FAIR GAME:Proud to be part of a needed service

I recently joined the board of directors for the Adult Day Care Services in Huntington Beach, an Alzheimer’s-care facility now associated with Hoag Memorial Hospital Presbyterian.

It’s a vital facility with a surrounding fenced-in park-like setting for patients to walk in; various activity rooms for games, entertainment and interaction; and even updated walls of remembrance, complete with pictures of the patients from times gone by.

The worst part of Alzheimer’s is not necessarily for the patient, but for the spouse or loved one whose responsibility suddenly becomes giving care on a 24/7 basis.

Adult Day Care Services becomes an alternative, a place where a caregiver can drop off a patient on a regular basis.

For those who are familiar with this insidious disease, you know what I’m talking about.

I’m so impressed with the Adult Day Care Services; the only hard part is remembering things, like when their board meetings are.

I know, it’s a bad Alzheimer’s joke, but in my case it’s true. I seem to get busy, and on some days, I don’t know what’s next, minute-to-minute.

I’m the guy who, when I’m calling out for my daughter, Ashley, from the other room, I run through the names of every dog I’ve ever known.

Burgess, Megan, Vera, Sophie — I mean Ashley.

Or at other times, I might run through the names of my three sisters.

But my daughter has been a good sport over the years. She now answers to just about anything I call out. She understands my shortcomings.

My wife on the other hand, she’s more particular about being called the right name. Obviously, if the ex’s name came up at the wrong time, well, you can imagine where that would land me.

Up to this point, I haven’t been officially diagnosed with Alzheimer’s. For me, it’s probably just a case of inferior intelligence or lack thereof. But it’s a disease I’d like to stay as far away from as I can.

But sometimes, I have to be honest, I’m bad with names. So I’ve worked up this plan with my wife. As we’re walking in to some event or function, I remind her that if I don’t introduce her immediately to someone, then she should do it herself. Because, obviously, I can’t remember the person’s name.

It doesn’t get any easier than that.

So what happens? We walk in, and I see someone I recognize. He approaches. I can’t remember his name.

Anxiety sets in. All possible exit routes are explored immediately, but it’s too late. My wife stands by my side.

Silent!

I uncomfortably attempt to make small talk, trying to go back through the deepest recesses of my brain.

“Well, how have you been?”

“What’s new?”

“How’s the job?”

My wife remains still, smiling at the person or people standing opposite me. Still silent, she moves closer to me, seeming to wait for the proper introduction.

I’m thinking to myself, “The plan, the plan.” I’m waiting for her to say, “Hi, I’m Vicki Johnson.”

But no, not today.

I feel like an idiot. I can’t tell if I’m turning red or if my acquaintance has noticed my fidgeting.

So I move on to plan B. I look to my wife and say, “You remember my wife, Vicki?”

Hopefully then old-what’s-hisname responds in kind and introduces himself. If not, I continue to talk about Vicki.

As soon as the acquaintance says his name, I repeat it and say something like, “Vicki, you remember [insert name here].” And then add some bright tidbit to assure everyone I’m not the least bit confused or forgetful.

I wish it could be easier.

“Hey, I can’t remember your name. Would you introduce yourself to my wife? And while you’re at it, remind me again how I know you!”

But no, I play the game. I try to be some savant that couldn’t be foolish enough to forget someone’s name.

So here’s the deal. The next time you see me, just walk up and say, “Hey, Tom, I’m so-and-so. It’s good to see you again.” I’ll gladly shake your hand. You then introduce or reintroduce yourself to my wife. I’ll do the same if it’s me coming up to you.

Then, I can remain a board member of Adult Day Care Services and not become a patient.