Which reminds me, has someone taken a picture of Tim's dad in his new! pants and sent it to the nosy aunt yet? Because I'd be sore tempted.

Oldest Brother just took the pants to him yesterday, and he didn't want to try them on, so the box is still sitting on his couch. But I kind of want to take a picture of the stack of pants and send it to her.

He's a whole other kettle of stressful fish. I thought that getting him into assisted living would make things easier for Tim and his brothers, but Jack hates being in assisted living so much (and he's so confused and disoriented because of his dementia) that it's just created so much more work and required so much more emotional energy from the boys.

Because of his dementia, he "resets" to several years ago, so he truly believes that he's healthy and great and will be fine if he goes back home. And he also defaults to putting the boys in the roles he sees them in. Which means he calls Oldest Brother like 4 or 5 times a day and actually shouts at him demanding that Oldest Brother get him out of there and take him back home. (We didn't find that out until this weekend. Jesus. He doesn't call Tim that often, and he doesn't shout at him.)

Fortunately, Oldest Brother has started just sending his Dad's calls to voicemail and not returning his calls until after work. Even so, it's really stressful.

2017 needs to get its act together. (I am steadfastly ignoring the horror in the White House.)

I'm currently on hold with the doctor's office for a new bloodwork order. Look at me being all accountable and shit!

Success! They'll put orders for bloodwork in the mail to me so that I can go to the lab near our house. I eagerly await finding out exactly what percentage of my blood is cheese and what percentage is leftover Easter candy.

See, smonster? I knew you could do it.

It is my surgery week! I'm going to pretend that means I will soon be fixed, although it's still 3.5 more days! I would kind of like to sleep through the whole time, but work expects me to work.

Dementia is just a fucking asshole. I swear. Calm~ma to Jack and coping-ma to the rest of y'all.

Dana, sorry you're in so much pain. Hope the next few days go quickly and that the surgery gives you quick relief.

One small pre-cavity, so I have to come back next week to get that filled. I expected that. Also, I may need to get a nightguard. I don't really grnd but I guess I clench. I may try the cheapo sports mouthguard route before shellling out the big bucks.

I use the drug store mouthguards and they work.

Dementia is just a fucking asshole. I swear.

This. My Nana still knows what year it is and why she's in assisted living (thank GOD she and my grandfather moved there voluntarily after she broke her arm for the third time going up and down their old terrifyingly narrow stairs), but she keeps calling my mother up FURIOUS to know why she hasn't been invited to my brother's wedding yet. (She has been. And she RSVP'd. Three months ago.)

I am so grateful that my mother's dementia was so mild, and really seemed just old age normal for the most part. She did get annoyed if we challenged her on things she said that were wrong, so we just didn't.

It is my biggest fear. I don't want my family to have to endure that level of pain. I really am doing everything I can to prevent if that is at all possible.

Ugh Steph, I totally feel for Tim and his brothers. Also, damn, so many of us have had to deal with dementia.

Yeah, there's a real grieving process here for Tim and his brothers, because Jack is slowly losing what made him the dad they knew and loved and looked up to for more than 50 years. It's a really cruel disease.

It's a really cruel disease.

God yes. I remember with my mom thinking of caring for her as giving back to her the nurturing and care that she had given me. But as devastating as her dementia was, it never took away her sweetness, so caring for her was made easier in some ways.