Arriving at the gates

One day, as we were arriving at the gates of the facility where Dad stayed, we looked at each other thinking "What the?"

Obviously something was going on. 

Residents and care givers were milling in the car park.  There was an air of confusion.  Then Dad spotted us and came running - yes running - with walking stick waving high in front.  When he got to the gate he exclaimed, 'Finally someone here with a few brains.  You'd better come sort this out!"

It turns out the facility had had a fire drill.   

As the story unfolded, things got worse.  Apparently someone, we are hoping not staff though this wasn't confirmed, had run around screaming "Fire!" at the top of their lungs.  This had upset some of the residents who had locked themselves in their rooms and refused to budge.  Others had headed for the hills and were still running in circles. 

Staff were trying to account for everybody. 
Dad, as with a number of the old folk, wasn't sure what was going on. 

We decided to separate him from the pack (with permission of course) and take him for a drive to calm him down a little.  He was only too happy to get away from those 'silly buggers with no brains'.

As we drove Dad to McDonalds, and the whole time we were there, he talked, recounted, opined and cussed about the excitement of the morning, which must have been quite stimulating because he didn't miss a beat even while devouring a Big Mac and fries.  I commented to Glenn how alert the whole episode had made him.

The minute we stood to go a switch flicked in his brain.

"Where are we going?"
"I'm coming home with you now?  Back to home home.  Not that other place."
"Where's mummy - are we going to see her now?"

When the answers he received weren't the ones he was looking for, I can only presume his mind went into survival mode and clouded over till he was not making sense.

As we were arriving at the gates of the facility for the second time that afternoon, all excitement had passed and Dad was just a resigned, sad, confused, shuffling shell.

Dad's Singing

Dad was reading and writing and singing when I visited him today.

This is big news.  Dad has not written for quite some time.  He used to write a lot.  It was great to see him reading - he hasn't done that for a while either. 

The whanau have made a few photo albums with pictures and clippings and favourite verses for Dad to look at while he's in care.  We take them out when we visit partly for something to talk about, partly to test his recognition.

Today the writing barely made sense, but the reading went quite well I thought.

I've been here for a few weeks visiting Dad.  For the last few visits he has been quite out of it.  Partly with drugs, partly his condition, partly the time of day - mornings are much better.

Today he had just had a massage courtesy of my sister and her partner.  Whether or not this had an effect on his mental faculties I don't know - he may have just been having a good day. 

It might be worth noting that the facility had auditors visiting today, so maybe they had cut back on the 'keep them calm' drugs for the patients.  I wonder if we'll ever find the answer to that.  Maybe I'm just being cynical and not nice.   Dad certainly didn't look as doped up as usual.  It's easy to tell when he's under the influence of excess medication - he has cloudy eyes.

One thing I have deduced is that Dad still responds to music.  So I often sing when I visit.  He sometimes recognises the tune and sings along.  My sister was singing during his massage today and quite possibly had warmed up his memory and vocal chords.  He sang along to the verse he'd just read.

It's a far cry from how Dad used to read and sing but it makes everybody feel good to see he still has it.

Visiting Dad

The family visits Dad regularly.

Mum drives down from up North to see him.  She has taken Dad out of his current care facility a few times to see how he reacted and also to see how she coped. 

She has been thinking of taking Dad home.  She believes he should be seeing out his days at home and I tend to agree.  There is something about dying at home that is more comforting than passing on in unfamilar territory.  Especially if you're elderly.  I mean, what if that big Marae in the Sky is harder to find if you're not on home turf when you check out? 

But the fact is, and Mum has also admitted this realisation, she will need a lot more support to be able to care for Dad at home.  Where does one find quality, highly trained, 24 hour in home care in Kaeo?  And someone will have to build a fence - the Northland property is not conducive to keeping Dad out of harms way and within sight should he actually manage to shuffle down the driveway.

Rather than give up on the idea of taking Dad home, Mum has been thinking how she can make this plan happen.  I'm sure if it's meant to be, the universe will provide.

My sisters have also taken Dad on a few outings (watching the kids play sport, that kind of thing) to give him a bit more stimulation and a change of scenery.  I gather, from e-mailed reports, that he is relatively happy to be taken along but he does get tired easily.

We, sitting here in the desert, don't imagine for one minute that looking after Dad is a piece of cake for mum or my sisters.  It would be like having another very dependent child along for the ride.
 
My sister's partner is into alternative health and visits Dad a couple of times a week to give him massage and other treatment.  Results are positive, though the medical knowledgable think all or any improvements are due to the drugs.  We, being holistic health knowledgable, appreciate his efforts and roll our eyeballs over the medical knowledgable response.  There would be less contortions of the eyes if the medical machine would make the effort to look into alternative health and see it's advantages, particularly in care of the elderly and Alzheimers.

Our son visits his grandfather every couple of weeks.  He sometimes takes his little boy along for the trip.  We are glad he makes the effort, especially as we can't be there, and he reports his visits to us when we Skype.   I don't know if he considers these visits are an effort - he's always had a soft spot for his Poppa.

I guess what I'm trying to say is I'm glad Dad isn't one of those men who appears family-less.  You know, one of those old folks in old folks homes who don't get visitors.  It would be easy for the family to say 'I have a life and it's too busy to include you right now, Dad'.   Especially as there are times when Dad is very non-compos mentis.

Visiting Dad takes effort.  It takes time.  This isn't a drop in for five minutes on a whim for a quick cuppa kind of thing.  This is committment.  Regular, ongoing committment.  And there is no way of knowing how long the family has to keep visiting Dad.  He is looking rather frail right now, but that doesn't mean he's about to clock out any time soon. 

I am reassured knowing that, regardless of how much longer he may be on this earth, and regardless of how aware he may or may not be, the family will keep visiting Dad.