Shake, Rattle and Roll

Elmer’s Not Heavy, He’s My Brother

Elmer’s Not Heavy, He’s My Brother
By Tom Kelsall

Shirt tail out.

Shoes untied.

Paper stuffed in pockets.

Shaver marks on face.

XYZ!!!

Bicycle shopping in a blizzard.

Dances at the rec center.

Nine hour work week cleaning at the Hungry Toad.

Group home in Boulder with a mountain view.

This is as good as it gets!

Elmer is finally launched at age 50!

Elmer Launched at 50

Elmer is finally launched at 50.

Elmer, my developmentally disabled brother-in-law (see my Elmer stories), has settled into a group home in Boulder. After being on the waiting list since 1993, Elmer finally secured a spot. My husband Tom and I can’t afford Boulder but apparently Elmer can, and we're jealous.

The transition to the group home has gone remarkably well. We get fewer panicky phone calls from Elmer. Now that we have caller ID, we can screen Elmer's calls when we don’t have the energy to deal with him. The calls from bike stores demanding payment for bicycles that Elmer ordered, have come to a halt.

We sometimes pick Elmer up for breakfast on a weekend morning, enjoy his company for a couple of hours, and return him to his group home that is supervised by energetic staff that rotates every eight hours.

Elmer and his family have a lot to be grateful for this Thanksgiving. But after spending six hours with him on Thanksgiving, our past frustrations with Elmer surfaced. Perhaps we should set a two hour Elmer-limit.

Over a dinner table of family and friends, we observed Elmer skillfully steer every conversation back to himself and his upcoming 50th birthday in a couple of weeks. He proceeded to describe his "Uncle Tom" (Elmer’s name for his brother) as an “old fart” who would soon be celebrating his 60th birthday. By the end of the day, it would be an understatement to say that Tom and I felt like strangling him.

After spending Thanksgiving with Elmer, we calmed ourselves with clichés such as:

Some things never change.

A zebra never loses its stripes.

Elmer will always be Elmer.

What if this is as good as it gets?

Cantankerous at Karaoke

Husband Tom and I invited Elmer, Tom’s developmentally disabled brother, to join us at the local karaoke bar last Saturday night. Tom and Elmer had already enjoyed fishing together in the afternoon.

Before the evening got into full swing, we noticed that the karaoke DJ quickly ran out the front door to the parking lot. We were curious as to what was going on, and a short time later, we were informed by the waitress that a motorcycle had been stolen. Elmer stood up and said “I’m going outside.” In a firm voice, Tom told Elmer to sit down and to stay inside.

The DJ returned and got the round of singers started for the evening. Elmer seemed preoccupied as he was eating his cheese sticks and drinking his Sprite. After about an hour of being unusually quiet, Elmer became angry and said “Tom yelled at me.” I was confused as I with them at the same table that night, and I didn’t hear any yelling coming from Tom. Elmer was referring to earlier in the evening when Tom told him to sit down and stay inside. Any correction, even in a calm, patient voice, is perceived by Elmer as “you’re yelling at me.”

Elmer ran up to the front of the bar and said to the karaoke DJ that “Tom yelled at me.” I watched the DJ’s lips as he said, “What?” as if he was thinking “why are you bothering me with this” and “are you crazy?”

Tom and I looked at each other and said in unison “Let’s go.” When Tom asked the waitress for the bill, she seemed upset. Tom explained that we liked the singing, the food, her service, but we were afraid that things might escalate with Elmer, and we needed to get him out of there. She nodded with understanding as Tom paid the bill and left her a hefty tip.

As I didn’t want to be part of Elmer’s meltdown when Tom drove Elmer home to Boulder, I asked Tom to drop me home first. I arrived home at 10:00 PM and at 10:27 PM the phone rang. It was Elmer. Elmer said in an angry voice that he just called his brother Bob to tell him that “Tom yelled at me.” I quickly ended the conversation with “Goodnight, Elmer.”

When Tom arrived home, he shared with me some of Elmer’s rants: that he hated Tom, that Tom didn’t love him, that Tom didn’t understand him and that his brother Bob knows how to handle him better. Elmer really knew Tom’s hot buttons.

Tom and I tried to analyze what was really going on with Elmer. Perhaps he was upset because the voluptuous redhead who moved into the residential placement already has a boyfriend or perhaps he was upset remembering the anniversary of his mother’s death three years ago from Parkinson’s. Then we stopped ourselves, realizing that we were merely making excuses for Elmer’s behavior, and that it wasn’t helpful.

We only hope that brother Bob can deal more effectively with Elmer’s eruptions on their five day camping trip to Mount Rushmore in South Dakota (or as Elmer describes it, “We’re going to visit the Statute of Liberty at Mount Rushmore.”)

Going to the Dogs

It started out as a normal spring Saturday, except for the ice and snow which made it feel like the Saturday before Christmas instead of the Saturday before Easter in Colorado. Also different was that we were looking after Elmer, my husband Tom’s developmentally disabled brother.

On Saturday morning, I went to my yoga class while Tom took Oreo, our beloved English Springer Spaniel, to the vet for routine vaccinations. Elmer slept while we went about our daily activities.

When we planned our visit with Elmer, we invited him to join us at the meeting of Denver Pet Partners on Saturday afternoon. Denver Pet Partners' mission is to enhance the lives of people and promote the human-animal bond through animal-assisted activities and animal-assisted therapy. Elmer previously enjoyed attending their meeting, and again he eagerly agreed to do so.

When I arrived home from yoga, I heard the brothers arguing with Tom shouting, “I don’t care whether or not you go to the meeting. If you want to stay home and sleep, that’s fine with me.” Elmer told me that Tom was grouchy and woke up on the wrong side of the bed. Elmer also seemed grouchy as Tom had disrupted his 15 hour slumber. Perhaps we were all grouchy at day three of our four day stint of forced togetherness.

Somehow everyone managed to be in the car when it was time to leave. We decided to stop at Starbucks to get a drink to warm us. Tom and I chose Chai Tea Latte, while Elmer decided on hot chocolate. Recalling several incidents in the past where Elmer spilled hot chocolate inside Tom’s freshly washed car, I volunteered to change seats with Elmer so that he could be near the cup holder, hoping to prevent spills.

While en route, I cued Tom by asking, “Tom, what are the rules at the dog meeting?” Tom answered, “Elmer, you need to introduce yourself to the people at the meeting and shake hands. If you want to pet the dog, you need to ask the owner. If the owner says yes, you need to ask where the dog likes to be petted.” It didn’t seem too complicated except I questioned if Elmer really needed to shake hands with the dog owners.

When we entered the building, Diana, the Executive Director, graciously greeted us, remembering Elmer from one of the past meetings. So far, so good.

When we entered the meeting room, it was full of people with their well-behaved dogs. Sometimes it seems as though it’s a mixed breed of dogs, other times it seems like mostly labs, but today was definitely a golden retriever day. Elmer quickly scanned the room to find the youngest person there and made a path over to meet a teenage girl under the guise of wanting to meet her dog.

At the business portion of the meeting, Diana introduced Elmer. She commented on how much the brothers looked alike. I too noticed the similarity except that Tom has thick curly pewter hair, while Elmer is balding and frequently clips some of his remaining hair with his shaver. Still, so far, so good. Perhaps this will work out just fine.

I fortunately found the perfect place to sit, next to Carmen, dog hander of Gidget who is her good-looking German Shepherd, small for her breed with beautiful golden coloring even around her mouth. Carmen has trained 18-19 puppies, including Gidget, for the Guide Dogs for the Blind. Gidget didn’t make the cut for a blind person because of a heart problem and was returned to Carmen. Gidget became a career-changed dog and has been a wonderful therapy dog ever since. (For more information on different kinds of dogs, check out the posting on my blog, Three Dog Night.)

Gidget must have known that I needed a little dog therapy, as I petted her and she nuzzled closer during the two hour meeting. I had entirely too much Elmer during the past three days.

I’m unsure at what point in the meeting things started going downhill for Elmer. It must have been during the break when Elmer stocked up on chocolate Easter eggs, chocolate bars and chocolate cupcakes. By then, Elmer spilled some of his hot chocolate on his jacket. Within no time, Elmer had managed to get chocolate Easter eggs, bars and cupcakes all over his face. And when he opened his hands, there were melted chocolate bars. And by that time his arms and legs were shaking rapidly (and I was swearing under my breath about the two brothers who hadn’t taken Elmer to a neurologist to diagnose his shaking). It wasn’t pretty.

Tom intervened and told Elmer to go to the restroom and wash his face and hands. Elmer, typically unaware of his long arms and legs, got out of his chair and nearly tripped over Bentley, the calm golden retriever on the floor behind him. During the rest of the meeting, it was a series of Elmer getting out of his chair, nearly tripping over Bentley, going to the restroom and washing his face and hands, and swinging by the food table for more chocolates before making his way back to his seat.

Tom and I wondered who would remind Elmer to wash his face and hands, zip up his pants, get dressed, take a shower and get up on time when he moved into a residential facility for developmentally disabled next week.

Our entire family was going to the dogs.

Getting Ready for Elmer

We haven’t been caregivers or caretakers (those awful nine letter C words) for Elmer, my developmentally disabled brother-in-law for a couple of years (check out my Elmer stories). At that time, my neurologist wrote a letter saying that my Parkinson’s Disease (PD) was clearly worse with stress, and that the responsibility of caring for Elmer could exacerbate my PD. In other words, it was time for Elmer to find another place to live. At that time, Elmer’s other brother, Bob and his wife, Sue (or as Elmer calls her "Bob's wife") agreed to take care of Elmer. However, it is time for Bob and Sue to take a take a well-deserved Florida vacation away from Elmer. Their college-aged sons are taking care of Elmer for the first four days, and my husband, Tom and I are taking the remaining four-day shift. So today we are getting our home ready for his visit beginning this Wednesday.

First, I hide the phone books from Elmer as I understand that he still is obsessed with bicycles. When he lived with us in the past, he scrutinized the yellow pages and harassed the poor bicycle shop owners with his daily phone calls.

Second, I hide Tom’s electric shaver and my non-electric razors. Elmer goes through about seven electric shavers every couple of years. We finally figured out the shaver problem when we observed him washing his electric shaver in a bowl of warm water and Ivory Liquid. Elmer frequently gets frustrated with his electric shaver and resorts to a non-electric razor. You can imagine what his face looks like with twenty nicks of the razor. (Actually Elmer’s face looks like my nicked legs after I’ve shaved with my shaky PD hands. But that’s another story...)

Third, I hide Tom’s bottle of aftershave. In the past, when Elmer smelled as though he was wearing a bottle of Brut, our friend, Elaine, joked with him, that “you smell like a two bit whore.” Didn’t I also recall Tom missing his bottle of aftershave and accusing Elmer of “borrowing it”? And then Tom’s shaver went missing and his clean underwear as well. Perhaps Elmer wishes to look and smell just like Tom.

I’m uncertain what other quirks of Elmer we will discover during our four-day stint with him. The one thing that is predictable is Elmer’s unpredictability.

A Regular Boy

Some of you are aware of the challenges that our family has faced in dealing with Elmer, my 49 year old developmentally disabled brother-in-law (see my Elmer stories).

I am elated that we are very close to finalizing a residential placement for Elmer, one that all of us, including Elmer, is excited about.

I recalled a conversation with Elmer a couple of years ago when he was living with us that went something like this:

Elmer: I miss my mother.

Me: I know you do, Elmer. We all do. (my mother-in-law died from Parkinson’s in June 2004)

Elmer: Why was I born this way?

Me: Which way?

Elmer: Breech and with the cord wrapped around my neck. And my twin sister is normal, and I'm handicapped.

Me: It’s not fair. I would be mad too.

Elmer: We could have sued the doctor.

Me: You could have sued, but nothing really would have changed.

Elmer: (His voice choked with emotion) Kate, I wish I was a regular boy.

Me: (I felt as though my heart was ripped right out of my chest, as I hugged him) I wish you were a regular boy too, Elmer.

Elmer Turned 49 and Other Elmer Stories

Elmer Turned 49
For six months, Elmer* has been talking about celebrating his 50th birthday. Perhaps he was hoping that turning 50 would result in bigger and better gifts. It did. Elmer turned 49 on Saturday, December 9.

Elmer is my husband Tom’s brother. Elmer is developmentally disabled as a result of a birth injury. He moved to Colorado more than three years ago. Currently Elmer is living with his brother Bob and family in Lafayette.

We celebrated Elmer’s birthday with an open house. Elmer invited 18 people, and nearly everyone showed up. We met his new friend, Jeffrey* who is also developmentally disabled as well as has Down’s Syndrome. The boys looked alike with their khaki Dockers pants, although Elmer was 49 and Jeffrey was 26.

Elmer started out by telling his new party friends that I was hoping to get a service dog to help me with my Parkinson’s Disease (PD). I tried to quiet Elmer in the middle of the word, “Parkinson’s,’ sometime after “Park,” but I don’t think I was successful.

Elmer knew all of my hot buttons, particularly the one about talking about my PD to total strangers. Elmer has told stories of me having PD to every single neighbor on our block in Northglenn, every single neighbor on his brother’s block in Lafayette, as well as anyone who would listen to him on train trips to and from Milwaukee.

In my kinder moments, I think that Elmer is afraid of PD, with his mother dying from/with it more than two years ago and two of his neighbors dying from the same malady in the idyllic neighborhood where he grew up in Wisconsin. Elmer has an undiagnosed tremor disorder, so I know he must be worried that he is dying from PD as well.

Then Elmer started talking about his new best friends, Dolly Parton and Britney Spears, as though they were bosom buddies. Jeffrey understood the difference between having girls as friends and having girlfriends. He tried to explain this concept to Elmer, but Elmer maintained his belief that if a girl smiled at him, she wanted to be his girlfriend or in his words, “make whoopee with me.”

Many more Elmer stories to follow, but these are a few from earlier times.

Other Elmer Stories from October 2003 through January 2005

Treasures in His Pockets
Elmer, being slim and 5’10” shouldn’t have man-boobs or rather a left man-boob. What was in Elmer’s left pocket? The security guard at the Adams County Court House in Colorado had the misfortune of finding out.

Our friend, Elaine, was caring for Elmer one afternoon, needed to reschedule her appointment for jury duty, and went to court in person to take care of this matter. Elmer accompanied her to court. They waited in a long line at the entry of the court. It was tight security just like the airport. The security guard asked Elmer to empty his pockets in the big silver buckets. Out came Wrigley gum wrappers, six watches, four combs and a business card from a bicycle shop (more later about bicycles). Elmer then attempted to proceed through the metal detectors, but was stopped. “No, no, no,” said the security guard. “Empty the other pockets,” he ordered. Out came more treasures, filling three buckets in total. Elaine’s face looked like boiled ham. Elmer chuckled–no embarrassment there. In the queue behind Elmer were attorneys looking at their watches and rolling their eyes, trying to get to their clients in court. I reflected on many people commanding Elmer to “Get that crap out of your pockets” that I heard over the years.

Karaoke
Tom, Elmer and I frequented a local karaoke joint some Saturday nights. It is one of the few places that accepts Elmer for who he is, where everyone greets him by name and gives him the “high-5”. We don’t sing there but do a lot of people watching.

Elmer orders his “usual”–a glass of red wine followed by a frosty root beer chaser.

One of our favorite people at karaoke is Paul*, an FBI agent, who looks Hispanic but speaks Italian. When I greet him with a hug, I can feel his bulletproof vest underneath his shirt. Paul’s job involves international drug trafficking.

One night Elmer said, “Paul, can I talk to you?” They disappear for a few minutes, and Elmer comes back satisfied that he has found solutions to his problems. When Elmer talks to us, it takes hours; when Elmer talks to Paul, it takes five minutes. Perhaps they teach boundary setting in FBI school.

One night, Paul was sitting at a table behind us. In the middle of a song, Elmer turned around and said, “Paul, are you sleeping with your girlfriend?” nodding to the attractive woman sitting next to him. Elmer then exclaimed in a loud excited voice, “Paul said YES.”

Relationships and Sexual Expression
It all seemed to start with that course called “Relationships and Sexual Expression” offered to developmentally disabled folks who often don’t have anyone to “sexually express” with. You wouldn’t typically find this course in Pittsburgh, Cleveland or Detroit, but more likely in Boulder, Palo Alto or Berkeley.

Elmer is involved in an organization, which provides services for the developmentally disabled in Boulder County. When this organization offered a sex course, Elmer eagerly enrolled in two-eight week sessions totaling sixteen weeks. Each week we would hear about the co-instructors, Kate and Tom, who fortunately didn’t have the same last name as us, but unfortunately had the same first names. When Elmer said to our friends that Kate and Tom were going to show him how to use sex toys, our friends shouted “What?” until they realized, Elmer was referring to his instructors with the same first names as us.

As the weeks progressed, Elmer would come home with more sex talk. We finally had it–enough already–no more sex talk and no more sex classes. And the sex talk was over, for that day anyway.

Bring on the Bicycles
Two summers ago Elmer had a bicycle obsession. He had two bicycles of his own, rode neither of them and only rode Tom’s 27 year old beat-up bike, but wanted more, more, more. We didn’t realize the extent of his obsession until we received a call one night from a Boulder bicycle stop saying that Elmer called them on a daily basis and harassed them, ordered a bicycle on the phone, and couldn’t we stop these menacing phone calls. I ripped the bicycle section out of the yellow pages, put all of our home phones in the trunk of my car when I went to work and wrote a letter of apology to the twenty plus bicycle shops that were underlined in the yellow pages. For a guy who is developmentally disabled, he sure knows how to let his fingers do the walking around the yellow pages. Elmer pestered and badgered his brothers until they finally succumbed–they bought him a shiny red Trek. I saw the new bicycle in the garage the other day–unused, untouched, and spotless.

Zip Up
“Zip up, Elmer.” How many times have I heard Elmer being given that command? When my sister taught second grade, she said “zip up” all day long. But Elmer was 47, not seven.

I yelled at Tom, “Don’t you guys have a system after all these years?” I would think it would be fairly monotonous by now–unzip, pee, zip and wash hands. Somewhere in between pee and zip Elmer forgets the routine. As he returns from the restroom and sees Tom’s glare, he suddenly remembers to zip. How complicated is it?

Six Broken Appliances
When we were sharing Elmer’s caregiving/caretaking with Bob and Sue, Tom’s brother and sister-in-law (we give, Elmer takes), on one day we had six broken appliances between our two households. At our house, the dishwasher was out of commission, the fourth CD player refused to play Elmer’s favorite song, “I Just Called to Say I Love You” and the clothes dryer almost started a fire; at their house, the vacuum sputtered its last breath, dirty clothes were sitting in the broken clothes washer and the grass was growing wildly as the lawn mower refused to start. Coincidentally, all these appliance breakdowns began when Elmer was “helping” us.

When Tom and Elmer visited the friendly repair man at Sears when attempting to bring the CD player back to life, the repair man said “What’s this?” when he saw a gooey substance oozing out of the side. Elmer proudly announced “WD-40,” that and duct tape being the only tools in his repair kit.

I hadn’t heard any woeful tales about broken appliances lately since Tom’s brother and family have been doing most of Elmer’s caregiving. However, while they were on vacation for two weeks, we were in charge of Elmer. Their instructions sheets stated, “We have told Elmer that he is NOT to vacuum or mow the lawn while we are gone. Also, he is not to do the laundry. His laundry skills greatly regress when he is anxious, and we do not want washing machine troubles while we are away.” Hmm . . . sounds suspicious.

I heard arguing and went downstairs to see how Elmer and Tom were getting along. I looked at the pictureless TV, which no longer served any useful purpose. Elmer yelled, “I didn’t do it!”

*Names changed to protect the innocent and/or guilty

These are my stories, and I’m sticking to 'em.