“It tastes like spit!”

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That’s what dad said playfully when he finally took a bite of his hospital meatloaf with mashed potatoes and a side of Jell-O.

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Me, mom, and dad stopped, looked at each other, and laughed — right there in the middle of the outpatient room at Lankenau Medical Center.

It was Palm Sunday. Dad had had "an episode" at mass and needed an emergency lift to the ER.
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**

It’s obvious to me, mom, and my sister Katie that he feels out of his element in a gown with a bunch of wires hooked up to him. Unfortunately this has been happening a little more than any of us would like lately.

Nobody likes being a patient. But for dad, it’s truly disorienting.

He was an orthopedic surgeon in Philadelphia for over 50 years — his entire adult life. He’s used to commanding the hospital halls and outpatient rooms.

When I was 17, my friend Megan and I shadowed dad at the hospital for a few weeks as our Special Studies Program. I have many memories from that time, but one stands out right now: Me, watching in disbelief, as he and a handful of RNs jovially breezed through an entire routine femur surgery. Upbeat oldies playing. Sharing a joke here and there.

I had trouble processing a splayed open leg and the light-hearted mood. Because for dad and the nurses, they were in the zone of genius.

Whenever he's feeling good, he's laughing.

And he's trying to get you to laugh with him.

**

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But these days, the jokes aren't flowing quite so easily.

Alzheimer's is taking away the punch lines.

He can feel what he wants to say — and the laughter — hanging.

Just when he needs these words the most. Gone.

I try to stay right there with him. To fill in the missing line when I can. Because telling jokes and stories has always been dad's way of connecting.

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So when he got mad at his meatloaf. And the mood lightened. He finally started eating the mashed potatoes.

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And then before we knew it, mom and I looked up and he was wolfing down the meat square.

“It’s actually not bad,” he said under his breath, ravenously.

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**

He’s living on the energy in the room more now than ever.

This is what we've noticed as his mind slowly drifts farther away from where it used to be.

If we’re worried about something, dad starts to feel disoriented and restless.

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If we keep it light and fun, I can see the twinkle in his eye again.

So after an exhausting day of church, an ambulance, and hospital staff who weren't laughing much?

Dad needed things to lighten up. He needed to laugh. Then he could eat.

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**

I'm sharing this with you because dad is teaching all of us right now: The mood matters.

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A disgusting meat block becomes palatable in the company of your giggling family.

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A morning commute becomes a joy when you speed dial your college bestie.

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A dull weeknight becomes something special when you pull out old photos and start telling stories.

In these moments, we shift from mundane to magic — and sometimes even from struggle to ease.

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So...what about you? How do you shift when things feel boring, heavy, or hard?

One thing that’s helped me develop more “shift it” powers?

Talking about what works out loud.
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I’m excited to be that sounding board for you, so I’m serious when I say hit reply and type away.

I read every single response.

XO

C

​ https://carolynwarsham.com/​
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