Is it time to think of alternatives? I don’t know how much more I can take of not being able to physically help Al anymore.
Here is what happened just now. I hadn’t had Al out of the house today, although he decided to go out by himself. He said he was going to ride his scooter, and I saw him leave, but in five minutes he was back. I then saw him sit on the outdoor couch, and it took him great effort to lift his legs upon the couch, but I held my cool. I didn’t rush out to help him like I usually do, I wanted him to do it himself, if at all possible.
Al also decided, without telling me, that he was going to shave with his electric razor. Now I don’t think this is a bad thing, EXCEPT, he shaves in one spot over and over, until the skin becomes raised, raw, and red. It takes a lot of medicating from me to get the skin back to normal. I just wish he would let me do it, but I understand his wanting to complete a task for himself, but today, he went one step further. He decided to eject the short trimmer piece on the razor, and proceed to clip his mustache. When he came out to show me, I didn’t know whether to flip out, smile and say nothing, or let my eyeballs pop out! I chose door number two. I said GREAT JOB AT TRYING BUD!. He lets me know that he didn’t get it exactly right because he messed up. I had no choice but to agree on this, so now when I look at Al, I try very hard not to cock my head to the side, in order to see a straight mustache.
Tonight, for supper we went to Wal-Mart, because each of us needed a set of sheets for our beds, so we got two pairs, that we could each interchange on the beds, in colors that we both liked. I also know there is a Subway inside the store, and to save Al’s strength, we did the all-in-one thing, one store, one shopping.
After we ate, which I should say we did first, then shopped, and we got the sheets, we lazily went over to the grocery aisle. Now most of you know what the super center Wal-Mart look like. It is like looking over to the other side of grand canyon. It never ends, and we were at the back of the store, by the eggs and milk area.
All of a sudden Al is crying, and he is saying my back, my back! I look back at him and he is leaning like the leaning tower, so far over, I can not see the steering column of the scooter any longer. I do a quick assessment, and decide his back is hurting from being bent over too far. I ask him to please try to sit up, and he listens and sits up, but only for a couple of seconds and back down he goes.
I mentally take note of what I absolutely have to have from the grocery part, so I do not have to take Al back out for a while, and with my prompting over and over for him to sit up straight, he and I make it through the necessary aisles, while Al is crying and this time everyone is watching that is near by, because Al is out of control totally.
There is no going back and no going forth, we are stuck right there a third of the way from the registers. He has lost all interests of listening and understanding, so I get behind Al and I hold his body upright, while he manuevers the scooter towards the registers.
Don’t ask me why, but I am getting darn sick and tired of rude people!! People will not move out-of-the-way, if they are talking, kids running all over the store, me almost running one of them down tonight! I don’t expect special rules to be taken towards us, but if you see a grown man crying, and an older woman hanging on to the back of his shirt, trying to hold him up in a scooter, don’t you think they would get the hell out-of-the-way???
We make it to the registers, and I place all of our goodies on the counter, and we pay and we finally make it through the doors of the all for one and one for all store. Awww, peace and quiet. no, wait, hang on a minute, not another disaster, what?
At the car, as I am placing all the groceries and non-edibles in the trunk, Al takes it upon himself to get off of the scooter and make his way to the passenger side of the car. Now, if I was watching this scene from another car, I would call the police, complaining of a drunk man walking the parking lot. Al is bouncing off the car, back into the car, and then trips and falls. He is in his frozen mode!
I throw my keys and my purse into the trunk, no wait stupid, don’t put your keys in the trunk, so I grab them and go to Al, and check him over. No, God watched over him, no scrapes, or blood. I get him into the car and get him buckled up and his tears turn into storms. I could do nothing more, or I didn’t have the energy to stand their and watch the rain inside the car, and I had nothing to say. I walked back to the trunk, and finished loading the gold, oh, sorry, I mean the pricey bags into the trunk, and we left and came home. He went to his bedroom and pulled out of his closet, the lift, the fat gadget, that you sit on top of the toilet, so you can sit easier? Yes, you know what I mean, the high-rise seat! Between Al’s enlarged prostate issues he has had for a couple of years, and the Parkinson’s not letting him go number one, he ends up bent in a half curtsey position, waiting for the process to start. I guess he got tired of his knees bending, so he is using the lift I bought him with no arguments anymore.
He just came out, as I am finishing this story up, and said to me, why is this Parkinson’s wanting to kill me.
My time is up on here, and now I need to go sit on his bed and listen to more of why he and I can’t fix it.