With Mayo Clinic health education outreach coordinator Angela Lunde

I found this article written by a friend and colleague a few years back. As we enter a new year, I thought it would be appropriate to reflect upon some of our true heroes out there ...

Make no mistake: Heroes are good things. But do we stop often enough to think about why certain people are heroes and whether or not we've told them?

We often think of our parents as heroes because of all they've given us that's tangible. Maybe we hear the name of someone famous and are reminded of how their deeds inspire us to be better. I have the good fortune of being able to meet some of my heroes, once a week. They are men and women who are the primary caregivers — the loved ones — of people with Alzheimer's disease.

One of my heroes is a man I'll call Fred. I first met Fred in our men's group about 8 years ago. His wife had been diagnosed with Alzheimer's disease at age 52, and he started coming to our group soon after. Reluctant to join us, Fred had already raised a daughter with special needs and knew full well how many mental health settings often fell short. But somehow we managed to convince Fred that, at the very least, others in the group could benefit from his experiences.

Fred became the truthsayer of our group. He told it like it was. Others might put a cheerful face on their caregiving experience, saying it wasn't so bad, that they were doing fine. Fred said caregiving was hell. He admitted to getting frustrated and angry at the things his wife did. He admitted to being scared when she got upset with cooking and threw the skillet at him. He admitted to being worn out when his wife would mistake the clothes in the closet for an intruder and get them both up to check it out, night after night.

But Fred also made others see the humor in caregiving. His story about taking his wife on a trip to Texas is still one of the group's all-time classics. The first night of their driving trip they stopped at a motel somewhere in Indiana. Fred got up in the morning and started packing the car when he realized that his wife wasn't around. Frantically, he checked the room and the parking lot. He was relieved to find her in the motel office until he overheard her telling the clerk that a strange man was trying to abduct her. Fred spent the rest of the morning convincing the police he was her husband and that she had Alzheimer's. It was so ludicrous and frightening that all the men in the group laughed until they cried.

We discovered Fred might have to stop coming to the group because he couldn't leave his wife anymore. Fortunately, we found a program sponsored by our local Area Agency on Aging that trained volunteers to care for people with Alzheimer's in order to allow primary caregivers 16 hours a month respite. Fred arranged four of these hours to be around group time. Fred ended up caring for his wife at home for about six years before he had to place her in an assisted living facility. Only a few months later, she started falling and losing her ability to walk. Her vital signs became irregular, and soon, she died. I went to the funeral. All of the men from the group were there. One of Fred's daughters stood to speak. She said she had not lost her mother that week but had lost her ten years earlier when the disease struck. She said in those ten years, though, she gained something. She discovered how truly incredible her father was. I wept. All the men in the group wept. She said her father was a hero.

Fred came to a few more sessions. He decided to try to go back to a job. He had quit early in his wife's illness to care for her. He planned a trip to Germany.

Jane, from the women's group, is another of my heroes and has a story much like Fred's. Her husband had been a photographer but, at 50, started having trouble finding his words. Two years later — 14 years ago — he was diagnosed with Alzheimer's. Jane quit work four years ago to take care of him full time. She intermittently came to the women's group. When she would come, she would laugh at the silly things that Alzheimer's does to people and their families. Like the time her son thought maybe a dip in the hot tub would relax his father. Once in the water, her husband thought he was in a swimming pool and started diving underwater, bumping into everyone. He then became frantic and stated pulling everyone under with him. Jane just watched and laughed. "What else am I going to do," she said, "cry?"

When Jane would come to the group, she would often say it was hard to get away, even though she knew it was good for her. We told Jane about the Area Agency on Aging volunteer program, but when she first contacted them, no volunteers were available. Then, six months ago, Jane told the group they had finally found a volunteer to stay with her husband. She was relieved it was a man, and even more relieved when he said he understood Alzheimer's because he'd lost his wife to it two years earlier. The volunteer proceeded to look at her husband's photographs with him and to show him pictures of Germany he had brought with him. In no time, they were like long-lost buddies. Jane said the volunteer's name was Fred.

I think heroes come in many forms — a heroic friend or parent or spouse or volunteer. Some heroes show you that even when you think you have done your part, taken your turn, or carried your load, you may have more to give.

Source: goodthings.com 2001. Reprinted by Mayo Foundation for Medical Education and Research with permission.

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