Sunday, April 18, 2004
Every so often I become fixated on a supplement...
...or aspect of Mom's home health care and decide to do a little side study to see if my choices are continuing to be supported by current research. The areas of fixation are always circumstantial. This morning I decided to look up iron supplements again, since I've been focusing on finding sources of iron that are natural and more easily absorbed...thus the unsuccessful attempt to work wild, hoofed game into our diet.
This morning I remembered that I had learned of a new source of iron the last time I talked to our 86 year old yard man in Mesa in March of this year. Despite his natural health profile including quite a bit more exercise and discluding Type 2 diabetes, their diets are about the same now and he smokes probably about as much as my mother (although our yard man is not on supplemental oxygen, thus I must assume, he does not suffer from COPD). He, too, has recurrent iron deficiency anemia, was colonoscoped for it, nothing was found except a bunch of benign polyps which were removed, his PCP decided against an endoscopy. "Said I wouldn't appreciate it for a long time to come and chances are the problem isn't intestinal bleeding, anyway," he told me. So, his doctor treats him with Niferex by prescription. It is also an over-the-counter medication.
Both the generic form of Niferex, iron polysaccharide, and the form of iron I'm using, iron protein succinylate address the problem of iron overdose turning to free-radical rust (literally) in the body and screwing up other vital organs. So far it seems that the research results on iron protein succinylate seem to be favoring its use over iron polysaccharide.
I learned some new information today while I was scrounging search results about iron deficiency anemia and iron supplementation and standardized "healthy" levels of iron and ferritin, at a page in a site called The Life Extension Manual. Scroll down the page a bit to the section entitled Iron. I know, from experience, that, although this tract is dated 2002, doctors are still recommending ferrous sulfate. When they aren't, they aren't automatically suggesting anything else. However, I now know as well why my mother's Mesa physician didn't freak over her iron and ferritin levels until they got really out of range on the low side.
Change of subject: Yesterday morning, after awakening but before arising, my mother mentioned that, lately, when she awakens, although she knows where she is, it is as though she is somewhere else.
"Is it pleasant?" I asked.
"Oh, yes."
"Familiar?"
"Well, I'm not sure..."
"Is it Mechanicsville?" A few evenings ago she once again in memory placed Mechanicsville, Iowa, as only an hour or two drive from Prescott, Arizona, and decided we should visit "tomorrow".
She looked at me steadily, up for our usual interview attempt to jog her memory. "No."
"Mesa, then?"
"No."
"Are you with people? Who?"
She was frowning now. "Hmmm...I can't remember..."
Quickly, before everything disappears, the critical question, "When you realize you're here, are you sorry? Do you wish you were at another place?"
She searched her fading database on this subject. "No. Not at all."
Could it be you've been visiting heaven lately, I silently wonder. Take note: When I use the word "heaven" I'm referring to my mother's beliefs about death and afterlife. She definitely believes in a "heaven" although she believes in no more of a hell than what we have here, for anyone, regardless of what they've done. She believes in consciousness after death, a rest, a chance to catch up with loved ones, a secure knowing, for awhile, that everything is, indeed "unfolding as it should", and then on to the next project. I wonder if she's been sneaking previews lately.
"Does it feel like home?" I ask her.
"What?" she demands.
The moment is gone. I begin removing her soaked top covers.
"You were with me," she blurts from memory.
"Oh! Good!"
I recall my occasional strange wish, usually contemplated when I'm close to mental exhaustion from business dealings (including medical business) on behalf of my mother's (and my) life, that we die together: In a flash; maybe a semi jack knives on the highway between Black Canyon City and Sunset Point and we get caught in the tailspin and are flipped over into the canyon; maybe something absurd happens, like we're robbed and murdered or a small asteroid or a stray bomb falls on our house. Sometimes I think, yeah, I'd like to go with my mother, just to see what happens to her. I won't be missing anything, here. Yeah, why not?
She brings me back to my mother's fading phasing. "Yes. Good," I acknowledge. I know my mother is not referring to the same outcome as me. I know she isn't thinking that she's sampling the possibilities of an afterlife now that she's so close to it. Hell, I'm not sure she even believes in death yet, let alone an afterlife. She spent so much of her life separated from loved ones, as have I, that I think she considers death just another sort of enforced absence: Someone's husband got a job on the other side of the world; someone else bought an inn two states away with the realized intention of investing some decades in it; someone else decides to join the Navy; someone else makes several successful moves up and east in a career; someone else vows to remain outside of the continental U.S. as long as possible. Death doesn't necessarily separate people longer than certain of life's circumstances.
It is from my parents' example that I learned to celebrate loved ones leaving the nest or friends leaving the community to adventure in the world. Leaving was always an adventure. It's from them, I am sure, I learned that it is impossible to miss someone when you or they are embracing growth and change. It is from them I learned that relationships do not die with distance, they reach into the expanding atmosphere and thrive. It is not that we never said good-bye to one another. It's that we took it literally: "Good Luck on the Bye!" with an added, "Maybe we'll come visit!" In fact, when MFS decided not to remove her sons from their Jacksonville home for a second tour in England, this time on the southeastern coast and since she was retired she didn't have to, my mother's initial response was disappointment that she wasn't going to get a chance to visit England again.
In our family, being somewhere else while clearly "here" can be a profound experience. Then again, it can simply be a matter of having an excuse to travel.
The wind has settled today. I haven't heard any reconnaissance coughing, yet. I'm going to let her sleep a bit but no later than 1100. Maybe I can think of an excuse to get her out today.
Later.
This morning I remembered that I had learned of a new source of iron the last time I talked to our 86 year old yard man in Mesa in March of this year. Despite his natural health profile including quite a bit more exercise and discluding Type 2 diabetes, their diets are about the same now and he smokes probably about as much as my mother (although our yard man is not on supplemental oxygen, thus I must assume, he does not suffer from COPD). He, too, has recurrent iron deficiency anemia, was colonoscoped for it, nothing was found except a bunch of benign polyps which were removed, his PCP decided against an endoscopy. "Said I wouldn't appreciate it for a long time to come and chances are the problem isn't intestinal bleeding, anyway," he told me. So, his doctor treats him with Niferex by prescription. It is also an over-the-counter medication.
Both the generic form of Niferex, iron polysaccharide, and the form of iron I'm using, iron protein succinylate address the problem of iron overdose turning to free-radical rust (literally) in the body and screwing up other vital organs. So far it seems that the research results on iron protein succinylate seem to be favoring its use over iron polysaccharide.
I learned some new information today while I was scrounging search results about iron deficiency anemia and iron supplementation and standardized "healthy" levels of iron and ferritin, at a page in a site called The Life Extension Manual. Scroll down the page a bit to the section entitled Iron. I know, from experience, that, although this tract is dated 2002, doctors are still recommending ferrous sulfate. When they aren't, they aren't automatically suggesting anything else. However, I now know as well why my mother's Mesa physician didn't freak over her iron and ferritin levels until they got really out of range on the low side.
Change of subject: Yesterday morning, after awakening but before arising, my mother mentioned that, lately, when she awakens, although she knows where she is, it is as though she is somewhere else.
"Is it pleasant?" I asked.
"Oh, yes."
"Familiar?"
"Well, I'm not sure..."
"Is it Mechanicsville?" A few evenings ago she once again in memory placed Mechanicsville, Iowa, as only an hour or two drive from Prescott, Arizona, and decided we should visit "tomorrow".
She looked at me steadily, up for our usual interview attempt to jog her memory. "No."
"Mesa, then?"
"No."
"Are you with people? Who?"
She was frowning now. "Hmmm...I can't remember..."
Quickly, before everything disappears, the critical question, "When you realize you're here, are you sorry? Do you wish you were at another place?"
She searched her fading database on this subject. "No. Not at all."
Could it be you've been visiting heaven lately, I silently wonder. Take note: When I use the word "heaven" I'm referring to my mother's beliefs about death and afterlife. She definitely believes in a "heaven" although she believes in no more of a hell than what we have here, for anyone, regardless of what they've done. She believes in consciousness after death, a rest, a chance to catch up with loved ones, a secure knowing, for awhile, that everything is, indeed "unfolding as it should", and then on to the next project. I wonder if she's been sneaking previews lately.
"Does it feel like home?" I ask her.
"What?" she demands.
The moment is gone. I begin removing her soaked top covers.
"You were with me," she blurts from memory.
"Oh! Good!"
I recall my occasional strange wish, usually contemplated when I'm close to mental exhaustion from business dealings (including medical business) on behalf of my mother's (and my) life, that we die together: In a flash; maybe a semi jack knives on the highway between Black Canyon City and Sunset Point and we get caught in the tailspin and are flipped over into the canyon; maybe something absurd happens, like we're robbed and murdered or a small asteroid or a stray bomb falls on our house. Sometimes I think, yeah, I'd like to go with my mother, just to see what happens to her. I won't be missing anything, here. Yeah, why not?
She brings me back to my mother's fading phasing. "Yes. Good," I acknowledge. I know my mother is not referring to the same outcome as me. I know she isn't thinking that she's sampling the possibilities of an afterlife now that she's so close to it. Hell, I'm not sure she even believes in death yet, let alone an afterlife. She spent so much of her life separated from loved ones, as have I, that I think she considers death just another sort of enforced absence: Someone's husband got a job on the other side of the world; someone else bought an inn two states away with the realized intention of investing some decades in it; someone else decides to join the Navy; someone else makes several successful moves up and east in a career; someone else vows to remain outside of the continental U.S. as long as possible. Death doesn't necessarily separate people longer than certain of life's circumstances.
It is from my parents' example that I learned to celebrate loved ones leaving the nest or friends leaving the community to adventure in the world. Leaving was always an adventure. It's from them, I am sure, I learned that it is impossible to miss someone when you or they are embracing growth and change. It is from them I learned that relationships do not die with distance, they reach into the expanding atmosphere and thrive. It is not that we never said good-bye to one another. It's that we took it literally: "Good Luck on the Bye!" with an added, "Maybe we'll come visit!" In fact, when MFS decided not to remove her sons from their Jacksonville home for a second tour in England, this time on the southeastern coast and since she was retired she didn't have to, my mother's initial response was disappointment that she wasn't going to get a chance to visit England again.
In our family, being somewhere else while clearly "here" can be a profound experience. Then again, it can simply be a matter of having an excuse to travel.
The wind has settled today. I haven't heard any reconnaissance coughing, yet. I'm going to let her sleep a bit but no later than 1100. Maybe I can think of an excuse to get her out today.
Later.
