Phobias Part I: Fear and Loathing and Hard Boiled Eggs

I hate hard boiled eggs. Mind you, I don't hate every kind of egg, just hard boiled eggs and the recipes made from them. The last time I had a hard boiled egg was in 1985. I ordered a boxed picnic lunch from a deli and the sandwich included was egg salad. Hungry as I was, and in need of a shot of protein, I overrode my tongue's objections and took a bite of that sandwich. It didn't make it lower than my uvula. I gagged and retched that sandwich out, and haven't had a hard boiled egg since. Except I eat eggs in other forms; scrambles, custards, omelets, quiches, so clearly, it is not about eggs in general, but hard boiled eggs in particular. Over the years, I've spent a lot of time wondering about my hard boiled egg phobia, and why I have it. After all this time and contemplation I've come to this conclusion: I hate hard boiled eggs because as a child, I was traumatized by an Easter egg.

Easter was and is a popular kid candy holiday. Think about those chocolate bunnies, jelly beans and marshmallow treats. I think that for kids, Easter probably ranks between Halloween and Valentine's Day as a time to score a lot of sweet treats. Traditionally, Easter included the making and dyeing and hunting of hard boiled eggs. This practice has fallen off in recent years, due to several highly publicized cases of food poisoning, but in my youth it was an integral part of Easter. I remember "blowing" eggs in school to color. Imagine your child putting their lips on a raw egg in today's classroom. Now prohibited by law, I think.

My mom, Fran, was well aware of the after-effects of a ton of cheap sugary candy on my little bloodstream. So at the sugar holidays, she would insist on eating something proper before the orgy began. At Easter, it was hard boiled eggs, and we couldn't access our baskets until we ate our hard boiled egg. My sister would breeze through her egg and be happily biting the heads off bunnies while I sat with that chalky, green-coated, bile-yellow ball surrounded by a rubbery cold white casing. That did not look tasty to me, and I didn't want to eat it. But I wanted that candy, and I wanted to get it at the same time my sister did. So I sat, and sat, and refused to eat that hard boiled egg until Fran would allow me to "just eat the white part". After more drama, I could generally get her down to "just try it". Then I would grimly take a bite, reenacting the scene from the movie, The Ten Commandments, where Moses has his minions pour molten metal down the throats of the idol worshippers. Candy basket received.

As part of Fran's Alzheimer's paranoia, she fears men. She sees men as untrustworthy, suspicious and threatening. It is my belief that at some point in her young life, something traumatic happened to her that involved a man or men. I have no idea what this might have been, or when it happened, but it is real for her. It has made caring for her difficult, particularly when she accused various caregivers, friends and family of hitting her, robbing her, or being up to no good in general. This has been painful for those accused, as well as traumatic for Fran. Recent research in memory suggests that if the experience of an item or event is accompanied by fear or pain or trauma, even if that trauma is unrelated to the item or event itself, the brain adds a little extra "push" to the memory of that experience to mark the memory down as particularly pertinent. Apparently for some people, this push and reinforcement can result in phobias, often of unlikely things like cats, clowns or children. Why I have a phobia of Horseshoe crabs, I have no idea.

As rational adults, we can have our phobias and memories desensitized through therapy, and it appears, drugs. Apparently, every time we access a memory and re-store it, we have the ability to alter that memory. It becomes colored by our mood at the time, our feelings and preferences about how we want that memory to look. Indeed, the most accurate memories seem to be those that have not been accessed multiple times, but stored and then forgotten. Unfortunately for Fran, she can no longer do the processing required to suppress or desensitize her phobia to men. Stuck with a phobia that now can no longer be ignored, seeing a man can send her into high levels of fear and anxiety. I have had to take over her phobia management, to find therapies to calm her fears by other means.

Next Blog Phobias Part II

The Parent Swap

As you may recall, Fran has gone to live with the new love of her life, Molly.
In February, Mike was asked to leave Assisted Living. I think the last straw was when Mike came down into the lobby area sans pants. Once again, it was time to move a parent.
When we added on the Frannex, my intention was to only have Fran live in our household. I had concerns about Mike living in the house with the boys.
My father's ideas about raising children are much different than mine. I tend to think of my children as distinct little satellites launched from my planet, acquiring resources, knowledge and skills in close orbit before they slingshot out of my gravity to go explore the universe. I believe Mike felt that his children were a reflection and extension of himself therefore he tried to control his children to ensure a positive reflection of him. We kids needed to be under Mike's control and command at all times, lest we veer from the party line, and knock holes in Mike's stage set of family life. Mike enforced his control in a variety of ways that would be considered "unhealthy" now, and I was worried that he would cause harm to the boys. When Mike was evicted from assisted living, I warily moved him into the Frannex, while we sorted out what to do. My brother and sister-in-law offered to take him on a permanent basis, but I felt that would be an extreme hardship for them since they both work outside the home. Having done the Fran care for a year, I know the amount of time and energy it takes to care for the demented parent. It's not like having a cute toddler that a friend or neighbor will watch while you go to your chiropractor. Mike is a high maintenance person, he needs one on-one-care, all his waking hours. He won't sit by himself and watch t.v., and if he finds himself alone, he will get up and look for his people. So I kept the boys apart from Mike and went out on the Memory Care tour.

Memory Care (heart)

Memory Care is a sweet euphemism for "Locked Ward". Although every effort has been made to make the facility light and cheery, there's no getting around the truth that nobody in your family can take full-time care of you anymore and this is your last stop. There's a certain amount of stage dressing and salesmanship that is necessary to make it palatable to family members. My latest tour include a visit to a large corporate facility with Assisted Living and Memory Care units. I met the perky, sexily dressed salesperson, er, community relations coordinator, and she took me for a tour of the Memory Care wing. As soon Mike and I stepped off the elevator she did a strange sort of shielding maneuver to shepherd us around the corner. Not fast enough apparently, to avoid the catcalls of an elderly gentleman seated directly across from the doors. As our guide tried to attract the attention of the nursing staff, the old guy caught sight of our party. "Shake it!" he leered and me, and I obliged. Just doing my part to improve the daily lives of the residents! Our guide apologized, "I was trying to hurry you past Fred, because sometimes he makes inappropriate remarks." Mike and I joined in on the exercise group, where 70% of the residents are unable to sit up in their wheelchairs, much less rotate their ankles. Mostly they just curl up and doze. Mike was definitely the most alert and agile patient in the room, over and above some of the caregivers, even. He quickly attached himself to a genial old fellow named Nigel, who had a jolly demeanor which made his gibberish quite pleasant to listen to. After the class, we wheeled Nigel down to group singing class. We passed Nigel's room which listed Nigel's achievements in life, including his accolades in the fields of academics and physics. I Googled Nigel later and discovered he had made ground breaking discoveries in aeronautics. Poignant, no?
It was rapidly becoming clear to me, that Mike was not ready for Memory Care, and I was not ready to send him there. It was time to revisit a decision I had made when Mike first became incapacitated. Maybe it could work: Should I move Mike permanently into the Frannex?

Some Useful News

Here's something I just found out: If your place of employment carries a benefit called "pre-paid legal" you may be able to sign your parents up for legal benefits. We signed up for it at Steve's work, and I only just discovered the parent add on. You can get a will, power of attorney, advice for free or discounted rates! So check your benefits.

Fran's Makes A Move!

It looks like Fran may have found a new (for the moment) home!

She's living with her BFF, Molly. Molly has been Fran's caregiver for the last year or so, and it became apparent that Fran preferred Molly's company to ours. I think that Fran still felt an underlying responsible towards me. She doesn't really relate to me as her daughter, but I think she knows she's supposed to care for me. She is always asking me, "is there anything I can do? Is everything O.K.?" Being with Molly enables her to forget about her responsibilities. And she's having a blast. Last week, Molly took her out to a restaurant that had karaoke. Fran got up on the stage with Molly, and even though she didn't sing, she stood with the microphone and swayed back and forth. Fran also picked the song to sing. She picked "I will survive." I wonder, is this a random coincidence, or a vestige of Fran's sly humor?

Movie Quotes

Sadly, I have once again learned that life is not like the movies. Always a disapointment, I've found that having children, getting married, are not at all like the movies. Now I'm discovering that the Hollywood cliche of old people with hidden gems (either literal or figurative) is also a lot of hot air. In movies like "Tuesdays with Morrie" or "Harold and Maude" , the old people have great life lessons to share with us. Remember "Fried Green Tomatoes" where the Kathy Bates character meets a quirky, yet charming old woman, the Jessica Tandy character, in a nursing home? The old woman tells a life empowering story that helps the younger woman find a deeper, richer life. Now that I've logged a few hours with the residents of the nursing homes I can tell you with authority that the likelihood of having a resident tell you a life-enriching story are slim. Here is an actual transcript of my conversion with Fran one evening.

Setting: Interior my home, it has been very hot, and I'm trying to get Fran to drink some cold water.

F: I can't very well drink it, it's too big a place. [translation: too big a glass]

J: Hmm.

F: Do you think that would work?

J: Hmm.

F: I'll have to get my pants off. (Fran gets up, wanders towards door, kicks my foot) Oops, did I touch somebody's toe? I didn't mean to. (Hands me the glass) Here's some of this you can drink, if you'd like to.

J: I don't want to drink it.

F: What did you think? About getting this put into your program, it's got too much in it (hears Steven in kitchen) wonder what they're cooking. I'll go see. (gets up, looks at glass) That's an awful lot to drink. (sits down)

J: It's for you.

F: OK, I'll drink it down, but. . . would you like some of it? There's quite a bit of it in it. (puts glass on the floor) I just left it down the stairs. (picks up glass, drinks it) All out. We 'll put in one of your other things, in the kitchen.

J: What do you do in the kitchen?

F: Oh yeah. It's something that you stick up in your room, and everybody finds out. I try not to say things that are too funny, but they do bounce around. [telling me she has trouble finding words]

J: OK.

F: Can I do anything for your city? I'd like to go with you and do something with you. But I realize you have business to attend to and it makes it harder for you.

J: Thanks. What would you do?

F: I do sometimes if there's something new and it makes me makes me stop and think about it. I'm not as cold and hot as I was before. [she's telling me how hard it is to focus on what's happening]

J: Is that good?

F: For what?

J: Is having it cold or hot, good or bad?

F: I don't know what good or bad means. (looking at my laptop) It's probably DELL.

J: Who?

F: I don't know, somebody outside. (hears the neighbor boy skateboarding) They're throwing boards around, I think.

J: Hmm.

F: Did you want to appeal to this thing (holding glass) that this gentleman wants you to buy? [communicating her worry that I not get taken advantage of] And if I have a leaky nose I should have some kind of fluid that goes with it? [hates to have a runny nose, wants the Claritin nasal spray she used to take]

J: Hmm.

F: What are you reading?

End

So there you have it. Nothing exciting to hear. No deep dark (You are Stalin's love child) secrets revealed. No profound utterances of pure knowledge (The meaning of life is. . .) spill from her lips. Fran didn't have much brilliant life insight when she was young and healthy, why would that magically change in old age? I reckon that if Buddha were spending his golden years at the Sunny Meadows Assisted Living Facility, his old age ramblings might contain some bon mots.

Setting: Sunny Meadows Assisted Living Facility this evening.

Buddha, room 209: "Teach this triple truth to all: A generous heart, kind speech, and a life of service and compassion are the things which renew humanity."

Lamira, caregiver, evening shift: "Oh Mr. Buddha, you want to raise your arms? PJs on? Everybody go to bed now! See Mr. Jesus? Already sleeping!"

Buddha: "The whole secret of existence is to have no fear. Never fear what will become of you, depend on no one. Only the moment you reject all help are you freed."

Lamira, fake laughing, "Very funny Mr. Buddha, good night Mr. Buddha!" Turns out light, exits room.