Telephonic Mania III: the madness returns
By Mike on Friday 29 February 2008, 02:07 - Journal - Permalink
My mailbox is full again. It's late at night. I am going through the 60
messages, so far all from dad. All of them now start in mid-sentence. So far
none is more than about 15 seconds long. The content: same as it ever was. Come
here, call back, we need cat food, etc, etc. I sit here listening, deleting,
listening, deleting. Dad's getting more angry at my lack of a response. He has
made 86 calls to me in about a day. So far, absolutely none of them
accomplishes anything, other than providing evidence of his increasing
desperation.
He's not the only one who's unhappy. I feel as if I am besieged for no good reason. No-one can contact me by phone, because my phone is switched off all the time. The phone is switched off all the time because I cannot work with dad's continuous interruption. He calls endlessly because he needs someone. He needs someone because he's on his own. He's on his own because mum has gone to a home. Mum has gone to a home because she could not live independently. She could not live independently because her brain is rusting away to nothing. Her brain is corroding because....well no-one knows the answer there. Asking 'why?' always leads to the same answer - we don't know.
We interrupt this program to bring you a message:
'Taking rubbish to Don Pritchard to Mike Pritchard.'
That was what the currently playing message consisted of. Very true.
I wonder whether reprogramming dad's phone with our numbers was worth it. If it keeps him in the house then I suppose that it is. I got clarification from Regan today, that it was not Greg who cleared the phone's memory. It was the still unnamed church elder. I've mentioned the conspicuous absence of the church in taking a role in mum and dad's lives once they stopped attending on Sundays (and contributing to the collection). Now, after several years of absence, one of them turns up and cuts dad's lifeline to the rest of the world. Half the problem of dealing with dementia is dealing with the secondary problems of others not knowing how to deal with it.
Well, I finally got to the end of the messages. All 60 were from dad. I'm not totally lost to the rest of the world. I've had a few emails from people who would normally have called. They are cottoning on to the situation, and all seem to understand that it is temporary. Actually, I must say that in this respect, people have generally been pretty good.
Well that's it for today. I think I've said enough on this subject, although the series will no doubt continue until all the lead actors are dead.
He's not the only one who's unhappy. I feel as if I am besieged for no good reason. No-one can contact me by phone, because my phone is switched off all the time. The phone is switched off all the time because I cannot work with dad's continuous interruption. He calls endlessly because he needs someone. He needs someone because he's on his own. He's on his own because mum has gone to a home. Mum has gone to a home because she could not live independently. She could not live independently because her brain is rusting away to nothing. Her brain is corroding because....well no-one knows the answer there. Asking 'why?' always leads to the same answer - we don't know.
We interrupt this program to bring you a message:
'Taking rubbish to Don Pritchard to Mike Pritchard.'
That was what the currently playing message consisted of. Very true.
I wonder whether reprogramming dad's phone with our numbers was worth it. If it keeps him in the house then I suppose that it is. I got clarification from Regan today, that it was not Greg who cleared the phone's memory. It was the still unnamed church elder. I've mentioned the conspicuous absence of the church in taking a role in mum and dad's lives once they stopped attending on Sundays (and contributing to the collection). Now, after several years of absence, one of them turns up and cuts dad's lifeline to the rest of the world. Half the problem of dealing with dementia is dealing with the secondary problems of others not knowing how to deal with it.
Well, I finally got to the end of the messages. All 60 were from dad. I'm not totally lost to the rest of the world. I've had a few emails from people who would normally have called. They are cottoning on to the situation, and all seem to understand that it is temporary. Actually, I must say that in this respect, people have generally been pretty good.
Well that's it for today. I think I've said enough on this subject, although the series will no doubt continue until all the lead actors are dead.
Comments
Is there a person whom you could pay to take calls from your father? Perhaps a stay at home mom who could use the extra cash? A kid saving for college? A secretary who has a really boring job and loves to talk on the phone? I know how busy you must be, but it seems your father desperately wants to hear someone, anyone, at the end of his line. It won't be for long, he'll be placed in a facility with your mom soon? Right now, though, he's completely alone for long periods of time, probably for the first time in his adult life. Men who have been tended to by their wives, who have never been on their own, have huge adjustment problems to being alone - even WITHOUT dementia. Add Alzheimer's to the mix and you have a recipe for disaster.
People with Alzheimer's have the same feelings and emotions as the rest of us. They just can't regulate or sort them out, they can't attach them to reality without benefit of a memory. It's cruel to expect them to manage on their own, to expect anything of them at all. They simply can't remember. Anything. I would doubt your father has any knowledge of the million calls he makes to you. But you will. You'll have many memories of this desperate time.
And as you mentioned in your post, it's something isn't it the way churches preach one thing and do another? Granted, it's a tough disease to handle but the lack of any organized attempt to ease the 24/7 burden on aging Alzheimer's-riddled congregations reaffirms my belief that people, really kind, loving, god-fearing people feel closer to God in a pew than they do in the homes of their sick and suffering neighbors. Where do they get that misguided notion? Why do pastors and priests not rail against complacency, when so MANY of their followers are suffering. That's a rhetorical question. I have my answer already - at least for me.
One of the blessings from my father's disease - it was impossible not to learn what people were made of - from family members to priests, from doctors to lawyers, from caregivers to siblings. I can tell you this, we all need a lot of work.
Dear Mike,
I have been away from the Alzheimer's blog rounds for several months, just came back and read all of your entries for the last half year.
Your story is excruciating, and very very familiar. In so many respects, you could have been writing the story of my mother and father. I was mentally writhing and gnashing my teeth as I read. It’s a relief to know that this phase is coming to an end for your family.
For me, it’s now six months since my mother died, and four months since my father moved to an Alzheimer’s care unit. I’m still trying to deal with the mental and spiritual effects of the time I spent caring for them in their home and then in mine. I don’t think we fully understand the changes in our view of reality that come about from close contact with the devastations of this disease.
But I do know one thing; our only possibility of coming to terms with it is the honesty and clarity of writing like yours. For me it is more “healing” to read the unsparing truth that you have been giving us all this time, than to read a thousand uplifting messages of “hope” and “comfort.” For me, the effect of reading your story is like a good thorough cleansing and airing of the wounds, when so often the impulse is to bandage it up and try to forget about it.
I know you don’t feel that way about it right now while you are still deep in the thickest thick of it. As I read it, you are likely to be making the move for your father later this week, and I wish you all the best with that.
The move is harrowing, but I want you to know that after a brief rough time (two weeks), my father settled into the new place and now seems to have no idea that he ever had any other life. At the time I moved him, I was SURE that he was the one old codger who would never, never, never be able to adjust to that sort of life. But of course, the old “him” isn’t there any more, and the new “him” seems to like the regularity, the routine, and the absolute lack of demands that the place provides. He even seems to like the non-verbal, free-floating companionship of the other residents. There is no doubt in my mind that he is more contented now than he was being taken care of at home. This is nothing short of a miracle in my life, and I think it will happen for you too.
Not much longer for you now, I hope.