Adapting to Alzheimer’s – “The Long Drive”
I am neither a healthcare professional nor an expert on Alzheimer’s care giving. But, I thought it might be helpful to someone for me to share our adaptations through a series of short stories based our experiences while caring for my Dad and my Mother-in-Law on this long journey known as Alzheimer’s.
We first became aware of Dad’s dementia while playing the Phase 10 card game. We spent many holidays around the kitchen table competing in this game. Dad always sat at the head of the table, Mom to his left, Emily to Grandma’s left, then Justin, Pam, myself, back to Dad. Grandma and Emily played together “as a team”. I’m not saying they cheated, but Grandma routinely discarded the exact card Emily needed. Justin even once accused Emily of signaling the card she needed by the number of fingers she extended. Regardless of the alleged cheating, Dad had a keen ability to read people and remember cards. He seldom lost unless multiple players aligned against him.
But, all that began to change in the late 1990s. Dad was no longer a consistent winner. At times, he wouldn’t even be working on the current Phase. When we recognized the problem, I would keep the Phase 10 card between me and Dad and would frequently ask which Phase we were on and repeat it to him. In later years, I would hold my finger on the Phase and help Dad with his cards, but the end result of this strategy was we both lost. I could look at his cards and plot a strategy, but never had his gift to read people or remember previously played cards.
On September 11, 2000, Mom and Dad’s first great-grandson was born into this world. Earlier that year, they had attended Justin’s high school graduation, but Mom told me afterward that would be their last trip to Texas. I didn’t know at the time, but Dad couldn’t remember the roads well enough to drive and Mom couldn’t stay awake long enough to drive or guide Dad.
I knew that they desperately wanted to see their great-grandson, but were physically unable to drive themselves from Southwest Missouri to Chicago. And, Mom and Dad weren’t the kind of people who would want to be a burden to others and definitely wouldn’t ask someone else to drive them. So, I called Mom in late September and told her that I had a “hankering to drive to Chicago” and wondered if they would be willing to ride along “to keep me company”, that is, if it wouldn’t be too much of an inconvenience for them. Mom gladly accepted my invitation and we agreed to drive to Chicago in October.
Pam graciously suggested that I drive her Lincoln Navigator rather than my Ford Ranger pickup or Mom and Dad’s high mileage Chevy. So, I drove to Southwest Missouri on a Thursday evening, spent the night with Mom and Dad at the farmhouse, and wondered how they would handle the journey. At this point in Dad’s dementia, he was fully functional, but had lost most of his short-term memory and definitely couldn’t be hurried. So, we woke well after sunrise, ate a leisurely breakfast, watched morning news on the local TV station, and followed their normal morning routine.
Eventually, we loaded the car and set off on the 12-hour trip to Chicago. I drove, Dad rode in the front passenger seat, and Mom sat in the captain’s chair immediately behind me where she could keep a close eye on Dad. At first, Dad did extremely well; he and Mom routinely drove these roads to the grocery store in Forsyth and the familiarity calmed Dad. I drove faster than Mom, but the visibility in the Navigator gave Dad, and Mom, plenty of things to see so they didn’t notice the speed. As we drove past the grocery store and headed to Springfield, Dad looked perplexed. I told him, “Dad, we’re headed to Chicago to see your new great-grandson!” To which, he replied, “That’s right!”
When we reached Springfield, Mom and Dad would normally take the exit to a doctor’s appointment and stop by to see Mom’s brother or Dad’s sister. This time, we drove through town without stopping. I reminded Dad again, “We’re headed to Chicago to see your new great-grandson!” He again responded with, “That’s right!” and appeared to relax.
On the north side of Springfield, I turned east on Interstate 44 toward St. Louis rather than north on Missouri 13 toward Kansas City, where Mom and Dad in times past drove to the Veteran’s Hospital and stayed with Mom’s sister. It was obvious that this new road perplexed Dad and he just couldn’t seem to grasp why I was driving down the wrong road. Sensing that Dad was getting anxious, Mom asked Dad if he would like a sip of water. He focused on the unfamiliar road and didn’t answer. Knowing he needed to stay hydrated and wanting to distract him, she stretch to the front seat and pushed a sip cup with straw in front of Dad. “Take a drink” she said in a soft voice. He responded by drinking deeply from the cup.
“Look at those dairy cows Don” she said when he had swallowed. “I’m glad I don’t have to milk those cows; how about you?” “Me too” he said and starred out the side window watching the dairy barn and farmland rushing by. Soon, he focused back on this new road and again began showing signs of being perplexed and started getting anxious. I softly said, “Dad, we’re headed to Chicago to see your new great-grandson!” To which, he replied, “That’s right!” and almost immediately sat back in the seat and relaxed.
Mom had often reminded me that when Dad repeats the same question over and over again, it is brand new to him each time. I quickly realized that Dad could retain where we were going for little more than a minute. Fortunately, the States of Missouri and Illinois placed markers each mile to remind me to tell Dad of the purpose of our trip. So, for the next 545 mile markers, I would look over to Dad and say, “Dad, we’re going to Chicago to see your new great-grandson!” And for 545 times, Dad would reply, “That’s right!” and momentarily settle back into his seat.
Upon arriving at Chicago, Mom and Dad were able to see and hold their first great-grandson. We had wonderful weekend with my brother’s family, saw trout at the Root River steelhead facility, ate a delightful dinner beside the Racine harbor, and learned the importance of reassuring those with dementia where we were going along the way.
Blessings to the caregivers and those on this journey.
#Alzheimer’s #caregiver #AdaptingToAlzheimer’s
Bradley Roberts Wyatt 