Confusing Torrent of Love and Support

Today was even weirder than usual.

I had an ALF lined up for my dad. Two days ago, I visited, and I thought they offered top-notch care for a reasonable price. Seemed like my search and my stress were over. I called yesterday afternoon, and when they got back to me this morning, they said they had just sold his room.

I went straight back to Googling. I didn’t even shower and dress first.

I rooted through endless reviews and search results. The reviews were unbelievably annoying. Maybe 60% of them were from ALF employees. “At Vista Oaks Regency, we take pride in giving your loved ones much better care than our sleazy, bedbug-infested competition. I’m proud to be part of the team! Free McDonald’s coupons with every signed lease.”

Here’s a tip for business owners: when you force your employees to write Internet reviews for you, it makes you look like a dirtbag. In fact, it kind of proves it.

I came up with four places to check out. I called one of them, and the lady who answered the phone told me something shocking. She said I could show up without making an appointment. She said that was the only way to find out what an ALF really looked like when they thought no one was looking. She told me some places make a special effort to tidy up before rubes potential clients show up.

Needless to say, I visited later on, without an appointment.

I’m not sure it’s proper to call a memory care facility an ALF, but I’m going with it, because memory care is definitely assistance.

The ALF was completely devoted to memory care. That meant it was not divided into two sections. Right now, my dad is in a place that has a nice main area and a disappointing memory care unit. When memory care is the sole service a place provides, presumably, the patients can’t have second-class status.

It was a small, square building with a courtyard. I would say the place was maybe 125 feet on a side. Each side of the square contained rooms. They were somewhat dated, but the paint looked like it had been applied yesterday, and everything was spotless. This was the first ALF I had visited in which I didn’t smell anything disturbing. It takes real effort to keep a place that clean when most or all of the residents are incontinent.

I feel like inserting a joke about Congress, but I won’t.

The dining room didn’t look as appealing as the ritzy dining rooms I saw in the high-end ALF’s I visited this week, but it didn’t look bad. The furniture was in fine shape, even if it wasn’t fancy. The room–a place where patients knock food on the floor and drop it in their laps–was absolutely clean. My guide bragged on the food as though she ate there, herself. Naturally, I asked her whether that was the case. She said she and the other employees ate there all the time. She said she loved the food.

If you haven’t been looking at ALF’s, you may not realize how unusual her response was. The stuff my dad is eating right now will keep him alive, and I’m sure it’s safe, but I wouldn’t eat it on a bet. If an ALF’s employees, who can smell and taste things, love the dining room’s food, it must be very special. And the fact that they can stand to eat in the ALF proves it doesn’t stink when visitors aren’t around.

It gets weirder.

She told me the company was a family business. She showed me a photo of three people: a woman and two men. She said the woman started the business. One of the men, her son, ran it after she retired. The second man, her grandson, runs it now. Here’s the weird part: she now lives in one of the company’s operations. She lives in a sister operation closer to my house. The company has three ALF’s.

If you are willing to live in your own ALF when you get old, maybe it’s a good ALF. Either that, or your ruthless descendants really have it in for you.

There was one thing I didn’t like: the place has an institutional feel. The other places I looked at this week were like 4-star hotels. My dad thinks he’s not like the “old people” he shares his current ALF with. He has called the place a hospital. I think he would feel better in a place that tries to fool him with hotel-style decor.

The prices were significantly lower than the prices at the other ALF’s, and I wondered if it was okay to put him in a place that wasn’t as opulent. I don’t want to shortchange my dad in order to save a buck.

Because they had another memory care location, I decided to look it over on the way home. I went to the one where the owner lives.

They were startled when I showed up, so I told them to blame the lady at their other operation. She was the one who told me to surprise them. The woman who gave me the tour told me it was perfectly all right, and she agreed that it was the only way to do it. A passing staffer butted in and agreed enthusiastically.

This ALF was bigger, but the basic idea was the same: big square building with courtyard. Like the first ALF, it was frighteningly clean. It had more rooms, and more of the residents were male. I thought that would be a good thing for my dad. He would probably enjoy lying to the ladies all day, but eventually, you want someone you can be yourself with.

The lady who gave me the tour was the activity director. She was loud and enthusiastic. Sounded like a New Yorker. She kept telling me about all the things she liked to do for the patients. This is Snowman Month according to her, so tomorrow she’s going to work dressed as a snowman. She has a bunch of other costumes she wears. She has people ride horses and motorcycles into the courtyard so the residents can see them. She brings little kids in for the residents to watch.

The rooms are very big. Even the small ones are pretty big. Right now, there’s an opening in a shared room. The guy who lives in it is a big talker, and he runs the projector on movie nights. I don’t know why they would have a projector. Maybe it’s a DVD projector or a big screen TV. Anyway, she said he runs around on movie nights, rousting people so they’ll show up.

I am not sure whether my dad should have a roommate. On the one hand, you always want to say you gave your parent the best, and private rooms cost more. On the other, dementia patients need to be engaged. Loneliness and boredom are my dad’s two biggest problems, and if he is allowed to hide in his room, they will get worse.

My plan is to call the ALF tomorrow and ask for the space with the movie guy. If he and my dad don’t hit it off, I’ll get him his own room.

While I was talking to the ALF manager, a somber-looking family was moving things out the front door. They exchanged some words with the manager, and she got teary-eyed. She told me they had just lost someone; a lady who had only been there four months. She was attached to the patient and the family.

I don’t know what happened to the guy my dad would be replacing.

Assuming I don’t have another catastrophic loss of opportunity from a someone grabbing my dad’s room before I call the ALF, I can have him in his own place on Monday.

My only problem with this ALF is their religious program. They have one church service a month, plus Bible studies. Unfortunately, the guy who runs it is Catholic. I don’t want anyone telling my dad to pray to an ordinary human being; it has to be God himself. I don’t want anyone sprinkling him.

As I drove home, I passed a Calvary Chapel which was very close to the ALF. Problem solved, I think. Calvary Chapel is a fairly good denomination or sect or whatever. It’s not ideal, but I don’t think they’ll try to get him to buy them a jet, and they definitely won’t have any statues to worship. If he moves to the ALF, I can take him to Calvary Chapel sometimes.

I’m not done with the weird news.

My dad has been a real pain ever since I put him in the ALF. He was a pain before he got there. He told me I was selfish. He said I didn’t love him. He said he would care for me personally if the shoe were on the other foot. He argued with me when I went to the ALF and even demanded I take him home. Yesterday, someone put him on the phone, and he called me and begged me to go get him. I was so busy I didn’t even visit.

Today I went to the ALF, figuring I was in for more misery. Instead, I met a new man. My dad had just had a hospice visit. He had been bathed, shaved, and groomed. He was happy to see me. He was eager to go out for a walk.

I took him for a walk, and we sat outside. I got him something to drink, and we talked. He kept telling me how much he loved me, as though love were something completely new to him. He told me I was good-looking. He said I was super intelligent. He said all he cared about was my welfare.

I wish I could have filmed him, traveled forty years back in time, and forced his young self to watch. I know what I would have asked him. “Why don’t you ever talk like this? What the hell is wrong with you?”

He kept saying he felt good about the future. He said he thought things were going to go very well. I couldn’t figure out what he was referring to. He said he felt like he had started a new life. I wondered if someone had been preaching to him.

More weirdness: my dad was walking much more normally than he did two days ago. He was talking real steps instead of shuffling each foot forward half an inch at a time. He no longer had what doctors call a “magnetic gait,” meaning he didn’t walk as though his feet were stuck to the floor. Maybe part of his recent gait problems came from falling down. Maybe he’s healing.

I told him I couldn’t take him home, and he didn’t fight with me. I said I was working hard on finding him a better place. When I had to leave, he said he would be bored, but he didn’t seem miserable.

I left him in the main room, not his own room. I was glad he was willing to mingle. He sat down next to a very warm-hearted dementia patient. She grabbed his arm and squeezed it. She said she could feel his blood pumping through her own heart, or something like that. Maybe that’s a German thing. She had an accent. She kept giving encouragement as I worked to take his jacket off and get him settled.

I can’t tell you how much better I feel. I got out of there unscathed, and I had a plan.

I saw my new friend Gloria again while I was there. She was sitting by the main entrance to the building. She wasn’t in memory care. Maybe they decided to give her another chance. I hope so. I prayed for her after I met her.

That’s all the news for today. If I can get him moved, I can start tying up all the ends that have loosened up while he has monopolized my time. That will be tremendous.

Tomorrow, my young friend Travis is supposed to drive up from Miami. He wants to be baptized in my pool. I hope that works out. I told him Satan would try to prevent it, and sure enough, he lost his wallet in an Uber car today. I am confident that God will put things right.

I think I’ll be able to sleep all night tonight. We shall see.