When celebrating with a drink or two gets you in trouble…
At a party, the hostess served a guest a cup of punch and told him it was spiked. Next, she served some to a minister.
“I would rather commit adultery than allow liquor to pass my lips!” the minister shouted.
Hearing this, the first man poured his punch back and said, “I didn’t know we had a choice!”
A businesswoman is sitting at a bar. A man approaches her.
“Hi, honey,” he says. “Want a little company?”
“Why?” asks the woman. “Do you have one to sell?”
One more – hold onto your seats!
One night Judge O’Brien tottered into his house very late and very drunk indeed, so bombed that he had managed to throw up all over himself. In the morning he sheepishly told his wife that a drunk sitting next to him on the train home had managed to vomit all over him.
The next day, the judge managed to make it into the courthouse when it occurred to him that his story might not be truly convincing to his wife. Inspired, he called home and said, “Honey, you won’t believe this, but I just had the drunk who threw up on me last night show up in court, and I gave him thirty days.”
“Give him sixty days,” said the judge’s wife. “He shit in your pants, too.”
Alzheimer’s Disease: Your Questions Answered | PBS NewsHour. We need all the help we can get in order to make well-informed decisions about any caregiving journeys that might occur in our future. The attached article shows a snapshot of one adult daughter’s 24/7 caregiving journey with her mother.
Perhaps you’re saying that you don’t anticipate your parents requiring any caregiving assistance in their frail years (perhaps your parents have already passed so no need exists there.) Do you have any siblings? close friends? a significant other? If you answered “yes” to any of those designations, the possibility exists that you will be called upon – or you’ll volunteer – to be of assistance to someone who needs help with their activities of daily living (ADLs).
Taking care of a loved one is no easy task. It doesn’t matter how much you love the person, your patience and your abilities will be tested. I truly admire the subject of this PBS article. Rebecca Wyant is the full-time caregiver and guardian of her mother, Mary Wyant, who was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s at the age of 65. Mary moved in with her daughter in 2006, is now 74 years old, and Rebecca is in her seventh year of personally providing her mother with full-time care.
How does Rebecca do it? She thought she was prepared for the task but soon discovered that finances, and creative ways of managing her mother’s care, are dwindling resources. With that said, however, Rebecca states that she is the only person who can provide the care that she can. She agrees that professionals could provide the care, but absolutely no one could possibly care for mom as Rebecca can. That part of the video disturbs me a bit, and I’ll tell you why.
Dad, myself and one of his caregivers.
I was an Alzheimer’s Association caregiver support group facilitator for several years and heard the voiced concerns of those daughters, sons, and spouses, who carried a great deal of guilt on their shoulders for not being able to keep up with the care of their loved one. They did provide the care initially, and then found their abilities wanting – and their health declining. They eventually made the very difficult decision to place their loved one in an assisted care setting.
Here’s the story of “Constance” and “Robert.” Constance first came to my support meeting at the age of 80 having already taken care of Robert at home for the previous three years since his diagnosis. Constance’s health started to decline due to lack of sleep – Robert’s dementia had no respect for the clock. Added to that dilemma was the fact that she had no existence outside of her house. She was trapped! Her friends abandoned her, all the social activities in which she had participated fell by the wayside, but she refused to move her husband into an assisted care setting, even though she felt they had the finances to support such a move – many do not and have no choice but to provide 100% of the care. “No one can take care of Robert like I can. I would never do that to him – placing him in someone else’s care. That’s my duty as his wife; a duty I take seriously.”
Fast forward one year later, and Constance had no choice but to place Robert in an adult family home with five other residents; it was either that, or she would have been forced to relinquish her caregiving role because, quite frankly, she ran the risk of dying before Robert. Once she relocated Robert to a care home, the well-trained staff provided all the assistance Robert needed, and Constance could now have the sole role of being his wife. She visited him almost daily until the day he died one year later.
Constance admitted that she wished she had moved Robert to the adult family home earlier than she had because she realized that being a committed wife didn’t have to include caregiving that risked her own health. She relished her reprised role as his loving wife when she visited him – none of the other care staff could fulfill that role but her – and the staff did what they do best, providing all the care her husband needed.
This is the nugget I want you to come away with from my above commentary: guilt and obligation are normal emotions that might prevent you from making decisions that may very well be in your best interests and those of your loved one. Please believe that allowing someone else to take care of your loved one does not equate to you shirking your familial duties. It does, however, tell me that you know your limits, and you know what is best for your personal situation in the long run. Additionally, it shows that you value your long-standing role as a daughter/spouse/partner/sibling, more than any new role as a care provider. There’s something to be said about retaining your given role in a relationship.
Caveat: as I indicated above, finding affordable care outside of ones home is no easy task, and you may have no choice but to provide the needed care for your loved one. But if you are able to find trusted family or friends who can “spot” you from time to time so that you can enjoy a needed time of respite, please do so. You’ll be far more able to carry out your caregiving task if you take care of yourself first. See my article: Caregiver: put on your oxygen mask first.
Fellow blogger, Kathy, has been struggling with the challenge of living her life without her mom who died from pancreatic cancer several years ago. In the About section of her Blog, Kathy says: “On 12/4/2007 my dad said four words that would forever change my life. ‘Mom has pancreatic cancer.’ I lost my mom to this dreaded disease 348 days later.”
Learning how to live in the present while still mourning a death can be a very difficult matter. Oftentimes we have the need to keep a person’s memory alive by reliving the journey that lead up to the death; ruminating over the whirlwind of activity after the death; and getting stuck right there – either not willing to go beyond that, or simply not having the ability to do so.
The following are very valuable statements: “You’ll get over the sadness eventually. It’ll eventually hurt less. But you have to get beyond where you are, because that’s what your mother would have wanted.”
Those are very true and worthwhile words, but if we’re not ready to hear them, they provide little benefit – at least initially. Am I faulting the person making those statements when he or she did? Absolutely not. What I am saying, however, is that when we’re ready to truly hear those words, we will. We’ll then be able to believe those words, and we’ll be able to practice those words. It’s like having one of those moments that Oprah Winfrey calls, “An aha! moment.” That’s what appears to have happened to Kathy.
Has this ever happened to you? An acquaintance pours her heart out to you; asks for encouragement, advice, etc. and you provide compassion, suggestions, beautiful nuggets of advice, etc., and weeks, or months go by, wherein the acquaintance appears to be stuck in their dilemma, evidently ignoring your well-meaning words, and then – out of the blue – your friend calls you…(you fill in the blanks as to the situation – in this example, the person in need had been having relationship struggles)
Irene, you’ll never believe what just happened! You know I’ve been in a funk because of my relationship challenges, right? Just the other day I poured my heart out to someone on the bus and she suggested I do the following…
It turns out that this bus stranger told her exactly what you told her two months ago. Are you offended? Of course you are – it’s happened to me and I’ve wanted to say, “Well duh – where have I heard that advice before?” The key isn’t whose advice finally got through to her; the key is that the good advice finally got through to her. Time for me to swallow my pride, tamp down my ego, and celebrate this friend’s good news.
Lightbulb Moment (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
Kathy – I celebrate with you that the right words came at the right time for you, and you are now able to take steps towards living in the present. You’re learning how to celebrate your mother while still missing her greatly. Three cheers for Denise for saying what she did when she did, and three cheers for you for having the ears, and a good and ready heart, to hear it.
Two basketball jokes; and then two football jokes:
(Photo credit: Wikipedia)
“Basketball sure is an amazing game,” said one fan to another. “They pay a guy $500,000 a year to shoot the ball, and then they call it a free throw.”
“He’s great on the court,” a sportswriter said of a college basketball player in an interview with his coach. “But how’s his scholastic work?”
“Why, he makes straight A’s,” replied the coach.
“Wonderful!” said the sportswriter.
“Yes,” agreed the coach, “But his B’s are a little crooked.”
A college football coach had recruited a top talent, but the player couldn’t pass the school’s entrance exam. Needing the recruit badly, the coach went to the dean and asked if the recruit could take the test orally. The dean agreed, and the following day the recruit and the coach were seated in his office. “Okay,” the dean said, “What is seven times seven?”
The recruit mulled it over for a moment, then said, “I think it’s 49.”
Suddenly the coach leaped to his feet, “Please, Dean Smith,” he begged, “give him another chance!”
(Photo credit: Wikipedia)
After spending all day watching football, Harry fell asleep in front of the TV and spent the night in the chair. In the morning, his wife woke him up, “Get up dear,” she said. “It’s 20 to seven.”
He woke with a start. “In whose favor?”
The last Father’s Day that I spent with my dad, Don Patrick Desonier, occurred on June 17th, 2007. That year had been a definitive year in my father’s decline from Alzheimer’s so I didn’t need to be prescient to know that his time to escape the disease was drawing nigh. (Additionally, it didn’t help that his inoperable prostate cancer had decided to grace his body – like it needed something else to assault it.) I would normally not leave my husband to his own devices on Father’s Day – he’s a terrific dad and deserves to be spoiled – but I knew his adult daughters would give him his due so I left our Redmond, Washington home and flew down to Medford, Oregon for this mid-June celebration with my dad.
We enjoyed a subdued Father’s Day breakfast in the memory care unit’s dining room. My father didn’t eat all that much but he seemed to enjoy the ritual of sitting with his fellow memory-impaired friends as smiles and congratulations circled the table.
Walking with Dad in 2007.
Those of you who are familiar with a memory care unit of an assisted living facility are also acquainted with the dearth of engaging activities therein, especially when your loved one can no longer participate in a meaningful way. Because of that dilemma, I always took my father “off campus” to take a walk at a nearby park. Mind you – his ability to ambulate was hindered, but we usually managed to walk the full perimeter, as we did that day. June in Medford, Oregon is H-O-T, but like many older people whose inner thermometer doesn’t seem to be working at full power – my father was dressed in a long-sleeved heavy cotton shirt buttoned right up to the neck, and an old standby wool cardigan – one of his faves.
Part way through our walk, I somehow convinced dad to at least take off his sweater, and to enjoy some hydration from the bottled water I always carried with me. Shortly thereafter, two 20-something year old men on bicycles approached on the path in our direction; they slowed down and before they passed us one of them uttered, “Happy Father’s Day, Sir!” Dad wasn’t quite aware of what they said but I reiterated their greeting, “Dad, they said Happy Father’s Day to you – isn’t that nice?” “Yes, Irene, it really was.”
Fast forward to June 16th, 2013; this adult daughter still remembers, and cherishes, the random act of kindness by those young men. It made my day in June 2007, and it’s made my day ever since. I’ve never forgotten your greeting, given to an old man who had certainly experienced many Father’s Day events in his 89 years. Thank you – bike riders at Hawthorne Park, on Main Street, Medford, Oregon. I hope you will always be on the receiving end of timely acts of kindness.
You are my heroes because you are ordinary people who did the ordinary right thing on June 17, 2007, making my dad’s last Father’s Day an extraordinary time.
How was your Sunday, everyone? Here are some post-church attendance jokes:
A Texan traveled to England on vacation. While there, he attended a religious service and was amazed at how quiet and reserved it was. Not one word was spoken out of turn.
All of a sudden he heard the minister say something he really liked. “Amen!” he shouted. Everyone in the church turned and stared, and the usher came running down the aisle.
“You must not talk out loud,” admonished the usher. “But,” protested the Texan, “I’ve got religion!”
“Well,” said the usher, “you did not get it here.”
(Photo credit: Wikipedia)
An impassioned minister was visiting a country church and began his address with a stirring reminder:
“Everybody in this parish is going to die.”
The evangelist was discomfited to notice a man in the front pew who was smiling broadly.
“Why are you so amused?” he asked.
“I’m not in this parish,” replied the man, “I’m just visiting my sister for the weekend.”
Or perhaps while sitting in the easy chair next to your bed, you tried your very best to ignore the urge to purge … but you couldn’t wait any longer for someone to assist you so you let it all out, leaving you in a shameful way, sitting in a mushy pile of excrement while a stream of urine puddled at the base of your chair.
Welcome to the life of a vulnerable adult living in a nursing home. From coast to coast across the United States skilled nursing facilities (SNF) are filled with adults needing the greatest amount of assistance with their activities of daily living (ADLs) – toileting is one of those ADLs.
The following true scenarios occurred recently at a nursing home in a Seattle suburb, and at a similar facility in a suburb of San Francisco.
(Photo credit: Wikipedia)
A man who is fully reliant on mobility assistance pushed the call button near his bed to register a need for assistance. In this case, he needed to go “Number 1” and “Number 2” and had the audacity to require assistance while the staff was busy attending to other residents’ needs – but not his needs. When a staff person finally entered his room an hour later, she did so to simply indicate that she didn’t have time to take him to the bathroom so he should just go in his pants.
A woman equally as vulnerable needed the assistance of a staff person upon waking in the morning and – knowing that breakfasts were brought around to the rooms at 7 a.m. – the 91 year old started to press her call button at 6 a.m. hoping to have her morning pee prior to the arrival of her breakfast tray an hour later. That “luxury” was one that would not be afforded her; instead, a caregiver brought a breakfast tray to this patient in the seven o’clock hour and when the patient asked if she could receive help to the toilet prior to eating her breakfast, the employee told her to just go in her pants because no one had time to help her at that moment.
I can’t help myself – here’s another incident: A staff person helps a woman to the toilet first thing in the morning. The woman who is clothed in a lightweight nightgown finishes using the toilet and is ready to receive assistance back to her bed – but lo’ and behold, the staff person forgot to place the call button within close reach of the patient so she is not able to alert someone of her desire to go back to bed. Enough time has passed that by this time the patient is shivering and screams for help – screams that went unnoticed for a quarter hour. In desperation this elderly woman somehow managed to lean far enough forward to push over a metal trash pail which she then kicked repeatedly until someone finally arrived to see what all the commotion was about.
These stories don’t paint a very pretty picture do they? They depict a low quality of life that no one deserves.
What does Quality of Life mean to you?
Eating at fine dining establishments?
Having a clothing wardrobe that rivals the catwalks of Paris?
Driving in a luxury vehicle that provides amenities previously only found in limousines?
For most of us, quality of life boils down to leading a dignified existence in which we are allowed to take advantage of the basic necessities of life. For me, those necessities should include a safe living environment, sustenance, the inclusion of loving family and friends in my life, the freedom to make choices about matters that are important to me, and being on the receiving end of respectful behavior from those with whom I come in contact.
The most vulnerable among us should expect no less than those basic necessities, but “the system” isn’t working to guarantee those basics. Try to imagine, if you will, your own grandparent, parent, spouse, partner, or other family member in any one of the above scenarios. How comfortable are you with that type of day-to-day existence for them? You’re not comfortable at all – as a matter of fact you’re feeling a bit uneasy about this whole subject matter. I’m sorry to place doubt in your mind about the care your loved one is receiving but I’ll just bet that you need to get out of the comfort of denial you’ve been enjoying and into the eye-opening role of resident advocate.
Lack of caring = lack of care. Nursing home management is a tough job to do correctly, but I know it’s possible because there are some reputable and well-run facilities out there – not perfect by any means, but fairly acceptable. So yes, some nursing facilities employ stellar care staff but there are also those employees who just don’t give a damn. “I go to work. I go home after work. I get paid. What more do you want from me?” Caring – that’s what we want. You’ve chosen to work in this particular type of environment so don’t act like you didn’t know what you were getting into. Withholding proper care for those who have no recourse but to depend upon you is not only unfair, but it’s illegal. And how about answering these questions about your own aging prospects: Do you think you’ll somehow skip the journey into old age? Do you not realize that you too will be as old as the patients whose care is entrusted to you? What type of care will you hope to receive? Does it resemble any of the scenarios I’ve illustrated above – or are you under the impression that you’ll be at a “Champagne and Chandelier” type of place where you’ll be waited on hand and foot?
Not gonna happen.
This article just scratches the surface of the sub-standard care that can be found in nursing facilities. I only mention the toileting issue because it’s been front and center in my experiences with some of my acquaintances lately. One place to start getting some positive traction where these matters are concerned is the National Long-Term Care Ombudsman Resource Center where you’ll find links to advocacy programs in your state. Call those local representatives and report any concerns you may have about how your loved one is being cared for, or not cared for, in their nursing facility, assisted living facility, or group home.
If you act on behalf of your loved one, you’re also acting on behalf of everyone else in the facility because trust me – your mom isn’t the only one being neglected on her nursing home floor.
Very little humor can be found in the world of finance – except, perhaps, for these anecdotes:
(Photo credit: Wikipedia)
A bank in New York City is now making it possible to buy and sell stock using their ATM machines. This is great – it gives muggers a chance to diversify their portfolios.
A woman visited the bank to close her account because she was convinced the institution was going under.
Asked by a startled manager why she thought so, she produced one of her checks, endorsed by the bank, “Insufficient Funds.”
An accountant answered an advertisement for a top job with a large firm. At the end of the interview, the chairman said, “One last question – what is three times seven?”
The accountant thought for a moment and replied, “Twenty-two.” Outside he checked himself on his calculator and concluded he had lost the job. But two weeks later he was offered the post.
He asked the chairman why he had been appointed when he had given the wrong answer.
You’ll see that the title of my blog article is different from what is attached. This blog title reflects what my local Seattle Times newspaper printed as a heading for Leonard Pitts’ article concerning the May 2013 bloody attack on a British soldier. The Seattle Times title said it all for me.
Now keep in mind, we’re not talking about impotence for which the pharmaceutical industry holds the panacea. The impotence addressed in this must-read article by Mr. Pitts is that which comes about because of a lack of true power. Have you ever been bullied? I have – and it wasn’t until fourteen years ago that I came to the realization that those who bully are those without power; those who feel they must wear trappings that give the illusion of power; such as the trappings of abusive language, character disparagement, and small & large scale violence – destructive acts by anyone’s assessment.
Pulitzer Prize winner, Leonard Pitts, Jr., believes that “terrorism’s threat lies not in its power, but in its effect, its ability to make us appalled, frightened, irrational, and, most of all, convinced that we are next, and nowhere is safe.” Mr. Pitts provides an example of an acquaintance who, after 9/11, told him she would never enter a skyscraper again – as if each and every tall building in our country would be on the receiving end of an airplane attack. My god, think of those people who work in these buildings and who, if they maintained the same fear and naive determination as that woman, would throw our economy even further into the toilet because of their refusal to enter their place of employment – a very tall building.
I think the biggest weapon these flaccid terrorists carry in their arsenal is the world’s ability to instantly broadcast – and then repeatedly broadcast – these desperate acts of violence, and our desire to catch such acts on television, You Tube, blog videos and photos – the list of viewing opportunities almost endless.
“We cannot control what such people do. But we can control our reaction thereto” states Mr. Pitts. Please readers near and far, let’s not fuel the fire of violence with our cravings to see it played out before us countless times through instant electronic images. Let us fuel our empathy and strengthen our determination to turn our backs on the sensational by responding in such a way as to not “become the weapon terrorists use against us.” Let’s not give these weaklings any more power – because as stated in the Miami Herald piece, “the only power they have is the power we give them.”
Here’s a new category of posts in which I will provide a circumstance, and you can provide your potential response; similar to a television show in the United States for which I’ve seen ads.
Here’s the circumstance that I encountered today that has inspired this initial post:
I walked into my local grocery store today, and waited at the Customer Service counter to cash in my winning lotto ticket: $10 Woo hoo! (The Customer Service counter is just outside of the public restrooms.)
(Photo credit: Wikipedia)
As I waited for customer service, what did I see, but a male customer exiting the men’s bathroom, with a USA Today newspaper in his hands. It doesn’t take an advanced educational degree to discern what this customer had just done – in the bathroom, with a newspaper. By the way – USA Today is just one of many newspapers found on shelves approximately 20 feet inside the store’s entrance that one can pick up and purchase at checkout.
But that’s not all. This customer then placed the very same newspaper – no longer a virgin-clean newspaper – on one of the seldom-used checkout counters, gathered his shopping cart where he had parked it while he did his business in the bathroom, and then happily proceeded to do his shopping.
As luck would have it, this same gentleman was right in front of me paying for his groceries while I loaded up the checkout counter with my soon-to-be-purchased items. He walked away, I took my place at the checkout counter, glanced over at the seldom-used counter near the public restrooms, and there lay the USA Today, in all its tainted glory.
What would you do?
Postscript: A family member/reader suggested that the newspaper reader may have indeed already paid for the USA Today. I agree, that’s a possible scenario. Let’s take that thought a wee bit further, shall we? Perhaps the paper had been paid for and the newspaper reader left it on the checkout stand so that someone else may enjoy the day’s news, free of charge. (What a generous thought on my part.)
Even going with that wonderfully generous supposition, shouldn’t the next person on the receiving end of the free newspaper have been made aware of the previous owner’s potty antics e.g., perhaps the satisfied pottier could have placed a sign on the newspaper stating that this issue of USA Today had already spent considerable time in the men’s bathroom and therefore, in full disclosure, you have first right of refusal should you decide not to read a newspaper that has been in close proximity to someone’s morning duty?
Some humor for you involving man’s best friend, and other animals:
A man went to the movies and was surprised to find a woman with a big collie sitting in front of him. Even more amazing was the fact that the dog always laughed in the right places through the comedy.
“Excuse me,” the man said to the woman, “but I think it’s astounding that your dog enjoys the movie so much.”
“I’m surprised myself,” she replied. “He hated the book.”
(Photo credit: Wikipedia)
Kerry the tomcat was scampering all over the neighborhood: down alleys, up fire escapes, into cellars.
A disturbed neighbor knocked on the owner’s door and said, “Your cat is rushing about like mad.”
“I know,” the man conceded. “My cat has just been neutered and he’s running around canceling engagements.”
Several racehorses are in a stable. One of them starts boasting about his track record. “Of my last 15 races,” he says, “I’ve won eight.”
Another horse breaks in, “Well, I’ve won 19 of my last 27!”
“That’s good, but I’ve taken 28 of 36,” says another, flicking his tail.
(Photo credit: Wikipedia)
At this point, a greyhound who’s been sitting nearby pipes up. “I don’t mean to boast,” he says, “but of my last 90 races, I’ve won 88.”
The horses are clearly amazed. “Wow,” says one after a prolonged silence, “a talking dog!”
The above article chronicles a “competition” between two gentlemen in their 80’s who endeavored to become the oldest person to reach the summit of Mt. Everest. I’m happy to say that 80-year old Yuichiro Miura reached the summit successfully on May 23rd, 2013 and became the oldest person to do so. Following on his heels is an 81-year old Nepalese man, Min Bahadur Sherchan, who will make his attempt some time next week, most likely making Mr. Miura’s 15 minutes of fame just a bit of has-been news as the Nepalese man takes his place as the oldest to successfully reach the summit. Not many of us – alright, none of us – will reach the summit of Mt. Everest or even care to do so…
and that’s okay.
(Photo credit: Wikipedia)
We all have Everest moments, don’t we? Yuichiro Miura’s goal to summit Everest is not our goal. Mr. Miura stated his reason/goal to climb Everest: “It is to challenge my own ultimate limit.” We all have our personalized goals that involve reaching our own ultimate limit. I’ve had many of those moments in my 60 years of life – some of them exercise related, but more importantly, most of them were personal growth related. The most recent exercise goal has been the successful completion of two one-hour Pure Barre exercise classes…with three more to go in order to fully utilize the gift package that my daughter Erin gave me in honor of my 60 years. We’re doing this together, and please know that my 37 year old daughter is in far better shape than I am … and that’s okay. I am no expert on this type of exercise, and believe me, within minutes of completing each session, I’m in excruciating pain. But that’s okay because those exercise sessions didn’t kill me nor did they disable me; they simply made me realize that I was up to the challenge of doing more than I thought I was able.
Isn’t that the key? Maybe your Everest goal is finally having the courage to talk to someone about matters that concern you; or your Everest goal is changing jobs – or changing relationships; or perhaps your Everest summit is completing your high school or college education? Whatever your goal – whatever your Everest – when you reach that goal you are no less newsworthy than Mr. Miura or Mr. Sherchan. Quite frankly, what these octogenarians are doing is fabulous and I respect and honor their accomplishments – but I don’t admire their accomplishments any more than those of which you and I are the proudest. Mr. Miura stated that a successful climb would raise the bar for what is possible and that he had a strong determination that now is the time.
Now is always the time – because it’s the only time we have.
I’ll complete the remainder of the exercise gift package that my daughter gave me. Who knows, maybe I’ll buy some more sessions to continue on that journey – maybe I won’t. What I do know, however, is that I will always set goals, and I will always do my best to reach them.
When you do your best – you’ve done the best you can.
I hope you’ll feel proud enough of your Mt. Everest moments to share them with all of us. I, for one, can hardly wait to hear about them.
At long last the good-humored boss felt compelled to call Fitch into his office. “It has not escaped my attention,” he pointed out gently, “that every time there’s a big home game, you have to take your aunt to the doctor.”
“You know, you’re right, sir,” exclaimed the employee. “I hadn’t realized. You don’t suppose she’s faking it now, do you?”
And one more joke on honesty for your Monday perusal:
A woman walks into a butcher shop and asks the butcher how much a pound of tenderloin is. “Twelve dollars per pound,” replied the butcher.
“Are you sure? That can’t be,” said the lady.
(Photo credit: Wikipedia)
“Look, Ma’am, it says right here on the card, ‘twelve dollars per pound.’ ”
“But that seems so high compared to other butchers in the area,” she said.
“Lady, maybe they gave you the price for a poorer cut of beef,” said the butcher.
“No. The butcher across the street said it was nine dollars per pound.”
“Well, then why don’t you go buy it there?” asked the butcher.
“Because they are all out.”
“When I’m all out, I sell it for eight dollars per pound,” retorted the butcher.
I’m thrilled about the above Blog article that just happens to have been posted today, my 60th birthday! There is a lot of substantive content in my fellow blogger’s posting: a link to a New Yorker Magazine article by Rebecca Mead, titled A Sense of an Ending; Phillip Toledano’s photographs of dementia; and, of course, the Blogger’s own contribution to the topic. The aforementioned blogger, Kathie Ritchie, maintains an exceptional blogsite, http://www.mydementedmom.com.
I hope you’ll visit all of the above – and be better off as a result.
An ambitious new sales rep for Budweiser beer traveled all the way to Rome and managed to get an audience with the Pope himself. As soon as the two were alone together, he leaned over and whispered, “Your Holiness, I have an offer I think might interest you. I’m in a position to give you a million dollars if you’ll change the wording in the Lord’s Prayer to ‘our daily beer.’ Now whaddaya say?”
“Absolutely not,” said the shocked pontiff.
“Hey, I understand; it’s a big decision,” sympathized the salesman. “How about five million dollars?”
“I couldn’t think of it,” sputtered the Pope.
“I know it’s a tough one. Tell you what – I can go up to fifty million dollars,” proposed the salesman.
Asking him to leave the room, the Pope called in the cardinal and whispered, “When does our contract with Pillsbury expire?”
I don’t know about you, but I need a dose of resilience right now. I may not need it next week, or the week after, but I need it now. I have a certain degree of the stuff, but I think some of it seeped out of my being. As you’ll see in the very well-written article attached above, resilience means to jump back.
(Photo credit: Larry Rosenstein)
Taken a bit further in its definition, resilience is the ability to bounce and not break when difficulties weigh you down. Being elastic; that sounds like a worthwhile goal. Until you start feeling the inability to bounce back, you may not even realize that some of the stretch has gone out of your rubber band.
I also need a bit more courage: courage to do all that I need to do, want to do, and plan to do while I’m still able. Courage comes from the Latin word, heart; to have rock-like inner strength. Sometimes we go through life thinking that our courage is completely intact until we discover that it’s been compromised due to some event – or string of events – that have come our way. Do you think that perhaps the only way to know if we’re fully stocked with the stuff is to undergo this sort of testing process?
Time for a bit of psychiatric analysis – five jokes worth:
A man was attacked and left bleeding in a ditch. Two psychiatrists passed by and one said to the other, “We must find the man who did this – he needs help!”
The seriously disturbed man slunk into the office of an eminent psychiatrist.
“Doctor, you have to help me, it’s gotten really bad,” he pleaded. I feel like nobody ever listens to me.”
The psychiatrist looked up and said, “Next!”
How many psychiatrists does it take to change a lightbulb? One. But the lightbulb has to really want to change.
“I wouldn’t worry about your son playing with dolls,” the doctor told the middle-aged matron. She said, “I’m not worried, but his wife is very upset.”
(Photo credit: Wikipedia)
After the woman seated herself in the psychiatrist’s office, the doctor asked, “What seems to be the problem?”
“Well, I, uh,” she stammered. “I think I, uh, might be a nymphomaniac.”
“I see,” he said. “I can help you, but I must advise you that my fee is eighty dollars an hour.”
“That’s not bad,” she replied. “How much for all night?”
Doesn’t seem possible, but May is here! Personally, it’s one of my favorite months. Here are a few month-long celebrations:
Get Caught Reading Month; International Victorious Woman Month; Carrots and Cauliflower Month, National Salad Month – competing with National Hamburger and National Barbeque Month; Revise Your Work Schedule Month; and finally, Older Americans Month – hip hip hooray!!!
And now for some daily celebrations:
May 1: Global Love Day and Great American Grump Out Day
May 3: Hug your Cat Day and Lumpy Rug Day (better check under your rug for Fluffy!); No Pants Day – I don’t make these up folks…
May 5: Cinco de Mayo – ole!!! and pass the tequila
May 6: No Diet Day – even if you want to – don’t!
May 8: No Socks Day – I’m seeing a trend here…(see May 3rd)
May 11: Eat What you Want Day (see May 6th)
May 15: National Chocolate Chip Day and Turn Beauty Inside Out Day
May 18:This Blogger’s Birthday!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
May 19: Mike, the Headless Chicken Day (I don’t get it either)
May 26: Indianapolis 500 (this one’s for you honey!!!!)
May 27: Cellophane Tape Day (it’s about time the world acknowledged this important supply!)
May 28: Slugs Return from Capistrano Day (now that’s just silly)
May 29: National Senior Health & Fitness Day
Enjoy the month of May everyone! And for goodness sake, don’t take yourselves too seriously.
Jesus and Moses went golfing and were about even until they reached the fifteenth hole – a par five. Both balls landed about twenty feet from the edge of a little pond that stood between them and the hole. Moses took out a five-wood and landed his ball in excellent position. Jesus took out a five-iron.
“Hang on, hang on,” cautioned Moses. “Use a wood – you’ll never make it.”
“If Arnold Palmer can make that shot with a five-iron, so can I,” said Jesus. His ball landed in the middle of the lake. Moses parted the waters, retrieved the ball, and sighed when he saw Jesus still holding the five iron.
“If Arnold Palmer can make that shot with a five-iron, so can I,” maintained Jesus. Again Moses had to part the waters to retrieve the ball. By this time there were a number of people waiting to play through, and Moses said firmly. “Listen, Jesus; I’m not fetching the ball another time. Use a wood.”
Jesus, however, still insisted. “If Arnold Palmer can make that shot with a five-iron, so can I.” Splash!
Moses shook his head. “I told you, I’m not budging. Get it yourself!”
So Jesus walked across the water toward where the ball landed. At this, the onlookers gaped in astonishment. One came over to Moses and stammered, “I can’t believe my eyes – that guy must think he’s Jesus Christ!”
In response, Moses shook his head gloomily. “He is Jesus Christ. He thinks he’s Arnold Palmer.”
I’ve attached the above article from a fellow blogger because I know for a fact that music memory stays with a person, perhaps longer than any other memory. I’ll give you one personal example that proved this fact for me. There are other encouraging examples readily found on the Internet, but because my family experienced this phenomenon first hand, that’s what I’ll talk about, ever so briefly.
Nancy and my father
My sister-in-law Nancy lived a life that was steeped in artistic activities. She was a well-known and respected interior designer and she was a flautist. A flautist is one who plays the flute. (I’m providing that definition because the sound of the word “flautist” sounds like an uninvited body function to me.) But I digress.
Nancy enjoyed her music involvements on a small and large scale. In the early 80’s, she met my brother during a local production of South Pacific – a production in which my brother acted, and for which my sister-in-law provided the music accompaniment. Fast forward to the year 2012. I gladly helped my brother out by taking Nancy on outings – sometimes to art museums, sometimes to music events. Regardless of the outing, I always made sure that my vehicle’s radio was tuned to the classical music station. I knew Nancy would enjoy it, and I also knew that even after being diagnosed four years earlier with mixed dementia, Nancy would be able to identify the orchestral or operatic pieces being broadcast.
Although I grew up appreciating the classics, the only pieces I can accurately identify are those often-played symphonies such as Beethoven’s 9th Choral Symphony, or Vivaldi’s Four Seasons. Nancy, on the other hand, could pick out the lesser known arrangements and could identify, with pinpoint accuracy, the conductor and the soloist for that particular piece, e.g. Leonard Bernstein; Yo Yo Ma. It saddened me to hear the hesitation in Nancy’s voice when she would speak up while sitting in the passenger seat, making the musical identifying remark but always questioning whether she had done so accurately. “I think that’s Mozart” or “I think that’s Yo Yo Ma playing his cello. I think it is.” Even before the piece was identified on the radio I would assure Nancy, “If you say that’s Yo Yo Ma, by God, it is Yo Yo Ma.”
And she was right – and she was affirmed that she still had a handle on Handel, or Mozart, or Sibelius. Yep – she never lost her abilities. What a delight, and what a pleasant interlude during an illness that took her life on July 4th, 2012 at the age of 69. One thing I know for sure, however, is that from Nancy’s viewpoint right now, she’s enjoying her favorite opera each time Wagner’s “The Ring Trilogy” is played around the world. Nancy doesn’t need season tickets anymore; she has a front row seat.
A recent article by Jim Fitzgerald of the Associated Press focuses on a few electronic methods that might relieve some of the struggles experienced by caregivers who try to balance their frantic personal lives with the oftentimes emergent needs of their loved ones. For the purposes of my article, I am only looking at the type of monitoring put in place by a family member to check on an elderly person’s well being; primarily a family member with Alzheimer’s or other dementia.
Beleaguered caregivers getting help from Apps is an eyeopening look at how Smartphone Apps, and other electronic devices, can provide some sort of relief to lessen the caregiver’s load. Many of those who are long-distance caregivers, such as I was for my father several years ago, might benefit from being able to monitor their family member’s safety and well-being from a distance.
But does such monitoring invade the loved one’s privacy? Of course it does; but I guess one could say that the benefits outweigh the disadvantages of such monitoring. Or do they? What comes to my mind is the elderly person’s gradual loss of independence – an aspect of life that many of us would equate to being a requirement for our own quality of life. But I digress.
At best, I think electronic monitoring serves as a stop-gap or interim measure of caregiving before hands-on care is put into place. The Pillbox App keeps a very tentative watch on whether or not a loved one – say a parent – has taken his medication properly. If the parent does not have compromised executive function, it’s certainly easy to “fake it” so that the daughter can feel as though all is well ten miles away. In reality, however, medication mismanagement might be taking place, carried out by the parent.
(Photo credit: ell brown)
The Alzheimer’s Association Comfort Zone program requires that a loved one wear a GPS device at all times so that family members can monitor their comings and goings throughout the day. The system is of no benefit if the person doesn’t wear the pager; and if the person has dementia, there’s a strong likelihood of that happening. I’m being the devil’s advocate here, simply pointing out that the system is only as good as the cooperation required to use it. HOWEVER, and this is a demonstrative HOWEVER, it appears to be a very worthwhile system that provides numerous benefits. Other than taking away ones right to privacy, it definitely serves as a safety net for when mom, dad, spouse, or other loved one, are heading into trouble.
I’m skeptical of Comfort Zone but I’m also its fan. I’ve linked the Comfort Zone website above so that the reader can determine if such a system is worthwhile in his or her situation. My skepticism comes about because I wish more attention and financing would be spent on a cure for Alzheimer’s and other dementia so that these current monitoring methods become a thing of the past. A world without Alzheimer’s sounds just as desirous as a world without cancer, or MS, or Lou Gehrig’s disease, to name a few. More disease control financing = more cures.
One final word: I’ve already experienced two family members with Alzheimer’s and all the caregiving migraine headaches associated with those experiences. So please know that I’m a proponent of worthwhile practices that ease the caregiver’s burden. Unfortunately, there is absolutely no fail safe method out there that will give caregivers true peace of mind. Even placement in a long-term care facility is not a 100% guarantee that mom, dad, sis, or gramps will receive the best care possible. I’m sorry to burst your bubble – but it’s true.
Here’s a mish mosh of amusing, sometimes funny, ponderings:
The father was very proud when his son went off to college. He came to tour the campus on Parents’ Day and observed his son hard at work in the chemistry lab. “What are you working on?” he asked.
The father whistled, clearly impressed, then wondered aloud, “What’ll you keep it in?
A man was trying to understand the nature of God and asked him: “God, how long is a million years to you?” God answered: “A million years is like a minute.”
Then the man asked: “God, how much is a million dollars to you?” And God replied: “A million dollars is like a penny.”
Finally the man asked: “God could you give me a penny?” And God said: “In a minute.”
(Photo credit: Wikipedia)
As an informed and wise society, we prefer the old-fashioned alarm clock to the kind that awakens you with soft music or a gentle whisper.
If there’s one thing we can’t stand early in the morning, it’s hypocrisy.
Perhaps you read the brief title of my article and before delving into its content you’re wondering: The morning after a night of drinking? The morning after doing something regretful – perhaps synonymous with the previous question? The morning after a horrific news event?
None of the above. In the attached article, a fellow blogger writes about his experience of waking up the day after his wife passed away; a day in which he felt the full impact of the loss of his wife and the cessation of his role as her caregiver – his identity for so many years.
Unless, and until, you experience this type of blurry identity, you can’t fully understand the feeling. Those of you who devoted any amount of time caring for a loved one prior to their death understand all too well the emptiness and lack of purpose that oftentimes follows the end of the caregiving journey.
I was the long-distance caregiver for my father after he was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s disease. He lived in a memory care unit of a Southern Oregon continuing care retirement community (CCRC) while I commuted from Seattle by plane, by telephone, and by 24/7 worrying and thinking. By choice, I left my full-time job and for the next four years, dedicated my time to managing his care and being the primary on-site visitor. Many of you worked full-time at your “real” job while being a caregiver for a loved one and I respect and honor you for somehow juggling all of those responsibilities. I knew my limitations, however, and reached that limit quite early in the process. The emotional and physical toll of caregiving was more than I was capable of handling on top of my other job, so with my husband’s blessing and encouragement, we did without my financial contributions while I carried on as my father’s care person.
After my father’s October 13, 2007 death at the age of 89, I returned to Seattle having spent the last hours of my father’s life at his bedside; then several days wrapping matters up with the funeral home; with the bank trustee, and with the facility in which he had lived for close to thirteen years. Although there would be many weeks of tying up loose ends upon my return home to the Seattle area, I was effectively unemployed – laid off from a job to which I was extraordinarily committed. As the blogger in the attached article mentioned – those in this position wake up the day after, and the day after the day after, feeling as though they have lost their purpose. Additionally, the identity which defined them for several years no longer applies.
Grieving and re-purposing our lives can take place during this time, a process which may take months or years; a process that is as individual and unique as ones fingerprint. As the blogger wrote in his article, he appears to be transitioning in a way that utilizes his years of being the primary caregiver and advocate for his wife. He’s recreating his working life; reshaping it to fit the caregiver role in which he flourished. Like this blogger, I too quite naturally segued into employment positions in which I could continue on the path that I had started years earlier with my father: elder advocacy, Alzheimer’s Association volunteerism, and most recently, putting all of those past and present experiences down on paper in the form of a novel.
But that is not necessarily the norm. Some of you may have felt the need to totally disassociate from anything remotely related to the caregiving or care managing roles. I understand that decision and I agree 100% that it’s the right thing for you to do. Again – how we recover and/or regenerate after the caregiving experience is a distinctive aspect of our ongoing lives. What we do have in common, however, is that we have all experienced the morning after the end of our caregiving journey. Whether we’re relieved, angered, aggrieved, or a combination thereof – the morning after is unavoidable.
In closing, I want to celebrate you – the caregiver heroes who are ordinary people, who did the ordinary right thing, at an extraordinary time. You are a hero to many, and you are a hero to me.
Just about every Baby Boomer has episodes of memory blips – here are a few snippets that might help us laugh at those temporary blips:
I have a memory like an elephant. In fact, elephants often consult me. – attributed to Noel Coward
My grandfather is a little forgetful and he likes to give me advice. One day he took me aside and left me there.
A young woman was walking towards the bus stop when she saw a little old man sitting on the curb, sobbing his heart out. Moved by his grief, the woman bent over and asked him what was so terribly wrong:
“Well, you see,” choked the old man, “I used to be married to this awful woman. She was ugly, the house was a pigsty, and she spent my money like water. She wasn’t even a decent cook. My life was hell.” His listener chuckled sympathetically.
“Then she died,” sobbed the old man, “and I met this beautiful woman. Twenty-eight years old, a body like Sophia Loren, and a face like an angel; a fabulous cook and housekeeper, and – can you believe it? – she’s crazy about me! She couldn’t wait to marry me, and treats me like a prince in my own home.”
“This doesn’t sound so bad,” said the young woman.
“I tell you, I’m the luckiest man in the world.” The old fella bent over in a racking spasm, convulsed with sorrow.
“Well, then,” said the woman tentatively, “what’s to be so unhappy about? Why are you sobbing on this street corner?”
“Because,” he sobbed, “I can’t remember where I live!”
And one last bit of humor: “I just hope it’s not Alzheimer’s,” confessed Mr. Lundquist. “Maybe there’s some kind of memory medicine you can give me Doc. See, I’m getting terribly forgetful; I lose track of where I’m going or what I’m supposed to do when I get there. What should I do?” he asked glumly.
“Pay me in advance,” the doctor promptly suggested.
(Not the escalator in question – Photo credit: Wikipedia)
Early Sunday morning, April 7, 2013, a man fell while riding down an escalator to one of the downtown Seattle Metro bus tunnels. His shirt got tangled in the teeth at the base of the escalator, and unable to free himself from the jaws of death, he died of strangulation. I don’t know about you, but of all the possible scenarios surrounding my fear of dying, I can’t imagine experiencing that type of violent death.
What rivals the tragedy of this man’s death is the way the local media treated the incident. Local television news outlets of ABC, NBC, CBS; and primary newspapers Seattle Times and Seattle PI; all felt it was very important for us viewers and readers to know that surveillance video showed that the man staggered onto the escalator; and that an opened bottle of brandy was found in his back pocket. Oh, I see, it’s the man’s fault for being strangled to death by the escalator on which he was riding. Perhaps, then, a better title for my article should be Suicide by Escalator.
The deceased, Maurecio Bell, forty-two years old, was a father of four, a brother, and a son. Many family members are mourning this horrific death which was caught on surveillance video – of course – so that all of us newshounds would be able to witness him die right before our eyes. David Bell, the victim’s father, stated that anyone could have been strangled in that escalator regardless of the circumstances, e.g., someone could have had a stroke or a heart attack and have met the same type of end. Or, speaking for myself, maybe someone as clumsy as me could have lost his or her balance, fallen, and been strangled in a similar fashion.
Why did the media decide to focus on this man’s possible inebriation? Like it or not, doing so turns ones attention to that extremely irrelevant element of the tragedy rather than on the real tragedy of the circumstances.
And here’s something else for you to ponder. For those of you who do not live in my state of Washington, let me tell you something else that was seen on the surveillance video. A few people walked right past this man and did nothing to assist him. Eventually a passerby tried to free the man and when unable to do so, he pushed the emergency stop button and then attempted to revive the man with CPR. By then, of course, it was too late. Surveillance video showed that immediately upon getting caught up into the teeth of the steps, the victim struggled briefly and within moments, his body went limp. At least it was an almost instant death, but it was a fearsome and painful one, regardless of how quick.
Isn’t an accidental death, an accident? Isn’t that the point of this story? Why should any blame be apportioned to the victim when it has already been determined that it’s a strong possibility that the escalator in question might have some unattended service issues. But I’m not going to blame the escalator or the maintenance crew for that escalator, and I’m certainly not going to blame the decedent.
Maurecio Bell was a victim who did not deserve to die in this manner and should not have had his character besmirched in the process. First and foremost, Maurecio was a human being; one of Earth’s short-lived inhabitants.
Rest in peace Mr. Bell. I’m sorry your life ended at such a young age.
Keep in mind that although he writes about our elderly parents (those over age eighty), the principles he puts forward apply equally to a spouse or partner, sibling, or good friend. If you are invested in a loved one’s well-being, please consider reading this book. Bear with me as I provide a lengthy quote that characterizes this physician’s concerns:
Families must come to appreciate that “medicalized” care is very different in nature and cost from the personal health support and hands-on caring so essential for your parent. In reality, our American medical system is best at managing acute crises and supplying excellent specialized elective procedures – joint replacements, organ transplants, eye improvements, cosmetic changes – all modern technological wonders.
As for the more ordinary and common management and support of elders and families dealing with chronic problems of aging and slow-moving diseases, our medical care system has not done so well. Some elderly patients are fruitlessly subjected to what some critics now call “death by intensive care … “
Now let’s put ourselves into the shoes of a vulnerable adult sitting in an examination room waiting for the almighty doctor to walk through the door. Answer this question for me: When was the last time you personally felt rushed during a doctor’s visit for yourself? (Mine occurred last week – but I digress.) Many of us think faster than the vulnerable adult, are able to keep track of what the doctor is saying, and have sufficient cognitive awareness to discern the doctor’s recommendations or treatment options. Dr. McCullough wonders how an elderly person could possibly be treated effectively during a fifteen-minute office appointment by a doctor who peers into a computer screen, barely acknowledging the presence of the patient. How can that physician possibly treat the complexities of an elder’s needs if he/she is not fully engaged in examining the patient? Most often, the elder patient will not volunteer information that is not in direct response to a doctor’s insightful inquiries. They are of a generation that does not question a medical professional – “after all, they have the medical degree, not me.” The elderly patient may exit the exam room having not even discussed his or her medical concerns – simply because the doctor didn’t give her an opportunity to do so.
Dr. McCullough emphasizes how important it is that each vulnerable patient have a “Circle of Concern” – a group of people that provides steady support and insight into the patient’s needs. That group may consist of immediate family members, friends, neighbors – anyone dedicated to providing an “active, extended advocacy partnership” that will not only attend to the patient’s technical needs, but also the emotional and human needs that are perhaps in need of greater attention.
My article, Caregiving: The Ultimate Team Sport, promotes a similar type of caring, using the analogy of a team’s various members, and their collective roles on the team. Each person has a skill that supports the other team members’ skills. The Circle of Concern serves this same purpose.
Perhaps we should all consider how we would like to be treated by others if/when we become dependent upon their contributions to our quality of life. Dr. McCullough offers this snippet of Tibetan wisdom: Make haste slowly.
Not all decisions are emergent ones. Isn’t a person’s quality of life worth stepping back so that appropriate, “guided” decisions can be made? Rushed judgment should not take the place of carefully considered care. As Dr. McCullough states, “Time to begin to ask for more time. Short of a crisis, don’t be rushed.”
In the United States we are fast-approaching the income tax filing deadline of April 15th. Here are a few jokes to get us through it – perhaps with a chuckle.
Somehow the IRS auditor knew it was my first audit. “How could you tell?” I asked.
“For this kind of examination, you don’t have to undress,” she explained.
You know what they’re doing with our taxes? They’re spending your money – hundreds of billions of dollars on defense. To defend us from the Russians, the North Koreans, the Libyans, the Iranians. When was the last time someone from any of those groups broke into your car? I’m not worried about Russians, I’m worried about Americans! You’re going to defend me, defend me from Americans! Get my butt back from Burger King alive!
What gets me is the estimated tax return. You have to guess how much money you’re going to make. You have to fill it out, sign it, send it in. I sent mine in last week. I didn’t sign it. If I have to guess how much money I’m gonna make, let them guess who sent it.
The income tax system has made more liars out of the American people than golf has.
You’ve got to admire the IRS. Any organization that makes that much money without advertising deserves respect.
I wouldn’t mind paying taxes if I knew they were going to a friendly country.
The above post is very encouraging – only the title of my re-posting is moribund. My fellow blogger beautifully captures how fleeting life is as he commemorates the two week anniversary of the birth of his son.
Beautifully written.
Exquisitely described.
A welcome respite in my day.
Thank you “The Matticus Kingdom”
From a fellow blogger whose work is primarily focused on the elderly. I wouldn’t have it any other way – it’s what I do – but I always welcome the rays of sunshine that the youngest among us can shed on our lives.
Living: the ultimate team sport 