Dad, these days

   Spent a big part of the late morning and early afternoon with my dear old Dad today. The two of us get together every Monday to play some golf in the summer and pool in the winter. The weather being as nice as it has been has enabled us to play this late into November.

Dad and I on my wedding day

   My dad's name is Ken and he has Alzheimer's, in its early stages. He was diagnosed about 2 and a half years ago and the disease seems to be progressing pretty slowly. As a matter of fact if you were to meet him casually you might not even suspect anything was the matter. Once, however, you find yourself dealing with the finer details of his life you quickly begin to understand what he (and we) are up against.
   His memory is the pits. Unless you ask him about anything that happened before the nineties. Within this time frame he is impeccable with his recall. One of the bonuses of having Dad living here in London is that I've had the opportunity to sit with him many times and hear his stories from the "good old days".
   I found these stories fascinating the first time I heard them. Subsequently, I have found them fascinating the many times I have heard them since! The stories never vary; the sixth version is generally word-for-word the same as the original. Not only are they interesting, when strung together they almost seem exciting, like scenes from a movie.
   My dad grew up in the thirties and forties in western Canada. He was born in Calgary, Alberta and he and his family vacationed on the west coast in Gibson's, B.C. Because of this, he has stories from the prairies and stories from the mountains and ocean. I am a westerner myself and because of this my dad's stories resonate.

Bryant, my son, Dad, me and my other son, Ben

   One of his stories is about the death of his older brother Ron, when they were both children. Ron died of polio and, because of this, the whole family was quarantined to their farm which, at the time, was 10 miles outside of Calgary. Groceries and provisions needed to be dropped off at the end of their laneway so that one of the family members could venture out and pick them up. They lived on one of the main trails into Calgary and dad tells me stories about how the native peoples would pass by their farm on the way to the Calgary Stampede and would walk down their laneway to try and sell them blankets and trinkets. They were unable to read the quarantine signs and my dad and his family had to go to great lengths to try and keep them away! 
   This is just one of the stories he has told me about his early days and there are many more just as interesting (I should really sit down with him sometime and do some transcribing...).
   What he can't do, however, is tell me an interesting story about last week.

My cousin Carol, me, Dad and my other cousin Stephanie

   Because of this, I find myself doing much back-tracking and double-checking as to what's going on in his life. Pretty constantly he tells me about an appointment he had for this or that but then can't remember what it was about. Or, if he can remember what it was about he may not be able to remember what the result of it was. So I do have to double-check. Lately, as much as possible I've tried to attend appointments with him. This, in itself, sets up a scenario whereby I know something about him and he can't for the life of him figure out how I know all this stuff. Yep, I feel pretty magical sometimes.

Me, my Aunt Leslie, and Dad

   Not only medical appointments are up for scrutiny. More and more I find myself having to pay attention to my dad's financial affairs. Now, my dad has always been the financial guy. His work history is in the banking/insurance field and he is a whiz with numbers (he adds up a golf score much more quickly than I do!) What I've discovered lately, though, is that he's starting to lose awareness of the state of his finances and I've had to step in and provide some direction.

My brother Bob and I

   What all of this means is that I've found myself walking that fine line between wanting my dad to be able to hang on to every vestige of independence he can and needing, at the same time, to ensure that his needs are met.
   Not long after the Alzheimer's diagnosis, dad entered into the support system set up here in London to assist people and their families deal with this disease. One part of this involves going about every nine months to the Aging Brain Clinic at Parkwoood Hospital in London. He sees Dr. Wells, she does some testing and, generally, asks him (and, lately, me) how he's doing. He tests very well, so much so that if you went only by the test results, you might assume he didn't even have Alzheimer's. As much as these test results are encouraging, when you see him functioning in daily life it is not hard to fault the diagnosis.

Back in the "olden" days at Gibson's, B.C. Starting at the left is Aunt Girlie, my Uncle Keith, Aunt Leslie, Uncle John. my mum, and my dad. Seated are my Gran and Grandad. On my Granny's lap is an unidentified cousin of mine. My Dad remembers these days well, and with great fondness, as do we all.

My wife, Doralyn (who's very special to me), Dad and the aforesaid me

   One of the other supports that has been lined up for Dad is the McCormick Home and its Alzheimers Outreach Services. The AOS runs a day program which Dad attends on Thursdays. He seems to really enjoy having added this to weekly routine, as one of his most constant complaints is having nothing to do (apart from the wonderful Mondays he spends with his son!). What has arisen out of this, though, is that the odd communication from the program goes to me and I then run it past Dad. He has a difficult time understanding why they don't just talk to him, instead. It's their policy, of course, to deal with the family members for important issues rather than trust suspect memories. Explaining this to Dad, as you can imagine, is somewhat uncomfortable for both of us. As little shreds of his independence are torn free in this manner the end result is that he seems to be fading away. And I don't like this.

Mum and Dad--not sure if I was even a twinkle at this point...

   It's hard to say what the near (or far) future holds for Dad. He seems content to continue living in his apartment and seems to function pretty well there. I'm fortunate insofar as I get to see him every week and can make some estimation as to how he's doing.
   I admit that I am a little fearful. There are not a lot of really happy Alzheimer's stories out there. On top of everything else, I can feel myself slipping a little and sometimes when watching Dad I wonder if there is mirroring going on.

Standing (L-R) are my Uncle Keith, Aunt Leslie, Uncle John, cuz Cynthia, and Dad. Seated (L-R) are Keith's wife Barb and Jean, my step-mum

My brother Bob Glover, me and my Dad

   Tomorrow (by now I have been working on this blog entry for several days) Jayne, my sister, and her husband, Mike, will be visiting on their way home from Florida. This is good, I've been trying to scrounge pictures of Dad and the important people in his life off my computer for the last couple of days and this will give me the opportunity to snap a few more pics to include here. It is also good just from the standpoint that Dad enjoys seeing family and, as the group of us seem to be scattered all over the country, it's always nice when we do get together. 

Dad, sister Jayne and her hubby Mike

   So life goes on, I guess, and my Dad still spends much time planning around how he's going to buy a boat, how he's going to get a girlfriend and how he's going to start hitting 280 yard drives. I try not to discourage any of this talk too much (I, as well, have dreams that aren't very realistic and don't we all?). We do, though, spend a little time talking about how he's going to remember where he parked the boat...