Peninsula Daily News column, 7-21-11 "Today scary enough without Chicken Little"

                Maybe Chicken Little was right; at least, sometimes it sure feels that way.

                I listen to a lot of folks who are in a lot of different circumstances throughout most of western Washington on a daily basis. Most of them are “older” (“Older” than what? – Older than yesterday, I guess), and here’s what I’m hearing over and over: Fear.

                If you stop and think about it (although few of us ever do), “change” isn’t something that most of us embrace with giddy enthusiasm; no, most of us would like things to pretty much stay the way they pretty much are, right now. There are, of course, exceptions, like I-just-had-surgery-four-hours-ago or I’m-going-to-have-surgery-four-hours-from-now or I-can’t-afford-to-even-walk-by-a-dentist’s-office-and-my-mouth-hurts-too-much-to-eat or my-daughter-is-moving-back-in-with-me-until-she-can-get-her-last-tattoo-paid-off or…Well, you get it, but most of us are pretty enamored with the status quo.

                This isn’t exactly “news;” for instance, the old cliché about “…the devil you know…” has been around since Paul Revere rode somewhere to warn somebody of something, depending on what version of historical improvisation one subscribes to and, likely, well before that. So, what’s the deal?

                Most of us have been around long enough to know that “change” is constant and inevitable, so what’s so scary about it? Well, I certainly don’t pretend to know, nor do I pretend to be scholarly enough or philosophical enough to figure it all out, but near-as-I-can-tell, here’s what I think we all like so much about “today:” I’m not dead.

                For the few of us who actually stop and think about it long enough to stop and think about it, not being dead is a pretty attractive thing, generally speaking; granted, things may not be great, and maybe we don’t feel so swell and maybe we’re worrying about how to pay for this-or-that, or maybe we’re getting slammed in the face by the realization that we just can’t do what we used to be able to do and that we probably aren’t going to wake up tomorrow being 30-something; still, we aren’t dead today, so today can look pretty good.

                In my decidedly unscholarly and non-philosophical view, most of us just want to be able to handle “life;” to be able to do what we need to do with a minimum of pain, hassle and drama. To be reasonably safe, reasonably comfortable, eat, pay the bills, take care of ourselves in our own ways and maybe – If we’re REALLY lucky! – Love and be loved. Pretty much everything else is just “stuff.”

                And if you’re “older” or not feeling so great or all the parts don’t work or on a permanently broken “fixed” income or alone…Today is plenty scary enough.

                Then some turkey leaves the backdoor open and Chicken Little slips in:

                “The Social Security Trust Fund can’t be trusted!”

                “Medicare is going away!”

                “Medicaid is going away!”

                “Healthcare is going up and gas is going up and food is going up and electricity is going up and heat is going up and my income isn’t!”

                “Death panels!”

                “Put on a blindfold and pin-the-tail on the next war!”

                “THEY are going to blow us all up!”

                “This program that is keeping me going is going away!”

                …and the climate isn’t changing and plague and pestilence and pirates and hate and…”Them.”

                “They” know that fear motivates people, so since “they” want you to do whatever it is that “they” want you to do, “they” want you scared! – Whoever “they” are - And, unfortunately, they’ve gotten to be pretty good at it.

                So we end up being so scared about tomorrow that we lose today, and that’s the scariest thing I can think of.

                Sure, a lot of that bad stuff is out there and, certainly, bad things are happening; and, of course, we need to do the best we can and try to plan and try to improve and try to be smart and, if we have opinions, by all means, express them! – But, today is still today, and we’re still able to do what we’re able to do – Today.

                Maybe some of these changes will be for the better! Maybe “bad things” will be replaced by “good things!” Maybe we have to “hit bottom” before we can start back up, and maybe tomorrow will be BETTER than today!

                …and maybe the sun will rise in the north!

                But…fear?? After everything that most of us have lived through…fear? Enough.

                I know, like you know, that most of us won’t change the world, because we can’t; sure, we would if we could, but…So, do what?

                Take back “today” from those who would take it from us. Have a little faith. Remember what courage really is. Cope.

                Hold your head UP, because we’re not dead.

…and put Chicken Little on the menu for tomorrow.

Peninsula Daily News column 7-14-11 "Reader walks the walk on caregiving"

                Last week I went on about caregivers and caregiving. I do that a lot because there are a lot of caregivers do a lot of caregiving, whether we think of ourselves as “caregivers,” or not.

                And there are getting to be more and more of us caregivers doing caregiving all the time; in fact, on an hourly basis – Literally. And if we cave in…Well, it won’t be pretty for anybody.

                So I go on and on about this because what it really comes down to is keeping people alive, whether you’re giving the care or getting the care – Alive, day-by-day, getting through the day – Alive.

                OK, so I go on and on, but no one ever has or ever will say it as well as folks who have walked the walk, or still are, so here’s what one reader has to say, with her permission; we’ll call her “Joanne,” because that’s her name:

                “I read your column in the PDN faithfully. You are just so right on about so many things. Especially when you address the subject of caregivers. I was one of those for many years--without even knowing it.

My husband died of Alzheimer's. Being a caregiver to an adult is akin to being the parent of a tiny, helpless infant, only in reverse. The baby cannot care for itself; talk, walk, or do anything. Then it starts to smile, cries, burbles a bit and gradually it grows into a real, happy independent person.

                For the ill adult the process works backwards: slowly and almost  imperceptibly he/she becomes more and more dependent on someone else as he/she gradually becomes less able take care of himself: cannot dress himself, feed himself, walk, communicate, or do any of the things we automatically take for granted that adults do.

We are aware that our loved one can't do these things but we refuse to accept it. Denial is so much easier. We think if we work hard enough and love hard enough we can keep things running along as they were. But they don't. And we certainly don't want our friends or family members to know how difficult things are--we don't want to fail at our ‘job’ of giving loving care. I know, I've been there.

                As a result we often don't realize (or won't even consider) what is happening to us until finally a doctor says, "You do realize your husband/wife, has Alzheimer's?"

                 Of course we don't. How could we? This couldn't happen to us! But, sadly, it can and does.

                That realization often comes about the same time the caregiver is totally exhausted, or perhaps discovers ‘she/he’ has a heart condition or some other major devastating illness that will keep us from continuing our self-appointed tasks. That's usually when the ill partner ends up in a nursing home or perhaps has to have full time home care. And life as it always was is over for both partners.

                I know, I've been there. I was the ‘lucky’ one--I was the caregiver. I had the heart condition.

We moved to Port Townsend less than two years ago and my husband entered a nursing home. He had to have full-time care. I visited him daily, but his daily care was now being done very well by others. He quit walking and used a walker, then a wheelchair. He gradually quit talking or participating in any activities. He no longer knew my name. He did, however, brighten up and give me a big smile when he saw me, held my hand and kissed me goodbye when I left. These visits were so very sad. He was really gone.

                It's been nearly eight months since he died. I'm still working on regaining my health, thanks to good exercise and care. I am lucky to be here and have the loving family and friends I have, but I'm concerned about friends and others who are going through what I went through and are still in the denial stage. Being a caregiver is not always a choice but a necessity, and caregivers also need help.

                You offer much hope and good ideas for caregivers through your valuable columns. Thank you so very much for what you are doing to help so many others.”

                Sad story? Or a wonderful story about a sad thing? Joanne is a “survivor” and, obviously, did what she needed to do and chose to do so, to me, it’s a wonderful story. Could “help” have helped her? I don’t know. Could “help” you? I don’t know, but if you’re walking this walk, the word “help” is likely to get your attention, so one more time:

                If you’re in east Jefferson County, call Heaven Gregg at 379-4421 or 800-801-0050. Port Angeles/Sequim? Call Carolyn at 417-8554 or 866-450-3152. West End? Susie, at 374-9496 or 888-571-6559.

                Speaking of “help,” here’s another one from a been-there, done-that reader:

                “I have a couple of books to recommend to you and your readers. The first is brand new: ‘A Bitter-Sweet Season: Caring for Our Aging Parents – And Ourselves,’ by Jane Gross. I wish I’d had this book when caring for my mother. Not only does Gross narrate her horrendous experiences. But also gives practical advice about dealing with agencies (ahem!) and getting the most from them.

                The second book I read a few years ago, and mainly concerns Alzheimer’s patients in an institutional setting; surprisingly, it’s funny as well as sad. It’s called, ‘Dancing with Rose,’ and the author is Kessler (forgot the first name). I practically forced it on my mom’s wonderful caregiver, and she liked it, too.”

                “Help” only helps if it helps and, sometimes, just knowing that you’re not alone, helps.

                You’re not.

Peninsula Daily News column, 7-14-11 "Reader walks the walk on caregiving"

                Last week I went on about caregivers and caregiving. I do that a lot because there are a lot of caregivers do a lot of caregiving, whether we think of ourselves as “caregivers,” or not.

                And there are getting to be more and more of us caregivers doing caregiving all the time; in fact, on an hourly basis – Literally. And if we cave in…Well, it won’t be pretty for anybody.

                So I go on and on about this because what it really comes down to is keeping people alive, whether you’re giving the care or getting the care – Alive, day-by-day, getting through the day – Alive.

                OK, so I go on and on, but no one ever has or ever will say it as well as folks who have walked the walk, or still are, so here’s what one reader has to say, with her permission; we’ll call her “Joanne,” because that’s her name:

                “I read your column in the PDN faithfully. You are just so right on about so many things. Especially when you address the subject of caregivers. I was one of those for many years--without even knowing it.

My husband died of Alzheimer's. Being a caregiver to an adult is akin to being the parent of a tiny, helpless infant, only in reverse. The baby cannot care for itself; talk, walk, or do anything. Then it starts to smile, cries, burbles a bit and gradually it grows into a real, happy independent person.

                For the ill adult the process works backwards: slowly and almost  imperceptibly he/she becomes more and more dependent on someone else as he/she gradually becomes less able take care of himself: cannot dress himself, feed himself, walk, communicate, or do any of the things we automatically take for granted that adults do.

We are aware that our loved one can't do these things but we refuse to accept it. Denial is so much easier. We think if we work hard enough and love hard enough we can keep things running along as they were. But they don't. And we certainly don't want our friends or family members to know how difficult things are--we don't want to fail at our ‘job’ of giving loving care. I know, I've been there.

                As a result we often don't realize (or won't even consider) what is happening to us until finally a doctor says, "You do realize your husband/wife, has Alzheimer's?"

                 Of course we don't. How could we? This couldn't happen to us! But, sadly, it can and does.

                That realization often comes about the same time the caregiver is totally exhausted, or perhaps discovers ‘she/he’ has a heart condition or some other major devastating illness that will keep us from continuing our self-appointed tasks. That's usually when the ill partner ends up in a nursing home or perhaps has to have full time home care. And life as it always was is over for both partners.

                I know, I've been there. I was the ‘lucky’ one--I was the caregiver. I had the heart condition.

We moved to Port Townsend less than two years ago and my husband entered a nursing home. He had to have full-time care. I visited him daily, but his daily care was now being done very well by others. He quit walking and used a walker, then a wheelchair. He gradually quit talking or participating in any activities. He no longer knew my name. He did, however, brighten up and give me a big smile when he saw me, held my hand and kissed me goodbye when I left. These visits were so very sad. He was really gone.

                It's been nearly eight months since he died. I'm still working on regaining my health, thanks to good exercise and care. I am lucky to be here and have the loving family and friends I have, but I'm concerned about friends and others who are going through what I went through and are still in the denial stage. Being a caregiver is

 not always a choice but a necessity, and caregivers also need help.

                You offer much hope and good ideas for caregivers through your valuable columns. Thank you so very much for what you are doing to help so many others.”

                Sad story? Or a wonderful story about a sad thing? Joanne is a “survivor” and, obviously, did what she needed to do and chose to do so, to me, it’s a wonderful story. Could “help” have helped her? I don’t know. Could “help” you? I don’t know, but if you’re walking this walk, the word “help” is likely to get your attention, so one more time:

                If you’re in east Jefferson County, call Heaven Gregg at 379-4421 or 800-801-0050. Port Angeles/Sequim? Call Carolyn at 417-8554 or 866-450-3152. West End? Susie, at 374-9496 or 888-571-6559.

                Speaking of “help,” here’s another one from a been-there, done-that reader:

                “I have a couple of books to recommend to you and your readers. The first is brand new: ‘A Bitter-Sweet Season: Caring for Our Aging Parents – And Ourselves,’ by Jane Gross. I wish I’d had this book when caring for my mother. Not only does Gross narrate her horrendous experiences. But also gives practical advice about dealing with agencies (ahem!) and getting the most from them.

                The second book I read a few years ago, and mainly concerns Alzheimer’s patients in an institutional setting; surprisingly, it’s funny as well as sad. It’s called, ‘Dancing with Rose,’ and the author is Kessler (forgot the first name). I practically forced it on my mom’s wonderful caregiver, and she liked it, too.”

                “Help” only helps if it helps and, sometimes, just knowing that you’re not alone, helps.

                You’re not.

Peninsula Daily News column, 7-7-11 "Help is out there for caregivers"

                “Caregiver” is a funny word, because it means almost nothing to the people that it’s meant to describe.

                Everybody else knows what it means – Pretty much, more-or-less – But to most of the people that are actually “giving care,” it means…somebody else, like people who get paid to do the hardest work there is, whether that’s in folks’ homes or facilities or wherever; sometimes, it can even mean “…what my mother did” or “…what my sister is doing” or whomever wherever, but it almost never means “me.”

                Because “I” am just the daughter or the grandson or the wife or the husband or the cousin or the niece or (Yes, I’ve seen this) the ex-spouse, or or or – Or any combination thereof. And I’m just doing what I: want to do/need to do/should do/am supposed to do/have to do because of love/loyalty/duty/necessity or – Default: There isn’t anyone else who can.

                Or will.

                So, it’s “me,” and I’m taking care of someone who needs to be taken care of – It’s what I “do,” not who I am.

                Wanna bet?

                Here (again) is my operative definition of a “caregiver:” A caregiver is someone who is taking care of someone who needs to be taken care of, whether they (or you) like it or not. Sound familiar?

                Maybe you, Caregiver, are honored to be able to do what you’re doing – Maybe you’re not. Maybe you do what you do out of love – Maybe you don’t. Maybe you’re just one of those magical people who are natural caregivers and can give and give and give and find joy and fulfillment in the moment-to-moment acts of kindness and generosity that fill every day, while keeping several thousand balls in the air simultaneously in a never-ending performance of juggling 36 hours through a 24-hour day.

                Maybe you’re not.

                But those of us who do it, or have done it, know what’s true: It started out being “what we do,” then, somehow, it gradually became “who we are,” and it doesn’t seem to matter whether it’s 24-7/365 or just helping with this-and-that, now-and-then – It changes you; maybe for the better, maybe not, but change you, it will.

                It already has. Maybe it changed your life or your own family or your job or your habits, or even where you live. Maybe you’re doing things that you thought you’d never do, or things that you thought you couldn’t (or wouldn’t) do. And, maybe, this is all you can see for as far as you can see – It changes you.

                So, on we go, day after inevitable day, not being “caregivers” – No, that’s somebody else.

                No, it isn’t.

                And here’s something else that is almost universal for all of us who aren’t caregivers: There is almost no such thing as help, because here’s what we know: There is nothing and nobody who could do it as well or as gently or as lovingly or as skillfully or as patiently or as correctly or as unselfishly or as consistently as we can. Nothing. Nobody. Just us, so on we go, because going on is all there is.

                OK, I get it, but what if there were help for those of us who aren’t caregivers? -  I didn’t say “miracles,” I said “help” – What then? Would you take it? I know what you’re thinking; you’re thinking, “Hmpf – Depends on what ‘help’ is.” You’re right; me, too. And what’s “help” to you might not be “help” to me. Fair enough.

                But would you try it? I know you don’t have time, but if this is all you can see for as far as you can see, would you try? – Then try this:

                If you live in the general vicinity of Port Angeles or Sequim, call Carolyn Lindley at 417-8554 (1-866-450-3152). If you’re in or around the West End, call Susie Brandelius at 374-9496 or 1-888-571-6559. If you’re anywhere in east Jefferson county, call Heaven Gregg at 379-4421 (1-800-801-0050) and say “caregiver” or “caregiving” or something like that – They’ll get it – And see where it goes. They can’t sell you anything because they don’t have anything to sell, and it’s not like you’ll be obligated to do anything – You can always hang-up or walk away, and go back to not being a caregiver.

                You have nothing to lose, except a few minutes that you can’t afford, and I know that as well as you do, but…What if…? Maybe. If it’s all you can see for as far as you can see – Maybe.

                And as long as we’re talking about miracles (because, we are), try this: What if you had a “chronic condition,” like diabetes or asthma or heart disease or arthritis or chronic pain or any of several thousand others, and you had an opportunity to manage those symptoms and get some of your life back, would you take it? I didn’t say get “well” – I said, “…get some of your life back” – Maybe?

                OK, you have another shot at a free (Yes, FREE) “Living Well with Chronic Conditions” workshop. It’s going to start next Thursday (July 21^st) at the Port Angeles Senior Center (328 E. 7^th), at 1:00, and go until 3:30; then, it’ll be at the same time for five more Thursdays. Not sure? Fair enough, go to http://livingwell.doh.wa.gov/ and have a look.

                The people who run these know what they’re doing, and the other people who will be there will know what you’re doing – Because they’re doing it, too. Just call Paulette at 1-866-582-1487 and say “OK” (or something like that) then, do it. It changes lives.

                If it’s all you can see for as far as you can see, maybe.

Peninsula Daily News column 7-7-11 "Help is out there for caregivers"

                “Caregiver” is a funny word, because it means almost nothing to the people that it’s meant to describe.

                Everybody else knows what it means – Pretty much, more-or-less – But to most of the people that are actually “giving care,” it means…somebody else, like people who get paid to do the hardest work there is, whether that’s in folks’ homes or facilities or wherever; sometimes, it can even mean “…what my mother did” or “…what my sister is doing” or whomever wherever, but it almost never means “me.”

                Because “I” am just the daughter or the grandson or the wife or the husband or the cousin or the niece or (Yes, I’ve seen this) the ex-spouse, or or or – Or any combination thereof. And I’m just doing what I: want to do/need to do/should do/am supposed to do/have to do because of love/loyalty/duty/necessity or – Default: There isn’t anyone else who can.

                Or will.

                So, it’s “me,” and I’m taking care of someone who needs to be taken care of – It’s what I “do,” not who I am.

                Wanna bet?

                Here (again) is my operative definition of a “caregiver:” A caregiver is someone who is taking care of someone who needs to be taken care of, whether they (or you) like it or not. Sound familiar?

                Maybe you, Caregiver, are honored to be able to do what you’re doing – Maybe you’re not. Maybe you do what you do out of love – Maybe you don’t. Maybe you’re just one of those magical people who are natural caregivers and can give and give and give and find joy and fulfillment in the moment-to-moment acts of kindness and generosity that fill every day, while keeping several thousand balls in the air simultaneously in a never-ending performance of juggling 36 hours through a 24-hour day.

                Maybe you’re not.

                But those of us who do it, or have done it, know what’s true: It started out being “what we do,” then, somehow, it gradually became “who we are,” and it doesn’t seem to matter whether it’s 24-7/365 or just helping with this-and-that, now-and-then – It changes you; maybe for the better, maybe not, but change you, it will.

                It already has. Maybe it changed your life or your own family or your job or your habits, or even where you live. Maybe you’re doing things that you thought you’d never do, or things that you thought you couldn’t (or wouldn’t) do. And, maybe, this is all you can see for as far as you can see – It changes you.

                So, on we go, day after inevitable day, not being “caregivers” – No, that’s somebody else.

                No, it isn’t.

                And here’s something else that is almost universal for all of us who aren’t caregivers: There is almost no such thing as help, because here’s what we know: There is nothing and nobody who could do it as well or as gently or as lovingly or as skillfully or as patiently or as correctly or as unselfishly or as consistently as we can. Nothing. Nobody. Just us, so on we go, because going on is all there is.

                OK, I get it, but what if there were help for those of us who aren’t caregivers? -  I didn’t say “miracles,” I said “help” – What then? Would you take it? I know what you’re thinking; you’re thinking, “Hmpf – Depends on what ‘help’ is.” You’re right; me, too. And what’s “help” to you might not be “help” to me. Fair enough.

                But would you try it? I know you don’t have time, but if this is all you can see for as far as you can see, would you try? – Then try this:

                If you live in the general vicinity of Port Angeles or Sequim, call Carolyn Lindley at 417-8554 (1-866-450-3152). If you’re in or around the West End, call Susie Brandelius at 374-9496 or 1-888-571-6559. If you’re anywhere in east Jefferson county, call Heaven Gregg at 379-4421 (1-800-801-0050) and say “caregiver” or “caregiving” or something like that – They’ll get it – And see where it goes. They can’t sell you anything because they don’t have anything to sell, and it’s not like you’ll be obligated to do anything – You can always hang-up or walk away, and go back to not being a caregiver.

                You have nothing to lose, except a few minutes that you can’t afford, and I know that as well as you do, but…What if…? Maybe. If it’s all you can see for as far as you can see – Maybe.

                And as long as we’re talking about miracles (because, we are), try this: What if you had a “chronic condition,” like diabetes or asthma or heart disease or arthritis or chronic pain or any of several thousand others, and you had an opportunity to manage those symptoms and get some of your life back, would you take it? I didn’t say get “well” – I said, “…get some of your life back” – Maybe?

                OK, you have another shot at a free (Yes, FREE) “Living Well with Chronic Conditions” workshop. It’s going to start next Thursday (July 21^st) at the Port Angeles Senior Center (328 E. 7^th), at 1:00, and go until 3:30; then, it’ll be at the same time for five more Thursdays. Not sure? Fair enough, go to http://livingwell.doh.wa.gov/ and have a look.

                The people who run these know what they’re doing, and the other people who will be there will know what you’re doing – Because they’re doing it, too. Just call Paulette at 1-866-582-1487 and say “OK” (or something like that) then, do it. It changes lives.

                If it’s all you can see for as far as you can see, maybe.

Peninsula Daily News column, 6-30-11, "Chance to 'help' overcomes pride"

                “Pride cometh before a fall,” we’ve been told; well, nothing can hurt your pride (and other relevant body parts) like falling over, but, no – I’m not going to go on about “fall prevention,” although it puts more of us in nursing homes and morgues than you might care to know.

                No, today I’m going to go on about “pride” – And independence. And fear.

                And “help.”

                Not long ago I was contacted by the son of a local gal. The son lives in another state with a family, a job and a life, and he obviously loves his mother.

                He contacted me looking for help for his Mom, because he thought she might be “slipping;” you know, maybe not remembering everything, maybe not eating so well, maybe not getting the house work done, and…Maybe not remembering everything, like medical appointments! – And maybe not being able to get around, anymore, and maybe…not…maybe.

                We talked on the phone for a while. As it turned out, he and his sister, who lives in another state with a family, a job and a life and, as it turned out, obviously loves her mother, were going to be in town soon, so maybe we could get together and get into a bit more detail about “help.” Sure! And maybe your mom could join us.

                Well, she did, and, as it turns out, she and I had talked about this-and-that at one or two of our events, in the past – No, we don’t hang-out together on weekends, but we were certainly able and quick to say, “Hi-how-are-ya?”

                We talked. They talked. I paid particular attention to what Mom had to say; so, what’s my “take” on Mom? Well, maybe a little early memory loss and maybe a bit of relatively “minor” confusion, but alert, bright, quick to laugh and able to pretty much follow the conversation, but I’m no diagnostician.

                We talked. They talked. Son and daughter, who obviously love their mother, wanted Mom to get help at home as soon as possible, so we talked about homecare agencies and home-delivered meals and transportation and blah blah – Even “housing options,” which is a euphemism for things like assisted living facilities, etc – But mostly we talked about help at home: homecare agencies, private providers, etc – Help at HOME.

                The kids were respectful of Mom’s independence, but the kids were also afraid for her – I don’t blame them.

                Mom took all this “help at home” talk with something less than unbridled enthusiasm: She smiled a lot and nodded a lot and kidded a bit and pointed out all the things that she was doing for herself, thank-you-very-much, but mostly she smiled a lot and nodded a lot. I started focusing, pretty much exclusively, on Mom and Mom started talking, more-or-less exclusively, to me; sometimes, it’s easier to do that with a stranger.

                Mom and I both knew what would happen: The kids had families and jobs and lives in other states, and soon they would have to go home, and all of this would go away. Mom was doing a great job of “getting through it.”

                So, I negotiated with Mom: “What’s the hardest thing for you to get done these days?” Vacuuming!” (Note: Vacuuming is often a biggie, because it’s hard work – Especially in a split-level home)…”Well, and on some days, getting the laundry up and down those stairs…” Other than that, everything was fine.

                You could hear the kids’ eyes roll.

                Here’s what Mom and I negotiated: She and the kids would contact all of the local homecare agencies for prices, “minimums,” procedures, etc (Note: The kids were footing the bills), and find one who could send in someone in just to help with the vacuuming and the laundry: “Hey, look: If she rubs you the wrong way, you can always fire her or get somebody else.” While Mom’s unbridled enthusiasm remained – Distinctly! – Bridled, she saw the same thing that I saw: A way out.

                A way to ameliorate the kids and get them out-of-town and off-her-back, without seeming ungrateful or making them angry: “I can live with that.” She smiled.

                The kids didn’t, but they saw the same thing that I saw, which was that this was as good as this was going to get, and that’s what did, ultimately, occur.

                The other thing that occurred was that the kids – Who obviously love their Mother! – Were a bit disgusted with me. They expected, and wanted, me to be on their “side” – To see that Mom needed help and to help them talk her into “help.” Here’s why I didn’t do that: It almost never works.

                We come charging in, set up all kinds of “help” (because we obviously love our mothers) then go back to our families, our lives and our jobs, and as soon as Mom figures that your plane has landed, she fires everybody and stops everything and resolves to NEVER go through that AGAIN!

                It’s about independence and it’s about fear, but for today, it can just be about “pride.”

                Here’s what I got: A chance. There was a chance that the homecare aide who came in to help Mom with the vacuuming and the laundry would be a good, decent, pleasant, respectful person – They often are.

                And there was a chance that they would become “friends,” so there was a chance that, as time went on, Mom might be open to a little more help with a few other things. And there was a chance that homecare aide would become the eyes-and-ears in Mom’s house – A decent person who could see how Mom was really doing.

                And there was a chance that Mom might even call me to talk “it” over, so I was willing to take a chance at having a chance, rather than know darned-good-and-well that Mom would blow-up the whole darned thing before the kids got through airport security.

                We’ll see. I don’t blame the kids for being disgusted with me, because they didn’t get the “help” they thought they wanted. Mom got more “help” than she thought she wanted, but she could live with it.

                And, happily, I got the only thing that I wanted: A chance.

                “Help” only helps if the person being “helped” thinks it helps; otherwise, it’s just another annoyance, and we all know how we deal with annoyances.

                Pride is important.

                Respect is important.

                Love is important.

                I’ll take my chances.

Peninsula Daily News column, 6-23-11, "Speak your piece on Alzheimer's site"

                Toward the end of last year (2010 – I know, it was a long time ago!), in my characteristically humble and self-effacing style, I realized that I’d had a really good idea, so decided to share it with all of you. My “really good idea” was to just get rid of Alzheimer’s disease, once and for all – That’s right: Eliminate it.

                Well, sure, I realized that there wasn’t a lot of “loose change” lying around, but a crisis is a CRISIS! – And since we’ve done it before, when we put our collective, national mind to it (think, polio, for one), let’s just eliminate this scourge that takes an unbelievable daily toll in human suffering, for people with Alzheimer’s, certainly, but for their families and caregivers, as well.

                It is not all that unusual, in my world, for the caregiver to work herself or himself into the ground (literally!), and be the “first to go.” Enough: End this thing.

                Well! While I would have told you, in my characteristically humble and self-effacing style, that it was highly unlikely for me to underestimate me, apparently I did, because – In a matter of days! – Congress passed, and on January 4, 2011, the President signed into law, the “National Alzheimer’s Project Act.”

                “You’re welcome,” he said, humbly.

                So, now what? The Alzheimer’s Association, which has been all over this thing from the beginning, is asking to hear from real people – People who have been or are being impacted by Alzheimer’s – What exactly ought to be included in the national strategy to put an end to this thing.

                Sure, we all want “THE cure” or the vaccine or whatever (but don’t hesitate to tell them that), but there’s more to it, and if you’ve walked-the-walk, you know it: What about “respite?” Or “social daycare?” Or “caregiver support?” Or transportation? Or…?

                Nobody – I repeat, NOBODY! – Knows as much about Alzheimer’s disease as the folks who live with it, and try to deal with it, every day, day-after-day, all day long. Nobody.

                So, here is the question that the Alzheimer’s Association would like you to respond to: “What is the greatest challenge, frustration or concern you have about Alzheimer’s that you want the National Alzheimer’s Plan to address?”

                Yes, I know what those words say, but I’ll bet you can have more than one.

                If you’ve dealt with the Alzheimer’s Association, you know that they “know,” and they care, so tell them: Go to www.alz.org/napa and speak your piece.

                And, by the way, if you and/or yours are dealing with Alzheimer’s, www.alz.org is an amazing source of information and support for real people who are doing the real work.

                Speak up – Please.

                Now, let’s try something different since, as previously noted, there doesn’t seem to be a lot of loose change lying around, and since it was “news” to me, I humbly presume that it will be “news” to you.

                “EyeCare America” is a public service program of the American Academy of Ophthalmology, and they will provide a comprehensive, medical eye exam and up to one year of care as no out-of-pocket cost, for any disease diagnosed during that exam, if you’re eligible. I know what you’re thinking, and the answer is, “No. They will not provide free eyeglasses,” but that doesn’t mean that you might not need the help.

                Who’s eligible? Anyone 65 or better who hasn’t seen an ophthalmologist in three years or more, doesn’t belong to an HMO or have eye care through the Veteran’s Administration (VA). These volunteer ophthalmologists will waive co-payment and unmet deductibles and accept Medicare and/or other insurance reimbursements as payment in full. No insurance, no charge.

                OR, if you don’t “fit” the above, but you’re at increased risk for glaucoma due to age, race or family history, and haven’t had an eye exam in 12 months or more, you might be eligible to get a free glaucoma eye exam, if you’re uninsured.

                What do you do? You get on the computer, or have someone get on a computer on your behalf, and go to www.eyecareamerica.org where you’ll: (1) accept the program guidelines; (2) work through the questionnaire; (3) record the confirmation number. Period.

                I did it. The web site is simple and “friendly,” (by the way, there’s a quite a bit of good, straightforward info there, too) and the questionnaire took about 5 minutes. I kept expecting it to ask me about income or assets, but it never did. It does ask about insurance – Fair enough.

                Look (he said, talking about eye care), some of us can use all the help we can get so we don’t end up needing more help, so if this sounds at all like it could do you some good, why not? If you don’t have a computer and don’t know anyone who does (or who you are comfortable asking) call any of the numbers at the end of this column and decent people will help you, for free. And they won’t try to sell you anything, because we don’t have anything to sell.

                So, let’s conclude the day with the obvious observation that, YES! I probably am the most incredibly and inspirationally HUMBLE person there ever was!

                …aw, shucks…