Subdued Joe the Cookie Monster

Dad went in to this week in disbelief that the center really meant that he wasn't going to play the piano three times each week anymore. They were wrong, they didn't understand, they would change their mind, he could persuade them to change their mind, he would boycott, (not his word) their center until they changed their mind, etc. He gets to play on Tuesday, so he went prepared to play and to go to war to secure his turf. He came home Tuesday night exultant. They had changed their mind and he was back on tap three days a week. I was suspicious of this change of events since they had called us and told us that wasn't true. So, I called them to find out what was up. NO, they had said nothing to him to indicate he was playing again. NO, he wasn't playing again. YES, he had made a big argument that was only ended when the director left him sitting arguing only with himself while she went and took care of center business. Her leaving the scene must have been his assurance of conquest. That or only hearing what he want to hear. For example. The conversation on her part went like this. "JOE, WE NEED TO HAVE other things that people do around here beside just YOU PLAYING THE PIANO. There are other activities that would help people be more active and involved than listening to you THREE DAYS A WEEK." Now, just read the capitalized words and you will see what he hears. It's like that around the house as well. He only hears part, analyzes part and responds to part of what is said. It is Alzheimer's accompanied by selective hearing. The selective hearing part was in effect before the Alzheimer's part.

Anyway, I told him that he must have misunderstood the director, that I was sure she had said that he was only going to play one day a week. Boy, did he blow up. Vesuvius!! I was a wrong minded blah, blah, blah. So, he went on Thursday all ready to play, and he didn't. A much more subdued Joe came home that night. If it had only been that simple. But, of course, with Dad nothing is simple. He didn't want to go if he couldn't play. He made horrible accusations against them for being terrible liars. Getting him to go back was a war. Quite honestly, he has no choice in the matter. He can't just sit in his room staring at his walls all day. My bride can't entertain him for 5 straight hours like they do at the center. Inactivity breeds auxiliary problems that become major issues themselves. For his good he must go to the center or finally enter a nursing home. For our good it is probably the latter choice only, but our good is not the only good to be considered. He has a very low opinion of nursing homes and placing him there right now would not necessarily be in his best interest. He argued that there had to be a third choice, one of his making and very vivid imagination. Do you remember all the things a child of five thought were possible. Five year old imaginations of the impossibly possible don't hold a candle to Dad. There isn't a third choice. He went back.

The Cookie Monster. My bride makes cookies every week. There aren't many people left around here to eat them with 5 of our six children grown and gone. But, the cookies disappear at a very rapid rate. No, I am not gaining weight. Yesterday we found out why. Dad is quiet as a mouse. He sneaks around and can come upon us quite suddenly and unexpectedly. Well, it seems he has been making treks into the kitchen unnoticed. He stuffed the pockets of his pants full of cookies. We mentioned it today to our daughter and she said oh, yeah, he does it all the time when we aren't around. If he just sees her in the house he will raid the cookie jar or rummage in the fridge for any sweets available. The nurse said not to worry about it as his Alzheimer's is already starting to cause weight loss and he can't process the calories he intakes. But it does answer the question of where all those cookies were going. It also demonstrates the nature of his mind. He would never raid the cookie jar or the fridge in front of an adult, but he doesn't hesitate to do so in front of one of the "other" children. Even though we don't care, it is his little way of staying in control.