...and get treatment for the sick-minded.

The thing with so many Alzheimer care-givers is that they don't stop to think. They don't reflect that their patient is very, very sick. Losing control of his/her mind. Drifting away. And is in no position to help him/her self. And that drives so many care-givers crazy. They think this patient should be acting normal. And the care-giver has this overwhelming desire for everything to be normal again. And it ain't gonna happen. The care-giver has to learn to accept that. As fact. As reality. Instead, the care-giver goes into deep anguish. In deep despair. And some care-givers become sicker than their patients. And there's nothing worse than that. I see some very. very sick care-givers and very, very sick ex-care-givers on the Alzheimer message board. It's a sad, sad situation. We need a forum for healthy-minded care-givers and another forum for sick-minded care-givers. Separate the two...and get treatment for the sick-minded. --Jim Broede

Why I'm perceived as insensitive.

We Alzheimer care-givers too often end up bent and twisted because we don't accept what's happening. Some never do. But for those of us that do, it makes for more comfortable living. Gives us more peace of mind. More opportunity to love. Those who don't accept often end up hating. Hating their patient. Hating themselves. Hating life, period. And that's sad. This world is filled with unwilling care-givers that hate. Hate just about everything. But mostly, it's their fate that they hate. They start to think that life is unfair. They feel sorry for themselves. They find it impossible to be happy. And they hate to see other people that are happy. The contrast makes them feel even worse. And I really don't have an answer for their woes -- other than get over it. That's why I'm perceived as insensitive. And maybe I am. --Jim Broede

...a vital part of any friendship.

Occasionally, I'm cautioned not to alienate people. To tread carefully. But I really don’t worry too much about that. I’m not afraid to take issue. To speak honestly. Maybe that’s why I have so few friends. I level with people. And ultimately, the people who become my friends understand that. I have that sense about Rosie and Cherie. It would be rather difficult for me to piss off or alienate either one. Which means we have good comfort levels with each other. They won’t take offense. No matter what I say. And they can be honest with me, too. That’s a very good feeling.

As for my acquaintances -- those not yet elevated to status of true friends -- I think some of 'em could be better communicators. I don’t mind telling them so. We all could communicate better. Me included.

Some of us learn to trust each other. Almost immediately. The good vibes are there. I sensed that from the start with Rosie and Cherie. Which means we can say exactly what’s on our minds. I like that. Feedom of expression -- well, that’s a vital part of any friendship. --Jim Broede

...an answer to a prayer, to a fervent wish.

When Jeanne first entered the nursing home, I had an enormous sense of failure. But after the 38 months at Birchwood, I had an immense sense of success. I am grateful for the experience. I didn’t understand this notion of care-giving on Nov. 17, 2003. I was tired. I was depressed after 10 years of care-giving. I allowed the task to get me down. I wasn’t getting adequate respite. Daily breaks are necessary. And I mean daily. I really was at it full-time from the day I retired on June 11, 1998. Before that, I got breaks. At work, so to speak. That was blessed relief. But Jeanne was neglected when I wasn’t around. I should have retired sooner. I suppose it was in retirement that I truly became a 24/7 care-giver. Without any help. Without relief. Although I asked for help. From the relatives. I suggested they organize, and give me one day off each week. But my plea went unheeded. Don’t know if they fully understood the grind of caring for someone, anyone, and especially a loved one for 24 hours a day. It’s an impossible task. It’s oh, so emotionally and physically draining. So discouraging. Especially in dealing with a disease like Alzheimer’s. Yes, I felt like an abysmal failure. Like I was letting Jeanne down. I tried so hard. To keep my composure. But occasionally I’d lose it. I became angry. With Jeanne. With myself. And I cried. So often, I cried. And I lamented. And at my lowest moments, I even thought of suicide. Of mercy killing Jeanne. And myself. But I plugged away. And finally admitted what I thought was defeat. When Jeanne went into Birchwood. That was a very, very low moment. But I resolved to treat Jeanne kindly and gently and with unconditional love. No matter how angry or paranoid Jeanne became, no matter what, I’d stick by her and make life tolerable for her at Birchwood. I guess that was the start of so-called good vibes therapy. And lo and behold, it worked. I got good results. I began to feel relaxed and revitalized and buoyant in spirit. Jeanne rallied. She got better and better and better in meaningful ways. Still cognitively impaired. But what some on the Alzheimer message board call pleasantly demented. Jeanne understood that I loved her. And I understood that Jeanne loved me, knew me, recognized me. We understood each other. We found new ways to communicate. It was a breakthrough…an answer to a prayer, to a fervent wish. --Jim Broede

They are my constants.

Oh, folks, I still have a purpose. An over-riding purpose. To find something to love. Life. Consciousness. In a world that sometimes seems hostile. Hostile, in the sense of other people. Society as a whole. Seems hostile to me. But there are exceptions. Exceptional individuals. Kindred souls and spirits. That’s how one achieves salvation. Finds happiness.

Essentially, I see a world in which we are at each others’ throats. Sort of an every man/woman for himself/herself. Survival of the fittest. A lack of love. Oh, there are exceptions. That’s the saving grace of it all. But the predominant face of the world is selfishness and distrust and, all too often, outright hate. Recently, I talked to someone who descriebd herself as a cynical idealist. Maybe that is the best one can be. Really, I am so very, very disappointed at times. At my low ebb. I temporarily lose faith in humanity. In the human condition. As a society, as a world as a whole, we’ve lost track of the pursuit of the common good. That should be our mission. Pursuit of the common good. Love. Camaraderie. Oh, I can find it – the camaraderie, the friendship – but only in isolated instances. Here and there. I stumble across a kindred soul. So, I have an opportunity to cultivate human contact. The opportunity to survive. And make a worthwhile life. By retreating to my cocoon. Maybe with one or two others.

I suppose that’s a rather pessimistic outlook. But to me, it’s everything. Everything meaningful. All I can salvage. And I’m trying to be grateful just for that. I guess that has to be enough. The ability to love one or two others. Real people. And sometimes I have to settle for god…and my spiritual Jeanne. They are my constants. --Jim Broede

I don't know if I want all that responsibility.

I already have a job. Living life. To the fullest. Can't ask for better employment than that. I think. I ponder. I write. Never miss a day of living. I'm on the job all the time. Even when I'm sleeping. I'm having sweet dreams. I have the best job in the cosmos. Well, maybe not. Maybe god has a better job. But I don't know if I want all that responsibility. --Jim Broede

a mere mortal...playing god.

I sort of played god recently. When I was walking, I saw a turtle crossing the road. The turtle was only a quarter of the way across. I walked past it. But suddenly I was compelled to turn around. And I went back. And gently lifted the turtle and brought it across the road, to safety. Maybe that turtle was never airborne before. And I wondered how that felt to the turtle. Maybe a little like god had intervened, in the turtle's behalf. And performed a miracle. If that turtle could think, maybe it would start to believe in divine intervention. In miracles. In god. When really it was an act of a mere mortal…playing god. --Jim Broede