Journal: Taking the Next Step

 

We never did find Loren’s lost Christmas dinner in the two large Styrofoam containers, though the pie, in its smaller Styrofoam box, materialized the next day, showing up on the table, half eaten.  I asked Loren if he knew where the other Styrofoam boxes were.  He did not.  I asked where the pie came from.  He didn’t know.  So the question of the day is, will the leftover food breed worms and stink like the Israelites’ leftover manna, or will it petrify and its location remain a mystery forevermore?

We had a lovely Christmas get-together last Monday evening at River Land Cabin, near the confluence of the Platte and Loup Rivers.  

Ian, 5, told me he had a headache when we arrived, and indeed his eyes did look a bit bleary.  I carefully felt his head with my cold, cold hand... commiserated with him, told him I didn’t think he had a fever, and gave a drink of cold water.

He showed up like clockwork the rest of the evening in 30-minute intervals to let me feel his head with my cold, cold hand, and to give him another drink of cold water.

Andrew and Hester gave me a soft, navy cashmere sweater set, a shimmery black, gray, and white infinity scarf, and a Stanley Thermos mug with the famous Pendleton blanket stripes on it.

They gave Larry a western suit jacket, after hearing about two of his suit jackets that were left by mistake at a local laundromat that closed before I remembered about the suits.  By the time I thought of them, their phones and email addresses were defunct.  I learned from the laundromat to which I have switched that all left-behind clothes at that other laundromat were donated to secondhand stores in town.

One jacket was actually a little too big and too long for him; but it was his father’s, and he was sentimental about it.

Caleb and Maria gave us a big pretty basket full of smoked fish... cheese... crackers... jellies... chips... coffee... honey... sauce... oranges... Mmmm! 

Victoria made a powdered chocolate creamer concoction that she put into canning jars and doled out to everyone.  She also knitted a pair of socks for me!  I love handknitted socks, and these fit perfectly.

Bobby and Hannah gave us a big basket full of dried soups... crackers... jellies and jams (including Toe Jam!)... and a set of wooden utensils.

I sent a set of wooden utensils to Dorcas for Christmas, thinking all the while, Hey, I need some of those, too!  And now I have some.  😊

Jeremy and Lydia gave us a beautifully painted deer on wooden slats.

We doled out the airplane knives we got from a vendor at the Nebraska State Fair. 

Hester told us that Keira said, “Eeeek” when Andrew opened his.  hee hee

Here is the view from the cabin’s back deck, looking south at the Platte River.  There’s Larry on the four-wheeler giving rides to some of the little granddaughters.

Tuesday, The Thot Plickened.  My head hurt.  Literally and figuratively.  Because... when I arrived at Loren’s house that afternoon, he had a pile of stuff ‘packed’ at the top of the stairs.

His packing was reminiscent of Victoria’s ‘packing’ when we were getting ready to go to Yellowstone when she was three or four years old.  She filled a large wicker doll basket with her biggest doll, a toy coffee pot, a stuffed tiger, a stuffed bear in a mint-green crocheted dress, books, Caleb’s (very dried) corsage from Bobby and Hannah’s wedding, a tiny metal car, and a bag from the veterinary clinic with the words Cat Stuff imprinted on both sides above a cute photo of kittens.  Inside the bag were a large car and a kaleidoscope.  But the strangest thing sticking out of the doll basket was a long plastic pipe that was part of a set of pipes that went on a big Tonka truck belonging to one of the boys.

Loren had used plastic garbage cans and a five-gallon bucket to ‘pack’ stuff in.  He had a small basket like one might use under the sink full of underwear and socks.  He had a couple of Norma’s pictures... a fat book, 101 Hymn Stories, his and Janice’s wedding album, and a few of the pictures he’d received for Christmas.  Out of all the photos he’d gotten, he had chosen only those pictures of our grandchildren to ‘pack’ with his other things.

I said, “What’s all this?” and he said he was packing for his move to ‘his home in Schuyler’.  “Did you gather up all this stuff?” I asked.

First he said Randy and Judy (Janice’s sister) had done it a couple of hours earlier (though I knew no one had been to his house, and I would later learn they were on an out-of-state vacation); then later he grudgingly admitted he had done it, “because Randy and Judy are coming to get me and take me home.”

I put his food on the table, and he informed me, “I can’t eat that!  I have to go home!”

I told him he was home, he had no other home, it’s all paid for, he’s lived here 28 years, he needs to eat, blah blah. 

“Well, I didn’t know that!” he said.

About that time, I noticed that his desk was half-cleared off – and the phone (land line), modem, all the cords, and even the brand-new extension cord we had gotten for him were gone.

“Where’s your phone?” I asked.

He threw his hands in the air.  “How should I know?!  You don’t keep track of stuff you don’t use!!!” 

I went around looking for it.  He added, “I never use phones.”  And every few minutes, “Are you going to take me back home?” (or ‘to Schuyler’, or whatever entered his head at the moment.)

Finally I decided action was called for.  I announced that, no, I was not taking him anywhere, because this was his home, he has no other home, and if he isn’t content to stay, then the only other option is------------ and here he interrupted, as if he knew what I was going to say:  “NO!!! I’M NOT GOING TO GO TO AN INSANE ASSYLUM!!!” 

“I didn’t say that,” I said.  “It’s called ‘assisted living’ or a ‘nursing home’, and people help you when you need help.”

He said “NO!” again, while I went on looking for the phone.  I went out to get my phone from my vehicle, came in, called his number.  Nothing.  I checked the garage... the lower level... kept my phone ringing his number... nothing.  Same song, second verse, when I tried the cell phone number.

I decided to put everything away that he’d drug out.

He said, “I didn’t know this was going to make you so mad!!!”

I told him truthfully, “I’m not mad at all,” and went on putting things away.  

“Well, what would you call it?!” he demanded.

I said, “I’m very worried about you.  And we have to find your phone.  You need to have a phone.” 

He brought me two remote controls.  “Here they are,” he said.

“Those are your remotes,” I said.  He looked blank.  “For your DVD player and screen.”  I pointed at them.  And I took the remotes and squirreled them away when he wasn’t looking.  Those things have confused him for the last time.

I put away his few clothes, and found a small case on his bed with more clothes that he’d packed and forgotten.  They wouldn’t all fit back in his dresser drawers.  How does that happen?  Did they expand when he got them out of the drawers?  I started going through a file box – and his cell phone fell out of a fiber dusting cloth and a handled microfiber duster. 

I searched for a charger; they were all missing, too.  I found the one that doesn’t work, that I had once thrown away.  He must’ve fished it back out of the garbage.  This time I brought it home and threw it in my own garbage. 

All his shoes were sitting there, even heavy work boots.  I put them back in his room.  I emptied trashcan after trashcan, and stacked them together.  When he wasn’t looking, I took them out to the BMW.  He would have to use pillowcases or plastic bags next time he ‘packed’.  Besides, he’s been tossing banana peels and suchlike into plastic cans without bags, then poking them into corners here and there, creating a bit of a problem. 

He’d packed coffee filters of various sizes... an old coffee maker... and tall, heavy stacks of books of quarter collections.  I found a glass commemorative clock, a note Larry had written one morning telling him where his breakfast was, and a paper plate with a note from Norma.

Finally, from a heavy-duty file box that he’d been throwing receipts into (they were still in the bottom, along with a stray Liberty dime circa 1936), I pulled a large pile of scarves, hats, and gloves – and there was the phone, the modem, four electric razors, and a gazillion cords all tangled up like miles and miles of last-year’s Christmas lights.  The new extension cord was there, too.

It took me a looong time to get those cords untangled, the phones and the modem plugged in properly, and turned back on.  I called both phones with my phone to make sure they worked; they did.  I told Loren he must not do that, and he must not walk to his other house, as he threatened to do, because the only other option is ----- “NO!!!” he shouted ------- “assisted living,” I finished, after the yelling. 

I walked right over to the table where he was sitting, looked him in the eye, and said, “Those are your only two options:  your home right here where you are, or assisted living.  No other choice.”

He tried glaring and staring me down, but I won.  So he said, “You think I should stay here, then?” 

“Yes,” I said.  “You have a nice home, it’s all yours, all paid for.  You have no other place to go.”  I pointed at his uneaten food that had been sitting there for an hour by then.  “Plus, you have to eat.  You’ll get sick, if you don’t eat.”

So he finally nodded. 

I reminded him that there was more food in the refrigerator if he gets hungry, and told him goodbye.  He was extremely subdued.  “I don’t know how much longer we can go on in this same vein,” I told Larry later.

{Can you see from this picture why the little cousins love their big cousin Joanna so much?}

“Just for the record,” I told some of my kids, “as I’m in my right mind at the moment (sorta), if I ever have to be put in assisted living or a nursing home, I do not regard it as the worst thing ever, or a punishment, or prison; and I imagine I would be just fine.  So if I lose my marbles and scream ‘NO!!’ about it someday when it seems to be the only option, ignore that, and remember that once upon a time, I said this.”

A couple of hours after I got home, I realized my phone was missing.  Did I leave it at Loren’s house?  Larry planned to stop and check on him after he got off work anyway; he would look for my phone.

Sure enough, my phone was there.  Larry found it right at Loren’s place at the table where he eats.  I would not have left it there.  I distinctly remembered putting it into the box in which I carried his food.  Then I had set the box on the table while I put away a bunch of that stuff he had ‘packed’.  Evidently, while I was doing that, he rifled through the box on the table and got my phone out of it.  He probably thought he’d found himself a nifty new toy – and was doubtless highly disappointed when he couldn’t figure out how to turn it on.

Victoria had sent the rest of her scrumptious cornbread salad home with us Monday night, so we had it for supper Tuesday.

I didn’t realize until afterwards that I didn’t get any pictures of Violet with her usual big smile!  The best shot is cute, but she’s very serious, because, as she explained, she was building a “vewy impo’tant gawage fo’ aw deze cahs.”  

I told Larry Tuesday evening, “I’m afraid Loren’s next venture will be on foot out into the cold, one of these days.”

‘One of these days’ was the very next day.

I spent some time Wednesday talking first to a social worker at the hospital in David City, and then I left a message with one of the nicer nursing homes/assisted living facilities here in town, but they never called me back.  Aggravating, when you feel you’re in dire need of someone’s services, and they don’t return your call.

Noticing it was Wednesday, Loren decided to go to the midweek church service.  The service starts at 7:30 p.m.  The Moultrie cam showed him walking down his driveway at 4:20 p.m., fully attired in suit and tie – but no hat, coat, or gloves.  The temperature was 23°, with the wind chill at 6°.

We saw a couple of men in hooded coats walk in front of the camera, then Loren went back into the house, came back out in ten minutes, and headed down the driveway again.  Moultrie did not show him going back in.  It does sometimes neglect to take pictures of every last thing that moves; the setting sun fools it, at times.  I called Loren’s number; he didn’t answer.  I rushed out to the car and went to look for him – but I’m ten minutes away.  We called friends and family to help, and several people headed off in directions Loren might have gone, if he thought he was going to church.  We saw no sign of him.

But then the Moultrie cam showed a vehicle pulling into his drive at 5:12 p.m., and we figured someone had taken him home. 

I got to his house shortly thereafter.  He was sitting at the table, sans suit jacket, grinning at me like a Cheshire cat, proud as could be of himself for managing to hitch a ride somewhere, in spite of the fact that we’d stopped him from traveling about on his own.

I asked, “Where have you been?” 

First he said he went to church, “but there was only one little girl there.”  Then he told me the principal’s ‘little girl’ had given him a ride.  Our principal is Bobby’s younger brother.  He has two little boys and no daughters, but his wife is one of Jeremy’s sisters, and she’s young and slender.  I called her just as she was trying to call me.  It seems a couple of Loren’s ‘neighbor boys’, as he called them, had taken him to the church.  (A ‘neighbor boy’ could be a man of most any age from 15 to 75.)  I’m sure Loren sounded totally lucid when he asked for a ride, and he can be so friendly and personable, people see nothing wrong with him.  Still, you’d think people would know better! – an elderly man, not dressed for the weather, walking outside... yeah, you’d think they’d know better.

I said, “You went out without a coat or hat!  People can die of hypothermia ----------” at which point he switched from a Cheshire cat to a snarling dragon, saying, “NOoooo!” in a mocking tone, wrinkling his nose, and informing me (loudly) that he knew exactly what his feet could do and where they could walk, and I couldn’t tell him otherwise.  I tried for a minute or two longer to reason with him, telling him that a lot of people were out looking for him, and, again, that it’s not the kind of weather for him to be out walking in.

Then he, who has always been a stickler for warm attire in cold weather, came unglued and told me that I was lying, and yelled, “Nobody has ever died in this weather!”  He yelled a whole lot of other nonsensical stuff that I can never remember later, since it made no sense at all.

This couldn’t go on.  I had to impress on him that he must not go out in this weather, for I didn’t know how quickly we could muster the troops to stay with him round the clock, as we clearly would now have to do, until we could get him into a nursing home.

So I came unglued, too, ordering him, “You stop it!  Don’t you dare talk to me that way, when all we’re trying to do is keep you safe, and keep you from dying of hypothermia!”

He did look a little startled; I’ve never talked to him like that before.  He objected, “You get way too upset!  You’re mean and oppressive!!”

“You’re exactly right, I’m upset!” I retorted.  “I was ready to call the police for help in finding you.  It’s not mean and oppressive to try to keep someone you love from dying of hypothermia!!  But it’s really horrid to talk like you do!”

He quit yelling.

About that time, Lydia, who’d been out looking for him, came in the front door.  Loren did his chameleon impersonation, and turned into Mr. Charmer.  He even apologized for upsetting her.  I wanted to box his ears.

I didn’t know exactly what to do next; but I extracted a promise from him that he would not set foot outside until we came to pick him up for church in an hour and half, and then, figuring things had been dramatic enough that he would stay put for a little while, at least, I came home to get ready.

Larry decided to go pick him up on his way home from work, rather than leave him alone and risk him walking away again; but by then Loren was too tired to go.  It was already past his usual time for going to bed, right about sundown.  So Larry stayed with him.

I put on my new navy cashmere sweater set (sssssofft!) from Andrew and Hester, a navy skirt with bright little flowers all over it, and a fancy black, blue, and white scarf.  I stuck my feet into cute little navy shoes with beaded flowers on the toes, and then I was utterly too-too (as Nelly Olson of Little House on the Prairie used to say). 

It’s exactly the right time to be utterly too-too, after a big snarling fight with one’s brother.  Right?

Loren admitted to Larry that he gets confused, and knows he needs help, and even agreed he needed to stay in a nursing home.  He never will say such things to me.  He did tell him that he’d driven to church himself, whereupon Larry told him he couldn’t have, because he has all of Loren’s keys. 

Loren was amazed.  “Are you sure?!” 

Loren needs to be in a place where he is supervised, and cannot just walk off.  He acts like I’m planning to poke him into one of those places where they used to give shock treatments.  But I think he’ll actually be happier there than at his home.  He says he is lonely – and now he no longer recognizes his home as his own.  He’s not caring for himself... he thought he could walk to church...  It’s time.

Hannah had her tonsils removed Thursday morning.  I was quite surprised when she called me at 11:30 a.m. to say she was doing all right.  She couldn’t talk long, as it made her throat hurt; but she sounded better than she’s sounded for some time – not nearly so congested.  The doctor told her it was the worse set of tonsils he had ever seen – and he’s been doing tonsillectomies for years.

We’d worried about Hannah having this potentially difficult procedure, knowing it’s almost always worse for an adult than for a child.  But she said it only took 20 minutes, and, for once, she came out of the anesthesia without any troubles at all.

I managed to keep from crying over Loren Wednesday night, but I cried when I found out Hannah was all right.  Then I went to the piano and played a rousing version of Crown the Newborn King.  A combination of piano and hymn is mighty good therapy, that’s the truth of the matter.  I haven’t made it clear through my Christmas notebook yet, even though I’ve been playing from it every day since Thanksgiving.  It’s a big book, with a few hundred songs in it.

Larry had to haul forms to Blair that morning, so Nathanael stayed with Loren, while I spent part of the morning and afternoon calling nursing homes in town and learning what steps we needed to take next.  I gave Butler County Clinic permission to give Loren’s medical records to nursing homes that might call.  I didn’t want to do all this under Loren’s nose, so we were thankful for Nathanael’s help. 

Shortly after noon, Janice’s sister Judy wrote to tell me that Loren had just called and asked her to take him somewhere (though he couldn’t remember where he needed to go).  But she and her family were still on vacation.  I told her all the happenings, including the fact that Nathanael was there with him right then. 

Next, I called Nathanael and told him what Loren had done, which quite surprised him, as he thought Loren was in his bedroom sleeping.

It’s like trying to chaperone a 15-year-old juvenile delinquent who doesn’t want to be chaperoned!  😏

After finishing all the phone calls, I baked battered Alaskan cod, steamed some broccoli, and took it to Loren and Nathanael.  That tall, lanky teenager was hungry.  I kept feeding him ’til he was full (I hope), adding fruit, pudding, cheese, and juice from Loren’s refrigerator. 

When I told Nathanael I had talked to his mother on the phone, before I could continue, he turned to me quickly and asked, “How did she sound?” 

I told him, “She sounded better than she has for a long time – much less congested.”

And he gave a big relieved sigh, and said, “I sure hope this helps her.” 

And I needed to cry all over again, just because it was touching seeing how much that boy loves his mother. 

Loren, upon hearing Nathanael say that he had to go back to school January 3^rd, asked me if I had to go back to work then, too.  He was talking about Nebraska Public Power District.  I quit in 1979. 

I told him, “I don’t work there anymore.”  

He was quite surprised.  “Why not?!”  

“I quit before Keith was born,” I told him.  “That was 42 years ago.”

He was right properly astonished.  “Time sure flies!” he exclaimed, shaking his head.

After he finished eating, Nathanael called his sister Joanna to come pick him up. 

After the big kafuffle Wednesday night, Loren was extra nice Thursday.  He was really cold all day, and very tired.  He went to bed shortly after the sun went down, but kept coming back out saying he was cold.  He put on the lambs’ wool socks we gave him for Christmas. 

The next time he came out, he had on fleece thermals, and needed me to hunt down some safety pins for him, because they wouldn’t stay up.  He’s lost weight since having Covid, as he hasn’t been eating very well.

I turned the large EdenPURE infrared space heater on in his room, and before long he was sound asleep.

Larry finally got off work, came and ate supper – and, amazingly enough, we didn’t wake Loren with all our noise of dishes, cutlery, conversation, and the microwave.

Then, as he’s been doing each night after he’s sure Loren is sleeping soundly, he came home for a shower, and to gather up stuff he might want the next day at Loren’s house.  Friday and Saturday were paid holidays.

Friday, various social workers from the nursing homes began calling me back.  I took notes, and made a choice:  Emerald Nursing & Rehab.  We needed to get a doctor’s report in order to have Loren admitted, so I made an appointment with his doctor for 11:00 a.m. Monday, January 3.  That was today.

Once the doctor’s appointment was set, we were able to schedule a visit from the nursing home’s social worker and her administrator.  They will come tomorrow, Tuesday, at 1:30 p.m.

Loren’s house needs to be cleaned, but I have neither the time nor the energy to worry about it.  All this upheaval makes my hands shake and my knees knock and my stomach refuse to digest!  ha  Ah, well; maybe it’s just as well the workers see dust on things and a floor that needs to be vacuumed.  It’s a simple fact: we can’t keep up with everything.

Since Larry had to go to Sioux City Friday afternoon, Bobby stayed with Loren for a few hours until Larry got back.  By early evening, Loren was not a bit happy with the situation.  He thinks he needs to go to bed the instant it starts getting dark; but he kept getting back up to see if Bobby was still lurking on the premises.  Bobby was quietly working on his music, but Loren couldn’t sleep with this unwanted intrusion.

He offered to take Bobby home.

Bobby declined.

Loren went back to bed.

A little later, Bobby went to check on him.

No Loren.  Concerned, Bobby swept the house and didn’t see him.  He went outside to see if Loren had somehow gone out there without Bobby knowing it (unlikely) – and then heard Loren calling to him from the porch.  Had he been hiding?  Or maybe he had been in the small bathroom off the master bedroom?

Loren then put on his coat and insisted he needed to give Bobby a ride home. 

“I’ll just wait ’til Larry gets here,” said Bobby – and Loren proceeded to call him a ‘ramrod’, and inform him angrily, “I won’t have a young kid telling me how to live my life!”

Bobby was glad to see Larry pulling into the drive shortly after this drama.  Poor Bobby!  I know very well how traumatic it is when that happens.

Bobby went home, and Loren asked Larry if they could ‘go home now’, so he could go to bed.  Larry told him he already was home.  Next, he told Larry to go to bed (Larry’s  been sleeping in the bedroom in the lower level).  It was 6:40 p.m. 🤪😄

Larry went downstairs so Loren would go in his room and sleep, hopefully – and then Larry noticed that a couple of mirrors were all dusty and dirty.  He gathered up some paper towels and a bottle of glass cleaner, and went to scrubbing. 

Problem:  He’s half deaf, and what he thinks is ‘being quiet’, ... isn’t.

Loren was soon down there asking him what he was doing.  😅

“Was I making too much noise?” asked Larry.  He promised to be quieter, and Loren went back to bed.

After Larry was pretty sure Loren was asleep, he went outside to work on a snowplow on the front of a Suburban belonging to a fellow employee at Walkers.

Next problem:  He’d left a back door of the Suburban open by accident, and the battery had run down.  And Loren’s dinky little battery pack couldn’t charge that big battery back up enough to start the motor. 

We all keep making all kinds of silly blunders, causing us to feel like we’re acquiring dementia, too. 😅  This is stressful.  I keep repeating myself.  I can’t remember to whom I’ve said what.  Oh, well...  As Victoria once said, when she was about 3, “Did I already say that?”  ((She pondered.))  Then, “It’s okay!” she decided.  “Twice is better than nunce!”

I hopped in the BMW and went to rescue Larry.  It was 6°, with a windchill of -13°.  A few flakes were starting to come down.  We would have about an inch and a half of snow before it stopped.

At our family gathering last Monday night, Grant saw that one of his younger cousins (Ian, I think) was having trouble getting the magnets we’d given him into the configuration he wanted, so he waited until the boy went downstairs, then quickly went and put the structure together for him.

A few minutes later, I heard a little boy (pretty sure it was Ian) exclaim in delight, “Hey!!  My magnet building is all together!”

Grant smiled at me and kept vewy, vewy quiet.

I edited my Christmas pictures, and then scanned and edited old photos most of the day.  It’s not rocket science, so my boggled brain managed to do pretty well, considering.  After Larry went back to Loren’s house, I retired to my recliner, laptop in lap, and watched something nonconstructive and noneducational and unenlightening on YouTube.

By noon Saturday, the thermometer had crept up to 0°, but the wind chill was -21°.  It was cold.

In listening to the news, I learned that it was National Hangover Day.

That’s awful and pathetic.  I cannot understand people who think that’s any kind of fun.  I like my brain, fleabrained as it is, to be as rational as possible at all times.

I washed clothes and dishes, and gave the kitchen a lick and a promise.  Oh, and I cleaned out the litterbox.  I mustn’t forget that.  And you needed to know, right?  So you didn’t think I was lazing around, or anything.  Just another January 1^st, full of fun and games! 

Next, I typed a couple of pages of description of Loren’s, uh, ... idiosyncrasies and eccentricities for the doctor visit today.  Keep it concise, keep it concise.

I am not concise.

I told the family, “The trouble is, Loren can suddenly really put on a front, and seem quite lucid and normal for a little while.  The doctor and the social workers will talk to him... decide he’s plumb normal... and put me in the ‘insane asylum’ (as Loren calls it when he’s yelling about it) instead of him!”

I said as much to one of the social workers, and she laughed and said, “No, don’t worry; the cognitive tests will show the truth.” 

Still, ... I wrote an overview.  We never seem to have the opportunity to talk with the doctor alone, and I’m sure it’s hard for him to get a good picture, with only a few minutes of conversation.  He never really diagnosed Loren with much of anything, though he gave him medication for Alzheimer’s back in May of 2020 – which, I discovered in my extensive researching on the matter, is not at all good for those with Lewy Body dementia.  Thus, I wrote the overview.

The little birds on the back deck were nothing but huddled balls of fluff that day – until other birds got too close to the food source.  Then the huddled balls of fluff exerted themselves to fly forward and give those other feathered fuzzies a good swift peck.

The twittering and chirping people hear at their bird-feeding stations and describe in such loving, glowing terms is really just a bunch of birds having melees, rumpuses, fracases, skirmishes, and hullabaloos over the seed.

Dorcas sent pictures of Baby Brooklyn that day.  She’s three weeks old now, and look at that sweet smile.  Made me smile right back at my laptop screen.

I went to bed at a perfectly decent hour that night (midnight or thereabouts), the better to be bright-eyed and bushy-tailed for Sunday School and church the next morning.

I plumped my pillow, removed the extra shearling blanket, replumped the pillow, took off my socks, scratched my head, tucked the fleece blanket around my shoulders, replumped the pillow, and then tried a different pillow altogether.

You know, I could get to sleep better if there wasn’t a meerkat in the corner of my bedroom brushing his teeth.

Huh?  You ask how I know what a meerkat sounds like when he brushes his teeth?

Well, I know, of course, because there’s one brushing his teeth in the corner of my bedroom, that’s how!

Larry will say something silly, like it’s a loose gutter rubbing on the corner of the house, or something.  But I know a meerkat’s teeth-brushing when I hear it.

I finally fell asleep sometime around 2:30 a.m.  My alarm went off at 6:40 a.m.  🥱

I gave the new Stanley coffee mug a good test that day:  I filled it with coffee at 9:10 a.m. ... took it with me in the BMW... came out of church three hours and 20 minutes later ------- and found still-piping-hot coffee in the mug, despite the fact that it was 11 below 0 when I left home.

Wheeeeeeeee!  I had steaming hot coffee to drink, all the cold, cold way home.

I put chicken breast filets in the oven, and when they were nearly done, I steamed some broccoli to take to Loren and Larry.  There was plenty of fruit, yogurt, juice, etc., in Loren’s refrigerator to complete the meal.

Larry stayed home with him all day.  Loren can’t really follow along with a sermon anymore, he has trouble finding the references – and he flappity-flap-flaps his pages in the trying.  Larry helps him get to the right page – and thereby misses part of the sermon, too.  So we decided to stop creating a scene.  More relaxing for all of us.  (Well, maybe not for Loren, if he is determined he needs to go; but we’d be in New York City by now, if we headed east every time he wants to go in that direction.)

While at Loren’s house, I discovered when looking for a sandwich bag (which I didn’t find) that the skinny slide-out cupboard beside the refrigerator is full of canned vegetables and soup and dried split peas!  I brought the latter home; I love split-pea soup.  Now I need ham, celery, and carrots; I already have onions.  I’ve never opened that cupboard before, because I thought it had pans in it.  Maybe it did, when Janice was using it.

Coyotes were howling up a concerto when I went out the door to go to church that evening.  There were sopranos, altos, tenors, basses, and contraltos.  Various neighbor dogs endeavored to join in, but only succeeded in wrecking the harmony.

When I got home after the evening service, I sent Larry a text:  “Whatcha doin’?”

He responded, “Well, I need some mouthwash and some different clothes and some food and dessert.  Loren is in bed for the night, so I wondered if you want to have a date!!!”

So, we had a date.  A Hy-Vee grocery store date, where we bought expensive, ready-made food (on account of not only having tired brains, but the rest of us is tired, too), after which we brought it home, sat down at the table – and discovered that half of what we had purchased was ‘Take & Bake’, with baking times ranging into the one-hour category.

Fortunately, we’d been hungry when we were shopping, so we hadn’t been stingy in our food-gathering.  The Take & Bake items went into the refrigerator, and we dined happily on the rest.

And the dessert?  Would you believe, donuts.  We never buy donuts.  Well, maybe not never.  But it’s certainly extremely rare.

I ate half a donut and got a stomachache.

Being a valiant person, I ate the other half for breakfast this morning.

And got another stomachache.

There are over half a dozen donuts left!  That’s over twelve more stomachaches.  🙄😬

Hannah is having it pretty rough, with her throat, jaw, and mouth so painful she can’t eat or chew.  “I’ve found I like sour dough bread soaked in bone broth, so that has been sustaining,” she wrote.  “Yogurt is too thick, and tapioca pudding is too lumpy.  I tried mashed potatoes, but they didn’t work, either.  I sleep mostly sitting up so I don’t choke.  It’s scary waking up to that feeling.  I put ice on my neck to help with swelling, and that gives some relief.”

It makes us feel bad when she’s in pain or unwell.  A nurse who called to see how she was doing said the jaw, tongue, and gum pain is possibly from positioning of things, including the breathing tube, during the surgery.  She advised letting the doctor know if the pain doesn’t get better soon. 

Levi’s been sick, too, with a cold, and the inevitable asthma.  Some of Lydia’s family have had colds, too, and Jonathan has asthma.  Poor little boys!  Asthma is nothing to trifle with.  It’s scary when you can’t breathe.

Larry took Loren to his doctor’s appointment in David City this morning, with Loren protesting, “I didn’t know I had a checkup today!”

“They need to see how you’re doing since you got Covid,” explained Larry. 

That’s almost sorta true, come to think of it.

“I don’t go to those sorts of appointments!” exclaimed Loren.  “I’m not up to it.  I need a nap.”

Larry resorted to the best weapon to use with Loren:  “If you don’t go, Medicaid is liable to not pay your bills,” he said.  That’s sorta true, too.

“Oh,” said Loren, and got ready to go. 

I did not go with them, because 1) last we knew, they were only allowing one extra person in the examining room with a dementia patient, and 2) Loren answers questions more truthfully when I am not there.

When the doctor walked into the room, Larry handed him the papers I’d typed, telling of the various symptoms Loren exhibits and some of the incidents that have happened.  He was glad to get it, and asked Loren a variety of questions as he read through it, which Loren proceeded to answer in his ‘best’ confused way – which was all the better, as that helped the doctor see that our assessment of the problem is accurate.

Loren had no idea those papers in the doctor’s hand had anything to do with him, and did not question how the doctor knew so much about him.  Dr. Carlson said the dementia had advanced a lot farther than he was aware, and that we’d kept Loren in his home, as independent as possible, a lot longer than most people are able to, when dealing with this type of dementia.  It made me feel better to hear that. 

The doctor asked Loren if he could cook.  Loren hesitated – he does not like to admit he can’t do something.  Then, “No,” he said. 

“Who brings you your meals?” asked the doctor.

“My wife,” replied Loren.

“Your wife passed away a year and a half ago,” the doctor reminded Loren, as he had already done a couple of times.  The doctor looked at Larry. 

“It’s my wife, his sister, who takes him meals,” said Larry.

“Do you think your sister is your wife?” the doctor asked Loren.

“Sometimes,” he answered.

The balloons were for Warren, who turned 7 that day.

Actually, he doesn’t, usually.  At least, not when I’m there.  But this would become a problem, I imagine.

Dr. Carlson promised to write his report and get it to Emerald Nursing & Rehab right away. 

Larry brought Loren home, and Loren, all worn out, headed toward his room to take a nap, remarking a bit petulantly, “I needed one before we went!”

Larry came home for a short while to work on a pickup and to gather some things to take back to Loren’s house.

Victoria sent an audio clip of Carolyn and Violet laughing uproariously while they went through the carwash.  I have no idea why going through a carwash is so hilarious, but, once we listened to this clip, Larry and I couldn’t quit laughing, either.  Knowing Carolyn and Violet, they probably looked at each other, one of them giggled – and they were off.  hee hee

They are such funny little things.

Tomorrow is the home visit from the social worker and her administrator. 

I’m hoping we can get the next few steps done quickly, and it doesn’t drag out too long. 

I keep thinking, Soon, he’ll be in a place where he’ll be cared for.  Life will be easier.  Soon.  But before it gets easier, it’s, uh, not. 

Question of the Day #2:  How will we get him to leave his chairs, aka Fisher Price toys, where they belong for Tuesday’s home visit?

They will write in their report, “Chain chairs to floor.”

Bedtime!

 

 

P.S.:  OH!  Larry found one of the Styrofoam boxes that once contained part of the Christmas dinner!  It was out in the garage on a bench, now empty, along with an assortment of tools that had been recently taken from a toolbox.

He had looked in the garage for those boxes!  So... where had it been?  And... where is the other one??

And what was he doing with those tools???

,,,>^..^<,,,          Sarah Lynn          ,,,>^..^<,,,