ENCORE #164! – Answering the Alzheimer’s Phone

From the first moment my wife discovered she had breast cancer in March of 2011, there was a deafening silence from the men I knew. Even ones whose wives, mothers or girlfriends had breast cancer seemed to have received a gag order from some Central Cancer Command and did little more than mumble about the experience. Not one to shut up for any known reason, I started this blog…That was four years ago – as time passed, people searching for answers stumbled across my blog and checked out what I had to say. The following entry first appeared in October of 2016.

“The Devil Wears Prada” is one if my favorite movies. I don’t really know why, but I think part of it is that, in the end, Emily (played by Anne Hathaway) dumps the role she’d assumed and that had been reinforced by everyone around her, and became herself – oh, and she’s a writer!

Be that as it may, a line from the movie has come to mind lately: “Nate: [as Andy takes a call from Miranda] You know, in case you were wondering - the person whose calls you always take? That's the relationship you're in. I hope you two are very happy together.”

Checking my own cell phone, I see that in the last seven days, I have 77 calls from my dad. Granted, I’ve only answered 33 of them, but still…

Right after my mom passed away, I Googled “Alzheimer’s” and found http://www.alz.org/ and their help 24/7 number (1-800-272-3900). I called. They answered. Then they connected me to someone LOCAL.

That was probably most helpful because I was able to talk with someone who was nearby; in the area I grew up in; with a similar worldview.

At any rate, in talking about Dad’s constant phone calls, they advised that I only answer the phone once a day.

“Once a day!” I exclaimed. “I don’t think I can do that to him.”

“You may need to or it will drive you crazy,” said the counselor.

As you can see above, I have failed miserably to follow her advice. According to my data, Dad calls on average 11 times a day. I answer him around three of those times. However, one of those days includes the Sunday me and my brother took Dad out to Fort Snelling National Cemetery. Besides Dad’s sister and brother-in-law, his mother and father are buried there as well (though at different grave sites as my grandmother died ten years after my grandfather did and married again). Mom is there, too. That day, Dad called only twice wondering where I was and when I was going to get there (the place he lives). After that, he was at the cemetery with us and then over at my house for supper. But on average, the number seems right.

The vast majority of those calls are to ask where Mom is. Sometimes he figures it out before I say anything. Sometimes I have to ask leading questions. Sometimes I have to tell him outright. Occasionally he calls worried that Mom left him; that she’s on a trip somewhere and forgot to tell him; or he confuses my sister and my mother asking, “Now, does Pat live in…” To which I reply, “No Dad, that’s where…”

In my defense, I offer up the logic that while Dad usually calls out of boredom and just rings up everyone on the list we gave him of all of us kids and our spouses, he’s only somewhere around Level Four on the Alzheimer’s Scale (I’ll talk about the two scales later), though he’s edging into Five. He’s pretty much cognizant of his surroundings, he can sometimes tell you where he lives, he dresses himself and can use the shower and toilet. He even takes care of Pretty Girl, the cat we gave to Mom after hers disappeared during the move to the residence a year ago. Once those skills start to fade, and according to the literature, he won’t have much farther to go until his body fails entirely.

He DOES get bored there. Sometimes he gets bored believing he hasn’t done anything…when he’s like…gone to an apple orchard.

That perhaps, is the saddest phone call of all.

Resource: http://www.alz.org/we_can_help_24_7_helpline.asp
Image: https://c2.staticflickr.com/6/5527/10893068965_1d328e8f71_b.jpg