Dementia: Carolina and George: Book 3 Chapter 10

Dementia: Carolina and George: Book 3 Chapter 10 Section 2
After Andrew died, George tried to bring his mother to his house for the Sunday night family dinners, but the experiment didn’t last very long.  The incessant demands by Carolina put the extended family on pins and needles.  It wasn’t anything dramatic that bothered the family, it was the little things that irritated them.  For example, Carolina picked her nose when her granddaughter, Lucy, took a group picture.  The old woman asked a lot of questions to anyone who happened to pass by but then, before the family member even got a chance to respond, Carolina had already lost interest in the subject and turned to someone else to ask another question.  She scans the pictures on the mantel and notices Lucy’s senior picture and says, “Look at the size of those titties,” as George’s oldest daughter shrinks in embarrassment.  Carolina disappears into the bathroom for long periods of time to go through the drawers and cabinets, and to check for cleanliness.  She fed the family dog, who was old and under a strict diet, food scraps under the table, on the sly, and when caught she swore by all of the saints in the calendar that she hadn’t done it.  The final thing that irritated George’s children was when Carolina stuck her fingers into her mouth to clean out any remnants of food and then insisted on stroking the cheeks of George’s children with her wet fingers.  All these acts were off putting to George’s wife and children so the traditional Sunday night dinners with the family were cancelled.
George decided to pick his mother up from the nursing home and take her out to dinner once a week.  At first, when his mother’s dementia wasn’t much of an issue, he brought his family to the restaurant with him.  Carolina’s forgetfulness kept getting worse and became so bad that she became lost while doing very simple things, like returning from the bathroom.  The first time that she got lost the old woman only made it back to the restaurant table after wandering around in confusion for several minutes.  Her eyes were full of terror and she was angry at George’s family for abandoning her.  The burden of taking Carolina out to dinner became to big of an obstacle to overcome and George’s wife and, even though the old woman was the matriarch of the family, the children no longer joined him for his Sunday night meals.
On the car ride over from the nursing home to the restaurant, Carolina rarely said a word.  She stared out the window as her eyes became vacant and unclouded by thought.  Carrying on a basic conversation was beyond her and her only contribution to any discourse was to say, “Yes,” or to repeat what George had just said.  If she did initiate a conversation then all she could do was to comment on what she saw around her, like the weather or the traffic, because she had no memory to draw upon.
When they arrived at the restaurant Carolina searched the parking lot for trash and if there are wrappers or cigarette butts on the ground, she exclaimed "this is terrible" and then she picked up all the trash in the immediate vicinity.  Once inside the restaurant, Carolina hugs the waitress, a total stranger, because the old woman knows that she is helpless and will lean on anyone who may give her support.  The waitress escorts mother and son to their table to take their drink orders and Carolina tries to impress her by saying things like “I like to ride horses,” or “My father fought in the war.”  Even through the fog of dementia Carolina remained proud of her heritage and wanted to let the waitress know that she used to be something.
When the menus were placed before George and Carolina, the son tried to help his mother figure out what to order, even though she ordered the exact same thing every Sunday.  Still, Carolina liked to study the menu; she sounded out the words of the dinner items, and then asked questions about the food.  Her confusion became so bad that she could not decide what to order so George ignored her questions and ordered the soup and sandwich.  If the waitress doesn’t take the menu away from her then Carolina would continue to study it, sounding out the words, and asking questions.  On the other hand, if the menu is taken away before Carolina is done reading it then the old woman gets mad and gives the death stare to the one who deprived her of the menu.
Now comes the hard part.  George and Carolina must wait for the food to arrive and the old woman gets bored easily and wants people to pay attention to her.  For example, she puts on a show when she sneezes; doing it as loudly as possible, without bothering to cover her mouth, spewing spit all over the place.  She clings onto the ends of her jacket for fear that the sleeves will touch the floor and get dirty, and Carolina cannot stand to get anything dirty.  Everything must always be tidy.  She grabs the pepper and waved it around and asked if anyone wanted it and then looked disappointed when no one did want it.  There is absolutely no reason for her to pick up the pepper but it is on the table in front of her and so she must do something with it.  She spied the other people in the restaurant and, if the patrons were overweight, Carolina felt the need to point at them and say loudly, “They are fat!”  George tried to quiet her because he doesn’t want any trouble but within a few minutes she again points and said loudly “They are fat!”  If the temperature is too cold for her then she insisted that George go to the car and get his jacket for her to wear even if it is in the middle of August.  She zipped the jacket all the way up to the neckline and then asks for a scarf.
After what always seemed like an interminable wait, the food arrives.  Predictably, Carolina had already forgotten what she has ordered, and it is always a complete surprise to her when the meal is placed before her.  She refused to eat the meal because she is sure that she didn't order it.  George reminded her that she did order it, that she orders the exact same thing every Sunday, and then he tries to coax her into eating a little bit at a time.  She won’t be rushed.  If George tries to get her to eat faster then his mother opens her mouth to show him, and anyone else within the immediate area, that there is already food in there and she couldn’t possible eat more.  Or she will play with food and stop eating after a bite or two claiming that, “My belly is full.”  Part of her ritual is to take some of the food that she had already chewed and spit it out onto her plate.  By the end of the meal she has several lumps of used food on her plate.  The lumps disappear, one at a time, because Carolina has put it into her mouth when no one was watching.
Her dinner is over, but she will not allow George to eat in peace.  Whatever is in front of her disturbs her so she must move everything away from her immediate area.  To make room for herself Carolina pushes used napkins, dirty dishes and silverware or anything else away from her and in front of George.  Her son’s personal space quickly becomes crowded with whatever Carolina can push to his part of the table and she gets very angry if George tries to push her things back into her space.  “Look at that!  It is disgusting!” she says.  Then, to distance herself from the mess that she has made, Christa asks “Whose plate is this?”  When told that the plate is hers, and so the mess on it is hers, she refuses to believe it.  “This is not my plate.  I didn’t have any dinner!”  There is no use arguing to her about the mess that she has made because almost as soon as she has eaten something then she forgets that she had eaten it.
“I have to pee pee,” Carolina suddenly announces.  George has only begun to eat his meal and tries to put her off.  “It hurts!  I have to go now!”  Carolina cannot be alone, not even for a moment, so George abandoned his meal to go with her.  He stands outside of the bathroom and waits while his mother idly cleans the sink or picks up trash off the ground, unaware that time has passed, and without the knowledge of where she is.  All she knows is the bathroom must be tidied and she will not be hurried. After five minutes or so, George must ask a waitress or a kindly patron to go into the bathroom and lead his mother out.  When she emerges, she sticks her head out of the bathroom door and peeks around the corner, not knowing that her son was waiting for her.  “What have you been doing in there,” George tersely asks his mother.  “I couldn’t figure out how to get out of the bathroom,” Carolina plaintively replies.  “There is only one door,” said George, “I don’t see how you got confused over which door to use to get out of the bathroom when there is only one door.”
The two sat down at their table again and George tried to finish his meal, which has grown cold by this point, when Carolina orders her after dinner coffee.  A remarkable amount of dinner time is built around Carolina’s coffee.  She won’t drink anything else and makes a major production out of preparing her coffee once it has arrived.  First, she says that she wants some sweetness in her coffee, but there are many types of sugar and she can never figure out which sugar is the plain white one and needs helping picking out the packets from the container.  Next is the creamer.  If the waitress gives her more than one package of creamer then Carolina must open them all up and, of course, she spills the creamer everywhere.  After a few seconds she had forgotten that she was the one who spilled the creamer and starts was complaining about the mess that she made.  After a few dinners out George learned to hide the extra containers of creamer and the packets of sugar so that they will be at the ready for his mother’s second cup of coffee.
The second act of the coffee show is when Carolina must stir her coffee, only she cannot figure out how to do that because she doesn't know to use a spoon.  Instead, she asks for a straw to stir her coffee only she cannot remember the word for straw, so she calls it a sucker.  Before she even tastes it, Carolina is sure that the coffee is too hot, so she blows on her cup so hard that her cheeks swell out like a trumpet player.  Now the coffee is well prepared.  The old woman takes a sip and then she must tell George how good it is.  After taking two sips she wants a refill because her coffee has cooled down.  If the refill doesn’t come immediately then Carolina loudly complains, “This coffee is lukewarm!”  She is indignant and insists on telling people who happen to pass by that her coffee is cold and she calls the waitress over to pour her a new cup.  “Yoo-hoo,” she yells at the waitress while frantically waving her hand in the air.  The waitresses inevitably bow to the demands of the old woman while risking bad tips from the other patrons since they must ignore their other tables.  Once again, Carolina insists that her cup be filled all the way to the brim but then she immediately spilled it all over the table.
Carolina insisted that her coffee tasted like water and needed sugar to make it palatable.  When George pointed out that she had already put three packets of sugar into the mug, his mother insisted that there was no sugar in her coffee.  The two fought back and forth until George took the coffee away from Carolina.  Unsatisfied with this turn of events, and wanting to even the score with her son, Carolina said that she needed sugar in her chicken soup.  George was tired of fighting and let his mother put three packets into her soup.  The two made ugly faces at each other and raised their voices in anger.  It was not an attractive sight for either one of them.  To score one last point against her son,  Carolina pounded the coffee cup with her spoon as loudly as possible, if for no other reason than to get some attention.
By the end of the meal George was clearly frustrated with his mother.  She could tell that he was frustrated and said, "Did I do something wrong?" This question comes only after she has ruined the meal.  There is no remorse on her part, she is ready to move on to the next thing.  It wouldn’t matter if George tried to correct her because Carolina’s fallback remark was always "I don't know.  I am a dummy."  This one statement excused her from her incessant demands.  Instead of trying to correct his mother, George puts on his coat and says, “It is time to go.”  Only now does Carolina realize that they are going back to the nursing home.  “I don’t want to go back to the nursing home.  I would rather cut my throat than go back there.”  George replied, “Well don’t try to use that knife.  You couldn’t cut hot butter with that knife.”  The manipulation isn’t over yet.  Carolina tries to guilt her son into letting her stay with him.  “I love you,” she says, reciting the words that George would have given anything to hear when he was young.  “Can’t I go home with you?”  This effort of maneuvering George into doing something that would be clearly bad for mother and son was so transparent that he did not bother to respond.
After a couple of repeat performances of Caroline’s obnoxious behavior, George decided not to take his mother out to dinner anymore.

Retiring and Substitute Teaching

Substitute Teaching After Retirement

            “The pilots on our western rivers steer from point to point, setting the course of their boats no further than they can see.  And that is all I propose to do in the great problems that are before us.”  Abraham Lincoln said this in the middle of the Civil War, but I think that it applies to me as a substitute teacher.  At the beginning of the school day I am assigned to take the place of a teacher or, sometimes, more than one teacher.  Throughout the day I move from point to point, or from classroom to classroom, without giving the process too much thought.  Over the past couple of years, I have become a familiar sight, walking through the halls, with my hands full.  In my left hand I carry my briefcase, which contains my lunch and computer, and in my right hand I carry a book and a newspaper.  Buried somewhere in the stack of newspapers is a crossword puzzle, which I work when I pull lunchroom duty or proctor a gym class.  If I cannot read or write, then I like to work the crossword.  The best way for me to get through the day is to vary my activities; I read, study the Bible, write a little, and catch up on the newspapers.  None of these activities are satisfying by themselves but, in the aggregate, they are worthwhile and make the days fly by.

            I had to quit my job as a classroom teacher because I wanted to avoid a heart attack.  My problem is that I have a controlling, type A personality and the years of unremitting pressure were taking its toll on me.  The constant stress brought on anxiety and depression.  My cardiologist suggested that if I wanted to keep my health then I needed to find a way to slow down.  Now that the time has come for looking back, I can see that I was close to cracking up at the end of my career as real teacher.  Fortunately, my last two years were my best years of my career, so I can look back with pride on what I had accomplished.  I am not bitter or angry in any way.  I have retired without any lingering regrets haunting me.  My career is over, which is alright by me, because I no longer have to grade papers or make lesson plans.  

In my job as the permanent substitute, I have learned to embrace a Zen philosophy.  I do not to worry about the future but instead concentrate on the here and now.  “Forget about yesterday.  Tomorrow doesn’t matter.  Stay in the present.  Live for today.”  These four short statements represent my mantra as a substitute teacher, and they come hard to me because they are against my nature.  It is not like me to live day by day and, as a substitute, I am living from class to class.  Ultimately, this is for my own good, because I avoid the stress that comes from anticipating what the day will bring.  Instead, I won’t even look at what the regular classroom teacher has prepared for me to do until the beginning of the class.  The students find out what the lesson plans are at the same time that I do, because I read the instructions out loud after the bell rings, and then they settle down to do the work.  

            I have been at the same school for my whole career and sometimes, as I walk through the hallways, I peer into the classrooms where I used to teach.  No memories are conjured up because the classrooms have changed so much.  After twenty-six years of teaching in one school, there is no physical evidence that I was ever in a classroom, or even at that school at all.  Twenty-six years is a tick of the clock; a trifle.  As much as I enjoyed teaching, and being satisfied that I did the job well, in the long run no one will remember that I was a teacher.  As the years go by even I will have trouble recalling specific memories of my time in the classroom. 

It has been a couple of years since I gave up the job and only now am I coming to realize that I was burned out.  Now that I am done with being a history teacher, I don’t really care about history anymore.  I have lost interest in the subject.  My ambition has flamed out.  Without the pressures of all the duties from being a real teacher, I am free to be my true self and can allow myself to be happy.  My nature is to greet the students with a ready smile and tell a quick joke or offhand comment.  I want to be a friend to everyone, whether they are a student, teacher, or administrator.  I am quick with a ready smile, a friend to everyone, and have a good attitude.

            I wanted to keep working in the same school, so I took the job as the permanent substitute, but I had to learn to go with the flow.  My reward is that I get to spend the day with highly motivated, energetic, and obviously smart, teenagers.  They are going to be something some day and I get to be a small part of their success.  In the past, at statewide educational conferences, I heard complaints from teachers at other schools.  They say that their students are lazy or who are willfully ignorant.  I am fortunate that I don’t see a lot of sloth at my school because these kids are on the college track.  Their parents have spent a lot of money to send them to a private school in the hopes that their children will have a successful career.  In the aggregate, the students at my high school represent humanity at its best.  It is fun to be a part of the teenagers most impressionable years.  They are still young and innocent and represent humanity at its best; ambitious, eager, determined.  For them, the adventure is just beginning.

            The biggest drawback to being a substitute teacher is that I know that I really don’t matter and can be easily replaced.  I cannot afford to get anyone mad at me.  To get along with the teachers, I ghost myself at the end of each day.  This means that I must leave the classroom exactly the way that I found it and I do exactly what the teacher has instructed me to do.  To get along with the administration, I volunteer to do extra assignments.  I don’t really mind because, deeply imbedded in my DNA, is the need to be needed. Depending on my assignments for the day, I can be in front of the kids from 7:10 in the morning to 3:10 in the afternoon, with only a brief twenty-minute break for lunch.  I don’t mind because I feel like I am contributing to the cause.  Every time I volunteer for extra duties, I feel like I am making a deposit into the ‘gratitude bank.’

            So, my career is over, and I am semi-retired in my job as a substitute teacher.  I have no power as the permanent substitute teacher, so I must earn the respect of the kids every single day.  I have become a poser who affects a commanding presence, especially while proctoring tests and presiding over lunch duty.  My posture is straight, my face is stern, and I have affected a demeanor of disinterest.  The students are free to form their own opinions about me, but they know that I am not important, and the level of my prestige is reset to zero at the beginning of every day.  But if I didn’t want to start all over again in a new career, I didn’t see how I had any choice but to become the permanent substitute.  As a retiree who I see at the gym is fond of saying, “There is nowhere to retreat and no one to surrender to.  There is no calvary coming over the hill at the last minute to save the day.”  He was talking about aging, but I think that it easily applies itself to my career.  Another line that comes to mind when I think about the end of my career comes from Paul Newman in the movie, “The Color of Money.”  Newman played Fast Eddie and his line was, “This is all there is!  There isn’t any more!”  He delivered the line after losing a game of eight ball and the line haunts me because the game of life is over for me, or at least my career is over, and there isn’t anything more.  At the end of the day, however, I am satisfied that I gave my teaching career everything that I had and have earned my time in the rocking chair when I become a full-time retiree.