Fuggeddaboudit by Gil VanWagner
was on? How about a place where Alzheimer’s is cured and Dad smiles and knows why he smiles? How about time off from death watch? How about a place where I can cry? How about a light in the goddamned darkness? How about a place where pills are not? Just not. How about a break? What the heck did I need from the session today?
Thought about that for a while. More than a while. Thought and felt and wondered and then realized. I wrote down my answer. One word. Peace.
I handed the form back to Jason. He looked it over and smiled.
“Peace. Cool. That helps me more than you know. Let’s get started, Mallory.”
Pieces Before Peace
The path to the Magic Man was not a well paved yellow brick road. It was a mortared, cratered, road of what else can go wrong before things feel right again. Piece by piece, my life changed. Dad slipped further and further away. My best efforts to help fell shorter and shorter of the mark.
On the teeter-totter of life, Fuggeddaboudit weighed a ton and things tipped in its favor. I was up in the air and smashed to ground with little choice but to try and survive the ride. Something had to change and change soon if this was all going to work. Turned out every aspect of my life had to change. I just didn’t know it, yet.
The first major change was just after Christmas and just before my first trip to the Magic Man and Sanctuary. It began when I accepted that Dad needed full time care.
Dad’s condition worsened. I was afraid to leave him alone even for a short time. First we left him alone a bit and then less and less. It was just a reality. Dad was unpredictable and it became painfully obvious that he needed someone around all the time.
We tried schedules, took Dad with us whenever feasible, and relied on family as well as friends. Still, it stretched us to the limit. Tom and I both worked, the kids were just too young to be tasked with that responsibility for longer than short periods, and even the help of family and friends left gaps. We tried. It was me that finally admitted something needed to be done. I began the search for what I did not want to find. Part of me hoped Dad would just get over it. Guess I still believed in miracles. In the meantime, reality said contingency plans were in order.
Thank Goodness for the Alzheimer’s Association. I became a frequent visitor to their website and called them more often than Fat Tony called his bookie. The staff had a bottomless supply of patience, a wealth of information, and compassion that helped more than they could even know. Any doubts I had about if Dad needed full time care or not were answered when I filled out the questionnaire linked to the Alzheimer’s Website.
Continence. Mobility. Cleaning. Cooking. Using the telephone. A black and white list that reminded me that Dad was not able to fend for himself. That questionnaire was an in your face moment for me. It was time to arrange around the clock care for Dad.
There were many options for care facilities. Some even qualified as Alzheimer Specialty Care Units. Links showed local facilities, who covered what, and what services were offered. Tom and I researched before stepping foot in any of them. Internet. Phone calls. Government reports. Better business bureau. Doctors’ recommendations. Medical insurance agency’s recommendations. AARP. Nurses’ recommendations. Friends’ recommendations. We asked and asked and asked again.
Six prime candidates made the first cut. Two of those were eliminated based on further research that showed less than sterling coverage, bad reports, or logistics issues. The others made our list of affordable, feasible, and possible. Tom and I headed out to check out care facilities. Along the way, I saw my truth. Thanks to Mrs. Johnson in 11c.
One care facility was cut from the list on the first walk-thru. It was replete with issues. The glossy brochures and state of the art website were less than accurate. The staff was short, the place was dirty, the patients looked lost and lonely, and, quite frankly, it stunk. Eliminating this one was actually the easiest part of this process.
The other three all showed promise, although I realized I was really looking for things not to work out. Even though I was checking out places, it still just did not feel right to me. This was my father.
Each facility had competent staff, clean rooms, and more. The staffs went out of their way to be friendly and were very professional in all our encounters. One, Shady Tree, stood out in all areas. We visited each, and then I visited each again, and was drawn to Shady Tree. It was just a bit further from home than my job. That meant I could go there before work as well as after easily. It also meant I was close if something happened during work hours. The staff to patient ratio was better than the others and the food they serve actually looked inviting. The activities schedule was full and the patients looked better than the other two facilities. They looked engaged. Shady Tree became the choice.
Dad did not know any of this. He was home and less and less home every day. I decided not to spend his few moments of clarity discussing the prospect with him. It was better to wait until the decision was final. Basically, I was a coward.
A coward that became a fixture at Shady Tree. Two visits most days, three on some. It was the place. So in I went. All was well. Until the day I saw Mrs. Johnson in 11c.
Had seen her several times prior. Fuggeddaboudit had her in its grip. More advanced than Dad’s…not by much. She seemed to be doing well. One day, I popped in after lunch and wandered the halls. One of the nurses, Lillian, saw me and walked with me for a while. Actually, I walked with her. She made her rounds and we chatted. We passed room 11c and I saw Mrs. Johnson.
The look on her face was one I knew well from Dad. Disoriented and lost. She was sitting in the recliner in her room and the panic was in her eyes. The worst kind of panic. Quiet panic. Her eyes screamed as she sat there. Screamed that she did not know where she was nor what to do about it Dad got that look more and more.
He calmed down eventually. I had to lull him back. Slowly. Get to him so he heard me as a friendly voice and then as someone he could ask. Yes, I knew that look.
Mrs. Johnson had it. I turned to Lillian to say something. Lillian was cornered by someone; I think his name was Robert. She was adjusting his wheelchair. Seemed the brake was stuck and he was a bit frazzled. Lillian handled it very well. She tended to what was in front of her. She cared about Robert. Meanwhile, Mrs. Johnson was deep in the darkness of a place I knew my Dad went more and more. A place where he needed me the most. A place no one should visit and even fewer should stay.
Lillian finished with Robert and headed on down the hall. I paused, called to Lillian, pointed her in the direction of Mrs. Johnson in 11c, and went back to quit my job. My dad would have a full time care giver. Me. Fuggeddaboudit could have another piece of my life but I would be damned if it would get a single moment of him in the darkness that I could prevent.
Surprise
I headed home and wondered how to break the news to Tom and the kids. I just quit my job. A job I had for over 18 years, really liked, and that was pretty important to us financially. How do you slip that in between how was your day and pass the potatoes, please?
It was Wednesday. Prince Spaghetti Day. A carry over from my youth, we had spaghetti just about every Wednesday night. Dad was in a pretty good spot while I was cooking dinner. He watched the news and knew it was Katie Couric, another tip that he was with us in the moment. He had a salad earlier. I kept one cut fresh most of the time. The kids knew and he had a rather large bowl of it just before the news. I kissed his head as I took the bowl from the TV table and let him watch the news. He smiled. A good night.
Tom arrived home and settled in. The kids finished their homework and joined us at the table, my request. It seemed right that Dad was in a good spot. Dinner with Tom and the kids might be exactly the right time to break the news about the job.
A good plan. A tougher execution. We spoke of the day. The kids updated on school. Tom mentioned a business dinner he had
to attend tomorrow night. We ate. I waited for the right transition. The opening. Exactly the right moment to lob in the bombshell. Dinner was just about over and it had not arrived. My feet got colder.
What had I done? What was I thinking? I just walked away from a good job with good benefits. Unemployment was up and I just walked away from a job. People were struggling to make ends meet and I just cut our cash flow in almost half. What the heck was I thinking?
The kids rose to clear their plates and I saw the moment would be far from perfect but it had to be now. I asked them to sit down for a moment.
They did. I began with a line from every movie and TV show I ever saw where someone needed to make an announcement. “I have something important I need all of you to hear.”
The rest was pretty standard, as far as major life announcements went. Stated the facts that I quit work and would be taking care of Dad full time. Just like that. Did not build the case, explain, or justify. Just said it. Took all my strength to do that. Couldn’t imagine saying more. My pulse was like a jackhammer already.
“Cool, Mom”. That was Tommy’s verdict.
“Wow, Mom. That is way cool.” Seemed that Michelle agreed.
I waited. Tom added. “I’m proud of you, Mal.”
That was it.
Thought about that for a while. More than a while. Thought and felt and wondered and then realized. I wrote down my answer. One word. Peace.
I handed the form back to Jason. He looked it over and smiled.
“Peace. Cool. That helps me more than you know. Let’s get started, Mallory.”
Pieces Before Peace
The path to the Magic Man was not a well paved yellow brick road. It was a mortared, cratered, road of what else can go wrong before things feel right again. Piece by piece, my life changed. Dad slipped further and further away. My best efforts to help fell shorter and shorter of the mark.
On the teeter-totter of life, Fuggeddaboudit weighed a ton and things tipped in its favor. I was up in the air and smashed to ground with little choice but to try and survive the ride. Something had to change and change soon if this was all going to work. Turned out every aspect of my life had to change. I just didn’t know it, yet.
The first major change was just after Christmas and just before my first trip to the Magic Man and Sanctuary. It began when I accepted that Dad needed full time care.
Dad’s condition worsened. I was afraid to leave him alone even for a short time. First we left him alone a bit and then less and less. It was just a reality. Dad was unpredictable and it became painfully obvious that he needed someone around all the time.
We tried schedules, took Dad with us whenever feasible, and relied on family as well as friends. Still, it stretched us to the limit. Tom and I both worked, the kids were just too young to be tasked with that responsibility for longer than short periods, and even the help of family and friends left gaps. We tried. It was me that finally admitted something needed to be done. I began the search for what I did not want to find. Part of me hoped Dad would just get over it. Guess I still believed in miracles. In the meantime, reality said contingency plans were in order.
Thank Goodness for the Alzheimer’s Association. I became a frequent visitor to their website and called them more often than Fat Tony called his bookie. The staff had a bottomless supply of patience, a wealth of information, and compassion that helped more than they could even know. Any doubts I had about if Dad needed full time care or not were answered when I filled out the questionnaire linked to the Alzheimer’s Website.
Continence. Mobility. Cleaning. Cooking. Using the telephone. A black and white list that reminded me that Dad was not able to fend for himself. That questionnaire was an in your face moment for me. It was time to arrange around the clock care for Dad.
There were many options for care facilities. Some even qualified as Alzheimer Specialty Care Units. Links showed local facilities, who covered what, and what services were offered. Tom and I researched before stepping foot in any of them. Internet. Phone calls. Government reports. Better business bureau. Doctors’ recommendations. Medical insurance agency’s recommendations. AARP. Nurses’ recommendations. Friends’ recommendations. We asked and asked and asked again.
Six prime candidates made the first cut. Two of those were eliminated based on further research that showed less than sterling coverage, bad reports, or logistics issues. The others made our list of affordable, feasible, and possible. Tom and I headed out to check out care facilities. Along the way, I saw my truth. Thanks to Mrs. Johnson in 11c.
One care facility was cut from the list on the first walk-thru. It was replete with issues. The glossy brochures and state of the art website were less than accurate. The staff was short, the place was dirty, the patients looked lost and lonely, and, quite frankly, it stunk. Eliminating this one was actually the easiest part of this process.
The other three all showed promise, although I realized I was really looking for things not to work out. Even though I was checking out places, it still just did not feel right to me. This was my father.
Each facility had competent staff, clean rooms, and more. The staffs went out of their way to be friendly and were very professional in all our encounters. One, Shady Tree, stood out in all areas. We visited each, and then I visited each again, and was drawn to Shady Tree. It was just a bit further from home than my job. That meant I could go there before work as well as after easily. It also meant I was close if something happened during work hours. The staff to patient ratio was better than the others and the food they serve actually looked inviting. The activities schedule was full and the patients looked better than the other two facilities. They looked engaged. Shady Tree became the choice.
Dad did not know any of this. He was home and less and less home every day. I decided not to spend his few moments of clarity discussing the prospect with him. It was better to wait until the decision was final. Basically, I was a coward.
A coward that became a fixture at Shady Tree. Two visits most days, three on some. It was the place. So in I went. All was well. Until the day I saw Mrs. Johnson in 11c.
Had seen her several times prior. Fuggeddaboudit had her in its grip. More advanced than Dad’s…not by much. She seemed to be doing well. One day, I popped in after lunch and wandered the halls. One of the nurses, Lillian, saw me and walked with me for a while. Actually, I walked with her. She made her rounds and we chatted. We passed room 11c and I saw Mrs. Johnson.
The look on her face was one I knew well from Dad. Disoriented and lost. She was sitting in the recliner in her room and the panic was in her eyes. The worst kind of panic. Quiet panic. Her eyes screamed as she sat there. Screamed that she did not know where she was nor what to do about it Dad got that look more and more.
He calmed down eventually. I had to lull him back. Slowly. Get to him so he heard me as a friendly voice and then as someone he could ask. Yes, I knew that look.
Mrs. Johnson had it. I turned to Lillian to say something. Lillian was cornered by someone; I think his name was Robert. She was adjusting his wheelchair. Seemed the brake was stuck and he was a bit frazzled. Lillian handled it very well. She tended to what was in front of her. She cared about Robert. Meanwhile, Mrs. Johnson was deep in the darkness of a place I knew my Dad went more and more. A place where he needed me the most. A place no one should visit and even fewer should stay.
Lillian finished with Robert and headed on down the hall. I paused, called to Lillian, pointed her in the direction of Mrs. Johnson in 11c, and went back to quit my job. My dad would have a full time care giver. Me. Fuggeddaboudit could have another piece of my life but I would be damned if it would get a single moment of him in the darkness that I could prevent.
Surprise
I headed home and wondered how to break the news to Tom and the kids. I just quit my job. A job I had for over 18 years, really liked, and that was pretty important to us financially. How do you slip that in between how was your day and pass the potatoes, please?
It was Wednesday. Prince Spaghetti Day. A carry over from my youth, we had spaghetti just about every Wednesday night. Dad was in a pretty good spot while I was cooking dinner. He watched the news and knew it was Katie Couric, another tip that he was with us in the moment. He had a salad earlier. I kept one cut fresh most of the time. The kids knew and he had a rather large bowl of it just before the news. I kissed his head as I took the bowl from the TV table and let him watch the news. He smiled. A good night.
Tom arrived home and settled in. The kids finished their homework and joined us at the table, my request. It seemed right that Dad was in a good spot. Dinner with Tom and the kids might be exactly the right time to break the news about the job.
A good plan. A tougher execution. We spoke of the day. The kids updated on school. Tom mentioned a business dinner he had
What had I done? What was I thinking? I just walked away from a good job with good benefits. Unemployment was up and I just walked away from a job. People were struggling to make ends meet and I just cut our cash flow in almost half. What the heck was I thinking?
The kids rose to clear their plates and I saw the moment would be far from perfect but it had to be now. I asked them to sit down for a moment.
They did. I began with a line from every movie and TV show I ever saw where someone needed to make an announcement. “I have something important I need all of you to hear.”
The rest was pretty standard, as far as major life announcements went. Stated the facts that I quit work and would be taking care of Dad full time. Just like that. Did not build the case, explain, or justify. Just said it. Took all my strength to do that. Couldn’t imagine saying more. My pulse was like a jackhammer already.
“Cool, Mom”. That was Tommy’s verdict.
“Wow, Mom. That is way cool.” Seemed that Michelle agreed.
I waited. Tom added. “I’m proud of you, Mal.”
That was it.