And she fell asleep with a happy smile on her face.

There are nice ways to remind dementia patients that they are forgetful. By reminding them politely of things you want 'em to remember. Repetition helps. I often explained to Jeanne that she had a disease that made her forget things. And that's why I was with her daily. To help remind her of things. Not the least being that I loved her. And would never abandon her. Sometimes, I'd remind her of that 10 or 20 times in a day. And I told Jeanne in terms that she could understand, that she had a one-track mind. And so it was important to deal with one thought or one task at a time. To try to do more would be confusing. Sort of like a train track, I told Jeanne. If there's a single track with only one train on it, things will go smoothly. But if there are 2 or 3 or 4 trains on the same track, look out. There may be a collision. Confusion. I explained that Jeanne's mind was similar to a train track. Keep only one train of thought on that track. And when Jeanne went to bed at night, I suggested to Jeanne that the thought as she falls asleep should be that she's happy. I said Jeanne didn't have to know why she was happy -- just being happy was good enough. And she fell asleep with a happy smile on her face. --Jim Broede

...to pretend that everybody is doing their best.

On the Alzheimer's message boards today, a woman named Peachy commented: "Yes, you do have free expression of speech to post whatever you want on YOUR blog. So, why copy and paste stuff from this (Alzheimer's message) board? If you are so intelligent, then you would not need to get stuff off this board and make fun of people who are truly hurting and trying to do the best they can with the cards they have been dealt."

Well, Peachy, you seem to be making the assumption that all of the care-givers posting on the Alzheimer's message boards are doing the best they can. I don't buy into that premise. Some of 'em could be doing a lot better. And that would certainly benefit their patients. That's why I keep raising the issue. In my opinion, some care-givers do harm to their patients. And that's gotta be fixed. And one way we start to get around to a fix is by talking about it. Doesn't do any good to pretend that everybody is doing their best. --Jim Broede

...our own comfort levels.

I read and listen to all kinds of crap. Daily. Can't help it. That's the nature of the world. Listen to politicians. Turn on the radio or TV and listen to the news or to talk shows. So much of it is crap. Often, if I eavesdrop on a conversation, it's crap. But I don't let that bother me too much. I let it go in one ear and out the other. I've been accustomed to what I should avoid on TV and the radio and in newspapers. I've become selective. Even in choosing my friends and acquaintances. I pick and choose. I've found a comfort level. I'd recommend that we all strive for our own comfort levels. --Jim Broede

And that's the way it should be.

I have my own blog. But as for other blogs, I am very selective about which ones I read. Generallly, it has to be a liberal-slanted blog. One that makes me feel good. I read the Alzheimer's message boards daily. And I'm careful to follow the guidelines established by the Alzheimer's Association. If I deviate from the guidelines, I do it in my blog, away from the message boards. And I read something every day. Books. The New York Times. And I write every day. And I try to post what I write in the proper places. Sometimes in my journal. Sometimes in letters. Sometimes on the Alzheimer's message boards. Sometimes in my blog. I find it works. Gives me freedom of expression. With it all being done in the proper places. And all of my writings -- well, they aren't required reading. And that's the way it should be. --Jim Broede

That ain't stupid. It's downright smart.

There was an interesting exchange on the Alzheimer’s message boards today.

“In addition to my full-time management job, I teach a Writing I class three mornings a week at the local community college,” Barbara Jane wrote. “My students are usually first-time college students right out of high school. My morning was awful with getting Mom ready for ADC. I lost it and argued with her. Like that helps, arguing with someone in Stage 6 AD, right? As I drove onto campus I thought to myself that my wish for my students is that a cure or preventative is found for AD before they have to start dealing with my generation suffering from it. Growing up I never knew anyone who was dealing with this. Now it seems like everyone my age is dealing with it. Hope it stops with us.”

Now I think that was a nice thought.

I suggested that Barbara Jane have her students imagine what it must be like to have Alzheimer's. And then have them write about it.

But there was a dissenter. A woman named Tracy, who incidentally, has early onset Alzheimer’s, wrote: “That is the stupidest thought I have ever heard of Jim. I have this disease and would not wish it on anyone to even imagine what it is like. They need to spend their energy on preventive measures and cures, etc."

Well, folks, pardon me. But I think Tracy misses the point. It’s especially important for care-givers and the rest of us to imagine what the disease is like. For us to pretend what it must be like to be the patient.

Yes, we have to educate ourselves and learn all the ramifications of the disease. The ins and outs. So that we can help the likes of Tracy through her battle with it. Ain’t easy, I’m sure. So if Barbara Jane’s class of young writers can put their minds and writing abilities to work, maybe they can come away with a better understanding of the disease. That ain’t stupid. It’s downright smart. –Jim Broede

Nothing ever gets better than life with Jeanne.

I can’t see myself as an unhappy care-giver. It’s hard for me, for instance, to imagine the life of a care-giver that feels disgust towards one’s patient. Especially a loved one. A spouse. But I see it on the Alzheimer’s message boards. Indeed, that’s sad. It’s repulsive. I always felt bad for Jeanne. Having to live with dementia. Having to feel her mind slip away. Bit by bit by bit. In the early stages of Alzheimer’s, it must have been devastating. In the later stages, Jeanne didn’t understand so much about the daily toll. I could remind Jeanne that she was happy. And loved. She really didn’t have to know much more than that. Just daily assurance. That I was with her. That I would never abandon her. That I understood. I guess that’s what I mean by being a good care-giver. Never did I feel disgust for Jeanne. Never ever. I’d find that impossible. I felt empathy for Jeanne. Pure love. Still do, almost a year since Jeanne died. Jeanne was the best thing to ever happen to me. Nothing ever gets better than life with Jeanne. –Jim Broede

...grieving over the loss of our humanity.

I’m sure I’m experiencing what billions of others have experienced. Grief. Sadness. I pick up my NY Times and on the front I see a photo of Iraqis mourning over the corpses of their loved ones. Senseless deaths, which makes death even worse. Grieving even harder. So many deaths in the name of religion. Religious strife. People that can’t get along with each other. Yes, because of religious differences. Not only political and economic and social differences – but because their god tells them they’re supposed to go on killing crusades. Hateful crusades. I just don’t get it. When it comes down to the nitty-gritty, religion is at the core of man’s inhumanity to mankind. We want everybody to be a Christian. Or everybody to be a Muslim. Of one faith. Only one faith. On and on it goes. No tolerance. No love for anyone other than those who are carbon copies of us. Only those who think exactly like us. Really, we want to turn the world into a mass of spiritual robots. People who worship one god, one way. By a hard set of rules. We don’t want multiple approaches. We don’t want acceptance of dissenters. There are so many ways to live and let live and to be kind and accepting of others. But that’s not good enough, is it? We want one way. Our way. The orthodox, organized way. The Christian way. The Muslim way. One or the other. But not both ways. We have masses and masses and hordes and hordes of people telling us their way is the only way to salvation, to peace, and to harmony. And that means we all have to march in lock-step and become robots. Christian robots. Muslim robots. We’re locked in a pitched battle. And we delight in killing each other. In the name of our god. Even within the same religion. Shiite against Sunni. Catholic against Protestant. And to think, I grieve over the loss of Jeanne. When I should be grieving over the loss of our humanity. --Jim Broede

...as long as they don't discriminate.

I think I’m empathetic to minorities, in general, because I see myself as a minority. In so many, many ways. The way I think. I isolate myself, into a minority. I’m a free-thinker, and that I find makes me unacceptable, especially to religious fundamentalists. I’m a political liberal, a socialist, maybe even a communist sympathizer, and that makes me unacceptable to the political mainstream, at least in America. And I’m pretty much a loner. I go my way. I don’t join organizations, or groups. I’m a maverick, so to speak. I’m a little like a square peg in a society of round holes. And I tend to defend minority rights, which puts me in disfavor with some majorities. I want to have the right to be myself, to go against the grain; and therefore, I have to defend the rights of others to do the same. I have a live and let-live attitude. It doesn’t bother me that others don’t do as I do…as long as they don’t discriminate. –Jim Broede

...what it means to be me.

My concept of god is preposterous. That goes for the spirit world, too. Unbelievable, one might say. Yet, I believe it. I believe there’s a direct line to god. And to the spirit world. For everyone. For dealing with life. With the littlest things. And the biggest things. But most of us don’t believe it, I suspect. Oh, so many say they are believers. But they ain’t. God is a romantic. A liberal. A free-thinker. He doesn’t espouse orthodox, organized religion per se. He thinks it’s nonsense. But he tolerates it. Because some people need it. He’s open-minded. He even likes atheists. Belief in god isn’t necessary for salvation. You don’t even have to live a so-called decent life to be saved. And hey, god has an open door. He listens. Any time. Any place. He doesn’t always give you what you want. But he listens. And sometimes he confides. In dreams. In one’s imagination. He triggers thought. Sometimes god speaks to us through our subconscious mind. In, oh, so many different ways. I think god even allows Jeanne to be a conduit. To me. God thinks that’s cool. God is love. Pure love. Unconditional love. It could have been god, or Jeanne, or another friendly spirit communicating with me in my dreams. Preposterous? Yes. But I believe in the impossible. I believe in god. And in the spirit world. And I even believe that it’s possible to walk on water. And to love unconditionally. Hey, that’s what it means to be a romantic idealist. And a free-thinker. That’s what it means to be me. –Jim Broede

...very, very sad, isn't it?

I guess what I’m suggesting, is that the care-giver I quoted in the "Very sad, isn't it" thread below this one is in deep trouble. And so is her husband, the patient. She acknowledges that her husband has been getting violent with her. And she admits that she feels “disgust” towards him. That ain’t good, folks, on either end. Sounds like it’s a situation that’s rapidly deteriorating. Getting out of hand. For both of ‘em. One of these days, the husband could beat up his wife. Maybe even kill her. And the wife, well, she seems almost ready to flip out. A nervous breakdown could be around the corner. Now, I think the wife is well-intentioned. She genuinely wants to do what’s best for her husband. And she thinks that means keeping him at home. While she continues as his 24/7 care-giver. That’s admirable. But it may be foolish. My argument is that everyone may be better off if the husband went into assisted living, or a nursing home. He’d get professional care. Meanwhile, the wife could visit him as often as she wishes. Maybe daily. And she’d also be able to get daily respite. I’d encourage the wife to listen to reason. To consider her alternatives. Unfortunately, she already may be in a state of mind that makes her irrational. And yes, indeed, that’s very, very sad, isn’t it? –Jim Broede

Sad, isn't it?

"I'm operating on approximately 45 minutes of sleep," a beleaguered care-giver declared yesterday on the Alzheimer's message boards, " so if my spelling, grammar, whatever looks bad I'll blame it on that. A couple days ago I saw more agitation in DH's stance, and more anger in his voice. Last night he took it to another level. No, I was not hurt, but he did grab me in anger and pull me in his direction when I tried to walk away. I am anxiously waiting for that Neuro appt. that DH's PCP made for us almost 2 months ago. We have 25 days to go. His confusion seems almost 'selective' to me. It is so on again, off again. I can't help but feel so low down as to believe he is purposely doing it to upset me, or to get sympathy, or to use as an excuse to be hostile, and disrespectful. His attempts to make me promises, ask if I love him, tell me he loves me, and ask for kisses several times an hour are met with purely vile, angry, hateful feelings. He disgusts me. And no, JB, I am not a burned out caregiver who needs to put him in a nursing home. I am simply a loyal wife, who is really exhausted today, and really pissed off, and venting on this forum which is what it was meant to be in the first place. So unless you can say something supportive rather than condescending~~ JUST KEEP IT ZIPPED. "

Yes, folks, I feel for this woman. This care-giver. And her patient. She's having a horrifically bad day. Maybe a bad week. A bad month. A bad year. She means well. No doubt about it. But she's overburdened. Overworked. And if she keeps going at this pace, she's likely to break down. She's getting close to the edge. She needs help. She needs a care-giver of her own. Here we have two people sorely in need of care and protection. And it's quite possible neither one of 'em will get what they desperately need. And deserve. Sad, isn't it? --Jim Broede

P.S. I couldn't say this on the Alzheimer's message boards. But I can say it here. That's one reason why I created this blog.

I've doubled my pleasure, one might say.

Just a reminder, folks, that I have lots of reasons for starting and continuing my own blog. It certainly gives me a sense of being free. Pretty much the opportunity to speak as I feel. Able to set my own guidelines. My own rules.

Anyway, I try to live by the rules of the particular locale I'm in at the moment. When I'm on the Alzheimer's message boards, for instance, I try to live by the rules established by the Alzheimer's Association. But in my blog, I live by my rules.

I'm happy that I've discovered the world of blogs. I rather like it. Yes, I've been censored on rare occasion on the Alzheimer's message boards. Less than 1 percent of the time. Not nearly as often as the censored-prone Ladies Aid Society. Their members have been flagrant and relatively frequent violators of the Alzheimer Association-imposed rules.

Anyway, even a little bit of deletion proved to be a good thing. For me, that is. Because it channeled me in the direction of the blog. Now I have the best of two worlds -- the blog and the Alzheimer's message boards. I show up at both places daily. And when I feel restricted on the Alzheimer's message boards, I retreat to my blog world. I'm adaptable. Flexible. I've moved on in my own way. I've doubled my pleasure, one might say. --Jim Broede

A perfect world, so to speak.

I suppose that as long as we have religious zealots and fanatics we'll have wars. So many wars have been precipitated by religious strife. The believers in god wage war in the name of their gods all too often. But my free-thinking god tells me that war is obscene. And says that people who wage war are obscene. My god tells me to love. And not to hate. To actually love my so-called enemy. And my god tells me to have faith in mankind. That some day we will reach a heightened state of awareness and acknowledge that war makes no sense. That there are peaceful alternatives. God tells me that in the spirtual realm, there is no war. That in paradise, everyone is permeated by love. It's sort of a love orgasm. Everybody loves everybody. It's truly a kingdom of heaven. Bliss. Joy. A perfect world, so to speak. --Jim Broede

...a miracle.

I think there are many ways to claim success. After all, success is more or less in the eye of the beholder. If I've opened one mind, I consider it something of a success. If I've loved one other and had one other love me, I'd consider that an enormous success. If I'm able to say what I want to say, I think that's a success. I think that the fact that I've managed to live and survive for 72 years in a relatively happy state is a miracle. --Jim Broede

I love to love. And I hate to hate.

You seem hooked on this blog, Gale/Rainbowheart. You were the 10,000th visitor to this blog. And you keep coming back. Day after day. Just like so many other members of the Ladies Aid Society. Just remember, if you set your mind to it, you can overcome your addiction to this blog. Then you could urge others to follow your example. And the numbers would not keep going up, up, up. You ladies fascinate me. I keep wondering why you keep coming back for my words of wisdom. You know, Gale/Rainbowheart, I reject some comments. Because they are too foul and too nasty and unsuited for a family-oriented blog. But you generally pass muster. So you can imagine how bad some of the rejected comments must be. They sizzle with hate. The kind of hate that causes a Holocaust and wars. As for me, I try to love my enemies. That's what I was taught in Sunday School. It's a concept I'm trying to embrace. I know one thing: I love to love. And I hate to hate. --Jim Broede

My blessing: I wasn't killed or maimed in a war.

I don’t put a cure for Alzheimer’s at the top of my wish list. Instead, a cure for war goes there.

Of course, I don’t like to see people die of Alzheimer’s. It wasn’t nice watching my Jeanne’s mind drift into dementia. But Jeanne lived a rich and full life. She reached 80.

But think of the young people that die in wars. And innocent civilians of all ages. Many in the prime of their lives. And often in senseless wars. Like the Iraqi war initiated by George Bush under false premises. The idea that Saddam Hussein had weapons of mass destruction. And that Hussein harbored terrorists responsible for 9/11.

Think of how many lives have been wasted in that war. Many, many times the number killed in the twin towers in New York City.

Oh, it’s not only America that has waged war. Nazi Germany. Adolph Hitler was no peace-keeper. Think of the 6 million Jews. Of all ages. They didn’t have the chance to die of Alzheimer’s, a disease primarily of the aged.

And to end the war in Japan – well, it took atomic bombs dropped on Hiroshima and Nagasaki. Maybe those folks can take solace in being vaporized rather than living long enough to die of Alzheimer’s.

Also, I have to wonder if the countless numbers of people in the world that die of starvation and malnutrition daily are better off than our Alzheimer patients.

Yes, I guess life is a rough go. For lots of us. And so if some day I die of Alzheimer’s, I’ll count my blessing. I wasn’t killed or maimed in a war. –Jim Broede

...rather than making a big deal of 'em.

Here’s the bottom line from a post by Cassandra on the Alzheimer’s message boards: “I love my sister, but she is driving me crazy!”

Well, I had an answer for Cassandra: Don't let her drive you crazy. Grow a thicker skin. You can do it. If you set your mind to it.

A woman, calling herself Keliga, countered: “I don't think growing a thicker skin or letting it just go is the answer to anything.”

And a gal with the Irish-sounding name Riley added to the chorus: “…thick skin has nothing to do with any of it...”

But I’m sticking by my guns. Many a problem can be dealt with effectively by growing a thicker skin. By ignoring petty little things...rather than making a big deal of ‘em. –Jim Broede

...to deal with it in her own way.

This posting on the Alzheimer’s message boards, titled “Help, my daughter is afraid,” caught my attention:

“My father moved into a nursing home near us 6 weeks ago…I am glad to have him so much closer. My problem is my 15-year-old daughter. She is afraid to go see him, says she doesn't want to remember grandpa that way, and that old people frighten her. This surprises me because she grew up going to visit my grandma in a nursing home, and always enjoyed those visits. At the end, grandma would know my daughter, but not me. By the way, she lived to be 106!!!! Grandma has been gone six years, so my daughter was 11 when she died, and we had been at the nursing home about one week before she died, and we couldn't wake her up. When we left she said that we were nearing the end with grandma!! She is a very bright child. I will not force her to go see grandpa, but I am worried that she will regret it later, for not having spent time with him, while he still might know who she is.”

Here’s what I told the poster, which I presume is the girl’s mother:

I think I can understand your daughter's state of mind. She's trying to be happy. Upbeat. Optimistic. At her age, she's vibrant. And if she's exposed to sadness and emotional discomfort, that goes against her grain. I used to avoid visits to nursing homes. And I used to avoid funerals. Of course, I've changed since then. I learned how to handle such things. I learned to accept old age and death. But for some of us, that takes a while. So we avoid facing up to it. We try to block it out. Especially in our younger years. Your daughter probably has sad memories from when she was 11 years old and visited in a nursing home. And so she doesn't want to add to it. You might talk to her about it in this way. To really understand what's going on in her mind. Try to be kind and understanding. And encourage your daughter to deal with it in her own way. --Jim Broede

Toward the end, I felt more love than ever.

In some very meaningful ways, I think Jeanne was more her self in the last 38 months with Alzheimer's than she was in the earlier stages of the disease. She was no longer belligerent and agitated. She became sweet again. More relaxed. More content. More at peace. That’s more like the Jeanne I knew daily before Alzheimer's. I was still able to connect with Jeanne in the final years. And she was still able to connect to me. In so many ways. Maybe not in all of the same ways we connected before the disease. But Alzheimer’s forced us to look for new connections. New ways to communicate. New ways to sustain our love. Yes, life presents some interesting challenges. And my attitude is, accept one's fate. And learn to cope. No matter what. Never give up. Toward the end, I felt more love than ever. --Jim Broede

Doesn't take much to sell me on...that precept.

I'm reading a small paperback book on "reality therapy." In essence, I think it says that love is everything. All problems are solved by love. If one loves and is loved by one other -- life begins to flow in a positive manner. People who don't love, or who aren't loved by another -- well, that's the source of virtually all psychiatric problems. Interesting stuff. Doesn't take much to sell me on that idea, that precept. --Jim

...and it sure pisses them off.

When folks take issue with me, I don’t get mad. Or angry. Or out of sorts. I generally just take it. Good naturedly. Even when I’m called nasty names. And ridiculed.

Yet, when I chide some in the Alzheimer’s Ladies Aid Society, I stir lots of hostility. Yes, outright rage. Vile language. I’m called Hitler. And worse. Names not allowed in a family-oriented blog. I’ve upset the ladies for suggesting that some Alzheimer care-givers aren’t suited for the job. Some of ‘em because they are unable to control their tempers. They have short fuses. Especially when they become tired and depressed. Certainly, that doesn’t bode well for their patients.

And hey, if I manage to light their fuses, by merely espousing the premise that some care-givers aren’t ready for prime time, just imagine what might happen when they become frustrated over the rigors of care-giving. Ain’t a pretty picture.

I got a letter the other day from a somewhat irate and beleaguered member of the Ladies Aid Society.

“I have a few things to get off my chest with you and about you,” she wrote. “Do I expect you to allow this comment to be viewed by others? No!!! Do I care? No!!!!! But I will know that you have read it.”

The lady thought that maybe I’d judge her as an unfit care-giver because she takes sleeping pills.

But I said I saw no problem with that -- that care-givers often take medications, including sedatives and anti-depressants. And it often does them good.

The lady also questioned my advocacy of daily outdoor exercise and fresh air as a relief valve for care-givers. I said it won’t hurt, and it may help.

“OK, Jim,” the lady said, “I get more exercise than I need or want. I have to lift mom from the bed to the potty chair and then back to bed. I lift her from the bed to her wheelchair and then back to the bed when she is ready to go to bed. No, I will not use a lift to help me. And I don’t have to explain (why) I won’t. I don’t have a CNA (nurse’s aide) to do that as you did with Jenny.”

I had to correct the lady. My wife’s name was Jeanne, not Jenny.

Furthermore, I didn’t rely on a nurse’s aide. I lifted Jeanne myself. Daily. In and out of the wheelchair. In and out of bed.

Next, the lady commented, “Do I have someone prepare (mom’s) meals? No, I do that. Do I have someone to wash, dry and fold her laundry? No. Do I have someone to bathe her daily? No. I do that.”

Again, the lady's inference seemed to be that, compared to her, I’ve had it relatively easy as a care-giver. And in a sense, I did. That is, after Jeanne went into the nursing home. It was a picnic compared to my stint as a 24/7 care-giver. Yes, for years before the nursing home, I was on duty round-the-clock. I did the cooking. I did the laundry. And I took Jeanne into the shower with me. Daily.

And when Jeanne went into the nursing home, I hand-fed her lunch and supper. In her room. I wasn’t there for breakfast. But in three years, I rarely missed the other meals.

And every night, I wheeled Jeanne down to the shower room. And gave her a bath. And a body massage. So, don’t sell me short, lady.

The lady went on to say that she cleans her mom up after she poops and pees on herself. That she makes sure mom takes her meds. And that she’s the one that takes mom to the doctor’s office.

“Did you do that with Jenny (Jeanne)?” she asked. “Or did you just go visit with her and smooch? Did you change her adult diapers when they needed to be changed? Did you change her clothes when she had an accident?”

Obviously, this lady must think that as a care-giver for 13 years, I mostly spent time twiddling my thumbs. I changed diapers thousands of times. I’ve cleaned up poop smeared all over the bed. I’ve cleaned up poop in the kitchen sink. And poop left in boxes on the clothes dryer. I was with Jeanne when she reached into her pants in a book store and deposited her poop on a book shelf. And I’ve wiped Jeanne’s ass many, many times. Without complaint. It’s what care-givers do.

And I admit that early on in my care-giving days, I lost it to some degree. I became angry. And that wasn’t good for me. And it especially wasn’t good for Jeanne. I’m not proud of that fact. Because it made me an unfit care-giver at the time.

But I learned. With on-the-job training. I finally became a pretty good care-giver. Especially in the last 38 months. I didn’t lose my temper in Jeanne’s presence. Not even once. I exuded good vibes. In large part, because I was rested. I had daily respite. I showed up to provide supplemental care for Jeanne. For 8-10 hours. Daily. Yes, I didn’t miss a day. I got my act together.

And I guess what I’m saying, there are far too many care-givers that don’t have their acts together. And that’s what I’m telling the ladies...and it sure pisses them off. –Jim Broede

I don't make people angry. It's their decision. Not mine.

I don’t make people angry. Instead, people make themselves angry. It’s their choice. When somebody writes me an angry letter, I don’t get angry. Or even that much annoyed. Because I’m able to brush it off. I put another person’s anger in perspective. It’s his/her anger. Not mine. I make a conscious choice not to be angry. I learned long ago that anger is self-defeating. It gets one into trouble. Big trouble.

I’ve received several letters in recent weeks. From angry people. They blame me for getting themselves suspended or banned from the Alzheimer’s message boards. Because they posted angry threads. And they said their anger was precipitated by me. And therefore it was my fault that they were taken to task by the message boards administrators.

Now that’s nonsense. The angry posters violated the rules and guidelines established for the message boards. Everybody is supposed to treat their fellow care-givers with the utmost respect. Even in disagreement. I don’t find that hard to do. I try very hard to be kind and respectful. Especially on the message boards. Because that’s what is expected.

In my blog, however, I have a bit more leeway. I set the rules. Because it’s my blog. And I allow myself to be a little bit disrespectful of disrespectful people. I take angry people to task for being angry and then blaming me for their anger. That’s downright funny. They make the conscious choice to be angry. It’s their decision. Not mine. –Jim Broede.

A price worth paying.

Janet posted on the Alzheimer’s message boards the other day.

“I'm having difficulty finding activities for my 58 year old husband diagnosed back in June with dementia,” she said. “He no longer can work or drive. I've checked out the senior center, but nothing to suit his disability. I feel he needs something more in his life as I have to work full time. I work from home occasionally but I'm still working even when home. I feel he needs some outside stimuli. Any suggestions on what other people are doing for their loved ones?”

Well, I suggested taking her husband out and about. To do all sorts of things. To take risks.

I took my Jeanne to Arizona for 6 weeks. And all the way to Germany. Yes, there were risks involved. But still, the stimulus was good for Jeanne. In both instances, she fell. Broke a wrist. And a bone beneath her eye. I often took Jeanne out for breakfast or lunch or dinner. I took her to movies. And for walks. And on trips to see my mother, who lived 300 miles away. Jeanne would wake up in a motel room, and not know where she was. But when she saw me next to her, she relaxed, and knew she was safe. Even when Jeanne went into a nursing home, I still took her outdoors and out and about. And even brought her home for a few hours.

I think that too often we play life too safe. I wanted Jeanne to feel the pulse of life. Despite Alzheimer’s. And so I’ve been occasionally taken to task by the Ladies Aid Society of the Alzheimer’s message boards – for putting Jeanne in danger. But hey, I’d do it again. My guess is that Jeanne lasted as long as she did – 13 years with dementia – in large part because I didn’t let her stagnate.

Betsy, from the Ladies Aid Society, told Janet: “I wouldn't recommend taking him to Arizona or Germany so he can break a wrist or bone in his face. For heaven's sake, use common sense as to his abilities at the time.”

Of course, my inclination would be to tell Betsy that there are trade-offs. I think Jeanne got significant stimulation from her stays in Arizona and Germany. A nice taste of life in her waning years. And that the falls and bone fractures are regrettable. But a price worth paying. Better than if I had left her at home. --Jim Broede

Only a simple care-giver...in love.

In July 2004 a woman asked me how I learned to be a care-giver. And this is what I told her:

Simple. Trial and error. Follow my instincts. Use common sense. For instance, Jeanne seemed distracted in the congregate dining area. Too many distractions and disturbances. So it made sense to have her dinner tray delivered to her room. I play music, too. I considered candlelight. But that’s against regulations in a nursing home. A potential fire hazard. Ridiculous rule. One can do it safely. But no big deal. I hand-feed Jeanne. Lunch and supper. We take our time. No hurry. There’s a knack to feeding. If she doesn’t like a vegetable, for instance, I may dip it in ice cream. Works every time. I sit in front of Jeanne. Face to face. One on one. Talk in simple terms. Short sentences. Ask questions that require one word answers. Or a nod of the head. Talk positively. Slowly. Smile. Be pleasant. Praise. Praise. Praise. Love. Love. Love. Massage. Back massage. Facial massage. Comb her hair. Read aloud. Take her outdoors. In the wheelchair. In the rain. In the sunshine. Call her attention to little things. A mallard duck crossing the road. Chirping birds. Bring her home. For a few hours. Push the wheelchair down the same paths and roads she used to walk. Talk to her. Pleasant talk. Sing to her. Little ditties. Twinkle, twinkle little Jeanne. Oh, I wonder what you are. You’re so beautiful, you could be a movie star. Some nights I sneak in. When she’s gone to bed; and I kiss her on the cheek. And she smiles. She knows it’s me. In the morning, I come in. Her eyes may be closed. I announce that I’m Prince Charming. I’ve come to wake Sleeping Beauty. With a kiss. I give her a loud smooch. She pretends she’s still asleep. Then she grins. We are playing a game. Good natured. Pleasant experience after pleasant experience. I build on it. Minute after minute. Hour after hour. Day after day. Week after week. It brings results. Positive thought. Stress-free living. The paranoia ebbs. Less belligerence. Less agitation. We reduce the anti-psychotic medication. Once. Twice. A third time. She’s no longer on the medication. No need for it. Because we have dealt with the root cause of the belligerence and agitation. By creating a relaxed, easy-going environment. Positive. Positive. Positive. Every day is upbeat. I practice patience. I express love. The best way I can. I feel blessed. It’s an attitude. I have gone crazy. Crazy in love. I have implicit faith in Jeanne. She has implicit faith in me. Oh, I could go on and on and on. I am able to cope. Because it’s an 8-hour day. Not a 36-hour day. A 24-hour day as a care-giver is an exhaustive, almost impossible task. Only a saint could handle it. Day after day. Week after week. Month after month. Year after year. Yes, I'm no saint. Only a simple care-giver...in love. --Jim Broede

...almost as if Jeanne is Jeanne again.

Ah, I've looked back to Nov. 8, 2003. Jeanne is enrolled in the behavior modification program at Bethesda Hospital in St. Paul. And I'm about to make one of the hardest decisions of my life -- putting Jeanne into a nursing home. Here's my ponderings at the time:

I think about Jeanne every day. I love this woman. But in some sense, Jeanne is no longer Jeanne. Oh, I see glimpses of the real Jeanne. Things to cling to. The sweetness. If only for a little while. The neurologist tells me that there is a difference between dementia and insanity. But only in label, it seems to me. Jeanne is insane in that she no longer consciously controls her actions. The fact that she's on an anti-psychotic drug - a drug given to people with mental illness - is significant. Last night Jeanne seemed agitated. When she swears, I assume she's agitated. She keeps mumbling, 'Son of a bitch, son of bitch, son of a bitch.' And yet I doubt that she's consciously aware of it. Seems like a reflexive action. Maybe an outlet for deep-seated inner frustration. No other way to express her self. So she reaches to her depths and looks for a relief valve. Is this a way to express pain? Anguish? Dementia is a mental illness. Why deny it? Jeanne is not responsible for her actions. And when is 'institutionalization' best for Jeanne? What is the best and perfect way to treat someone with Jeanne's degree of dementia? Is the home-setting best for Jeanne? Or is it day care? Or is it a nursing home? What if I had a million dollars? How would it best be spent on Jeanne? How do we analyze or evaluate the situation and come up with the answer to what's best? The decision, ultimately, is in my hands, isn't it? It's the most god awful decision I'll ever have to make. I'd like a magic wand. Of course, I would cure Jeanne's dementia. I would make Jeanne Jeanne again. But in absence of a cure, I'd transform the relatives and friends. I'd create in them an overwhelming desire and ability to care enough for Jeanne to devote one day every five weeks to her personal care. To give me relief. One full day every 5 weeks. Devoted entirely to Jeanne. Directly. Oh, maybe I would have them periodically call Jeanne, too. Chat with her on the phone, if only for a few minutes. And I'd connect with someone in a dilemma similar to mine - caring for a spouse with dementia and with the desire to keep that spouse in the home-setting. And then we'd relieve each other. Give each other a break by caring for each other's spouses. It seems to me that caring for two dementia patients at one time is hardly any more difficult than caring for one. Especially if it's only for a few hours. That may be a stimulus for both the patients and the care-givers. Maybe this could be done through a support group of care-givers dedicated to keeping their spouses out of nursing homes. We could set up our own day care. Helping each other. Meanwhile, I wonder if Jeanne has been helped by her three-week stay in the behavioral modification unit at Bethesda Hospital. In some ways, she seems better. In other ways, worse. I think she has adjusted well to the setting. Seems happier overall. But she has lost much of her mobility. She shuffles her feet. I would not trust her walking unassisted. I wonder if that is due to her meds. Also, she seems to tire more easily. Becomes drowsy. Again, is that the meds? I begin to think that Jeanne would be happier in a nursing home - a good nursing home. She would have more opportunity to socialize there. At home, her contact is almost exclusively with me. We are mostly loners. I wonder if this does Jeanne more harm than good. Maybe this lifestyle was all right before dementia. Jeanne seems to be getting more stimulus at Bethesda than she got at home. Would that also be true in a nursing home? It could be the best of two worlds. I would be only 3 miles away from the nursing home in Forest Lake. And that would allow for frequent visits, even several times a day. And opportunities to take Jeanne out for a stroll or lunch and other activities. Jeanne is a social being. More so than I. Even with her dementia, Jeanne has retained some social skills. She is able to join in group activities. Like the music programs at Bethesda. She becomes animated. Sings. Claps her hands. Smiles. Her eyes sparkle. She looks alert. For a while, it seems as if my wish has come true...almost as if Jeanne is Jeanne again. --Jim Broede

On Jeanne's 10th day in a nursing home.

I keep a journal. With entries almost daily. Today, I turned back the clock to Nov. 27, 2003. And here's what was on my mind on Jeanne's 10th day in a nursing home:

Jeanne is into her 2nd week at Birchwood. And all seems to be going well. She is adjusting. I see her 3 times a day. And overall, she's rather pleasant. At least for the first hour. I can usually cajole her into an affectionate or humorous mood. I am no longer seen as the enemy, the person who makes her do things she doesn't want to do. I am recognized as her loving, sweet and affectionate husband. We smooch. More so than when we lived at home together. We were getting too much of each other. In a way, maybe that is sad to say. But on the other hand, it's important to recognize the pitfalls of Alzheimer's. It's an abnormal situation. And one must deal with it in ways that work. The nursing home or health care center (a more positive term) can be an effective tool. Especially when combined with frequent visits. I look at Birchwood as an extension of our home. It's only 3 miles away. This afternoon I walked there. A rather pleasant walk. Jeanne always recognizes me. But granddaughter Erikka tells me Jeanne didn't recognize her on a recent visit. She was calling Erikka "Jim." Confusion, I suppose. When she gets a visitor, she's used to it being me. She still uses profanity. But not as much as before, it seems to me. Occasionally, there are days when I don't hear a single swear word. I think the profanity comes when she's agitated or irritated. Possibly over little things. Like background noise. If someone scrapes a chair leg on the floor, and it makes a squeaky noise, she might yell, "Shut up!" The profanity and the "shut ups" are a form of honesty. She says what she feels. A man with a stomach hanging over his belt was standing by the elevator. Jeanne loudly announced, "My god, he's fat." My focus has been on Jeanne. But I cannot help but notice others in the memory care unit. Some are worse off than Jeanne. I should get to know them better. I should start thinking of them as part of our big, extended family. I used to have a feeling of melancholy during and after a visit to a nursing home. But that's changing. I often leave with a good feeling. I have had quality time with Jeanne. And I am convinced that Jeanne is getting more stimulation at Birchwood than she was getting at home. There are activities every day. Lots of live music. And round-the-clock contact with other residents and staff. Jeanne is mostly happy. And that's the important thing. --Jim Broede

Let's see to it that their patients get proper care.

I remember the night a new nurses’ aide helped prepare Jeanne for bed. She almost shouted at Jeanne. Talked in a very loud voice. Assuming that Jeanne was hard of hearing.

“You can speak softly,” I said. “Jeanne hears better than most of us.”

The tendency, I guess, with some people, is to treat the elderly and dementia patients as if they are deaf and dumb. Stupid, too. And they really aren’t. Many times, they are much smarter and more with it than we think.

Other times, we care-givers get downright frustrated. And we talk to our patients in a harsh tone and manner. Because we’re impatient and at our wit’s end.

Whenever I see a chronically frustrated care-giver, I wonder if he/she is suited for the role. I initially went through tough times in caring for Jeanne. My patience occasionally wore thin. And that didn't speak well for me.

I see that with some of the professionals at nursing homes, too. Thank gawd, by the time Jeanne entered one, I was learning fast what it takes to be a decent care-giver. So I was able to be Jeanne’s advocate and protector. I saw to it that Jeanne was treated with kindness and dignity. With special care.

Instead of one bath a week, Jeanne got a nightly shower. Instead of eating in the congregate dining area, Jeanne dined at a leisurely pace in her room to the accompaniment of soothing music. Instead of being cooped up indoors day after day, Jeanne went outdoors daily for wheelchair rides.

And if a nurse or aide failed to meet my standards, they heard about it, and the situation got corrected. Pronto.

And I didn’t hesitate to clash with staff members. Including administrators. I was particularly annoyed with two of the social services directors. Because they seemed unhappy in their jobs. That ain’t good. Not for them. And not for the people they deal with. Fortunately, both of 'em decided to quit. With encouragement from me. I hope they found happier pursuits.

Yes, I’m for people finding jobs that make them reasonably happy. Not frustrated.

And on the Alzheimer’s message boards, I see some very unhappy care-givers. Some have even talked of taking their own lives. They are depressed, overwhelmed and presently unsuited for what they’re doing. They really aren’t helping themselves, or their patients. It’s a problem. A sad state of affairs. But the Ladies Aid Society tells me I need to be more compassionate. More understanding.

And I agree. Those care-givers need help. They need to get in for treatment and counseling. And I go a step further. Let's see to it that their patients get proper care. –Jim Broede

I hate to hate.

Hey, folks, I think we can agree on one thing. We all hate -- Alzheimer's, that is. Also, I hate to hate. It ain't nice to hate. But then again, I think it's all right to hate Alzheimer's. And to hate war. And to hate killing. And to hate lots of things. Figuratively rather than literally. Anyway, I'd like to see hatred eliminated in this world. I think I'd define hatred as the opposite of love. If we loved our enemy rather than hated our enemy, the world would be a better place. And that's what I'm for. Making the world a better place. Without killing. Without war. Without hatred. Instead, with love. Yes, I'm a romantic. An idealist. I still believe in forgiveness. And in love. And it works. Every day. At least in my little niche of the world. Makes me more an optimist than a pessimist. Yes, a romantic optimist. A lover. Of life. Despite everything. --Jim Broede

That pulls me through.

I’ve always tried to live a 24-hour day. The best I can. Makes no difference whether I have tranquility or turmoil in my life. Whether I’m a care-giver, or a working stiff, or retired. Whether I’m happy or unhappy, or whatever. When I have too much to do -- well, I make choices. I pick and choose. I adjust. It’s like when my mother was living. And in need of assistance. Help. And Jeanne needed help, too. Tender loving care. I was pulled betwixt and between. I always erred in favor of Jeanne. Oh, there are so many things I’d like to do with my life. But I can’t do ‘em all. But I don’t burden myself with regrets. With recriminations. With guilt. Instead, I just fill my 24-hour day instinctively. By living moment to moment. In the now. In the present. Sometimes I take time to reflect. To sit down. And write. To think. And I tell myself to be positive. To appreciate being an alive and conscious being. Yes, to be in love. That pulls me through. --Jim Broede

By learning how to love.

It was four years ago today (Oct. 17) that Jeanne entered a 30-day behavior modification program at Bethesda Hospital in St. Paul. A prelude to entering Birchwood a month later. Anyway, as I left Jeanne there that first day, she pressed her face hard against the window of the closed door. Looked at me pleadingly. It was devastating. One of the worst days of my life. I sobbed. I cried. The bottom was dropping out of my world. I felt hopeless. Alone. Like never before. But like I say, times change. Like the seasons. One learns to make the best of bad situations. Even to feel blessed. By learning how to love. --Jim Broede

They'd rather be portrayed as martyrs...

Read the threads in this blog aimed at incompetent Alzheimer care-givers. Those threads often draw hostile comments from the Ladies Aid Society from the Alzheimer’s message boards. Yes, I annoy some of those ladies. I make some of ‘em livid. Make them feel bad. Because I make them see themselves. Their not so noble sides. Make them see their incompetence as care-givers. They aren’t always willing to make the sacrifices required for their patients to receive adequate care. They allow themselves to become tired and exhausted and depressed – and thereby unfit mentally and emotionally and physically for care-giving. Too often, they need more care than their patients. That’s a shame. I understand. Because I was that way. For too long. When I was a 24/7 care-giver. I had too much to do. And no relief. That made me less than a competent care-giver. Oh, I acknowledge that some 24/7 care-givers are able to handle it. And do a relatively stellar job of it. But many don't. Wasn’t until I put Jeanne in a nursing home that Jeanne finally got what she deserved. Good care. It was good because I was being assisted by a team of competent professionals. Nurses. And nurses’ aides. And because I was there daily to provide supplemental care. Yes, I was on the scene 8-10 hours daily. Enough time to provide quality care for a change. I didn’t miss a day in 38 months. And yes, I had to make sacrifices for that to be possible. I had to spend down our nest egg. I had to retire. I had to rearrange my priorities. I had to qualify Jeanne for medical assistance. Government aid. But we got it all done. Finally, Jeanne was getting the care she needed, and the care she deserved. Too many Alzheimer patients don't…because of the stubbornness of their care-givers. Care-givers that don’t recognize they’re doing harm. They’d rather be portrayed as martyrs than do what’s best for the patient. –Jim Broede

...way beyond the necessities for being happy.

I think it’s the love of money that does us in. Lots of people say, “If only I had more money, I could be happy.” Well, I don’t buy that. Oh, I want the basic necessities of life. Things like guaranteed health care when I get sick or disabled. And education. The opportunity to learn. But I don’t have to be rich in the monetary sense. If I’m healthy and have the opportunity to cultivate my mind and my spirit – yes, that’s enough. I could be a monk. And live in a monastery. And I’d probably be happy. Living with my dear Jeanne. That made me happy, too. And writing makes me happy, and at peace. Just being able to express myself. As I write this, I’m listening to music. To a string quartet. That revitalizes my spirit. To me, that makes me just as rich as Bill Gates, the multi-billionaire. My cat, Lover Boy, just hopped up on my desk, next to my computer. If somebody told me he'd give me $10,000 for Lover Boy, I’d say no. I’d rather keep Lover Boy. I’m in love with Lover Boy. He’s the most affectionate cat I’ve ever known. He follows me around the house. He comforts me. And I try to comfort him. Yes, I’m blessed. Today I’m thinking of a world in which people settle for the basic necessities of life. They aren’t out for monetary profits. If you’re a scientist, for instance, you might pursue a cure for Alzheimer’s and other diseases without expecting to get monetarily rich from it. Instead, the richness would come from a feeling that mankind reaped the benefits. In my ideal world, nobody would have a desire to be millionaire. Because that would be way beyond the necessities for being happy. –Jim Broede

I wonder if he's finally found help...and peace.

Most nights Herb called out, “Help. Help. Help.” Sometimes, he’d just sit in his room. Other times, he paraded down the hallway, propelling his wheelchair with his feet. Slowly. Sometimes, it resembled a yell. Other times a chant. But there was no mistaking the word, “Help.” Rarely did anyone rush to his aid. Some assumed that Herb didn't need help. Sort of like the kid that called “wolf” once too often. I asked Herb, “What kind of help do you need?” And he'd answer with a grunt and the unrelenting refrain, “Help. Help. Help.” Once, Herb confided that he was scared. “Scared of what?” I inquired. I sensed he was just plain scared. And he didn’t know how to deal with it. Other than to call for help. Maybe Herb was scared of losing his mind. Bit by bit by bit. I tried to console him. I massaged his shoulders. And his feet. I assured him that I cared. “You’re looking good, Herb,” I told him. Even if it was a white lie. I gave him a hefty A-OK sign, too. And I reminded Herb that I had known him for years. Before he entered the nursing home. He lived just a mile away from me. And he walked daily. I jogged daily. Our paths crossed. Those were good times. Herb died last year. I wonder if he's finally found help...and peace. --Jim Broede

Some days, my reaction is, Wow!!!

I don’t know if anything can stop Alzheimer's Disease. Other than a miracle. But I suspect the progression of the disease can be slowed. Maybe significantly. By validation therapy. Or what I call good vibes therapy. Yes, huge doses of it. I practiced it daily. Not only on Jeanne. But on others in the memory care unit at Birchwood, the nursing home. The way I see it, it can’t do any harm. And it may do lots of good. I think the good vibes approach has the potential to help virtually everyone. Even people without dementia. When one is immersed in good vibes, it’s a rather pleasant feeling. Makes one more relaxed. And that makes the mind function better, or so it seems to me. Of course, I have to admit, I could be wrong. But I don’t think so. If it does nothing else, it boosts my spirits and morale. Just from the mere practice of good vibes and validation therapy. So I have nothing to lose. It helps make me a positive thinker. And there have been many converts to the approach at Birchwood. That, in itself, is a good vibe. A good result. It's been a wonderful experience reaching into other peoples' minds, other peoples' realities. Leads to understanding. And patience. And acceptance. Yes, true communication. Despite the cognitively-impaired minds. Some days, my reaction is, Wow!!! --Jim Broede

At peace. Yes, despite Alzheimer's.

Interesting, isn’t it? Many care-givers come to the Alzheimer's message boards because they want to be understood. They want compassion. From their fellow care-givers. Yet some of us find it difficult, if not impossible on occasion, to show the same sort of compassion toward our patients. We become frustrated. Discouraged. Disconsolate. And we feel sorry for ourselves. We wish someone would console us. Show us compassion. Give us respite. And understanding. Well, anyway, I've always found it much easier to show compassion and understanding to the patient, to the afflicted, to the likes of my Jeanne, than I did to care-givers in general. Hey, I was a care-giver for years and years. Proud of it, too. And I think I had it far easier than Jeanne. I came to the conclusion that Jeanne needed compassion and understanding and tender loving care. Lots of it. And far more than me. I was the lucky one in this scenario. Because I was still capable of being a care-giver. A darn good one, at least when it came to my beloved patient. In those final years, I learned not to get angry or annoyed any more. I exuded good vibes. Virtually all the time. For Jeanne’s sake. I stopped complaining. Because I loved Jeanne. Unconditionally. That made me feel good. At peace. Yes, despite Alzheimer’s. --Jim Broede

So that everyone benefits. Not just the few.

I want every American to be guaranteed health care. No matter how ill. I want it to become a right. Yes, I want universal health care. For rich and poor. Nobody excluded. And to pay for it, I want our economic resources pooled. Also, I want everybody guaranteed an education. Continuing education. Lifetime education. Anybody who wants to be educated should be educated. Regardless of income. Poor people have a right to be educated. And to pay for this, I want no more wars. I want all of the money being spent on national defense to be poured into domestic programs. To make life better for every citizen. And after that, I want America to help people of other nations. Especially the poor and destitute. Yes, I want money budgeted for foreign aid. To serve the common good. Not to wage wars. Not to exploit other parts of the world. I think that if we did that as an American nation, we wouldn’t have to worry about terrorism. We’d be revered. Respected. If we had all this, we’d all be rich. In spirit. We’d have the necessities of life. That’s all we need. The necessities. Instead of the luxuries. Instead of a widening gap between the rich and the poor. We need a more equal distribution of the wealth. So that everyone benefits. Not just the few. –Jim Broede

Good luck. I feel your pain.

The woman calls herself Griff’s Mom, and she’s troubled. She posted today on the Alzheimer’s message boards. “I'm seriously considering changing my name and not telling my mother,” Griff’s Mom said. “I'm so tired of hearing it yelled all day AND all night. Today is not a good day and I've been crying constantly. Thank God for my husband! His presence affords me a little time alone during the day but in the afternoons and evenings I'm the only one she'll deal with. I'm so tired all the time. She gets up 3-4 times a night telling me she's done sleeping, wants to get dressed. It's exhausting as you all well know. Thanks for letting me vent!”

Well, here’s what I told Griff’s mom:

You have to take care of yourself. Otherwise, you won't be in shape to care for mom. How you achieve all this, I don't know. I did it by setting priorities. I retired. Made time for it. I recognized that I couldn't do everything. My life was too full. I put myself and good care for my Jeanne first and foremost. And I neglected other things. That's the way it is. One can only do so much. If you exhaust yourself, you're no good for anyone. Not for mom. Not for yourself. I also got help. Jeanne went into a nursing home. So I had professional help. But I devoted 8-10 hours daily to providing supplemental care for Jeanne. And the rest of the time I got rest. Yes, respite. It was that simple. It worked. I'm sure your circumstances aren't the same as mine. So you'll have to tailor a solution that best fits you and mom. Meanwhile, I suspect that changing your name ain't gonna be enough. Good luck. I feel your pain. --Jim

Do your thing...and I'll do my thing.

I'm not mocking Alzheimer care-givers, or anyone. Instead, I'm just telling folks what I do. What I feel. How I dealt with my role as dear sweet Jeanne’s care-giver over the years. I’m not saying anyone has to follow in my footsteps. I’m just saying what I did, and that for me it worked. That doesn’t necessarily mean it’s going to work for others. Again, I’m just citing my experience. My way. My attitude. My perspective. It’s take it or leave it stuff. It's all right to conclude that it's pie-in-the-sky stuff. That other situations are quite different than mine. That’s fine. No reason to get pissed. I've heard many relate their failures, too. Their frustrations. Well, I relate mostly successes. And my relative happiness. I hope that sooner or later everyone finds fulfillment as care-givers, and in life. Sure, I've failed, too. Many times. But the secret of success is to learn from the failures. I learned to cope with Alzheimer’s. Fairly well. Not perfectly by any means. Took an attitude adjustment. Some positive and upbeat thinking. Readapting my life. Significantly. In order to be more helpful and understanding and loving of dear Jeanne. That’s all folks. That’s all I did. For those who don’t like the way I share -- well, then write me off. You don’t have to pay me attention. Ignore me. I don’t place any demands on you. Do your thing...and I'll do my thing. --Jim Broede

Your way. My way. All kinds of ways.

In my mind, a Buddhist, a Hindu, a Muslim, a Jew, and yes, even a free-thinker, aren't any less devout and believing than a Christian. I even think that god likes atheists. And holds an atheist in no less esteem than a so-called true believer. Yes, god is so open-minded that god, over the long haul, saves everyone. And I happen to think that Jesus would not approve of the current state of organized Christianity. He would not like much of what is done in the name of Christianity. I’m open-minded. I’ve been a Christian, in name. I’ve been a church deacon. I’ve attended a seminary. I graduated from a church-related college. I’ve had wonderful conversations with theologians, with seminary professors. I’ve read thousands of books. On religion. And all this has made me a free-thinker. I think there are many, many ways. Not one way. The Christian way is one way. But in the end, I think we all get to the same destination. Whether we are Buddhist, Hindu, Muslim, Jew, free thinker, atheist, whatever. Oh, there are so many, many ways. That’s what makes life so wonderful. To think, that god granted us so very many options. So many ways. To love. To savor life. Yes, your way. My way. All kinds of ways. --Jim Broede

I can take 'em or leave 'em.

Hey, folks, I don’t feel empathy or compassion for everyone. Never said I did. But I try not to dislike anyone. In other words, I’m just sort of neutral about some people. They don’t turn me on. And they don‘t turn me off. But I do feel compassion and empathy for quite a few on the Alzheimer's messager boards. Not everyone. Care-givers can ask for compassion from me. But don‘t always get it. I don’t just produce compassion on demand. One can’t command compassion. One can’t command love, either. I really feel sorry for some care-givers. Others, I don’t. That’s the way it is. Let’s be honest about it. But one thing, I try to be reasonably nice and polite to everybody. And I’m thankful for the Azheimer's message boards. I’ve cultivated several freindships there. True blue friends. People I genuinely like. Very, very much. And there are some members of the Ladies Aid Society -- well, for which I’m just sort of neutral. I don't like or dislike. I can take 'em or leave 'em. --Jim Broede

...this feeling that I was doing the right thing.

A year ago, Jeanne was still very much alive. Residing at Birchwood, the nursing home. And I was still very much in love. And happy to be Jeanne's care-giver. And I pondered on the Alzheimer's message boards that in some ways the past few years had been very good, despite Alzheimer's in our lives. Because Jeanne and I were truly wrapped up in each other. Savoring each other. And living each day to the fullest.

Well, I was taken to task on the message boards for my positive stance. By none other than a member of the Ladies Aid Society. Mama’s Friend (Bonnie) wrote: “...to say that these are the best years of poor Jeanne's life is atrocious.”

Now, that's what I call negative thinking. It's an example of how the Ladies Aid Society tried to pollute a perfectly respectable and decent thread. Stirring the pot, so to speak. Maybe in an effort to get the thread deleted.

It's an example of how Bonnie distorted what I had said. I never said that these are the best years of poor Jeanne’s life. Instead, what I said is that I felt fulfilled being Jeanne’s care-giver. More so than at any time in my life. That I felt fulfilled in trying to give Jeanne unconditional love. I was trying to ease Jeanne through what otherwise could be a horrendous period in her life. By being with Jeanne. Daily. By doing nice things for Jeanne. By showing love. Adoration. Respect. Compassion. Loyalty. Friendship. Faith. Trust. I wanted Jeanne to have the sense that I would never abandon her. That I truly loved her. With all my heart. With my gut. With my soul. I was saying that I was relatively happy. Doing what I was doing. Being Jeanne’s care-giver. It was one of the most rewarding experiences of my life. Made me feel I was doing something worthwhile. Out of love. Something more worthwhile even than my career as a writer. I love writing. But I loved Jeanne even more. Maybe that’s a hard concept for the likes of a Bonnie to grasp. But hey, that's me. A free-thinker. A believer. A monotheist. And a romantic idealist. I loved Jeanne unconditionally. In such a way that I felt fulfilled. Overwhelmed by this fantastic notion of love...this feeling that I was doing the right thing. --Jim Broede

...they'd get on with the rest of their lives.

My good friend, Cherie, raises an interesting point in the comments section of the thread titled "...and I play by my rules on my turf."

Read her comment. She's suggesting that at least one or two of the ladies in the Ladies Aid Society have taken to "stalking" me. That they've made me an obsession. They simply can't ignore me. They can't leave me alone.

I guess that baffles me. If somebody annoys me, I'm able to leave it alone. Leave it at arm's length. And to get on with other things. Even with George Bush. He annoys we no end. But I don't get obsessed over it. I understand there's nothing I can do to change the situation. I can't get rid of George Bush. He's gonna be the president until the end of his term. And he's gonna do what he does.

Or it's like today's weather. I accept it. It's cloudy. Sure, I'd rather have the sun. But I'll take what I can get and make the best of it. The Bears are playing the Minnesota Vikings today in Chicago. I want the Bears to win. But if they lose, I have to accept it, and not be obsessed over the outcome of the game. I'm not gonna change the outcome, no matter how hard I try.

And these ladies who want to change me. Into a better person. A more understanding person. Can't they learn to accept me as I am? I'm really not doing them any harm. They are harming themselves. With their obsession. And me saying this -- well, it gets 'em even more obsessed. Downright livid. They tell me to shut up. Right on the Alzheimer's message boards. And it gets 'em suspended. Yes, Cherie, if the ladies weren't so obsessed, they'd ignore me. Rather than stalk me. And they'd get on with the rest of their lives. --Jim Broede

...and I play by my rules on my turf.

I keep telling the Ladies Aid Society to identify so much as a single inappropriate post of mine on the Alzheimer’s message boards. They have thousands to choose from. But they’re still looking. So, what do they tell me next? That my “inappropriate” posts have already been deleted. They’re gone. Kaput. Well, the truth of the matter is that if a post was deleted, it was due almost entirely to the ladies themselves. By posting negative and vitriolic responses to what I had to say. Sometimes, by using foul language. And nasty name-calling. In clear violation of the rules of civility established by the Alzheimer administrators. Yes, the ladies had polluted otherwise decent and appropriate threads. That’s always been the ladies’ style. Their mode of operation. To drag a thread through the muck. Into the gutter. Hey, they’d do that here, too. And I’ve even allowed it to some degree. Just to show examples of what would happen if I gave them a freehand, complete freedom of speech. But when they start using innuendo and the language of guttersnipes –well, I tend to draw a line. You don’t do that on my blog. I set the rules. I enforce the rules. You play by my rules when you come here. Just as you must learn to play by the Alzheimer rules on the Alzheimer’s message boards. The ladies, of course, would like to set their own rules. No matter where they play. Anyway, ladies, when you learn the rules and play by ‘em, you won’t get deleted any more. Yes, it works just like magic. I know. I play by the rules of the Alzheimer’s Association when I’m on Alzheimer’s turf...and I play by my rules on my turf. –Jim Broede

...the proper place to take on the inappropriate ladies.

Joyce, on the Alzheimer’s message boards, writes, “I see posts are being deleted rather quickly. Soon it will be as though we never posted. Kind of strange, isn't it? Kind of like our AD journeys - surreal. LO's don't count and now caregivers don't either. Rather a sad state of affairs. Seeing these posts deleted simply taps into my feelings of loss all over again. For those deleted, I am sorry. It's been quite a ride, here at home and here on the board, but it seems as though the ride has ended.”

Didn’t take long for Cinmin girl to add her observation on the sudden rash of deletions by the Alzheimer administrators. “Just another step into the Twilight Zone,” she said. “So Sad.”

Then Mermac added: “One of mine was deleted. In fact all the posts in support of Lori (have) been deleted. For what reason I don't understand.”

Not to be out-talked, Valentine Girl chipped in: “The message from all of this is very clear. And also tragic. We all know what it means. To be completely wiped out with no regard and no explanation and no caring at all. Pretty sad message, huh? Have a good laugh, troll!”

Yes, folks, there have been mass deletions on the Alzheimer’s message boards in the past week. Because of inappropriate posts. Negative posts. Derogatory posts. Violations of the guidelines established and clearly defined by the Alzheimer’s Association. And all of the posts were by members of the Ladies Aid Society and their cohorts. They all too often accuse me of violations. But I’ve got thousands of posts on the message boards. And I’ve dared them to find a single inappropriate post by me. They can’t.

And by now, they certainly should be familiar with what’s inappropriate. The ladies are inappropriate. Grossly inappropriate. I’m appropriate because when I take issue with them. I do it on my blog…because this is the proper place to take on the inappropriate ladies. –Jim Broede

'Rest now. Mom will be here soon.'

A woman named Ruth at the Birchwood nursing home where my Jeanne stayed often called for her long dead parents. As if they were still alive. She did this almost every afternoon, shortly after lunch. Instead of taking a nap, she went on and on. Pleading for her mother to come and comfort her. Well, I'd go into Ruth's room. And I'd concoct a story. That I had just talked to her mother a little while ago, and that mom was going shopping, to buy a gift for Ruth. And that she'd be returning later this afternoon. And that she was coming with a surprise for Ruth. And I told Ruth how much her mother adored her. And this made Ruth happy. And I told Ruth to take a nap now, and that when she waked, her mother would probably be there. And Ruth dozed off. With a smile on her face. And I kept whispering to Ruth, "Rest now. Mom will be here soon." --Jim Broede

Because I'm evil. And Lori is good.

Seems there's havoc on the Alzheimer's message boards. These gals are something else. They post inappropriate post after inappropriate post. And when one of 'em gets suspended, they think it's unjust. Their Lori apparently got suspended, or so it's alleged by her friends. For telling me to shut up. It's clearly a violation of the rules. But other members say she should have the right to tell me to shut up. And I guess I'd side with 'em on this one. Doesn't bother me. But if I tell them something equivalent to that, they'd want me suspended. Because I'm evil. And Lori is good. --Jim Broede

...because that would be inappropriate.

The Ladies Aid Society maligns me unjustly. Without facts. They cannot show me so much as a single post that I've got on the Alzheimer's message boards that's inappropriate. Yes, I challenge them to find even one. Furthermore, any member on the message boards that has been suspended or banned, has been suspended or banned for good reason. For inappropriate posts. I have not attacked anyone on the message boards. But I have been attacked repeatedly, and pretty much by the same handful of people, for years. There are some very angry people on the message boards. And if they are able to get angry with me, I have to wonder if they're able to curb their anger when dealing with Alzheimer patients. But if I speculate about that, I speculate in my blog. Not on the Alzheimer's message boards...because that would be inappropriate. --Jim Broede

Grow a thick skin and laugh it off.

Imagine that. A gal labeled the "village idiot" by Larry the Cable Guy has raised a fuss. Doesn't surprise me. Because Larry is sort of a low life. A name-caller. Actually, Larry did it in the comments section of this blog. I thought for a while about editing/censoring Larry's comment. But I didn't. I guess because I don't let name-calling bother me. I've been called lots of names over the years by the Alzheimer's Ladies Aid Society. Stupid. Cruel. Troll. The Evil One. Atheist. Jerk. And even a bunch of 4-letter epithets not customarily allowed in a high-quality family-oriented blog such as this one. Anyway, I guess I take a rather tolerant approach. I let people call me nasty and derogatory names and to hurl blatant insults at me. Because I've got a thick skin and a thick head. I just draw the line when somebody wants to beat me up. Then I run away. I treasure my body. I treat it like a temple. You can call me any name you want. But please, no physical abuse. As for the lady offended by Larry's name-calling, I'd suggest do as I do. Grow a thick skin and laugh it off. --Jim Broede

To see if it makes a significant difference.

As a care-giver, I learned what's most important: the patient. And I'm dedicated to being an advocate and protector of patients. Moreso even than advocate and protector of care-givers. Hard as it may be to accept, some patients need protection from their care-givers. And that is primarily why I stay on, rather than move on. At least in nursing homes, the care-givers are required to have training. Certification. Required to come to work in decent shape. Unfortunately, too many 24/7 in-home care-givers are bent out of shape, mentally and emotionally and physically. And that's not good for the patient. It can be downright harmful. And I want to call attention to such problems. It's a situation that has been ignored for too long. And I'm gonna keep working to improve conditions for Alzheimer patients. Because far too many of 'em aren't getting the care they deserve. And I plan to take my case to the Minnesota Health Department. Where I hope to enlist support. Maybe for training programs for 24/7 in-home care-givers. Maybe for programs that provide assistance, and opportunities for respite. I've already talked to state inspectors about my proposal for an experimental nursing home, where all of the Alzheimer patients in the memory care unit would receive extensive supplemental care, beyond what they normally receive. To see if it makes a significant difference. --Jim Broede

...an idiot with a good sense of humor.

I’ve seen all kinds of pseudonyms used by folks posting on the Alzheimer’s message boards. But the other day, there was one that really caught my attention: Village Idiot.

Now some on the message boards took him/her seriously. And apparently thought this might be someone with low self-esteem. I’m assuming it was a put-on. A jokester. But how does one decide which way to take it?

Maybe I’m wrong. But I decided that anyone using such a moniker must be a likeable person, perhaps an idiot with a good sense of humor. Hey, that might even describe me. –Jim Broede

'Don't let the unbelieving ladies drag you down.'

You know, folks, I think I’m grossly misunderstood by some of the gals in the Alzheimer’s Ladies Aid Society because I’m a romantic idealist. And they aren’t. It takes other romantic idealists to understand me. And to like me.

See, I believe in the power of love. True love. Unconditional love. And these gals think that’s pie-in-the-sky stuff. Unrealistic. The women I used to date before I found Jeanne were much like the gals in the Ladies Aid Society. They believed in security. In money. In material possessions. To fortify the nest.

Well, then came Jeanne. My ideal. A goddess. A love goddess. Love was paramount. Meant more than anything. We shared romantic notions. Always did. And that’s what made for the happy marriage. Oh, we didn’t live in poverty. But we were never affluent. We had love to keep us stable and secure. Despite all the pitfalls of life.

As a romantic idealist, I am sometimes mistaken for a Pollyanna. For being unrealistic. A dreamer.

One of the ladies wrote to me yesterday and said, “Yeah, yeah, yeah. I'm for taxing the rich, helping the poor, a chicken in every pot, puppies in every yard, rainbows every morning and a full moon every night. I'm also for a world where everyone smiles all day long and goes to bed with a lullaby. Now back to reality.”

Yes, the lady was making fun of me for being a romantic idealist. Obviously, she ain’t one. But I know a woman here and there that is. One of them, Jeanne, qualifies as a full-fledged goddess. The goddess blessed me…and told me, “Keep believing, Jim. Don’t let the unbelieving ladies drag you down.” --Jim Broede

Isn't that reasonable?

I think some care-givers are angry with me because they have guilty consciences. They assume that when I say some care-givers have no business being care-givers that I mean them specifically. It's a sign that they feel they are doing an inadequate job. Otherwise, they'd just conclude that I must be talking about somebody else. Anyway, folks, it's impossible for every care-giver to be a good care-giver. There are good care-givers and bad care-givers and a whole lot inbetween. All I'm saying is weed out the bad ones -- for the sake of the patients. Isn't that reasonable? --Jim Broede

That's all it takes: One tiny grain to feel alive.

Just a reminder. We all have today. Something to embrace. To savor. Despite everything. Even when a loved one dies, we still have a memory. Of so many good times. And yes, there are bona fide reasons to be sad. To mourn. To ponder a loss. But still, life is a blessing. Because we have today. Now. And the ability to find a grain of happiness. That’s all it takes: One tiny grain to feel alive. --Jim Broede

And what does it earn you? You're called a creep.

“I am so sick to death of money,” Fran writes on the Alzheimer’s message boards. “The struggle to keep up with bills and expenses. I already hate dealing with my own and am now handling mom’s as well. Are we the only ones who constantly struggle to keep up with everything? We don't make extravagant purchases. I'm talking oil bill, house payment, utilities, car payments, student loans, groceries, gasoline, prescriptions. My hubby and I make decent money between the two of us working. It just never seems to be enough.”

Well, Fran got me thinking. That it’s a good thing that I’m a romantic idealist.

When I'm in love I feel rich, I told Fran. I know other people like that, too. Makes a big difference in one's state of mind. I know some relatively poor people who feel rich. Feel blessed. Seems to me that fella Jesus didn't have much money, either. I guess he was rich in spirit. And what's the deal about a rich man getting into the kingdom of heaven? Something about it's more likely that a man on a camel will be passing through the eye of a needle. So maybe in the long run it's not so good to be filthy rich, monetarily speaking.

Anyway, my comment drew an immediate response from Maebee, one of my critics and a prominent member of the Alzheimer’s Ladies Aid Society. “Love doesn't pay the bills though, Jim,” she said. ”That is what this thread is about. Reality, not feelings."

So, as I am wont to do when Maebee speaks her words of wisdom, I said, “Tell me, Maebee, what would Jesus do about the plight of the poor? And what would he advise the middle class that has trouble making ends meet? I have a hunch Jesus would be encouraging us to work for the common good.”

That brought replies from two of Maebee’s compatriots in the Ladies Aid Society, Lori and Betsy. They simply posted the message, SUJ, which I guess is supposed to be abbreviation for Shut Up, Jim.

And I came back with a rejoinder that that ain’t gonna happen. And that the unromantic ladies know it.

That brought on to the scene a woman that goes by two monikers, New Realm and Diana. “Damn you Jim,” she spouted. “You thread wrecking creep. Can't people who really need support be allowed to vent to ‘friends’ without someone who is ‘book smart, but practical stupid’ jumping in and twisting everything around? Oh, Go BLOG yourself.”

Funny, isn’t it? That’s a day in life on the Alzheimer’s message boards. One tries to give a romantic twist to life and things. And what does it earn you? You’re called a creep. –Jim Broede

We only see the shell, the facade.

On the Alzheimer's message boards, two women -- Joanie and Johanna -- made observations about their mothers and how they related to them. And I found that fascinating. It tells me they are truly trying to understand what made their mothers tick. Why they were the way they were. And maybe the impact that may have had on their own personalities. I like it that they decided to share so much.

I was fortunate in that my mother had a long life. Lived to 88. And she had a good mind, right up to the very end. And while she was in her 80s I had remarkable conversations with her. I got her to open up, and tell me things about her life that I never knew before. Things she had never shared with anyone else. And it helped me to understand why mother was mother. I am grateful that she lived so very long, and that she confided in me so much of what she had hid deep inside herself. And had not shared. Even with my father and my step father. Finally, I felt I really knew my mother. Unfortunately, all too often, we never really get to know some of the people who really are closest to us. We only see the shell, the facade. --Jim Broede

Listen carefully. You may hear the click.

A caregiver asked me, “Do you just face the fact that everyday will be a battle?”

I told her that I never look at a day as a battle. Instead, I find reason to savor the day. Actually, to savor the moment. The now. Daily. I find reason to be happy. Despite everything. Maybe that’s why I’m sometimes perceived as nuts. Yes, I insist on being in love. With life. One way or another, I’ll find ample reason today to jump high in the air and click my heels. Listen carefully. You may hear the click. --Jim Broede

They'd be surprised.

I’m 547 years old. I know you’ll find this hard to believe. But I was born in 1460. My real name is Ponce de Leon. I was an explorer. And I found the Fountain of Youth, for which I was searching. And I’ve bottled up the water, which I drink daily. So for the time-being I’m passing as Jim Broede. I tell people I’m only 72, and they tell me I look younger than that. Boy, if only they knew I was 547. They'd be surprised. --Jim Broede

And one doesn't even have to become a martyr.

Maybe it happens to lots of care-givers. They question their suitability for caring and foregoing other important things in their lives. A woman on the Alzheimer's message boards posted the question: How does one do it without becoming a martyr? She felt overwhelmed, and incapable of caring for her mother.

I was impressed by the woman's honesty. In admitting that she couldn't do it. Better to admit it, and look for acceptable alternatives, than to pursue the role of unhappy and resentful caregiver.

I suspected initially that I wouldn’t like being a care-giver. But fortunately, I found it to be a very fulfilling and rewarding endeavor. I even surprised myself. Maybe because I was in love with the patient, my dear Jeanne. Of course, it helped that I was retired. That afforded me the opportunity to make time for it. I wasn't able to handle 24/7 adequately. But 8-10 hours a day -- well, that was a picnic. Because I got daily respite. Gave me time for other things. Such as writing. Reading books. Posting on the Alzheimer's message boards. Gardening. Swimming. Walking. Oh, so many, many activities. Life was still wonderful.

Also, I kept learning. All the time. About Alzheimer’s. And how to cope with it. And I met wonderful people. At Birchwood, the nursing home, where Jeanne resided for 38 months.

Oh, I was far busier in retirement and in my daily care-giving pursuits than when I was “working.” But I felt blessed and happy. I enjoyed what I was doing. Yes, it goes to show that life can be so very good...despite Alzheimer’s. And one doesn't even have to become a martyr. --Jim Broede

...in wonderful, meaningful ways.

In the last three or four years of caring for my precious Jeanne, I sensed that Jeanne was happy. Contented. At peace. Oh, so happy. With me. With herself. With life. Oh, yes, she was cognitively impaired. With dementia. But she didn't know any better than to be happy. I reminded Jeanne every day that it's all right to have a one-track mind. As long as the train of thought is a happy thought. Jeanne didn't even have to fully understand why she was happy. Jeanne certainly made me happy. And I think I made her happy. Every night when I tucked Jeanne in bed, I encouraged her to fall asleep with a happy thought on her mind. I told her that a happy thought may trigger a happy dream. Sometimes, I wonder. Do happy, upbeat and pleasant vibes trigger happiness in Alzheimer patients? Yes, I think so. They do get it. Certainly, Jeanne got it. Yes, I had Jeanne in wonderful, meaningful ways, despite the dementia. --Jim Broede

More time to love...

Dying isn’t easy. The loss of a loved one can be devastating. Doesn’t matter whether it comes from Alzheimer’s or a stroke or heart attack or cancer or an accident. Doesn’t matter whether it’s a lingering death or an instant death. It still is devastating. But I discovered that the slow, gradual loss of Jeanne was, in a way, a blessing. I could have lost Jeanne in a traffic accident, let’s say, in 1994. And had the loss over and done with. And then I wouldn’t have had to go through the 13 years of helping Jeanne cope with Alzheimer’s. All those years of being a care-giver. But hey, in this sense, I consider Alzheimer’s a blessing. It gave me extra time with Jeanne. It gave me more precious moments. More time to appreciate Jeanne. More time to love Jeanne. --Jim Broede

Maybe the Ladies Aid Society should try it sometime.

Shirlee posted on the Alzheimer's message boards the other day and she caught my attention. Because she told of going outdoors in a thunderstorm and dancing. Shirlee described herself as a romantic and a free spirit. And I thought, how wonderful.

Reminded me of the times I took Jeanne out in a wheelchair for a romp in a thunderstorm. I posted about it & told of what a good time we had. And I was taken to task for it. By some of the overly cautious members of the Alzheimer's Ladies Aid Society. They said I was putting Jeanne at risk. But Jeanne and I did it for years. We liked to live dangerously. And I see Shirlee does, too. Which I think is nice. I let Jeanne take lots of chances. Even when she had Alzheimer's. I risked taking her to Germany, where she fell and broke her wrist. And I took her to Arizona for 6 weeks, and she fell and broke a suborbital bone beneath her eye. But I think it was nice taking those risks. Rather than playing life too safely. Life is full of risks. It doesn't hurt to be daring sometimes. I guess I just trust that god won't strike us down with a thunder bolt. Although he's been known to do it with some folks. Anyway, like Shirlee says, walking/dancing in the rain to the sound of thunder proved to be a stress-buster. Maybe the Ladies Aid Society should try it sometime. --Jim Broede

...the help they need now.

Believe me, some of the care-givers I’ve stumbled across on the Alzheimer’s message boards have no business being care-givers. They are whiners. Babies. Feeling sorry for themselves. And probably doing irreparable harm to their patients. They are overworked, overstressed and out of sorts. Not good for any care-giver. Makes them far less than at their best. And when I tell them they could be doing better, they often say I lack compassion. Baloney. I have compassion. For their patients. The patients get a raw deal. Far less than adequate care. I know. I was a 24/7 care-giver for a while. It wasn’t until I followed a sane regimen that my Jeanne got proper care. When I put Jeanne into a nursing home and became a supplemental care-giver, part of a care-giving team, instead of being a sole, round-the-clock care-giver. Now I was with Jeanne “only” 8-10 hours daily. Serving as her advocate and protector and captain of the care-giving team that included trained professionals at the nursing home. I had daily respite. So I was rested and in good mental and physical condition when I was with Jeanne. I exuded good vibes virtually all the time. Let’s face the truth, folks. Many, many of the 24/7 care-givers often exude bad vibes. Little wonder. After all, they are exhausted. Depressed. Unsuited for care-giving. And when I tell them that, so many respond with, “I’m doing the best I can.” Sorry. That ain’t good enough, folks. And that’s a dirty, rotten shame. It’s time that these care-givers recognize that they’ve got to change their ways. I don’t know exactly how they are gonna accomplish that feat. But their patients deserve better. Far better. I raise this issue because I have compassion. For the patients. The care-givers, if they set their minds to it, can find ways to be better care-givers. The patients – well, they can’t help themselves. They are at the mercy of their care-givers. God help ‘em…because too many of them aren’t getting the help they need now. –Jim Broede

...and that could be rougher than your 'rough nite'

I shake my head almost every time that I read the Alzheimer's message board. Today, for instance, a woman posted a thread titled "rough nite." Wondering what she should do. Because her mom went nuts last night. Shouted profanities. Looked herself in the mirror. Talked to her image. Pounded on the mirror.

Here's the advice I gave the woman:

Obviously, your mom is in need of professional help. A doctor. A neurologist. A psychiatrist. Someone. If your mom was having a heart attack or a stroke or any other serious physical malady, you'd call '911' and get her help pronto. So when she's having a mental breakdown, why do you hesitate? I don't get it. Your mom goes berserk, and you don't know what to do? Well, you get help. Professional help. From people trained to deal with such situations. You plug mom into the health care system, and you try to get the problem fixed. And if the health care system can't fix the problem -- well, then you start working to get the health care system fixed. And yes, you may very well have to do that...and that could be rougher than your 'rough nite.' --Jim

...for a reunion with Jeanne.

Life is a little bit like the weather. You can let it get you down. Or you can learn to enjoy it. Even in Minnesota, known for its cold, cold winters. But I’ve discovered winter ain’t so bad. Oh, it can get annoying. If one allows it to get annoying. But one can learn to enjoy 30 degrees below zero. Because the air is crisp. And clean. And often sunny. And when the temperature rises to 5 or 10 above, it starts to feel warm again. And when a thaw comes, it’s almost like shirtsleeve weather. It feels so good. Jeanne and I went outdoors virtually every day of our lives. Even during the sojourn with Alzheimer’s. Jeanne in a wheelchair. And we dressed for it. On cold, frigid days, Jeanne was wrapped in a thermal sleeping bag. One that kept her so warm that she’d wear a pair of socks, and no shoes. Her feet stayed toasty warm. And I tucked heating pads in the sleeping bag. Put ‘em in a microwave for a minute or two, and the pads stay warm. For hours. And scarves and chokers and headbands and ski masks. Even when I was working, and had to travel in inclement weather, it wasn’t all that bad. Forced me to slow down. To take my time. To enjoy the heavy, deep snow. Shoveling snow is good exercise, if you take it slow and easy. On snowy days in recent winters, I often chose to leave the car in the garage. And walk the 3 miles to Birchwood, the nursing home. Or in the middle of January, I sometimes took a shortcut to Birchwood, straight across the frozen lake. Even in the worst of winters, it wasn’t all that bad. Maybe 10 days that made it darn inconvenient. A bit uncomfortable. That left 90 percent of the time rather tolerable. Relatively comfortable. Yes, much like life in general. The good times far, far outnumber the bad times. And I get used to the ups and downs. Every bad time passes. Sooner or later. I look at the big picture. Of life. There’s winter, and then spring and summer and fall. A contrast of seasons. Every season has something positive about it. I’m 72. Jeanne lived to 80. Not bad. We’ve lived relatively long lives. And I’m still kicking. Jeanne and I had almost 40 years together. So much time to love. To appreciate each other. To savor our togetherness. Even now. I have Jeanne’s spirit with me. I still have life in so many, many meaningful ways. Precious moments. Daily. I accept the fact that I’ll die. And that dying isn’t always pleasant. That it can be a sad time. But by golly, with the time I have left, I’ll try to make the best of it. By loving. By caring. Right up to the end. And when it’s all over, I’ll conclude that life was a pleasure. A gift. Well worth living. And then I’ll be off to the spirit world...for a reunion with Jeanne. --Jim Broede

When I savor life.

Hey, I’m not always stirring things up, as some people imply. Maybe 10 percent of the time. And it’s more a case of people choosing to be stirred up. They stir themselves up – as you’ll see on occasion in the comments section of this blog. Anyway, 90 percent of the time, I’m kind and compassionate and within the bounds that so many want me to stay in. But maybe one out of 10 posts rile or antagonize some of you. Hey, that’s not bad, a 9-1 ratio on the so-called plus side. But what so many folks tend to remember is the 1 instead of the 9. What I want people to understand is that I don’t mind being crazy. Zany. Offbeat. That’s what I am. And I do restrain myself. In that I try to limit my crazy antics to 10 percent of the time. Maybe sometimes I slip to 11 percent. But I’m a normal, likeable fella the rest of the time. And even when I’m crazy, I’m still likeable. Or so some people tell me. Maybe what drives me crazy is when I try to be a nice and understanding guy all the time. Makes me feel like a robot. An automaton. I have a sense of being alive, very much alive, when I go crazy. Like when I go crazy in love. Like I did with Jeanne. Or with a place. Or with a job. Or with writing. Or with free-thinking philosophy. When I become passionate. When I get carried away. When I savor life. –Jim Broede

...trying to make the most of my stay on Earth.

I’ve been described by some ladies (in the Ladies Aid Society) as condescending and arrogant and egotistical and pompous. And I suppose I am. Because I like being me. I like myself. Even when I’m being an ass. But I also can be a nice guy. Kind. Compassionate. Understanding. And funny. Depends on the moment. On the situation. See, I’m imperfect. I’m full of contradictions. Doesn’t bother me. I accept that. I won’t ever become the perfect being. Wouldn’t want to.

Oh, I suppose I would have liked to be the perfect care-giver. For Jeanne's sake. I loved Jeanne dearly. But during the caring process I often bungled. Especially early on. I made plenty of errors. I lost it on occasion. But ultimately, I found my way out of the morass. I became better at it. Better and better. Truly loving. And genuinely caring. I really became darn good at it. Despite my bad moments. Anyway, I often learned from my mistakes. I became a better me. But still, I have my bad moments. Always will. I guess that’s the nature of life. Battling one's self and learning to accept one's limitations. Imperfections. If I were perfect, I’d be god. And no longer a mere human, a mere mortal. Instead, I’m just like the rest of you. A bungler. Maybe an arrogant one at times. Just trying to find my way through life. The best way I can. And by golly, one way or another, I’m gonna keep trying to make the most of my stay on Earth. –Jim Broede

...setting a good example...for the rest of the world.

Hey, folks, the counter has slowed down. I think something like 700 hits in the past week Instead of the usual 1,000 or so. I think that’s a sign of success. Progress. I’ve been trying to get the Ladies Aid Society to ignore me. To go in for treatment. To become recovering Broedealholics. To get on with their lives. That sure beats being obsessed with me. Coming back on a daily basis to see what I have to say. And then just getting mad. Angry. Furious. That ain’t good for the ladies. It’s better to be focused on what makes one happy. On being good and reasonably contented care-givers. To be loving beings. Positive thinkers. Maybe some of the ladies learned that I’m not always gonna tolerate their negative comments. The nasty ones. The name-calling. I want people to learn to be nice to each other. Even in disagreement. To be polite and courteous and respectful. I want to gather a following to Broede’s Broodings. But I want that following to exude good vibes. To be reasonably likeable. To be lovers. Of life. Yes, ladies, sometimes less is more. I learned that in caring for my dear Jeanne. I wasn’t a real good care-giver when I was on 24/7. Became tired. Depressed. Spread far too thin. But when Jeanne went into the nursing home, I learned to spend only 8-10 hours a day as an active, on-the-scene care-giver. Didn’t miss a day in 38 months. But I also got daily respite. That made me a darn good care-giver. Good for Jeanne. Good for me. Good for everybody. Quality sure beats quantity. That’s why I see something positive in the decline in the number of hits on this blog. The quality people are sticking around. And the riff-raff – well, they’re leaving. They’ve got the message. Broede’s Broodings wants positive thinkers. Upbeat, positive folks. Lovers of life. People who don’t have to agree with me. But people that approach me in a friendly manner. Yes, I want us to set a good example…right here…for the rest of the world. –Jim Broede

P.S. I noticed a few minutes ago that our next hit will be the 7,777th since we started this blog two months ago. Isn't '7' supposed to be a lucky number? I certainly feel lucky today. And happy.

...whether Jesus would be happy.

I'm a free-thinker. Not a Christian. But that still makes me a believer. In a single god. And hey, I like Christians. Especially the liberal ones. As for Jesus, some professors at Christian seminaries share my views -- that Jesus probably would endorse socialized medicine and the narrowing of the gap between the rich and poor. I’ve attended a seminary. A liberal seminary. Where ’liberal’ and ‘socialism’ aren’t dirty words. One thing I like about Christianity is that it has liberal and conservative camps. And a whole lot in between. Although I'd fit most comfortably in the liberal camp, I still have respect for the conservatives. I enjoy debates between liberal and conservative Christians. Especially speculation over whether Jesus would be happy with the state of modern Christianity. --Jim

...losing our soul.

Unfortunately, we have a system in which the rich keep getting richer and the poor keep getting poorer. A widening gap between the rich and the poor. Corporations and industries aren't overtaxed by any means. Because they find loopholes in the tax laws. They not only shelter themselves from taxes; but they milk the government for tax subsidies. They hire lobbyists. Armies of lobbyists. To get their way. We live in a plutocracy. Not a democracy. Money rules. The more money one has, the more power one has. We are losing track of the common good. And in the process, we are a nation losing our soul. --Jim

Nobody who cares...

I look around at Birchwood, in the memory care unit, where Jeanne stayed for 38 months. And I see other residents. Many of whom could go home. For visits. A few hours. And oh, it would help their morale. But they don’t go home. For varied reasons. But mostly because there’s no one to take them home. No one with the gumption, or the desire, to give it a try. To see how it works. Yes, it would take effort. Maybe a bit of daring. And if there‘s no home to go to -- well, there’s still the great outdoors. Wheelchair rides. Fresh air. Yet, I see so many that don’t ever get outdoors; or if they do, it’s on rare occasion. Very rare. Oh, everybody at Birchwood has some human contact. From professional care-givers. But too many don’t have visitors. Don’t have loved ones. Don’t have spouses. Don’t have sons and daughters. Don’t have relatives and friends that live nearby. Nobody who cares enough to show up in a way that counts -- on a daily basis. --Jim Broede

...on becoming rich in spirit.

Wouldn't it be nice if we lived in a society that did not worship the almighty dollar? I want a society that provides for the basic needs of everyone. So that one doesn't have to be rich to survive. I want universal health care. That’s a basic need, a basic right. That should be the role of government. To provide affordable health care. For everyone. And if that means higher taxes for corporations and for the rich, so be it. Let’s spread the wealth so that every citizen is guaranteed the basics of life. That includes health care and education. If we had the basics, we wouldn’t have a need to be rich in monetary terms. Instead, we could focus on becoming rich in spirit. --Jim Broede