flavors

CHOICES

When I was a little girl we lived in a fourth-floor flat located in the Noe Valley District of San Francisco.  On the corner, just down the street from our building, was “Dan’s,” a sparkling new soda fountain which served the best hamburgers and milk shakes in town, and ice cream — the likes of which we kids had never seen.  Long before Baskin had ever heard of Robbins “Dan’s” served at least eight flavors.  I had discovered maple nut, so for me there was no question as to what flavor I chose; three scoops of maple nut for a nickel.  Some of my little friends, though, had not settled on a favorite flavor and would wander back and forth in front of the counter changing their minds with every step.  Finally, the nice man in charge (it might even have been Dan himself) would say, “What would you like, vanilla or vanilla?”  “Vanilla,” was the immediate reply — problem solved.  Sometimes there are just too many choices.

Today, we’re confronted with even more choices.  Not only B & R with their 36 flavors of ice cream, but how many channels do we need on TV — and menus?  When Ken and I go out to eat, if only for a quick bite, he studies the menu board, or the menu, then hands it to me saying, “You can order.”  I know all of those choices are confusing to him, as they were to his mom and dad and my own mother, all three victims of Alzheimer’s.  So, as we did for them and as I now do for Ken, I order.  It’s like vanilla or vanilla.

At home, choosing has become almost problematic as  Ken’s AD continues its advance.  Perhaps it’s not so much the choosing, but forgetting that a choice has been made.  I had arranged his razor and shaving cream in a plastic glass, the comb and brush in another, and his toothbrush and toothpaste in a third.  With all three side by side on a shelf, it was easy for him to do his morning routine before taking a shower.  This method has been successful for the past several years, but not any more.  A shave and shower for a younger, healthier Ken was 10 minutes.  Now it stretches from 30 minutes up to an hour.

After a period of time I peek into the bathroom to see how he’s doing.  “Good,” I  say to me, “He’s shaving.”  Then he’s brushing his teeth; five minutes later he’s shaving again.  I worried one morning that he would injure his face after a third shave.  Had I intruded, suggesting he move on to the shower, he would have been furious.  Furthermore, during the day when he brushed his teeth, he felt he should shave again and wanted to shave before going to bed as well.  Shaving and brushing his teeth had become “one.”  For sure, I needed to rethink his entire routine.

Solution:  reduce the choices.  The comb and brush stayed, but as soon as he finished shaving, the razor and shaving cream vanished.  It was replaced with the toothbrush and toothpaste which remained all day until he went to bed, then the shaving gear went back on the shelf and the toothbrush and toothpaste vanished.  At times I see him searching for the missing “set,” but a change of subject brings him out of the bathroom or into the shower.  The new arrangement is working.

However, there are times when Ken makes decisions because he still has an understanding of what he wants and what he likes.  Planning on doing some yard work I laid out an older pair of jeans — mended and faded.  Dutifully, he put them on and was ready for breakfast, but before sitting down he returned to the bedroom.  Coming back to eat 10 minutes later he was wearing his good jeans.  The shabby pair ended up in the back of the closet.  Surprised, I had to laugh, and I felt good for him because he made a choice by himself.   In addition, when I ask what kind of ice cream he wants for dessert, chocolate or vanilla, he says without hesitation, “Chocolate.”

Originally posted 2009-06-28 07:15:33.

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