Friday, August 13, 2004
I just updated all the stats...
...over at Mom's Daily Tests and Meds. There was a lot I didn't remember and some I didn't record but I remembered and recorded enough to give a fairly good profile of those days when she was doing what I thought was mini-stroking but was actually reacting to dangerously low sodium and chloride, leading up to the ER visit on August 1, 2004, in Mesa, and her subsequent hospital stay.
Since I don't have to worry about rush hour traffic tomorrow, I'll arise when my body decides to awaken on its own. I'm ready, gassed and packed, I just have to shower, eat something, throw stuff in the car, pick up my venti iced non-fat no whipped cream mocha valencia at Starbucks and head out.
Today's been a good day for me. I'm not sure about Mom's day. I tried her this afternoon twice and didn't get an answer. I hope that means she had company and had therapy. I guess I'll find out tomorrow.
I spent the afternoon writing notes to myself about "medical" equipment to check out and possibly purchase, arrangements that would work in the master bedroom for us sharing sleeping quarters and things I want to mention to her PCP the next time we see him. I also caught MCS up on what's been going on over the last few days. She suggested an activity in which to involve Mom, when all she wants to do is sit around. Mom used to be a letter writer, always prompt and newsy. She also used to enjoy experimenting with crafts. MCS suggested getting her a stamping set, a few other decorative tools, some blank note cards and set her to designing her own cards and reinstating her letter writing. Excellent idea. It will be one of our first "new routine" activities.
Now I'm just hanging out and running my figurative fingers through my literal brain, shuffling and reshuffling strands of information and observing the new arrangements. I'm satisfied that everything is going well and that Mom and I can look forward to an even more interesting companionship than we've already shared.
In yet another e to a friend I wrote earlier today I said:
You know, it's weird, MFASRF. This is the mother-crisis for which I was not in good condition emotionally. I knew I'd flub this one. Damned if it didn't turn out that this is also the crisis in which I am hitting my stride and not only feeling but wielding my "pow-wah". Wielding it well, too. It really is true, you learn how to do life according to what life presents for you to do. Amazing. I think having faith in this is much handier and more useful, certainly more credible, than hoping that "god won't give me anything I can't handle". I mean, it's very curious, MFASRF, as the entire episode is laying itself out, I find myself, when I have a moment, observing from a distance and realizing how all the earlier mother-crises prepared me for this. It looks as though I passed my exams. You never know until they throw you into the lab, hand you a name tag and say, "Okay, you've got the knowledge and experience, now apply it."
I don't mean to sound Pollyanna-ish but I'm kind of looking forward to the next "episode" that triggers me into heightened action on behalf of my mother's health and/or our life. It's like I feel pumped, fortunately not at the vomiting stage.
Regarding that "directive" that triggered the hospital into hyper-action on my and my mother's behalves: I realized a day or so after it worked that if everyone was presenting documents like this to every medical facility it wouldn't have worked as well, it would more likely have been ignored. Several of the criticisms, though, would have affected hospital policy so the need for such a directive wouldn't be acute except in unusual cases, which is an adequate trade-off. I don't know whether you were kidding or not about it being a worthy template for defining your client's relationship with you. It is written, though, on the back of a certain code of business honor that could probably use some manual tinkering every once in awhile to remind people not to take this code of honor for granted.
So, The Little Girl continues to yowl for Mom in the middle of the night and continues to anticipate Mom's entry into the house on the heels of mine whenever I return home, whether from a visit down-and-up the mountain or from errands. The Big Girl couldn't care less about whether Mom shows up but she is tightly focused on the fact that I've missed a few daily brushings because I've been too tired after I've crawled back up the mountain. She's on sheet two of "owed pettings" that I'll have to make up including the casual ones that happen as we pass each other in the house. Besides that, there were a couple of days when I neglected to clean out the litter box. So when I'm home for awhile, whatever else I'm doing I'm also paying attention to A Girl, usually A Girl full of complaints. Even The Little Girl isn't letting me off easy. Which is wonderful. When I'm coming home from the Valley, I start talking to them at about Dewey, maybe 16 miles from our house. They are the main component of what I consider a productive perspective, considering that I no longer need Black Cohosh to balance me out. I'm glad this mini-crisis happened about the time I no longer need to worry about whether or not I've taken pills.
That about says it all, and I'm ready to stop saying anything for the rest of the night.
Later.
Since I don't have to worry about rush hour traffic tomorrow, I'll arise when my body decides to awaken on its own. I'm ready, gassed and packed, I just have to shower, eat something, throw stuff in the car, pick up my venti iced non-fat no whipped cream mocha valencia at Starbucks and head out.
Today's been a good day for me. I'm not sure about Mom's day. I tried her this afternoon twice and didn't get an answer. I hope that means she had company and had therapy. I guess I'll find out tomorrow.
I spent the afternoon writing notes to myself about "medical" equipment to check out and possibly purchase, arrangements that would work in the master bedroom for us sharing sleeping quarters and things I want to mention to her PCP the next time we see him. I also caught MCS up on what's been going on over the last few days. She suggested an activity in which to involve Mom, when all she wants to do is sit around. Mom used to be a letter writer, always prompt and newsy. She also used to enjoy experimenting with crafts. MCS suggested getting her a stamping set, a few other decorative tools, some blank note cards and set her to designing her own cards and reinstating her letter writing. Excellent idea. It will be one of our first "new routine" activities.
Now I'm just hanging out and running my figurative fingers through my literal brain, shuffling and reshuffling strands of information and observing the new arrangements. I'm satisfied that everything is going well and that Mom and I can look forward to an even more interesting companionship than we've already shared.
In yet another e to a friend I wrote earlier today I said:
You know, it's weird, MFASRF. This is the mother-crisis for which I was not in good condition emotionally. I knew I'd flub this one. Damned if it didn't turn out that this is also the crisis in which I am hitting my stride and not only feeling but wielding my "pow-wah". Wielding it well, too. It really is true, you learn how to do life according to what life presents for you to do. Amazing. I think having faith in this is much handier and more useful, certainly more credible, than hoping that "god won't give me anything I can't handle". I mean, it's very curious, MFASRF, as the entire episode is laying itself out, I find myself, when I have a moment, observing from a distance and realizing how all the earlier mother-crises prepared me for this. It looks as though I passed my exams. You never know until they throw you into the lab, hand you a name tag and say, "Okay, you've got the knowledge and experience, now apply it."
I don't mean to sound Pollyanna-ish but I'm kind of looking forward to the next "episode" that triggers me into heightened action on behalf of my mother's health and/or our life. It's like I feel pumped, fortunately not at the vomiting stage.
Regarding that "directive" that triggered the hospital into hyper-action on my and my mother's behalves: I realized a day or so after it worked that if everyone was presenting documents like this to every medical facility it wouldn't have worked as well, it would more likely have been ignored. Several of the criticisms, though, would have affected hospital policy so the need for such a directive wouldn't be acute except in unusual cases, which is an adequate trade-off. I don't know whether you were kidding or not about it being a worthy template for defining your client's relationship with you. It is written, though, on the back of a certain code of business honor that could probably use some manual tinkering every once in awhile to remind people not to take this code of honor for granted.
So, The Little Girl continues to yowl for Mom in the middle of the night and continues to anticipate Mom's entry into the house on the heels of mine whenever I return home, whether from a visit down-and-up the mountain or from errands. The Big Girl couldn't care less about whether Mom shows up but she is tightly focused on the fact that I've missed a few daily brushings because I've been too tired after I've crawled back up the mountain. She's on sheet two of "owed pettings" that I'll have to make up including the casual ones that happen as we pass each other in the house. Besides that, there were a couple of days when I neglected to clean out the litter box. So when I'm home for awhile, whatever else I'm doing I'm also paying attention to A Girl, usually A Girl full of complaints. Even The Little Girl isn't letting me off easy. Which is wonderful. When I'm coming home from the Valley, I start talking to them at about Dewey, maybe 16 miles from our house. They are the main component of what I consider a productive perspective, considering that I no longer need Black Cohosh to balance me out. I'm glad this mini-crisis happened about the time I no longer need to worry about whether or not I've taken pills.
That about says it all, and I'm ready to stop saying anything for the rest of the night.
Later.
