Time Is No Longer Relevant

By Bud Focht

Hi, my name is Bud and according to Albert Einstein time is relative. Well, Einstein and his brothers might have made great bagels, but according to me, time may be relative, but time is not relevant. At least not anymore.

I’m reminded of what Tommy Chong said when Cheech Marin asked him “Hey Hippie, want to buy a watch?” and Chong replied with his classic response, “I’m not into time, man.”

That’s me. I am no longer into time.

I saw a beautiful sunset the other day. The front of our house faces southwest so our large picture window not only allows the afternoon sunshine to warm our kitchen, but this time of year when the neighbor’s large trees have lost their leaves the sunsets are more visible.

There was a time, however, when I would have been a little upset about the fact that the beautiful sunset was taking place at four frigin’ thirty in the afternoon!

Not anymore though. Time doesn’t really matter to me anymore. Having to be at a certain place at a certain time rarely happens these days. Mainly because it is extremely hard for us to do.

We get up when my wife Terry is ready to get up. We eat lunch when she is hungry. We get washed up (showers on good days and messy Depends days) and dressed when she is able. We go to the store when her mood and her bathroom schedule allow. Time of day doesn’t really enter in anymore.

Before I quit my job 26 months ago to become a full-time caregiver for Terry, now entering the latter stages of early onset Alzheimer’s Disease, I wore a watch, had a clock on my cell phone, a clock on my desk top computer, a clock on the landline phone on my desk, a clock in my car and when I got home I had a clock on the microwave, a clock right below it on the stove, a clock on the mantel in the living room, a clock on the VCR (yes, I am old) below the TV, a clock on the stereo and in the bedroom a clock radio.

Now, I don’t even bother changing the clocks when Daylight saving begins and ends.

No, the time of day no longer matters to me. And as far as time marching on, well I am afraid, to quote the great John Prine, summer’s end came faster than we wanted.

The last time we had to be at a certain place at a certain time was a doctor’s appointment. Our annual visit with the neurologist took place a few weeks ago and I am afraid it was not very promising, not that they ever are. It seems the disease is now doing some extensive damage in the left side of Terry’s brain, which is why her communication skills are taking a big hit.

The worse part is that now her entire brain is decaying. Shrinking. And she had a tiny hat size to begin with.

It started in the front, with her hippocampus. You know when you recognize someone and are trying desperately to remember their name and right before they come up to you to say Hi you remember it? That was the hippocampus going through your memory files looking for that person’s name.

Terry’s hippocampus was the first to surrender to the dark side. It then spread to the outer layer, the cerebral cortex, which caused her to start freaking out about a year ago, getting pissed off to the point of violence.

I think the technical name for it is “Bat-Shit Crazy.”

We started taking meds for the outbursts and the freaking out slowed down tremendously. Unfortunately, the ‘episodes’ have returned. I always hated reruns!

The decay spread to the right side of her brain after that. I noticed when we would have a catch she would stop using her left arm. I would have to throw the ball to her left side to make her use both hands.

And now it is wreaking havoc on the left side of her brain, the frontal, temporal and parietal lobes on the left side, wreaking havoc with her ability to communicate. Especially understanding what I am telling her.

She has been speaking gibberish for some time now but understanding what is said to her is now decreasing rapidly, and that is scary.

Trying to give Terry direction when I am dressing her, washing her, feeding her or brushing her teeth is getting more and more difficult.

The recent visit to the neurologist was the sixth annual appointment. He’s a good guy and I have always asked him to shoot me straight, and he does. He told me that judging from the amount of decline between visit number five and the recent visit number six, well, based on that, let’s just say there may not need to be a visit number eight in 2020.

The doctor asked me how I handle the stress of doing what I do, the stress of dealing with what we are going through. I told him I cry in my beer. A lot of beer.

Poor me. Poor me. Pour me another beer.

Optimistic people who have no real problems like to say, “When you are given lemons, make lemonade.”

Well, based on what Terry and I have been given, I’ll be making Poo Poo Platters, Manure de Jour. I’ll be grilling up some Shit Burgers.

It looks like we have a lot less time left than I had hoped. Statistics say eight to 10 years after being diagnosed. Those optimistic people say sometimes it lasts as long as 20 years. With early onset Alzheimer’s, however, it sometimes lasts as little as five years. (see Coach Pat Summitt)

Terry was diagnosed five years ago, although we feared there was something wrong for almost a year before that.

The time of day no longer matters to me. All that matters to me now is how much time Terry and I have left and trying to keep her happy for as much of that time as possible.

That is the only thing that is relative to me.

Until next time, enjoy the time you have. And Einstein’s bagels.

Bud