Adapting to Alzheimer’s – “Herding Cattle, Fighting Fires, and Counting Ballots”
I am neither a healthcare professional nor an expert on Alzheimer’s care giving. But, I thought it might be helpful to share some 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.
My mother loved serving as an Election Judge in their local precinct. She looked forward toward working the primary elections in August and the general election in November with Beulah and Wilma. She loved seeing friends and relatives coming to the polling place and meeting new neighbors in the community. She had a keen ability to remember names, faces, and relationships, which made her an effective judge. For many years, Dad would get up very early in the morning with Mom, eat a quick breakfast, and drive her to the polling place before it opened. Around noon, he would would come back to check on Mom and cast his ballot. Then, shortly after the polls closed, he would arrive to drive Mom and the ballot box to the County Courthouse.
I don’t have the actual dates, but I believe Mom started serving as an election judge in the 1980s and continued for more than two decades. In the early 2000’s, Dad’s dementia became more pronounced and Mom began to worry that she couldn’t leave Dad alone all day. He was fully functional, but the medications sometimes made it difficult for Dad to distinguish between his memories and the current reality. She would tell me during our weekly phone calls that she probably didn’t need to “work the elections” again this year. I would ask, “Why don’t I check my calendar since I’m about due for a trip to Missouri.” Amazingly, my calendar would open up. I would take vacation, drive to Missouri on a Monday afternoon, Mom would fill me in on the instructions for the next day, then we would get in bed since it would be an early start for the elections.
Throughout the evening, Mom would remind Dad that tomorrow was Election Day, she would be serving as an election judge, and their son, Brad, would be staying with him. She also told him that she would be leaving early, but he could sleep in since Brad would be here when he woke up.
The next morning, things went like clockwork; Mom got up early, I heard her in the kitchen outside my bedroom door, but quickly fell back to sleep. At 7:00 am, my alarm went off and I roused out of bed. I was pleased that Dad was still asleep so I took a quick shower, got dressed for the day, and began to cook breakfast. Dad woke up around 8:30; I reminded him that Mom was working the elections and I would be taking care of him. He was still able to dress himself if Mom laid out his clothes for the day. He got dressed, went into the bathroom to brush his teeth and shave, then came into the kitchen for breakfast. I asked if he would like some coffee while I finished cooking. We had oatmeal, buttered toast, fried eggs, and bacon. After eating, I was to make certain he took his medications, which Mom had carefully placed in a row on a paper towel on the kitchen table.
At this point, things began to unwind. I asked Dad if he would take his medications and pointed to the pills lined up on the paper towel. He stubbornly refused; I pressed, he dug in. Trying to out maneuver him, I got second paper towel and placed my medications in a row. I told, “Look Dad, I’m going to take my medications.” I picked up the first pill, put it in my mouth, took a sip of water, and swallowed. It was at this point that things really unravelled! “You ruined it”, he said, “You’ve messed up the ballots and ruined the whole election!” It was then I realized that Dad didn’t see pills in a row on a paper towel; he saw election ballots lined up in a row ready to be counted. I reassured him that Mom would be back soon and she would know how to straighten it out. After many reassurances, I was eventually able to get him to leave the kitchen and go into the living room to his recliner until Mom returned to count the “ballots”.
When Dad dozed off, I eased outside to do some yard work that Mom had mentioned, if we had time. While I was outside, Dad woke up from his nap and came outside with his Norelco electric razor case, his key ring, and a green coffee cup. He went to his Chevy pickup first, unlocked the door with his key ring and climbed inside. I watched intently as he fumbled with his keys trying to get one to fit in the ignition (we had previously removed the ignition keys from his key ring when he decided to drive himself “home”, but that is another story). When he was unable to start his truck, he climbed out and tried to unlock my pickup. Being unsuccessful, he moved to a golf cart that my cousin had brought over in advance of deer season. He looked at me and said, “We’ve got to get out of here! Everything is going to burn up! You’ve got to help me start one of these cars and get out of here! There’s a forest fire coming our way and everything is going to burn up!”
I told Dad, “I can’t help you; I don’t have a key to start the cars”. “Well then, you’ve got to push me!”, he said. I push hard against the golf cart without success. “I can’t push it Dad; we’ve got to do something else!” At this time, I went to the well house and got a sweep rake and began raking leaves away from the house. “What are you doing?”, Dad asked. “Raking a fire line” was my reply and our conversation went back and forth. “It won’t do any good; everything is going to burn up!” “Well, we’ve got to try!” Finally, Dad went to the well house, attached a garden hose to the facet and began spraying water against the house. At this point, I knew I had him. He had gone from an irrational fear of a forest fire that occurred in the early 1950’s to a rational response toward fighting a fire. As he sprayed water, I stopped raking and asked Dad, “Do you see any fire or smell any smoke?” “No”, he replied. “I wonder if they we able to put the fire out? Why don’t we go and check?” I went to my Ridgeline, helped him into the passenger seat, and drove him down the County Road. “I don’t see or smell any smoke; do you?” He spotted one small cloud in the clear, blue November sky. “Is that a fog or a smoke?” he asked. “I think it is a fog” I replied, “I think they were able to put the fire out!” He seemed satisfied. While we were out, I distracted him into painting some fenceposts with posted purple and he completely forgot about the forest fire.
Shortly after lunch, we went to polling place. Mom helped Dad cast his ballot. She pecked him on the check with a kiss and told him that she would be home as soon as the election was over. I asked about the medication “ballots”; she said we would count them tomorrow. I was relieved that the rest of the day and evening were uneventful.
The next morning, I woke to a horrible racket in the kitchen! “Haw, haw! Get in that pen!” When I cracked open the bedroom door, I saw Dad waving his arms and herding imaginary cows around the kitchen table. Mom always said that you have to be nimble of mind and foot when watching an Alzheimer patient. I opened the bedroom door further and asked, “Do you want to put those cows in this corral?” “Yes I do!” he hollered. I slipped around the opposite side of the kitchen table and followed Dad’s lead of hollering, waving my arms, and herding the imaginary cows. Soon, we converged on the bedroom door. “Did we get them all in the corral?”, I asked. When he said yes, I closed the bedroom door which was serving as a gate to the corral. “Whew”, I exhaled and looked at Dad, “It’s only 8:00 o’clock and the truck won’t be here for another hour to pick up the cattle; why don’t we get a cup of coffee and go sit in the living room until the truck arrives”. Dad agreed. As he sat down in the recliner, the imaginary cattle disappeared in his mind as quickly as they appeared.
As I look back on those years, I am so glad that I took the time to drive to Missouri and let Mom “work the elections” while Dad and I herded cattle, fought forest fires, and counted ballots. I am also glad that Mom had advised me to be nimble of mind and foot when caring for an Alzheimer’s patient!
Blessings to the caregivers and those on this journey.
#Alzheimer’s #caregiver #AdaptingToAlzheimer’s
Bradley Roberts Wyatt 