Music for the Soul

The Capps Family Band 2022

     Saturday afternoon, the Capps Family Band played music for our dear family friend’s 75^th birthday party. I went early to set up my sound system, which was pieced together from several Amazon purchases. I hooked everything up and the microphones had no volume. After a brief moment of panic, I finally discovered that one of the connections wasn’t inserted completely.

Unlike our nursing home gigs, we didn’t have a formal program, but my sister-in-law had put several of our songs together where they were easy for my brother to find. Normally, he is our fearless leader, but he said I was the one that made arrangements for this program, and I was in charge. “I don’t want to be in charge,” I said. Anyway, the program went off without a hitch with everyone in charge of themselves.

It is amazing how much the decision to play a ukulele has changed my life. After I learned a few chords, I began to practice with the family band. My brother encouraged me to play with the band at the nursing homes. I sat in the back far from the microphones and played my little instrument. Then, at practice, my brother finally talked me into singing a song. “We’ll put that on the program next month,” he said.

Later, that week, we played at the nursing home. “My sister Linda is going to sing a song,” he said. So, I stood up and sang the song just as we rehearsed it. That was when I realized how much joy Jim found while playing his guitar and singing.

Jim learned to play on a mandolin when he was a small boy. His mom said that when he first learned to play, he played “Rubber Dolly” so much that she was sick of hearing it. Jim told me that later, his uncles, especially Uncle Vic, taught him how to play the guitar.

Jim always picked up his guitar first thing in the morning. He said it was his therapy. A devoted Buck Owens fan, Jim often played the instrumental, “Buckaroo.” One of the saddest parts of dementia was watching him slowly lose his musical skills. The song choices that he could master went from hundreds to a handful of songs. Long after he had forgotten lyrics to most of the songs he used to sing, he sometimes played “Buckaroo” perfectly.

After he lost his ability to play his guitar, Jim never stopped listening to the music he loved—country music, bluegrass, cowboy songs, and Elvis. Music was always a part of Jim’s life, and listening to the songs he loved soothed his soul.

I have also learned that nothing works its magic on me the way that music can. When I pick up my ukulele and browse the Capps Family Band songbook, time just flies by. The clock might say it is midnight, but my heart says one more song, and another, and I wonder if I can play or sing that song? I love the challenge of stretching my ukulele playing, or taking on a song that I don’t think I can sing. When I’m successful, it’s a rush, but if I fail, I just set it aside for another time.

The one thing I’ve learned is that mistakes happen, the old voice might crack once in awhile, but the purpose is not to be perfect. Perfection is for studios where a song might require several takes, or tweaking the sound. The secret to live music is that when you make a mistake, you just keep right on going.

 I’ve found that life also has a secret, and amazingly, it is the same secret as music. No matter what happens, we need to move forward. We all make mistakes, but to live life to the fullest, we need to keep-on-keeping-on.

The worldly treasures we have accumulated do not determine whether we are successful in life. We are truly wealthy when we have the magic of music in our souls.  

 

To register or donate to the Sedalia Walk click www.alz.org/sedaliawalk

Copyright © September 2022 by L.S. Fisher

http://earlyonset.blogspot.com

#ENDALZ

Jim's Team Since 1998

I reached out to the Alzheimer’s Association when Jim’s dementia became problematic. Penny Braun, Executive Director at the Alzheimer’s Association Mid-Missouri Chapter, told me about the Sedalia Memory Walk. I registered for the walk, but couldn’t decide how to tell Jim about it since he was in denial that he had an Alzheimer’s type of dementia.

A few days before the walk, Jim saw a small article in the paper about the upcoming Memory Walk. “We should go to that walk,” he said, “because I have memory problems.”

We arrived at Liberty Park expecting to see a crowd, but instead saw four people and a dog. We joined Chuck and Helen Hannaford from Slater, Penny Braun and her dog Victoria, and Joetta Coen from the Mid-Missouri Chapter. Jim and I were the only two people from Sedalia.

Our small group walked through downtown Sedalia with Helen blowing her hunter’s horn while we collected donations from business owners, passersby, and from members of the VFW.

I haven’t missed a Sedalia walk since 1998. The name of the walk has changed to the Walk to End Alzheimer’s, and the location has changed, but the mission is the same: A World Without Alzheimer’s.

After the 1998 walk, Joetta Coen asked me to chair the next walk. I remember telling her that if I could get my family to walk, we would have more people. My fantastic committee members grew the 1999 walk to more than 100 participants.

Between 2000 and 2019, participation ranged from 200 walkers to a high of 444. Then, the pandemic hit. In 2020, to avoid a large gathering, the Alzheimer’s Association announced a “Walk Everywhere” event. It didn’t take me long to decide that Jim’s Team would walk the original 1998 route.

Walk Everywhere was a trip down memory lane. With my arthritic knees, the walk was more of a challenge than it was the first time. We stopped and rested on the steps of the beautiful public library. The 2020 walk made me feel closer to Jim, and in its own way, brought our journey full circle. It was a stark reminder of how personal and important the walk was for my family and me.  

Lord willing, September 17^th will be my 25^th walk. A few weeks ago, it occurred to me that I am the only person in Sedalia who will reach that milestone this year. Some of my family members are not far behind me. I plan to poll them and find out who will reach the 25^th walk milestone next year or in the next few years.

Jim’s Team has also been the most consistent fundraising team in Sedalia. We weren’t the best fundraising team every year, but we’ve always been in the top three. Over the years, our team has brought in more than $70,000 in the fight to end Alzheimer’s, and to support families dealing with dementia.

The Sedalia Walk is Jim’s legacy. He was the sole reason that our family became involved in the Walk, and our inspiration to continue. I often hear from people who never knew Jim while he was living, but still feel a connection to him.

My first blog post, Indelible Mark, (January 19, 2008), came straight from my heart: “When Jim developed dementia at forty-nine, we knew life would never be the same. Our memories eventually became my memories. The disease stole Jim from me, but it could not steal the indelible mark he left behind.

“In the end, instead of erasing Jim, dementia ensured he would never be forgotten. His two pictures on the cover of Alzheimer’s Anthology of Unconditional Love are indelible images of Jim. In one picture, he smiles from beneath his favorite Stetson. In the other, he walks away from the camera on a beach in Oregon. I can’t imagine his indelible memory living in a happier place.”

 

To register or donate to the Sedalia Walk click www.alz.org/sedaliawalk

Copyright © August 2022 by L.S. Fisher

http://earlyonset.blogspot.com

#ENDALZ

Driving on Sunshine

Harold and I recently took a road trip to Springfield. For the first time in a few years, we took a trip where the destination wasn’t a doctor’s office. 

Well, we weren’t going on a random trip—we did have a few goals in mind. At the top of the list was a butcher block top for the Big Green Egg cabinet that Harold designed and had built. The cabinet was originally going to have a granite top, but they weren’t going to be able to cut it for several weeks. After giving it some thought, I suggested that we get our deposit back from the granite  and use a butcher block countertop instead. We could pick up what we wanted at Grizzly in Springfield.

We also needed to get new turn signal/brake lights for the Cargo Master trailer. That wasn’t as simple as we first thought. Those lights come in a hundred different shapes, and none of them matched what we had. Once Harold located a close match at Lowe’s none of the local stores had them in stock and the online order form wouldn’t work correctly. Finally, Harold located the lights at the Lowe’s in Springfield. That worked out well since we were going there anyway.

Next on the list was to go to a grill shop and pick up a few “essentials” for using the Big Green Egg. Finally, we wanted to go to Sam’s to get a few items that do not ship well in August heat.

As we headed down the road to Springfield, it reminded me of the road trips Jim and I took to Branson. Jim loved traveling, but as his dementia worsened, we couldn’t make the annual trips to Colorado anymore, so we substituted shorter trips to Branson. We usually stayed in a cabin near the lake. We were a short drive away from the Branson Belle and Silver Dollar City. We always took in a couple of country music shows, which always included Tom Brumley’s show. Jim was always happy on those trips.

On the trip to Springfield last week, I drove our Silverado Pickup while Harold was able to notice all the changes that had taken place over the years. Part of the trip was on divided highway and part on two lanes. After being behind a slow-moving truck, I was happy when we reached the divided highway. “Finally!” I said. “Now I can pass that truck.” I turned on my blinker, checked the mirrors, and saw the pickup pulling a trailer whip into the passing lane. “I guess he’s in a bigger hurry than I am.” I said.

I turned off my blinker and checked the mirror again. “Where did he go?” I asked.

Then, I saw the truck driving into the median with the trailer at an odd angle to the truck. To my surprise, he drove back up the grade and onto the highway. “I bet that scared the crap out of him,” I said. 

Harold mapped out our route so that we wouldn’t have to backtrack. After we picked up our orders at Lowe’s and Grizzly, we went down Sunshine Street to finish our day. We stopped by the grill shop and onto Sam’s.

While we were at Sam’s we noticed the gas was about forty cents cheaper per gallon than the best price in Sedalia. So we queued up behind one of the many lines of vehicles. An employee waved us over to a shorter line. “We have pump extenders so you can use this line.” Sure enough, cars were pulling the nozzle over to the other side of their cars to gas up.

Although, I was a little skeptical, I pulled the nozzle across the bed of the truck and started fueling. This is really cool, I thought, until I went to take it out. It seemed to be stuck. Harold was working his way around the truck to help me when I thought to give a tug on the hose. Well, duh, that worked.

 On the way home, we stopped at Dairy Queen for ice cream to go with the churros I had purchased at Sam’s. After eating our cones, as we waited to pull out onto the highway I noticed a motorbike with a minuscule sidecar. As it passed by, I noticed that a dog was in the sidecar.

At the traffic light, we got a better look at the dog in his customized mini rocket. He turned toward us, as if mildly curious about the car a few feet from him, and I noticed he was wearing goggles. Harold and I both grinned and simultaneously remarked about how cute the dog was.

We enjoyed driving on Sunshine on a sunshiny day and vowed not to wait so long for our next road trip.   

 

Copyright © August 2022 by L.S. Fisher

http://earlyonset.blogspot.com

#ENDALZ

The More I Do, the Less I Get Done

 Lately, I am busy all the time, but my to-do list is only getting longer. I start a dozen different projects, and once I get them past the critical point, I stop and move on to the next one.

At work, we used to call it putting out fires. The fire burning the hottest, and the most likely to get out of control, takes priority over the other slow burning fires. Eventually, you notice that the out-of-control fires are getting all the attention.

 

I definitely do not multi-task as well as I used to. Distractions slow me down and sometimes bring the task at hand to a grinding halt. I’m having a hard time working on projects my head tells me I need to do when my heart is tugging me toward something that I want to do. I would much rather play my ukulele than work on accounting.

 

When the real feel temperature outside is triple digits, I attend to my inside chores and projects. Earlier this week, we had a day with a high in the 70s. I decided to go outside and mow around my flowerbed and use the weed eater on the parts I couldn’t get too.

 

When I finished with the flowerbed, I tackled the weeds between the hydrant and the well. Soon, I noticed a squishing with each step I took. The area was saturated with water and the ground underfoot was soggy from a leak. We couldn’t find anyone who could fit us into their schedule for the next two weeks. Harold’s cousin came to the rescue, but the leak is stubbornly deep. My fifteen-minute job of weed eating on a nice day turned into a weeklong distraction that hasn’t ended yet.

 

Let’s just say one-call to locate underground lines took a dozen calls. The phone company said that we had no service. Harold’s response, “Does that mean I don’t have to pay the bill?” After a day of calls to renew job tickets, a contractor showed up to locate our phone line. It was exactly where I remembered them locating it before when they remembered we had phone service.

 

Lately, I have as many distractions and disruptions as I did when I was a full-time caregiver. If I found a task to do that required concentration, I would suddenly hear a door slam and know I’d have to stop Jim from going down the road. If I zigged, Jim zagged.

 

As a caregiver, I was often exhausted—mentally, as well as, physically. I suffered from a chronic lack of sleep, and was emotionally drained.

 

Watching a loved one slipping through the different stages of dementia is disheartening. Remaining calm, focused, and contented becomes a challenge. I found that volunteering for the Alzheimer’s Association made me feel as if I was making a positive out of a negative. The fulfillment of accomplishment helped offset the sense of failure.

 

I could always encourage other caregivers and understand their frustrations, but I expected more out of myself than I could give. I crept closer and closer to the tipping point. My friends, family, and my physician told me that I needed to take care of myself too.

 

Sometimes, I think I’m almost at that same intersection between rest and busyness again. I chronically stay up too late and have to get up too early. I’m running low on energy, which only makes me struggle to keep up with my obligations. While I’m busy doing one task, other projects become more imminent and urgent.

 

I crave more downtime. I miss the feeling of accomplishment when the work is completed and it is time to play. I haven’t decided whether I should buckle down and finish my to-do list, or delete it altogether and start from scratch with a focus on stress reduction.

 

Copyright © August 2022 by L.S. Fisher

http://earlyonset.blogspot.com

#ENDALZ

Culinary Delight

 

Tonight we had a delicious meal of chicken and noodles in wine sauce. Harold had put the culinary delight together by gathering ideas from several different websites and tweaking the recipes to make them his own. He has a knack for blending seasonings and adding surreptitious touches to any dish he makes.

 

I’m not sure that it is a total coincidence that Jim was also a good cook. It could have been dumb luck that I married two master chefs. Yeah, I’m sure it was a coincidence or dumb luck.

 

It also happens that they both had mothers who were well known for their cooking/baking talents. When Harold’s mom baked, it would have been picture perfect for a cookbook or magazine layout. Dorothy’s cakes, pies, brownies, or cookies looked as beautiful as they were heavenly scrumptious.

 

Jim’s mom had always cooked for a large family. I never knew anyone who could prepare a meal at warp speed and still be as tasty as everything Virginia cooked. She could perform magic with flour, milk, shortening, and baking powder. Virginia’s biscuits and gravy were legendary. She could bake a pie faster than anyone I ever saw in my life. And her light rolls were to die for.

 

Jim found solace in cooking. Between his physical pain, PTSD, and depression, there were times he could not work. A VA psychologist suggested that he take on some household chores to combat his feelings of worthlessness. Jim started cooking the meals and washing the dishes. His method was to clean as he cooked. By the time the food was on the table, the only thing that hadn’t been washed was the dishes necessary to eat the meal. I was never that organized when it came to cooking, and usually left a pile of dirty dishes in my wake.

 

Dementia is a thief that steals talents and personality traits. At first, the losses were minor and barely noticeable. I noticed differences in Jim’s skill level about a year before anyone else did. When I started telling people that Jim was having difficulty with his reasoning, I think most of his family thought I was the one with a problem.

 

We were all in denial and hoping against hope, that Jim would get better. He was so young that several specialists thought his condition could be reversible. It took a full day of testing to determine that he couldn’t do simple math or complete any questions that required abstract thinking. We both cried when he was diagnosed with dementia of the Alzheimer’s type.

 

In the early stages of dementia, Jim could still cook. The transition was so gradual that I don’t remember exactly when he no longer prepared the meals or when he stopped cooking completely.

 

More prominent in my memories are Jim fixing a complete meal on his camp stove at Moraine Park in the Rocky Mountain National Park. There’s nothing better than drinking coffee by a campfire and watching Jim fixing bacon and eggs on the camp stove. That culinary delight lingers in the recesses of my mind and in the depth of my heart.

 

Copyright © July 2022 by L.S. Fisher

http://earlyonset.blogspot.com

#ENDALZ

On My Own

 

Five years ago, I bought a cheap minnow-sized ukulele and a tuner at a pawn shop. I watched YouTube videos and read about tuning and playing the instrument. What stuck out mostly in my mind was that ukes were fun and not an instrument to cause stress. In fact, playing a ukulele is a great stress reliever.

 The first thing I had to do was to cut the long fingernails that I had always had. The day I clipped them to the nubs, was the day I committed to learning how to play.

 

As soon as my brother learned I had an instrument, he invited me to practice with the Capps Family Band. Playing with the band was a breakthrough moment for me. It taught me to keep time and to keep up with the flow of the music. It was well worth the long drive to spend time with family and learn how joyful jam sessions are.

 

For several years, the band played at nursing homes near where they live. I started going to the nursing homes with them and sat in the back away from the mike as I learned how to play. Eventually, my brother talked me into singing “Coal Miner’s Daughter.”

 

Until the pandemic, our family band entertained at three nursing homes each month. After the nursing homes were on lockdown, we continued to practice twice a month.

 

My husband made a call to a local nursing home to ask if they wanted entertainment thinking the Capps Family Band could play for the residents. During the course of the conversation, he learned they didn’t have a sound system, which is a requirement for the band to play. I took the phone and asked if they would like me to play my ukulele and sing. I have a microphone and a Block Buster that is lightweight and easy to transport. They immediately put me on the calendar for two different dates, so I could play for residents on both sides of the facility.

 

The day came to play and as I sat in front of a large group of residents, I realized that I was on my own. This was a first for me since I’ve always been a part of the band. Other members of the band play music when I sing and provide vocal backup. My part is usually two or three songs, and here I sat with an entire play list with only my ukulele for accompaniment. Granted, I had upgraded from the minnow to a soprano uke, but it was all the music I had.

 

Being on my own in a new situation reminded me of how I was on my own as Jim forgot how to do familiar tasks. I had to make all the decisions, as his uncle once said, “You are thinking for two.”

 

Our home became quieter and quieter when Jim began to lose his conversation skills. Still, having him at home with me was comforting. Scheduling someone to be with Jim while I worked became a challenge. Hired caregivers were unreliable, but my family and Jim’s family stepped in to share the caregiving load, but at night and on weekends—I was on my own.

 

When Jim went into long-term care, being on my own was lonely and sometimes terrifying. I worried about Jim constantly, and spent as much time as possible with him. I visited him every day after work and on my days off. I took him for drives, walks in the park, to DQ for lunch or ice cream, to Walmart, and occasionally brought him home for the day. Like caregivers everywhere, I was basically on my own.

 

So as I sat in front of my audience, on my own, I suddenly realized that I wasn’t on my own at all. Sitting in the first chair on my right side was a woman who had always been one of our biggest fans at a nursing home where the band played. We had missed her the last time, and thought the worse. It made my day to find her alive and well! “When I saw it on the calendar,” she said, “I hoped it was you.”

 

I was not alone. I had the background of the band, who had been with me every step along my journey of playing an instrument and singing. I had learned that I didn’t have to be perfect, I just had to keep going when I made a mistake. My brother tells us, “Keep singing. If you make a mistake, don’t point it out, just keep going. Most people will never notice.”

 

I relaxed, picked up my ukulele, and started singing. It was a great day to share in the joy of music. They lifted my spirits, and judging by their smiles and encouragement, I believe that I lifted theirs.

 

Copyright © July 2022 by L.S. Fisher

http://earlyonset.blogspot.com

#ENDALZ

Farmers’ Market

 

At one of our Walk to End Alzheimer’s committee meetings, we were brainstorming about events where we could promote the Walk and other Alzheimer’s programs and services. Someone suggested the Farmers’ Market, and our walk manager, Laura, proceeded to contact them. The market is open on Tuesdays and Fridays each week, and we eventually procured a Friday for our informational booth.

 

Laura and I set up our table at the Farmers’ Market on a lovely day that plopped itself right in the middle of a heat wave. We were front and center where we saw everyone who entered and left the market. A steady flow of people mostly passed us by, but occasionally someone would stop to pick up information or show interest in our September 17 Walk.

 

We took turns perusing the market booths. I snapped photos and walked around looking at everything but didn’t buy anything. Laura found a few things including a fried pie. She declared it delicious. Her endorsement was enough to convince me that I, too, had to have a fried pie. I also scored two “hens and chick” succulents that I had been wanting.

 

Several people stopped by our booth including the CEO of one of our corporate sponsors. She took several posters and walker sign-up sheets. I saw a friend that grew up in the same rural area that I did. All, in all, it was a pleasant way to spend the afternoon.

 

The time went by fast, and as we broke down the table and put away our things, Laura mentioned the small number of people who stopped by. “But it was a nice day, we had a great visit, we handed out information, and got out the word about the Walk. Not to mention I found my hens and chicks, and you have some goodies to take home.”

 

“You sure put a positive spin on it,” she said.

 

“If you reach one person, it wasn’t wasted time,” I said.

 

Spending an afternoon at the Farmers’ Market also put the place on my radar. When we ran out of tomatoes, Harold and I stopped by the Farmers’ Market. Harold waited in the truck, but cautioned me, “Don’t buy a lot of stuff.”

 

As I strolled into the market, I noticed a long line winding across the entire building. I was relieved that the line was for peaches and not tomatoes! Several different booths had tomatoes for sale with much shorter lines. I chose one that was also selling corn on the cob. After I bought my tomatoes, I asked about the corn. “Six dollars a dozen,” she said.

 

I only wanted a half dozen so she bagged the corn up for me. In less than ten minutes, I purchased delicious tomatoes and tasty corn. On my walk back to the car, I was thankful that I was only in the sweltering heat for a short time.  

 

I’m glad Laura and I went to the Farmers’ Market with our Alzheimer’s information, but Laura and I both agreed that on a hot day, it would be miserable. We were lucky once, but with a long, hot summer ahead of us, we knew that wasn’t likely to happen again.

 

Our next booth will be in air-conditioned comfort at Central Missouri Electric Cooperative’s Annual Meeting. We will be sharing information and talking the Walk.

 

Copyright © July 2022 by L.S. Fisher

http://earlyonset.blogspot.com

#ENDALZ

The Lost Is Found--Sometimes

“What’s that in the driveway?” Harold asked as I stopped to check the mail.

 “I don’t know, but it kind of looks like my travel coffee mug,” I said. I grabbed the mail out of the mailbox and tossed it into the truck. “I’m going to check it out before I climb back in,” I said. It’s a high step for me to get in and out of the truck.

 

I picked up the object and, sure enough, it was my mug. “I set it on the edge of the truck bed before I left home,” I said. “I guess that’s how long it took to fall off.” The cup was a little banged up, but didn’t seem to be hurt any.

 

Lately, we’ve spent a lot of time looking for lost items. Things are not where they should be, and it’s frustrating. I was getting ready to drain the water off the spaghetti. “Where’s the strainer?” I asked. I was looking at the slot where the strainer has been for as long as I can remember. I finally set down the pot of hot water and spaghetti while I pondered where it could possibly be. I looked in every logical place and a few illogical ones. No strainer. Finally, I gave up and used a different one that I could find.

 

A few days ago, we were on the search for Harold’s small pocket notebook. He had written a bunch of measurements in it and didn’t want to have to re-measure. Well, I found about six of the little notebooks, but none had the correct information in them. I finally called a store we had been in to ask if they had found it. They had not. The search went on for two days, and finally Harold found it in his nightstand drawer.

 

I think that since we live in a huge house and have a large inventory of miscellaneous items, I can see why objects can be easily lost. Harold likes to buy kitchen gadgets and sometimes finding cubbyholes to store them takes creative rearranging. Anyway, that’s my excuse.

 

Yesterday, when I put gas in my car, I noticed one of my credit card slots was empty in my metal wallet. I dumped my purse and looked in every place in it. The search was on. I looked in the truck because that’s where I had used it last. First glance, not there. I checked out my smaller purse that I sometimes carry. It wasn’t there either. After exhausting all leads, I went back to the truck. I finally spied the missing card hiding in plain sight. It had slid against the side of the console and almost invisible.

 

The various searches makes me think of how Jim used to say, “Right here, but I can’t find it.” I know it was frustrating for him. Not only would he misplace or lose something, but because of aphasia, he couldn’t even tell me what he was looking for.

 

Part of the reason we lose so many things is that we are constantly distracted. Our electronic devices constantly ding, buzz, ring, chime, or interrupt with pop ups. My phone is paired to my car and the pickup. The pickup is several years newer and has more bells and whistles than my car. I was driving the pickup this morning and on my informational screen, a popup informed me that I had a text message and told me who sent it. Geeze. The only good thing is that my phone didn’t make any noise and thankfully, didn’t distract me more with the entire text message.

 

Through perseverance, or stubbornness, we usually find the lost. Still, after all this time, I cannot find that strainer. Harold thinks I might have thrown it away, but I don’t believe that. I will not go dumpster diving to see. If it’s gone, it’s gone, but truthfully, I think we will find it—eventually, somewhere, somehow.

 

Copyright © June 2022 by L.S. Fisher

http://earlyonset.blogspot.com

#ENDALZ

Happy Un-Birthday

Recently, I had a birthday, but thought that perhaps I should have a happy un-birthday. If ever I chose to go back a year instead of forward a year, this would be the perfect time. Who knew that doubling my arthritis medication would make me feel ten years younger than I did a month ago?

 I was getting to the point where I wondered how much more pain I could take. Every step I took was painful. Bending made my back hurt. I couldn’t sleep because every time I moved, pain shot out from my knees upward to my thighs, downward to my ankles.

 

After physical therapy made me hurt worse, the rheumatologist’s next plan was to increase my medication and prescribe a round of prednisone. The second day on the increased Celebrex, I noticed my knees felt—almost normal! And that was before taking the prednisone.

 

OK, I’ve gone through short periods of time where I felt good for awhile. At least this time, it may last longer than normal. I feel more optimistic about my health than I have in a long time.

 

I was able to convey to the rheumatologist that my pain had reached a new level and something had to be done. I have an aversion to medications that only mask the pain. Several years ago, after surgery, I filled a pain pill prescription. I took a pill and vomited until my stitches felt like they were going to pop. I decided the pain wasn’t bad enough to suffer the consequences of the pain medication.

 

Jim lived with chronic pain throughout most of his adult life. An injury in Vietnam caused a fracture in his neck. He thought that surgery would put an end to it, but it didn’t work out that way. Several years later during an MRI, metal fragments were discovered near the surgical site. “Looks like a drill bit shattered,” the technician told us.

 

Jim lived with chronic pain, and we were constantly adjusting his medication cocktail to get the maximum benefit with the least side-effects.

 

After he went into long-term care, I still monitored what medications he was taking. I went to the home one night and saw Jim walking bent over with his hand on his back. “Have you given him his pain medication?” I asked the nurse.

 

“He didn’t say he was in pain so I never gave it to him.”

 

“Look at him! He’s walking bent over and holding his back. He doesn’t do that if he’s feeling good.” After discussion with the charge nurse, his new care plan called for pain medication on a regular basis.

Without watching for visual clues, it may be impossible to know when a person with dementia is in pain. Jim hardly made a sound for any reason, including pain. Sometimes, he would groan, but more often, he suffered in silence.

 

During the five years Jim was in long-term care, I could walk into his room at night and know if he was in pain. I could tell by the expression on his face. Sometimes when I walked in, he would get tears in his eyes. He knew I would get him the help he needed.

 

It was a blessing when I would walk in and he would smile or even just have a relaxed, pleasant look about him. In my mind’s eye, I can see him in his recliner glancing at the TV from time to time to watch a Chief’s game, a race, or a country music show. He never showed any reaction to the action on the screen. He just knew that was what he liked to watch and the staff was good to keep his TV on his favorite shows.

 

Jim never had any un-birthdays, but sometimes when I looked at him, I saw the guy that captured my heart the summer I turned seventeen. That was always a good day, and it always lifted my spirits to see him content.

 

Copyright © June 2022 by L.S. Fisher

http://earlyonset.blogspot.com

#ENDALZ 

It's the Simple Things

A few days ago was sausage making day. My husband likes to grind and season his own sausage. I’ll admit it is delicious, but it is also quite a bit of work.

 Harold was browsing the internet trying to find a large mouth funnel to put the sausage into the food saver bags without touching the part that had to be sealed. “Why don’t you just cut the bottom out of a solo cup?” I asked.

 

“That might just work,” he said. Sometimes the simple solution is staring you in the face, but until you use your imagination, you don’t see it.

 

We’ve made some home improvements that will make upkeep and cleaning simpler. It couldn’t have come at a better time with my cleaning lady taking off the entire month of June.

 

Although we contracted the work, things were a little topsy turvy during the renovations. The bathrooms weren’t too much work, but emptying the bedroom for the hardwood was a different story.

 

During the process of going through things, I filled my dumpster. I was in a “love it or toss it” phase, and I rid myself of a lot of clutter. Still, you can’t just throw away everything, so we still have a lot of inventory. So far, I’ve not put much back in the drawers that were previously crammed full. I haven’t put anything on top of the dresser except a lamp and a clock. I love the sleek bare look. I suppose I’ll eventually put some of the photos and keepsakes back on it, but I’m in no hurry.

 

I’ve always cherished the simple moments in life. Most of my life was simple out of necessity, but that was perfect for me. I never had any delusions of being wealthy, and I never craved it. Jim used to want to win the lottery, but I figured it would just mess up my life. It worked out for us. I never bought any tickets, and he never won more than $750.

 

We enjoyed our road trips, camp outs, hiking in the Rockies, drinking coffee at Café du Monde, strolling through Old Town Albuquerque, or catching a show in Branson. We were just as happy having friends over to play music in our living room, or spending a day at Truman Dam. We loved spending time with family. After all, the basic happiness in life is spending time with the people you love.

 

My sister-in-law recently posted a photo of Jim and me that I had never seen. The photo is a little blurry, but I can tell that I’m wearing a sweater that I bought at the Goodwill store in Oregon while we were visiting family. I always underestimated how cold it was going to be and usually had to supplement the summer clothes I took with me. We didn’t just run into a department store and buy clothes—we went to the Goodwill, garage sales, or thrift stores. That was okay with me. If I could score a sweater for fifty cents or jeans for a dollar, it was a simple pleasure.

 

My idea of a life well lived is one with minimal drama, envy, greed, or stress. I am filled with gratitude for the amazing people who have influenced me throughout my lifetime. I remember so many good times I spent with my precious family and friends who have left this world for their final reward. In my memories, the days spent with my loved ones are the red-letter days that time, distance, or death cannot erase.

 

Copyright © June 2022 by L.S. Fisher

http://earlyonset.blogspot.com

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