To Do List: Dad Haircut

To Do List:  Dad Haircut

It was a day like many others.  I had my list of TO DO’s and was pretty much on track to get it all done.   Part of me wanted to skip the next task.  I could think of many reasons why I should skip this particular task.  It could wait.  It always takes longer than expected.  I always cry after I visit.  He probably won’t remember I’ve been there.  And the list goes on and on, but I went.

I was greeted by the caregiver, Anna when I arrive and was told he was in his room napping.  I walked in to find him sitting on the edge of his chair, a puzzled look on his face.  The DVD on the TV in continuous repeat the same single line of the song, over and over and over.  “Hey Dad” my usual greeting, and his reply “Hey Darling.”  The look softened a little but not completely gone.  “What’cha doing?”  He rubs his forehead “Aww, trying to get up, I’ve just been sitting here doing nothing missing out on all the overtime available.  I need to take that stuff down to green valley.”  Now I’m the puzzled one, wondering which job or what stuff he’s thinking of.  I wish I could understand this disease called dementia.  Where in the randomness of the day thoughts of in-completion and frustration raid the tired brain and body of the elderly making them think they haven’t finished their work here.  But on to the task at hand, “I’m here to give you a haircut”  “Oh good” he says satisfactorily “they don’t do a good job here” Then he starts to ramble about some guy not doing things right.

Now I just have to get him up and down the long hallway out on the patio to my makeshift hair salon.   It’s not that far but his steps are short and shuffled, and first I have to get him to stand up.  The Parkinson’s and lack of exercise have left his muscle so weak he can hardly push himself up from the chair to stand.  It is a huge frustration to me and yet I still don’t exercise regularly.  Finally standing and hands firmly on the walker he heads toward the closet.  “No dad, we need to go this way”  “which way?” he questions apparently unable to see me or the door to the room.  I gently try to direct his walker and am met with resistance, his grip is still strong “What’s pulling on this thing?” “Sorry Dad I was just trying to help.”  I’ve already been here 15 minutes and we haven’t even gotten out of the bedroom  much less started the haircut part yet. 

Finally headed down the hallway dad suddenly asks “Where’s your mother?”  Immediately I try to clarify, is he talking about Mom? Or does he think I am someone else? So I ask “who are you asking about, my mom?” “Yes.” He replies to me like who else in the world would I be asking about.  Still not convinced he’s talking about Mom.  I remind him that I am Brenda, still he persist “Where’s your mother?”  Without thinking I remind him, “Dad remember mom passed away.”  Then it hits me, and I think to myself  as a matter of fact 13 years ago today mom passed away. Now the wave of sadness comes, here’s the tears that always happens starting far too early in the visit.  He shakes his head in disbelief “What? Your mother passed away? When?” and then the remembrance starts to come back and he is lost in his despair again.   I decide then and there never to remind him again.  I will just tell him that she’s shopping, or she’ll be over in a bit, or perhaps I will say “She’s waiting for you at the pearly gates of Heaven.  Wishing you would join her. It’s the only time she’s ever had to wait on you.”  We continue down the hallway.

Anna meets us in the kitchen on our way out to the patio she has his afternoon dose of pills ready.  I am relieved, it will help him be less anxious, more relaxed and lessen his back pain.   Unfortunately there is no cure for the despair he feels.  Antidepressants don’t help in Parkinson’s patients.  We continue at a shuffle out the door to the patio.  The weather is beautiful.  Finally the haircut starts.

It has been about six weeks since his last haircut, given by someone who comes to the care home and charges $20, he looks pretty shaggy.  I cut it short, a number one, his haircut of preference, trim his eyebrows and all the other places that grown unwanted hair.  All the while I’m thinking this could be the last time I get this opportunity and wondering why would I want to skip this task on my To Do list.  We finish up the haircut now to get him back inside.  He is feeling more relaxed now, thankfully the meds are working.  Down the long hallway back to his room.

He is tired he wants to rest.  Shuffle to the chair that he can’t see and finally backed up and seated sideways so another stand and straighten up.  I turn on the Gaither DVD, music that is soothing and familiar.  We sing along a bit words that come naturally to songs we’ve sung for so long.  He drifts off to sleep.  Hopefully it will be restful for him.  Maybe Mom will visit him in his dreams and reassure him that everything’s going to be alright.  I know that’s what she always told me. 

I leave trying to hold back the tears that always come after a visit.  And back on my To Do list for three weeks down the road.  Dad Haircut.  Or perhaps he will need a trim sooner.  I love you Dad.

Creating a Dispatcher

Found this online... I take no credit for writing it.. only for living it, although I am far from perfect.  I hope you all enjoy..

Creating a Dispatcher – The Prototype

An angel walked in and found the Lord walking in a small circle and muttering. “What are you working on now, Lord?” the angel asked. “Well, I finished creating a peace officer, now I’m working on a dispatcher,” God said. Because the angel could see nothing in the room, he asked God to tell him about it. God answered, “It’s somewhat like the police officer model, but it has five hands: one for answering the phone, two for typing, one for answering the radio and one for grabbing a cup of coffee. The arms had to be placed fairly carefully because all the dispatcher’s tasks have to be done simultaneously.” “The digestive system is a little complicated because it runs on coffee and food that can be delivered, but it seldom needs to get up for the restroom. I made the skin out of tempered duralite, covered with Teflon. A dispatcher’s hide has to be tough enough to withstand darts from cranky officers, jabs from citizens and the lack of attention by the administration, but not show any signs of wear and tear.” “A dispatcher only needs one pair of eyes. That left extra room for the ears. There are five sets, one for the main radio, two for the other radios it has to monitor, and one to hear everything else going on around it. They fit all right on the head since it had to be extra large for the brain, anyway.” “The brain has to be enormous so it can remember a full set of 10-codes, the phonetic alphabet, at least 200 voices, the entire contents of three different SOP manuals, two teletype manuals and an NCIC code book. Of course, I left enough space for it to learn the individual quirks of each sergeant, lieutenant, shift commander, fire chief and other supervisors and the ability to keep them all straight.” “There has to be room for it to learn which situations a need an officer and which don’t and for the ability to determine in less than two minutes what to do with any given event. There is a built-in condenser so it can take an hour-long explanation, put it into 30 seconds worth of radio transmission and still get the whole story across.” “Those switches on the front are for the emotions. It has to be able to talk to a mother whose child has just died but not feel pain, a rape victim with empathy, a suicidal person with calmness and reassurance and abusive drunks without getting angry. When one of the officers yells for help, it can’t panic, and when someone doesn’t make it, the dispatcher’s heart mustn't break.” “That little soft spot just to the left of the emotions switch is for the abandoned animals, frightened children and little old ladies who are lonely and just want to talk to someone for a few minutes. The dispatcher has to care very much for the officers and firefighters it serves, without getting involved with any of them, so I added another switch for that. Plus, of course, the dispatcher can’t have of its own issues to worry about while it is on duty, so that last switch turns those off. “The patience switch is turned up to high all the time on the CTO model, and I've added an extra fuse to those to handle the overload.” “A dispatcher has to be able to function efficiently under less-than-good physical conditions and be flexible enough to withstand whatever whim the administration comes up with, while still retaining its general shape and form. That warm, fuzzy shoulder is there for officers to use when they gripe, other dispatchers when they hurt and those who are shell-shocked by a horrible call and just need someone to be there.” “The voice gave me a little trouble. It has to be clear and easy to understand, calm and even when everyone else is screaming, but still able to convey empathy and caring, while remaining totally professional.” “It runs a full 12 hours on very little sleep, requires almost no days off and gets paid less than an executive secretary,” God concluded. “The dispatcher sounds wonderful!” the angel said. “Where is this amazing creation?” “Well, you see,” answered God with a sigh and a pause. “Dispatchers are invisible unless they make a mistake. So it’s practically impossible to tell when they are run-down, worn out or in need of repair. Now that I've created them, I can’t see the original model to make enough of them to go around.”


 Note: This was copied from APCO Magazine, January 2001 and originally submitted by Jeremy Miller via e-mail. The author’s name was unavailable. This may have an alternate title of “And God Created Dispatcher.”

I took a call...

I took a call...

"Emergency Dispatcher, what's the address,  the phone number?  tell me now exactly what happened?"  

"The bullet came through the window" he said, "Someone driving by must have shot in the air" not realizing the boys were inside hanging out. His cousin was shot in the head bleeding out.   

He was young and so was his cousin.  His story sounded reasonable, 

And yet somehow it wasn't. 

He didn't understand the lie would cost, valuable time, while officers sought. 

Not realizing it was just a game of roulette, with one loaded gun and a shot to the head.

  

His cousin’s name I will never forget, as he called to him, trying to bring him back. 

"You gotta help my cousin" he told me on the line, while I processed the call,  and got the help rolling. 

I tried to tell him what to do, my hands were shaking my voice was too, "Put pressure on the bleeding site, it doesn't matter if it's soaking through,"

"You gotta help my cousin" he cried as he held his cousin in his arms so tight. 

“Listen to me, are you holding pressure? Right on the wound, now press down firmly” I pleaded with him wishing I could, reach through the phone to help him too.  

The flashes in my mind of moments long ago.  Me playing with cousins, my loved ones such fun.

"You gotta help my cousin" he cried, his cousins eyes were open wide.  

"Just keep holding pressure, and make sure he's breathing." I quoted not wanting to believe the reality.  

"You gotta help my cousin" he said, as his cousins blood flowed swiftly from his head.

His cousins’ breathing was shallow now and slowing down, not making a sound. 

"You gotta help my cousin" he cried.  His voice was sad and lonely and worried.  

While officers sought to secure the scene, looking in vain for the unknown shooter.  

I tried to tell him what to do, my hands were shaking my voice was too, "Keep pressure on the bleeding site, it doesn't matter if it's soaking through." while praying silently in my heart, thinking there's not much else that we can do "just hold your cousin close to you, his time on earth is almost through"    

"You've gotta help my cousin" he cried.  My heart was breaking deep inside.  

Focus Brenda, just read the cards, be firm yet gentle, and don't break down, Remember, you’re his only hope.  He needs to be brave for his cousin in his arms. 

Just a little while longer while the ambulance rolls, I did all I could on the end of the phone.  To be the caring voice that he hears, to believe that the help is drawing near. To help him be brave, to help him be strong, to hold on to his cousin for the very last time.  

But it was simply not enough; his cousin was finished, his time was up. 

While officers sought for who may have shot. To secure the scene where the boy was shot.  Not realizing it was just a game that boys play. Russian roulette but this time was no game. For the gun was loaded with a fatal shot.  And one cousin was dead and one cousin was not. 

His cousin’s name I will never forget as he called to him trying to bring him back.