It’s the first time this has ever happened. I made my usual call to Dad during the day to say hello and he couldn’t understand a word I was saying. He said, “I’m not getting you.” Did he mean he couldn’t hear me, or he didn’t understand me? He mentioned hearing a loud noise but he thought that might be in his head so I couldn’t hear it. I chirped on as usual telling him I was still at work and we finally hung up because there was no possible way this line of communication was going to work.
Since he has new hearing aids, I am doubting that’s the problem, but it could be a wax build-up in his ears. Or maybe he lost or dropped a hearing aid. Who knows? It was a saddening feeling, knowing I had to hang up without telling him about my day, and vice versa. This makes it even harder for the child to communicate with the parent, and certainly makes the parent feel even more isolated. It is a helpless feeling on both parts.
Here I sat, momentarily frustrated, feeling the blood pressure rise with yet another issue, another problem to contend with. Then I felt ashamed for thinking that. How frustrating this must be for him. I am the strong one who has to rise above all of this, not him. He already spends the day in a foggy atmosphere, so I need to figure out the solution if I can. Not only is he dealing with a progressive disease of the brain, but very poor hearing complicates everything from A to Z.
That’s the thing about this disease. We have to become a top-notch detective to figure it all out. We have to read between the lines where there are no lines. And go where no man or woman wants to go — into the world of Alzheimer’s. Do our homework by researching the latest “weird thing they did today,” but you don’t know what to call it.
Much like Columbo, I find myself scratching my forehead trying to figure it all out, but one day I will. I have to, in order to help him.
© 2012 Julie Hall
Julie Hall
In The Trenches 