Sunday, August 29, 2004
"I'm tired, I'm tired, I'm so, so...
...soooo, so tired of all this." I believe those were the last words I mumbled before going to bed, last night, in tears. I began the day feeling good about what lay ahead and, well, ended the day feeling horrible about what lay behind.
The one bright spot is that it was a good thing we didn't go to the Valley, as we would have had to have made a repeat visit sometime this week. When the mail was delivered yesterday afternoon I discovered why there has been no mail for our yardman in Mesa to collect for the last week. USPS decided to ignore the "Cancellation of Forwarding to Temporary Address" form I carefully made out in front of a desk clerk at the 85215 post office shortly after 0830 on August 13th, which she carefully checked and stamped or signed, one of the two, and accepted. Yet our Mesa mail is not yet being delivered to Mesa. The proof lay in our mailbox yesterday afternoon; several pieces that had been forwarded from the Central P.O. in the Valley on 8/24/04 and 8/27/04. It's funny because this has happened to us before, so often I expect it when we are moving from one address to the other...and the Prescott Postal Service always blames the Valley Postal Service and vice versa. It's possible that they both have problems with forwarding procedure but, at least this time, I know where the problem lies. So tomorrow we'll head to the Valley to do some packing and I'll head to the Mesa Post Office to do some having out. I've already complained via email to USPS and they've sent an auto-response acknowledging receipt of my message and promising a considered response in "1-2 business days". Hopefully, I'll be able to solve the problem tomorrow with an in-person visit to the 85215 P.O. Despite my plan, my irritation level began to rise.
However, that problem appeared more than halfway through a very bad day.
I vaguely remember that it took Mom awhile to come to, yesterday morning. Feeling very sound, even exuberant, of mind and body, I took control and informed her how the day would go: We would be picking up stamping supplies for her new project; looking for some new pants and blouses for her, since she needs some that fit her without threatening to drown her torso and fall to the ground; since that store contains a grocery, we'll pick up a few things for the trip. Between those two stops, we'll be gassing up for what, at that time, I assumed would be the trip to Mesa today.
She didn't seem excited but neither was she saying, "I believe I'll stay right here," which I took as a good sign.
At the craft store she was uninterested in considering supplies for the project she couldn't wait to start the night previous. I decided, this time, I wasn't going to take up the slack. I told her that considering the acute cost of supplies I felt she needed to make the selections, not me. If she wasn't interested we'd go on to look for clothes. That was fine with her. As well, her walkering seemed to have taken a downturn and her energy level seemed low. She was not interested in controlling her walkering to alleviate back strain and took nothing from my encouragement except irritation. Within 15 minutes she was complaining that her back hurt.
"Well, of course it hurts, Mom," I said, none too gently. "It's going to hurt if you insist on hunching over and pushing the damned thing with your arms! All you need to do is 'step up to the plate'. You're not getting out of the clothes trip because your back hurts."
That was just the beginning.
We had decided to go to the Walmart Supercenter to look for clothes, in part because we needed someplace where we would be able to find a fairly large variety of what we refer to as "old ladies' pants", pants with elastic around the waist. As well, going there would preclude an added trip to a grocery to pick up the few items we needed for the trip. Since this store opened in the fall of last year I've visited only once primarily because it is so huge it is hard to negotiate and I can never find help locating items. Yesterday, though, I considered the store prime walkering ground. Unfortunately, with Mom not being in the mood to walker, this was not a plus. I became unusually shrill and a little mean in my "encouragement". I could not seem to stop myself and harassed her through the entire store, including in the dressing room, saying such things as, "Look, you know how to do this on your own, I'm tired of you depending on me to remind you. If your back hurts, I wash my hands of it, I don't care. It's your fault not mine." Unable to find an available psychic sink, I did not "wash my hands", I muddied them further with continued harassment. From the corner of my eye I could see people looking at us, thinking, I'm sure, "God, that poor old woman! That must be her daughter. Can't she leave her alone?!?" I was stuck, though. I couldn't let it go. I was more than annoyed, I was angry and I simply wouldn't let up. We did find a couple of striking pairs of pants that fit well and Mom liked, and picked up a few shirts that caught her eye on the way out. But this excuses none of the rest of what happened.
I also had trouble getting her to drink enough water yesterday. We took along bottled water but she refused to drink. Unfortunately, the advice from the two doctors that she should drink "only when she's thirsty" did not fall into the fault line in her short term memory, wouldn't you know it. I don't know how many times she reminded me of this throughout the morning and early afternoon until finally in the dressing room, when I saw her legs looking like old rags, I exploded. "I don't care what those damned doctors said, Mom. A large part of the reason you have no energy today is because you're dehydrated almost beyond words. Your legs! Look at your legs! The skin is practically dragging on the floor! I've had it. When we get out to the car you are going to drink your entire bottle of water and I am not starting the car until you do. And don't think we'll simply sit pleasantly in the Walmart parking lot all day at your pleasure because I'm going to apply advanced verbal water torture to you until you drink all your water!"
I didn't have to apply advanced verbal water torture. She downed the bottle in less than 5 minutes after we got to the car. I would have, too, if I'd been in her position and had to put up with me yesterday.
In the car she informed me that when we got home she was going to lay down.
"Sorry," I said, in my very capable imitation of super-nasty. "You slept 13 hours last night, you've been up for four hours, I am not going to let you slip back into the behavior that landed you in the hospital and the nursing facility. Furthermore, if you continue to refuse to learn to use the walker so that you don't compromise your back I guarantee you within 6 months (I have no idea where I got that figure) you will injure your back again' I'm telling you Mom, I will not go through that hell again, not when it can be prevented. You can go right ahead and do all the wrong things, I don't care. If something happens, though, where you require intensive care and it could have been prevented by you, I've had it. I will not allow you to use me as your excuse to dawdle rather than learn to do what's good for you. And that's another thing [uh oh, we're getting in deep, here]. Do you have any idea how tired I am of having to remind you, every 30 seconds of how to walker correctly? Do you know how tired I am of you using my mind instead of yours? I've had it. I don't want to do it anymore. It's just an excuse for you not to apply yourself when I know goddamn well you have the capability. You know what?!? [here it comes] To hell with you. Do it your way. Just don't be surprised if I decided I've had enough and leave you to someone else's care. I'll just assume that's what you want."
Although much of the above is a paraphrase, it's not too far from what I really said. Writing it now, I can feel I'm hitting the target as I reexperience exactly what I was feeling and saying yesterday.
How did my mother respond? With silence. She has a great deal of pride. Believe me, I didn't break it. Which, of course, in the middle of a personally directed rant is the most frustrating response one can receive.
Anyway, we went home. Had lunch. Mom again talked about going to bed. I "suggested" (diplomatic use of this word), that instead of "taking to bed, again", she and I watch The Ten Commandments. That was to her liking. The day seemed to even out from there. Until she decided, when Intermission arrived, that she needed to go to bed. At this point she was probably right. But instead of assenting easily I predicted all types of dire consequences and finally said, "O.K. Have it your way. I don't care anymore."
Jesus. I was really full of it, yesterday.
While she slept I discovered the P.O. problem and that was akin to throwing dynamite into a fire. When she awoke three hours later I was again incendiary. Her blood sugar threw me into yet another rant. We argued about her desire for Taco Bell food for dinner. I lost only because I gave up gracelessly and warned her that she'd probably end up in diabetic hell but, what the hell. I didn't have the energy to care anymore.
That's when I started my frantic search on the internet for more information about supplements to help reduce blood sugar without medication or injected insulin. I managed to work myself into of frenzy of desolation over all the options, many of which don't suit my mother, and the dearth of research. It was on this note that I went to bed mumbling to a sleeping house about how tired I was and deciding, "I give up. I just give up."
Upon awaking this morning I was sure I was going to construct yet another bad day for us. I had slept in yesterday's mood and awoke with it stuck to my skin. When I noticed Mom was already awake I did give up.
I started dribbling tears almost immediately without being able to say much of anything except, "Mom, I can't deal with you today. We're not going to Mesa until tomorrow. I can't talk about it. I need some time to myself so I'm going to take it around you. I'll do all the stuff I have to do for you but don't expect much in the way of conversation. After breakfast I'll set you up with the second half of The Ten Commandments, then I'm going to retreat into my world. There's nothing you can do about it. I just need to sulk and I need to do it as alone as I can possibly be."
Her only response was to request that I start the movie from the beginning.
I did.
Oddly, instead of sulking in immobility, I started cleaning (if you know me, you know this is truly odd). I exploded the boxes we need to take to Mesa tomorrow for packing out. I put Mom's room back into shape, putting her clothes into her closet and in order (they'd been laying around since we unpacked her bags after her return from the SNF). I cleaned off the counter space in the kitchen. I went through and organized all the paperwork and old mail lining the fireplace hearth. I searched for documents we need soon. I went through bills. St Intermission I directed Mom through a vigorous session of exercise therapy, then made lunch, keeping in mind all I'd learned yesterday about what not to feed her. I was gracious when halfway through part two of The Ten Commandments she decided to take a nap. I told her I was only going to let her sleep for an hour and a half and before dinner we were going to practice walkering out on the driveway. While she was sleeping I started my second extemporaneous essay (which I'll probably finish tomorrow). When I awoke her she rolled out of bed easily. Watched the rest of the movie. Practiced walkering without protest. We'd been easy with each other since about halfway through the therapy exercises. The ease and enjoyment continued for the rest of the evening.
Did I apologize to her for being hell bent for nearly 36 hours? Well, I guess I did, silently, and I think she forgave me silently. I think, though, our silent amends were recorded in her stats.
It's a wonder that, while it is widely known that emotional temperature can affect blood pressure, no one's ever made a study of how it can affect blood glucose readings, at least I've never heard mention of it. I now wonder if blood glucose levels, regardless of diabetic status, are indeed affected by the emotional climate surrounding people at any particular time.
At any rate, I'm tired and need to get us going early tomorrow. So, there. If you've been keeping up with Mom's Daily Tests and Meds this is the bad patch to which I referred earlier today.
Later.
The one bright spot is that it was a good thing we didn't go to the Valley, as we would have had to have made a repeat visit sometime this week. When the mail was delivered yesterday afternoon I discovered why there has been no mail for our yardman in Mesa to collect for the last week. USPS decided to ignore the "Cancellation of Forwarding to Temporary Address" form I carefully made out in front of a desk clerk at the 85215 post office shortly after 0830 on August 13th, which she carefully checked and stamped or signed, one of the two, and accepted. Yet our Mesa mail is not yet being delivered to Mesa. The proof lay in our mailbox yesterday afternoon; several pieces that had been forwarded from the Central P.O. in the Valley on 8/24/04 and 8/27/04. It's funny because this has happened to us before, so often I expect it when we are moving from one address to the other...and the Prescott Postal Service always blames the Valley Postal Service and vice versa. It's possible that they both have problems with forwarding procedure but, at least this time, I know where the problem lies. So tomorrow we'll head to the Valley to do some packing and I'll head to the Mesa Post Office to do some having out. I've already complained via email to USPS and they've sent an auto-response acknowledging receipt of my message and promising a considered response in "1-2 business days". Hopefully, I'll be able to solve the problem tomorrow with an in-person visit to the 85215 P.O. Despite my plan, my irritation level began to rise.
However, that problem appeared more than halfway through a very bad day.
I vaguely remember that it took Mom awhile to come to, yesterday morning. Feeling very sound, even exuberant, of mind and body, I took control and informed her how the day would go: We would be picking up stamping supplies for her new project; looking for some new pants and blouses for her, since she needs some that fit her without threatening to drown her torso and fall to the ground; since that store contains a grocery, we'll pick up a few things for the trip. Between those two stops, we'll be gassing up for what, at that time, I assumed would be the trip to Mesa today.
She didn't seem excited but neither was she saying, "I believe I'll stay right here," which I took as a good sign.
At the craft store she was uninterested in considering supplies for the project she couldn't wait to start the night previous. I decided, this time, I wasn't going to take up the slack. I told her that considering the acute cost of supplies I felt she needed to make the selections, not me. If she wasn't interested we'd go on to look for clothes. That was fine with her. As well, her walkering seemed to have taken a downturn and her energy level seemed low. She was not interested in controlling her walkering to alleviate back strain and took nothing from my encouragement except irritation. Within 15 minutes she was complaining that her back hurt.
"Well, of course it hurts, Mom," I said, none too gently. "It's going to hurt if you insist on hunching over and pushing the damned thing with your arms! All you need to do is 'step up to the plate'. You're not getting out of the clothes trip because your back hurts."
That was just the beginning.
We had decided to go to the Walmart Supercenter to look for clothes, in part because we needed someplace where we would be able to find a fairly large variety of what we refer to as "old ladies' pants", pants with elastic around the waist. As well, going there would preclude an added trip to a grocery to pick up the few items we needed for the trip. Since this store opened in the fall of last year I've visited only once primarily because it is so huge it is hard to negotiate and I can never find help locating items. Yesterday, though, I considered the store prime walkering ground. Unfortunately, with Mom not being in the mood to walker, this was not a plus. I became unusually shrill and a little mean in my "encouragement". I could not seem to stop myself and harassed her through the entire store, including in the dressing room, saying such things as, "Look, you know how to do this on your own, I'm tired of you depending on me to remind you. If your back hurts, I wash my hands of it, I don't care. It's your fault not mine." Unable to find an available psychic sink, I did not "wash my hands", I muddied them further with continued harassment. From the corner of my eye I could see people looking at us, thinking, I'm sure, "God, that poor old woman! That must be her daughter. Can't she leave her alone?!?" I was stuck, though. I couldn't let it go. I was more than annoyed, I was angry and I simply wouldn't let up. We did find a couple of striking pairs of pants that fit well and Mom liked, and picked up a few shirts that caught her eye on the way out. But this excuses none of the rest of what happened.
I also had trouble getting her to drink enough water yesterday. We took along bottled water but she refused to drink. Unfortunately, the advice from the two doctors that she should drink "only when she's thirsty" did not fall into the fault line in her short term memory, wouldn't you know it. I don't know how many times she reminded me of this throughout the morning and early afternoon until finally in the dressing room, when I saw her legs looking like old rags, I exploded. "I don't care what those damned doctors said, Mom. A large part of the reason you have no energy today is because you're dehydrated almost beyond words. Your legs! Look at your legs! The skin is practically dragging on the floor! I've had it. When we get out to the car you are going to drink your entire bottle of water and I am not starting the car until you do. And don't think we'll simply sit pleasantly in the Walmart parking lot all day at your pleasure because I'm going to apply advanced verbal water torture to you until you drink all your water!"
I didn't have to apply advanced verbal water torture. She downed the bottle in less than 5 minutes after we got to the car. I would have, too, if I'd been in her position and had to put up with me yesterday.
In the car she informed me that when we got home she was going to lay down.
"Sorry," I said, in my very capable imitation of super-nasty. "You slept 13 hours last night, you've been up for four hours, I am not going to let you slip back into the behavior that landed you in the hospital and the nursing facility. Furthermore, if you continue to refuse to learn to use the walker so that you don't compromise your back I guarantee you within 6 months (I have no idea where I got that figure) you will injure your back again' I'm telling you Mom, I will not go through that hell again, not when it can be prevented. You can go right ahead and do all the wrong things, I don't care. If something happens, though, where you require intensive care and it could have been prevented by you, I've had it. I will not allow you to use me as your excuse to dawdle rather than learn to do what's good for you. And that's another thing [uh oh, we're getting in deep, here]. Do you have any idea how tired I am of having to remind you, every 30 seconds of how to walker correctly? Do you know how tired I am of you using my mind instead of yours? I've had it. I don't want to do it anymore. It's just an excuse for you not to apply yourself when I know goddamn well you have the capability. You know what?!? [here it comes] To hell with you. Do it your way. Just don't be surprised if I decided I've had enough and leave you to someone else's care. I'll just assume that's what you want."
Although much of the above is a paraphrase, it's not too far from what I really said. Writing it now, I can feel I'm hitting the target as I reexperience exactly what I was feeling and saying yesterday.
How did my mother respond? With silence. She has a great deal of pride. Believe me, I didn't break it. Which, of course, in the middle of a personally directed rant is the most frustrating response one can receive.
Anyway, we went home. Had lunch. Mom again talked about going to bed. I "suggested" (diplomatic use of this word), that instead of "taking to bed, again", she and I watch The Ten Commandments. That was to her liking. The day seemed to even out from there. Until she decided, when Intermission arrived, that she needed to go to bed. At this point she was probably right. But instead of assenting easily I predicted all types of dire consequences and finally said, "O.K. Have it your way. I don't care anymore."
Jesus. I was really full of it, yesterday.
While she slept I discovered the P.O. problem and that was akin to throwing dynamite into a fire. When she awoke three hours later I was again incendiary. Her blood sugar threw me into yet another rant. We argued about her desire for Taco Bell food for dinner. I lost only because I gave up gracelessly and warned her that she'd probably end up in diabetic hell but, what the hell. I didn't have the energy to care anymore.
That's when I started my frantic search on the internet for more information about supplements to help reduce blood sugar without medication or injected insulin. I managed to work myself into of frenzy of desolation over all the options, many of which don't suit my mother, and the dearth of research. It was on this note that I went to bed mumbling to a sleeping house about how tired I was and deciding, "I give up. I just give up."
Upon awaking this morning I was sure I was going to construct yet another bad day for us. I had slept in yesterday's mood and awoke with it stuck to my skin. When I noticed Mom was already awake I did give up.
I started dribbling tears almost immediately without being able to say much of anything except, "Mom, I can't deal with you today. We're not going to Mesa until tomorrow. I can't talk about it. I need some time to myself so I'm going to take it around you. I'll do all the stuff I have to do for you but don't expect much in the way of conversation. After breakfast I'll set you up with the second half of The Ten Commandments, then I'm going to retreat into my world. There's nothing you can do about it. I just need to sulk and I need to do it as alone as I can possibly be."
Her only response was to request that I start the movie from the beginning.
I did.
Oddly, instead of sulking in immobility, I started cleaning (if you know me, you know this is truly odd). I exploded the boxes we need to take to Mesa tomorrow for packing out. I put Mom's room back into shape, putting her clothes into her closet and in order (they'd been laying around since we unpacked her bags after her return from the SNF). I cleaned off the counter space in the kitchen. I went through and organized all the paperwork and old mail lining the fireplace hearth. I searched for documents we need soon. I went through bills. St Intermission I directed Mom through a vigorous session of exercise therapy, then made lunch, keeping in mind all I'd learned yesterday about what not to feed her. I was gracious when halfway through part two of The Ten Commandments she decided to take a nap. I told her I was only going to let her sleep for an hour and a half and before dinner we were going to practice walkering out on the driveway. While she was sleeping I started my second extemporaneous essay (which I'll probably finish tomorrow). When I awoke her she rolled out of bed easily. Watched the rest of the movie. Practiced walkering without protest. We'd been easy with each other since about halfway through the therapy exercises. The ease and enjoyment continued for the rest of the evening.
Did I apologize to her for being hell bent for nearly 36 hours? Well, I guess I did, silently, and I think she forgave me silently. I think, though, our silent amends were recorded in her stats.
It's a wonder that, while it is widely known that emotional temperature can affect blood pressure, no one's ever made a study of how it can affect blood glucose readings, at least I've never heard mention of it. I now wonder if blood glucose levels, regardless of diabetic status, are indeed affected by the emotional climate surrounding people at any particular time.
At any rate, I'm tired and need to get us going early tomorrow. So, there. If you've been keeping up with Mom's Daily Tests and Meds this is the bad patch to which I referred earlier today.
Later.
