LJ Henshell: May 2012

‎January-‎31-‎12

Ever since I can remember the house I grew up in has not been the same as others. Outside it looked similar with nice brown vinyl siding, white trim, a small patch of grass, the trailer we used a few times for camping and a couple moderately price vehicles parked in the driveway. Inside however was a different story, it had the usual living room, dining room, a short hallway, kitchen, bathroom, two bedrooms and a large walk in coat closet. There were TV’s in four rooms of the house, a piano and table in the dining room, matched flower patterned beige couch and love seat, a big green chair, a couple end tables lamps and a coffee table in the living room. The bedrooms held modest but comfortable beds, dressers and side tables. The kitchen had a fridge, stove, sink, cupboards and a microwave. Most of the rooms were either painted white or had flowered wallpaper, they also had wall hangings and pictures in them. There was a finished basement with an apartment unit on one side and laundry area on the other with a small bathroom in between. Seems like a typical house right?

Growing up my sister and I rarely had friends over, and when we did we were often asked “why is your house so dirty?” See, amongst the furniture and flower wallpaper was also piles of clothing in the hallway. An array of old electronics, parts, and tools covered the large table and stacks of dusty craft material and sheet music covered the piano in the dining room. The living room held stacks of dusty papers, electronics, craft materials, dirty glasses, magazines, vinyl records, VHS tapes and other odd ends. Dirty dishes, pots and pans, filthy small appliances and a dishwasher covered in everything from cooking utensils to tools littered the kitchen. The bedrooms were messy with clothing and personal items but not as messy as the rest of the house. The basement was divided into two parts a laundry/storage area and an apartment side separated by a small bathroom. It was dusty but tidy with seventies style brown panelled wall coverings and a blue carpet, an old computer, freezer, couch, chair and entertainment unit, with a small kitchen area with table used for storage, the bedroom in the basement was mine. It had a small bed, built-in drawers and closet and a nightstand and was painted a light blue, it was the cleanest room in the house. It, at that time, was not quite as bad as the houses you see on the television Show “Hoarders” but it was close.

Things pretty much stayed that way throughout my time living in that house, when my mother moved out in early in 2003 my father and I cleaned it up a bit to make it more comfortable, we even got a small counter-top dishwasher to solve arguments over whose turn it was to do the dishes. I moved out in 2004 while attending college, I would come back to the house to visit my father and his two dogs but I never lived in that house again. I can’t tell you when the house got out of control again; it wasn’t until after finding out in September of 2010 that my father had been diagnosed with Dementia and Diabetes. I moved back to Thunder Bay in January of 2011 to help and be closer to family.

What a shock it was the first time I walked into the house after having to climb around things in the front porch. The living room was pop bottles, dog food wrappers, cardboard, cans and other assorted materials piled from floor to ceiling. As I moved through the narrow path leading through the house I found the same thing in the dining room and the kitchen. In the kitchen I noticed a propane camp stove sitting on top of my dad’s stove, it was filthy. I asked him why the house was such a mess and he was using a camp stove in the house and he told me it was to save hydro. He believed that the mess insulated the house and that by using propane instead of his electric stove he was saving hydro. This was in February so at the time he had just gotten his heat turned back on; I was unaware that it had been cut off. My dad came to visit me at my place over the next few months since I lived only 5 blocks away, family functions were held at my mother’s, the two had remained friends over the years. I got very busy with work was away for long periods of time from June to August so I did not get to see my father much.

In September I went with my parents to my father’s doctor, a geriatric specialist, it was then I learned someone had to take over power of attorney for my father because his finances had gotten so bad he was having utilities cut off and falling behind on mortgage payments. I also learned at this time that his gas had been cut off and he had no heat or hot water. I became his power of attorney and spent the next two months trying to get his heat turned back on unsuccessfully.

I called every agency, organization and person I could think of to get help and got nowhere. The Community Care Access Center eventually sent a Victorian Order of Nurses social worker to come and help but she was unable to get his heat turned back on either, although she is now helping him find housing and offering support services and referrals. She has also helped discover that financially his problems began in 2009, and provided letters get us quicker access to emergency resources. One social resource worker did find out that the reason that he did not qualify for help from social assistance is that he had already received it in February. Since no one, realizing he has dementia and he was having trouble remembering to pay bills, had checked up on him he had forgotten to pay his gas bill for the months of March, May and June. The gas company of course cut off his gas once again and wanted over one thousand dollars to reconnect it. My dad is on a small pension, he could not afford this.

It is now December 2011, my father is still living in squalor with no heat or hot water and he refuses to stay with me preferring to use electric heaters in his bed room and the other bed room now referred to as “the dog’s room”. He is still using his propane gas camp stove and has now added a bunch of cheap LED solar lights for light at night. The weather has been unusually warm but our safety plan is once it goes below -24 at night he and the dogs come and stay with me whether he likes it or not.

The Hidden Part of Aging Part 2 draft 1

It is now the week of January 15, on the sixteenth my dad comes over I notice his eye is very swollen and red. He says he’s going to get some drops for it and so I leave it at that. The next day he comes over again and his eye is much worse and the right side of his face is drooping. He says he feels fine, his skin colour is good and he refuses to go see a doctor because he wants to go shopping. I take him to the store and notice as we’re walking in the store he’s walking slower than usual. Again he says he’s fine, so we finish at the store but I drive him to the emergency room anyway. We’re taken in very quickly and he is put on a stretcher and hooked up to a bunch of machines.

I call my mother to come because apparently this has happened before and she had been there. As they asses my dad no one really says much, just did the tests asked questions and we wait for the doctor. The doctor comes in, looks my dad over, test for weakness, watch’s him walk and declares my dad has Bell’s Palsy, a condition that paralysis half of the face. The doctor says he’s going to give him an IV with some medicine and keep an eye on him for awhile. By this time my mom has shown up and the nurses are coming in to take care of him, they say he’s going to be there a while so with my mom there I can go and come back later. My mom calls a little while later to tell me that she has told them about his living conditions and because of that they are not releasing him. She tells me to come in the morning so we can speak with his doctor about him staying with me. It has also finally gotten cold in Thunder Bay, so my dad would have been coming to stay with me anyway.

I go to his house and get his two eleven year old Rottweiler (trinity) and husky/Sheppard cross (keiran) dogs and bring them over to my place, there’s a bit of chaos since I have a very friendly young dog and it turns out one of the dogs doesn’t like cats and I have three. My cats end up in the basement set up with litter, water and food. I also notice while brushing Keiran that she has a rather large tumor and will need to see a vet soon. We can’t afford a vet so I reach out on facebook and “friends,” Maria and Keith Taylor whom I’ve never met in person lend me the money for the vet visit.

The doctor in the morning suggests that we have a social worker from a special geriatric/psychiatric team come to my home and asses my dad. I, my mother and my dad’s social worker, Mary agree it’s a good idea so they set up an appointment for the next day and my dad is released. My dad comes over I ask him to choose a room to sleep in so he chooses the living room and wants to sleep on the couch even though there are two perfectly good beds available. He watches TV, and rests for the morning, later on we go to the pharmacy to pick up his prescription and stop by his house so he can grab some things he needs, like blood meter, strips, deodorant, shaver etc. The rest of the day is peaceful and passes quickly. The next day the social worker from the St. Joe’s team comes over to meet my dad and evaluate him. It seems to go well, although my dad struggles on a few of the questions. The worker says that she thinks it’s a good idea for one of doctors from her team to meet my dad so we set an appointment up for next week.

Thursday is the day I am taking my dad’s favourite dog to the vet, it is also the day I notice that he’s taken way too much of the medication he was prescribed. I call the pharmacy to see what to do, they tell me it’s not a lethal dose or a big deal but he does need to go to the emergency room and get a new prescription. I call my mother to take dad to the emergency room so that I can take the dog to the vet. Team work can be a great thing, I have learned through this that some things do bring family and strangers closer together and despite Thunder Bay being a rough town there are some great people here. With my dad unhappily waiting in the emergency, I bring his dog who is happy to go anywhere to the vet. She is a beautiful, quiet, patient dog that wags her tail at people and dogs while lying on the floor waiting her turn.

Finally she is called and slowly gets up to go to the assessment room, it has brown tiled floors, cabinets, one chair, a computer with stool and an animal table. I sit in the chair the dog lies on the floor, she’s tired. After a few minutes the vet comes in, he is an older friendly looking guy. He asks me a bunch of questions, most I don’t know the answer to, and simply tell him I found a large growth while brushing her, she has a lot of trouble with stairs and whines like she is in pain sometimes. He looks at her teeth, her ears, listens to her heart and breathing, feels her body and then tries looking at her back end. She really doesn’t want him to, so I hold her, tell her she a good girl an let the vet examine her. He takes a quick look and shakes his head, its cancer. We could operate but he says it would cost a lot and given her age the cancer has probably already spread. The best thing to do is to put her down and end her pain. He asks if I want to take her home or have her euthanized, I take her home, my dad needs to say good bye. I need to say good bye, and make arrangements. I call a friend who helps families in situations like ours and they agree to take her tomorrow and put her down humanely. The next day she goes, and is sent to doggy heaven. Before being euthanized they let her run in the bush off leash for an hour, she loved it and wagged her tail until the very end.

The Hidden Part of Aging Part 3 draft 1

The Monday after keiran died I had a friend go look at the water heater in my dad’s basement to see if he could remove it. He called me on my cell, frantic saying that there was water pouring everywhere. I told him to hold on while I called the city to have the water turned off. I tried to tell my friend where the main shut off valve in the house was but with six inches of water on the floor it was hard for him to get to it. The city made it to my dad’s house in less than five minutes, it was amazing, and in less than half an hour they had the water shut off and the meter removed. The cause of the flood was due to the pipes in his house freezing and then bursting once the pressure got to high. Upstairs there was over four inches of water and in the basement over six inches on water. Only one room in the house seemed to have been spared from the flooding oddly enough it was the “dog’s room”. I put on work gear and my friend comes to pick me up immediately so we could begin to salvage as much of my father’s belongings as we could.

Remember my father is a hoarder by the time I get to the house there is only about two inches of water on the main-floor. The rest has been soaked up by the newspaper and garbage in the house, it’s a mess things are floating and the hallway closet wall has been ripped open by the burst pipes. The bathroom is even worse the toilet must have over flowed and knocked things into it. There is a cup sitting in the toilet and all the newspaper that had been sitting beside it is soaked. I walk through the house shocked at what I am seeing. I go to check the basement where the worst damage is, I’m walking through puddles in the kitchen to get to the stairs. I get to the top of the stairs leading to the basement and look down, there’s a lake in

the basement of my childhood home. I go down the stairs and look around; it looks like a disaster zone. Water is everywhere, the laundry area has a drain and water is draining slowly but the rest on the stuff on the floor of that side of the basement is ruined. I look up to see a water pipe hanging broken from the ceiling. I go into the bathroom, there was a toilet there to that over flowed, I look up the ceiling is already coming down and I can see the burst pipes just hanging there. The apartment is a total write off, it’s only been a few hours and already the smell is unbearable. I walk through the apartment in four inches of water it is disgusting but the water level is starting to go down. I walk past the kitchen area and see a five inch storage bin filled to the brim with dirty water. The storage area and all my dad’s suitcases are soaked. The garbage and cat feces are in the water and the lower cupboard’s have a later line showing how high the water in the basement got. I walk into my old room the carpet is soaked and seems to have absorbed a lot of the water. Everything on the floor is ruined and it smells like mould already. I’ve had enough for one day; we grab some clothing for my dad that is not ruined and some pictures. I literally have to climb through the pile of garbage in the living room to get at the pictures. That was day one of the salvage operation.

Day two starts around noon, the water has mostly drained, probably gone down vents and what not. We have a list of items my father wants. His lists don’t make much sense, and look to be written by an eight year old. Still my friend and I dig through the trash and try and find what we can. This goes on for a week, by week two we are now wearing masks and respirators and looking for thing my family has requested like my mother’s china and my sisters cheerleading jacket etc. My friend even finds my old hockey trophies and medals which are undamaged. That was the second last day in the house we had been climbing and literally digging through garage for two weeks trying to find things and by that time we had had enough. It was difficult to breathe even with a respirator and the smell had already begun permeating to outside the house. My friend and I went in one last time so I could take pictures of the place, it was something as a photographer I needed to do.

My father will be staying with me till the end of the week; he will be going to stay at his sisters after that. On Wednesday we will be filling bankruptcy papers and he will officially lose everything.

The most difficult part of all this is seeing my father lose everything he worked his whole life for but because of the dementia it doesn’t seem to affect him. Having him not understand why his life is suddenly turned upside down and he can’t go into his home is the most difficult part.

I’m not sure what will happen to my dad, he is being put on the senior housing as an emergency case but it will still take possibly months to get him into a safe place he can afford. Until then he will be couch surfing with family members at the age of 71.