talking to myself

An encounter

I was parked in the Kroger parking lot here in Conyers, Ga., waiting for Ed to return from a stop he needed to make.  As I sat in my car, making my brain even more dead by listening to talk radio, which seems to be saying, that the world is on the verge of being made into a smoothie, by the blender of the world situation. Just add some ice cream for flavor, and let Bush, or whoever is made the current villain, press the button.  Add that to looking out on a very crowded parking lot and well you can see my mood was not very elevated.

Like most, I suppose, I have a love, hate, relationship with strip mall architecture.  I love the convenience of it all.  For instance from my seat in the car, I can see three very fine restaurants; a Sushi bar, a Thai restaurant, and a Chinese buffet, all in one shopping mall. Strips malls do that, but they are also a blight on the landscape. Though a necessary one, considering the population density of the area that I live in. 

Well in the midst of this, just when the talk radio host was really getting anal about his political beliefs, I heard a soft feminine voice quietly saying “excuse me sir can I talk with you a short while”.  Since I have never been approached like this in a parking lot, I smiled and said ok.  At first I thought she was someone that knew me, and that I would soon be able to place her face.  However when she got closer I could see that she was carrying two non-glossy magazines in her hand.  So I said, “You are a Jehovah Witness, aren’t you?”   She said yes, smiled and started to talk.   My first impression was a very good one.  She seemed to be in her late forties or early fifties, gentle, with a kind demeanor.  Before she continued, I told her that I have studied her beliefs, and even read their magazine from time to time when sitting in doctors offices; something I do a great deal of.  She was pleased, and she gave me her little talk, I listened, and in was over in about 60 seconds.  She left me with two copies of the “Watchtower” and left.

I found my mood lighten a bit.  Not because I was even close to becoming a Jehovah Witness, but out of the simple fact that she would take the chance and approach me.  I have been similarly approached on different occasions by these people, and from my limited experience, they seem always to be gentle, kind, and respectful when speaking to me.  Funny, when I read literature about them from outsiders, they are made to be brainwashed cultist, but I don’t think that is true.  Though they are a bit too fundamentalist for me, I still find myself always enjoying my little conversations with them.

I would also think it takes a certain kind of courage to do that, approach a stranger in a parking lot and then to witness to them.  I could never do that.  I have never worn my faith on my sleeve, and don’t usually speak about it unless addressed, don’t know why, I am just shy that way.  Perhaps it is because over all I have had some pretty bad experience, from some types, who seem it is their duty to tell me I am going to hell because I am catholic.  I suppose it also takes charity for them to risk approaching strangers in the attempt to try to bring them the truth as they see it.  Perhaps love is a better word.  Even the ones who attacked me perhaps were acting out of love, though it had the opposite affect that they would have wished.  Fear never works.

I have a memory that happened in 1967, when I was on my weekend leave from boot camp.  It was a Sunday morning, and a very nice lady, perhaps in her late fifties, approached me and asked if I wanted to go to her church.  I was even back then, touched, by her obvious desire to help a young man find some truth; but I declined.  For some reason I regret doing that, she seemed the kind of person that I would have liked to know better, talk to, even if we might not agree on everything.  I am after all a man of faith.

I suppose my writing is doing some of the above for me, perhaps this late in life I need to for some reason let others what is going on within me, and one day the need will simply be gone.

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my old tired struggle

My old tired struggle

My innards boil,
Rage like a fiery serpent taunt,
Coiled with dark energy seeking a target,
Lusting to strike,
Unthinking.

In a blessed unconscious moment,
A scapegoat sought,
To release my pent up repressed rage.
Followed by shame,
Repression yet again.

Rage deep,
In caverns bottomless hidden,
Its roots wrapped around my heart
Squeezing hard,
Shattering the soul

An endless maze with no escape,
Or so it seems.
Something false I sometimes believe,
Strengthening the prison I inhabit,
Key hidden deeper still.

In darkness at times abiding,
Yet hope not entirely extinguished,
For I feel pursued,
Sought after
By something larger, deeper, more hidden than the key I seek.

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Odd that

We make God into a monster, Creating out of love we say he does, Yet, On the other hand, With fervor strong, deep, and hot, Claiming that evil in the end wins. The majority outside of God’s love To hell doomed, Fiery torment unending, Men and women like me, For some even children, Cosigned to eternal torture. How easy it slips from the tongue, A simple quote, Verse mentioned, To hell consigned, Darkness cold absolute, Satan wins with the greater number, While Christ death seen only for the very few. Odd that, So common This kind of tribalism. Religion, Politics, Race, Yet we also say God is like us, Creating God in our own image and likeness. Worshipping our image, A monster created, Something to be feared and placated Certainly not loved. Love and fear are opposed, One or the other. Less faith is needed in fear, For rage, cruelty and revenge, Easier to understand; Infinite love something unknown to the human heart. It is Moloch the eater of children Worshipped more than we understand, Our own faces upon the idol Displacing what we cannot comprehend. A love passionate Pursuing us without cease, Seeking to dispel the fear embraced. It is ourselves we need to be saved from, Our wrath, The fiery storm is within our hearts, Self-consuming, It is the cooling flame of God’s love that heals

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Flight

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Our own prison making

Our thoughts swirl, Tempest causing, Other times peace their gift, Compulsive in their pattern, Often repeated over and over again Keeping peace and silence at bay. Self obsession blocking reality, Building walls that need not be constructed, Our own prison making. Inner silence hard in achieving The door way to freedom

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Scattered on the wind

Why,
I often asked myself,
Are my insides in conflict?
Saying one thing, doing the opposite,
Acting strong in control,
Knowing I am weak and compelled.

I often feel like an undisciplined mob
Scattered on the wind,
Thoughts racing going nowhere.
Yet,
Who is it asking the question,
This observer calmly looking on.

Am I one or many?
When death comes
Is this observer the one who survives?
The riddle life deepens,
Knowing less each day,
Yet the roots of faith hold strong.

Embracing the darkness,
The light deepens,
That which eludes,
Hides,
Yet pursues,
Draws nearer.

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One of those days

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Kindness unmentioned upon

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Reasons

The days don’t fly by,
They meld.
Bumping into each other,
So close are they.
Each moment an invitation
Seeking a response I often cannot give,
For reasons I often don’t understand,
At other times I do.

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Between two rooms and a hard place

About three years ago we added some rooms to our infirmary.  Two new patient rooms, much roomier than the old ones, also with larger bathroom facilities….. friendlier to wheel chairs of the manual, and electric variety.  We also added on a bathroom, small separate shower room, and three adjoining rooms.  A large storage closet, a small computer room, and office, with the doctor examining room connecting both, all in all a good use of our space I think. 

When we finished the rooms, we moved William into the room farthest from the main meeting room.  The place where we have the TV, and also the dinning and visiting area; which I find to be a cheerful place most of the time.  Emilio went into the room closest, and both seemed very happy with the arrangement.   Emilio had a Jazzy chair, and since they are larger than a wheelchair, he appreciated the added space.  He soon had the room to his likening, which is well organized and neat. 

William also moved in and soon had the room to his liking.  Now William is not like Emilio, what I mean neatness is not a priority with him.  Something we soon learned here.  I remember going into his room and finding most of his clothes scattered around his room.  Some of clothing was on his two chairs; the rest was stacked evenly over his bed.  So I put everything back, since I too am a tad partial to neatness, and left feeling that once again I have saved one small part of the world from the encroaching menace of chaos.  Came back an hour later and everything was back the way it was.  After doing this a couple of more times, I knew I had lost, and made peace with the situation.  It seems that instead of wanting a second blanket, William loves to simply stack whatever clothing he can find over himself for warmth.  Don’t know the why of this, but so it is; a hard fact of reality.  Both were good neighbors, each knew his space, and things went smoothly. 

Then William Alzheimer’s took a turn for the worse, and he became a flight risk.  He became more confused, and did not always know where he was, though he seemed always to remember me.  I think it is my hard headed quality that makes me stick out with some of the residents here.  I liked to bump heads; it is sort of a hobby of mine.  Which can be useful, for I am the bad cop here when the role needs to be played, a much needed role here, though it does not have to be played out very often….. the nurse being the good cop….yes being hard headed has it benefits.

Well William had to be sent to a facility for a few weeks so that his meds could be sorted out.  In the meantime, Emilio came to me as asked if he could have Williams room, since it was further down from the central meeting area and quieter.  So we allowed that, and he moved in straight away, and was happy, at least for awhile.  We moved him in because we thought that when William returned he would not remember where his old room was…..a big mistake on my part.  

William returned and it took some time to get used to him now that his conditioned worsened.  He was always trying to get out, and a couple of times he did; following visitors out, but thankfully we always got him before he got too far. Actually he barely got out of the building.  We also gave him a new room, one in which we could keep a better eye on him.  The problem was that his short memory was pretty much gone, but the memory of his old room, now occupied by Emilio was still strong.  So he kept going into Emilio’s room.  He would go in, and rearrange the room the way he liked it.  That’s right; he would put all of Emilio’s things on the bed and chairs etc……and also use his bathroom.  Emilio being a very private and neat person found this hard to take, though to his credit he tried to be patient and understanding.  I think the straw that broke the camel’s back happened last week.  Emilio went into his what he though would be clean bathroom and discovered that William and been there, easy to do with William.

So last Friday Emilio came to me and ask if he could move into his old room.  Not the one next to William, since it was occupied with Leo, but to the room he lived in before the new ones were built.  Now the room is empty so we said yes.  So Emilio is moved into his old room, and is happy again, though it is a little smaller, and the bathroom not quite as easy to use as the old one, but sufficient for his needs, so he is content, which is easy to do for him.  He is very easy to take care of.

Now we will see.  For the time being, the only thing I can say is that William is between two rooms.  He remembers both at different times.   So hopefully by the time one of the two rooms is needed, he will have finally settled into the larger room that he seems to remember more clearly. The situation had some humor to it.  At least it did for those who worked there, but for Emilio it was not funny, though he was very patient, more patient than most people would be.  Such is Emilio, kind, gentle, intelligent, empathic, and a joy to work with.Now we are waiting to see if William can get some feeling of having his own place where he can call home.

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Hidden from human eyes (written while on retreat)

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Good day's, bad day's

One of my duties when I arrive in the infirmary is to get Leo up, on the days the Hospice nurse does not come in.  Because of his advanced Alzheimer’s he is eligible for hospice care, which is helpful for us.  He has his own nurse, and a PCT comes in a couple of times a week for personal care. 

First thing in the morning, Leo is often ‘clear’.  His aphasia seems to be less, and he can answer questions, speaking clearly.  He can on most mornings, walk back and forth from the bathroom with a little assistance, and in general, when like that his morning routine goes smoothly.   When he does have trouble it is sometimes difficult to know actually why.

Yesterday morning when I woke him he seemed very confused and his aphasia was in full bloom so to speak, all he could speak was ‘nonsense’ syllables, and his mood was pensive.  When I sat him up he cried out, and it took three times to get him to sit up in bed.  I had him hang on to my left arm, and finally was able to get him in an upright position on the side of his bed.  I sat down next to him, and just let him set for a short time to get orientated.

Then I tried to get him to stand up.  When I did this he again cried out and bent over holding his knee.  So I sat him back down and asked him if he was in pain, but all he would do is point to the floor.  Now Leo can often understand what he is asked, even if he can’t verbalize what it is he wants to say.  So I asked him if he was in pain, and his answer was not clear.  So I brought up another question.  If he was afraid of falling, and I got a positive answer by him vigorously shaking his head in the affirmative. 

Sometimes Leo is deathly afraid of falling, since in the past he has had a few, and for some reason this anxiety is stronger on some days, than on others.  Leo is a big man, not heavy, but big boned and strong, so when he is like this I try to talk him into walking with me, letting him know that I will be accompanying him, and that he will not fall.  So after about five minutes he said that he would try, by simply trying to get up and walk.  It was scary for him; he kept bending over, as if by getting closer to the floor the fall would be less. 

Finally got him into the bathroom, and then had to talk him through the procedure of simply holding on to the safety rails that are next to the toilet.  He did not understand what was wanted, so I got one of his hands, and then put in on the rail for him, he then understood, smiled in relief and things went smoothly from there.

Breakfast took a little longer than usual, since he could not this morning use his fork.  He could eat his toast, but had to be fed his eggs, and as usual had to be given his drink.  Some mornings he is more capable than others when taking breakfast, or for that matter any of his meals.  As the morning progressed he seemed to get better, and his anxiety level seemed to lessen. 

Later in the day as he was looking out one of the windows in the main room and trying to talk to me, he suddenly started crying, and talking about those poor people, at least that is one sentence he was able to get out.  I stayed with him for awhile, and when he began to stop crying, I told him I had to go.  He seemed better after that.

So Leo, like everyone else has good days, and bad ones, though overall he is more content than not, and can still laugh easily when he is having smooth sailing so to speak.  He is still in there, and seems to understand, at least most of the time when spoken to; though some days seem foggier than others.  He responds, listens, and does try to do what we ask him.  He is above all else a gentle soul, always has been, and hopefully as his disease continues its progress, his gentleness will help his journey be less difficult.

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Not always a good idea

As I was leaving the dinning room today, I saw William at the table and stopped for awhile to see how he was doing.  He seemed to be doing well, and after a brief discussion I went to the door, hit the combination and left.  Before the lock could catch, William came through the door asking if he could talk to me for a moment.  I could tell he was in a place of great discomfort, that for some reason he did not let me see when I was talking to him over the dinning room table.  So we went into one of the back rooms to talk. 

Again, not surprisingly, he let me know that he wanted to go home.  As he was talking I could tell he was in a place that a more direct approach would work, so I took the chance and was straight with him.  Now this is not always a good idea.  In fact most times it isn’t, but William is not your usual Alzheimer’s patient, and being direct actually works with him.  Most times, with most patients, it is better to enter into their world, and sort of go along with them, and try to find some solution that fits into their time frame.  For instance, the trip home is not until tomorrow, or that their parents long dead, will come and visit them in a few day etc.  This works because their short term memory is …..Well short.   I doubt William remembers the vast majority of things I tell him for very along, in fact there are days when it can easily be measured in actual minuets.

As I told him about his family, and the current state of affairs, I could see him trying to go along with what I was telling him.  I can’t imagine how lonely it must be for him to learn, once again, that his parents are dead, his sister also, and the only family he has left is a niece and a nephew.  So when I finished, he sat quiet, looking at me with such sad eyes, but also knowing that I would not lie to him, and in the end came again to some kind of peace over the matter. 

While he remembers me, he does not really remember the last 15 years of his life; just bits and pieces.  He remembers me because I am with him everyday, but some of the other people working here he does not remember, or perhaps he does off and on.  I suppose the only thing that can be done is to let him know that he will be taken care of no matter what.

For instance sometimes he will come to me and say that he does not have enough money for lunch or supper.  Which of course is causing him some serious anxiety, and fear that he will not be able to eat, or will even be put out.  So again, he is told that we will take care of him, that money is not something he has to worry about.    I am glad that he still trust me, don’t know what will happen if he loses that, if he forgets who I am.

Meds are helping, and little by little we are getting the right combination to help him have a smoother ride.  Say what you will about modern medicine, they are still wonderful, and help to improve the quality of life for many elderly.  If not for his meds, I fear that William’s life would be a nightmare, lost in a maze, not knowing where he is, who he is, and certainly not knowing who I am, and also the others who take care of him.  True his life is extended, but that is worth it, to save him from going through more suffering that he is already going through.

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Gentle touch