The Geezer Monster - Episode 5

 

Mild Cognitive Impairment

Bear with me while I’m serious - just for a paragraph or two. Elderly folks suffer from cognitive impairment to some degree more than do the general population. The more serious cases require some level of special care and some even need to take up residence at Shady Pines. Most of us, however, learn to live with a slight slow-down of the old cranial processing unit by recognizing the problem and installing software patches that work around the neurological roadblocks.

Please understand that nothing in this epistle is intended to disrespect or humiliate those with these chronic geriatric mental deficiencies. We are thankful that our handicaps are slight and chose to ease the burden they pose by making light of them. We have a great deal of sympathy for those whose mom doesn’t recognize them any longer and for the awful pain that situation causes.

Now, before I lose my train of thought, let me enlighten you about how The Geezer Monster tries to make life miserable for those of us who experience a mental glitch or two now and then but aren’t yet ready for Shady Pines. This very morning, while engaged in an intense conversation with my regular coffee klatch comrades, I got eventually to the point of my argument and absolutely could not find the words to illuminate my hypothesis. My train of thought simply left the station without me, suffered a massive derailment, and there were no survivors! I’ve noticed that this happens more frequently as the years go by - both in my own efforts at postulation as well as in the sermons of my peers. I take no serious concern over these occurrences because someone with my magnificent command of the English language and status as valedictorian at the Jethro Bodine School of Mathematics surely could not be correctly diagnosed as senile (I hope). Besides, I can still remember what the red, six-sided traffic sign means even if I can’t read what the letters say and my car remembers the way home when I don’t.

One of the ways we work around our diminished ability to store information and quickly retrieve it is to disregard bits of data we determine are completely or marginally useless. The number of ounces in a medium-sized cup of coffee at our regular hangout is twelve. This is an important data point because the cute little barista frowns at me when I order a medium cup of bold and politely but firmly corrects me by repeating: “Twelve ounce, right?”. So, it’s necessary for me to remember that there are twelve ounces in a medium cup of coffee at the place we hold our klatch. The number of ounces in a gallon, on the other hand, is useless information, at least until Brandon gets the price of gasoline so high we begin to have to calculate it on a per-ounce basis. 

“I can’t make your lunch! I told you last week I had a hair appointment today.” this is something I hear from SWMBO in a tone of voice that clearly implies contempt for the accuracy of my memory. Her coiffeur maintenance schedule may be important to her but it’s a piece of data I do not have enough storage capacity to retain. If we were talking about a brain surgery appointment that would be different, but forgetting about her trip to the hair house is hardly a valid reason to threaten me with a visit to Shady Pines. I thought about asking her if she’d prefer I remember her stylist schedule or her wedding anniversary but decided her answer would be something I’d rather not hear. 

The Geezer Monster well understands the phenomenon of limited cranial storage capacity in our generation. Three of us geezers meet frequently over coffee to solve the world’s problems. The Geezer Monster’s spies have discovered our meeting schedule and he shows up like clockwork. The vicious little ogre waits patiently until our conversation takes on a serious and semi-complicated tenor, at which time he flashes a totally unrelated but important thought into the subconscious of the one about to make an important point. Telepathy is a mysterious and powerful tool in the little fellow’s bag of tricks. It is terribly disconcerting to be pontificating on the virtues of capitalism vs. communism, only to visualize Bo Derek running along the beach just as the punchline is about to erupt. A truthful explanation for the lapse is too embarrassing to report, so “Sorry, I lost my train of thought.” is the only viable phrase available.

One of my comrades in our group, Dr. Double, is more often the target of the monster’s “Train of Thought” telepathy weapon than I. He has devised a unique defense for the monster’s thought projection scheme that seems to have some merit. We bring a few extra paper napkins to the table for the occasional spill or runny nose. Dr. Double usually takes out his ballpoint pen early on and gathers one of the napkins to his location for quick use. As he formulates his position on a given subject and begins to pontificate, he will jot down a word or two or make a crude drawing on the napkin. This way, when the picture of Bo Derek flashes into his mind he can quickly glance at the napkin and maintain his sermon on the evils of communism without missing a beat. When he does this I can see in my mind’s eye the little green Geezer Monster slinking off to his dunce chair over in the corner of the room.

Defeating the Geezer Monster, even if only in a minor skirmish, is one of life’s most prized accomplishments in our little corner of the world. 

The other two of us have not yet found a shield for the monster’s train of thought derailment weapon. Fortunately, we all understand the problem and its cause so we don’t have to feel embarrassed when it happens. We also understand that this slight neurological short circuit is not indicative of any massive network failure. The fact that I can remember who starred with Humphrey Bogart in Casablanca (Ingrid Bergman) but can’t remember what I had for breakfast (corn flakes & prunes) is not a symptom of anything beyond a natural inclination to disregard useless data bits. As long as I remember how to get to the coffee shop, which day to go there, and how to get home without any unplanned detours I figure the old cranial gonkulator is working well enough. Moreover, Google Maps on my iPhone will talk me through the route to the grocery store if SWMBO asks me to stop by for more prunes on my way home.

Another indication that we’re not yet ready for Shady Pines is that we can program our cell phones to perform some of the helpful tasks without enlisting the aid of the grandkids. One useful feature of the phone is to sound an alert on the day and time of an important event - at least if we can remember to set up the alert in the first place. For instance, if properly prepared the iPhone will make a noise and show prearranged words on its screen. There are several choices for the sound and the message shown is customizable. After several instances of forgotten pill-taking, SWMBO suggested (demanded) I set up an alarm to remind myself to take my evening meds at dinnertime. After setting the reminder up on the phone, I canceled it several times because I remembered the event before the alarm was scheduled to activate. 

Eventually, I forgot. Just as I was about to take the first bite out of a delicious bleu-cheese burger a noise came from my pants pocket that sounded like two orangutans were making love and one wasn’t in the mood. The sound was horrific and there was abundant panic in the effort to shut it off. The Geezer Monster had turned up the volume on the iPhone to its “Jet Engine at Take-off Power” setting and at that level the “Romantic Orangutan” soundtrack became utterly debilitating. I managed to silence the devilish device just as SWMBO came running into the room asking if she should call 911. My efforts resulted in the disappearance of the preprogrammed “Take Your Evening Meds” message as well as silencing the gorillas. With the emergency under control, I breathed a long sigh of relief and went happily back to the burger. Later, when I announced my intention to go to bed, SWMBO casually asked if I’d taken my evening meds, the conscientious and loving caregiver that she is. 

At this point, I was faced with a difficult dilemma. I could admit that the Geezer Monster had successfully distracted my response to the reminder, which would lead to a lengthy discussion of how to include Shady Pines’ fees into the household budget. Alternatively, I could lie. I went to bed with a prayer that 1.) I wouldn’t die of vitamin deficiency overnight, and 2.) that I'd be forgiven for “justifiable prevarication.”

The little green bastid chalked up a W in this round. It was only a battle, however, and not the war.

Find the next episode of The Geezer Monster HERE