Jeff Belden

[originally posted June 19 2011, 5:40 AM]

My father has early dementia. 

The glass seems half-empty.

A couple years ago, he willingly agreed to no longer drive in St. Louis urban traffic to visit my sister. Instead, her family brings him there.

Now that we are aware of his dementia, the risks and the losses seem more apparent. Is it safe for him to drive? How about on the interstate? What about at night? Or in bad  weather? Or if he feels sick? The answers aren't so apparent.

I've watched dad drive. I've actually videotaped him driving, both to the local bank and to the McDonald's restaurant 6 miles away in Altamont. He did OK. I get nervous thinking about him driving on the interstate, or needing to navigate through less familiar distant neighborhoods.

This is one area where he gets defensive and resists our caring interventions. I've been framing it in ethical terms: "his autonomy is threatened". This week, we learned from the caregiver team that it's also more emotional. "I feel less like a man when the women (caregivers) drive me around and I'm not allowed to drive". So losing the freedom to drive is a powerful loss of autonomy, of independence, and of manhood.

Maybe I'm wrong.

I've been thinking he's not safe to drive because so much is missing. But the glass is also half-full.

He has decades of experience and learned, automatic driving skills. He's familiar with the areas where he would drive. He has always been a cautious and non-agressive driver. He is a complex person with feelings, and a lot of wisdom. He has developed a lot of successful coping skills as he realizes his accummulating limitiations. I should mention that I, too, have begun coping with my limitations: I now wear glasses, can't turn my neck as far when backing the car, and can't sit on the floor cross-legged.

He has to take the driving test next month. I guess we'll see how he does.

Whether he passes or not, the glass already looks more full to me.

[originally posted February 3 2012, 7:19 PM]

I was riding with my father yesterday along a winding blacktop road with no shoulders. We came across the spot where my son ran his car off the road and had to be extracted with the tow truck a few years ago. It reminded me of the time that I ignored the idiot lights on the dashboard of my parents' station wagon and burned up the engine. I reminded my dad of that story without identifying the culprit. My dad now has dementia, so he didn't really remember the story so well, let alone the identity of the perpetrator. 

[originally posted November 7 2011, 6:33 PM]

My father went AWOL this week for the second time in his life, that I know of. The first time was when he was in the Army after World War II in postwar Japan. He snuck out the window in the barracks to say one last goodbye to his Japanese girlfriend.

This time he was just enjoying the nice weather, went outside into the nursing home courtyard, and then wandered through the unlocked fence gate. He says he spotted some broken glass in the roadway and was just going to pick it up to save someone from getting a flat tire.

The staff promptly spotted him where he shouldn't be, and now he is staying in a more secure area, and subject to excessive supervision, as he sees it. 

My wife and I picked him up and took him out to lunch at the local Taco Bell. We needed to wash up in the restroom, so dad went into the men's room while I waited outside. I thought I'd let my father wait outside the men's room while I washed up. My wife thought I was being imprudent, and a 3rd AWOL would be likely.

So she encouraged me to just use the ladies room and she would guard both doors. When I came out, of course there was a woman standing there waiting to use the ladies room. I told her that I could explain everything. She said "I hope you didn't pee on the seat".

Boys will be boys.

[originally posted September 2 2011, 6:43 AM]

Two things on my mind today. OK. Two hundred things. I'll just focus on the two main themes.

Dad needs a haircut. Just a trim. His hair is actually longer than mine.  St Elmo, like a growing number of American small towns don't have barbershops anymore. Or blacksmith shops. But this isn't really a social commentary. 

Looking at my dad, it's not just the hair that strikes me as shaggy. He's 84, more stooped than I remember, and more unfocused and scattered than ever. He manages to get his breakfast, but he looks like someone who has a dozen other things on his mind. Dad has Alzheimer's Disease, and today is a very big day. His children are aware, but he won't be until a little later in the day.

Today, we plan to move dad to his new home in Columbia MO, called The Bluffs. He won't be thrilled to hear this news. He's likely to be concerned that we are going to get rid of his car, or throw away more of his accumulated treasure. We kids have examined the treasure, and it's mostly saved plastic detergent bottles, Little Debbie boxes, empty Kleenex boxes, all stuffed with McDonald's receipts, napkins, straws, plastic grocery bags, etc. Part of the treasure is his kingdom of electrical Rube Goldberg devices.

That stuff needs a trim. 

There is a network of dangerous electical cobwebs (take the video tour) that have accumulated in the upstairs and the garage, the sacred domains of my father. After Dad hops in the car to go to my sister Lori's house, my brother Brad and I plan to remove miles of old extension cords, adapters, splices, half-broken lamps, and other odd parts to reduce the fire risk, and to set our minds at ease. We could never have done this with Dad in the house. 

The hoarding has resulted in the accumulation of so much broken stuff that it will take a few dump trucks to do the job. Today is a more focused effort. Only the wires.

Just a trim.