Would you want to know?

http://www.nytimes.com/2010/12/18/health/18moral.html?pagewanted=1&_r=1&hp

The above New York Times article discusses new techniques to discover if you are likely and possibly certain to develop Alzheimer's. It is controversial with most physicians because once they make a diagnosis there is no hope for a cure. Regardless, many people want to know.

Cutting Firewood, Alone

Above three photos taken by my daughter, Amber

I know I have written about cutting firewood in the past and it's because this activity connects me to my father like none other.

When I was a teen hitchhiking to college I was picked up by a gentleman who enlightened me about the transcendentalists. He especially suggested I read Thoreau. Walden made a huge impact on my life. His name was Bob Chase. He gave me a papermate pen with his name on it which I used for many years to scribe a journal. Finally his name wore completely off the barrel and the pen was tossed into a drawer someplace.

After reading Thoreau's account of his experience at Walden Pond my admiration for nature was reinforced. There was something so practical about living in a tiny hut, washing your floors with a bucket of cold pond water and opening the doors and letting the fresh air cleanse things.

As a teen I spent many many hours in the woods. At first playing army with neighborhood kids and then hunting with my Dad or best buddies. So many afternoons I couldn't wait to jump off the school bus, run into the house, grab a gun and then into the woods in search of partridge, pheasant, rabbit or deer. Hunting held a fascination for me as did the woods. At the time I knew nothing more exciting than to explore an abandoned tote road or game path.

Behind my house were many square miles of large tracts of land. I could walk for miles and never have to cross the same stream in the same place. I did become familiar with the land but never sure where I might see a rabbit or deer or fox.

At the same time my parents installed a wood stove in our cellar. It must have been during the energy crises in the 1970's. My dad had also acquired a woodlot about 3 miles from our home. He had cut an old dump truck down to its chasis and engine. Built a box beneath the steering wheel to sit on and we had a woods rig. It was two wheel drive and very prone to becoming stuck. None the less we drove it up to the woodlot and loaded up a trailer with beech and birch and hauled it home and stacked 4 or 5 cords in the cellar for the winter.

I wasn't always enthusiastic about these excursions. I would have rather watched cartoons or done nothing most of the time. But once we got out there it was fun. My Dad taught me how to use the chainsaw and how not to use the chainsaw. My first vivid experience was when the saw caught on my pant leg just below my knee. The lower part of my jeans fell to the ground. I thought I must have cut into my leg or even cut my leg off as well. I remember waiting for the pain and not wanting to look as I anticipated the worst. I don't think my Dad saw what had happened as he tossed a log in front of me an commanded me to, "cut this one." With still no pain I looked at my leg and to my astonishment there was no cut at all. I went on cutting like nothing had happened.

Armed with chainsaws and a chopped up dump truck spewing carbon monoxide wildly into the envioronment with tire chains isn't exactly as romantic as Thoreau's wood cutter who could cut four chords of wood with an axe and during breaks chickadees would, without incident, land on his head. All the same, cutting wood is such a simple task that it somehow becomes elegant.

My Dad and I mostly have in common our DNA (deoxyribonucleic acid). Other than that and the fact he was my Father we didn't have a lot in common. He loved God, old tools, antiques, his dog, his children and cutting firewood. I have always been terribly curious about God, less so about tools and antiques and have an understanding about cutting firewood. When we got together there was never a dull moment but I could never talk to him about art, music, science, current events or such because of these subjects he was incognizant. And although I could tell him about Thoreau or Emerson, Bach, Faynman, Hubble, Rembrant, Picasso, Dylan Thomas, scripting languages, etc., etc., he found my interests to have no relevance to his own existence.

I was always slightly sad that neither of my parents could appreciate the art that I used to create. But as I have become older I understand that it is not important. People who want to appreciate art will do so, others who may be indifferent understand other things, maybe as a compensation. With my Father, cutting firewood was an artform, which I am grateful to understand.

Without exaggeration cutting firewood came from his soul. It was a straightforward expression of his passion and existence. He passed some of this onto me. I am distracted from pursuing art presently but if I chose an artform, cutting firewood would be high on my list. As I sit here trying to convey this concept I understand how esoteric my thoughts are. Today, as the chainsaw rattled violently in my oily gloves and sawdust sprayed above and below me I felt a connection with my Dad.

I knew if he were here cutting wood with me and not at Sentry Hill he would anticipate my every move and me his. When we cut wood together it was like a synchronized collaboration. In art what you really have in the end is a finished product which may or may not be a representation of the process. In cutting firewood what you have in addition to flat tires, broken blades, burned out spark plugs, ringing ears, plugged carburators, a sore back, ticks and nostrils full of exhaust is a pile, a pile of satisfaction.

November 30, 2010

http://www.scientificamerican.com/article.cfm?id=the-heart-brain-connection

As a subscriber to Scientific American I recently read the above article from the magazine. This morning I noticed it was posted on the SciAm facebook page so I can easily share it with you.

The article is not completely full of bad news. I was especially interested in the Australian study which found that people who did 20 minutes of exercise a day had 2x enhanced cognitive test result compared with those on the drug Aricept (Donepezil).

My Dad took Aricept and Namenda. Although these drugs facilitate enhanced memory they evidently do nothing to prevent dementia or Alzheimer's Disease. My father has been diagnosed with Alzheimer's Disease. In the past year his motor skills have diminished, he less frequently walks on his own (indoor) and I have found him mostly sleeping in a chair in the dining room at Sentry Hill when I visit. He is locked into the Alzheimer's ward by a keypad. If you can't punch in the correct four digits you cannot exit.

Upon arrival for a visit I can wake him by calling his name or tapping his arm. Sometimes he dozes off and sometimes he remains attentive throughout a visit such as yesterday. My sister and I both visited him together. I was greeted by a broad grin which assured me he knew who I was immediately. My sister brought 3 boxes of donuts and provided coffee. She shared them first with my father and then the other residents whom seemed interested. He seemed very happy to be amongst his children.

We were told that the memory enhancing drugs (Aricept and Namenda) would run their course and he would have to stop taking them, which he did. There is no hope in site for a cure for Alzheimer's Disease. But the linked article does provide some hope that a healthy heart is a benefit for the brain.

November 10, 2010

Last night was the last awards night I will attend for the York High School Cross Country Team as a dad. It was a very touching evening. My youngest son Silas followed his brother by running 4 years on the team. After receiving the most valuable runner award he was called the heart of the team by his coaches.

The team has been a huge benefit for my entire family. The coaches have inspired my kids to run and hence it has rubbed of on especially Sandra and I. She has just completed her first full Marathon and second half Marathon. And she attributes it to the influence running has had on her two boys. If you told me 10 years ago we would develop and interest and love for running I couldn't have stretched my imagination that far.

New York Time Article by Sandra Day Oconner

http://www.nytimes.com/2010/10/28/opinion/28oconnor.html?scp=1&sq=the%20age%20of%20alzheimer%E2%80%99s&st=cse

October 5, 2010

After work this evening I took the 4 wheeler, trailer, chainsaw, hatchet, mall, wedges down into the woods. My son Silas and I dropped some maple trees last winter and it is now time to turn them into firewood. I hauled up 3 loads on Saturday and one tonight. The trees are about 18 inches in diameter. They split ok with a 10 pound maul. My abs are sore. The trailer is quite small though it works quite well with the four wheeler.

As I drove down through and to the other side of the swamp I couldn't help remembering how my dad and I had done this so many times in the past. I loved cutting wood with him. He was such a natural at it. He cut firewood like breathing. He continued cutting firewood after he had taken his wood stove out of his house and plugged up the chimney with cement. I asked him why many times, he never had a good answer but always offered me some. Not all, just what I needed.

On Friday my father was admitted to the hospital for lack of going to the bathroom. My sister and I were told that it could be very serious so we both went and stayed with him. He was in a pretty good mood. He recognized me right away and asked about his brother Paul. He wasn't really able to articulate a question but I knew it what his intention. He was released after a few hours and prescribed an array of meds and referrals to specialists were initiated.

September 8, 2010

This photo was taken on Logging Road in Cape Neddick, Maine. The farmhouse my dad grew up in is just beyond the tree line.

When I walked in he was asleep, this morning. I pulled up a chair and sat right next to him and reflected on my own grief. On the table in front of me was a Saturday Evening Post magazine full of ads for Norman Rockwell paintings. As I flipped through it form beginning to end I wondered who reads this stuff. I couldn't think of anyone I know. His head tilted down, a bit to the left. His crop of white hair still abounding from his cranium like only a few days ago someone fertilized it. He sat slumped among others of his age. I bumped his knee with mine. His head slowly bobbed upward like a wave moving seaweed. He looked away from me at first and then I tapped his arm. Our eyes met. I said, "has it been raining."

As he looked away and out a distant window he said, "yes, for a few days." His head slowly tilted back down and his eyes closed. He didn't have time to realize who I was. I sat for a few more minutes among the bustle of the others. An exercise class was scheduled to start in a few moments, at 10 am and people were beginning to move into position. One resident was gyrating her hips and swaying to music that was coming from her head. I picked myself up from the chair and navigated my way around my dad. He was in a deep sleep. Walking toward the door Justin, the activities director, declared to me he thought they would be taking "him" to the Senior Olympics tomorrow. As I struggled to remember the keypad code I replied, "oh, good."

When I moved through the second door and out into the parking lot I just felt bad. To myself I uttered, "Oh God," six or seven times like a reflex. And like breathing I realized it provided no relief. I got in my truck and drove back to work.

July 19, 2010

Cone Flower (echinacia purpurea) taken in my garden yesterday

Yesterday was a tough visit with my Dad. Sandra, Amber, Nathaniel and I went to see him in the mid afternoon. We found him in his room. We tried to take him outside to sit near the pond and watch the ducks. The weather was very beautiful, 80°F's with bright blue Maine skies. He could not understand what we were talking about. As we settled down instead in the TV area I asked how he was, was anything new happening, he didn't respond. He has been hard of hearing for years but I realized today he wasn't hearing anything. Finally, when I yelled he acknowledged me.

Alzheimer's Disease is truly tragic. When I first started this blog my intention was to share my experience with others. I am finding it to be a very sad subject to write about. When I think back about my Dad's life I don't see it like this at all, yet this is his life now. A large part of him that I knew so well is now gone. It will never return. The neuron tangle in his brain will never untangle. The shrinkage of his brain will only shrink more.

Eventually he agreed to go outside and we did sit near the pond. My Dad could not stand up by himself. He required our help and when he got on his feet he was unstable. It was doubtful he could remain standing. But he did ambulate himself, precariously.

And we did manage to get him outside, through the doors and onto seats near the pond. The ducks accosted us and then returned to their somber summertime existence. There isn't much conversation to be had with an Alzheimer's patient so far advanced so Sandra and I chatted with each other and my Dad occasionally contributing, "what, hah?"

I will be changing the title of this blog as soon as I can think of something. "Alzheimer's Disease and observations of a Son" is getting old.

July 8, 2010

The heat of summer has arrived in York, Maine. We have had lots of 90°F weather and not much rain. A customer called from Boston on Tuesday and declared it was 106°F sitting in traffic. Ouch!

My sister called yesterday and told me my Father had fallen out of his bed early in the morning and then fallen while walking around 10 am. He seemed to have no bruises. The staff at Sentry Hill had placed him in a recliner for the day.

I went over to see him around 4pm. And sure enough he was still in the recliner. He was awake and as usual in pretty good spirits. I brought him 2 milk chocolate caramels from our chocolate shop, Divine Chocolate. He ate them with a fervor. It was nice to see him enjoy them. He asked me if I had been over to see Evelyn's grave (his oldest sister). I told him no, but last memorial day he and I and my kids went over to rake and clean up the graveyard. He couldn't remember.

I sat with him quietly as we watched the staff prepare the residents for supper. Most of the residents require assistance to get seated so there is a lot of effort made. The whole endeavor begins around 4pm and lasts until 5pm. Moments before 5 I said goodbye and headed home.

June 18, 2010

I went to the doctors for a 6 month check up yesterday. My doctor has changed a prescription I tried for 6 months from a generic statin to crestor. My triglycerides have been in the high numbers for a few years and my HDL just won't go up. I have also been prescibed a drug to bring my blood pressure down. My diastolic number is just above 100.

I recall how my parents resisted taking drugs when they were my age. They both eventually succumbed and have no doubt extended their lives.

I know I should do more exercise and eat a bit less. A few years ago I took up running but it didn't make a definite effect on my blood pressure or bring my cholesterol down. Recently I have been taking 3 mile walks two times a week. It really isn't enough though.

Sandra, Amber and I dropped in on my Dad on Sunday. He was sitting next to his lady friend, Marilyn. He told us Karen had just taken them both out to lunch and that he had a lobster roll. He did pretty good to remember. It is apparent that he has a difficult time with it. He knew me right away and remembered Sandra's name. We all 5 went into a function room and sat around a table. I had picked up some caramel creams which I knew he loves and offered him one or two. He and Marilyn both enjoyed them.


My daughter graduated from 8th grade yesterday. It was a big day for her. She bought a special dress and had a manicure, pedicure and a haircut. There was a graduation ceremony at the middle school followed by a dance and then to friends for a party and then to another friends for a sleep over.

May 29, 2010

Two days ago I went to see my Dad. It was a perfect spring day. Everything outside was green as we walked from Sentry Hill along the paved road to Woodbridge Road and back. On our return we paused and sat in the sun on a bench over looking a one or two acre pond with fountain amidst the shingle style architecture. My Father liked the sun on his face. Although it was in the 70's he was bundled up in two heavy shirts.

My Dad made several attempts to tell me something that was on his mind. He could get the first 2 or 3 words out but then would loose his train of thought. He calls me by name, still. He looks more lost than a few months ago but there is still a person inside his body. A kind and loving person.

Earlier, upon my arrival and before our walk, I met with a lady from the State of Maine who was going to be making recommendations on how the staff would proceed with a relationship my father is having with a female resident. My father and his lady friend have displayed much mutual attraction for each other and have been noticed by the other residents and staff.

The lady from the state really wanted to know if his family consented to his being sexually active with another person. It seems that at certain times they will embrace and kiss each other. My father has also been found in her room in what would be questionable circumstances had he been married, though he is not.

My sister and I both agree that he can do anything he likes as does the guardian of his partner.

The lady from the state told me that although a relationship of such isn't common it happens and when both partners are consenting in her opinion it is wonderful.

After we returned from our walk we went out back to the fenced in courtyard. I left my Dad in a chair in the sun and told him I was leaving to go to work. He was very quiet, I didn't think he heard me. And when I moved closer to make eye contact he said, "Kev, things don't always work out the way you want them to." I realized at so many levels he and I were the same. Both still moving through life, unsure of tomorrow, unable to be liberated from our wants and desires.

April 5, 2010

Around 7 pm yesterday Sandra, Silas, Amber and myself stopped by Sentry Hill to visit my Dad. We had spent the afternoon in Worcester with Nathaniel. We picked Nathaniel up from Clark University and drove to a park near Worcester Polytech. It was a perfect afternoon, 75°F and sunny. Sandra had made a picnic lunch and this is how we celebrated Easter.

The night before I had a dream with my Father. We were on a wharf or a large deck. There was no day light, maybe moonlight. We were both moving freely to the edge. There was no rail and as we got closer I could see no bottom beyond the edge. My Father seemed to be in the same state of mind that he was 10 years ago. He was lucid, quick to react and in control of his surroundings. Although he was moving very fast toward the edge.

As it appeared he was going to fall over the edge I grabbed him and pulled him back. I held him in my arms and he embraced me. I told him I loved him more than once. I woke up crying. I was sad. My Dad had become very much like a child. I had dreams similar to this when my children were younger. They would take off down a sidewalk, fall off a bridge and in those dreams it took all I had to rescue them. Or I would wake up before I had rescued them. Those dreams always put me on a heightened awareness in the real world and I would be perhaps overly cautious with my kids due to these dreams.

The dream with my Dad was so similar except my children had their whole lives ahead of them and my father is 81 and has a terminal disease. In this dream I had become the protector. But the most significant aspect of the dream was the embrace, the holding on and his mental state.

I had thought about the dream throughout our trip to Worcester and was anxious to get back to York to see my Dad. We found him sitting in a chair in a partial daze. It seems to take a while for him to realize who we are and that we are not strangers. He referred to me as Kev and asked if he could leave with us at the end of our visit. It is heart breaking to tell him he must stay as he is trying to pass through the door with me.

March 15, 2010

Today is Monday. It has been raining all day and all day yesterday. We have considerable flooding here in the Northeast. I am tired of the rain and anxious to see the sun.

I drove Nathaniel back to Clark University in Worcester, MA this morning. It rained the 2 hour ride down and back. I hydroplaned in a few places.

Last night Nathaniel and I went to visit my Dad at Sentry Hill. Nathaniel didn't really want to go visit him. I didn't insist, though I did tell him that last week I told his grandfather that I would bring Nathaniel by when he came home for spring break. Like myself, Nathaniel felt guilty and we ventured out into the dark windy rainy night to see my Dad.

There is a brook that intersects our driveway and on the way out noticed the water was at the very top of the culverts. This could mean our culverts (2) are on the verge of being washed away. I called Sandra and we parked the other two cars on the opposite side of the brook from the house in case the worst happened.

My father was snoozing very lightly when Nathaniel and I walked in. He was sitting close to a large propane fireplace. It was very warm and comfortable. He recognized us and was happy to see Nathaniel. We took a long walk through the building and up some stairs. We chatted about nothing that seemed important but all enjoyed being together. He had misplaced his senior Olympic medals and we took a look in his room for them. Whereupon we found his new room mate in the room with only the bathroom light on. His name is Francis Raynes. He is from Kittery, he told us Cutts Island.

Francis seemed like a very nice person. He was friendly and had some dementia though not as advanced as my father.

My father also was very pleasant to be with. I am pleased (and proud) that he is so good natured. It is easy to provoke a smile from him. I am very pleased that Nathaniel did go with me. For many years I have had dreams that I didn't visit my grandmother, who lived next door, enough. I would wake up from the dreams which were so realistic and all though she had passed away years ago, I was hopeful that she might still be alive and I could visit her. Or sometimes in the dreams she was alive and I hadn't seen her in 10-20 years. And when I finally do see her she is much older than my recollections but happy to see me, forgiving. Yet I would still be laden with guilt.

I wondered last night if those dreams were to insure I don't let the lack of visiting become an issue with my kids. It is very strange but often I think of my Dad and am content knowing that I love him and he is safe. My need to spend time with him has diminished from over a year ago when he first went into Sentry Hill.

We hung out with my father for an hour and a half and said our goodbyes. As we did an older lady approached us with a walker and asked if she could leave with us. And then she asked us if she were dreaming. I told her I wasn't dreaming so I suspected she wasn't either. Nathaniel and I walked back out into the rainy dark. The stubborn dark night had not given an inch since we had gone inside. Windy, wet, wet. I am not a proponant of so much rain and even less of snow. So I had that to be grateful for, I suppose.

About Red Squirrels

Uneasy Finality

They come into my yard
and then into my house
tearing and ripping at night.
Awake, I am full of frustration.

They have found some crack
or boards sawn too short
much like an open door.

At day and only occasionally
I sit near the wood-stove
looking out the large picture window
toward the bird-feeder.

One or two will surely arrive.

At first sight of the spastic frenzy
my 22 is in my hand as I open the back door
and sneak out.

Quietly I come within perfect view.
Carefully, I place the red bush within the cross hairs
and pow! The last sound to fall upon
his ears strikes me with uneasy finality.

February 4, 2010

I haven't seen my Dad since Christmas night. I think about him often, every few hours. On Christmas day, Sandra and the kids and I all went to visit him. We all sat in the big room that is octagonal with a high ceiling and punched a balloon back and forth to each other. My Father is remarkably agile for his age and condition. He dominated with the balloon punching.

I haven't visited with my Dad because I am emotionally exhausted. Driving over to see him is atleast a 2 hour endeavor. It's an 18 minute drive each way. I can never pop in and just say, "Hi Dad, just stopped by to see how your doing, gotta now." Although I have tried this it is just too confusing for him.

There have been so many things going on with the rest of my life I have put visiting him at the end of my list of priorities. I need to spend time with my kids. I was taking a lot of time off from work to visit which I cannot afford. In the evenings when I am at Sentry Hill visiting my father for a few hours I am not at home with my family.

My heart aches no matter which decision I choose.

With my oldest son off at college it has become completely clear that you become severed from your children. Nathaniel's college is an hour and a half ride from home. It is too far to drive for a casual visit. With my other two kids still at home I cherish all the remaining time I have before they too, head off into the world. I feel best after work to go home and look forward to sitting at the dinner table and being in the presence of my wife and kids. The completion of this ritual is usually 7-8pm, too late for me to visit my Dad.

I also enjoy visiting my Dad. The look on his face when he sees me is like no other. I love talking walks with him, reviewing the past and joking around with him.

It has given me a lot of peace to know that he is in a great place. Sentry Hill is very dignified, far and above his expectations and the staff is genuine.

The social worker, Sara, called me a few weeks ago to ask where I have been. I explained to her that although I love my Dad and pray for him often I cannot put as much energy into visiting him as I have in the past. I just don't have it.

My sister emailed me yesterday reminding me that our Dad won't be around long and that he asks where I am all the time.

There have been times in our past that my Father and I haven't seen each other for atleast a year and often months would pass even though we lived about a mile from each other. I think I have seen him more since he has been at Sentry Hill than I have in the past 20+ years. I am really grateful for this. When he was first admitted I had no idea what to expect. I didn't if he would be gone in a month, week or year. He has done very well.