Vacation

Doug and I loved to take vacations with our kids.  We would dream about the adventure, plan it in advance (most of the time), save our pennies, and execute the escape with lists, agendas, and a camera.  Doug was the dreamer, the executor, and the photographer.  I was the saver, the list maker, and the agenda keeper.  Doug brought the fun.  I brought the order.

Over the years, we enjoyed camping and adventuring in assorted environments.  There was a densely wooded back road with a cliff to a steep canyon below and a flat tire.  There was a bike trip in August in the worst rain on record.  A sailboat and thick fog were responsible for nearly running us aground.  There were sunburns and near frostbite. There was the moped, a wedding or two or three, snow, learning to ski, Hawaii, sunscreen, family, Disneyland, a lake house with a ski boat, beaches, a cruise, cross-country treks, and getaways close to home. Adventure and opportunity were the name of the game, and Doug was the master at making the experience exciting.

In his very spontaneous, unrehearsed, creative way, Doug crafted memories.  Vacations were the platform he used to design what he knew would be celebrated later.  He delighted in the story that would be told as our kids grew and as they became parents themselves. 

With the kids now grown and a second generation exponentially expanding our family, making memories and vacationing feels even more significant. The precious framed memories populating our walls illustrate how excursions are essential and shared experiences. They are the exclamation point.  We now clearly realize the merciless cadence of time never slows down.  It gives birth to gray hair, grandbabies, and forgetfulness.

So… with dementia in tow, my hair dye covering the gray, and a new grandbaby to meet, We (mostly me) planned, saved, charged the camera (iPhone), and… went on vacation.

The trip reunited us with our children, extended family, and many friends. Doug and I traveled over 3000 miles by pickup truck to a family wedding, a lake house, our previous hometown, airports, our son’s house, and a bunch of menus and mattresses.  It was a trip for the books filled with memories, shared experiences, an agenda of precise detail that Doug carried in his pocket and referred to frequently, and many pictures! It was so much fun!

Leading up to the execution of this vacation was markedly different from the ones we’d taken in the past.  I was in charge of the list and agenda like before, but I was also in charge of everything else: the fun, the photography, the money, the accommodations, and, let’s not forget, the packing.  As we repeatedly opened and closed our suitcases during the two-week trip, Doug said, “Wow, I packed way too much stuff.” What he failed to realize was he did not pack.  I did.  The totality of his packing job included a coat, a pair of shorts, and some socks. I hijacked his sparse packing attempt before we left and filled his suitcase with “way too much stuff,” especially shoes.  But, who cares, we were traveling in a pickup truck! 

I was also in charge of driving.  Driving is my preferred position in any vehicle.  I easily get carsick as a passenger.  But driving solo 3000+ miles is a lot.  When the passenger side windshield broke on day two of our adventure due to a flying thing, I felt the burden of sole responsibility.  The impact crack was so loud that it took a few miles for me to regain my heartbeat.  I didn’t pull over.  It wasn’t immediately necessary…  Instead, it became necessary to assure Doug, on the verge of fretfulness, that we were fine and the truck was fine.  Just the windshield needed repair.  No big deal…  I figured keeping my cool and driving on was the best way to do that type of convincing… Whew!

This vacation also delivered some unplanned dementia education.  I learned, for example, that Doug now likes and needs order.  He used to be impressively spontaneous, almost to a fault (of course, that opinion comes from the one who lives with lists, agendas, and beeping reminders on my cell phone).  On our trip, Doug frequently wanted to know what was next, when we would get there, and what we would do when we arrived.  So I armed him with what became a well-worn, deeply creased, faded, hand-written agenda.  And I satisfied him with my tedious answers to his repetitive questions, “Where are we? When will we get there?  Who are we going to see next?” As long as I stayed patient and on schedule, he did well, and we had a good time.

Nighttime was the most challenging in the many different sleeping quarters we visited.  Each accommodation was laid out differently, and we did not stay in any single place long enough to become familiar.  The bed was over there instead of over here.  We turned left out of the elevator instead of right, like the night before.  The temperature control was here, there, and everywhere. But the most challenging was the location of the bathroom.  The darkness, the shadows, and the unfamiliar territory made getting to and fro in the middle of the night very disorienting. Truth be told, a dark, unfamiliar space can be challenging for any of us in the middle of the night, but add dementia, and it becomes nearly impossible.  Each night, well into my slumber, I would wake to Doug clunking around the room, lost in his quest to find relief.  I would help him find the bathroom and return to bed each night.  Surprisingly, even with this nightly ritual of interruption, we both felt like we rested well.  I guess that’s what being on vacation is all about.

Now, we are safely home from our grand adventure.  We are unpacked, with the “way too many” shoes put away, the truck washed, and the windshield repaired. The photos we came away with are the exclamation point.  For Doug, the memories of trip details are a bit fussy, so we enjoy vacation reflection through the many pictures we took. 

Frontal Temporal Dementia changed our vacationing patterns a lot.  It was apparent often and interrupted in many instances.  But FTD did not control our time together.  It did not land center stage.  Someday, I realize it might.  But this time, it didn’t, partially because we did not let it. The two of us laughed, chatted, sat in silence, saw many family and friends, reviewed the agenda again and again, and completely enjoyed each other’s company despite dementia.  We played hard, and we rested well.

This vacation will go in the books as one of the best.  As the merciless cadence of time continues to grow our gray hair and expand the shadow of dementia in our family, Doug and I will be forever grateful we made the time and took the time to go on this vacation.

Karen and Doug