Watching my father's once-fine mind flake away.

Miscellaneous and Personal Stuff I Must Share
1

My father was a pioneering Radar Officer in the RAAF during WWII. He’s a qualified electronics engineer and has a reasonable grounding in chemical engineering, having worked for a paint company. Most of his working life he ran a large and successful chicken farm, and acquired skills in everything from animal husbandry, mechanical engineering, nutrition, to veterinary medicine. He was a capable pilot and sailor. My point is he had a reasonable and practical mind.

In retirement, after a bout with cancer 10 or so years ago, he started going flaky. First it was shark cartilage - the line was, they don’t get cancer and so by magical transference eating some part of them means you won’t get cancer either. This seemed mostly harmless so I let it slide, in general.

Then it was cyanide (laetrile). That too was to cure all cancers.

Then it was micro-nutrients. His “research” (Googling like-minded folk on the internet) “proved” that you needed all sorts of minerals to stay healthy. Somehow these minerals were always expensive semi-metals like selenium and germanium that had to be imported. At this point he was taking handfuls of “supplements” with every meal (said meals consisting solely of steamed fish and nuts).
I was horrified to find he was also treating various other cancer patients and ex-patients with these nostrums, although as far as I could tell he had done no harm by stopping people from seeking real treatment. But he was claiming to be able to cure all cancers all the time by this point. The inevitable death of one of his “patients” (she was so sick she could hardly walk before she even started on the “treatment”) seems to have hosed that particular claim down.

Next crackpottery out of the kiln was fluoride - you knew this was coming, didn’t you; I didn’t. Yes, apparently it’s a rat poison or insecticide or something forced onto unsuspecting people as a way of unscrupulous industries getting rid of industrial waste. Rather ironic since he is actually taking rat poison (warfarin) voluntarily as a blood thinner. This, combined with the previous one, led to scenes in restaurants where he quizzed 16yo waitresses on what exact minerals were in the glass of mineral water he had just been given.

Now he’s picked up on my climate change advocacy … with a wrinkle. Some fragment of chemistry seems to have surfaced from somewhere, and he’s now convinced that the main danger from it is that we are going to sequester so much carbon dioxide out of the air that there will be none left for plants to turn into oxygen. Yes, apparently we’re going to be so stunningly efficient and grimly determined at this that we’re not going to notice when we’ve gone too far, unless he writes to politicians of all stripes right now.

He’s 84 and has been getting like this for over 10 years so I’m sure nothing can or should be done. But it is a shame to watch this once sensible, scientifically-literate man fall for every piece of folk stupidity that I revile. As a boy my interest in technology and science was sparked by all the gadgets he had lying around his workshop, and his copies of Scientific American that I devoured every month. I suppose I should consider that man pretty much dead and that a stranger inhabits his body. But I hate it. I hate age, decline, decrepitude, and the utter indignity that goes with it. I find myself thinking that if his heart just stopped one night soon, it would be a mercy.

2

On a somewhat-related note, you might be interested in a book by Arthur C. Clarke called “Glide Path,” which is a very detailed, close-up look at the development of radar and its uses by a joint team in Britain in WWI or II (I’m not sure which war it was set in). It’s a good, very technical read.

Sorry about your dad.

3

Erm mmm, OK, *not *what I thought my first response would be like, I have to say!

In any case the answer will be WWII as 1/ A.C.C. was in fact involved in radar development in WWII, and b) radar did not exist in WWI.

4

I can sympathize.

My Dad’s 78, and sad to say, his mind is no longer sharp as a tack. Oh, he’s pretty good with some things–he follows sports like he always has, and is always ready to offer his informed opinions on the fortunes of the Toronto Maple Leafs, Toronto Argonauts, and Toronto Blue Jays (Dad lives in Toronto–how could you tell?) Usually, Dad’s opinions on sports are good and reasonable. But there are the other things.

My wife and I have no kids. My sister, on the other hand, has two. My Dad has been known to call us and tell us what my sister’s kids have been up to. That would be fine, except for the fact that Dad doesn’t want to hear about my life, or that of my wife. It’s like he’s forgotten he has a childless son. All he wants to do is tell us about these wonderful kids and their wonderful mother (i.e. my sister) and their wonderful father. When I try to bring the conversation back to something else–say, I remind my father that I’ve gone back to school for a law degree, which most parents would be very proud of–my Dad says, “Sure, Spoons, but you know Your_Nephew is so smart that…”

I’m being compared to a nine-year-old. :rolleyes:

I’m not sure where I’m going with this, except to say that I wish I could have my Dad back. I want the guy who taught me how to fish, how to shoot a rifle, who taught me how to do an oil change. The guy who identified poison ivy for me, who taught me how to clean freshly-caught fish, who welcomed my wife to the family.

Aw hell, I want my Dad back. My buddy, with whom I could drink beer (when I came of age), and who stuffed my roll-yer-own cigarette tobacco back in my shirt pocket when I was 16, saying, “Your mother wouldn’t like to see that.” He taught me how to make martinis. In bulk, if necessary.

My Dad’s a great guy. I know he follows the doings of his grandchildren and their mother closely. I wish he paid attention to me.

'Nuff said for now.

5

I went all through this when my Mom first got the glimmerings of Parkinson’s.

One day she would be fine, the next day stumbling, unsure of her judgement.

When I became pregnant with her first grandchild, she was so happy and proud … used to drive me to the Dr’s appointments.

Then Daddy had to take the keys from her.

There was one phase in there, when she knew she was losing her mind. Those were that hardest days. She would curl up in my Daddy’s lap and declare, “I’ve been a GOOD girl. Why is this happening to me??” All daddy could do ws just stroke her back and tell her everything ws going to be OK.

When my daughter learned to walk, Mom had to go to the wheelchair.
When my daughter learned how to eat with a spoon, Daddy ws having to feed Mother.
When my daughter ws potty trained, Daddy had to put diapers on Mother.

That was a very bittersweet time for me. Each thing that Aurora learned, ws another thing which Mom had forgotten. Balance the excitement of one’s learning with the pain of another’s forgetting.

I knew that it was the beginning of the end when Mom called me one nite, delusional, thinking that Dad had left here somewhere and had forgotten to come get her. I could hear Daddy snoring in the bed next to her. I had the hardest time convincing her that she ws at home, in her own bed :(.

I would just counsel you, Askance, to remember your Dad the way you’d like to … in his prime, his head all together. :slight_smile: I know I remember Mom that way, fun, fit and strong as always.

The ride down to the end is not fun, or nice, and can be messy. In the end days my Daddy started referring to her by her middle name, 'cause she was so not like the person she was.

I hope my post doesn’t upset you. I just wanted to tell you, yes, I feel your pain about that. We have to go thru it, but we don’t have to like it.

(((Askance)))

Upon preview, this looks a bit rambling. Sorry about that.

6

It is indeed, a truly hard thing to witness and experience. Our thoughts and prayers are with all of you in this difficult time.

All the best…

7

I can understand how you feel about your father’s mind slipping away from him. I helped take care of my grandfather for about a year after my grandmother passed away. My father hasn’t had any mental problems yet, thank god, but his body isn’t what it once was. This is a man who wrestled and ran track in high school and college, fought in Vietnam and worked in the Emergency Room for years. He could physically restrain patients single handedly until the restraints could be brought out, or the drugs kicked in. Now, he doesn’t even have the strength to pull back his bow any more. I have had to help him carry things that my wife can carry. This man was once The Strongest Man in My World. Now, not so much. Old age is a bitch.

8

Here’s wishing you all the best. hugs

9

My father is only 66. His mind is still sharp (again, he’s only 66), but he has become a religious fanatic. It is impossible to carry on even the most benign conversation with him without him bring up God and Jesus.

10

I gave up on my old man when he got a stupid little yapping fluff dog and fawned over it and treated it better than his kids. This man used to fly supersonic jet fighters! He was an engineer! The smartest guy I ever knew! It was tough watching him debase himself by being slave to that fucking animal.

He’s dead now and I miss him. So, whatever.

11

Truer words were never spoken. I’ve been wrestling with the looming end for my poor old father (he’s 90) who has not only drifted away mentally (his memory has more holes than Alpine Lace) but who’s body is betraying him at an alarming rate (details are unnecessary). It’s heartbreaking. Hang in there, askance.

12

My dad also went downhill with Parkinson’s, and it was sad watching the man I’d known slip away. But it was also kind of nice because the person that he became was a much kinder, gentler man who appreciated the small things so much more than he ever had. And the last few months he was truly delusional, which got downright funny (hey, you have to laugh or else you’ll cry, right?), some of the crazy things he used to come up with. But we knew that it was the disease talking.

I was with him at the very end, and it was the dad I’d always known looking out of his eyes at me as he took his last breath. That has been a great comfort to me since then, strangely.

Now, unfortunately, I have to watch my 55-year-old sister taking that same long slow downhill slide into the indignity that is Parkinson’s. It’s hard for all of us since we’ve been through it twice before (our grandfather also had the disease). But we keep praying for science to find a way to help her in time, since it couldn’t for our dad or grandfather.

It’s never easy. It’s hard to become the grownup and the person responsible for another adult human who for all these years was supposed to be responsible for us.

13

Yep. My 85-year-old mother had a stroke in '03 and has progressive vascular dementia. When I hear people cheerily say “old age beats the alternative,” I want to lop their head off.

Me, I’m planning to keel over of a quick heart attack at 70-ish, like my father’s side of the family.

14

My grandmother used to flit off several times a year to various foreign countries–usually with tour groups but sometimes not. We worried about her, especially when she went hiking by herself in the Himalayas, but were happy she had the mind, the body, and the funds to do what she wanted.

Twenty years ago, she climbed Mt. Killomenjaro (spelled wrong) at 60+.

Ten years ago she suffered brain damage while visiting Machu Picchu.

(various ups and downs occurred including more overseas travel)

Today she no longer walks, can’t remember the name of her younger great-granddaughter, is in a nice nursing home, wears Depends, and no longer answers her phone. If one calls her, one only gets to talk to her if an aide is in the room to answer to phone for her.

I’m no longer convinced that death by falling off a cliff, or by being mugged, in a foreign country would have been a bad way for her to die.

Grandpa was lucky–nice, clean heart-attack with no warning.

15

My parents are rapidly bearing down on 60, but I know what all y’all mean. :frowning:

I remember when I was younger, my father used to be this sharp-dressin’ doctor who socialized a lot. Now he often wears the same clothes (not to work!) for several days and seems to be generally backsliding into an uncertain old age. And my mother has Found Jesus Again. She’s gotten a lot more neurotic and shrewish as the years wear on.

I dunno. Old age should burn and rave at close of day, / Rage, rage against the dying of the light – that’s all very well, but if it’s going to be a slow sputter down to the end…

16

My mother has Alzheimer’s and had a stroke a little over a year ago. Her memory, well, ‘leaks.’ Some days it’s OK. Other times, not so much. She drew a picture of a vegetable and then came in and showed it to me and asked what it was called.

It was a carrot.

sigh

She thinks, sometimes, that people are stealing things from her. She’ll blame someone, anyone, and be positive they took whatever it was. Then she’ll find it and forget ever accusing anyone of anything. Two day care providers quit due to things like that.

Ah, well.

17

Thanks for the kind words, folks. To clarify, there’s no evidence of Alzheimer’s, Parkinson’s or dementia. Indeed if there were it would be easier to understand. This seems to be just a reduction in critical thinking per se, which I might dub Keith’s Syndrome after my father. There’s also a narrowing of focus; for him life’s horizons seem to have shrunk to this tiny little circle. Is this just an age thing?

For instance this carbon dioxide thing that I mentioned; it’s like he reads the articles, focusses on the chemistry he can still understand, and draws a conclusion from that. The “hang on, is this reasonable?” function seems to have disappeared entirely, he has no sense of proportion.

What I’m thinking is that as his mental capabilities disappear he clings ever more tightly to those that still work for him. So he hears we’re going to try to reduce CO2 in the atmosphere, he remembers that plants take in CO2 to emit O2, the conclusion is that reducing CO2 is bad irrelevant of the fact that the problem is that we have too much and need to reduce it to previous levels, we’re not trying to eliminate it from the air entirely.

18

My dad had a minor stroke 4 years ago at age 66. His right hand and handwriting were temporarily impaired, but it seemed there was negligible cognitive impairment. 4 years out, okay, maybe there wasn’t much, but my sometimes testy but usually reasonable dad now takes just about every possible opportunity to be testy.

His affliction centers around his own perceived infallibility, a notion to which he clings more tenaciously than ever now. His great pride as a retired person is cooking, to the point that whenever my mom or I question his judgment on broiling filets mignons to medium well or aging mozzarella to just-about-to-turn-sour before serving, he will immediately raise his voice and tell us off in embarrassing and unappetizing fashion.

19

My Dad is 77 and we all started noticing him “slow down” months before he was diagnosed with Parkinson’s a few months ago. He’s taking medication which seems to help but I don’t ever expect to have him back all the way.

I really feel for all the posters in similar circumstances. This man has been the bar I set myself to my entire life. Korean War vet, worked on the Berlin Airlift and was an engineer for Bell Labs for 35 years. He taught me how to fish and do home electrical wiring and so many other countless things but most of all of them was how to be an “honorable man” (his first name is even the portuguese translation of the word).

Now he can barely read. He stopped driving because he knows he’s dangerous behind the wheel. He takes about ten seconds to digest pretty much anything that’s said to him. I go and play cards with him every week and it just breaks my heart.

Gotta go get some kleenex now…