Mom & Me Two Archive

1. Last night when I told Mom of my plan to combine our sleeping quarters in the master bedroom (which is where I sleep; she doesn't like "my" room because it is the warmest room in the summer so I keep the windows open all the time, and coldest in the winter, so I keep my windows open all the time) she said, "I don't think it's time to consider that, yet." Wondering if she'd prefer that I not sleep in her room "for the time being", I asked her directly (even though I will still do this as long as I'm concerned that she may attempt to get out of bed without realizing her right knee won't support her). She is comfortable with the current arrangement but isn't interested in "making it permanent".
       In sidebar to this, last night we retired at the same time, 11:30, settling in bed by midnight. She sat on the edge of her bed, watched me make up mine on the floor, we went through our usual "good night" routine, I switched off her bed lamp and settled onto my futon. Before she reclined she called through the darkness, "Where are you?" Her tone wasn't worried, just curious. I reached out my hand, put it on her knee and said, "I'm right here, at your feet, your faithful dog." She patted my hand and said, "Good," and promptly slid herself onto her bed, covered herself and was gently snoring before I drifted off.
2. When I explained to my mother yesterday how we were going to be using the wheelchair and, since I can't take it up and down the steps easily without the possibility of dumping her out or getting her and the chair stuck she objected. Strenuously. "I think I can manage the steps all right," she told me. "Maybe we'll try that tomorrow, Mom, when my back hasn't had such a workout, is refreshed, and I know I can pick you up if you collapse." "I won't collapse," she insisted, "let's just try it." So we did. And, she's right, as long as she isn't hobbling all over the house she's fine (for her) on the two steps, both up and down. So, the entire house is at her disposal, even in the wheelchair. Good. I wasn't sure how we were going to negotiate the fact that she can't see the TV from the dinette and I can't move it closer.
3. As I was outlining our impending day for her last night, I mentioned both the blood draw and my intention to begin calling around for a local doctor.
       "Why don't we wait another day on the blood draw," she requested.
       I asked her why.
       She said, "I'm feeling better. I think it'll look better if we wait a day or so."
       Wow. I didn't think she was aware of her blood draws, their results and the connection between how she feels and what the results are.
       In regards to finding a local doctor she said, "I know we should, but I don't want to see any doctors right now. You're doing fine. I don't think they can do anything else right now. Let's wait and see how things go."
       I protested mildly, telling her that we should probably at least begin the search now.
       "If anything happens to me," she said, "we can go to the emergency room. Right now, let's wait." I was surprised by this one, too, but I still believe she is in the best position to know how her insides feel so I'm going to go along with this, cautiously, of course.

    This morning, instead of allowing a just-below-conscious eye survey to direct me to something interesting in the horoscope area of my ISP's home page, I purposely looked. Amazingly, it contained the following sentence: "Don't be too quick to settle on anything now. There's a good chance you can get more for your effort. Be patient for a day or two longer." Considering that my mother is asking me to "wait" on a couple of health issues, I think we will.
    We have a movie date tonight. A couple of days ago, when she was doing what I now realize may have been sleeping off a mini-stroke, I caught a viewing of the movie My House in Umbria. Aside from me enjoying the movie, I realized, scene by scene, that my mother would love it. The main character is a people watcher who is optimistic to what seems to be a fault until reality reveals her to actually be powerfully and intentionally realistic. The set up is quirky. The end is magically uplifting. It won't reappear until later tonight but I'll be gearing our day for it.
    As I was settling into sleep last night I realized something about the leg exercises I've been trying to get her to do from her chair for some days and with which she has been distinctly uncooperative. They aren't, at this point, addressing her legs needs. So I attempted to settle into her body and realized what she actually needs at this point: To practice standing up and sitting down with control; maybe in a week or two, practicing walking up and down the steps into the living room. Last night we discussed the possibility of a cane in addition to the walker. She wasn't happy with this until I reminded her that her main problem is her right side, not both sides. She isn't walker capable right now, hasn't been since what I think was another mini-stroke. She is, though, capable of standing up and sitting down, and, as I found yesterday, negotiating two stairs. Both activities are hard for her but her spirit is hardy. I won't overtax her and, of course, how much of either of these exercises we do today will depend on how well she does when she has to get up and down. I noticed yesterday that after about 15 or 20 minutes' rest in a chair her right knee revives enough for her to do both of these so we'll try practicing these activities as therapy.
    Every day "everything old is new again". This has become my motto in dealing with my mother.
    Time to bring her into the day. I'm sure I'll report more...
    ...later.