Melodramatic Much

 Smart watch update.  About a year ago, I "accidentally" got a smart watch.  What started as an experiment, turned into both Kevin and I being adorned with electronic babysitters.

Overall, I really like having the watch. It encourages me to keep a higher step count, reminds me to stand up and walk around when I'm working, and I like being able to triage messages.  I can glance at my watch and know if it's something that needs a response or if someone sent me a ticktock to watch. The flaw is  that I glance and my brain checks off the message on my internal to-do list.  I use the timers and alarms like a true neurodivergent.  We measure our blood pressure and heart rate before and after visiting my father-in-law. 

One of the features I set up was the In Case of Emergency and Medical Info settings.  I'm allergic to some antibiotics and have food allergies.  Also, it felt like when Lucy and I were doing Big Walkies, there needed to be some safeguards in place.

Like a Fall alert.  It alerts if a hard fall takes place, which I thought was a no-brainer because well, we've met me.

Until.

Until I'm getting ready to get into the shower and I'm in a tiny bit of a hurry because I had to go to a center to do training for work.  Meaning: I had to leave the house.  I set my watch on the bathroom counter then somehow swept it off onto the floor.  It landed on its side onto faux wood flooring with a THUNK.  I picked it up and replaced it onto the counter.

I was enough time in the shower to get all wet when my watch went off.  It sounded a little like an Amber Alert so I glanced at it and thought "It will shut itself off in a minute"  

And it didn't.

So, now soaking wet and with shampoo in my hair, I'm juggling to see my watch with NO GLASSES ON.  It is dialing 911.  

Yeah.

I panicked a little and when the operator came on, I explained "No emergency, my watch decided that I had fallen off a mountain and called you. My apologies"  The operator sounded bored and asked for my name then we disconnected.  

Set the watch back down and finished my shower.  I thought I heard my watch vibrate but didn't see anything when I glanced at it from the shower.  I figured I was probably just over-reactive because it CALLED 911.

Well, imagine my surprise when I picked up my phone to see three missed calls from Kevin.  Oh No.

AND a text message alert that a Hard Fall Had Been Detected:

 

OH NO

I phoned Kevin and he is all WTAF is happening. I explained and he hurriedly said "Call Niece because she is on her way!!"  He had called the KIDS to have them come over to check. The Nephew has already left for work and is not close. The Niece is probably getting Five ready for school or the bus.  Now everyone is in the family is alerted.

So I'm trying to text her while answering his questions and I still not wearing my glasses.   I'm panicking because everyone knows where the spare key is for our house so it's possible for someone bursting into the house while I'm still soaking wet, in a towel, and can't see. I'm fumbling a text to her while internally yelling at myself to just call, but what if she left her phone in the house and (like me) it's always on silent and...  Meanwhile, Kevin is still talking.

Then I get a response from Niece:

Finally, once that Kevin knew that I wasn't dead and the kids had been told to stand down, he says "Actually...that's a good idea. SPECIFICALLY FOR YOU but it needs to calm down."  We discussed reviewing the settings once everyone was calmed down and not in their feelings.

Then I got a text from Nephew:

There is zero shared DNA but he's still my kid lol

Now, of course, I'm late to work.  I'm scurrying around trying to get ready while Lucy is scurrying around behind me because now the vibe of the house is PANIC MODE and she would like to participate.  I had to use the one command that I hate to use:  "It's not that day", which means she dejectedly puts herself in her crate and the guilt is immense.

I make it out of the house and I'm on time for my meeting but off schedule.  I was going to try to make two stops before my meeting but now that's out of the window.  I'm rearranging everything in my head and trying to think about how to get to this center because it's been years since I've been there and...and...and...

A notification shows up on my watch.  It's a text from my BFF.  We don't text unless it's an emergency so I'm thinking "Oh no, what's wrong" and it's a Hey, are you okay? message.  It's me, I'm what's wrong.   The watch had also contacted her.

By now I'm on the freeway and mostly to my destination.  I tell my phone to dial instead of reply and told the above story probably significantly less calmly and with cursing.   "And now, I have to go do a training for a new advocate and pretend that I have my sh*t together"

So, yeah, the smart watch is working out well.

Freestyling at a Funeral

 Let's talk about something fun.  Something like, oh I don't know, a funeral.

One of Kevin's childhood best friends father passed away after a lengthy battle with dementia.  The father was a sort of father-figure for Kevin as his dad was gone while working most of his childhood.  Mr. Smith, as I will refer to him, lived next door to Kevin's house with FIVE sons, all born within a ten year span.  One son was Kevin's childhood best friend, while he was friends with the other brothers too, and one son was Kevin's brother's best friend.  They were the quintessential neighborhood boys and friends.

Mr. Smith was a godly man in the way that it was meant to be understood.  He was like a Hallmark Movie Channel good man.  Kind, gentle, stern when it was necessary, and giving. Always willing to give anyone a hand.  Everything he had he built and earned and he shared his time and talents.

One of the last interactions he had with Kevin before the dementia set in was at his son's house.  He said hello to Kevin as he usually did.  He said "Any day that I wake up on this side of the dirt is a good day" like he usually did.  Then he hesitated for just a moment.  "You know, I haven't hugged you since you were a small boy.  I'm going to hug you now." and hugged him tight. 

Yes, yes, I did fight back tears when that happened and while writing this now.

So, five sons.  Kind of like the pastor's kids are always the wild ones, these boys were the rebellious boys who grew up in the 60's and 70's.  All mostly good humans with humanly flaws.  All distinctly different.  

With that in mind, and the godly thing, we expected a large funeral.  The regular church building wasn't available so the family had to improvise.  They borrowed another church's space; except their church is being built/remodeled and isn't ready yet.  They offered their temporary space.

In the courtyard of an abandoned mall.  Where Santa used to reside during the holidays.

To be fair, it's not totally abandoned. There is a movie theatre on one end and a Chuck E. Cheese on the opposite end.

We entered through the main entrance, where there used to be jewelry stores and sunglass kiosks, the Easter Bunny and aforementioned Santa.  So, this already feels weird.

People are mingling throughout the large space and we just kind of hovered off to the side and greeted the family and friends as we eventually  merged together.  There was a lot of "Wow, they got old" and "I haven't seen them since..." as happens at these kinds of functions.

The funeral didn't start on time so we were all kind of waiting.  I began to glance around.  The GNC Health store was now a makeshift coffee service area. One of the jewelry stores was children's bible study/childcare.  The rest are barricaded by glass doors, security doors, and in some cases plywood.  Very apocalyptic.  

You know those information kiosks that have the map of the mall and advertising for all the stores?  We happened to be standing next to one and I started to look at it.  It had been converted (church joke! ha!) over to a bulletin board/welcome sign for the church.  On the surface, it was fine.  Upon closer inspection, the candid photos they used were terrible.  Specifically terrible if taken out of context:

(apologies for the terrible glare.  Again: it was in a MALL)

#1 looks like a waterboarding  #2 looks like a reunification after a kidnapping

#3 just hurts my heart.  The little hands over his ears.

And the other photos weren't any better. It felt like they had a high school senior who didn't understand CONTEXT take and arrange the photos.

Finally, we were invited to go into the funeral and be seated.  Where Santa's workshop usually would be was a stage like for a low budget theatre or choir.  Complete with a terrible microphone, a music stand as a podium, and a keyboard.  It immediately reminded me of the SNL skit.

This is frighteningly accurate but age them about twenty years

There wasn't ushers so everyone just kind of haphazardly sat wherever.  There were large gaps everywhere.  Kleenex boxes sat on the tile floor of the mall at the end of each row.  They had been there a minute, if you get what I'm trying to convey.  There's no candles, few flowers, and no decorations of any kind.  Oh, black curtained backdrop and black carpeting on the stage.  SUPER unwelcoming.

We sat and the ceremony finally began.  The pastor kept saying Mr. Smith's name incorrectly, adding an extra letter.  This is one of my annoyances with funerals: when the pastor doesn't know the decedent.  Then he reads word-for-word the obituary that was in the newspaper and social media.  Finally, he segues into how  this is a good day and I'm screaming in my head.  He explains that Mr. Smith is no longer suffering  (which IS good) but now that he gets to celebrate, be reunited, etc.  Sigh.

Meanwhile, I'm thinking: I'm sure his family is happy he's not suffering but I'm also sure they'd rather have him here.  But this is something that is said at every funeral so moving on.

Then the pastor tells the story of how Mr. Smith met his wife.  He was driving down the street, saw his wife walking down the sidewalk and stopped to say hello.  She told him that she couldn't talk to him until he met her parents.  This sounds very sentimental for times past until you know that she was 14.  He was 18.  YIKES.  But they were married 66 years so all's well that ends well, I guess.

This is then where we learn that the pastor who keeps mispronouncing his name is his BEST FRIEND.  What the what.  But he told nice stories about church, camping and fishing, etc.  Old man stories, if you will.

Then one of his daughters-in-law stepped up to speak the eulogy, Kevin and his brother both sighed like "oh...no..." when she stepped up to speak so I was ready for anything.  The problem being was it was nearly exactly the obituary.  Finally, toward the end she began to speak a little more personally.  She gets points for trying.

Then the eldest son spoke.  He did fine, it was fine.  Another rehashing of the obituary, basically.  I was disappointed on Mr. Smith's behalf because there are plenty of stories to tell about his life.

Now it was the church part.  I didn't participate in prayer because it would be insincere and pretending felt more egregious than not.  About third prayer/psalm/bible verse in, the pastor clocked me doing that.  At first I was feeling a little rebellious then I realized that if he were sincere and engaged, he shouldn't have noticed me.  Also, not the first time I've felt a disproving glance.  lolsigh.

There was passages about relief from suffering and how it's all worth if for the great reward.  I took a deep breath and Kevin nudged me with an elbow.  The pastor said something about the price having been paid for redemption and another big deep breath from me.  Mr. Smith did not have a gentle death, he was suffering in ways I don't want to describe.  Then add that we have a father in a similar situation for context and I just couldn't with the YEA JESUS!  YEA RESURRECTION!

Then there was a song.  All is Well Within My Soul.  One of the few hymns that I actually like.  This was also one my mom's favorites and then that made me think about how she should have had any kind of funeral - even one as awful as this one - and didn't.

Now, the singer was in her eighties.  In a wheelchair.  Not visible to anyone but the front row and the pastor and his wife, who was the keyboard player.  The singer missed the opening notes.  The keyboard player mouthed the words to her and started over.  One, twice, third times a charm.  At first,  I thought maybe it was a child - like a grandchild - then it was clear it was an elderly lady.

So, she sung the first verse through then...stopped.  The keyboardist tried again, the AV person put the lyrics on the screen and ... nothing.  Finally she said "I'm sorry, I've forgotten the words.  You all know it so you can sing it..." but the Pastor decided to move on.

Back to the church stuff so I tuned out.  I looked around at the space.  The courtyard has glass spires, like mountain tops.  Someone had strung sheets or dropcloths across the courtyard "ceiling", about fifteen feet high. To block the direct sun, maybe?  They didn't match, they weren't tied nicely, just cobbled together.  There were screens with black fabric blocking off the two branches of the mall to the left and right.  The windows needed washed, everything needed dusted and swept.  It was just sad and dingy.  Again, I was disappointed as Mr. Smith deserved a nice church and a nice ceremony. 

(oh I forgot to mention: it was a 10:00 ceremony on a Saturday morning. Inconvenient and depressing)

Now it's the time of funerals that I hate more than the church part.  The testimonials from the crowd, where they pass the mike so people could tell stories.  Only one woman stood and spoke.  She told a long-winded, albeit nice, story then sat down.  Then there's that awkward pause while they wait for someone else to speak.  No one did.

The pastor indicates that it's time for the next song: Amazing Grace.  Okay, standard church fare, always good for a few tears.  Well, grandma was singing again.  Sigh.  She made it through the first verse then sung a WHOLE OTHER SONG.  Without thinking, I'm all "That's not the right song..." audibly and Kevin started to laugh, horrified.

She kind of finished, interrupted herself, then said she'd forgotten the words but she would finish the FIRST song now and started to sing.  HAND TO GOD I DON'T BELIEVE IN, this went on for almost five minutes and a mishmash of songs.  Finally she says into the mic "I just can't remember. You all just sing. Sing together. what ever song you like..."

Now I'm laughing and said to Kevin "So...we're freestyling now..."

Thankfully the pastor finally stepped in and said "Thank you, we're done now" and it took three tries to get her to stop.  It was like an Adam Sandler movie and I kept waiting for someone to slap the mic out her hand.

Then it was over.  A  thanks for coming, a quick prayer and it was done.  I watched as people kind of started to leave but again: no ushers so it's a mess.  I watched three young women go take selfies next to the casket and wanted to yell very loudly at them.  No one notices or shoos them away. 

No procession, no food, no guidance.  It had been announced that the body would be interred at the family plot in another town but no one was moving, leaving, anything.  The casket is still sitting there, unattended now, while people mill about.

We stood awkwardly for a few minutes, said goodbye then left.  We just couldn't anymore.  It was so disappointing, he deserved such a better ceremony.  But, it gave us a good story to tell.

Don't. Stop Believing. A Raising Parents Update

 Dear Readers, 

I have unfinished posts about gardening, spending $13 on trash food at the gas station, and being outed as an atheist/agnostic.  But...sigh...once again, the topic returns to Raising Parents.  Trust that I'm tired of this topic as well.

Over the last week or so, my father-in-law has been reporting to the boys that his blood pressure is 180/???, has been like that for Two Days and No One will come talk to him about it. (but they do, all day, every day)  Also, he's reported that his other foot has a sore. (he has a pressure sore on his foot)

On Saturday, after attending a funeral that I also want to write about because: OMG, we stopped for a visit. When we saw his regular nurse at the desk, we stopped and asked for an update.  She had been off a few days but indicated that there's no chart notes regarding his other foot.  AND that the other foot is finally healing...also something he's said wasn't happening.  AND his blood pressure has been marginally higher, but not as bad as he has been reporting.  She acknowledged that he's extra obsessive about his blood pressure.

Now I'm processing that we are to the point that we just can't believe anything that he says anymore.  Because of dementia, because of negative attention, because reasons, we can't believe him anymore.  I'm thinking about how to make that happen when...

She tells us that he's mad again about the money and the debit card and the wallet and his bank statements and how he wants his drivers license and we won't give him anything.  Saying this as she is pointedly looking at me saying "they".  Kevin is instantly mad.  I'm just disappointed. They said it would continue to happen and we know  that but at a core level: it feels like a slap.

Maria continues: Dad tried to make a report to Adult Protective Services - to the other nurse - and because they have a duty to report, she reported it to the supervisors.  It sounds like he was unable to make any kind of phone call and it's "just" in-house right now.  So, the facility is meeting on Monday, as mandated by law.  We don't know HOW DID HE KNOW TO ASK THAT 

She began to explain the process and I told her that I'm a Mandated Reporter as well and I know the drill.  Then later I explained  the process to Kevin. For those of you who don't know: In this instance, it goes from patient to whoever he made the accusation (because that's what it is)  Then that person has to report it to their supervisor who then reports it to the bosses, depending on chain of command and organizational structure.  Then they discuss any merit and make a determination whether or not it is reported to the State.  Now, this is where it gets tricky: if it's someone who is by the book and literal: they will call it in and make a report.  If it's someone who has done this a long time and isn't overly worried about the process, then they'll report back down the chain that it won't be pursued.  Because dementia, history of issues, etc.

Now, I know you're probably thinking, most rationally, "This is crazy, it won't go anywhere" but when you hear that you're potentially being reported to the state, rationality goes out the window.  Kind of like being reported for financial fraud.

If it goes to the state, it will most likely get "screened out". But there will still be a record of a report. Here's where this has me a tiny bit worried: I'm a Mandated Reporter.  This could affect my job if it were to escalate as my name is attached to report. (annual criminal background checks for my job)  I'm assuming that it won't but I need to acknowledge that to the universe so it gets out of my head.

I've been pretty good at rolling with this and frankly, stuffing those feelings down into the dark and twisty space.  This one, though, has me undone.

Not that we/I thought that this issue wouldn't crop up again, it's not that.  It's the Escalation - reporting fraud then wanting to report financial abuse - and the deceit.  He's fine to our faces during visits and phone calls. Then when we leave, the other personality is telling everyone we're the worst children who ever childrened and he runs his mouth to whomever is listening. 

Back to that particular visit:

Kevin told the nurse that he really didn't want to see his dad after hearing that report.  She said that he still should because of all the reasons and Kevin said "Don't tell me to not take it personally"             She didn't push back at all, I think she knows that is just a hollow statement. But Kevin walked down alone, peeked in his door, saw that he was sound asleep then came back and said "Problem solved, he's sleeping."  Maria was all "Oh no, we need to wake him up" and she headed down to his room in a hurry. We waited a beat and then followed her, to hear her say "You can't sleep all day because then you're up at night"  which we had heard in the past is when he's the most challenging to the staff.  (also: he's prone to hospital delirium)

Reluctantly we visited for about twenty minutes and I could tell that Kevin was spiky but I'm not sure his dad could tell.  Then the f-i-l suddenly said he had to go to the bathroom and I whispered to Kevin "There's our escape, take it"  Partially because we're not going to wait the fifteen minutes for him to go poo and the other is I wasn't sure Kevin was going to be able to sustain being "friendly".

The bathroom is next to the nurses desk so we couldn't talk to Maria before we left.  Really, there wasn't a point anyway.  She just smiled consolingly and waved as we walked by.

Okay, so.  The man wearing Dad's skin suit is back.

Last time he was in this headspace, we realized that he gets a ton of negative attention. Now, it feels like we're going to have to address that; a request from us that we don't want to hear specifically what he's saying or that they curb their participation in the process of him running his mouth and getting said attention.  As in "We're not talking about that anymore" redirection from the staff.  

THEN later we heard that he's been yelling at staff and demanding to talk to someone on the regular; in addition to walking into the social worker's office. On the daily.

Now Kevin is in the He Can Die Alone headspace and there are zero things that I can say.  This behavior can be attributed to the dementia but again, it's the manipulation and duplicity that I'm struggling with.  The advocate and the dementia specialist says that he shouldn't cognitively be able to behave this way, Yet Here We Are.

If he were just 24/7 an ass (like my dad was) then we could roll with that.  It's the nice to our faces then making serious accusations that has undone me, specifically.  We assume that he doesn't understand the consequences but we don't KNOW what he knows, can process and/or remembers.

SO THEN, for the second time during this whole adventure, someone (professional) wondered if this behavior is from something HE IS WATCHING ON TELEVISION and emulating.   I mean, could be.  He normally  watches only sportsball but it could be.  Wouldn't that just be it, though?  

On TUESDAY we were finally able to reach the social worker assistant and the actual social worker, whom we interact very little with. It took way too many phone calls to achieve that. The social worker lead seemed to have zero idea of what is happening or has happened with Dad.  The assistant s.w. has been the hands-on person with him, so we're assuming that's why.  But it's disconcerting to have someone so clueless when we're depending on them for the wellbeing of a parent.

The Assistant Social Worker reports that he is BIG MAD all over again, except worse than either of the times before.  They have not been able to redirect or de-escalate him.  She inferred that this might be the personality we're going to be stuck with.  She's said that before so it's a thing.  The advocate reported the same issue from a few weeks ago so it's not "just" happening with the facility staff.

Anyway.

The alleged report did not make it past the nursing supervisor so that's good.  We were assuming it would go nowhere but we also assumed he wouldn't be able to report fraud and shut off his bank account; so we have to take everything seriously.

During a conversation with the advocate on Monday, she gently suggested that we designate a Payee, a third party, to oversee his finances.  This protect us and takes away some of the control that dad seems to think he has.  Although, he's mad about what happened in the past, not necessarily what is happening now.  

The facility can become his Payee so they're supposed to have us come sign whatever paperwork is needed.  We didn't hear from them since though so that's right on time. But we're very relieved about that piece.  It occurred to us that when they don't provide his bank balance or bank statements on demand, he's then going to be mad at them as well.

They did fuss about not having his license and the social worker lead asked if we would be open to taking him to get an ID card instead. (HELLO, READ THE ROOM, MY GUY)  I told him no thank you in a kind but very firm manner.  I can take them his license when they have us sign for the Payee process.  The advocate says not to bring it to him, to try to curb his demands, so that's conflicting information.  

We - as a family - are taking a time out for an undetermined amount of time.  We "asked" about doing that and the facility was relieved about not having to ask us to do it.  It was phrased it to Dad to make it seem like it was his idea and he seemed accepting of that.  Only then to phone the sibling just a few minutes later. The sibling declined the call then Dad phoned Kevin about fifteen minutes later and he declined the call. When asked why she thought Dad might call his sons, the social worker felt like he was just "poking the bear" and trying to get attention. Now he hasn't phoned since.

Now, it seems that the Man Wearing Dad's Skin Suit is thinking that he has "won."  The facility reports that he's in good spirits and inferred that it's because he thinks he's in control again.  The fact that he's alienated his children seems to be pinging off of him like Wonder Woman's bracelets.

So, we are all going to get cozy with the mindset (again) that all of his needs are being taken care of and try to find a normal that doesn't include visitation.  If we're being honest, we're all a little relieved to not have to schedule that every week.  A thirty-minute visit is surprisingly exhausting.  

We'll attempt a visit or call when the facility says it is a good time to try and knowing that there might not be a good time to try again.  We were trying to remember how long it's taken in the past two episodes.  The first one it was about one month and the second one was only two weeks.  The second one was the 21 Second Apology  that we felt at the time was something he was told to do versus something he wanted to do.  And here we are.