"C is for cookie, that's good enough for me. C is for cookie, that's good enough for me. C is for cookie, that's good enough for me. Cookie, cookie, cookie starts with C."
Cookie Monster might have trouble with the A to Z challenge. As dear and lovable as he is, he has a one track mind (which is great at 3 o'clock in the afternoon when we all need a cookie, and maybe a nap.)
I gave my nearly 89 year-old dad three home-baked cookies this morning after his doctor appointment, because it felt like a cookie moment. A little TLC was needed.
Dad has heart disease and the beginnings of Parkinson's. In spite of that, he gets around on a walker and still loves life. He was told today by his neurologist that he is about maxed out on medications, and Dad is probably going to have to accept his current state of tremor-ing. We are going to try one more medication increase, but that will be the final option. Nothing more can be done. And even with meds, the tremors will likely get worse.
It was quiet in the room after this news was delivered. I knew this day was coming, but Dad was still hoping for a miracle cure. I wanted to offer Dad a cookie at that very moment, but they were in the car.
So there we sat, the three of us: the doctor, Dad and me.
I wondered how often this doctor had to impart such news. Brain disorders are his speciality, so, I suspected, often. He was clinical and direct. He had broached this "we're coming to the end of what can be done" delivery before, but Dad didn't really take it in. He's a self-reliant, former Navy guy, and has had trouble accepting his limitations.
While we sat in the quiet, it hit me how ill-equipped I am to help my wonderful Dad deal with his own decline. I prayed for courage.
I decided cookies would help. Maybe that's why Cookie Monster promotes them so. The challenges and heartaches of life are softened by a Snickerdoodle.
As we drove home, I remarked that this doctor was certainly upfront. Dad replied, "That's what I like about him."
By this response, I knew Dad understood what was said, even though he didn't like it.
Then, it got quiet again. Courage kept coming to mind. We would all need it - Dad, Mom, me, my siblings, even the doctors who treat Dad. That have to deliver all the bad news. They probably need a cookie now and then, too.
I took Dad home and left him with Mom, a kiss, and his snack bag of cookies.
I will be baking many more in days to come.