The Book

I was indeed flattered when I took my mom to her geriatric psychologist and she offered me a job, told me to write a book, and said she wanted to call me to pick my brain. For a brief moment, I imagined myself winning the Nobel Prize for Dementia and basked in the light of someone thinking I had something valuable to share, even if it is a shrink fascinated by my firsthand knowledge of the world of Alzheimer's.

I told her that I already had a job watching the folks and that if and when I get back into the job market it sure won't be as a caregiver. She assured me that that's not what she had in mind, but reminded me that the vastly unexplored world of dementia needed brave explorers and creative geniuses to make a difference, especially when it comes to the travesty of elder abuse.

So I think I will begin by joining the Walk to Find a Cure for Alzheimer's on May 7th at Doheny Beach and I will also get serious about starting my book, the one titled, "Hi, Mom, I'm Your Daughter, Joyce".
I may have to change my name to protect the less than innocent and very innocent. Perhaps if it's published under a nom de plume I will be more forthright. Then when I'm asked to go on Oprah and tell all, oh wait, she's retiring...oh well, whomever takes her place, I will be interviewed as a shadowy figure behind a curtain with a deep growly disguised electronic voice.

Here is my Prologue:

Any random afternoon---

"Mom, let me help you go to the bathroom."
"Who?"
"You."
"Me?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Because you just said you wanted to go to the bathroom."
"Who did?"
"You did."
"Why?"
"I guess because you needed to go to the bathroom."
"The bathroom?"
"Yes."
"What's the bathroom?"
"I don't know, Mom, just let me help you."
"Help me? I don't even know who you are!"
"I'm your daughter, Joyce, and I'd like to take you to the bathroom."
"Why?"
"Nevermind."
"What?"
"Nevermind.".........
....one minute passes....
"Where's the bathroom?"
and we start the dance again.

Here's part of chapter whatever:

It had been a warm and sunny peaceful Sabbath afternoon. I'd come home from church and our caregiver, Jackie, said that Mom was napping; she was very exhausted, as though the mental energy of trying to figure out her world had taxed all her strength and she'd gone to bed.

Good, I thought. I like coming home from 3 hours of church and being able to read a little and take a nap myself. Especially on Fast Sunday. I said hi to Dad who asked me where I'd been. At church, I told him.
"Church?" he inquired. "On Friday?"
Uh oh. That wasn't a good sign. Dad's supposed to be the 96-year old who still has it altogether.
"Dad, it's Sunday?"
"Really? I guess I missed a few days" he replies somewhat perplexed.
"Well, you're reading the Sunday paper," I responded.
"Hmmmm" he said softly.
Jackie looked at me and said, "That explains it. He's been calling me Anna all day."
Anna is our Friday caregiver who helps for four hours while I run away and get lost in the world of the living.
Jackie left. Dad closed his eyes to sleep in his tan recliner. I went upstairs to read on my bed and feel the warmth of the sun through my bedroom windows.

An hour later Mom wakes up. Coming through the baby monitor I hear, "Yoo hoo! Anyone here?" I rush downstairs.
Mom is indeed a cheerful happy soul suddenly, refreshed from a few hours of sleeping and suggests we all go out to eat hamburgers. I really don't like to eat out on Sundays but this is the third day in a row that she's wanted to go out to eat and she's so smiley and happy I don't want to break her good mood. Dad, always ready for a ride and a change of scenery is all for it. I help Dad with his walker to the car and strap him in the back seat. I walk Mom around to the other side of the car behind the driver's side and strap her in. It's 5 o'clock and sunny with a beautiful clear blue California sky to look at.
"Where do you want to go, Dad?" I ask.
"How 'bout Carl's Jr."
"Okay. Let's go to the one by Doheny Beach and then eat at the harbor.
Off we go, everyone's happy. I'm relaxed and calculating what I can eat since I'm always trying to diet and rarely succeeding.
As we head down Golden Lantern Drive and see the glorious Pacific Ocean in the distance I mention to Dad and Mom to look at the view. Isn't it beautiful I exclaim.
Suddenly, Mom starts getting worried. "I'm getting sick!" she moans. "I'm getting sick!"
Dad ignores her. I look over my shoulder back at her and try to reassure her.
"Mom, we're going out for hamburgers and we're going to eat them by the beach."
I think all she sees is some scary random person in dark sunglasses staring back at her.
"Tony, Tony, we need to get out. They're going to try and drown us in the ocean! Let me out! Let me out!"
Think Meg Ryan at the beginning of the movie, "French Kiss."
I hear a click and the words on my dashboard read LEFT DOOR OPEN.
I quickly pull over, put the car in park, jump out, close Mom's door tightly, jump back in the car and lock all the doors with one switch.
I've got to remember to lock all the doors whenever I'm driving I think to myself and probably say outloud.

But it just gets worse from here.

Dun dun dun.....

Comments or suggestions anyone?