For 13 years, John Scully visited his mom in a nursing home. For the last 8 years of her life, she couldn’t talk. So he had other conversations. And they became a book. It’s called Visited Mom Today: Conversations Through the Lens of Alzheimer’s and Dementia. Mentioned in the podcast: <a href="https://visitedmomtoday.com">VisitedMomToday.com</a> - The website of author John D. Scully  <a href="https://alzauthors.com">Alz Authors</a>, a podcast that interviews authors of dementia caregiving memoirs.

<description>&lt;p&gt;For 13 years, John Scully visited his mom in a nursing home. For the last 8 years of her life, she couldn’t talk. So he had other conversations. And they became a book. It’s called &lt;em&gt;Visited Mom Today: Conversations Through the Lens of Alzheimer’s and Dementia.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;Mentioned in the podcast:&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="https://visitedmomtoday.com"&gt;VisitedMomToday.com&lt;/a&gt; - The website of author John D. Scully&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt; &lt;a href="https://alzauthors.com"&gt;Alz Authors&lt;/a&gt;, a podcast that interviews authors of dementia caregiving memoirs.&lt;/p&gt;</description>

For 13 years, John Scully visited his mom in a nursing home. For the last 8 years of her life, she couldn’t talk. So he had other conversations. And they became a book. It’s called Visited Mom Today: Conversations Through the Lens of...

Visited Mom Today - An Interview with Author John D. Scully

I grew up listening to Walter Cronkite. He signed off each nightly newscast with “And that’s the way it is.” As a kid, I was often alarmed by the news. But I reasoned that if Walter Cronkite respected me enough to tell me the truth, then I could handle it. Yes, my reasoning was flawed. Mr. Cronkite didn’t know me.  In this episode, I share deeply personal stories from my childhood. That's when my first caregiving experience really began. Both of my parents had enough confidence in me to tell me the truth, even at five years old.  Still, decades later, Mr. Cronkite's respect and my parents' confidence helped me find the resilience I needed to care for my husband. He had Alzheimer’s. Today’s family dementia caregivers need someone who respects them enough to tell them the truth. Caregivers need the truth to make a plan -- for minimize the chances of falling, to recognize what might be a urinary tract infection (UTI), to serve food not likely to cause choking, to adjust the household budget to hire a CNA (Certified Nursing Assistant), to ask the hard questions about the real costs of memory care facilities. Sometimes, we can plan only one step at a time. But one step IS progress.  I hope that in hearing my childhood story, other caregivers will be able to look into their pasts and recognize times when they found strength. Now is the time to draw on that strength. We need to survive.

<description>&lt;p dir="ltr"&gt;I grew up listening to Walter Cronkite. He signed off each nightly newscast with “And that’s the way it is.” As a kid, I was often alarmed by the news. But I reasoned that if Walter Cronkite respected me enough to tell me the truth, then I could handle it. Yes, my reasoning was flawed. Mr. Cronkite didn’t know me. &lt;/p&gt; &lt;p dir="ltr"&gt;In this episode, I share deeply personal stories from my childhood. That's when my first caregiving experience really began. Both of my parents had enough confidence in me to tell me the truth, even at five years old. &lt;/p&gt; &lt;p dir="ltr"&gt;Still, decades later, Mr. Cronkite's respect and my parents' confidence helped me find the resilience I needed to care for my husband. He had Alzheimer’s. Today’s family dementia caregivers need someone who respects them enough to tell them the truth. Caregivers need the truth to make a plan -- for minimize the chances of falling, to recognize what might be a urinary tract infection (UTI), to serve food not likely to cause choking, to adjust the household budget to hire a CNA (Certified Nursing Assistant), to ask the hard questions about the real costs of memory care facilities. Sometimes, we can plan only one step at a time. &lt;strong&gt;But one step IS progress&lt;/strong&gt;. &lt;/p&gt; &lt;p dir="ltr"&gt;I hope that in hearing my childhood story, other caregivers will be able to look into their pasts and recognize times when they found strength. Now is the time to draw on that strength. We need to survive. &lt;/p&gt; &lt;p dir="ltr"&gt; &lt;/p&gt; &lt;p dir="ltr"&gt; &lt;/p&gt; &lt;p dir="ltr"&gt; &lt;/p&gt; &lt;p dir="ltr"&gt; &lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt; &lt;/p&gt;</description>

I grew up listening to Walter Cronkite. He signed off each nightly newscast with “And that’s the way it is.” As a kid, I was often alarmed by the news. But I reasoned that if Walter Cronkite respected me enough to tell me the truth, then I could...

How Did I Survive? Truth, Strength, and Walter Cronkite

This episode is a message for the caregiver to send to someone else, someone who doesn't know, or doesn't understand, the stress the caregiver is going through. I liken that stress to driving alone, in an old car, up a steep mountain on a narrow, twisting road with no place to pull off. There are no guardrails. The caregiver's spouse is at the top of that mountain, dying.   I created this episode especially for the caregiver whose spouse has Alzheimer's or other form of dementia. While statistics vary, approximately 40% of family dementia caregivers die first -- meaning, the caregiver dies before the person with dementia dies. Stress can be deadly.  If you are not a caregiver, but you love someone who is, you might think of the caregiver as a strong person, someone who can "handle it." Don't be fooled. Many caregivers are simply too proud to ask for help.  In this episode, I share some of the stressful situations I confronted in caring for my husband. He died of Alzheimer's. I also offer ways to help the caregiver you love.  I also invite listeners to contact me via email or voice mail (go to <a href= "https://www.myspousehasdementia.com">https://myspousehasdementia.com</a>) and let me know what obstacles you face in trying to help the caregiver you love.

<description>&lt;p&gt;This episode is a message for the caregiver to send to someone else, someone who doesn't know, or doesn't understand, the stress the caregiver is going through.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;I liken that stress to driving alone, in an old car, up a steep mountain on a narrow, twisting road with no place to pull off. There are no guardrails. The caregiver's spouse is at the top of that mountain, dying. &lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt; I created this episode especially for the caregiver whose spouse has Alzheimer's or other form of dementia. While statistics vary, approximately 40% of family dementia caregivers die first -- meaning, the caregiver dies before the person with dementia dies. Stress can be deadly. &lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;If you are not a caregiver, but you love someone who is, you might think of the caregiver as a strong person, someone who can "handle it." Don't be fooled. Many caregivers are simply too proud to ask for help. &lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;In this episode, I share some of the stressful situations I confronted in caring for my husband. He died of Alzheimer's. I also offer ways to help the caregiver you love. &lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;I also invite listeners to contact me via email or voice mail (go to &lt;a href= "https://www.myspousehasdementia.com"&gt;https://myspousehasdementia.com&lt;/a&gt;) and let me know what obstacles you face in trying to help the caregiver you love. &lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt; &lt;/p&gt;</description>

This episode is a message for the caregiver to send to someone else, someone who doesn't know, or doesn't understand, the stress the caregiver is going through. I liken that stress to driving alone, in an old car, up a steep mountain on a narrow,...

The Caregiver You Love Needs Help!

"Between now and dead, you've got a purpose. Don't be timid." Before she retired as a hospice chaplain, Reverend Victoria Burdick faced her own death several times. In her 30s while in divinity school, she wrote a series of essays she called "Lunch with Heron." In one of those essays, "The Tall Ships," she recounts the breast cancer diagnosis that led her to the Festival of the Tall Ships in Europe, and her harrowing ordeal crewing on a ship with a captain and crew who were rarely sober.  One night, exhausted after an 18-hour shift at the helm, and weak from the cancer drugs she was taking, Victoria, mother of two young girls, came face-to-face with what was now an 8-week prognosis. Her self-determined transformation empowered her to survive. The day she pulled her rigging knife on the captain--the day she caught him molesting his young daughter-- confirmed the strength growing inside her.  Victoria is descended from seven generations of sailmakers, seafarers, and what she proudly terms "warf rats." Growing up on the water prepared her for the ordeal described in the book and movie "The Perfect Storm."  Yes, she, her father, and other members of her family's crew were on one of the ships caught in that storm.  It comes as no surprise that when faced with the diagnosis of cancer, she sought to do battle on the deck of a ship, a place where she had once before beaten death.  Victoria personifies courage and the determination to survive, two qualities needed by those of us caring for a loved one with Alzheimer's or other dementia.   The "Lunch with Heron" essays are not published. Victoria Burdick graciously agreed to share one of the essays here with the hope that her experience might inspire others. You can learn more about her and her work at her  website: <a href= "http://authenticceremony.com">AuthenticCeremony.com</a>

<description>&lt;p&gt;"Between now and dead, you've got a purpose. Don't be timid."&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;Before she retired as a hospice chaplain, Reverend Victoria Burdick faced her own death several times. In her 30s while in divinity school, she wrote a series of essays she called "Lunch with Heron." In one of those essays, "The Tall Ships," she recounts the breast cancer diagnosis that led her to the Festival of the Tall Ships in Europe, and her harrowing ordeal crewing on a ship with a captain and crew who were rarely sober. &lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;One night, exhausted after an 18-hour shift at the helm, and weak from the cancer drugs she was taking, Victoria, mother of two young girls, came face-to-face with what was now an 8-week prognosis. Her self-determined transformation empowered her to survive. The day she pulled her rigging knife on the captain--the day she caught him molesting his young daughter-- confirmed the strength growing inside her. &lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;Victoria is descended from seven generations of sailmakers, seafarers, and what she proudly terms "warf rats." Growing up on the water prepared her for the ordeal described in the book and movie "The Perfect Storm."  Yes, she, her father, and other members of her family's crew were on one of the ships caught in that storm. &lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;It comes as no surprise that when faced with the diagnosis of cancer, she sought to do battle on the deck of a ship, a place where she had once before beaten death. &lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;Victoria personifies courage and the determination to survive, two qualities needed by those of us caring for a loved one with Alzheimer's or other dementia.  &lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;The "Lunch with Heron" essays are not published. Victoria Burdick graciously agreed to share one of the essays here with the hope that her experience might inspire others. You can learn more about her and her work at her  website: &lt;a href= "http://authenticceremony.com"&gt;AuthenticCeremony.com&lt;/a&gt; &lt;/p&gt;</description>

"Between now and dead, you've got a purpose. Don't be timid." Before she retired as a hospice chaplain, Reverend Victoria Burdick faced her own death several times. In her 30s while in divinity school, she wrote a series of essays she called "Lunch...

Tall Ships and Facing Death - Victoria Burdick, Hospice Chaplain, Ret.

You've probably heard of anticipatory grief. Unbidden, hidden, and immediate, it comes with the diagnosis that your loved one has Alzheimer's. Depending on when the diagnosis was delivered, it can be several years or more before your loved one dies. Something in addition to anticipatory grief can also happen along the way, especially in those devastating late years of the disease. I call it Anticipatory Healing. It's connected to grief.  My husband had Alzheimer's. I'm publishing this episode on the second anniversary of his death. In these last two years, I've come to see my grief in three stages:  <ol> <li>React:  This is the six-month, zombie-like period right after my husband died. I didn't have the mental energy to handle anything more than what was absolutely necessary -- the funeral, Social Security, insurance, probate, and more. I saw the fool's errand in all that wishful thinking I had indulged in when my husband was first diagnosed. I felt a new kind of empty. </li> <li>Realize:  Over the next year, the truth of my new reality settled on my shoulders. I had already absorbed all of the routine tasks my husband used to handle. That happened several years earlier. Now there was a finality to those tasks. I learned to carry grief without it closing my throat or stinging my eyes. I needed to think about my future...because now I realized I had a future. </li> <li>Reflect: I'm here now. Looking back, I can see how countless little visions of the future shaped the belief that I would survive. Those visions were not obvious! Some were born from frustration. Others from determination. Others from imagination. Hidden in those visions and experiences, I discovered inner strength. I learned to set wise priorities. I found joy, deep joy, in loving memories. I accepted my new life. In doing so, I anticipated that my heart would heal. </li> </ol>

<description>&lt;p&gt;You've probably heard of anticipatory grief. Unbidden, hidden, and immediate, it comes with the diagnosis that your loved one has Alzheimer's. Depending on when the diagnosis was delivered, it can be several years or more before your loved one dies.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;Something in addition to anticipatory grief &lt;strong&gt;can &lt;/strong&gt;also happen along the way, especially in those devastating late years of the disease. I call it &lt;strong&gt;Anticipatory Healing. It's connected to grief. &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;My husband had Alzheimer's. I'm publishing this episode on the second anniversary of his death. In these last two years, I've come to see my grief in three stages: &lt;/p&gt; &lt;ol&gt; &lt;li&gt;&lt;strong&gt;React&lt;/strong&gt;:  This is the six-month, zombie-like period right after my husband died. I didn't have the mental energy to handle anything more than what was absolutely necessary -- the funeral, Social Security, insurance, probate, and more. I saw the fool's errand in all that wishful thinking I had indulged in when my husband was first diagnosed. I felt a new kind of empty. &lt;/li&gt; &lt;li&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Realize&lt;/strong&gt;:  Over the next year, the truth of my new reality settled on my shoulders. I had already absorbed all of the routine tasks my husband used to handle. That happened several years earlier. Now there was a finality to those tasks. I learned to carry grief without it closing my throat or stinging my eyes. I needed to think about my future...because now I realized I &lt;strong&gt;had&lt;/strong&gt; a future. &lt;/li&gt; &lt;li&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Reflect:&lt;/strong&gt; I'm here now. Looking back, I can see how countless little visions of the future shaped &lt;strong&gt;the belief that I would survive.&lt;/strong&gt; Those visions were not obvious! Some were born from frustration. Others from determination. Others from imagination. Hidden in those visions and experiences, I discovered inner strength. I learned to set wise priorities. I found joy, deep joy, in loving memories. I accepted my new life. In doing so, I anticipated that my heart would heal. &lt;/li&gt; &lt;/ol&gt;</description>

You've probably heard of anticipatory grief. Unbidden, hidden, and immediate, it comes with the diagnosis that your loved one has Alzheimer's. Depending on when the diagnosis was delivered, it can be several years or more before your loved one dies....

Anticipatory Healing - What Family Dementia Caregivers Need to Know to Survive

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