Last weekend evolved into a whirlwind of shows and shopping. A girls’ weekend—friends spending time together in Branson.
Visiting Branson and Silver Dollar City is a metamorphic experience for a native Missourian. Our little moth has changed into a glitzy butterfly, and the razzle-dazzle masks the charm of small town Branson. When I was a student at Hard Work U, Branson had a four way stop and two or three small country music theatres. Dick’s Five and Dime was there, but instead of being a tourist attraction, it was just a place where you could buy inexpensive items.
Silver Dollar City has changed from a small local attraction with a train ride, the Fire in the Hole and a few pickers and grinners to an extravaganza of professional shows, thrill rides, lights in every tree, bush, hollow, building, structure, and a five story Christmas tree—four million lights in all.
Branson is always bittersweet for me because Jim and I spent a lot of time there, especially when his dementia made our trips to Colorado much harder. Being a musician himself, Jim loved the music shows. His favorite performer was Tom Brumley and the highlight of each Branson trip. We had season passes to Silver Dollar City and enjoyed taking our grandson with us when he was little. I’ll never forget the weekend when he and Jim went into the restroom and I waited and worried about what was taking them so long. While I vigilantly guarded the door, they walked up behind me. They had exited on the other side of the building and my four-year-old grandson led his grandpa back to me.
I have more memories of Silver Dollar City and Branson than they have Christmas lights. This weekend, I added to those memories. The production of A Dickens’ Christmas Carol was performed by a talented troupe that would have done Broadway proud. As if that wasn’t enough, my friends and I experienced Cathy Rigby as Peter Pan. The show had so much magic that we all went home with pockets full of fairy dust and determination to never grow up.
Branson and Silver Dollar City have both become unrecognizable—different, but still hold the magic of a lifetime of memories. Where my dad used to fish is now a multi-million dollar shopping area known as The Landing. Streetscaping with gaslights, fountains, Christmas lights, old fashioned trolleys and street performers give it the look and feel of other upscale “old town” shopping centers scattered throughout the United States.
I’m sure a lot of tourists feel like they’ve taken a step back in time when they visit Branson. Sometimes I feel like I’ve leapt into the future and don’t really know this place at all. Branson is like a rock star with countless facelifts to deliberately remove the flaws and accidentally erase the character that made it unique.
The hills don’t look anything like they did forty years ago, but then neither do I. Everything changes. How we react to those changes determine whether we continue to enjoy life or groan about the “good ole days.” I don’t know about you, but I intend to find as much joy as I can while I pass through this world.
Branson is most definitely filled with entertainment choices and great places to eat. Even with my determination to be flexible, I’ll admit that slow moving traffic, elbow to elbow shopping, and trolling for a parking space is annoying. Spending time with friends and enjoying world class entertainment adds to my treasure trove of happy memories.
Monday, November 23, 2009
Friday, November 13, 2009
Hugs Are Better Than Drugs
In the past few weeks, I’ve had the opportunity to attend some outstanding Alzheimer’s training. I also read two good books about dementia.
In late October, I went to the Alzheimer’s Association Heart of America’s Train the Trainer, Building Creative Caregivers. Last Friday I went to the Mid-Missouri Chapter’s program on genetic studies. No matter how much I learn about Alzheimer’s, I pick up new information at each program I attend and from each book I read.
At the Building Creative Caregivers training session, I received a thick workbook. As I began to read through the details of all the modules, I came across reference to The Best Friends Approach to Alzheimer’s Care by Virginia Bell and David Troxel. The book goes hand in hand with the “Person First” module in the Train the Trainer manual.
I sat on my porch this afternoon reading the book. I found “An Alzheimer’s Disease Bill of Rights” to be a logical set of guidelines. In the detail, for “To be free from psychotropic drugs, if possible” I saw the statement: Hugs are usually better than drugs. I wholeheartedly agree with that statement.
The Best Friends Approach is written with professional caregivers in mind. It is a way to provide care based on meeting the psychological as well as physical needs of a person who has been diagnosed with dementia. Family caregivers know the history and preferences of their loved one, but when professionals treat everyone the same, they are denying our individual natures and preferences.
It is important to minister to the soul and spirit as well as the physical needs when a person faces the challenges of dementia. Bell and Troxel liken Alzheimer’s disease to a long trip in a foreign land where we can’t speak the language, know the customs, or understand how to use the phone.
When caring for a person with dementia we must concentrate on what they can do rather than what they cannot do. Can they still enjoy a walk? A drive? A cup of coffee where they can watch birds gather at a feeder? Jim was a musician and never lost his love of country music. He had a personal tape player with headphones. When the tape ended, Jim had to rely on someone else to turn the tape and play the other side. How easy would it be now to fill an IPod with someone’s favorite music?
At the Mid-Missouri program this week, one of the staff members asked me if I had read Still Alice. She told me she had just finished the book and thought it was excellent. I bought the book from Lisa Genova last March at the Alzheimer’s Association Public Policy Forum. I had heard a lot about the book, but when I realized Genova based the fictional story on her research of early onset Alzheimer’s rather than personal experience, I figured it was another glamorized story about Alzheimer’s with no basis on reality.
I read Still Alice in a few days. Genova makes Alice seem like a real person and you can feel Alice’s confusion and grief as the disease brings an end to her familiar life. The journey for Alice and her family are realistic. The conflicts between love and loss, selfishness and generosity, denial and acceptance have been experienced by millions of families when they realize their loved one cannot be cured.
Yes, the past few weeks have been filled with learning. Last night at support group, we showed “Momentum in Science Part I” from the HBO Alzheimer’s Project. Although I had watched the film before, I learned from it. It was interesting to see the relationship between brain disease and overall health.
Much has been learned about Alzheimer’s disease, but so much of it is still a mystery. As scientists seek effective treatment, we must provide the best care possible for those who have the disease now. With a best friends approach, we can provide person first care to improve quality of life whether a person lives at home or in a long-term care facility.
Hugs are indeed better than drugs and a lot less expensive.
In late October, I went to the Alzheimer’s Association Heart of America’s Train the Trainer, Building Creative Caregivers. Last Friday I went to the Mid-Missouri Chapter’s program on genetic studies. No matter how much I learn about Alzheimer’s, I pick up new information at each program I attend and from each book I read.
At the Building Creative Caregivers training session, I received a thick workbook. As I began to read through the details of all the modules, I came across reference to The Best Friends Approach to Alzheimer’s Care by Virginia Bell and David Troxel. The book goes hand in hand with the “Person First” module in the Train the Trainer manual.
I sat on my porch this afternoon reading the book. I found “An Alzheimer’s Disease Bill of Rights” to be a logical set of guidelines. In the detail, for “To be free from psychotropic drugs, if possible” I saw the statement: Hugs are usually better than drugs. I wholeheartedly agree with that statement.
The Best Friends Approach is written with professional caregivers in mind. It is a way to provide care based on meeting the psychological as well as physical needs of a person who has been diagnosed with dementia. Family caregivers know the history and preferences of their loved one, but when professionals treat everyone the same, they are denying our individual natures and preferences.
It is important to minister to the soul and spirit as well as the physical needs when a person faces the challenges of dementia. Bell and Troxel liken Alzheimer’s disease to a long trip in a foreign land where we can’t speak the language, know the customs, or understand how to use the phone.
When caring for a person with dementia we must concentrate on what they can do rather than what they cannot do. Can they still enjoy a walk? A drive? A cup of coffee where they can watch birds gather at a feeder? Jim was a musician and never lost his love of country music. He had a personal tape player with headphones. When the tape ended, Jim had to rely on someone else to turn the tape and play the other side. How easy would it be now to fill an IPod with someone’s favorite music?
At the Mid-Missouri program this week, one of the staff members asked me if I had read Still Alice. She told me she had just finished the book and thought it was excellent. I bought the book from Lisa Genova last March at the Alzheimer’s Association Public Policy Forum. I had heard a lot about the book, but when I realized Genova based the fictional story on her research of early onset Alzheimer’s rather than personal experience, I figured it was another glamorized story about Alzheimer’s with no basis on reality.
I read Still Alice in a few days. Genova makes Alice seem like a real person and you can feel Alice’s confusion and grief as the disease brings an end to her familiar life. The journey for Alice and her family are realistic. The conflicts between love and loss, selfishness and generosity, denial and acceptance have been experienced by millions of families when they realize their loved one cannot be cured.
Yes, the past few weeks have been filled with learning. Last night at support group, we showed “Momentum in Science Part I” from the HBO Alzheimer’s Project. Although I had watched the film before, I learned from it. It was interesting to see the relationship between brain disease and overall health.
Much has been learned about Alzheimer’s disease, but so much of it is still a mystery. As scientists seek effective treatment, we must provide the best care possible for those who have the disease now. With a best friends approach, we can provide person first care to improve quality of life whether a person lives at home or in a long-term care facility.
Hugs are indeed better than drugs and a lot less expensive.
Saturday, November 7, 2009
Turtles, Tunnels, and Denial
Turtles, our slow-natured friends, are the beneficiaries of a government sponsored windfall. Plans are afoot to provide a $3 million tunnel for Florida turtles to allow safe passage beneath the busy highway.
We wouldn’t want turtles to be hit by cars and become unwilling missiles. Does the so-called expert that says this happens think turtles are a top-secret weapon of mass destruction?
I will admit that living in rural Missouri, I’ve run over my share of turtles. I’ve seen others that met with a sad fate while simply trying to cross a country road or state highway.
I hate to hit a turtle. I’ve never seen one become a missile, but I’ve certainly heard the sickening “plop” as the shell crunches. It makes me feel bad to know I’ve unwittingly killed a living creature. Sometimes, I’m lucky and straddle the little slowpokes and spare their lives. Other times, we are both unlucky.
Jim created his own turtle/terrapin crossings. When he spotted one of the little fellows in the road, he stopped the car, got out, and carried the docile creature across the road. Hopefully, he saved as many lives as I took with my carelessness.
One day my son had hitched a ride home from school with one of his buddies. They saw a turtle in the road, and Eric told his friend that his dad helped them across the road so they wouldn’t get hit by a car. Eric’s friend was so inspired by the story, he pulled over and jumped out of his vehicle. As he reached for the turtle, instead of hiding in his shell, the turtle viciously snapped at the hand that was trying to save him. All turtles are not created equal in the humble department and the good Samaritan has the scars to prove it.
Just think how long the crossing takes when the turtle stops and pulls in all appendages and sits there all snug inside his shell thinking he is safe. Instead of the shell providing a safe haven, it just means he is in harm’s way longer.
It’s easy for us to see that the turtle is in denial of the danger lurking around the next corner. We understand denial because it is an all too human emotion.
I heard a story of denial at lunch yesterday. A group of us attended a luncheon prior to an educational program about the genetic studies being done on Alzheimer’s disease. I sat next to a nurse who provides counseling for families dealing with Alzheimer’s. She mentioned her own denial when her mother first displayed symptoms of dementia. Logically, she knew her mother’s behavior couldn’t be explained away, but emotionally, she grasped at hope born from denial.
When you are in denial, you are inside the shell with the turtle. It makes the world feel safer, but it can put you and your loved one in harm’s way. While you are in denial, a family member with dementia may continue to drive when they shouldn’t. You may leave for a few hours and return to an empty house because your loved one has wandered. Your denial makes you a turtle in the middle of the road with a speeding car fast approaching.
Wouldn’t we like to keep our loved ones safe? I’m sure that if $3 million would keep our families safe, we would be willing to pay it if we had it. The key word is “if”. A certain faction of our society thinks no amount of money is too much to keep the world safe for small critters, but don’t worry about how the money is being taken away from our fellow humans. How much safer could the highway be made with $3 million? How many human lives could be saved with the money used to “protect” turtles?
The problem is turtles cannot be kept safe by a tunnel. Perhaps the turtles will be safe while they are in the tunnel, but the big dangerous world exists on both sides. No amount of taxpayer’s money will keep the turtles safe. No living creature lives in a vacuum and no tunnel could be big enough or long enough to protect life except for a fleeting moment.
We wouldn’t want turtles to be hit by cars and become unwilling missiles. Does the so-called expert that says this happens think turtles are a top-secret weapon of mass destruction?
I will admit that living in rural Missouri, I’ve run over my share of turtles. I’ve seen others that met with a sad fate while simply trying to cross a country road or state highway.
I hate to hit a turtle. I’ve never seen one become a missile, but I’ve certainly heard the sickening “plop” as the shell crunches. It makes me feel bad to know I’ve unwittingly killed a living creature. Sometimes, I’m lucky and straddle the little slowpokes and spare their lives. Other times, we are both unlucky.
Jim created his own turtle/terrapin crossings. When he spotted one of the little fellows in the road, he stopped the car, got out, and carried the docile creature across the road. Hopefully, he saved as many lives as I took with my carelessness.
One day my son had hitched a ride home from school with one of his buddies. They saw a turtle in the road, and Eric told his friend that his dad helped them across the road so they wouldn’t get hit by a car. Eric’s friend was so inspired by the story, he pulled over and jumped out of his vehicle. As he reached for the turtle, instead of hiding in his shell, the turtle viciously snapped at the hand that was trying to save him. All turtles are not created equal in the humble department and the good Samaritan has the scars to prove it.
Just think how long the crossing takes when the turtle stops and pulls in all appendages and sits there all snug inside his shell thinking he is safe. Instead of the shell providing a safe haven, it just means he is in harm’s way longer.
It’s easy for us to see that the turtle is in denial of the danger lurking around the next corner. We understand denial because it is an all too human emotion.
I heard a story of denial at lunch yesterday. A group of us attended a luncheon prior to an educational program about the genetic studies being done on Alzheimer’s disease. I sat next to a nurse who provides counseling for families dealing with Alzheimer’s. She mentioned her own denial when her mother first displayed symptoms of dementia. Logically, she knew her mother’s behavior couldn’t be explained away, but emotionally, she grasped at hope born from denial.
When you are in denial, you are inside the shell with the turtle. It makes the world feel safer, but it can put you and your loved one in harm’s way. While you are in denial, a family member with dementia may continue to drive when they shouldn’t. You may leave for a few hours and return to an empty house because your loved one has wandered. Your denial makes you a turtle in the middle of the road with a speeding car fast approaching.
Wouldn’t we like to keep our loved ones safe? I’m sure that if $3 million would keep our families safe, we would be willing to pay it if we had it. The key word is “if”. A certain faction of our society thinks no amount of money is too much to keep the world safe for small critters, but don’t worry about how the money is being taken away from our fellow humans. How much safer could the highway be made with $3 million? How many human lives could be saved with the money used to “protect” turtles?
The problem is turtles cannot be kept safe by a tunnel. Perhaps the turtles will be safe while they are in the tunnel, but the big dangerous world exists on both sides. No amount of taxpayer’s money will keep the turtles safe. No living creature lives in a vacuum and no tunnel could be big enough or long enough to protect life except for a fleeting moment.
Saturday, October 31, 2009
Fall Back: An Extra Hour
Don’t you just wish they (whoever they are) would leave the time alone? Since I get up so early, I prefer standard time. Psychologically speaking the lighter the sky when I leave for work, the more awake I feel.
The best thing about the time change is the extra hour we have between Saturday night and Sunday morning. Have you ever thought about how much difference an hour can make? For some reason I can’t stop thinking about it. An hour can be the difference between life and death.
If I had not been in the exact place at the exact time I would not have met Jim on that summer Saturday in 1968. An hour would have changed my entire life and the lives of my children and grandchildren.
It’s easy to fritter away an hour here and an hour there. Most of the time an hour is insignificant but at other times it can come at a high price. When you miss a deadline by one measly hour, you can lose your job. If you don’t spend an hour studying for a test, you could fail a class. If a flight is delayed one hour, you can miss a connecting flight, which can cause you to miss an important meeting. An hour can be the difference between owning a home and seeing it reduced to smoldering ashes.
An hour can seem like an eternity if a loved one is missing, When Jim wandered off, minutes seemed like hours while we searched for him. The locale was different, but the heart-stopping fear was the same whether he was on our own road, lost in an airport, wandering around the mall, or lost in a crowd at Silver Dollar City. An hour can be the difference between a safe return and a tragic outcome.
Some surgeries only take an hour. I had an obstinate gallbladder removed in an hour. That hour meant living my life without painful attacks.
An hour can be for good or for evil. It can make a life changing difference or be of no consequence at all. When you think back over the last week, can you recall one single hour in detail? Can you think of an hour you would take back and erase if you could?
Those of us with fulltime jobs work 2080 hours per year. Our work day sometimes seems to be made up of slow moving hours. Of course we need to deduct vacation and holidays. When we are involved in a hobby or favorite activity, an hour speeds past on amazingly fleet feet.
Our lives are made up of hours. Those hours meld into weeks, months, years and become a lifetime. In the final hour, we learn the true meaninglessness of time.
We gain our hour tonight while most of us are in bed asleep. An extra hour can be the difference between being well rested or suffering sleep deprivation. It can be the difference between a dream and a nightmare.
But tonight, the time changes and we gain an hour. Have you thought about how to spend that precious extra hour? I don’t know what you plan to do with that bonus hour, but I plan to be sleeping. Soundly. Dreaming sweet dreams. Banking the hour for next spring when they (whoever they are) take it away and we lose an hour.
The best thing about the time change is the extra hour we have between Saturday night and Sunday morning. Have you ever thought about how much difference an hour can make? For some reason I can’t stop thinking about it. An hour can be the difference between life and death.
If I had not been in the exact place at the exact time I would not have met Jim on that summer Saturday in 1968. An hour would have changed my entire life and the lives of my children and grandchildren.
It’s easy to fritter away an hour here and an hour there. Most of the time an hour is insignificant but at other times it can come at a high price. When you miss a deadline by one measly hour, you can lose your job. If you don’t spend an hour studying for a test, you could fail a class. If a flight is delayed one hour, you can miss a connecting flight, which can cause you to miss an important meeting. An hour can be the difference between owning a home and seeing it reduced to smoldering ashes.
An hour can seem like an eternity if a loved one is missing, When Jim wandered off, minutes seemed like hours while we searched for him. The locale was different, but the heart-stopping fear was the same whether he was on our own road, lost in an airport, wandering around the mall, or lost in a crowd at Silver Dollar City. An hour can be the difference between a safe return and a tragic outcome.
Some surgeries only take an hour. I had an obstinate gallbladder removed in an hour. That hour meant living my life without painful attacks.
An hour can be for good or for evil. It can make a life changing difference or be of no consequence at all. When you think back over the last week, can you recall one single hour in detail? Can you think of an hour you would take back and erase if you could?
Those of us with fulltime jobs work 2080 hours per year. Our work day sometimes seems to be made up of slow moving hours. Of course we need to deduct vacation and holidays. When we are involved in a hobby or favorite activity, an hour speeds past on amazingly fleet feet.
Our lives are made up of hours. Those hours meld into weeks, months, years and become a lifetime. In the final hour, we learn the true meaninglessness of time.
We gain our hour tonight while most of us are in bed asleep. An extra hour can be the difference between being well rested or suffering sleep deprivation. It can be the difference between a dream and a nightmare.
But tonight, the time changes and we gain an hour. Have you thought about how to spend that precious extra hour? I don’t know what you plan to do with that bonus hour, but I plan to be sleeping. Soundly. Dreaming sweet dreams. Banking the hour for next spring when they (whoever they are) take it away and we lose an hour.
Sunday, October 25, 2009
In a Perfect World
I’ve been pushing myself a lot lately and can’t find enough hours in the day to get everything done. This morning I basked in a few rare hours of downtime and watched ice skating on TV. Ladies figure skating has long been my favorite sport, and I can’t help but be amazed at the discipline and talent that goes into each performance. Part of my admiration stems from an inability to even walk on ice. A few years ago my feet swooshed out from under me causing me to fall flat on my back and crack my head on a surface as hard as concrete.
Many years ago I talked Jim into taking me to St. Louis to see Stars on Ice. At the time, Jim was in the early stages and we were hopeful his problems were caused by something treatable like depression or a vitamin deficiency. The trip went smoothly except when Jim drove the wrong way on a one-way street. That could happen to anyone in the confusing downtown area of St. Louis.
We checked into a hotel overlooking the river area and within sight of the Arch. Our room was nice, but the bed had only two pillows, exactly Jim’s requirement. He called the front desk and said, “My wife doesn’t have a pillow.” It was obvious he had claimed both pillows and decided I didn’t have any.
The next year we went to Stars on Ice in Kansas City. As we approached Kemper Arena we were directed into a small parking lot tucked between tall buildings. We couldn’t see the arena because of the buildings crowding all sides of the lot but found it by following the crowd headed to the show.
The very air feels different at a live skating show. On TV it’s easy to be critical when the performance isn’t perfect. At a live performance, the amazing talent of professional skaters shines in a different light. A death spiral seems much scarier in person. The man spins at great speed, swinging his partner around and around, up and down, until you shut your eyes because it looks like he will surely slam her head into the ice. You see the “air” beneath the jumps and wonder how a human can develop such skill. Yes, to be at a live ice skating event, you realize that a great skater may not always skate perfectly.
We were still hyped from the show when we exited the building. We realized we had no idea where our car was parked. Jim had always had a great sense of direction and I depended on him. The January night was frigid and the crowd thinned as everyone hurried to their cars. My stomach hurt when I realized it was going to be up to me to figure out where we were parked.
“We need to go to the other side of the arena,” I told Jim. We walked around Kemper and saw a sidewalk headed toward some buildings. “It has to be down this way, don’t you think?”
“I have no idea,” Jim said. Boy, were we ever in trouble.
“I know it’s this way,” I said with more confidence than I felt. We walked toward the dimly lighted buildings. After a few blocks on the deserted sidewalk we veered down a dark alley. Our car was the only vehicle left in the lot.
It’s been years since I’ve watched a live skating show and found this morning’s televised skating performances disappointing. The skaters fell, popped jumps, or made two-footed landings.
Then, I thought about the pressure on skaters now. Skaters must execute perfect triple or quadruple jumps to be competitive. A champion skater cannot remain in a comfort zone, but must take risks. As a result, skaters make multiple mistakes or miscalculations. When I remember Scott Hamilton executing a perfect back flip, it is unimportant if he fell from time to time or popped a jump.
In a perfect world we wouldn’t falter or fall. But it isn’t a perfect world and we are only human. If we never stretch ourselves, we may not fail, but we won’t know the joy of living our dreams. We can stay in our comfort zone and settle for mediocrity, or take a risk and push ourselves to the limit.
Many years ago I talked Jim into taking me to St. Louis to see Stars on Ice. At the time, Jim was in the early stages and we were hopeful his problems were caused by something treatable like depression or a vitamin deficiency. The trip went smoothly except when Jim drove the wrong way on a one-way street. That could happen to anyone in the confusing downtown area of St. Louis.
We checked into a hotel overlooking the river area and within sight of the Arch. Our room was nice, but the bed had only two pillows, exactly Jim’s requirement. He called the front desk and said, “My wife doesn’t have a pillow.” It was obvious he had claimed both pillows and decided I didn’t have any.
The next year we went to Stars on Ice in Kansas City. As we approached Kemper Arena we were directed into a small parking lot tucked between tall buildings. We couldn’t see the arena because of the buildings crowding all sides of the lot but found it by following the crowd headed to the show.
The very air feels different at a live skating show. On TV it’s easy to be critical when the performance isn’t perfect. At a live performance, the amazing talent of professional skaters shines in a different light. A death spiral seems much scarier in person. The man spins at great speed, swinging his partner around and around, up and down, until you shut your eyes because it looks like he will surely slam her head into the ice. You see the “air” beneath the jumps and wonder how a human can develop such skill. Yes, to be at a live ice skating event, you realize that a great skater may not always skate perfectly.
We were still hyped from the show when we exited the building. We realized we had no idea where our car was parked. Jim had always had a great sense of direction and I depended on him. The January night was frigid and the crowd thinned as everyone hurried to their cars. My stomach hurt when I realized it was going to be up to me to figure out where we were parked.
“We need to go to the other side of the arena,” I told Jim. We walked around Kemper and saw a sidewalk headed toward some buildings. “It has to be down this way, don’t you think?”
“I have no idea,” Jim said. Boy, were we ever in trouble.
“I know it’s this way,” I said with more confidence than I felt. We walked toward the dimly lighted buildings. After a few blocks on the deserted sidewalk we veered down a dark alley. Our car was the only vehicle left in the lot.
It’s been years since I’ve watched a live skating show and found this morning’s televised skating performances disappointing. The skaters fell, popped jumps, or made two-footed landings.
Then, I thought about the pressure on skaters now. Skaters must execute perfect triple or quadruple jumps to be competitive. A champion skater cannot remain in a comfort zone, but must take risks. As a result, skaters make multiple mistakes or miscalculations. When I remember Scott Hamilton executing a perfect back flip, it is unimportant if he fell from time to time or popped a jump.
In a perfect world we wouldn’t falter or fall. But it isn’t a perfect world and we are only human. If we never stretch ourselves, we may not fail, but we won’t know the joy of living our dreams. We can stay in our comfort zone and settle for mediocrity, or take a risk and push ourselves to the limit.
Saturday, October 17, 2009
In Touch with the Season: Scary Reading
In celebration of the impending Halloween season, I decided to read something really scary, so I pulled out my prescription fact sheets. My insurance provider refers to the full page, single-spaced, ten-point font sheet as “Participant Counseling.”
The older I get, the more drugs I have added to my arsenal. My health insurance company strongly encourages annual health screenings. Because of this annual testing, it has been easy for my doctor to following my escalating numbers. I’ll admit that he has been cautious about prescribing the maintenance drugs for my accumulating conditions. The preferred line of action was to lose weight, but it seems like I lose the same five pounds over and over.
One of my prescriptions has side effects of dizziness, headache, nausea, gas, stomach upset/pain, diarrhea and constipation (not at the same time, I hope).Those are the minor side effects. My participant counseling sheet for my cholesterol drug has a large section under “caution” which tells me I might have muscle pain or muscle damage which could lead to kidney damage and “a very serious condition” rhabdocmyolysis. I don’t know what that is, but I betcha I don’t want it.
Another interesting part is when the sheet counsels me to not take the medication if I am allergic to any of the ingredients in the product. I am not a chemist and most of the “ingredients” don’t look like anything I’ve ever knowingly taken.
Lately I’ve noticed that television commercials for prescription drugs show active people playing tennis, bike riding, or participating in other activities that make me tired just to watch. The voice over extols the benefits of a prescription for about the first quarter of the commercial. For the remainder of the commercial, a predictable pattern has emerged. A rapid fire voice describes the side-effects and in a slower, soothing tone finishes up with “ask your physician if (fill in the blank) is right for you.” Did I hear something about “sudden death” in that quick disclaimer? It makes me wonder how important a prescription is if it’s supposed to make you happy, healthy and active, but “oh, by the way” it might cause stroke, cardiac arrest, or liver failure.
One night I was taking my medication and my six-year-old granddaughter asked “What do those pills do, Grandma Linda?”
I looked at the handful of pills and started pointing to each one. “This one is for my cholesterol, this one for high blood pressure, this is a vitamin, this is for my knee pain,” pointing to a half of a Tylenol PM, I said, “and this one is to help me sleep.”
“Oh, and look,” she said, “it is two colors—blue to help you get to sleep fast and white to help you stay asleep.”
Her comment shows which part of the commercial sticks with us the best. After all, I’m sure no drug company would advertise if we weren’t more impressed with the benefits of medication than we are with the downside.
With his dementia, Jim took a lot of medication. Through the trial-and-error to find the best drug regimen for him, I diligently read the side effects of everything he took. He was no longer capable of reading them, and I felt responsible for looking out for his wellbeing. Once I mentioned to the doctor that a new drug Jim was taking had a side effect of confusion. The doctor told me that all medicines have potential side effects. That doesn’t mean that everyone has them. He pointed out that no one would take prescription drugs if we worried too much about side effects.
It’s not just prescriptions that have unexpected side effects and warnings. All over-the-counter medication has them too. That night-time cold formula “so you can rest” medicine cautions you to quit taking it if you suffer from “sleeplessness.” On non-drowsy cold capsules, one of the first side effects mentioned is drowsiness. That certainly won’t help your job performance if you take it to help control your runny nose during the day.
One good thing about it, Halloween will soon be over and we will be moving into the Thanksgiving and Christmas season. There’s nothing scary about those holidays and my reading needs to reflect that. I’ll put away the prescription fact sheets and dig out some inspirational holiday reading instead. I’ll stick with the delightful and forget the frightful.
The older I get, the more drugs I have added to my arsenal. My health insurance company strongly encourages annual health screenings. Because of this annual testing, it has been easy for my doctor to following my escalating numbers. I’ll admit that he has been cautious about prescribing the maintenance drugs for my accumulating conditions. The preferred line of action was to lose weight, but it seems like I lose the same five pounds over and over.
One of my prescriptions has side effects of dizziness, headache, nausea, gas, stomach upset/pain, diarrhea and constipation (not at the same time, I hope).Those are the minor side effects. My participant counseling sheet for my cholesterol drug has a large section under “caution” which tells me I might have muscle pain or muscle damage which could lead to kidney damage and “a very serious condition” rhabdocmyolysis. I don’t know what that is, but I betcha I don’t want it.
Another interesting part is when the sheet counsels me to not take the medication if I am allergic to any of the ingredients in the product. I am not a chemist and most of the “ingredients” don’t look like anything I’ve ever knowingly taken.
Lately I’ve noticed that television commercials for prescription drugs show active people playing tennis, bike riding, or participating in other activities that make me tired just to watch. The voice over extols the benefits of a prescription for about the first quarter of the commercial. For the remainder of the commercial, a predictable pattern has emerged. A rapid fire voice describes the side-effects and in a slower, soothing tone finishes up with “ask your physician if (fill in the blank) is right for you.” Did I hear something about “sudden death” in that quick disclaimer? It makes me wonder how important a prescription is if it’s supposed to make you happy, healthy and active, but “oh, by the way” it might cause stroke, cardiac arrest, or liver failure.
One night I was taking my medication and my six-year-old granddaughter asked “What do those pills do, Grandma Linda?”
I looked at the handful of pills and started pointing to each one. “This one is for my cholesterol, this one for high blood pressure, this is a vitamin, this is for my knee pain,” pointing to a half of a Tylenol PM, I said, “and this one is to help me sleep.”
“Oh, and look,” she said, “it is two colors—blue to help you get to sleep fast and white to help you stay asleep.”
Her comment shows which part of the commercial sticks with us the best. After all, I’m sure no drug company would advertise if we weren’t more impressed with the benefits of medication than we are with the downside.
With his dementia, Jim took a lot of medication. Through the trial-and-error to find the best drug regimen for him, I diligently read the side effects of everything he took. He was no longer capable of reading them, and I felt responsible for looking out for his wellbeing. Once I mentioned to the doctor that a new drug Jim was taking had a side effect of confusion. The doctor told me that all medicines have potential side effects. That doesn’t mean that everyone has them. He pointed out that no one would take prescription drugs if we worried too much about side effects.
It’s not just prescriptions that have unexpected side effects and warnings. All over-the-counter medication has them too. That night-time cold formula “so you can rest” medicine cautions you to quit taking it if you suffer from “sleeplessness.” On non-drowsy cold capsules, one of the first side effects mentioned is drowsiness. That certainly won’t help your job performance if you take it to help control your runny nose during the day.
One good thing about it, Halloween will soon be over and we will be moving into the Thanksgiving and Christmas season. There’s nothing scary about those holidays and my reading needs to reflect that. I’ll put away the prescription fact sheets and dig out some inspirational holiday reading instead. I’ll stick with the delightful and forget the frightful.
Saturday, October 10, 2009
Auto Tool Kit: AAA and a Cell Phone
One of the first things I learned as a caregiver was that I had to take on new responsibilities. Jim was always the mechanic in the family, and until he developed dementia, I had never changed the oil or listened for strange noises cars make from time to time.
We usually drove old clunkers and never left home without Jim’s tool kit. One time our van broke down on a country road, and Jim fixed it with a piece of wire he snipped from a sagging fence. He had us up and running in no time. On another trip in the dead of winter our heater began to blow cold air and Jim fixed it with a piece of cardboard. Whatever happened, he analyzed the problem and had an immediate solution.
Jim began to lose his mechanical skills, and we purchased AAA roadside assistance. I missed Jim’s expert attention to our vehicles, but with AAA and a cell phone, I figured we had the tools to get by. Besides, the card was good for discounts on hotel rooms, air fares, and even at Hard Rock Café.
Eric, our oldest son, worked at a dealership and reminded me when I needed an oil change or tires rotated. When I had mechanical problems, my first call was to Eric, not AAA.
One time Eric was on vacation and my youngest son, Rob, met me at the nursing home to take Jim out to lunch. We had already loaded Jim into the van before we noticed a tire was flat.
Rob crawled under the van and struggled to release the itty-bitty spare from its holder. After changing the tire, he climbed back into the van covered with sweat and dirt.
I said, “I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t been with me.” Then after I thought for a minute, I added, “I guess I would have called Triple-A.”
“I just changed a tire in hundred degree weather and you have Triple-A?” Rob asked.
“Yeah, but I’ve never used it except for discounts,” I said. Since 1997 the card had not once been used it for its primary purpose.
My Oldsmobile Alero is getting a little age on it, but overall, it has been a reliable car. That’s why I was caught off guard Thursday night. It had been raining all day and in the back of my mind I was worried that my roads might be flooded. Still, I went to dinner at Country Kitchen with other members of our Alzheimer’s Support Group. After dinner, we popped open our umbrellas and headed for our cars. I was ready to go home where it was warm and dry.
I put my key in the ignition and turned it. Instead of the purr of my motor, I heard dead silence.
“My car won’t start,” I told David, a member of our group who was parked next to me. He looked under the hood and said the battery connections were good.
I looked at my watch and knew it was too late to call Eric. He gets up so early for work that he would be in bed by now.
“Do you have any kind of road hazard?” David asked. Funny, I hadn’t thought about that.
David shined a flashlight on my AAA card so I could dial the number. Within ten minutes, my car was started and back on the road.
Of course, the car wouldn’t start the next morning. I phoned a friend who came over and jump started the car for me.
Now that I have a new battery my car starts when I turn the key. That’s the way I like it. But if all else fails, I have my tool kit—a cell phone and AAA. Better yet, I have friends’ numbers programmed into my cell phone.
I can’t break the habit of calling family or friends for advice about all things mechanical, or to give me an occasional jump start. It’s still nice to know I have three Aces in the hole to use for discounts or in case my friends become wise to me and don’t answer their phones.
We usually drove old clunkers and never left home without Jim’s tool kit. One time our van broke down on a country road, and Jim fixed it with a piece of wire he snipped from a sagging fence. He had us up and running in no time. On another trip in the dead of winter our heater began to blow cold air and Jim fixed it with a piece of cardboard. Whatever happened, he analyzed the problem and had an immediate solution.
Jim began to lose his mechanical skills, and we purchased AAA roadside assistance. I missed Jim’s expert attention to our vehicles, but with AAA and a cell phone, I figured we had the tools to get by. Besides, the card was good for discounts on hotel rooms, air fares, and even at Hard Rock Café.
Eric, our oldest son, worked at a dealership and reminded me when I needed an oil change or tires rotated. When I had mechanical problems, my first call was to Eric, not AAA.
One time Eric was on vacation and my youngest son, Rob, met me at the nursing home to take Jim out to lunch. We had already loaded Jim into the van before we noticed a tire was flat.
Rob crawled under the van and struggled to release the itty-bitty spare from its holder. After changing the tire, he climbed back into the van covered with sweat and dirt.
I said, “I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t been with me.” Then after I thought for a minute, I added, “I guess I would have called Triple-A.”
“I just changed a tire in hundred degree weather and you have Triple-A?” Rob asked.
“Yeah, but I’ve never used it except for discounts,” I said. Since 1997 the card had not once been used it for its primary purpose.
My Oldsmobile Alero is getting a little age on it, but overall, it has been a reliable car. That’s why I was caught off guard Thursday night. It had been raining all day and in the back of my mind I was worried that my roads might be flooded. Still, I went to dinner at Country Kitchen with other members of our Alzheimer’s Support Group. After dinner, we popped open our umbrellas and headed for our cars. I was ready to go home where it was warm and dry.
I put my key in the ignition and turned it. Instead of the purr of my motor, I heard dead silence.
“My car won’t start,” I told David, a member of our group who was parked next to me. He looked under the hood and said the battery connections were good.
I looked at my watch and knew it was too late to call Eric. He gets up so early for work that he would be in bed by now.
“Do you have any kind of road hazard?” David asked. Funny, I hadn’t thought about that.
David shined a flashlight on my AAA card so I could dial the number. Within ten minutes, my car was started and back on the road.
Of course, the car wouldn’t start the next morning. I phoned a friend who came over and jump started the car for me.
Now that I have a new battery my car starts when I turn the key. That’s the way I like it. But if all else fails, I have my tool kit—a cell phone and AAA. Better yet, I have friends’ numbers programmed into my cell phone.
I can’t break the habit of calling family or friends for advice about all things mechanical, or to give me an occasional jump start. It’s still nice to know I have three Aces in the hole to use for discounts or in case my friends become wise to me and don’t answer their phones.
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