Thursday, November 18, 2004
I guess I've been taking a vacation from my vacation...
...yesterday and today, the 16th and the 17th, that is, considering that a new day has begun. Well, not really on the 16th since I did some sorting and shuffling and rethinking on my project but definitely today; I didn't go anywhere near my project. Today I couldn't resist almost a full day of being my mother's caregiver without restraint. It felt good. Not that she slept any less nor did I push her to do any more. I needed to go to Costco today, asked her once if she wanted to go rather than telling her that she was going. I thought she might. She seemed, well, somewhat livelier today than she has recently. She declined, though, I accepted and she settled into a two hour nap while I made the two hour supplies trip (which included a few other stops). As I pulled into our driveway I saw her bathroom light up; perfect timing.
Today I purchased a card making kit for her. I approached and backed off the kit several times before putting one in my basket. It occurred to me that it might be as labor intensive for me as the beading kit was and I might not yet be in the proper frame of mind to supervise her crafting. I finally decided to take a chance. She spent most of the evening looking it over, exclaiming about the variety of materials and reading parts of the instruction booklet. Although she didn't begin making cards she paid attention and not only made tactile contact with the materials but arranged them on the table as though she had something in mind. I reminded her several times that I purchased the kit at the behest of MCS, who misses what used to be Mom's frequent card and letter writing, wants her to start making regular contact with people again and suggested that if Mom made cards she might be more likely to write in them and send them out. From Mom's reaction this evening to the kit and to my repeated reminders I think MCS might be right.
I had a thought provoking conversation today with a new acquaintance who may become an interesting friend. During a short period when we were splitting some shared supplies he asked me about my mother. Although I spent most of our time together talking about my mother and myself (bless his heart, he never winced...I guess I was just in talking mode today and he was gracious), he managed to get some words in edgewise about his now deceased mother-in-law.
The woman died either when she was 83 or 86; in the last few days I've talked to someone else about an Ancient relative who died so I'm confused about ages. He told me she was very independent, living on her own into her 80s even after she broke her hip. "She seemed to be better than before," when she recovered from the first break, he said. Then she broke her other hip. From that point on she headed downhill. Whenever others relate their Ancient Ones' experiences to me I automatically compare my mother's experiences. Today as I was doing this mid conversation, I became aware that I do this and watched myself recreating what I imagined to be this woman's life as an Ancient One and comparing it to my mother's. I watched myself imagine a woman in her 80's physically and mentally spry, living alone. I saw myself wonder, lighting quick, all in images, why my mother's trajectory through Ancienthood bypassed the hardy independence of his mother-in-law. As he mentioned his mother-in-law's quick decline after her second hip break my maternal grandfather popped in for a visit, reliving his equally quick decline into death in his 90's after breaking his knee. I watched myself wonder what my mother's catalyst toward death would be...had she already experienced it? Was it the low sodium episode? Or was that her first broken hip? What would be her second broken hip?
While I was erratically explaining what I do for my mother he broke in to ask if she had "MS or something like that". I was surprised but I realized that it probably sounds, to most people, like she must have some sort of systemic infirmity. No, I assured him, she doesn't, she is "just very old"; severe short term memory loss, unable to handle the business or the personal stuff of her life without someone around to either do things or remind her to do things and how to do them. Although I didn't get a chance to mention this, one of the examples of personal chores that have to be monitored that I had ready to relate was an incident that happened yesterday. I reminded her after breakfast to brush her teeth, talked her through rising from the table in the proper way so as not to compromise her back, followed her to the bathroom, reminded her, while she peed, why she was really there then, satisfied that she was well on her way to brushing her teeth, I exited to perform a quick chore. A minute later I reentered the bathroom. She was, indeed, brushing her teeth and the bathroom smelled of Gold Bond antiseptic anti-itch spray, which I use when she's developing a rash from her middle-of-the-night urine marination. I realized that she had become confused as she considered all the items on the sink counter about which was toothpaste and had decided to use the nearest item. I stopped her, reviewed with her which was the toothpaste and made a mental note to start setting up the counter so that it only contained, at any particular time, the item or items she needed to use for a particular grooming task.
Although I didn't get a chance to relate this to him, as I combined my recollection of this incident with the information he provided me about his mother-in-law and another tidbit about his experience with a landlord who suffered short term memory loss, I began to wonder why it is that when I'm privy to incidents about other people's Ancient Ones, they mostly sound much 'better off' than my mother.
"She's 101, blind as a bat and alert as ever," one woman told me about her grandmother.
"Yeah, he's 92 and still drives, and he's one of the safest drivers around."
"She's 89, gets up every morning at 0600 and walks three miles."
Maybe it's because people stop talking about their Ancient Ones when they can no longer be presented as evidence for The American Dream of Ancienthood. Once in awhile I'll chance upon a brave person who is willing to tell me about their Ancient One's decline; the Fedex delivery woman, for instance. This doesn't happen often.
One thing I know about Ancienthood is that there are far fewer reliable group landmarks for the Ancient than there are for, say, teenagers as a whole or two year olds as a whole. I think, maybe, that the further one advances into Ancienthood the less likely one's life is going to resemble the lives of any of one's peers. For every 80-something Ancient One who has broken a hip, then another, then headed down the road of rapid decline there is an Ancient One who, like my mother, has never broken a major bone and probably won't despite her periods of back injury and collapsing. For every Ancient One who continues driving safely at 92 there is an Ancient One like the 92 year old woman in Glendale, Arizona who, while driving through a local Park and Swap, mistook the gas for the brakes and smashed into a couple of kiosks, killing a few people. For every Ancient One who walks at 0600 every morning there is an Ancient One, like my mother, who, having spent most of her life making sure she moved a lot, is no longer interested in even therapeutic movement and doesn't care to remember that the more she moves the better she feels because, well, when she's sedentary she feels just fine, thank you. She doesn't envy younger people the "excess energy" that haunts them into movement.
Well, tomorrow, today, that is, after I sleep, will be another project day, I can feel it gathering. I'm excited. Nothing like a vacation from vacationing to spur on the vacation.
Later, once, again, probably much.
Today I purchased a card making kit for her. I approached and backed off the kit several times before putting one in my basket. It occurred to me that it might be as labor intensive for me as the beading kit was and I might not yet be in the proper frame of mind to supervise her crafting. I finally decided to take a chance. She spent most of the evening looking it over, exclaiming about the variety of materials and reading parts of the instruction booklet. Although she didn't begin making cards she paid attention and not only made tactile contact with the materials but arranged them on the table as though she had something in mind. I reminded her several times that I purchased the kit at the behest of MCS, who misses what used to be Mom's frequent card and letter writing, wants her to start making regular contact with people again and suggested that if Mom made cards she might be more likely to write in them and send them out. From Mom's reaction this evening to the kit and to my repeated reminders I think MCS might be right.
I had a thought provoking conversation today with a new acquaintance who may become an interesting friend. During a short period when we were splitting some shared supplies he asked me about my mother. Although I spent most of our time together talking about my mother and myself (bless his heart, he never winced...I guess I was just in talking mode today and he was gracious), he managed to get some words in edgewise about his now deceased mother-in-law.
The woman died either when she was 83 or 86; in the last few days I've talked to someone else about an Ancient relative who died so I'm confused about ages. He told me she was very independent, living on her own into her 80s even after she broke her hip. "She seemed to be better than before," when she recovered from the first break, he said. Then she broke her other hip. From that point on she headed downhill. Whenever others relate their Ancient Ones' experiences to me I automatically compare my mother's experiences. Today as I was doing this mid conversation, I became aware that I do this and watched myself recreating what I imagined to be this woman's life as an Ancient One and comparing it to my mother's. I watched myself imagine a woman in her 80's physically and mentally spry, living alone. I saw myself wonder, lighting quick, all in images, why my mother's trajectory through Ancienthood bypassed the hardy independence of his mother-in-law. As he mentioned his mother-in-law's quick decline after her second hip break my maternal grandfather popped in for a visit, reliving his equally quick decline into death in his 90's after breaking his knee. I watched myself wonder what my mother's catalyst toward death would be...had she already experienced it? Was it the low sodium episode? Or was that her first broken hip? What would be her second broken hip?
While I was erratically explaining what I do for my mother he broke in to ask if she had "MS or something like that". I was surprised but I realized that it probably sounds, to most people, like she must have some sort of systemic infirmity. No, I assured him, she doesn't, she is "just very old"; severe short term memory loss, unable to handle the business or the personal stuff of her life without someone around to either do things or remind her to do things and how to do them. Although I didn't get a chance to mention this, one of the examples of personal chores that have to be monitored that I had ready to relate was an incident that happened yesterday. I reminded her after breakfast to brush her teeth, talked her through rising from the table in the proper way so as not to compromise her back, followed her to the bathroom, reminded her, while she peed, why she was really there then, satisfied that she was well on her way to brushing her teeth, I exited to perform a quick chore. A minute later I reentered the bathroom. She was, indeed, brushing her teeth and the bathroom smelled of Gold Bond antiseptic anti-itch spray, which I use when she's developing a rash from her middle-of-the-night urine marination. I realized that she had become confused as she considered all the items on the sink counter about which was toothpaste and had decided to use the nearest item. I stopped her, reviewed with her which was the toothpaste and made a mental note to start setting up the counter so that it only contained, at any particular time, the item or items she needed to use for a particular grooming task.
Although I didn't get a chance to relate this to him, as I combined my recollection of this incident with the information he provided me about his mother-in-law and another tidbit about his experience with a landlord who suffered short term memory loss, I began to wonder why it is that when I'm privy to incidents about other people's Ancient Ones, they mostly sound much 'better off' than my mother.
"She's 101, blind as a bat and alert as ever," one woman told me about her grandmother.
"Yeah, he's 92 and still drives, and he's one of the safest drivers around."
"She's 89, gets up every morning at 0600 and walks three miles."
Maybe it's because people stop talking about their Ancient Ones when they can no longer be presented as evidence for The American Dream of Ancienthood. Once in awhile I'll chance upon a brave person who is willing to tell me about their Ancient One's decline; the Fedex delivery woman, for instance. This doesn't happen often.
One thing I know about Ancienthood is that there are far fewer reliable group landmarks for the Ancient than there are for, say, teenagers as a whole or two year olds as a whole. I think, maybe, that the further one advances into Ancienthood the less likely one's life is going to resemble the lives of any of one's peers. For every 80-something Ancient One who has broken a hip, then another, then headed down the road of rapid decline there is an Ancient One who, like my mother, has never broken a major bone and probably won't despite her periods of back injury and collapsing. For every Ancient One who continues driving safely at 92 there is an Ancient One like the 92 year old woman in Glendale, Arizona who, while driving through a local Park and Swap, mistook the gas for the brakes and smashed into a couple of kiosks, killing a few people. For every Ancient One who walks at 0600 every morning there is an Ancient One, like my mother, who, having spent most of her life making sure she moved a lot, is no longer interested in even therapeutic movement and doesn't care to remember that the more she moves the better she feels because, well, when she's sedentary she feels just fine, thank you. She doesn't envy younger people the "excess energy" that haunts them into movement.
Well, tomorrow, today, that is, after I sleep, will be another project day, I can feel it gathering. I'm excited. Nothing like a vacation from vacationing to spur on the vacation.
Later, once, again, probably much.
