My Husband, The Dragon Slayer

This is another of the blogs I wrote for my Alzheimer website during the years I was caring for my husband. This incident occurred early (3 years) into his diagnosis, so he was still capable of some level of normal conversation and completing certain chores around the house. Alzheimer’s Disease is a terror that destroys everyone’s life into which it comes in contact, but we managed to find some humor in the midst of the devastation:

Last September, I wrote a Blog entitled Who Will Kill the Bugs? In it, I talked about all of the chores around the house that my husband still does for me, and how much I would miss his assistance when he is no longer able to provide it – taking out the garbage, cleaning the gas grill, folding the clothes, killing those big ugly bugs, and in our case here in Florida, catching and throwing back outside, the repulsive frogs that find their way into the house.

Well, it is January, and those frogs, which have the flying (hopping) ability of Superman, are STILL here. The “cold” weather of nighttime 50’s and 60’s has not discouraged them. Two nights ago, one managed to squeeze his way around the screen door, boldly perching himself on the smooth stovetop as if he belonged there, which is where I found him when I walked into the kitchen. I quickly backed up into the den, and squeaked to Sid, “Frog! Frog in the kitchen! You have to get the frog!”

Alzheimer’s Disease may have slowed his thinking capacity, and diabetic neuropathy may have slowed his physical capacity, but not to fear. My brave husband creaked his way out of his chair, hobbled to the kitchen, and reached for the frog. Whoops! The frog was faster. He flew (hopped?) away. Not to be seen again for two days. You can use your imagination to fill in the blanks about what it was like to live with me for those two days, looking around every corner and checking every shoe before I slipped my foot into it. I checked every chair and couch before I sat on it. I opened every cabinet door with trepidation. And you can be darn sure that I checked the toilet bowl before I sat down.

Yesterday morning, while we were both in the bedroom, Sid opened his closet door, and said, “Here’s your friend.” I did what I always do in such pressure packed situations. I panicked, screamed, and ran into the living room. My hero grabbed the frog, held it in his hand (yuck!), opened the front door, and threw it outside.

After I sat through his lecture about me being 100 times bigger than the frog; that he wouldn’t hurt me; and that I was a wimp, we had a serious conversation about the situation. I said that although he may no longer be able to hook up a VCR (which no one used anymore anyway), process lengthy telephone messages, or help with any household organization, he could still save me from creatures large and small, and for that, I was extremely grateful. He said that he was very sad about the things he could no longer do, but he was thankful and pleased that there was something he could still do for me, because didn’t I know that he loved me so much he would do anything for me? Yes, I do know it, and that knowledge keeps me going on some of the worst days.

With all that I do for him, I cannot do the one most important job– take this disease away from him. We have to be content with what we can do for each other – I am his memory, and he is my hero who slays the dragons (or catches the frogs and kills the bugs) for me.

Update: December 2021. My love has been gone for 6 ½ years. I miss everything about him- the way he made me laugh, the way he made me feel safe and secure, his warm, loving touch, everything. And yes, I miss how he slayed the creatures for me.

A couple of years ago, I came face to face with a SNAKE in my garage. A long, black, slithering SNAKE. I actually sprayed it with RAID. No, I’m not stupid enough to think that RAID will kill a snake. I simply thought that it would stun him into slithering away from me and out of the garage. So I was wrong. It made him VERY angry. He stood (?) up, (if that’s what you call it when snakes rise up), and I swear he was going to lunge at me. I ran into the house and slammed the door. Sid would know what to do. Sid would have taken care of that snake for me. But Sid was gone. It was up to me. Days later, I ventured into the garage, tiptoed to the corner where I had first seen Mr. Snake, and sure enough, there he was, curled up taking a nap. I had armed myself with one of those “reacher grabber” things that short little me keeps all over the house because I can’t reach anything. I slowly extended the handle and squeezed the pincers around the snake’s body, silently screaming in my head, and threw him outside as far away from the garage as my little arm was able to hurl. I ran back to the automatic door closer and hit the button. Mercifully, the garage door closed before the snake had a chance to turn around and re-enter. Oh, how I miss my dragon slayer.