May Day

By Bud Focht

Hi, my name is Bud and today is May 1, and in many parts of the world today is celebrated as May Day.

May Day is an ancient spring festival, involving dancing around the maypole, singing and eating cake.

I’m thinking it must be a big deal if it involves cake.

In olden times towns and villages would celebrate the coming of spring on this date. Most farmers had already planted their crops by May 1 so it was a day the laborers could have off from work to celebrate the end of a long, cold winter, and the promise of more pleasant days to follow.

May has always been my favorite month. My work load begins to ease in May and my hours worked per week begin to decline.  Most importantly, May brings with it the anticipation of the arrival of summer.

I have always been a boy of summer.

That is reason enough to celebrate May 1. May Day.

There is also another Mayday. One that, unfortunately, I am becoming more and more aware of.

Mayday is an emergency procedure word used internationally as a distress signal. It is used primarily by sailors and pilots, and always said three times for emphasis (Mayday, Mayday, Mayday). It comes from the French word m’aidez which means “help me.”

There have been plenty of times in the last year, since my wife Terry was diagnosed with Early Onset Alzheimer’s Disease, that I wanted to call out Mayday-Mayday-Mayday. In the last 12 months there has been plenty of distress. Plenty of times when I didn’t think I was going to make it. Plenty of times when I asked the Good Lord to “help me.”

May Day has also become the International Workers’ Day, a day to celebrate not only the hard work performed all year long but the eight hour work day. The balance of eight hours of working, eight hours of sleeping and eight hours of leisure. It commemorates the Haymarket affair, which occurred in Chicago 130 years ago, a peaceful rally in support of workers striking for an eight hour day that turned violent.

May 1 is also the feast day of St. Joseph the Worker, a carpenter, and the Catholic patron saint of all workers.

My wife Terry has worked for over 30 years in a variety of jobs. When we first got married she taught a 6am aerobics class at the local YMCA. For the life of me I could not figure out why people would pay to take a fitness class at that ungodly hour. I was happy that Terry got paid to lead that class, however.

That job grew into a full time job at the “Y” working with youngsters, teaching gymnastics to toddlers. “Gym-Jam” it was called.

That was the greatest job for us. The “Y” was right down the street and with the free day care they had, our two oldest kids practically grew up at the “Y”. It was a great atmosphere for them and the day care room was literally right across the hall from the gym that Terry called her office.

During the summer Terry ran the YMCA summer Day Camp. Basically she got paid to play with kids outside all summer. Again, it was great for her and our kids.

But all good things have to come to an end sooner or later. Terry was so well liked at the “Y” and did such a good job that they promoted her, to a different “Y” and to a different job, one that involved more money but also more responsibilities. It was also a job that she did not enjoy.

After the “Y” Terry at different times taught physical education and a computers course at a grade school, she was a postal carrier (what we used to call a Mailman before the age of political correctness), a grade school athletics director and a track & field coach, and later worked at the shopping mall at a Sears. (She never could find out for me what the people at Sears ever did with Roebuck)

For the past several years she has worked in a doctor’s office where they help people lose weight and keep the weight off. The running joke in the office is that Terry is the “after” picture in the “before and after”, since she weighs in at a whopping 102 pounds.

But I am afraid Terry’s working days are coming to an end. She can no longer perform the duties she once was hired to do. She is now limited to working one day a week, about five hours each Friday. Most of the responsibilities she once had are tasks she can no longer perform.  Her cognitive impairment prevents her from performing them.

The worst part about Terry not working is not the lack of income, but the lack of input. Getting out of the house and interacting with others is so good for her. The brain is a muscle and it needs to be exercised. Working was very good for Terry.

On the plus side, not working will give Terry more time with me during the summer.

From the end of August until the end of May I cannot take any vacation (except for emergencies) due to my heavy work schedule and since I’ve been at this present job for 34 years, I have compiled quite a few vacation days. So during the summer, to make up for my lack of weekends during the year, I take Fridays and Mondays off.  

For the past few summers Monday has been our beach day. The Jersey Shore (not the one with Snooki and the Situation or any of the other low-lifes in that MTV reality show but the Atlantic Ocean) is only an hour’s drive from our front door to the beach, so we make that commute every Monday that we can.  We don’t ever go to the Shore on weekends, though. What was it that the great orator Yogi Berra once said about a restaurant he used to frequent? “Nobody ever goes there anymore, it is always too crowded.”

So on this May Day, while others are honoring the working class and celebrating the arrival of spring, Terry is slowly bringing her working career to a close.  It is just another thing on the list of things that Terry can no longer do. It is sad, but something we saw coming.

Hopefully, with her lack of working we will be able to enjoy the upcoming spring and summer months more. We always have in the past, and we don’t know how many more we will have in the future.

Until next time, hope you had a great May Day, and have no reason to cry out mayday, mayday, mayday.

Bud

With a Little Help from My Friends

By Bud Focht

Hi, my name is Bud and like Billy Shears, I get by with a little help from my friends.

Billy Shears, a member of Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band and the alter ego of Beatle drummer Ringo Starr, is asked questions about the meaning of friendship and true love in the second song on one of the most famous rock albums of all time (the first rock album to ever win a Grammy for Album of the Year in 1968). 

Shears answers the questions put to him by saying that he “gets by with a little help from his friends.”

That is something that I have finally learned how to do.

It has been a year now since I have become a caregiver, after my wife Terry was diagnosed with Early Onset Alzheimer’s Disease, and I am finally allowing others to help me with this labor of love.

At first I felt that, since Terry is my wife, my partner, that this responsibility rests on my shoulders and my shoulders alone. I was not about to out-source this job, this responsibility.

In my early research of this disease, along with the advice I was given by the neurologists and neuropsychologists, I was informed how much of a burden it could be for a caregiver.  But most of the reading I was doing was talking about people caring for a parent or a grandparent.  And I can see how that could become somewhat of a burden.

But the love between spouses, between partners, between soulmates, is so different, so unconditional, that I felt it would never be a burden to me. And I still feel that way. I never wanted to push any of my responsibilities onto my children, certainly not onto my friends.

But as Terry’s condition has worsened, and with my busy work schedule, it became more and more difficult for me to do it all. I needed help. Even though I wanted to more than anything, I just couldn’t be there for Terry 24 hours a day. 

In the beginning I tried, but in the beginning it was not a 24 hour job. Terry could still perform certain tasks, even though they were a bit tougher for her. She could still drive to local places. She could still prepare her own meals. She could still work. She could still do housework. She could still find ways to keep herself busy while I was at work or on a road trip.

That is no longer the case.

Every day I thank the Good Lord for my three terrific children and for the best friend that anyone could possibly have.

My kids are all grown, out of the house and have their own lives to lead. Asking them to travel 30 to 60 minutes to come home and help me was something I have fought all along. I wanted them to come home when they wanted to come home, not when I asked them to come home.

And they’ve been great. They come home many weekends to spend time with their mother, regardless if I am there or not. They don’t come home because I need them to come home, they come home because they truly enjoy being with their mother.

But with Terry having more and more difficulty performing the tasks that used to be so easy for her, I need the kids to help give her rides to places when I am not around. To fix her supper when I am working. To give Terry her medicine when I am out of town.

The other night Terry had a 7pm appointment. I could not get home from work until 7:30 that night, and without me asking, my oldest and dearest friend Jack volunteered to pick Terry up and take her. Terry was extremely grateful, as was I.

Up until that point Jack’s main role in this drama has been to try to keep me sane, to give me advice and to give me his undying support.

You can’t make old friends.

Other old friends, from my youth, my college days in Miami and from my years living in Rhode Island, have reached out to me with such great support. Old friends who had relatives, parents or parents-in-law, who have had this terrible disease. They have seen it and they have an appreciation for what we are going through.

Terry also has friends who are also helping us. Since Terry only works one day and about five hours a week, she is often home alone while I am working. Terry’s friends from her Bible Study have begun picking her up a few times a week and taking her out on Bible Studies.

When I come home from work I can honestly tell the difference in Terry on days that she has been out. The interaction is so good for her.

A lot of people feel sorry for me, feel sorry for Terry, for the shitty hand that we’ve been dealt.  But, honestly, I feel lucky.   Of course, not because of Terry’s EOAD, but because of the friends and family that I have supporting us during this chapter of our lives.

Obviously, it sucks. But the outpouring of love and help we have received has been nothing less than overwhelming.

In my early research it was the caregiving that was supposed to be overwhelming.

As Terry’s condition continues to deteriorate, I am sure I will be needing more and more help. Especially next fall when, after a relaxing and enjoyable summer, my work schedule again picks up.

I will try to keep the words of Billy Shears in mind. And three years before anyone ever heard of Sgt. Pepper, the Lads from Liverpool made a movie, a cross between the Marx Brothers “Duck Soup” and a James Bond movie, entitled Help!

In the title song, John Lennon wrote:

When I was younger, so much younger than today

I never needed anybody’s help in any way

But now these days are gone I’m not so self-assured

Now I find I’ve changed my mind and opened up the doors.

I have opened up the doors, to my family and friends, for their help in my caregiving. At first I was reluctant, but those days are gone. Now, whatever I can do to help Terry, to help make her life easier and more pleasant, I am doing. If that means relying on others, so be it.

Until next time, remember that in The End, the love you take is equal to the love you make. Create love and you will get love in return.

Bud

Helicopter Husband

By Bud Focht

Hi, my name is Bud and I think I may be a Helicopter Husband.

You have probably heard the expression Helicopter Parent, describing a parent who pays extremely way too close attention to their kids’ experiences and problems, especially when the kids are older, old enough to handle things themselves.

Helicopter, as in they hover overhead.

Ever since my wife Terry was diagnosed with Early Onset Alzheimer’s Disease, I have done more and more for her, including making 90 percent of her decisions. I am always hovering overhead.

Part of that is because she can no longer do many things that she used to. Terry has not driven a car since fall and I doubt will ever again. She could probably operate a vehicle if she had to, but she no longer knows how to get anywhere, and she is no longer capable of figuring out how to get somewhere.

Terry can no longer cook. Following directions from a cookbook has become a major struggle and she doesn’t remember her own old recipes. The ability to use the stove, oven and microwave unsupervised no longer exists as well.

She is able to do the laundry but sometimes not without a few hiccups. Terry can still iron, thank the Good Lord, because that is the only chore I have not done. I changed as many diapers and washed as many dishes over the years as Terry, but ironing for some reason was never something I could master, or try to master, or even try to do. I might have ironed twice in my life.

Speaking of dishes, Terry can still wash them, but sometimes after she dries them she doesn’t know or remember where to put away certain pans or glasses.

Terry has never taken her own Alzheimer’s medicines in the year she has been on them. I decided on Day One that she was not going to have to try to remember if she took them or not. I give them to her every morning. The few times I was out of town my daughter gave them to Terry and because of my hovering my daughter would sarcastically text me a picture of Terry taking her meds.

When Terry sets up meetings or appointments with her friends and her Bible Study partners, I have to be involved, so I can write them down for Terry, put them on the calendar for her. Remember them for her.

Members of Terry’s Bible Study group have been great. A few of them pick Terry up on different mornings and take her to a Bible Study. The interaction and just getting out of the house is great for her.

What was it that Johnny 5 said back in the 1980s in Short Circuit?  “Input!”

When I am away from Terry I fear that she cannot be left alone for any length of time. I know she doesn’t like to be alone. I always give her lists of things to do, to keep her busy. And she always has music playing. Input.

I began wondering if maybe I was aiding her decline by doing so much for her.  Maybe if I made her try to do more things herself then she would be able to do more things on her own, when I am not home, for a longer period of time.

What is that expression; Give a man a fish, he eats for a day. Teach a man to fish; he’s off every weekend with his buddies drunk on a boat. 

Or something like that.

The big difference is, with Terry, I’m not really teaching her anything, nothing that she doesn’t already know, or used to know. At the very most I would be trying to help her muscle memory kick in.  Things that she has done a thousand times, but is now forgetting how to do. Maybe if I make her do them, or guide her through doing it, rather than me doing it for her, it might help?

For a while, anyway.

That’s the worst part. Things are only going to get worse. Last year the doctors told us it was important to get on the meds as soon as possible because it would give us an extra year or two. A ‘year or two’ of what, I didn’t ask. I was afraid to. But I got the idea.

So I think that is why I want to do so much for Terry. Sure, some things she can’t do. But there are some things she could do if she had to, but she would probably struggle.

Well, I don’t want her to struggle. Not now. Not yet. There is going to be a shit load of struggle in the years to come, so if I can prolong that as much as possible, I will. Even if that means I am a Helicopter Husband.

I remember about a year ago when Terry was crying. I tried to console her and she said “It is just so hard.” Talking about life in general.

I don’t think I’ve seen Terry cry since then. I would hope that my hovering has helped prevent it.

Terry said it was just so hard.

Well, I don’t want it to be so hard for Terry. So the least little things I can do for her, fix her lunch, pour her a glass of green tea, anything, I’m doing it.

Except ironing. As Meatloaf said: “I will do anything for love, but I won’t do that.”

When we were told it was Bucket List time last summer Terry and I went to Kauai, Hawaii. While there we took a helicopter ride over the beautiful island and it was one of the coolest things we ever did. Brad was the name of our pilot and was extremely entertaining and knowledgeable of the island.

The rest of the week every time we saw one of those tourist helicopters hovering overhead we would always say “Hi Brad” to it.

In the months to follow there was a running joke every time we saw a helicopter, no matter what state we were in, I would ask Terry “do you think that was Brad?” and she would remember the great time we had last summer.

Showing Terry a great time and helping her remember great times. That is my priority. I admit, I pay extremely way too close attention to Terry’s experiences and problems. If that makes me a Helicopter Husband, I think I am okay with that.

Until next time, Brad and I will probably still be hovering,

Bud

Don’t Stop the Music

By Bud Focht

Hi, my name is Bud and like Kiki Dee, I’ve got the music in me.

Like most kids growing up in the 1960s and ‘70s, I have always been heavily into music.  Listening to it, not playing it.  Hearing the Sgt. Pepper album on head phones for the first time was a profound moment in my life.

I grew up on the three B’s; the Beatles, Bob Dylan, and the Bee Gees (BEFORE they went disco, songs like Massachusetts, To Love Somebody). And I am a big enough man to admit that yes, when I was 10 years old I was into the made-for-television band, the Monkees. But in my defense, that group of actors pretending to be a band had two excellent song writers (Tommy Boyce and Bobby Hart) who came up with some very good tunes.

But the closest I ever got to listening to Country Western music when I was younger was listening to John Denver. But I considered that closer to folk music.

Country Western, to me, was Roy Rogers singing “Happy Trails” or Dolly Parton, although I did like the Man in Black, Johnny Cash.

But Country Western had too much Twang to it. To me it was Hee Haw.

My son had the most diverse iPod in the world, with songs from the 60’s and 70’s, along with current songs from country, rap, pop, rock and reggae. A few years ago he turned my wife Terry on to country music, taking her to a George Strait concert.

Ever since then we’ve listened to a lot of country music in our house and I have to admit it has grown on me. The last concert I went to was the Zac Brown band.

But the biggest impact music eventually has had on me is the fact that it became a common denominator for me and Terry.

One of us will yell out “Kenny Chesney” every time one of his songs comes on the radio and it has become a running joke.

Seeing Terry respond like she is on a game show, trying to shout out the answer as quickly as possible, is funny to both of us.

Henry David Thoreau once said “Music does bring people together. It allows us to experience the same emotions. People everywhere are the same in heart and spirit.”

In my modest studies of the human brain and memory, ever since Terry was diagnosed with Early Onset Alzheimer’s Disease, I have read about people who can no longer speak in full sentences but can sing an entire song. People with advanced memory loss who don’t know what town they are in but can sit down and play a song on the piano.

It turns out that music stimulates the mind, and that the brain processes music in multiple areas, some areas that are not damaged by Alzheimer’s.

Music can be a great medium for reminiscing with people with memory loss. Many memories can come from melodies. Many times Terry cannot recall details from certain events in the past but certain songs and types of music can stimulate her brain to recall some of the emotions and memories of days past.

So now Terry’s day always has a soundtrack to it when she is home. The radio or CD player is always on when she is home alone, and often when I am there as well. It can bring her moments of enjoyment, familiarity and well-being.  It can affect her mood, although she is almost always upbeat.

Albert Camus, a French Nobel Prize winning author once said “A friend is someone who knows the song in your heart and can sing it back to you when you have forgotten the words.”

That goes for caregivers as well. At least for me.

Although Terry is quiet, even more quiet than she used to be, she can still communicate. There will be a time in the not so distant future where that will no longer be the case. But my reading tells me that music can be a powerful bridge helping caregivers like myself to reach their loved ones when Terry is no longer able to communicate with words.

I’ve read how Alzheimer’s can create strangers out of loved ones. I refuse to ever let that happen.  I have read that studies have been made where Alzheimer’s patients who listened to music three hours a week over a 10-month period actually had improved cognitive test scores.

I’m not asking for miracles. I just want Terry to be happy and to have as many good memories as possible. And to be able to retrieve those memories, even without the help of her hindered hippocampus.

Nostalgic memories involve the hippocampus, but listening to music involves the auditory pathways, auditory cortex and sensory association cortex.

Slowly, inevitably, Alzheimer’s robs people of profound memories, like the names and faces of loved ones. There are those who believe that using music we can mitigate the effects of Alzheimer’s.

Somebody once said “Words make you think a thought. Music makes you feel a feeling. A song makes you feel a thought.”

I’m not sure what I feel when I listen to music, but I know I feel great when Terry hears a familiar song and has a positive memory associated with it.

These days I am trying to create more positive memories associated with music, like playing the Kenny Chesney game at home or in the car with Terry.

It turns out that, like Kiki Dee, Terry has the music in her too. 

Like Bob Marley said, “One good thing about music, when it hits you, you feel no pain.”

Until next time, keep the music playing and feel no pain.

Bud

Cross to Bear

By Bud Focht

Hi, my name is Bud and like most people I have a cross to bear.

I have a heavy burden, heavy responsibility, a problem that I must cope with. A cross to bear.

Ever since my wife Terry was diagnosed with Early Onset Alzheimer’s Disease, people have come up to me, written me or called me with their condolences. I have often responded to them by saying “We all have our crosses to bear.” 

And that’s true. We all have our problems.

The term “a cross to bear” obviously comes from the fact that Jesus had to carry the very cross he would eventually die on all the way up to the hill at Calvary which was miles away. The Stations of the Cross are based on it.

When I was little and I saw the INRI on the top of the crucifix I thought Jesus might have died IN Rhode Island, not knowing INRI meant Iesus Nazarenus Rex Iudaeorum. (Jesus of Nazareth, King of the Jews for those of you who didn’t take Latin).

I am reminded of that this Holy Week as Good Friday and Easter Sunday are approaching.

Everyone has a burden that they must cope with in their lives. Some burdens seem harsher than others. Dragging a tree for miles up a hill so people can nail you to it and then crucify you on it makes most problems we have seem not so bad, don’t you think?

There is a common belief, one that I used to support, that goes something like this:  If you formed a circle of people, and everyone making up the circle could take their worst problem and put it in the middle, and then go around the circle and everyone had to pick one problem to have, most people, seeing what others have to deal with, would take their own problem back.

I used to believe that. I’m not so sure anymore. If I put into the middle of the circle the fact that my wife, my best friend, my partner, has Alzheimer’s, I can’t imagine selecting that from the list of other problems when it was my turn to pick.

To do that I’d have to be put in a circle with a pretty down-on-their-luck crowd. With my luck Jesus Himself would be in that circle. 

No, I couldn’t take His problem.

And speaking of Good Friday and Easter approaching, so is Passover. That is someone else who would probably end up in my circle, someone who did not put blood on their door and lost their first born male to the Angel of Death.

No, I couldn’t take his problem.

There would probably even be a dog in that circle, a flea-bitten mutt that was blind in one eye, missing half an ear, had just three legs, was accidently neutered and had a torn-off tail. Goes by the name Lucky.

We’re getting closer to problems I would take over mine.

There would have to be someone in that circle I could switch with. I can’t imagine too many problems I would pass up for taking my own back. It is a burden I would not place on anyone.

Seeing your partner, your best friend, slowly lose more and more of her independence in front of your eyes is such a helpless feeling. It is scary, it is sad, it is frustrating.

The only thing that has gotten me through this first year is the fact that Terry is so upbeat. She does not get scared, she does not get sad, and she does not get frustrated. She even has a sense of humor about it, saying with a laugh to people when she has a problem doing something “I’m demented.”

Which brings me back to that damned circle.

What if Terry was in my circle? What if she threw being “demented”  into the middle?  Which problem would I take, mine of being a caregiver and seeing my best friend go through this, or go through it myself as an Alzheimer’s victim?

My first instinct was the same as if I was thinking of my kids. When they were little I’d wish I could suffer their pain for them when they needed stitches or broke a wrist or needed surgery. I would switch places with them in a second if I could have.

But if I switched places with Terry, switched our problems in that circle, she would have to be my caregiver. (She would also have to be the breadwinner, something she has never been. She has always worked, but mostly less than 40 hours a week so she could be there for the kids.)

Now she would have to be there for me. I don’t know if I would want her to be in that situation.

Because right now Terry is handling her Alzheimer’s better than I am. It doesn’t seem to get to her the way it sometimes gets to me. She seems happier to me than I am.

There were no truer words ever spoken than : “Happy wife, happy life.”

As this horrible disease progresses, I might feel differently about what problem I would take out of that circle. My circle that probably would also have Job in it as well. (that’s pronounced jobe for you pagans out there, as in ‘patience of Job’ because of all of the troubles beset upon him in the Bible).

So as Good Friday, Passover and Eastern Sunday arrive, I will try to put my problems and those of my best friend Terry in perspective with others, and see how others handle their problems.

Terry is handling them better than I am. Maybe, probably, others are too. What would Jesus do? What would my Terry do?

What am I going to do?

Until next time, Happy Easter

Bud

Extra Innings

By Bud Focht

Hi, my name is Bud and I like extra innings.

One of baseball’s most beloved personalities passed away recently, Ernie Banks.  Mr. Cub was famous for saying “It’s a great day for a ball game. Let’s play two,” because of his love for playing the game.

Baseball doesn’t play many doubleheaders anymore but I am a big fan of extra inning games.

Now that I no longer umpire, that is.

When I was an umpire, I would pride myself on how fast the game would finish. Especially on hot summer days. I told (warned)  the 18 and 19-year old American Legion batters when I umpired that the higher the temperature, the bigger the strike zone.

Now, as a baseball fan, I cannot get enough of America’s Pastime.  I love it when the game goes longer than expected.

When I was a baseball player in college I loved extra innings on a more personal level.

I was a decent ball player growing up, earning all-star honors at ages 8, 9, 12, 14, 15 and 16. I was the leading hitter on the high school junior varsity team as a sophomore and again on the varsity when I batted clean-up my senior year.

When I moved on to Miami and played on the college team, I learned firsthand what the ‘Peter Principle’ was all about. You know, the business concept about being promoted, based on how well you performed your previous job. It happens over and over up the cooperate chain until you finally reach the level of  incompetence.

I used to tell my friends that there was only one reason why my name in the batting order was usually in the ninth spot.  It was because there wasn’t a tenth spot.

I spent a lot of time on the bench in college. Even when my name was in the lineup, I spent time on the bench because the majority of my collegiate at bats were as the designated hitter.

They didn’t like to let me use a glove, and when they did it was a first baseman’s mitt.  When I played the field I was like Michael Jackson circa 1983, wearing a glove for no apparent reason.

I grew up as a catcher but was not a good enough receiver for the college level. But I could swing the bat. Sometimes I’d hit something. That was my approach at the plate, my batting philosophy, “Swing hard in case you hit it.”

The reason why I liked extra innings, especially when I was not in the lineup, was because the longer the game went on, the better chance I had of finally getting into the game. If the other team brings a lefty in to pitch in relief, I’m a right-handed hitter (using the term hitter loosely, batter might be more accurate) so my ‘mad skills’ may be called upon.

Speaking of ‘mad skills’, my college dorm days went extra innings.  After graduating from college I worked at a college in Rhode Island for three years, the first year living in the dorms as a graduate assistant.

My wife Terry, who was on the tennis team at the college, grew up in Pawtucket, RI and lived just a few blocks from McCoy Stadium, the home field of the Pawtucket Red Sox.  The Paw Sox where the Boston Red Sox highest minor league team, the AAA team that played in the International League.

Terry was a big Red Sox fan so we went to a few Paw Sox games in my three years up there. In my final year living in Rhody, I took Terry to a game on a cold New England spring day in mid-April.

The ’81 Paw Sox were hosting the Rochester Red Wings, the AAA team in the Baltimore Orioles organization, who came to the Ocean State with this ‘five-tool’ hot-shot prospect by the name of Cal Ripken, Jr.

Terry and I went to the game but it was so cold that when the game went into extra innings we left. Plus it was getting late. I brought Terry home late once before and learned my lesson the hard way. I never did that again.

Little did Terry and I know that the game that we just left would go on until 4am before they finally stopped it, still tied after 32 innings.  What an excuse I could have had!!!

After national attention due to the record length of the contest, they finished the game two months later in front of a sellout crowd that did not include me and Terry. Our tickets were dropped in the McCoy Stadium parking lot sometime late in that April night. Just as well. I think the continued game lasted just one inning.  But it was an extra one.

I am now a big fan of extra innings for other reasons.

One’s life time can be broken up easily into nine innings, nine decades.

Terry was 54 years old when she was diagnosed with Early Onset Alzheimer’s Disease last year, so in my calculations she is in the top of the fifth inning. I’m in the bottom of the fifth of a nine-inning game.

The average life expectancy is close to 80 years old. Fifty years ago it was 60. Forty years from now it is going to be 100. That has been my plan since day one, to live to 100. That’s 10 innings.  Extra innings.

But I’m worried about Terry as we get into the late innings.

For 35 years Terry and I dreamed of growing old together, going into extra innings. Now I am worried we won’t even get a complete game.

For a nine-inning game to be considered a complete game, the losing team has to bat five times.

Terry has not completed her fifth at bat yet, her fifth inning. This game can’t be called yet!

When I was younger I wanted extra innings. I was greedy. Now all I want is a complete game.

Until next time, Terry will still be playing. I’ll be spending more time on the bench, cheering her on.

Bud

Might as Well Face it I’m Addicted to Love

By Bud Focht

Hi, my name is Bud and I am a wifeaholic.

I have come to realize that I am addicted to my wife Terry.

Terry and I have been married for almost 33 years now and my feelings for her have never been stronger.  And we see more of each other now than we ever have.

My job involves working weekends and many nights. This time of year I work 70 hours a week. When Terry and I were first married we used to tell people that my work schedule was the reason why we never fight, because we never see each other long enough to fight.

Before Terry and I celebrated our third wedding anniversary we already had two kids (before we realized what was causing it), so we never really spent that much time together as a couple. We became parents.

When the kids were little we used to schedule our time off at different times so one of us was always available to watch the kids, take them to school or practice or anywhere they needed to go.  That added to our time apart.

But now that the kids are grown and self-sufficient, we are together so much more. I began taking my summer vacation days when Terry was NOT working so we could spend them together. We were enjoying being ‘empty-nesters.’

Since Terry was diagnosed with Early Onset Alzheimer’s Disease, we have come to realize how precious our time is.  So now Terry and I are always together.  Now, the only night I go out with my friends is the night that Terry has her Bible Study.

My work involves making road trips, especially during the winter months. Now that the kids are grown Terry takes the road trips with me, and we have a great time. It is still work for me but the travel time to and from the job is time spent together.  And we both love it.

My office is close to 20 miles away from home and it takes almost 30 minutes to make the commute.  Lately I have been taking longer lunches and going home to spend midday with Terry. In my mind, my 70-hour work week justifies taking a two-hour lunch time. Plus I have my lap top at home so I can answer e-mails and do some work while I am home with Terry during the day.

At first I was going home during the day and staying home in the evenings to care for Terry. To keep her company and make sure she doesn’t burn the house down or forget to eat.

But I have come to realize that I am not just doing it for her, but for me too. When I am at work I miss her. I miss being with her. In the evenings our life would appear pretty dull; watching TV or listening to music, putting together a jigsaw puzzle or playing scrabble.  But it isn’t dull or boring, not at all. Because it doesn’t matter what we are doing, as long as we do it together.

I am afraid I am addicted.

This past Thanksgiving I was away from home for over a week. That is when I first realized that I had a problem. I used to try to kid myself, saying that I could give up spending so much time with her if I had to. That I didn’t NEED to be with her, I just LIKED being with her.

I was living in denial.

So now that I have admitted that I have an addiction, I am not sure what to do about it. I don’t think there are any meetings I can go to. Even if there were, I wouldn’t go to them unless they were on the night Terry has her Bible Study.

No, I just have to learn to live with my addiction.

When Terry was first diagnosed with EOAD I did a lot of research about what was happening to her brain, with the build-up of plaques, with her hippocampus going on the fritz. Now I am looking into what is happening to my brain.

Dopamine is the reward system of the brain. It plays a role in regulating feelings of pleasure. My spending time with Terry seems to heighten my dopaminergic activity. The time I spend with her results in repeated release of high amounts of dopaminergic activity, which in turn affects the reward pathway directly through heightened dopamine receptor activation.

In other words, I can’t get enough of her.

I have a compulsion to be with her. It is a behavioral addiction, which often can have the same symptoms as drug addiction and alcoholism.  That’s because being with Terry alters my mood or emotional state by creating a euphoric feeling.  The euphoria is the result of serotonin or adrenalin released in my brain when I am with her. My brain then tries to recreate this high despite any negative consequences related to it. Fortunately, there have not been any negative consequences yet.

They say that if you perform an addictive activity on a regular basis, you may form a tolerance to the euphoric state that results. That means that you will have to engage in the activity more often or increase the intensity of the activity so that you can achieve the desired effect.

Bingo!

That is why I need to be with Terry so much.  And all these years I thought it was Terry who had to build up a tolerance to me and my behavior.

To paraphrase Robert Palmer:

Your lights are on, but you’re not home

Your mind is not your own

Your heart sweats, your body shakes,

More time with Terry, is what it takes

I might as well face it, I’m addicted to Terry.

To paraphrase Jimmy Buffett in a Zac Brown song:

Spending time with Terry is my only medication

Wishing my condition ain’t ever gonna go away.

Until next time, there’s no doubt, I’m in deep. Knee deep.

Bud