My Dad Has Dementia

It is time for school to begin.  My husband and I, at our different employment areas, are back preparing to open the doors to students this week.  My son is preparing to take his driver test so he can drive himself to school his senior year. (When did that happen? I need to lie down a moment.)

But my father has dementia.  It's an affliction that older people get. The brain starts to focus on activities such as walking and not so much on remembering. My dad was born a few days after Pearl Harbor, was in Vietnam, left the military after 28 years and worked in the medical field for almost twenty more years before he finally hung up his white coat.  He said that his intention was to pester my mother. He has achieved that goal.  They are both in their 80s, but my mother has her bowling teams, and she has her errands to run, and the house to clean, and laundry, etc. What she has been doing her entire life. Her routine, now that she does not have children in the house, has been a well-oiled machine with nary a hiccup, just how she likes it.   

My dad does not have a bowling league. He does not have errands to run. He just sits. He did try to clean the house to help my mom, but he didn't complete the task correctly and was shooed away. As I said, my mom has a routine.  My father did like to complete woodworking tasks, such as creating bookshelves and entertainment centers made of Oak that will survive a nuclear explosion and put your back out if you try to move it. But when he had his heart valve replaced, that all seemed to go away due to the long recovery.  All that equipment sits now, covered with dust and a few deceased wasps. My dad used to like to work in his garden and spent a lot of time outside, but now he "falls down out there". He says that he is watering every day, but the condition of the plants tells the story.

My dad used to pick up my son from school.  He would get into his humongous Ford 350 truck, roll down his windows and play old-timey country music very loud while in the car pool lane, because he enjoyed annoying people (his words).  Then he started to get lost while driving, so he was only allowed to drive around the block and secretly buy beer for homeless people.  My mother wanted to know why my dad didn't buy food for them, but he said that it was his money, so she let it slide.  Except when my dad was talked into driving one of those homeless people to his house over by Mission Concepcion, and he didn't know how to get back home. My brother "borrowed" Nelly the truck, and it sits in his driveway now.  My mother drives both of them.  For now.   

What my dad LOVES to do right now is talk to people. When we go out to eat on Sundays, my dad stops at every table to say hi and to tell a joke or two.  Most individuals are gracious and accommodating while my father tells one of the two jokes he remembers, and stands there while they try to make small talk in return.  Both of his jokes are slightly off color, so there's always a chance that someone will be offended.  My father is no longer allowed in one of the local libraries, for example, to my mother's horror. When I try to get him to move along so we can sit down, he gets irritated with me and tells everyone that I am "no fun".  I agree with him.  It is no fun chasing your dad around like he's a toddler who has wandered into the kitchen and wants the treat of someone's attention.  And he won't remember any of it ten minutes later. 

It has been hard watching my dad.  The guy I used to go to for answers about everything (because he was Dad, and dads know everything) doesn't remember my name. He doesn't remember a lot of names.  He does remember that I am his daughter, and that will have to do for now.  We could all wear nametags or buy shirts with our names on them, but given the number of people in the family and their fashion preferences, there might be a brawl. Fortunately we all live close to one another. My brother has started to come over more to visit my parents, and we have spent time over there during the summer talking, sitting, and walking with my dad so my mom can go to church and have a little respite.  They've installed cameras and alarms, so that my mom knows when my dad decides that he is going for a walk and leaves the house.  And we have spoken to my mom about options for her to consider, such as hiring a caregiver to help her.  She's the decision-maker now.  

The Earworms Scare Me Sometimes

I woke up this morning humming "Tennessee Waltz". Before I was even fully conscious, before I had my coffee, that song was looping on a tape in my brain. I even started singing it to myself in the shower, and with that realization came a niggling fear.

WTF? Because that is really the only thing that you can say to yourself at that point, when you realize that you are doing something that is weirder than normal.

It was an earworm. For those who are not sure what exactly an earworm is, it's a song that gets stuck in your head on a loop, and it won't go away. It's usually a song that you hate with the passion of ten thousand suns(like "Riders On The Storm" or that awful song about Barbie), but it can also be a song from your past. Like the "Tennessee Waltz".

It's probably been more than twenty years since I actually heard that song; my tastes run more toward metal-ish, classic rock-ish type stuff. It wasn't likely that I would hear it on the radio.

Where the heck did that earworm come from?

As the day progressed, another earworm showed up, this time it was the theme from the Batman movies. I knew where this one came from--we've been playing Lego Batman and Robin. Larry and I play, at least. Zane seems to think that the game is a movie, and when we give him the controller he seems to enjoy flinging poor Batman off of buildings or into toxic waste. (He also thinks it is hilarious when I accidentally smack Robin around.)

Since I could trace the origin of that particular earworm, it did not cause me the same sort of concern as the "Tennessee Waltz". In fact, it was almost a relief.

My grandmother has dementia. She's in a nursing home, where she is no longer cognizant of anyone or anything that is going on around her. She just lays in a nursing home bed, wasting away. I doubt that my grandmother knew that her memories were being sucked away from her until it was too late, and most of the time people with dementia are pretty good at hiding their deterioration, so there were probably some early signs that everyone missed. I am terrified of that happening to me, because how would I be able to tell something was wrong?

I already have trouble calling family members by the correct name--is that a sign? How would I know if it is? Am I going to be wandering down the road at three in the morning and not know how I got there? What if random earworms are a symptom?
As if I didn't have enough things to be anxious about, now I have to worry about this too? WTF????

Finally, I just got annoyed, which I do more often than is probably healthy. (Is THAT a symptom?) There are TONS of other things for me to worry about, I told myself. Why am I still thinking about this?

Sometimes, as the saying goes, you just have to take a nap and get over it. So that is what I did. And I woke up feeling much better. Relaxed, even.

Until I found myself humming the theme song from...Green Acres.

Anyone else suffer from earworms?