39

 

While David is starting breakfast, I do a quick check of Dad’s vitals, which are all within the normal range. As I freshen him up a bit, the delicious aromas of coffee and bacon beckon us. Dad comments on how good it smells.

“Which smells better to you, Dad, the coffee or the bacon?”

“Coffee. Really use cub.”

What’s with the abridged talk? And did he say cub instead of cup? Then it hits me. Alzheimer’s patients become less articulate as they move into later stages. My mind sifts through the files of all I’ve learned over the years. Could Dad’s sleeping so much be a transitioning into a later stage of the disease? Are his mind and body going through a shift that will lead to nonsensical speech and babbling, or worse, not speaking at all?

I’m left breathless as the punch of that possibility hits me.

Bouncing information and ideas around my brain at warp speed, I’m at a loss for answers and more certain than ever I have to get him to the neurologist today, whatever it takes. David can go with us. It’s time for some answers, so I’ll ask Dr. Carter to order more in-depth testing. I need to know what to expect if I’m going to keep up with the oncoming changes and the level of care he’ll be needing. I feel sick to my stomach.

As I’m pushing Dad into the elevator, he asks, “Where’s Nick?”

“I don’t know, Dad. I think I heard David let him back in a little while ago. My guess is he’s in the kitchen, hoping to get some of that bacon.”

“He’s waiting me gib it him,” Dad chuckles.

More abridged talk. Ignoring it, I say, “Yes, and I know you will.”

When we enter the kitchen, we see Nick standing by the stove where a plate of bacon is sitting on the warming burner. He’s very attentive, but when he sees Dad, he comes over and sits down in front of him, waiting for acknowledgment. Dad extends his arm until his hand reaches Nick’s head. His fingers contract and expand, contract and expand, achingly slow. He’s doing his best to scratch Nick’s head.

It’s seven o’clock, so I have two hours to decide whether or not to call the doctor’s office to cancel Dad’s appointment. I desperately want Dad to get checked today, but it’s still snowing and the sun hasn’t come out. Maybe I can get them to move the appointment to a later time, when I know the roads have been cleared. I’ll call Tony, the young man we always hire to clear our driveway, to see if he can get here this morning. I have to get Dad to the doctor. I just have to.

“Scrambling some eggs now,” David says as he pours the yellow liquid into the hot skillet. Dad continues to rub Nick’s head and asks him how he’s doing today.

Nick puts his head in Dad’s lap and looks up into his face. The two look at each other for a long moment while some secretive communication takes place. Dad gives a short nod, at which point Nick turns and trots back over to the stove. How odd that Nick didn’t even acknowledge me. But I don’t take offense. In fact, it gives me an opportunity to reinforce their connection.

“Wow, Dad, he completely ignored me. Seems he just wants you.”

“He’s my buddy.” There is pride and pleasure in his voice.

“He sure is. What do you think about him sleeping in your apartment every night now?”

“He does?”

“Well, most of the time. You didn’t notice?”

“No. He’s real quiet.”

“You’ve been quiet these last couple of days, too, Dad. You slept a lot. Do you remember feeling sick or anything?”

I have Dad pushed up against the table now and am putting a bib around his neck.

He seems perplexed by the question, and then gets distracted when Nick appears at his side.

“Where’s the bacon, David?” Dad doesn’t want to keep Nick waiting. I’ve been listening closely to his words. He’s speaking normally again.

“Coming up right now, Joe.” David passes the plate of bacon across the divider to me. He grabs the platter of scrambled eggs and a breadbasket of toast, then comes into the dining room.

I set the bacon in front of Dad and start counting. One thousand one, one thousand two, one thousand . . .

An entire slice of bacon has hit the rug and been devoured by Nick in less than three seconds.

Despite my worry, I’m delighted we’re back to our routine and that Dad is acting just as he did before the big sleep.

He starts to toss another slice, but I ask him to wait until we people have had what we want first.

David chooses not to get involved in the exchange as he fills our plates with food.

Dad gives me a pointed look. “He’s hungry, too, you know.”

“Yes, he is, but like us, he has to be polite and share—right?”

Dad looks down at Nick. “Just like her momma, always so bossy.”

Nick, who watched Dad’s hand hover over the plate of bacon, only to be withdrawn, gives me a look that says he tends to agree.

 

 

David and I get Dad bathed, shaved and dressed, and put him in his chair to watch TV, as he’d asked. Nick decided to hang with Dad again, and I feel better about leaving him alone, because he’s not lonely with Nick by his chair.

After loading the dishwasher and wiping down the kitchen counters, I pour another cup of coffee and check my phone for emails and messages. At nine o’clock I call Dr. Carter’s office to see about moving Dad’s appointment to this afternoon, but I get a recording saying that, due to the weather, the office will be closed for the day. I leave a message to please call me to reschedule. I’m relieved in one way, anxious in another.

David comes to get more coffee. “What’s going on, Rachel?”

“The doctor’s office is closed today. I asked them to call to reschedule.”

“It’s okay, babe. Joe seems fine now.”

I have to agree Dad seems fine, but I’m still unsettled. I can’t change a thing about where this day is going. Marcy’s not coming. The doctor’s office is closed. Might as well make the best of it. It’s a good day for some phone time with my girlfriends.

“I’m going to run down and check on Dad, then I’m going to make some phone calls. What’s on your agenda today?”

“Paperwork I need to get done before a conference call with Marcus and Andy.” It turns out David gets along very well with the developers. He’s assured me they are not Floridiots, but good businessmen who are treating the people involved with respect. David mentioned having a friendly talk with them about local cultural expectations, and it seems to have worked.

After checking on Dad I head up to my study and call my best-listener friend Terri. Next I call fun-friend Jessica, and she makes me laugh until my sides hurt with stories about the stray cat she took in and the different ways it intimidates Max, her German shepherd. It’s almost noon when we hang up, and I’m refreshed and uplifted from my conversations.

Dad, looking perkier and in good spirits, eats most of the leftover beef stew I warmed for lunch. David and I settle him on the living room sofa. Nick comes in from doing his business, and I greet him at the doggie door with a warm towel to dry him off. He does a big shake, then goes over to the sofa to join Dad. Looks like more nap time for those fellas.

Over the next couple of hours I do laundry and mop the kitchen floor. There are other chores I could do, but I can’t muster the energy. I think I have post-holiday blues, exacerbated by a bad night’s sleep.

We took down the Christmas tree yesterday, tossing it over the deck railing for our neighbor’s son to haul away for ten dollars. He planned to come today, but I doubt we’ll see him. I miss the Christmas tree, but it’s nice to have the living room restored to its usual arrangement.

Dad is watching Family Feud, a show that drives me crazy, but he’s as alert as I’ve seen him in a while, so I figure it’s a good time to take advantage of his acuity and get out a game. It’s good to occupy him with something requiring concentration and hand dexterity.

The art ball has twenty multicolored interconnected spheres that can be scrunched, turned and twisted into an endless array of creative configurations. It’s colorful and engaging, and I can sit with him and admire his creations.

Marcy calls to say she’s able to get down her driveway now and asks if I want her to come. Since it’s almost three o’clock and she would only be here for a couple of hours, I thank her for offering but tell her to please just come tomorrow.

I bet she’s worried about another day without pay. Though I don’t have to, I’ll pay her for today. If not for the snow, she would have been here. How nice that there’s no worry involved in the decision to pay her.

David’s bonus and paychecks have put us back on our feet and restored our sense of security. We were happy to catch up on our donations to charities, but there’s been no splurging. We’ve decided that as long as we can continue to take care of Dad and Nick, make our mortgage payment, keep the lights on, and eat three healthy meals a day, that’s enough.

Enough is a blessed way to live. Anything more than enough is excess, and as I learned the very hard way, that’s a perilous way to live.

Dad is getting tired of the art ball activity, but in a healthy way. Sometimes his interest wanes after only a few minutes. At other times, he can get obsessive until he hits a wall, and then he goes into an exhausted stupor. Best to stop the activity before that happens.

“How about some hot chocolate, Dad?”

“Good.” He releases the ball and I retrieve it from his lap.

“Do you want anything to eat?” No response. “Dad, do you want anything to eat?”

He closes his eyes, which is a way he avoids answering questions—particularly questions that call for a decision. Perhaps he’s forming a thought, but he can’t articulate it. This is a common occurrence in patients with Alzheimer’s. Some get angry and yell or lash out physically because of the frustration. I’m fortunate Dad just closes his eyes and doesn’t even try to answer. It’s his way of coping with the inability to express himself or make a decision, and I never push him.

He doesn’t get angry, and I don’t get exasperated. We rely on trust and love to convey all that we wish to say but can’t. I wonder how long that can continue.

His eyes are still closed, but he’s not sleeping. His face goes soft and doughy when he is. So I know he can hear me when I pat his hand and say, “Okay, good, I’ll bring you some banana bread then.” I say it as if we’ve decided together.

In our own way, born out of necessity, we have.