Rebellious Parent’s Collapse Progresses

My dad, the man who was an elite attorney less than 5 years ago, is sleeping in an ALF memory care unit right now.

I took him there this afternoon. I signed a paper, took him to his room, brought in his luggage, put away his clothes, and then went to run errands to get things he needed. I didn’t get back for over two hours. When I returned, I noticed there were no visitor cars in the lot. I had expected to see a few. My dad was sitting in the dining room with a lady who is probably about 75.

I thought maybe he had made a friend, but for all I know, they were seated together for the convenience of the staff. I put the things I had brought in his room, and then we sat and talked.

I was not too happy with the dining room. The first chair I tried to sit in had corn and fragments of meat on it. The second one needed to be wiped down with Windex or something. The floor was a mess. Some of the residents are problem eaters, so I suppose a lot of things end up on the floor at every meal. I can understand why there would be some fresh food on the floor during meals, but there shouldn’t be any old food remnants anywhere.

The food smelled very bad. At first, I was upset about it, but then I remembered that my dad had no sense of smell. He had eaten his dinner, and he was not complaining. When he was in his forties, he collected wine and enjoyed good restaurants. Maybe I should try not to think about that.

He started talking about going home, and I reminded him that he had promised to stay a week. He was incredulous. He had forgotten. He asked if I would go to his room to discuss it. I told him I would go, but that I could not take him home.

When we got to his room, it looked somewhat better than it had when I left. I had added a new pillow, his familiar alarm clock, four photos from home, and his back scratcher. A friend suggested putting some of his belongings in the room, so that’s what I did. It helped.

I also brought him Oreos, a bag of Kit Kats, and a raspberry coffee cake.

Before we could talk much, an employee came in. She changed him while I waited. She could not have been nicer. He cursed at her once for no reason. That was awkward.

After she left, another lady came with some pills, and he took them. I mentioned his sleeping pills. I said I thought he needed to have his dose cut in half because they were so strong. She told me she had just given him one. It was about 6:00 p.m., so I was surprised. I guess I need to talk to them about that. Also, I don’t think they should give them to him every day. He should only have them when he has trouble sleeping. I don’t know if that’s going to be a daily thing or not, however.

He started talking to me about coming home. He tried to tell me taking care of him wasn’t much work. He said he would look after himself. I had to remind him he could not do that. I said I was sorry about the way things were going, but there was nothing I could do.

I don’t think he should be getting sleeping pills at 6:00 p.m., but today I was glad he did. I did not want to have to leave while he was still arguing. I knew the pill would end the conversation before long.

A friend called while I was sitting with him. I was grateful for that. I stepped out to take the call, and I knew it would put me closer to the time when my dad would fall asleep.

I didn’t know what else to do. I completely understand why he wants to live at home. This property is wonderful compared to the ALF. I just can’t do anything about it.

Another friend called today, and we had a long, productive conversation. She told me not to feel guilty about feeling relieved. I don’t feel guilty. I am really stuck, here. I can’t pull the Waltons or the Osmonds out of my ear to help me shoulder the burden of my dad’s care. There is no big, supportive family to call on.

My dad had two kids, both are single, and one is a sociopath. That’s what we have to work with. I don’t feel guilt, but I wonder if I’ve picked the correct solution. Should we splurge on a fancier ALF? Should I try to get by with 8 hours of CNA care per day? That would cost about as much as the ALF, and he could stay here, but I would be chasing the CNA all day, and he would still holler for me every 15 minutes.

Then there would be the hygiene disasters that would take place between CNA shifts.

It would be better than what I was dealing with up until this afternoon, but I don’t think it would be sustainable.

I’m not happy with the way things turned out for my dad, but I don’t feel like a bad son. In fact, I feel as though God is protecting me from irrational feelings of guilt.

Today my friend told me about adrenal exhaustion. The idea is that a person who lives under stress keeps producing adrenaline, and the body gets worn down. I wonder if it’s true. I know that when a period of stress ends, the body sort of caves in. It leaves one feeling drained. Maybe that has something to do with adrenaline. Anyway, I have been living like a bellhop for a couple of years now. I don’t rest very well. I always anticipate the next crisis, the arrival of which can’t be predicted. It’s hard not to be wound up most of the time, and I can’t keep it up indefinitely.

Most of the people at the ALF seem very nice, including the patients. I felt good about that. There was one old guy who looked strong and fit for his age, and he was a little aggressive. He was walking around looking at things like furniture and door handles, as though he were a maintenance man. While I was on the phone in the hall, he started fooling with a door handle and asked me if I had a knife. I gestured to indicate that I couldn’t help him. He got angry, and he said, “I said, ‘Do you NEED a knife?'” I told him I did not. After all, I had a great big one in my pocket. He was the only person at the ALF who seemed irritable, apart from my dad’s outburst. He cursed as he walked the hall.

I don’t know why he wanted to borrow a knife and then decided he wanted to lend me one. He didn’t have a knife, of course. ALF patients can’t have them. He walked and talked with great purpose, and if you didn’t know he was demented, you might think he was busy doing important things, but he was in his own world. At one point, he walked up to a little table, picked it up, put it on its side, and banged it on the floor. He left it there, as if he had accomplished something. I guess it meant something to him.

Before I became familiar with the modern use of the term “dementia,” I thought it meant “insanity.” Then I learned about disease-engendered memory and judgment issues and so on, and I thought about dementia differently. Now I’m back where I started. Regardless of the clinical mumbo-jumbo, dementia patients really are insane. They may not see imaginary friends or believe actresses will date them if they assassinate presidents, but they are not sane at all.

A lady came out of her room, stopped in the hallway, pulled down her pants, and continued with her pants down below her diaper. I don’t know if there was a reason, or if it was just a dementia thing. She was not self-conscious at all. In that respect, she was like my dad.

Healthcare people call adult diapers “briefs” or “pull-ups.” I call them diapers. I feel strange trying to make them sound like something they’re not. Maybe I should go with the flow to spare people’s feelings.

Why were there no cars at the ALF? I saw one lady dropping someone off, but that was it. I was hoping younger people visited often. That’s what I plan to do. My dad is difficult, and I can’t look after him, but he’s not a parcel to be put in storage. I’m hoping we’ll get to have some social interaction now that I won’t be cleaning messes all day.

What if I misunderstand the way ALF’s work? Maybe they really are dumping grounds, and society merely pretends otherwise. I guess no one is going to print a brochure that says, “Come abandon your parents at Vista del Baño.” No one will show up at an ALF and say, “Can you help me warehouse and ignore my mom until she dies?” Are these the types of things people are secretly thinking? Perhaps everyone but me understands this. What if there’s a tacit conspiracy?

Are the people at the ALF truly nice, or is that just an act for the children of residents? I suppose they really are nice, because many of the patients have the faculties to nark on them if they act up. Besides, this is Ocala. People here are freakishly gentle and pleasant.

There is so much uncertainty. Good information is hard to come by. Maybe you have to be on your third demented parent before you really know how things work.

I asked the sales lady how far gone a person has to be to be moved out to a nursing home. She said as long as they can put food in their mouths and swallow, they’re fine. Then they go to “skilled nursing” facilities. I only saw one person who appeared to be a near-vegetable. The rest appeared to be interacting and enjoying each other’s company.

My dad belongs there. It’s hard to swallow even though I know it’s true. In some ways, he’s still very smart. He thinks he’s nothing like the others, but he fits right in. I wish he understood. He has never been self-aware at all.

He was still talking about alternate strategies when I left. He was starting to conk out from the sleeping pill. He wasn’t belligerent during our conversation, except to the CNA. He really tried to be reasonable and patient. That was strange and new. It didn’t help. There was nothing I could do. Sometimes I have to tell him I’m not a genie; I can’t fix everything. I didn’t say that tonight, but it would have been apt.

It’s easier to be firm with him when he’s insulting and rude. Sometimes I almost miss it for that reason.

That’s it for today. I’ve been trying to relax since I left. I didn’t eat lunch until around 7:30. I did something I do about once a year: I ate Papa John’s awful pizza. For some strange reason, on rare occasions, I want it, and today was such an occasion.

I firmly believe that what happened to my dad is what happens to people who don’t listen to God’s repeated warnings. A couple of years ago, I felt that God told me he had cut my dad off. The evidence bears out that impression. I don’t think any of this was necessary, and I know I could not prevent it, because I was not the cause.

Tomorrow I clean and try to get on top of my responsibilities. I still don’t know exactly how things will pan out, but substantial progress has been made.