Mom & Me Two Archive

...but it isn't yet emotionally convenient for me. There are solid arguments on either side. The side on which I'm focusing at the moment is the one dictating that it's all right, she didn't go to bed until quite late last night: So late that she was up for a third dose of ibuprofen before going to bed and had popcorn and spice tea (to which she first requested "a touch of honey", then continued to drink it while complaining that it was "too sweet") to gastrically bed down the pills. The TV was off most of the evening. I worked on the website and she delved into a pile of new gossip tabloids and magazines. She was an alert, active reader, often piping up with an explanation of and commentary on something she was reading. I was surprised how late she remained awake.
    I was equally surprised at how late I remained awake. I think it was approaching 0200 [Bar closing time here, isn't it?] when I rounded up The Girls, secured the house, restarted the dryer and retired. I had a lot of things on my mind, a lot of chores to do and an unusual amount of optimistic energy. As well, it felt good for Mom and me to be lounging in the pleasure of our separate pursuits in each other's company. More than anything I consider last night a good omen, boding well for continued healing.
    She is 86 and although she's a healthy and relatively sturdy 86 despite the strikes tallied against her, she has periods of frailty now that have not before occurred. She could, I know, succumb at any time. I try to be realistically optimistic in light of the fact that she still brings herself back and is surrounded by others who beckon her forward from her frailties.
    Which reminds me: This weekend might be a good weekend to have her call her cousins. That'll work like a shot of L-DOPA. Of course, it also wears off like L-DOPA.
    I think I'll take another half hour, then jump start my mother's day.
    Later.

...and I was about twenty-five. Any woman who spent time on an elementary school playground in the 60's (of the 20th century) can tell you that if you have to teach someone how to play jacks they are too young to learn. The peculiar and intricate weave of strengths and skills that would be considered good hand-eye coordination for playing jacks requires muscular and mental prerequisites that a five year old doesn't yet possess. What I had to do in order to succeed, I realized, since imitation out of desire wasn't going to work, was analyze (quickly) exactly what skills and combinations of skills are required to play jacks, teach each skill then teach them in sequence combination. As it turned out I ended up reinventing the game for five year old coordination, which pleased both of us.
    Since my mother's fall I've been having to reteach her how to walk. Because the ghost mini-stroke left her brain a little hazy on how to get her right side going I found it necessary to try to figure out how to retrain her walk, since it has been the ghost-stroke debilitation of her ability to walk that lead to her critically weakened back and her fall. I used to praise her for her basket runs in the grocery store, full well understanding that she was using the grocery cart as a walker. Now I see that she was also supporting her back in a dangerous manner which weakened it. So, with the wheel chair as a guide she is learning (relearning) how to walk supporting herself more advantageously instead of using support in a dangerous manner. The wheel chair is a magnificent guide and perfectly fits her stance.
    Today, while shopping (she decided to take a nap which was fine with me), I observed the way I push a shopping cart, which hits my body at about the same place the wheel chair handles hit my mother's body. I've been coaching her as she walks with the wheel chair, "Don't push with your back, push with your legs, let the momentum of your legs push the wheel chair, use your arms to steady and direct it." At the beginning of the walk she's a star pupil but when she tires she begins to look as though she's toting the wheel chair. So I remind her, "Eyes forward, shoulders back, you're not 'totin' a bale o' cotton'." When she walks eyes forward her shoulders automatically straighten, relax and her back begins to fall in line. I noticed this today when, during our walk three separate car drivers used the a bit of the driveway area in front of our house to turn around, look at maps and reestablish their bearings. My mother continued to walk and was keenly interested in each couple in each car. During all of these episodes she walked straighter and more easily than at any other time. I pointed this out to her later on when she was beginning to drag and posited, "You don't really have fun dancing until you can do it and no longer look at your feet." She got the message and again she visibly relaxed.
    I have, for the time being, become her physical therapist.
    On the one hand I hope my mother recovers her ability to walk and her strength beyond what it was three years ago. I think there is a good chance that she can, since attention is now being paid to her musculature and muscularity. On the other hand, while I'll keep in mind her previous astounding healings, I'll also be aware that dice are constantly being thrown. I'm hoping we don't stumble on any for awhile.
    Company again next week. Twice. Good. We could use it.

    That's when Mom had her first dose of ibuprofen today. The day has been active and hectic and I want to remember when she got her medicine because I think she'll want more later.
    Today she was up at 0900 of her own accord. She didn't make it to a sitting up position on the edge of her bed until 1000 and didn't eat her first bite of food until 1045 but that's much earlier than I expected. Despite the caddy-wampus hours we've been keeping, she decided to hit the sack fairly early last night at 2230. I am pleased that things are turning around, again.
    I'll be back later, just wanted to record that time. One or both of us is headed to the grocery to pick up staples. Mom's waffled about going. She walked today, 3 laps, so whatever she decides will be okay with me.

    The pages left on the original Mom & me Journals dot Net site, for the moment, only have intra-partition links but that will be corrected shortly. I need to do a little redesigning of the index page and some search engine and counter/tracker work next.
    I thought I'd have a fair amount of time to write today. I've been editing the Doctors and Patience essay in my head but never seem to get enough time in one batch to complete it. I'm glad I waited to write it. My medical experience up here is changing some of my opinions.
    I looked up dehydration in the elderly again today. Only one site alluded to any of the special circumstances that enhance the possibility of dehydration in the elderly. It mentioned that any person beyond the age of 75-80 naturally carries 7 liters of water less in their body than any person half their age at their same weight. Several sites mentioned the phenomenon of the elderly becoming insensitive to thirst, although the bio-chemical reasons for this are never mentioned. My guess is that we don't know why this happens although I think we have a good philosophical reason for it: That the increasing neuropathy of the old makes dying easier, more comfortable. I've discussed this before.
    I ran some of the more interesting facts about dehydration in the elderly by Mom. She was immediately interested and surprised. The discussion prompted her to attend to drinking the water I'd placed before her. I ply her with fluids all the time when she is having days that take place mostly in bed. This annoys her and she often defensively refuses what I'm offering her, especially if she's still in bed (which is where she is always the most dehydrated). We don't have pitched battles but I can imagine that happening. I know she won't remember the information specifically. If I try obvious reminders she'll become irritated and tune me out. But, if every couple of days I "do a search on the elderly and dehydration" when she's up, it might become a part of her mental repertoire, the way she now remembers that "4" in Sorry is always backwards.
    I can think of one argument against the theory of old age neuropathy. In the case of injury the elderly do not feel pain any less than anyone in any other age demographic. From my experience with my mother it appears evident that age lowers one's pain threshold. At the very least, when one is old pain is a goddamnedpainintheass. I can understand an 86 year old complaining more about pain that a 68 year old or a 6 or 8 year old. While witnessing one of her back spasms I have anxiously blurted out that I hope her pain isn't making life any less worth living for her. She always looks surprised in response and always assures me that, no, of course not, "...that's not going to happen." I hope not. I hope she goes because she's ready for a new adventure, not because she's had it with the old one.
    By way of general information, my mother never dreamed she'd be old the way she is old. I've mentioned, in one of the essays that she would never be picked as a "cover girl" for Modern Maturity. She isn't an 86 year old surfer, one of whom I've witnessed. She isn't Picasso at 90 or Grandma Moses at 101. I'm sure she has some surprises in store for us who love her and for herself. I'm sure some of them are going to be spectacular. Some of them already have been. As well, I've always had the impression that my mother expected to be the 86 year old surfer, a 101 year old Grandma Moses. I think all of us expected this of her. In reality we do consider her a walking miracle but not of the Guinness Book of World Records sort. I think at this point the most remarkable aspect of my mother's journey through advanced age is that the reason she's still alive is that she doesn't yet realize that she's mortal. Old age has surprised her. She didn't think she'd catch the glint of some of its more inconvenient and troublesome facets. She has borne this with grace and stoicism. She has lately been cautioning me, a lot, not to get old. Truthfully, I don't think I will. I confirmed this tonight after watching her struggle off the toilet, in a voice that apparently rang with such unexpected conviction that my mother did a double take in response. My mother is up to old age even though it isn't what she was expecting. Knowing what I might be able to expect, I'm not sure I am. I know I wouldn't be up to it if I didn't have someone like me around.
    It's been about 40 hours since we last walked. I've been nervous about letting her slack off the last few days. She's slept a lot but I've been keeping it to small doses so she doesn't get too stiff. Well, small doses for her. She can still handle 12 hours but not much more. She is, though, incredibly tired if she gets less than 12 hours. I've been mentioning lately that if she consented to using the oxygen during the day at home when she's up she'd have more energy but she's not having any of that. Not yet, anyway. Because of this I don't begrudge her naps either because she's hooked up to oxygen when she naps, now.
    It looks as though I can get to bed relatively early tonight. I'm going to take advantage of the opportunity.
    Later.

    It's been difficult for me, keeping up with my mother's hours, tweaking them to work with what business needs to get done, tweaking mine to make sure I am up when she's up and not leaving her alone too long when she's not...and continuing to attend to those things I want to do and those hours that are important to me. Lately I've been having to sacrifice most of my very-early-morning-in-the-dark walks to later in the day, usually at a time when I can use a shot of endorphins and a physical warm up. Over the last few days though, the wintry conditions have reminded me how much I love the very early mornings outside, how much I miss them, and how my favorite days are snow days. All day yesterday my mother's peculiar hours required adjustments that didn't allow me maximum time during my own favorite hours. My sleep was sharply curtailed and the exhausted nap I had 36 hours ago only seemed to aggravate the condition. This evening, while my mother was up watching TV, reading, smoking, drinking coffee, I decided to allow myself to fall asleep on the couch. I had come to the end of my ability to be aware. I told Mom to awaken me when she was ready for bed. A little after 0200, with a blissful 6 hours of sleep on the couch under my belt, Mom awoke me. I intended to crawl into my down bed and polish off a few more hours. I accomplished the crawling part but discovered I was rested and curious about what it would be like outside at that hour of the morning on the edge of snow. So I walked. Then, I made coffee, discovered we were out of half and half, hauled ass to Circle K and discovered they are still selling eggnog so decided to purchase that for my coffee. Now, here I am, deep into my second cup, still waiting on the snow, watching the every-8-minute radar track the slow moving storm ever closer to us from the southeast.
    Her favorite hours. My favorite hours. Her favored bedtime is my favored rising time. Her favored rising time is in the middle of my day. We both know how important the character of the hours can be and have our life-long preferences. One of the pleasures of being only my mother's caretaker is that I am able to give her the dignity of her preferred hours with trusted company and with pill, meal, Sorry and exercise schedules adapted to her preferences. It is not always easy but it is always worthwhile to try to honor her hours as much as possible. Honoring her circadian rhythms contributes to her alertness.
    I manage to honor my own preferences about half or perhaps a little more of the time. Since I've mostly honored my preferences my entire life I don't feel desperate about the changes being my mother's caretaker has fashioned in my preferred schedule. My preferred schedule has mostly been at odds with my working life, as I've tended toward professions that involve primarily day hours. I think this is true of most people but I know, too, that most women aren't completely familiar with their preferred hours because they have spent a large portion of their lives adjusting to the preferred hours of others. This is still true. I got lucky, I guess.
    Hmmmm. It seems that snow may not reach beyond the south slope of the Bradshaws. We may not get any. I hope we do. I was looking forward to walking Mom up and down the driveway this sunny afternoon after a morning of snow. Despite the "expected" snow, this afternoon's temperature is expected to reach 50. It would be a glittering afternoon if it would snow this morning.

...whatever "it" is. This is typical for 36 hours after an acupuncture appointment. Periods of high energy and improved physical strength and grace followed by some hours of completely relaxed sleep. She was up earlier this morning, we changed her underwear (she'd not leaked through), I forced some fluids into her, she announced she was going back to bed, didn't want breakfast, and, finally, three or four cigarettes, several versions of Local on the 8's and an hour later she was back in bed. She was adamant about no food. Considering her apparent alertness and strength, I honored her wishes. It is approaching noon and I am trying to decide whether to awaken her to breakfast now or let her sleep a little longer. She is dreaming right now. From the dreams she relates to me I know she has the most pleasant, blissful reveries.
    I just heard her coughing. She may have been semi-aware of me looking in on her. I'll wait 'till I hear more stirring or the cats begin their migration toward The Room of the Waking One. If, however, she decides to sleep a bit longer I think I'll let her. She's on oxygen. She's breathing deeply and evenly. She's not clutching the bed or the bed clothes, she's relying on them.
    I'm finding it strange to consider the accomplishments in which I lately take pride. For instance: Since her injury I've been doing her hair once every two or three days. This "doing" includes everything from washing it and stimulating her scalp to treating it with a force of volumizers and stabilizers, drying, curling and styling it. I'm surprised at how well I'm doing. I am, at this time, doing better than one of her regular stylists and I'm doing so by dint of observing the techniques of the other stylist, the one I've dubbed a hair sculptor (which she appreciates and understands, since she is an artist). My mother's hair is not easily styled. She wears it in a back combed, teased, glued helmet including a pastische a la mode. If done well it has been known to last a week. Since I know, though, that she loves to be groomed in any way I decided to take on the entire operation in order to give her a couple of hours every other day or so of intense pleasure-shivering. She is a delight to serve in this way because she wiggles and sighs her way through the experience. I consider it physical therapy. There is something to be said, as well, for my intense and promiscuous native curiosity, which kicked in when I moved in with her, about all aspects of her life, "...just in case." I never thought I'd be doing her hair to the point of wondering how I'd fare in an old fashioned hair styling competition with pieces. I have always loved learning, though, practicing and honing all kinds of skills. Learning how to dress hair well enough to pass for professional is a kick in itself. All areas of body decoration appeal to me and this interest, used on behalf of my mother, allows her to indulge in her native pride, which feeds her vitality.
    I do think that if her back's recent improvement remains continues, getting her back to the hair dresser is important. Outings do her quite a bit of good. She tends to overestimate what she can do and disdains the wheelchair but will use it in a flash if I keep it handy, so I do.
    Another interesting surprise comment from the acupuncturist yesterday. I took my laptop with me, blissfully mired as I've been in restructuring the Mom & Me website. It's the first time I've "taken" anything to do. I usually scan read books on the specifically and modestly stocked shelf or act as a "conductor" for the half hour to three quarters of an hour of treatment and the nap Mom takes immediately after on the treatment table. Yesterday though, once Mom was reclining on the treatment table, I settled at a desk and proceeded to rewrite the page instructions for id49.html Updates. The acupuncturist noticed what I was doing. I mumbled that I was "working on a website" (she knows about Mom & Me but I don't know if she's visited) and the acupuncturist commented, "It's good to see you doing that." I was surprised. I guess it must look like all I do is tend to my mother. Certainly, my attention always leans in her direction. I do other things, though, even as those other things interweave into being my mother's caretaker. Truthfully, I'm not sure this person was making this assumption. I think I've shown myself to be a multi-faceted, thoughtful person with an unusually frank relationship with my mother. But I guess she was startled that I was "doing that", doing something else besides Mother.
    Today Mom's new PCP's assistant is hot to get colonoscopy results from Dr. Gordon's office. I wonder if the lab work is back. I wonder if Mom is showing anemic. I wouldn't be surprised, because of the ibuprofen. Several people independent of us have mentioned upon seeing her lately that she looks "good" and she does, even in the intense full sunlight of this house. But I remember last June being fooled by the same look in Mesa. Back then, though, I was feeding her iron three times a day. This produces sanguinity despite anemia. At this time I notice an iron pill might be appropriate maybe once every couple of days. This is usually because of the color of her feet, not her face. Anyway, I certainly hope the doctor isn't making plans to scope her, or do any other invasive testing. If we can get her into gentle physical therapy and get her off the ibuprofen, get her moving again so that I don't have to rely on so much metformin to keep her blood glucose under control, I feel sure her anemia will reverse itself. I also wouldn't be surprised if my mother isn't anemic and if her A1c is in order, as she has resumed regular, almost daily bowel movements, which hasn't been happening for well over a year, maybe more. Now I am beginning to suspect that her extreme incontinence is a bladder or perhaps even a kidney infection, which I will mention to the doctor at our next appointment. The walking, even the little of it we are doing, seems to be improving her internal and external performance dramatically. I'm also now convinced that some of her dementia, certainly it's ebb and flow ,is directly related to two issues: her COPD and her propensity for dehydration. I am sure it is not nutrition related. Nor is it related to substance abuse, well, except for tar and nicotine.
    Hmmm, well, I think I'll look in on the lady again and see how I feel about starting her awakened day. She could use some food. I notice that in only a few hours she's shed all the fluid I pushed on her earlier this morning. She'll be a challenge to awaken. She'll need lots of coaxing and I'll have to threaten her into rising off her bed by telling her if she doesn't move a bit she has to drink water. This strategy works well both ways.
    The weather has been clear this morning but is definitely working up to something this afternoon. We've both been in the mood for inclement weather. Today, when it begins for her, should be a good day. She was enthralled when I awoke her to see the winterwonderscape before I took one of my infamous "naps". Although much of the snow is gone now, the sky and the weather channel tell me it's coming back. Perhaps by the time she begins to eat, an hour to an hour and a half from now, a cozy storm will have set in, we'll be deciding what dvd to watch (today would be a good I, Claudius day), she'll be requesting peppermint tea...

1. Add email address to templates. Change email address on changed pages.
2. Redo counters.
3. Redo search engine. Add search engines.
4. Add additional link box to Mom & Me One Archive pages.
5. I've recently written Doctors and Patience in my head. I need to find the time to get it on screen.

    Something I've been meaning to mention regarding the Sharing Wisdom Conference:  It has recently come to my attention that over the last several years the city of Phoenix has charged a nominal admission to Women's Expo. Apparently, with chain grocery store discounts, one can get in for $10.00. I wouldn't have minded and could have sprung for $10.00 for a Caregiving Expo on the order of Women's Expo. Samples and goodie bags would be assumed, perhaps not a catered lunch but enough samples to make up for it and reasonably priced fast food stands could dot the perimeter. Certainly someone can eat on the hoof for well under $35.00 at an Expo. As well, free charge care (rather like child care but including all ages and stages of need/dependence) could be offered. I might even consider a nominal fee for this.
    Don't ask me how this is related to the paragraph above, but it is. Adult caregiving is so new and unnerving a service that talking about it is still in the "precious" stage. This is probably the one aspect of the conference that still sticks in my throat. There are so many myths surrounding what I do for my mother that must be exploded, quickly, so that our society can more easily absorb this lifestyle. Yes, it is a lifestyle, sometimes a chosen one, sometimes a coerced one. One of these myths is that this is like taking care of children. It isn't. I suppose there is a case for it being the opposite of taking care of children except that careful attention to the concept of opposites raises the question whether increasing self-reliance is the "opposite" of increasing detachment. As well, the only real relief from this type of caretaking is the death of the cared for. In the case of taking care of children, the death of the cared for is always considered a tragedy when it occurs before that of the caretaker. Too, as caretakers we are "guiding" someone through a stage of life we have not experienced, and may not experience. We have no lightly submerged memories of having been taken care of like this and what it may have been like. Most of us have only a vague notion of what it is like to negotiate life while one's faculties decline. Some of us have no notion of this. We don't know of what our bodies are capable in decline so we don't know what the bodies of our loved ones might do. Hopefully this information will be gathered from us baby boomers for intelligent use by further generations. But none of it is handy at the moment except by way of anecdotes which usually recount the more astonishing aspects of aging.
    I know something else about this kind of caretaking. I am relatively unique in that this is my first episode of caretaking. I wasn't burnt out earlier. This wasn't, and still isn't, routine for me, this was and is adventure. Gladly, some of the tasks of this kind of caretaking have become automatic in a Buddhist sense. But I never aspired to caretaking. During some periods of my life I actively refused it. When I was presented with this opportunity I carefully considered it for 6 months before ultimately determining that in doing this for my mother, my sisters and all who love my mother I was also doing a most important task for myself: Ensuring that my mother would not become a source of worry and anxiety to me or to anyone who knows and loves her. This attitude, I sensed, would sustain me throughout whatever presented itself. This most recent episode of injury, weakness and frailty has successfully tested the sustenance.
    There is not much practical, workable advice available, either, on how the caretaker should negotiate medical management of the cared for when the caretaker, through advice and/or experience, knows better than the medical provider. This is an area that touches on all stages of caretaking but is especially significant when taking care of the elderly because of the dearth of information and research on what it is like to be old versus how we'd like to old age, especially our own old age. I do know one thing: The quality of feeling no different than one did when one was somewhere between ages 9 and 11 does not diminish with age. It is just a little harder to pull off in the body one has to haul around rather than a body by which one is transported. I am astonished, though, to realize that it is only a little harder to pull off.
    Our table top Christmas tree remains up. Neither of us has the heart to take it down. It has become only incidentally a Christmas decoration. The gods bless fiber optics.
    Oh. Yes.

6. Relate my day of living crazily.
7. Don't forget about the 'nursing home behavior' discussions and my ambivalence about them.
8. My mother's interesting reaction to the snow.

    Clever choice of words, although perhaps not so much clever as meticulous.
    "Remarkable" has to be considered in context of my mother. It is, indeed, remarkable for someone with a lower back sprain to continue to be hobbling after two and a half months. It is even somewhat remarkable for someone her age. I'm not talking remarkable good.
    But my mother appears to be following her own schedule, as she did with her anemia and is finally recovering, for no reason apparent to anyone, with unusual resilience, All Things Mother considered. I'm not sure why it took two months plus for her to traverse the bulk of her recovery within the last 4 days. She's been having mini-recoveries all along, every few weeks or so, but this recovery has been dramatic.
    She's lost about 10 pounds since August, 2003, and most of that, I'm sure, since she fell. Although I know that some of that lost weight was muscle weight I can also see that she lost fat and I have been taking special pains to keep her well nourished and as hydrated as is Motherly possible.
    Do we (as a species), by the way, understand dehydration in the elderly? I vaguely remember searching it some time ago although I don't remember my parameters. What I do remember is harvesting very little information, all of it in the vein of, "Keep the elderly hydrated, at least 2 quarts of water within all they ingest in a day." I don't remember any studies on it, why it happens, etc.
    At any rate, there have been periods of days, in the beginning of the detour periods of weeks, when I was convinced she was losing strength fast and would not likely regain it. I have, too had occasional concerns about whether she would, literally, need to reteach her muscles how to exist, perhaps improve some of their habits, perhaps address the reestablishment of neural pathways obviously damaged by her ghost mini-stroke a couple of years ago. I've felt that her health practitioners have not been moving fast enough on these issues. Then, yesterday and today, she is up, around, alert, a little pale but less so later in the day, standing straighter than ever, only vaguely aware of discomfort in her back, easily aroused to her appointment, looking sleek and spiffy in her clothes and her freshly styled hair...and the acupuncturist notes, with interest, before she began working on my mother, that she is "recovering" "remarkably".
    Later, after my mother's 15 minute post-pricking snoring nap, the acupunturist mentioned again my mother's improvement since last week. I related, probably clumsily, the story of her (what I labeled) self-healing from a year and a half bout of anemia with help from the accidental colonic.
    Now I am being put in mind of how my mother is using dis-ease (as Sam Keen speaks of illness in To a Dancing God), at this stage in her life, to express her perception of how her life is continuing to develop. This is not something she's done before, or, maybe, she's done it in subtlety, beyond my ken. First, the loss of blood strength which I think may be analogous to her feeling, perhaps, a lack of inspiration toward life. Then injuring her back, which seems obvious: a loss of strength to determine what upholds her life. I have sometimes wondered if it is at all coincidental that she fell and sprained her lower back within a week of MCS&BL's visit and the final determination to sell the house in Mesa. Aside from her fall allowing a slowing up of the business of changing our geographical status, it allowed her to absorb the emotional shock of what is a financially sound idea and not completely unappealing emotionally for her. Essential ambivalence expressed through her body, maybe?
    Perhaps now she is ready to embrace some changes in her life. Over the last few days she's been anxious to help out with the cooking, the cleaning, etc. I was at first nervous about how to respond until I accidentally discovered that if I assent and start the task she is content to supervise. Her interest, though, as I ply the task, is keen and her input both earnest and appreciated.
    Thus, over the last three or four days I've worked myself into another episode of physical exhaustion. Again I decided I had to take a nap during the last hour of Mom's late afternoon nap, laid down, set the alarm and turned the alarm off in my sleep. I bolted awake four hours later, aware immediately that I had not awakened my mother at 1900 as I promised. The house was dark. I'd done it again.
    Mom was shuffling through the hall, heading "back" to bed. She said she'd been up for an hour waiting for me to wake up. Although she said she'd had nothing to eat I saw she'd dished herself some cottage cheese and was relieved that she was feeling hunger and remembering to eat.
    I apologized profusely. This always happens during a 'change of schedule'; the phase during remarkable recoveries. I'm lucky that I've been able to "get away" with these lapses. They're happening less and less as I get more of a feel for the flow of the elderlife. I'm very lucky to be in a position to be able to adjust to her changing schedule. So, for that matter, is she. It allows, I think, for less confusion for her; and, I suppose, me.
    So here I am, early this morning, having a second cup of coffee since 2230. I fell asleep in the middle of a snow storm and awoke to a winter wonderland. A half hour ago I took the garbage out and noticed that our ungroomed yard is an impressionistic ice sculpture garden, a fairyland revealed. The bodies of the dead weeds are frozen and frosted into an amazing environment of glittering, free form arches, stalagmites, hills and caves. I'd love to be an insect rediscovering our yard. We have the most intriguing looking snow yard in the neighborhood despite that, without snow, our yard is so unkempt I'm surprised no one's mentioned it.
    Work on the website is going well. I've finished splitting the partitions and am now doing some page clean-up and insertion of site wide menus.
    Tomorrow, well, today, after another "nap", outside activity will be called on account of snow. A few more storms are expected to pass through. We're snug in this foothills fantasyland, healing by the day. Mom's been remembering Christmas baking and bemoaning the fact that "we" didn't do any. Maybe "tomorrow" would be a good day to bake.

    I cannot vouch for most of the internal links and I can tell you that all the links on the Tests Index Page are screwed up, although I am going to begin addressing those immediately.
    No, I haven't gotten her up, yet. This time, it is for me. I felt as though I needed some time alone. I will get her up no later than 2:00 p.m. That's when our day will start and it will include everything. She didn't head for bed until 3:00 a.m. this morning, so she'll still be skirting her average night allotment...and I've been very careful about not letting her nap, once she arises, right now. We'll probably walk, too. She may even suggest it. NOT!
    So, back to blissfully peaceful website work, for awhile.
    I'll check back, probably when I get the Test Index page fixed.
    Later.

    As of last night you'll notice lots of broken links while I shift things around and get each section of this newly partitioned Mom & Me site up and running. In the meantime, while I'm waiting for some HTML to print so I can rescue the Sharing Wisdom essays before I move them, I thought I'd honor my commitment to be somewhat more prompt in updating.
    It has become even harder, in the last few weeks, for me to ever be sure whether I am taking the proper attitude toward Mom and her healing lower back. Sometimes the evidence (which always shows up quickly) seems to suggest that I am not. Then, as for instance yesterday, the same action seems to have the support of "The Universe", or, at least, Mom's lower back. I can't remember whether I've mentioned this but a couple of weeks ago, right after Christmas and a wonderfully reviving visit from MCF and her daughter, it appeared as though Mom twisted her back in bed or somewhere else not under my vigilence. She went through a period when she seemed to have regressed back to the stage a few weeks after she visited the hospital with the added debilitation that she was much more shaky. I was afraid this was happening because I allowed her to coddle her obviously wrenched back for a couple of days and castigated myself for it.
    Since then she has become steadily stronger, healthier (in some cases healthier than she's been for a few years; I'll explain later), has walked a lot, her back has straightened some and she's spent a lot of time up and much more alert. So Thursday night, when she complained of being "tired" and the week "just wearing [her] out" I relented and told her I'd let her sleep in Friday.
    As the clock crept toward noon I became nervous but each time I'd peek in on her she'd be relaxed, sometimes softly chuffing (as members of the cat family are wont to do), in the middle of watershed, yes, but warm, sometimes dreaming. After each check I decided to recheck on her in another half hour.
    At 12:30 I decided to look on this as an experiment similar to one my mother tried many years ago on our family dachsund, Fritz, who had what seemed like a voracious appetite. Mom wanted to see how much Fritz would eat before he was full. She assumed, of course, that at some point his appetite would be satisfied. After he wolfed a fair portion of a case of canned dog food she decided to discontinue the experiment, as Fritz showed no sign of stopping. Remembering this, I wondered, if I just let her sleep, how long would she stay down?
    Finally at 1400 I could stand it no longer and aroused her with a cheery, "Good Morning, Mary Sunshine, time to get up!" To which she responded, "Why?!?"
    My nervousness turned into full blown anxiety. I could see us forfeiting the last two weeks of hard work to a weekend of literal leisure. My voice sharpened. "Because. We can't let you regress like you did before. I let you rest. It's time to get up."
    We both have strong wills. Suffice it to say that she won half the last two days and I've won the other half. This morning I'm winning. Instead of her arising at 1400 after having gone to bed at 0230 (hours that are hard on me), she'll be arising at 1100. At least we will begin the process at that time. We also walked yesterday after about 36 hours of rest. She did amazingly well. Her back continues to straighten and she's putting more road under her feet without stopping to pant (which she does even with the oxygen kicked up to 3/lpm). After all that rest I tried to be realistic in my expectations, especially since she was initially resistant to walking yesterday. But she did all four laps without too much complaint and her complaining didn't begin until she was well into the 4th lap, too late to turn back. I was proud of her and told her so over and over and over. I even suggested that perhaps sometime this week we can practice in the park.
    Other signs of a return to health:

• For the first time in 3 or 4 years she's having regular bowel movements almost everyday, completely normal, and is getting the signal that she needs to relieve her bowels before the relief begins. I'm blown away by this one, especially since I've had her on a fair amount of ibuprofen, thus, every couple of days when her feet or hands or face begin to look peaked I slip her a few iron pills. I've also been pushing fiber, though, and have been doing whatever it takes to keep her hydrated. I've been expecting her to return to her about-once-a-week eliminations but I never dared hope that she'd return to almost daily regularity.
• All her extremeties look good and pink most of the time.
Incontinence is still a big problem but I hope to address that next.

    Mom's acupuncturist and her doctor are reluctant to begin therapy at this time. The acupuncturist expressed alarm about the possibility of injury from standard physical therapy. She recommended a Licensed Practical Therapist who specializes in a very gentle type of neuromuscular retraining I believe would be valuable to my mother's efforts to heal her back as well as retrain herself from the mild effects of her undiscovered mini-stroke. I talked to the LPT and she is sure that the type of therapy in which she specializes would not be a problem for my mother at this time and would certainly help her heal. Mom's new PCP, without much explanation (for which I didn't ask, as I assume I know), decided to put off prescribing any PT for another month. This alarmed me, especially in light of the acupunturist's recommendation and I begin to wonder if this new PCP was being overly cautious. Then I received word about the LPT and talked to her. I gave her a detailed, time consuming run-down of my mother's injury, the history of healing, her condition now and the opinions of the various health practitioners who have thus far addressed her injury. She also seemed skeptical and was willing to wait until I'd talked to Mom's physician again.
    I was just this side of frantic when it seemed as though it was going to be yet another badly timed month before some professional therapy was going to be possible. Then, within the last few weeks, and even as recently as yesterday, her improvement, physical, mental and emotional, has been dramatic. I am heartened.
    Earlier this week MCF, her daughter and her daughter's friend came to visit again. Mom loves these visits. They are very low key, keep her on her toes, keep her up, and she eats much better than normal (which is necessary right now; her weight has slipped about 10 pounds since the injury) when company is here.
    I've been trying to encourage her days to be more active and exciting. We've been out (to the store, but, for Mom, that's been a big deal) twice in the last week, once to view a new grocery opening. She still doesn't understand why I continue to insist that when we're in public she sit in the wheel chair, but she trusts me when I remind her of how tired she gets from our walks and that she might have a tendency to lean into a cart or a chair if she was pushing it and further damage her back.
    I've suggested that we begin going out to eat again soon. This interests her. At one point it didn't, which worried me. She's also appreciative of the abundant sunshine here and is not resisting the temperatures in the high 40's to high 50's (the last few days in the low 60's). She's still not ready to endure the backward shampoo chairs of the hair dresser but I think that will be happening soon. She is also once again expressing an interest in our business, asking about things I didn't think she'd remember like our talk of remodeling, getting rid of the house in Mesa, etc., so I think she is just about ready for some Valley-and-back day trips. Good. We've got business to do.
    Once again, in the form of a public prayer, I am going to try to get back to this journal and site at least half as often as I want to.
    Later.