Day 3 is C

"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.


Anonymous said...

A definite cookie moment! Keeping your dad and you and yours in my prayers:)

Retired Knitter said...

Thank you so much for visiting my blog. When you said you were also a caregiver for your parents, I hurried right over ... and here is this wonderful blog post ... touching, caring, a bit sad ... and oh so familiar to me. The facts of my caregiver story are different, but the feelings and the raw experiences are so similar that I felt like I was sitting right beside you and your dad in the doctor's office.

Thank you so much for finding me. I will be back.

M said...

So sorry to read about your dad...you are lucky to have had your dad for so long...mine passed away when I was 12.

I love Cookie Monster...and his song. May you have many more days of making your dad smile with cookies.

Anonymous said...

I was the caretaker for my Dad for many years. He passed away last year and I still miss him so much.
He sounds a lot like your Dad,proud and wanting his independence,loving life even if he was unable to do a lot of the things he enjoyed doing(he had a lot of health problems and was mostly in a wheelchair).
I'm sure the love you put into the cookies gave your Dad some comfort. I'll keep him in my thoughts and prayers and hope this medication level he's on now helps him.
And I hope you have many more years of giving him TLC -and cookies.

mare ball said...

Wow, I'm learning how many have taken care of this parents. I'm sorry for the loss of your dad. Thank you for the kind thoughts.

Dawn M. Hamsher said...

Your "C" is for Cookie is sad. I will be so glad someday where there is no pain or disease.

Cookies mean a whole lot more than sugar and flour, don't they? They mean love.

The Write Soil
1st Writes

mare ball said...
This comment has been removed by a blog administrator.
Marianne (Mare) Baker Ball said...

Thanks to all of you for stopping by! I love connecting with other bloggers. This is new for me, my first year with A to Z. MJ, Retired Knitter (love that), M., Michelle, Dawn - thank you for the good wishes, prayers for my dad. I know my time with him is limited, as he is 89. To M. - I'm glad to hear you are writing about life instead of cancer. God bless you all.