Mike has had very few outbursts these past few weeks. That’s a huge relief, even in the midst of my overwhelming sadness at Mike’s present state of being. Are the lessened outbursts due to the tweaked and balanced drug regimen, or is he indeed adjusting to life at The Guiding Star? Who can say? Whatever the reason, I’m grateful.
During a three-week stay in the Reynolds-Kyle downstairs apartment, I managed to finish the semifinal draft of Over 70 and I Don’t Mean MPH. Part of that time included keeping the Woodacre ship afloat while the others were on vacation. My duties were few—feed their elephant-sized dog and the bitchy cat, keep seed in the feeders for the hoard of ravenous birds that Sharon supports, and water a few plants. Easy-peasy.
The next stop in my nomadic route will be at the Dodsons’, in time for their annual July Fourth KFC pig-out.
These days Mike is usually in bed when I visit. He doesn’t want to associate with anyone at The Guiding Star, and so, other than meals, he takes to his bed. Now that he’s less agitated, the caregivers take him out for a walk a few times a day, but that’s about it.
A typical visit for me was on July 7. Mike was in bed when I got there. He was lying on his side, facing the door.
“Hi, Mike!” I said, smiling my most cheerful smile.
He brightened and said “hi.” I did the usual, asking how he was. “Fine.” What had he been doing? “Playing the piano.” I gave him news of Sharon and her family, Matt and Mika, etc. He was blank, then turned with his back to me and faced the wall. I sat in the chair beside his bed and read the paper for a while. Mike appeared to be sleeping. I gave him a light kiss on the forehead and left. Thirty minutes out. Thirty minutes back. Twelve minutes there.
Dale and Marg visited a few days later. Mike was in the living room with the others, batting a big balloon-like ball around. They joined in, then the three of them went to “Mike’s table” in the dining room where they each had a latte. In addition to being the hairstylist assistant, Marg generally brings lattes when she visits. Their report of this visit was that Mike was momentarily engaged when they talked of Marg’s upcoming trip to Montana, then he was gone again.
Although Mike now usually gives one-word answers to questions and doesn’t talk beyond that, he sometimes surprises me. On another July visit, Mike was in his room but got up when I suggested we go out to the patio. We sat for a short time while I tried to keep the chatter going.
“Shall we go inside?” Mike said.
I followed him into the dining room where we sat at his table. I had a bite of lunch with him, then left before he was finished. He stays fairly focused on food, so it was easy to leave without him trying to follow. But the question, “Shall we go inside?” was surprisingly clear and in context with the situation.
From what I can tell, Mike is more talkative with other visitors and staff than he is with me, though ”talkative” is an exaggeration. With me he is mostly blank, though there are times when he sits watching me intently, waiting, I suspect, for me to take him “home.”
On another July visit, Mike asked, “When do we go to the boat?”
I said I wasn’t sure and asked what time he thought we should be there.
“Five o’clock,” he said.
I told him that sounded about right, then took him out to the patio where I handed him the clippers and sat with him while he clipped his nails. It’s quite a chore for him, though so far he gets the job done.
On the way home, processing the visit, I wondered about the boat remark. Earlier in the day I’d told Mike that his brother, Jerry, was coming to town soon. He gave no reaction to that news until I said, “It will be fun to see Jerry, won’t it?”
“Yes,” he’d said, but without affect.
But … some 30-plus years ago Mike, Matt and I joined Jerry, Jackie, and their son David for a Caribbean cruise. We flew into Miami and met Jerry and family at the ship. Did Mike jump from news of a visit from Jerry to that long ago cruise? To wondering when we needed to go to the boat? There’s no making sense of any of it, but I can’t help trying.
Besides Jerry, his three grown kids, Beth, Laura, and David, are also coming to see Mike. I’m eager to see them, but I dread having them see Mike. He is so very changed from when they saw him just a little more than a year ago. As much as I write and talk about the changes in Mike, there is no real way to prepare others for the reality of today’s Mike.