes were counted by the turnings of pages.
Lately I can't even endure an hour of it before I loose focus and feel the need to sleep.

My clarity fails. I used to be often right. I had the answer to things, remembered them clearly in my mind. Whether it was the capital of Belize, my friend's birthday or the date of my next dentist appointment.
Now i forget almost everything.

I feel my mind slip away while I drive.
I can't remember the plots nor names of my favorite films not to mention my favorite actors who play in them.

And words! Words which used to pour from the pitcher of my mind through the spouts of my fingers onto the page, now get caught somewhere in the journey and I have to constantly shake the whole contraption just to get a few of them to eke out and finally fall before me.

This is what is worrying me the most:
Do I have or will I get ALzheimer disease?

personalities

Currently my father is staying at something like a nursing home.
I think the correct term is "Elder Care Facility"
Our house is not yet prepared for my Dad's return.
We decided to take a few weeks to get things right before he comes back.
The "We" in this case are Mom my sister and I.

So almost every day my mother and I drive out to the Facility to visit my father.
The home is a half hour from here.
About 12 other patients stay in my father's wing.
i say "about" because it is difficult to judge.
It seems like some of them (John Henry the British accented former sailor or Tony the angry flirt who is usually either coming on to the nurses or yelling at them) go away for long periods of time when suddenly after a weeks absence they reappear in the common room. Others (Esra the big rimmed glasses lady who is often waiting for a bus to take her home or Virginia with the sweet smile who likes to pet people) are fixtures more solid than the large heavy metallic doors which slam together and lock every time a staff member goes through them.

Here are a list of the more colorful of my dad's new neighbors:
John Henry sailor
Tony flirt
Esra big rims
Virginia petter
who you have already met. and:
Pantless Louise (who always takes her pants off)
"I" "I" Ida (who repeats the word "I" constantly)
Lost Lily (who can never find her room and always asks my mom where it is)
Hello Rita (who likes to wave at people and wink)
and everyone's favorite:
Naked Ned (who likes to take off ALL his clothes, walk into occupied women's bathrooms, fix things that usually don't need fixing and also tries to escape)

All of these people in different combinations can be found at one time or another in the common room. My father (who is confined to a wheel chair) can always be found there during waking hours. He is placed off to the right between a movable table and a support pole. He faces the television which he often confuses for a real person and sometimes thinks it is trying to speak to him.
"What?" he'll ask the face of a weather woman who is explaining the weather for the next three days. "What is it you want?" Then after another moment of concentration directed toward the t.v. lady he looses interest and mutters "I can't understand her."
Most of the time the different patients sit in that room all facing the t.v.. Some of them who still understand that it is just a television watch game shows with excited anticipation and yell out
"She won 16 thousand dollars! Oh isn't that wonderful?" As if they know the pretty accountant from Minnesota and are truly happy for her success.
Others just stare at the screen, occasionally making something like a reaction (a guffaw or a tsking sound or sad shake of the head). It doesn't seem to be the television they react to but something in their own personal view of the world around them. Or it is the television to which they react but not to the same images that I see. They perceive something else there... the use of a bounty towel on a wet counter becomes a funny joke... an old episode of Friends leads to a fit of rage... or Ellen Degeneris brings about a sigh with such depth it weightens the room.
Still others act as if the TV does not exist. They sit, head down and hands on laps, the floor a more interesting visual experience than anything else in the room.
These are my father's new companions. He likes them. he has always liked people, talking to people especially. That part of him is still around although the conversations are non sensical and often the people he is talking to are having completely different conversations of their own or not listening at all. But that doesn't stop Dad... he keeps on talking.

i'll leave you with a story which recently happened to my Mom. We had been visiting my dad in the common room and on our way out she stopped in his room to pick up his dirty clothes. There, in his bed, she found Lost Lilly all snug and warm with the blankets atop her.
"This isn't your room Lilly." My mom sweetly said.
"It isn't?" Lilly uttered surprisingly.
"No. It's my husband's room. If you don't get out soon there will be a man in bed with you."
and Lilly smiled
"Well, that hasn't happened in a long time!"

Don't Romanticize

Recently I told my friend 'Drah that I would be returning home to New Jersey.
The reason... to care for my father who suffers from advanced Alzheimer disease.
-"WHY?" she said.
-"It's just something I feel I have to do." I replied.
She'd gone through a similar experience helping to care for her grandmother. It required lots of hard work and attention. Free time vanished. Cleaning, feeding, brushing teeth, changing adult diapers... for someone who has always been your parental figure may be one of the most difficult experiences a person can have.
I listened, but I'd also thought about many of these things before and I have a regimen of actions which I have also thought about to combat the difficulties I will face taking on this task. I know there will also be un-forseen issues, probably quite a few of them.
I told 'Drah
- "Every day I plan to wake up early and take my dog for a walk. Then I will shower eat breakfast and say a little prayer before I walk into my father's room to wake him up. We'll face the day together... and if it takes three hours to put on one sock then so be it. At the end of the day after all is done and he lies in bed again... I will walk to my computer and... I think.... I think that I'll Blog about it..."
'Drah became strangely angry. She grabbed my arm. She said...
-"Kev. I don't want you romanticizing this."

The next day another friend of mine, after hearing my plan said..
"Kev. Do it. Do it now."

So I am doing it. This is it in fact. And I am not romanticizing anything.
Or at least I hope I'm not.
I feel as if I am doing the opposite of romanticizing, whatever that may be exactly, Realitize maybe.
In fact before this decision was made my life was... well.... sorta "romantic"
For the past 6 years I have been living and working in Asia and Europe. I gave tours at the Vatican, taught English in Italy France Japan and finally The Czech republic. I once considered myself an actor and a playwright and even helped run a small theatre company. I cry at movies. I have almost no money in the bank, almost no practical skill or experience that can help me much in our currently financially bereft world. I recently acquired a Parson Russell Terrier named Bubble. I don't consider myself to be very intelligent although I have a certain emotional awareness of things that's helped me to survive. Besides my dog I own almost nothing. I am 42 years old, a homosexual, single (although I've had a few experiences out there in the world). My relationship with my father has been... ever-changing throughout my life and now I plan to care for him at the end of his (the middle of mine) and write about it.
Let's see how it goes...