Satan, Your Mama and Me

By Bud Focht

Hi, my name is Bud and I feel like I am about to begin earning my keep.

I’ve been a caregiver for almost four years now, the last eight months on a full-time, 24-hour-a-day basis, and it is beginning to get challenging.

At first, it sucked. But it was manageable. My wife Terry, who is now in the middle stages of  Early Onset Alzheimer’s Disease, was still able to do most things, many things, okay, some things, on her own.

But lately, the gauntlet seems to have been thrown down. Hard! And I know exactly who threw it down. The Great Deceiver. Mephistopheles. The Devil.

When I first became a caregiver, I could deal with the decline of Terry’s cognitive skills. And once I took an early retirement so I could be with Terry all of the time, I could explain things to her. I could help her do everything. I could finally, with complete confidence, tell her that I know what is best for everyone. Or at least what is best for her.

But now, I am afraid, because of this god-damn disease, Terry’s personality is beginning to change. And that is hard to take. I guess it might be like when a guy marries a girl only for her looks and then her looks begin to fade.  Fast. Like she gains 100 pounds and her face begins to look like it belongs in a Picasso painting.

Or a woman who marries a guy for his money and he turns out to be a Bernie Madoff. As in he ‘made off’ with all your money.

Surprisingly, some of Terry’s personality changes are okay.

When I recently told Terry that her beloved Red Sox won again, she said “Great! They are my Peeps.”  I had to clean up the coffee I spit out onto the kitchen floor. The last time Terry said ‘peeps’ it was 1990-something and she was putting those yellow marshmallow chicks into the kids’ Easter baskets.

One of Terry’s favorite country music groups is Florida Georgia Line, and they sing a song called “God, Your Mama and Me.” As in no one can love you more than God, your mama and me.

Terry was getting her words mixed up again and couldn’t say the words to the song. When this happens I usually say it over and over to her and she tries to repeat. When I would say “God, your mama” she would say “God, my mama.” We kept on going back and forth “Your mama.” “My mama.”  I tried to get her by saying “Mars, Uranus” but then she figured out what she was doing. Our daughter was enjoying it, laughing, and was wishing she had taped it for America’s Funny Home Videos.

But some of Terry’s personality changes are NOT okay. As far as how days start, I recently had one that could have been a bit better.

Terry usually gets up in the morning around 9:30. The other day she woke up at 7:30 for a bathroom break and when we returned to bed she said she was hungry. When I tried to convince her to go back to sleep and wait an hour or two, she lashed out. My experience of being her caregiver has taught me that the later she sleeps the more “with it” (for lack of a better expression) she is. When I was still working she would sometimes sleep till noon. I would get her up when I came home at lunchtime.

So when she told me at 7:30 that she was hungry, I told her to go back to sleep. That is when she yelled that she hates me and then she hit me.

Good morning to you too!

I realize it was not her, it was this god-damn disease, but still. To hear the person you feed, shower and dress yell at you like that and actually strike you, it is a small taste of hell.

I have been a long-time believer in divine intervention. But I am also a big believer in just the opposite kind of intervention.

Ever since Terry got deeply involved with her Bible Study group, she has had several different health issues. The more often they (thyroid, hiatal hernia, Alzheimer’s) occurred and the more Terry studied the Bible the more apparent it became to both of us.

Many scoff at the idea that Satan exists, and that he has his hands in our everyday life. To some, Satan is a fictional character of novels, video games and horror movies. 

About 43 years ago during Senior Week at the Jersey Shore I saw a new horror movie called The Exorcist with six of the toughest guys I went to high school with the first rainy night we were there and none of us could sleep without a light on the rest of the week.

If you believe in God, then you have to believe in Satan. And if you believe that through prayer that the “man upstairs” can provide help, then you have to believe that the “man downstairs”, the devil, is using his influence as well. It is not as if once he talked Eve into eating the forbidden fruit he just slithered off. That is where he just got his start.

Reba McEntire has a song out now called Back to God, as in we have to give this world back to God. Sorry, Reba. I am afraid it is a little too late. I am afraid this world belongs to Satan. Look at the facts.

War. Injustice. Trump. (was that redundant?)

Against my better judgement I recently took Terry on a road trip to visit her mother. Don’t get me wrong. For 35 years I have enjoyed taking Terry and our kids to visit Terry’s childhood home. Sorry, no mother-in-law jokes here. I have the greatest mother-in-law in the world. She wanted to see Terry and Terry always loves seeing her. Plus all five of Terry’s sisters were in town so it was a great opportunity. I figured the ever-increasing hassle of traveling with Terry would be worth it. And it was. The trip was great! No major problems at all.

Until we got home. I guess it was the lack of a routine, but Terry began imagining things and insisting that she saw and did things that were not happening. And she was having outbursts of anger, something she has never done in her life.

So this is when the men get separated from the boys. No longer am I just trying to help Terry understand what is going on. I am now dealing with hallucinations, fits of rage, severe mood swings.

When the kids were little and they would get a scrape, a bump or a bruise, before they would start to cry I would always say “It’s a good thing you’re tough!” and they would always try to act tough and maybe not cry.

Until next time, it is a good thing I am tough.

Bud

budfocht@gmail.com

Guardian Angels, Fairies and Phenomena

By Bud Focht

Hi, my name is Bud and while staying up late to watch the ball game from the West Coast I just saw 12:34 on the clock. That is something I have been doing way too much of lately, and I believe it is some sort of phenomenon. What kind of phenomenon, however, I am not sure.

Like in the movie, Phenomenon, the science fiction theory is always more interesting than the scientific one.

In the movie, John Travolta’s character, George Malley, thought he saw a bright light coming from the sky and soon afterward his mind began to expand. He was able to read and comprehend at a super-human rate and even began to possess telekinetic abilities. The towns people thought he was subject to an alien encounter but in reality, it was a brain tumor that had “awoken” parts of his brain that most humans don’t use. The movie plays on the myth about people only using 10 percent of their brain.

Back to my phenomenon.

In the late 1990s I went through a period of a few years when I would see 11:11 on the clock ALL the time. I mean like seven or eight times a week.

At first I thought it was just muscle memory, getting into a subconscious habit of looking at the clock at the same time every day and night.

But with my cell phone, the clock in my car, the clock on my computer, the clock on my desk phone, the clock on the microwave, the clock on the VCR, the bedroom clock, and the clock on my office wall being about as synchronized as John Blutarsky’s (Bluto) when the Delta Tau Chi frat boys were planning their revenge at the Faber College homecoming parade, there were days when I saw 11:11 three different times on three different clocks.

I had a feeling this meant something, but what, I had no idea. I never told anyone, fearing they would think I was full of it or give me some reasonable explanation. But it happened SO often that I knew there was no reasonable explanation.

Something was up.

Then one day my oldest daughter was talking to her younger sister and she said that her friend claims she sees 11:11 on the clock all the time.

I was shocked! Are there others out there? Were we going to start sculpting the Devil’s Tower in our mashed potatoes?

I didn’t see it but I read where they even made a movie a few years ago about seeing 11:11 all the time, called I Origins.

When I heard my daughter’s friend was seeing it, I did something that, 17 years later, I would have done right away. I looked it up on the Internet. Apparently, it is some form of phenomenon with many opinions on what it means.

Some say it was my “guardian angel” looking after me. Some say it is fairies or some other sort of “spirit guides” who are just letting me know they are there to help me.

Regardless of what it does or does not mean, once I looked it up, saw some of the explanations, and found out that this happens to many people, it stopped happening to me. Boom, just like that, it stopped.

However, a few years ago, before my wife Terry was diagnosed with Early Onset Alzheimer’s Disease, I began seeing 12:34 and 1:23 on the clock. A lot. Like, way more than I should. It was the 11:11 phenomenon all over again.

I read that seeing 11:11 is the universe’s way of urging us to pay attention to our heart, our soul and our inner intuition. It’s serving as a wake-up call to us so that opportunities are not missed in this lifetime.

But what the level-headed, practical person inside of me thinks is that it is a different kind of phenomenon, called the Baader-Meinhof Phenomenon. The “BM” phenomenon, which I like to call it, (sorry, immature humor is still humor to me), basically states that you look at the clock hundreds of times a day and if you see 12:57 or 9:04, it means little to you, (unless you were supposed to be somewhere at 1 o’clock or at 9 o’clock), but 12:34 is interesting because of the numbers being in order, so your mind remembers that. I could just as easily be seeing 9:04 just as often as 11:11 or 12:34 and just not realize it.

The scientific explanation is not as fun as the science fiction one, and I sorta wish it was a guardian angel or fairies looking after me. Lately, I could use their help.

Patience has never been one of my strong suits.  As a matter of fact, it is probably the weakest suit I have, almost as weak as the suit with the Nehru jacket I owned when I was in the seventh grade. (what was I thinking?)

I thought I began to learn patience when my wife Terry was first diagnosed and I became her caregiver. Her loss of cognitive skills caused me to be more patient as I had to learn to help her with everything she does.  But lately I have been losing my patience more frequently, getting frustrated when she can no longer take any direction at all.

I am not sure why. Whether it be her continued decline, my frustration with dealing with that, or my recent lack of self-medicating (not even on April 20).  But for whatever reason, I have been short with Terry lately, snapping at her when she cannot do what I instruct her to do (rinse the shampoo out of your hair, put your shoes on, laugh at my jokes).

When our kids were small and they would/could not follow directions, I would often get frustrated with them and yell at them. Terry would ask me to be more patient with them but my philosophy was that if I didn’t get terse with them they wouldn’t learn and the lack of following directions would continue longer.

But things are just the opposite with Terry. She is not going to learn from my snapping at her. She is not going to learn ANYTHING. She is forgetting. EVERYTHING. We can have a conversation with someone who Terry loves, and five minutes later she will not remember who we were talking to.

I need my guardian angel to look over my shoulder. I need the fairies to shut my mouth when I begin to get angry with Terry. Because it is not Terry I am getting angry with, it is her condition. Her god-damn disease. And dealing with it for almost four years now is beginning to get to me.

But when I see 11:11 or 12:34 or 1:23 on the clock, it does remind me that I need to take a step back. To realize that there is going to be a time in the not too distant future that things are going to be much worse than they are now. And that helps me handle the latest situation that had me frustrated.

Maybe it is my guardian angel after all.

Until next time, when you see 11:11 on 12:34 on the clock, think about what the fairies are trying to tell you.

Bud 

For Whom the Bell Tolls

By Bud Focht

Hi, my name is Bud and I have been thinking too much about death lately.  Fun stuff, I know.

No, I don’t have a death anxiety. I am not in constant fear of my own death. I don’t really even think about my own death that much. No more than anyone else.

But a childhood friend of mine died the other day. He wasn’t a close friend, but someone I was on a couple of all-star baseball teams with when we were kids. But he was my age.

And I’m not that old.

Maybe when I was 50 years old I thought 60 was old. I know when I was 30 I thought 40 was old, and when I was 45 I knew 55 was old.  I guess 10 years older than what you are is as good a definition of ‘old’ as any. Although I recently learned a new one.

Due to my wife Terry’s extremely short attention span these days, we watch a lot of funny videos. No plot to remember, just slapstick comedy. From watching these videos, I have learned a new definition of old.

If you fall down and everyone laughs, you are not old. If you fall down and people cringe, gasp and start dialing 9-1-1, you are old.

I am afraid that, even if I am not old, I am now at the age where not only are most of the parents of my childhood friends passing away, but even some of my friends themselves are. Or at least people my age are.  They are beginning to fall to the wayside at a rate all too often.

I was looking at some old photos recently and I saw a team picture of a championship squad I played on in the early 1980s. Three people in the pix of about 20 are already dead.

And it is sad.

A long time ago when Terry first started really studying the Bible she used to tell me that when we are done with this world there will be a new system and that we will then live in a perfect world.

Several years later when she was diagnosed with Early Onset Alzheimer’s Disease, she told me that, because of her faith, her beliefs, she was not afraid.

Well, I sure as hell was, and still am. Very afraid.

Back in the early 1980s I traveled to Oklahoma for a basketball game and we faced a player named Wayman Tisdale. He went on to the pros (second player picked in the NBA draft after hall of famer Patrick Ewing) and later became a successful jazz guitarist. He had a Magic Johnson type of personality on the court and on the stage, always happy and smiling.

As a musician, Tisdale became friends with country singer Toby Keith. When Tisdale passed away at the age of 44 after losing a leg to cancer, Keith wrote a song, a tribute to his friend, called Cryin’ for Me. In the song he says that “I’m not cryin’ cause I feel so sorry for you. I’m cryin’ for me.”

That’s how I feel. When people I know or relatives of people I know pass away, I don’t feel sad for the people who die. I feel sad for the people who are left behind. They are the ones who are now hurting.

And I don’t want to be that person who is left behind, that person hurting. Alzheimer’s.org, however, along with the statistics and the doctors, say that I am going to be that person.

I always kid Terry that the song by The Band Perry, Better Dig Two, is about us. That when one of us goes the other one is going too.   She can’t live without my help in everything she does, and I can’t imagine living without her.

They say you can’t take it with you. Well, we plan on taking each other with us. But then again, you know how plans go.

You read about that happening all of the time. Someone dies and a day or two later their spouse of 50 years also dies. It happened in February to a couple who I grew up down the street from. People actually can die of a broken heart. Back in December Debbie Reynolds died just a day or two after her daughter Carrie Fisher died.

And for those who do survive their partner’s death, often their quality of life is never the same.

That is what scares me about death.

In high school, they made us read. The bastards! I mean, in high school they made us read. Thank God! But at least they let us pick our poison.  I mean they let us pick our favorite authors. Two of the authors on the list were Ernest Hemingway and Charles Dickens.

Hemingway seemed interesting, but he blew his own head off with a shot gun. I chose Dickens because I thought he had a really cool beard (yes, I was very mature for my age in high school), plus he was English and at that time I was still a victim of the British Invasion (Beatles, Stones, pre-disco BeeGees).

In The Old Curiosity Shop Dickens wrote “Death doesn’t change us more than life.”  I am not sure if I agree with that statement, but I do share some of his thoughts.

Lately when people ask me how my “retirement” is going, I feel like saying “It is the best of times, it is the worst of times.”

It is the best of times because I get to spend all day hanging out with Terry. It is the worst of times because of the circumstances. Because of why I am hanging out with my wife all day.

We haven’t exactly been lighting up the social calendar with excursions like many young retired couples do. Many days Terry doesn’t even want to leave the house, but I am sure that will change now that the weather is warming up. But sometimes I feel like I am wasting this opportunity.  Sometimes I feel useless, not being able to work or do things.

But Dickens also wrote that “No one is useless in this world who lightens the burdens of another.”

That’s my job now. To lighten Terry’s burden. Help her function day-in and day-out. Help her laugh every day.

“There is nothing in the world so irresistibly contagious as laughter and good humor,” Dickens wrote.

Good humor. Now I am no longer thinking about death. Now I’m craving ice cream.

Until next time, enjoy the next 10 years before you too are old.

Bud

budfocht@gmail.com

Center of Attention

By Bud Focht

Hi, my name is Bud and I used to write a weekly blog.  I used to do a lot of things.

With Spring Training baseball games on television now it makes me long for the days when I would go to the Philadelphia Phillies games. For 10 years, a dozen of us had very good seats near each other for about 20 games a year. The fact that in those years the Phils won five Division Titles, two National League Pennants and a World Series, made it even more enjoyable. For a few of those years (2007-09) Citizen’s Bank Park was the place to be in the greater Philadelphia area.

But it wasn’t just good baseball in a nice ball park. It was the comradery of the group of friends tailgating before the game and sitting within ear-shot of each other during the game.

That’s what I miss.

March Madness is about to begin. Last night I watched the conference championship basketball games (women’s and men’s) of the league that I used to work in. But this year I watched it on television instead of in person. The electricity of the crowd being on national TV, the importance of the game, with the loser seeing its outstanding season end while the winner gets the ultimate prize, getting its name on the office pool bracket.

That’s what I miss.

This time of year, I used to work 70 hours a week, but I still had time to do things.

Since I’ve taken an early retirement I have no time to do anything.

That’s what I miss.

For some reason, I had a different idea of what “retirement” would be like.

It seems my wife has gone from a self-sufficient wall flower to someone who seeks my constant attention.  And I am afraid she has begun showing signs of agitation when she doesn’t get it.

I mean I have gotten used to being with her all day to help her with everything, now that Terry is in the middle stages of Early Onset Alzheimer’s Disease, and I never once minded it. She’s my partner, and when she needs assistance I WANT to be the person to help her.

But lately she has gotten upset when I tried to have a conversation with someone else. And both times it happened it was a family member I was talking to.

A few months ago we visited her family in New England. Terry’s family is large, with 10 kids, and even now when all are grown, there is usually a large crowd sitting around the dining room table when we visit. And even though they are all sitting around the same large table, there are often two or three different conversations going on at the same time.

The first time I witnessed that I was a little put off. Terry and I had just started dating and it was my second or third time at the house.  I was telling a story and was just about to get to the punch line when one or two of her siblings began their own conversation.

I eventually discovered that it was just the way it is in such a large family. When a parent has to deal with six or seven needy kids at one time, you don’t get center stage unless you are bleeding or puking. Sometimes you need to be doing both if it is flu season.

So a few months ago Terry and I were sitting around that large table along with seven or eight others, and there were a few conversations going on. I was involved in one of them and all of a sudden Terry became upset. It took me a while, in another room, to find out what the problem was.

At first I figured she just couldn’t focus on any of the conversations and she was getting frustrated. And that was part of it.

But then it happened again the other day in our own house. Our daughter was telling me something while Terry was eating her lunch and all of a sudden she got upset. She didn’t like my daughter talking to me. She wanted my attention.

Back in the 1980s Terry was the shyest person I ever dated. When we got married she knew what my job entailed and was fine with me being gone so much.

Now she is an attention hog.

I know it is not her, it is this god-damn disease, that is making her act this way. And it is tough to see.

I’m not sure if I am to blame for this. Do I coddle her too much? Should I try to let her do more things on her own?

This constant need for attention prevents me from doing anything without her. Like talk to my kids or friends. To write this blog. To use the bathroom. I took a shower the other day and when I came out Terry was upset because she didn’t know where I was. And it was just a five-minute shower after I had twice told her what I was going to do.

I always knew things were going to get tougher in this caregiving thing. I tried not to give it much thought, but reality is beginning to sink in.

This gig is not for everybody.

But it is for me. I am so grateful that I was able to quit my job and spend 24/7 with my partner.

I just wish I had some time to do things.

That’s what I miss.

And I know that in the future there are going to be things I miss even more. So even though I just spent the last half hour writing how I miss things, I try not to give it too much thought.

I don’t have the time.

Until next time, appreciate what you have. You’re going to miss this.

Bud

Groundhog Day

By Bud Focht

Hi, my name is Bud and yesterday was Groundhog Day.  That famous furry little critter, Punxsutawney Phil, saw his shadow so now we are supposedly going to have six more weeks of winter.

I am sure that on at least one of the 350 television stations there are out there they aired the movie Groundhog Day yesterday. Since it came out 20-some years ago, I’ve seen the movie enough times to know what the next scene and line are going to be, so even though it is in my ‘top 10’ I didn’t look for it or watch it this year. 

But I am sure many people did.

The movie has become part of popular culture. Whenever someone is stuck in a repetitive situation, they usually say “It was like Groundhog Day” even though what they were experiencing had nothing to do with an overgrown squirrel in Western Pennsylvania predicting the weather.

Since I took an early retirement to care for my wife Terry, who is now in the middle stages of Early Onset Alzheimer’s Disease, many of my days are repetitive. I do many of the same things over and over every day.

And that is good for Terry. It helps her know what is going on. She is most comfortable when keeping a routine.

Terry and I sleep in late most days, hardly ever getting out of bed before 9 am. Terry seems to function better when she sleeps in. On days when I try to get up before 9 she almost always gets up soon after me. She has been asking me “What is going on?” more and more often these days, especially in bed in the morning before we get up. If I get up before her there is no one to answer her questions, so I usually stay with her (she doesn’t really have to twist my arm, however. I was never an early riser if I didn’t HAVE to be. Especially on cold mornings).

Once we get up I help her in the bathroom (she can no longer be alone for that chore) and then I fix her breakfast, almost always granola cereal (warm this time of year) with a peeled orange on the side, to go along with her morning meds. After three years, a year longer than what most doctors believe they work, she is still taking the Donepezil and the Namenda. No one knows if the medicine is still working or not but I figure it can’t hurt. She no longer has any side effects to them.

Every morning after breakfast we do the previous day’s dishes. Washing and drying dishes is one of the only chores left that Terry is still capable of doing so no one is ever allowed to do dishes in our house except for her.

When the dishes are done, we do our morning exercise. Since the temperature outside is closer to 0 than it is to 70, we exercise inside. When Terry used to teach an aerobics class at the YMCA 30-some years ago, she used these “Aerobic Stairs”, a small three foot by one foot by three inch high step. We have two of them so we do a stepping routine for 20 to 30 minutes. Just something to get the blood flowing and break a small sweat.

After a cooling off period I help Terry with her shower, then shower myself. Then we are ready for the afternoon, which usually consists of running errands, going to the store or watching country music videos on television if it is not warm enough to do something in our backyard.

Riveting stuff, I know.

But I don’t get bored like Phil Connors (Bill Murray) did when he was stuck in Punxsutawney. I actually like being stuck. Terry needs someone by her side to let her know what is going on. Who better to do it than me?

As a matter of fact, I wish we were stuck in a time loop like in the movie, where everything starts over again every morning. Where Terry’s condition would not continue to worsen.

The writers of the movie said for Phil Connors to learn everything he learned leading up to the film’s ending he would have had to be stuck for over 30 years.

In the movie, after years of doing things with no consequences, like suicide, robbing a bank, or even killing the overgrown gopher, Phil reexamines his life, his priorities and decides to improve himself. That is how he finally escapes his personal purgatory.

My priorities changed a few years ago, when Terry was first diagnosed. Last fall when her needs grew to the point where caregiving became a full-time job, I had to reexamine my life. I decided to improve her life, by being her constant companion.

Retiring a good five years before I was really prepared to was scary, but it had to be done. It is still scary when I look to the future, to try to make plans, so I pretty much stopped doing that.

I am not in denial, I just don’t give the future too much thought anymore. Ten years ago I would not in my wildest dreams believe I would be doing what I am doing now. So trying to plan for 10 years from now seems to be an unnecessary burden.

In the Bible’s Book of Matthew, in the Sermon on the Mount it says something about not to worry about tomorrow, because tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own.

Basically, it is saying to live for today.  That is what Terry and I are doing. Today is all we worry about. I don’t even buy green bananas anymore.

I think it was Elenore Roosevelt who said “Today is a gift, that’s why they call it the present.”  When the kids were real little they would try to go rapid fire from one present to the next on Christmas morning, not stopping to appreciate each gift, just going for the thrill of opening the present.

I am afraid Terry and I are running out of presents, so I make it a point to try to just stop and appreciate each present, each day.

There is an old Hebrew saying that goes something like “When tough times come, there is nothing bad that happens that does not have good associated with it.”

Having to give up my career, my job, makes for tough times and Terry’s condition can only be thought of as bad. But the good thing associated with it that did happen was the fact that I get to stay home and be with my partner every day.

Every day.

That is the present I am stuck in. If that went on as long as Phil Connors’ did in the movie, that would be the best present of all time.

Until next time, live in the present and enjoy all of your presents.

Bud

The Gift That Keeps on Giving

By Bud Focht

Hi, my name is Bud and I just had an Epiphany. I usually have one about this time every year.

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year. Hope you had a Happy Hanukah and Kwanza too, as well as Festivus.

I’m a couple of weeks late on a lot of things. You know the expression, ‘if you have a task that needs to be done right away give it to someone who is busy.’

Usually, people begin reminiscing the last week or so of December, looking back on the last year. There are usually end-of-the-year lists of things like the top 10 news stories of the year, top songs or movies of 2016. Top Athletes of 2016.  I read that I made it onto one of those lists. The top 10 male dog names of 2016. Buddy was number three, behind Max and Charlie and just ahead of Cooper and Jack.

Since January 1 that is almost all I have been doing. Reminiscing, I mean, not being a dog name. And not just reminiscing about the last year. We have been reminiscing with help from a gift. And the gift wasn’t gold, frankincense or myrrh.

My wife Terry and I received the greatest Christmas gift when we got back in town just before New Year’s. The gift looks like a regular 8 x 11 picture frame, but it is hooked up to the internet with its own e-mail address. You give friends and family members the e-mail address and they send photos that show up in a slideshow on our mantel.

“This is so cool,” Terry says over and over as she watches the slideshow. We have this thing on from 10am to 10pm and she can barely take her eyes off of it. She identifies everyone in each picture, out loud, and we already have pix of all nine of her siblings and their families as well as all of our kids. The best pix from my phone are also on there, as well as a lot of pix our son took off of that MyFace page book thing.

It is so entertaining for Terry, who is now well into the middle stages of Early Onset Alzheimer’s Disease. It is like when our kids were small and they could watch the same movies over and over. (In the 1980s we wore out VCR tapes of Cinderella and Jungle Book.) It has been over a week now and she has not grown tired of it. Certain pix make her laugh every time. They appear in a shuffle mode, in no certain order, and we have over 250 in there so far. And Terry is enjoying every one.

Even when we were watching football yesterday and today, she was commenting about the pix. And Terry LOVES watching football. The real test will be next week when her New England Patriots play. If the slideshow can distract her from the Pats we’ll know that this is the greatest gift ever.

Terry is enjoying life so much more now that I am home all of the time with her, despite her continued decline. But she is beginning to lose her words. Some words, not most. Not yet. She can still “Name That Tune” and in most cases name the artist too when a Top 40 Country song comes on the radio. But she often doesn’t know what day or time of day it is, she doesn’t remember many conversations.  And she is having more and more trouble trying to follow the simplest directions.

She is also asking me “What is going on?” or “What is happening?” more frequently now. But as long as I am there to answer her question she is fine. If I am out of the room or talking to someone else, when she wants/needs to ask, she sometimes gets upset.

Most of the time, however, her decline doesn’t seem to bother her. She gets a kick out of putting her sweat pants or shirts on backwards by accident.  She laughs every time a picture comes up on the slideshow that I took of her when she put two different colored sneakers on. We can laugh about things like that. And she can still solve a puzzle or two (with the help of the pause button) while watching Wheel of Fortune, just not as many or as quickly.

But the fact that she is not able to find some words she searches for more often these days has me concerned. And I am afraid from what I’ve read that names and faces are scheduled to go next.

That is another reason why this gift is so perfect. It not only entertains Terry but it is helping her to remember who her loved ones are. The pictures of her family bring back family memories, the old memories that are the last to go.

The new memories are the first to go.

In addition to her new hobby Terry still gets a great deal of pleasure watching her grand dog Harry. The least little thing that he does entertains her. And when it comes to Harry, there are very few “least little’ things that he does.

“He is such a funny dog,” is heard dozens of times a day. “I like Harry. He’s a good boy. He’s a goofy boy.”

Terry was able to see most of her family over the holidays, which was great. Traveling has become more difficult though. Not only the need for a Family Restroom while on the road, but Terry’s need to stick to her schedule in order to feel safe. To feel confident. To feel the most comfortable.  She is most comfortable at home, with me at her side. “We like our house. It’s a nice house,” she said today, looking out the back window at the sun-drenched, snow-covered backyard.

I have to admit I am pretty comfortable in that situation too.

Being a caregiver is certainly tough, having to help Terry do everything from the time she gets up till she goes to bed, while watching her abilities decline. But it is the best job I ever had. I get to hang out with my partner all day, sharing everything, and now watching a slideshow of our loved ones. And of course watching football and our grand dog.

That is the greatest gift that I ever received. Being able to spend all of my time with Terry. Much better than gold, frankincense or myrrh.

Until next time, hope you enjoy your gifts.

Bud

Privacy is the Best Policy

By Bud Focht

Hi, my name is Bud and it doesn’t look like the Kardashians have anything to worry about. From me, anyway.

Upon further review, we will not be ‘Going Hollywood.’ (Technically it would be ‘Going Jersey’, since that is where the broadcasting company is located.)

A radio/television guy I’ve known since the early 1990s gave me a ‘shout out’ when he was broadcasting a college basketball game recently, a game that was watched by, among others, people who knew me and worked with me. He commented on my 35-year career and his personal interactions with me over the years. It was very nice of him to do that and I was sure to contact him and thank him for it.

That is when he informed me about other endeavors he has branched out to, professionally, and one in particular was work he does for a health channel. He told the network about why I retired and they were interested in making my life a reality show.

And by ‘reality show’ I mean one, 20-minute segment. But after giving some serious thought to the idea, that is what it seemed like to me. What they were interested in doing made me feel like I was going to be on Big Brother or the Real World.

They were interested in bringing a television camera or two into my home for a day.

They were interested in interviewing me about what it is like to quit your job and become a full-time caregiver for your wife.

They were interested in interviewing my wife Terry’s neurologist, looking at and explaining Terry’s EEG and MRI results.

They were interested in interviewing Terry on camera.

They were interested in turning my life of being a caregiver and, more importantly, Terry’s life of being a woman in her 50s with Early Onset Alzheimer’s Disease, into a 60 Minutes type of interview.

That is when I became un-interested.

At first I said okay, and Terry said ‘Whatever you think is best, Bud.’ like she always does. I ran it by our son and he didn’t seem to have a problem with it.

But after giving it some thought I realized it is one thing for me to write a blog, trying to explain what life is like as a caregiver without being a bummer, without being a downer. The blog is about my life.

But this ‘day in the life’ health segment is another thing. It would show the world what life is like to be a woman with Alzheimer’s, in particular, what Terry’s life is like, and I am afraid I couldn’t do that. I don’t think Terry would want that.  She’s always been such a private, reserved person.

Even in her shining moments, her tennis championships, her wedding, HER HONEYMOON, she was always very shy and reserved. Now, when she is having her least shining moments, is not the time to go Kardashian.

So we won’t be seeing a documentary on Terry any time soon.

But if I ever do change my mind and allow a TV crew to film us, if it was this time of year, it would have to be on a Sunday.

Terry has always loved watching football and she enjoys it even more now. And it doesn’t even have to be her beloved New England Patriots. Terry loves the RedZone channel.

She can’t always follow the plots of television shows or movies (unless she is watching one she has seen countless times and laughs every time), but Terry can always recognize and appreciate a nice catch, a nice run, a nice pass or any other nice athletic play on the football field.

And if the game is played on a snowy field, even better. Watching today’s games in snowy Buffalo and Cleveland was a lot of fun for Terry, snuggled up under a blanket on the couch with her hot Ginseng green tea. (Would have been even better if the snowy fields were comprised of grass and mud instead of turf and rubber pellets. Even the redundant ‘frozen tundra’ in Green Bay now has heater coils under the field to heat it.) Even watching the rainy game in Miami made our weather today seem better.

Outside our home, today was a dim and dismal day, cold and dark, a good day to stay in the house, and Terry was in her glory watching the football games while I try to write this.

Normally we try to get outside as much as possible, walking or just working in the yard (we have been trimming trees lately, a good workout for me sawing and Terry carries the wood to the wood pile near the fire pit. It is amazing how many times she can get lost walking the same 20 yards over and over to put the wood in the pile. Afraid she does not take direction very well these days.)

Another reason why I would not want the film crew shooting her, seeing her fail so badly in trying to take direction.  (One thing I have noticed lately is that if I let her do a task her way, even if it is helter skleter, she is able to do it. If I give her direction in how it should be done, how she used to do it, it messes her up and she has trouble performing the task.)

Images like Terry’s ‘instructionally-challenged’ moments get better ratings than shots of her enjoying the football games, enjoying the antics of our son’s dog.  “He’s a goofy boy,” Terry says while laughing at our grand dog, Harry.

No, we won’t be going viral with our lives. We will keep these moments private, the good ones when Terry is laughing and the bad ones when she gets confused. And we will just try to enjoy them.

And if it snows, even better.

Until next time, enjoy your moments in privacy, especially your moments of privacy.

Bud