I thought if all I can offer right now is a perspective to help my friends and family know how good their life is, maybe that will help someone let go of some of the little things. Families dealing with brain diseases, and any chronic illness, still have to deal with the “normal bad things”… whatever those are.

Just a list of yesterday:
1. Took the trailer to the mechanic to have something repaired.
2. Check engine light on the truck kept staying on. Called a diesel mechanic and made an appointment to take it in to be looked at.
3. About a mile from my office, a friend found my office mail in a pile. Ripped open and insurance checks stolen. She brought the ripped up pile to me. I called my credit card company and cancelled the cards(awaiting new cards now) as the bill was in the pile and the full account number was seen by the thief. Called the one insurance company I could figure out and cancelled that check and was told they will reissue it in 21 days. Worried about what checks the thief stole that I don’t know about. Called the post office to request the mail carrier put the mail THROUGH the front door and not leave it outside. Note to self: make a sign for the mailbox to remind the carrier.
4. During all this, Rich was having a really bad day.
5. Juggle things around to get to an appointment to try to ease the extreme sciatic pain my hip is in. The therapist messed up the appointment and asked if I could come back in two hours. Okay… not easy to do, but I have to. (I can hear all my friends saying, “Patty you have to take care of you.” Seriously…)
6. Getting ready to go back to deal with the sciatic pain when I get a call that my 85-year-old mother has fallen on the stairs at her retirement residence. Race over there and tell her “YES WE ARE CALLING AN AMBULANCE”… she hates to go to the hospital. She was lying in a pile on the stair landing and we can’t even get her up because she starts screaming as we try to move her.
7. Spend 7-1/2 hours in the ER with mom. X-rays and CT scan show no damage to her artificial knee, hip and both shoulders. Falling on implants can break surrounding bones. She hit her head, but no brain bleed. Tara, my eldest daughter, comes to the hospital at 10:00 pm bringing dry clothes as the nurse accidentally spilled a bedpan of urine on my mom soaking her clothes.
8. Tara and I take her home, get her cleaned up and in bed (she refused to come back to my house and since she only lives a couple of miles away and proved she can get in an out of bed, I acquiesced and let her go home.) She listened to me talking to Rich on the phone while I was there in the ER with her. Mom knew he was not doing well and didn’t want to add to the chaos by coming here. I can understand that, but it makes me sad.
9. Get home and Rich is crawling out of his skin with anxiety. Give him more meds to try to calm him down. Nothing touches his funky brain. Finally get him to sleep. I fall into bed exhausted and my hip screaming with sciatic pain.
10. Rich wakes up about 1:30 am and is sobbing, rocking, and crawling out of his skin with anxiety and depression. He is hot all over and cannot lay down. I considered taking him to the ER to see if they would knock him out with something, but I have a feeling it would not be that easy and I’d be there for another 7 hours without them being able to help. I get him back to sleep after a couple of hours.
11. Wake up early to try to arrange coverage for Rich today as he’s not doing well right now. Tara and I coordinate between me, her, our youngest daughter, Ashley, and friend, Brenda for all of us to juggle work and taking care of Rich. Also, the school does not have daycare the week before school starts so six-year-old Ally needs coverage as well. Thank GOD we are all working together to keep this household afloat. Maybe I’ll find time to put yesterday’s groceries away off the kitchen counter and do the dishes… they are still there waiting.

In the mean time, I find my own perspective as I contemplate the horrendous pain that friends are going through this week in losing their 2-year-old granddaughter from a head injury. They find whatever solitude is possible from her organs going to save many other children and adults. My heart goes out to them in their loss, grief and horrible pain. I hold Ally’s thought in my heart. She said, “Scarlet will have to grow up in heaven now.” To grieving parents and grandparents, any words of comfort are as effective as a squirt gun on a raging forest fire.

May God let us all bear the burdens we are given with grace. In the words of my favorite little blue fish, “JUST KEEP SWIMMING… JUST KEEP SWIMMING…”

This entry was posted in Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink.


  1. Hello
    I came across your blog via
    I lost my husband to FTD last September. He was 57. We had been married for almost 36 years. He was diagnosed in August of 2007. I can see that you are going through many of the same issues that I did. I know how hard it is.
    I started writing my own blog recently and am hoping to publish my book –
    “The Dance”, about our journey, very soon.
    I will follow your blog closely. Stay strong my friend.
    Debbie Thelwell

Comments are closed.