A Demented Look at Dementia

By Bud Focht

Hi. My name is Bud.

Sounds like I’m at an AA meeting. No, I’m not an alcoholic, although the biggest difference between me and an alcoholic is that alcoholics go to meetings.

Bud is not a nom de plume (pen name for those of you who don’t parle francais), just a nickname, and I am a 57 year old caregiver for a loved one with Alzheimer’s.

I know, life is tough, wear a helmet.

I realize I am among many who have had to make adjustments in their life to care for someone they love that has been inflicted with this horrible disease (is that redundant? Are there any diseases that are not horrible? I mean the ‘clap’ is horrible, but at least, hopefully, there was some enjoyment somewhere along the line), but unlike many people my age who are in this position, I am not caring for a parent.

I wish! 

My Mother died of lung cancer when I was just 43 and she was in her late 60s. She was a 40-year smoker so I guess you reap what you sow, but it was still hard on me and my kids, my sister and her daughter and of course my Dad. She was a great Mom and a terrific Grandmother.

My Father died  10 years later, also of cancer (esophagus). My Dad and I were very close, especially over his last 25 years when we were more friends than Father-Son, but that is fodder for a different blog.

My beautiful wife (really more cute than beautiful. Five foot two, eyes of blue, very happy, honest, spunky and athletic, weighing in at about 100 pounds if she eats a good breakfast) is just 55 years old and was recently diagnosed with Alzheimer’s Disease.

The worst part isn’t having to make the adjustments to care for Terry (Therese, French Canadian from New England). That is one of the easier parts. It is like when you have your first child. You have to make major adjustments to your life but you don’t mind, because that new child is the most important thing in your life and your paternal instincts take over and nothing else matters as much anymore. Not the partying, not the social life. Not the peace and quiet. Nothing.

No, the worst part is seeing your best friend, the person who you planned on, and looked forward to, growing old with, begin to decline at such an early age. Seeing her inability to do simple things that she used to do so easily.

At first we just thought Terry was suffering from a more common ailment, CRS (Can’t Remember Shit). Even her doctor at first felt her problems were simply ‘menopausal’. We (Terry and my three great kids, ages 25 to 30) were able to laugh it off at first, even tease her about it, and Terry found humor in it.  But as time went on and the forgetfulness, as well as the inability to concentrate, became worse, I was afraid I knew better.

Of all the times in my life to be right.

Terry was a two-sport varsity athlete in college, the number one singles player on the tennis team in the fall all four years and a member of the track & field team in the spring (something to keep her in shape for tennis).

When we got married Terry worked for years at the local YMCA, teaching gymnastics to toddlers. Over the years she played for an adult women’s soccer team, she officiated high school field hockey. She taught physical education and computers at a grade school. Now, she has no idea how to even turn a computer on. When I log on to a story on the internet so she can read about her beloved Red Sox or Patriots, she doesn’t even know how to scroll down to read more of the story.

I could use Tom Brady’s helmet about now.

Terry is one of 10 kids. Her family is freakishly intelligent and all very successful. They are mostly teachers, nurses, computer wiz’s (is wiz’s a word? I mean plural for Wiz, not multiple urinations). They include a college chemistry professor, a high-ranking nun who reports directly to Pope Francis, an MIT grad who owns houses on both coasts, a highly respected ‘Mr. Chips’ type of teacher at a prestigious private boarding school who is considered a god in Nicaragua for building libraries down there during his summers, several high school and grade school teachers, an ICU nurse and a cancer surviving engineer.

Terry was an outstanding tennis player who never had a lesson, except from her oldest brother who used to win doubles championships with her at the local township park courts. Terry was the ‘jock’ of the strict, Catholic family that said the rosary together EVERY night.

Having gone to college in fun-in-the-sun Miami as a baseball player, majoring in solar epidermal radiation (getting a sun tan for those of you who don’t habla), and living 1200 miles from home, I was used to dating girls with a little more freedom. Dating Terry was pure culture shock, but Devine Intervention played a major role in our meeting. And I am eternally grateful. Especially now. I am so happy and thankful that I am here for her.

Now that you know the background, I plan on taking my in-laws’ advice and write a weekly blog about my experiences with my best friend, my soul mate.

I plan on writing more about Terry and how we deal with this situation in the days, weeks, months and hopefully years to come. How she reacts to the meds (Namanda and Donepezil) and how we react to her condition, as things inevitably worsen.

To all of you who are going through what I am going through, please keep in mind the advice my great cancer-surviving sister-in-law gave me. Every day is a gift. Live today like it is your last, enjoy it, and make the most of it. If you wake up tomorrow, be thankful and enjoy that day as well. Don’t look too far down the road, because it can be overwhelming and it will take away from the joy you should be having today.

So if you know of anyone who is going through this, let them know about this blog.

Have a joyful day today, and hopefully tomorrow as well. We will be trying to do the same.

Until next time.

Bud