My nephew Brian died on December 13

He died at home in his mother (my sister's) bathroom. Brian was addicted to heroin but had recently completed a 30-day inpatient treatment program.

Brian's Story
Brian was arguably the cutest baby I've ever seen. I have a big family and there are 20 grandkids, all tow-heads until Brian arrived. Dark hair, dark eyebrows and a smile that warmed your heart. He was always a little chubby in the cutest way. He was a sweet, sweet boy.

My sister and Brian's dad divorced when Brian was pretty young (4?). They had Brian pretty young, so after divorcing they both remarried and had more children - two each. Despite the divorce, Brian was raised with a strong foundation, attending a private school through eighth grade. In high school he was on the football team and continued to be influenced by solid, life-long friends like Josh and Kevin. But somewhere along the way, Brian got lost.

After high school, a variety of jobs were started and lost. He gained and lost weight and seemed to have self-esteem issues. His cousins, a tight-knit group, would have to work hard to persuade Brian to attend family functions. I learned later that Brian felt inferior to his "successful" cousins. Then at some point he began to do prescription drugs.

Last year on Christmas Eve, I called him out on his suspicious behavior. He had a duffel bag with him at all times, continually moving it, checking and re-checking it. He and his mother were upset when I challenged the behavior. I knew something was up. Joan insisted he was clean. It caused a bit of a rift between Brian and me.

As happens with many addicts, he started to steal money next. He stole money from my sister too many times to count. The most recent time - last summer - he emptied her checking account. As a single parent, having your mortgage money taken is pretty scary! I helped her with her bills but convinced her that Brian had to leave. She didn't want to kick him out and worried about where he would go.

I came to the house that afternoon alone. Brian was beligerant. He insisted that he would leave at 10pm, but I knew that if I didn't make him leave with me, my sister would cave in later. I told him I would drive him anywhere so finally he agreed. We loaded a few big bags into my car and I took him to his friend Josh's house. When I dropped him off, I handed him $30. I told him I loved him and that I would help him any way I could if he would agree to treatment.

A few months later, Brian entered the 30-day program in Oshkosh Wisconsin. We were all so happy! Joan talked to him a week or so later and reported back that Brian said he felt great. I got his mailing address and sent him a long letter telling him how proud I was of him.

When the program ended, Brian came home to live with his mom. Prior to treatment he had a few run-ins, resulting in losing his driver's license. He felt trapped and repeatedly stated the he couldn't find a job without a car. We pointed out to him that lots of people take the bus but he resisted. His self-esteem continued to drop while his weight rose. During this period, Brian was very concerned about his mother, who was struggling with her own addiction to alcohol.

One day in early November, he sent me a series of text messages. "I'm worried about my mom - please call me asap!" and "Please don't tell her I'm contacting you but I'm so worried about her." I called Brian, calmed him down, got my sister Patty involved and Joan checked into a recovery program a few days later. Life is so busy - without Brian's frantic text messages I don't think we would have discovered her crisis for a while.

The last time I saw Brian alive was November 11th. I was hosting a birthday party for my brother and Joan was in rehab. I invited Brian and his two younger sisters to the birthday dinner. Brian was rather quiet that night but it was good to see him. I remember thinking that he was really big. At 5'7", it is hard to conceal weight gain.

We're not sure if December 13 was Brian's first relapse. His friend Josh told me at the funeral that he thought Brian relapsed once prior but he wasn't sure. Brian told Josh over and over that he didn't want to be an addict and that he felt like he was in a big hole he couldn't climb out of. Josh did his best with Brian, taking him away for a hunting weekend and encouraging him to set attainable goals for himself. Josh was one of ten pall bearers. I'll never forget Josh's face with tears streaming down his cheeks while he carried the casket.

It's only been two weeks but the really weird thing right now is the amazon strength of my sister. She got her first tattoo - with Brian's name and birthdate - last week. She is committed to sobriety and believes that her drinking would dishonor her son.

I'm proud of both of them. He is a hero for saving his mom and she is a hero for saving herself.

Three scenes from a funeral

Today we buried my nephew Brian, a sweet young man with a heart of gold and an addiction to heroin. Brian's addiction got the best of him and he died from an accidental overdose. More info about Brian will follow, but I wanted to capture a few scenes from the family gatherings and funeral. All of this really happened. Serious.

Scene #1: Father Fudd. Elmer Fudd
Brian's funeral service was held yesterday at St. Charles, where he was baptized and attended school through eighth grade. A new priest, Father Carmelo, celebrated his funeral mass. Father is completely deaf but speaks fairly well. It was interesting to hear that type of speech impediment when Father began to speak. "Today we way to west ower deaw bwother Bwian." It took a little getting used to but 'aawwwww, well GOOD for HIM!' I thought sanctimoniously. However, things quickly took a dark turn.

During the homily, Father began by talking about how difficult it is when someone "takes their own wife." Naturally this raised a few eyebrows. Lots of sideways glances followed from the family. "Ok," I rationalized in my mind, "you could argue that administering drugs that accidentally kill you is taking your own life". Then he said . . . the S word. A collective gasp from the audience. Father, not hearing anything plows ahead with the S word again. And again. And again. And again. S S S S S. That wascally wabbit just turned my newphew's funeral into a giant bwooper.

My brother shouts out "it was an accidental overdose!" Nothing. He says the S word again. And again. Then Brian's grieving mother, my sister, takes matters into her own hands and bolts onto the altar. Father doesn't hear her saying "Excuse me!" He is looking down and finally looks up when she is standing next to him. "It wasn't a suicide" she whispers. He has a puzzled look. "it was NOT a suicide" she says. Finally he takes a step back to read her lips and she says it again.

He nods and she leaves the altar. Father Carmelo looks down and pauses much too long, then picks up where he left off. We are left waiting for a retraction that never comes. Then he starts warbling awkwardly "wet us pwocwaim the mystewy of faith". It was fight or flight. Giggle or Grimace. Among the family it was 50/50.

Scene 2: Backstage with Omar
Another nephew, Omar, is mentally and physically handicapped. A brain injury at birth has left him without the ability to speak or reason. He is 24 years old and severely autistic, with a penchant for taking off his clothes in public. On airplanes, in stores, and now, in church. My sister Carol cares for Omar every day with patience and devotion. Omar was not happy about being in church, so my husband Bill took him out to let him walk and not disrupt the service. Omar needed to use the bathroom. Coaxed out of the women's room, Omar went into the Men's room, then removed shoes and socks. While Bill picked up the discarded items Omar shed his pants in the blink of an eye. My sister is clever - for underwear Omar wears snug-fitting under-armor. That was the only thing standing between Omar's junk and Bill. Bill wrestled Omar's pants back onto his 180-lb nephew while he thrashed like a gator. Finally Bill won. He collected Omar's shoes and socks and headed back to the sanctuary.

Scene 3: Martinis, Carbs & Tantrums
Scene 3 is all about the twins: GpaK and Omar. It was a long day. Visitation went from 3-6pm, followed by a long debacle-of-a-mass. My family met up shortly later at a local Italian restaurant.

As you know from this blog, GpaK is a character. He loves his martinis and has a history of occasionally having one too many (which happens to be two). I decided to let the other family members sit with GpaK at dinner, since some were in from out-of-t0wn. I noticed that his empty martini glass was full again. During this second martini and 14th piece of bread, someone made a suggestion that he stop the carb cram. He didn't like that . . . and a struggle ensued for the bread. GpaK and my brother John were going AT IT for a crust of bread which eventually flew up and showered crumbs on the table. "So you're the hand of GOD, reaching down to grab my bread?!" yelled Gpak. "You're acting like a two-year old!" shouted John. "You're acting like a ten year-old!" replied GpaK. To retaliate the destruction of the bread, GpaK eats a heaping spoonful of parmesan cheese while glaring at John. Good times.

Meanwhile, my sister Carol is enjoying a bit of freedom. Surrounded by family at the restaurant, she has left Omar sitting next to me at the table. I am buttering bread for Omar at a frenzied pace and continue to glance up to see where Carol is but only see the back of her head. Omar's shoes and socks are off but that's a battle for later. He's rocking back and forth, water glass down, more bread, back-of-Carol's head. Rinse, lather, repeat. Butter, bread, back-of-head. He's eating butter from foil packets. Carol's hair is really kind of pretty from the back. Glanced up too long and Omar slips out of his pants like Houdini. Bill runs around to help me, reaching OVER my brother Bob who has been enjoying a peaceful dinner across from Omar. Bill starts wrestling with Omar and his slippery pants. Bob thinks three is company and four is a crowd and continues to eat while Bill is on his hands and knees. Carol's hair is still looking really nice.

"I would so look forward to smoked sausage and sauer kraut."

He says funny things like this sometimes.

Another good one this morning, while I was emptying the dishwasher and making sure he had his blood sugar/insulin supplies and morning meds: "Were you planning to make me a cup of tea this morning?" I've never made him a cup of tea. Not ever.

Now it's a pattern.

At first, I didn't agree w/ Bill's observation that GpaK doesn't like it when I fall asleep on the couch. He's woken me up a few times but I wasn't sure it was deliberate. Now I agree, it's deliberate and it's a pattern.

Thanksgiving Day, at my sister's lovely home, we enjoyed a mellow, delicious Thanksgiving experience. We watched football, had dinner, went for a walk, then sat in front of the fire. Uncharacteristically, I fell asleep. Shortly after, I awoke to GpaK poking me and asking me to wake up. I said sleepily "what, are you ready to leave?" Bill intervened: "Karl, why did you wake her up?" GpaK replied angrily "She asked if I was ready to go! Now she's going to DENY it!" That was kind of funny.

Last night, similar situation. I made us a tasty dinner which we enjoyed with some good wine. When I dozed on the couch, GpaK decided it was bedtime and woke me up to ask if I would be helping him at bedtime (which I do 99% of the time). I did. Not that funny. Good grief.

Busted: Your Salami Stash is Toast

Over the past few weeks, GpaK has had trouble breathing in the middle of the night - classic symptoms of Congestive Heart Failure (CHF) where the body retains fluid (usually because of sodium) and the fluid ends up backing up into the lungs, causing difficulty breathing. As a result, GpaK has used oxygen to help him get through the night.

How can this be? I am careful with sodium, we don't add salt to anything, and his caregiver is careful too. Then I found it - in the back of the crisper - a package of sliced salami. Matt (my son) then mentioned that GpaK routinely roles up salami with cheese and has it as a snack around 5pm (just a few minutes before I get home). Mystery solved, Salami gone. Can't wait to confront this with GpaK and his "care giver'. Sooooo busted.

Is this really funny or are we weirdos?

We had the conversation below over dinner last night.

I wonder if you will think this is funny when you read it (it was pretty funny when Bill and I re-enacted it later. )

Me: "Hey - Guess what! The orchid in my office is going to bloom!"
GpaK "Whaaah?"
Me: "My orchid. On my desk. It's going to bloom!"
GpaK "Your whaaa?"
Me: "My orchid on my desk at work is going to bloom."
GpaK: "I don't understand what you're saying - your desk is going to bloom?"
Me: "No. my orchid. at work. is probably going to bloom . . ."
GpaK: "Oh. You sure have a knack with orchids."
I wish my orchid were dead.

Things people tell me . . .

I bought a used cell phone from a woman at work today. I don't know her well but have met her a few times.

In 4 minutes she told me the following:

• Her 32 year-old daughter is in grad school and moving in w/ her
  


• The daughter recently had a job babysitting for 3 children of a physician whose husband beat her and the kids (it was caught on tape at a COUNTRY CLUB!)
  


• Candy's ex husband hasn't seen his daughter since she was 4 and didn't even support her financially, even when the daughter had CANCER
  


• Her ex has made more than $150,000 per year for the last 10-12 years!
  


• Her ex emailed her the other day asking "what should I say when people ask me if I have children?" Candy replied . . .(long nonsensical rant) and he said "You sound bitter." She said "No, I AM bitter."
  


• Her daughter will probably make $75 or $80,000 / year when she finishes grad school
  


• Marketing people are cut-throat
  


• Her daughter does waxing on the side (which was surprising since she lives w/ her mom . . . )

The Stars Are Aligned!

My right-wing nut job father living under my roof and we're entering . . . . . ELECTION YEAR!

I will punch you in your Trach hole.

I will do it.

Last night I walked into my house around 5:45 pm carrying my gym bag, brief case, purse, etc. Before I had an opportunity to do anything, GpaK came at me, waving a piece of paper in his hand. "What the hell is THIS?" If you didn't know better, you would think that he found a plutonium stash in his recliner.

"I don't know, Dad, I just walked in the door and I can't see what you have in your hand."

"It's a BILL!"

I recognized it as he toddled toward me - a bill from AT&T for "reserving" his home phone number. When GpaK got very sick and we didn't know if he would ever live in his apartment again, we cancelled some of his utilities but decided to preserve his phone number, for which they charge a monthly fee. Try explaining this to a cognitively-impaired 81 year-old with hearing loss. After repeatedly insisting that they owe him a refund, I think I convinced him that the $12 was gone forever, and that he should call them to cancel this outrageous service. "Why don't we have a bake sale to recoup your losses?" I suggested. (The hearing loss comes in handy sometimes.)

Thirty minutes later, with a little help, he found the correct phone number to call. After a few dozen dialing mis-cues, he was on the automated customer service line with AT&T.

It sounded like this:
"Yesssss"
"Nooooo, Jesus"
"Home"
"I DON'T KNOW!"
"YES"
"NO"
"Well THANK YOU for NOTHING!"
"Can you believe I wasted my time doing that?!"

Funny stories

GpaK had a cocktail (or two) by the time I got home last night. Probably just the equivalent of one since I watered down the Gin (thanks for the idea, Carol!)

Anyway, he was soooo happy, until he wasn't. I lamented a bit about the situation with my company, the dire outlook for the industry, how horrible it would be if the company didn't survive.

My (sympathetic) father said what any right-wing nut job would say: "That's what happens when you have a black democrat for president . . heh heh heh" So I said "Black?" He responded "OK, African American." As I stomped gracefully up the stairs I yelled "What does race have to do with it? Why is that the first thing that comes to your mind?"

Turns out it was the Gin talking. I got a legit apology when I returned to the kitchen. I'm pretty sure that since dinner was right around the corner, he felt that he needed to be sincere.

Later, after he went into his den to watch some crime show for the 743rd time, I turned on a taped episode of Project Runway. (Since GpaK commandeered the family room TV, I don't often get to watch my two favorite shows: Project Runway and Biggest Loser). Anyway, I was about halfway into PR when GpaK came back into the family room and sat down. Between the fashion content and the alternative lifestyles of one of the judges, and all the male contestants, GpaK was NOT having it, finally asking "What could you possibly get out of this show?" He promptly left the room.

Sucka!

Bar fight . . . and more.

GpaK appears to have been in a bar fight. While at Carol's house in Virginia for the Month of September, he fell down a few stairs, head-first into a railing. Thirteen stitches, two black eyes and, worst of all, a broken bone in his hand.

He returned home less steady (likely because he can't use the walker with one hand and now relies on a cane) and more cranky. If he's not describing a fabulous meal (oh it was so good) or his fabulous caregiver Carol C., he's complaining. Here's a sample:

This morning, when I asked if he brushed his teeth (and answered Yes):
"Why the hell should I brush my teeth in the morning, when I just brushed them before bed and I haven't eaten anything since?!"
BTW - his toothbrush was dry.

Last night, before the Brewers' playoff game:
"These TV announcers and their insipid remarks!"

After being told that he has an 8:15 am doctor appt:
"8:15? That's EARLY!"
Dad - you are usually up by 5:30
"No I am not." (right - it's usually 3:30, then 5:30)

Saturday mornings . . .

. . . in our house usually go like this:

1. 6am or 6:30am, the kaaClunk of TWR in the bathroom (GpaK is UP for the DAY!) No sleeping in here, folks


2. 6:15 or 6:45, GpaK makes his way downstairs (in his Jammies - because it's SHOWER DAY!)


3. I follow, get the coffee ready, get GpaK's meds out, water, inhaler . . .


4. Check his blood sugar level - this helps decide what's on the menu for breakfast


5. Feed the dogs, take them outside, get GpaK's NEWSPAPER


6. Prepare breakfast


7. Clear dishes (it's now about 7:30)


8. Bill is up . . .


9. 7:45 SHOWER TIME! Woo Hoo! I help GpaK get undressed, get on the scale for his weekly weigh-in (we have a goal to keep it steady in the mid-180s), adjust he shower chair, help him into the shower, shampoo, scrub back, etc etc etc.


10. By 8:15 we're out of the shower, he's shaved and getting dressed


11. Clean up the bathroom and he's good to go. Eeeueeueeu (squeaky clean) He heads back downstairs


12. 8:45, it's time to fill the PILL BOXES! This takes about 20 minutes or so . . . IF you don't accidentally knock a partially filled box onto the floor.


13. Go online to order any necessary refills.


14. Saturday post-GpaK duty begins around 9:30 am.

Walker Texas Ranger . . . on the move!

Chuck Norris was the star. For someone who never watched the show, I sure say "Texas Walker Ranger" a lot. TWR is the nickname that my husband gave GpaK's walker. Sometimes we just call it Chuck for short.

I have to give GpaK credit - he does use his walker (for the most part) pretty faithfully (although it's pretty tricky to carry a martini with a walker - so when he's getting cocktails it's acapella).

Other things you'll hear frequently in our house:

• Anyone but GpaK: "He's on the move!" Warning to anyone within earshot that GpaK is on his way (required to send a signal about hiding foods that he shouldn't have)



• Kaa-clunk (the sound Chuck makes when he's in the bathroom in the middle of the night - He's actually pretty quiet on the hallway carpet!).



• Broiiiinnnggg - the sound the recliner makes when GpaK reclines (fairly frequently!)



• GpaK: "Margaret - can you help me turn on this damn television?" (at least once a day)

How far we've come!

Since April 8, GpaK has made amazing progress.

Consider then - Now:

• He needed help getting to/from the bathroom - now he's independent


• The stairs were a challenge, requiring at least one "spotter" - today he can easily ascend on his own


• Bill or I checked his blood sugar, administered Insulin - now he takes care of all of this


• Oxygen was used most of the time, then nighttime, now it's rarely used


• Little or no interest in reading, crossword puzzles - now his iPad is closeby, he reads the entire paper each day and almost always completes the crossword puzzle


• Refusing (practially) to go to Silver Sneakers exercise class - now he goes twice a week with just a little grumbling

We've done all of this while maintaining his weight in the 180s, keeping his blood sugar in check (anxious for the next A1C test !) and staying relatively sane.

Life is good.

Pouting is a life skill

He pouts. When the chips we (the non-diabetics) are munching on disappear as he approaches.
He pouts. When I serve a vegetarian meal (two veggies in the family).
He pouts. When one of the kids has my full attention for more than a few minutes.
He pouts. When my husband or I question the timing of his cocktail (a little early?!)

Another lesson about Life w/ GpaK is that pouting doesn't go out of season. It's like riding a bike but better, because you don't have to lift a finger!

Sometimes the pouting interferes with GpaK's favorite thing: enjoying food. The aforementioned questioning of the cocktail could actually result in pouting through the dinner hour, whereby the pouting trumps the request for seconds! Sucka!

Pouting also has a tendency to make those around him talk and laugh a little louder in order to dispel some of the awkwardness of the moment(s). GpaK's pouting used to make me uncomfortable; now I just feel sorry for him.

April 8, 2011

GpaK - Chrismas Day 2010

April 8, 2011 was a pretty fantastic day for our family. My Dad, aka Grandpa Karl, aka GpaK, was finally released from the rehab hospital. During his lengthy hospital and rehab stay, my siblings and I emptied his senior living apartment and moved his belongings into storage. Beginning on April 8, GpaK lives with me, my husband and step-sons.

Upon his arrival, the medical equipment people and in-home care people started arriving. Daily. Often. Sometimes all at once. When they did, my two dogs, Betty and Mabel, barked their darling little faces off.

Turns out, GpaK doesn't like barking dogs. Note to self. This may become a problem.

Nevertheless, the first week went smoothly, even with oxygen tubing draped throughout the house and countless scares as the Giant Toddler made his way around. He needed help standing up - including when sitting in the bathroom. I quickly realized that GpaK and I wouldn't have many secrets.