Thursday, February 26, 2004
I do remember what we had for dinner February 24th.
Mexican/Southwestern Freezer Medley, including 1.5 well stuffed pork tamales (from which we both discarded the masa crust) and 1/2 each well chickened chicken enchiladas, mucho queso, mucho salsa, mucho green onions. That I remember.
Lunch I can't remember.
Breakfast I remember: Sausage and eggs, one piece oat bran toast, O.J., the usual meds including guaifenex.
Come to think of it, breakfast this morning was sausage and eggs, too, because we were out of bacon. Which occasioned a long needed trip to Costco for staples. Which threw the day haywire. Hmmm...I'm tired. Maybe I'll write about it tomorrow.
Later.
Lunch I can't remember.
Breakfast I remember: Sausage and eggs, one piece oat bran toast, O.J., the usual meds including guaifenex.
Come to think of it, breakfast this morning was sausage and eggs, too, because we were out of bacon. Which occasioned a long needed trip to Costco for staples. Which threw the day haywire. Hmmm...I'm tired. Maybe I'll write about it tomorrow.
Later.
Today was, well, damn, it started out good...
...and went very bad very fast. Yes, it was me. It was so bad I've been spending the last more-than-a-few hours doing miscellaneous cleaning, and, if you know me, you know I don't believe most miscellaneous cleaning is necessary. The evening has been chilly. My treat. It kept Mom up but much the same way it's keeping The Girls (our cats, for new readers) up; out of wariness.
So, I'm guiltily savoring some time alone, right now, and will probably issue at least two posts, tonight, maybe more.
I think I'll do blood sugars and menu repetition now. Maybe describe and dissect the day in a second post. By the way, please note, much of this reportage is for me. I'm hoping it will help me determine if cinnamon is a viable alternative to at least part of her metformin.
Okay. Going backwards.
Dinner: 72
Lunch: No reading taken
Breakfast: 93
I'm not sure what to expect tomorrow; in several ways, not the least of which is her blood sugar.
So, I'm guiltily savoring some time alone, right now, and will probably issue at least two posts, tonight, maybe more.
I think I'll do blood sugars and menu repetition now. Maybe describe and dissect the day in a second post. By the way, please note, much of this reportage is for me. I'm hoping it will help me determine if cinnamon is a viable alternative to at least part of her metformin.
Okay. Going backwards.
- Dinner February 25th:
- Blood sugar: 103
- Medication: guaifenex; 10 mg glipizide; 425 mg metformin; no cinnamon (I forgot it)
- Food:
- 1 hard over egg
- two pieces thick sliced bacon
- 8 oz O.J. diluted with 8 oz orange flavored carbonated water
- 1 slice oat bran bread w/approx. 1 tbl margarine
- Lunch approximately 5 hours previous to dinner:
- Blood sugar: didn't measure
- Medication: 500 mg Glucophage
- Food:
- 12 oz. V-8 juice w/1/4 tsp cinnamon
- 8 oz hearty beef soup with extra beef and onion
- 1 slice oat bran bread w/ 1 tbl margarine
- Breakfast 10 hours previous to dinner:
- Blood sugar: 117
- Medication: guaifenex; 10 mg glipizide; 500 mg metformin; 5 mg lisinopril; standard supplements 2 mg. Detrol
- Food:
- 1 hard over egg
- two pieces thick sliced bacon
- 8 oz O.J. diluted with 8 oz orange flavored carbonated water
- 2 slice oat bran bread w/approx. 1 tbl margarine apiece
- 1/2 tsp cinnamon between two piece of bread
Dinner: 72
Lunch: No reading taken
Breakfast: 93
I'm not sure what to expect tomorrow; in several ways, not the least of which is her blood sugar.
Tuesday, February 24, 2004
Although I have put off the "official" beginning of The Cinnamon Experiment...
...I am still keeping close tabs, continuing to administer cinnamon since it isn't hurting anything and still actively wondering about what is affecting her body chemistry and how. Her bare glucose numbers (3 readings today, each previous to a meal) going backwards (this is the way the meter reads out): Dinner reading: 60; Lunch reading (4 hours previous to dinner): 213; Breakfast reading (5 hours previous to lunch): 85.
The lunch reading was a surprise but shouldn't have been. She's still on the guaifenex and will continue at least through tonight. She was up considerably more today. That helped to clear much of the lung congestion. The readings for breakfast and dinner are spectacular. I did administer cinnamon today, the equivalent of half a teaspoon (she wanted two pieces of toast and I was pleased her appetite was coming back) at breakfast and 1/4 teaspoon at lunch. I forgot about it at dinner. She had 425 mg metformin at breakfast, 500 at lunch and 500 at dinner to help counteract the guaifenex.
Breakfast was as mentioned in an earlier post only with two slices of bread, twice as much margarine as usual and 1/2 tsp cinnamon. Lunch was the same as yesterday which I note I forgot to mention: About a cup of hearty beef soup with added beef and vegetables, V-8 juice with 1/4 tsp cinnamon, cheese and Wheat Thins crackers. Today, though, I gave her about 2/3's cup of 4% fat small curd cottage cheese instead of cheese and crackers. Dinner was a hearty Cobb salad with a variety of deep greens, radishes, Bermuda onion, green pepper, carrot, celery, grated sharp yellow cheddar, 1/2 a chopped boiled egg, 1 deli slice roast beef chopped, croutons and dressing; and a diet root beer.
I've discovered I have to be careful with what I mix the cinnamon. In V-8 juice it works well, adds an interesting top note. In other fluids like diet root beer and tea it turns into a snotty brown substance clinging to the inside of the container. Pretty unappetizing. I need to get cinnamon sticks tomorrow.
It should be clear tomorrow though cold, but calm they say. We're in a KitchenAid deep bowl of a valley here in Prescott which sometimes blocks both wind and precipitation. My experience is that a day like today will yield a pretty energetic Mom tomorrow so I may have her go with me on the errands I must run. I think I'll bed her down for a nap when I go for my acupuncture appointment (I'm having my thumbs treated). I'm more available to the treatment if Mom's not there.
Although most of the time she looks pretty normal anemically speaking, still at least once a day I look at her, usually after her nap, and she looks pale. The light today was pretty much the same as yesterday: Glare-y white winter light. She looked better basking in the living room today than yesterday. I was so surprised I mentioned this to her.
I cancelled the endoscopy this morning with the internist's scheduler. I'd spent a part of the early morning practicing for it. I've had to cancel twice with schedulers and discovered quickly that it is not an administrative position but a marketing position. It is almost as though they make a commission for every cancellation they turn around. I'd marshaled my research and my reason and used them but in a much different much gentler way than I'd expected. First of all, my morning practice had completely drained me of anxiety so when I called the scheduler I wasn't on the defensive, I was merely on an errand. To my surprise, after I gave her the reason for my call, to cancel the procedure and when it was scheduled, I stopped. I realized that this was all I needed to say. If she wanted to know anymore she could ask. She did. "Oh," I said. "You want to know why I'm canceling the procedure. All right."
I went on to explain my mother's experience with the colonoscopy last summer in the name of her anemia, at which point the scheduler broke in and said, "Yes, but this is an endoscopy."
"Yes," I said. "What I'm telling you will explain to you why I am canceling the endoscopy, just hang in here with me."
Silence.
I continued telling her the colonoscopist's final words to me regarding her experience of scoping my mother and her opinion of any further scoping to any purpose. I cited my research about the procedure and the elderly. I cited the recent study which concluded that endoscopies and colonoscopies in anyone 85 or older were discouraged except in cases involving life or death situations. I went on to explain why I did not at this time consider my mother's anemia, which so far reverses itself for no yet discovered reason, life threatening. I explained why it is my belief that from what I'd read of the endoscopy procedure it would indeed be at least as "torturous" (as the colonoscopist described my mother's colonoscopy), if not more so than her colonoscopy experience was pronounced by the physician who performed it and that because of what I'd learned about endoscopies I agree with the colonoscopist that any further investigation for internal bleeding should be confined to non-invasive imaging. I was as smooth as silk.
"Thank you," said the scheduler. "I'll relay this information to Dr. Prescott Internist."
That's it. Short, well, relatively short and certainly sweet. It's funny, previous to the other two cancellations I'd also done my research, sought other opinions and learned how to interpret lab work in order to make sense of it. For some reason, though, maybe because I hadn't experienced the colonoscopy near-debacle, I was an easy target. While I still cancelled the procedures, I did so from what felt like a position of weakness instead of strength. The case was reversed, this time. I have the strength of experience behind me. What a difference this makes.
I'm expecting repercussions but I don't care anymore. If there are repercussions I'm prepared to deal with them since I know within what range they'll fall. If there are none then, well, then my sisters, the acupuncturist and I are not the only smart ones involved in my mother's medical care. That would be a good thing. I can deal with that, too.
Tonight just a bit ago I rewatched the last episode of Sex and the City. I had a particular focus. I was surprised last night when my mother suggested that the writers could have come up with a better "ending" for Carrie than Mr. John Big. Although I haven't asked her, yet (I intend to), while I watched I imagined a "Carrie's End" that would have satisfied my mother. I think I've come up with one. Carrie leaves the light sculptor but instead of running into Mr. Big immediately she goes out to find her new friends, the ones who threw the party for her. With some trouble she finds them, apologizes profusely, renews these contacts, stays in Paris, builds a new extension to her life, discovers she is pregnant, decides to raise the child alone in Paris and makes a name for herself in Parisian and world literature as a writer. That's how I think my mother would like it to end. If I can remember I'll ask her tomorrow without coaching.
No more scopes, Mom. I promise.
Later.
The lunch reading was a surprise but shouldn't have been. She's still on the guaifenex and will continue at least through tonight. She was up considerably more today. That helped to clear much of the lung congestion. The readings for breakfast and dinner are spectacular. I did administer cinnamon today, the equivalent of half a teaspoon (she wanted two pieces of toast and I was pleased her appetite was coming back) at breakfast and 1/4 teaspoon at lunch. I forgot about it at dinner. She had 425 mg metformin at breakfast, 500 at lunch and 500 at dinner to help counteract the guaifenex.
Breakfast was as mentioned in an earlier post only with two slices of bread, twice as much margarine as usual and 1/2 tsp cinnamon. Lunch was the same as yesterday which I note I forgot to mention: About a cup of hearty beef soup with added beef and vegetables, V-8 juice with 1/4 tsp cinnamon, cheese and Wheat Thins crackers. Today, though, I gave her about 2/3's cup of 4% fat small curd cottage cheese instead of cheese and crackers. Dinner was a hearty Cobb salad with a variety of deep greens, radishes, Bermuda onion, green pepper, carrot, celery, grated sharp yellow cheddar, 1/2 a chopped boiled egg, 1 deli slice roast beef chopped, croutons and dressing; and a diet root beer.
I've discovered I have to be careful with what I mix the cinnamon. In V-8 juice it works well, adds an interesting top note. In other fluids like diet root beer and tea it turns into a snotty brown substance clinging to the inside of the container. Pretty unappetizing. I need to get cinnamon sticks tomorrow.
It should be clear tomorrow though cold, but calm they say. We're in a KitchenAid deep bowl of a valley here in Prescott which sometimes blocks both wind and precipitation. My experience is that a day like today will yield a pretty energetic Mom tomorrow so I may have her go with me on the errands I must run. I think I'll bed her down for a nap when I go for my acupuncture appointment (I'm having my thumbs treated). I'm more available to the treatment if Mom's not there.
Although most of the time she looks pretty normal anemically speaking, still at least once a day I look at her, usually after her nap, and she looks pale. The light today was pretty much the same as yesterday: Glare-y white winter light. She looked better basking in the living room today than yesterday. I was so surprised I mentioned this to her.
I cancelled the endoscopy this morning with the internist's scheduler. I'd spent a part of the early morning practicing for it. I've had to cancel twice with schedulers and discovered quickly that it is not an administrative position but a marketing position. It is almost as though they make a commission for every cancellation they turn around. I'd marshaled my research and my reason and used them but in a much different much gentler way than I'd expected. First of all, my morning practice had completely drained me of anxiety so when I called the scheduler I wasn't on the defensive, I was merely on an errand. To my surprise, after I gave her the reason for my call, to cancel the procedure and when it was scheduled, I stopped. I realized that this was all I needed to say. If she wanted to know anymore she could ask. She did. "Oh," I said. "You want to know why I'm canceling the procedure. All right."
I went on to explain my mother's experience with the colonoscopy last summer in the name of her anemia, at which point the scheduler broke in and said, "Yes, but this is an endoscopy."
"Yes," I said. "What I'm telling you will explain to you why I am canceling the endoscopy, just hang in here with me."
Silence.
I continued telling her the colonoscopist's final words to me regarding her experience of scoping my mother and her opinion of any further scoping to any purpose. I cited my research about the procedure and the elderly. I cited the recent study which concluded that endoscopies and colonoscopies in anyone 85 or older were discouraged except in cases involving life or death situations. I went on to explain why I did not at this time consider my mother's anemia, which so far reverses itself for no yet discovered reason, life threatening. I explained why it is my belief that from what I'd read of the endoscopy procedure it would indeed be at least as "torturous" (as the colonoscopist described my mother's colonoscopy), if not more so than her colonoscopy experience was pronounced by the physician who performed it and that because of what I'd learned about endoscopies I agree with the colonoscopist that any further investigation for internal bleeding should be confined to non-invasive imaging. I was as smooth as silk.
"Thank you," said the scheduler. "I'll relay this information to Dr. Prescott Internist."
That's it. Short, well, relatively short and certainly sweet. It's funny, previous to the other two cancellations I'd also done my research, sought other opinions and learned how to interpret lab work in order to make sense of it. For some reason, though, maybe because I hadn't experienced the colonoscopy near-debacle, I was an easy target. While I still cancelled the procedures, I did so from what felt like a position of weakness instead of strength. The case was reversed, this time. I have the strength of experience behind me. What a difference this makes.
I'm expecting repercussions but I don't care anymore. If there are repercussions I'm prepared to deal with them since I know within what range they'll fall. If there are none then, well, then my sisters, the acupuncturist and I are not the only smart ones involved in my mother's medical care. That would be a good thing. I can deal with that, too.
Tonight just a bit ago I rewatched the last episode of Sex and the City. I had a particular focus. I was surprised last night when my mother suggested that the writers could have come up with a better "ending" for Carrie than Mr. John Big. Although I haven't asked her, yet (I intend to), while I watched I imagined a "Carrie's End" that would have satisfied my mother. I think I've come up with one. Carrie leaves the light sculptor but instead of running into Mr. Big immediately she goes out to find her new friends, the ones who threw the party for her. With some trouble she finds them, apologizes profusely, renews these contacts, stays in Paris, builds a new extension to her life, discovers she is pregnant, decides to raise the child alone in Paris and makes a name for herself in Parisian and world literature as a writer. That's how I think my mother would like it to end. If I can remember I'll ask her tomorrow without coaching.
No more scopes, Mom. I promise.
Later.
Monday, February 23, 2004
This morning, again, we are living in the middle of a Christmas Card!
Mom isn't up yet but, despite her annoyance with snow, she'll love this. She always does. The streets are clear. I've walked once and driven once and it's invigorating. Our heaviest snow promises to be between now and 1500, tapering through the night, spitting some tomorrow. I promised Mom (much to her chagrin) that I'd be "working on" her to get her up somewhat earlier than usual. I intend to start about 0900. This way, she should be eating about 1000 although, despite herself, she gets excited when we settle into snow up here. It's too picturesque not to appreciate.
Yes, we caught Sex and the City last night including the pre-show. I wasn't sure she understood that there would be no more episodes. When it was over though, she turned to me and said, "So, that's it. Well, I wish Carrie hadn't ended up with Mr. Big."
During the scene where Miranda comes to terms with what it is to take care of an aging, frail parent, particularly during the bathing scene after which Magda says to Miranda, "What you did?...That's love," I teared up, at which my mother happened to notice and cast a sardonic eye my way. That made me laugh. I love the way she takes what we're doing here for granted. I would never wish to cede my ability to become deeply emotionally affected and expressive about what I do but at the same time her no-nonsense approach to life often keeps my emotionality from hamstringing me.
And, of course, there's always the Black Cohosh and Evening Primrose Oil.
One aspect of my relationship with my mother that makes this adventure very interesting: Because I am largely my father's daughter physically and essentially, much of what I go through my mother does not understand and vice versa. Thus we tend not to take one another's reactions or suggestions for granted (except for the fact that my mother still believes I never know what I'm talking about but feels it is best to humor me so I don't suffer my ignorance), we are often able to surprise one another and, I think, through me she is getting to know her husband better and the better side of her husband. I remember the second year I was with her on February 18, 1995. MCS (who was then My Tucscon Sister) and her family were planning on visiting us. Seeing as how it coincided with the 10 year anniversary of my father's death, I decided the meal should be a commemoration of him. At one point I told my mother that I was glad she had picked him to be the father of her kids, that I was happy with his contribution to my gene pool. It took her by surprise.
Later that evening (this was in the days when she was normally alert and handling all her own affairs) she recalled what I'd said. "You know, I'd never thought about it that way, but I suppose I'm glad that my parents were who they were, too, because I like who I am."
"I think your parents are very pleased with what you're doing with what they gave you."
She laughed. "Well, I can tell you, your parents are pleased with what you're doing."
Although she meant it generally, I took it personally. On a fairly regular basis I feel as though my father is communicating to me that I'm taking care of his lover very well and he thanks me. I know my thoughts about him even being existent enough to be aware of what Mom and I are doing here are purely allegorical. Still, it is a poetic way to express my feeling that I am doing this for many people including myself, not the least of whom are all the people who love/have loved my mother, my father being one of the more important of these.
At any rate, we decided it was a good thing we have all the Sex and the City episodes except for the last season on DVD. Neither of us has seen them all and my mother was sorry the show was ending. We are now halfway through the 2nd season and she is enthralled enough to actually remember, when we're looking for something to do, that we can always watch "Those Girls".
Yes, we caught Sex and the City last night including the pre-show. I wasn't sure she understood that there would be no more episodes. When it was over though, she turned to me and said, "So, that's it. Well, I wish Carrie hadn't ended up with Mr. Big."
During the scene where Miranda comes to terms with what it is to take care of an aging, frail parent, particularly during the bathing scene after which Magda says to Miranda, "What you did?...That's love," I teared up, at which my mother happened to notice and cast a sardonic eye my way. That made me laugh. I love the way she takes what we're doing here for granted. I would never wish to cede my ability to become deeply emotionally affected and expressive about what I do but at the same time her no-nonsense approach to life often keeps my emotionality from hamstringing me.
And, of course, there's always the Black Cohosh and Evening Primrose Oil.
One aspect of my relationship with my mother that makes this adventure very interesting: Because I am largely my father's daughter physically and essentially, much of what I go through my mother does not understand and vice versa. Thus we tend not to take one another's reactions or suggestions for granted (except for the fact that my mother still believes I never know what I'm talking about but feels it is best to humor me so I don't suffer my ignorance), we are often able to surprise one another and, I think, through me she is getting to know her husband better and the better side of her husband. I remember the second year I was with her on February 18, 1995. MCS (who was then My Tucscon Sister) and her family were planning on visiting us. Seeing as how it coincided with the 10 year anniversary of my father's death, I decided the meal should be a commemoration of him. At one point I told my mother that I was glad she had picked him to be the father of her kids, that I was happy with his contribution to my gene pool. It took her by surprise.
Later that evening (this was in the days when she was normally alert and handling all her own affairs) she recalled what I'd said. "You know, I'd never thought about it that way, but I suppose I'm glad that my parents were who they were, too, because I like who I am."
"I think your parents are very pleased with what you're doing with what they gave you."
She laughed. "Well, I can tell you, your parents are pleased with what you're doing."
Although she meant it generally, I took it personally. On a fairly regular basis I feel as though my father is communicating to me that I'm taking care of his lover very well and he thanks me. I know my thoughts about him even being existent enough to be aware of what Mom and I are doing here are purely allegorical. Still, it is a poetic way to express my feeling that I am doing this for many people including myself, not the least of whom are all the people who love/have loved my mother, my father being one of the more important of these.
At any rate, we decided it was a good thing we have all the Sex and the City episodes except for the last season on DVD. Neither of us has seen them all and my mother was sorry the show was ending. We are now halfway through the 2nd season and she is enthralled enough to actually remember, when we're looking for something to do, that we can always watch "Those Girls".
Sunday, February 22, 2004
You are waiting with bated breath...
...yes? Blood sugar a half hour previous to dinner and 4 hours after lunch, no snacks in between (although lots of liquid, including some heavily spiced Celestial Seasonings Gingerbread Spice Tea with extra cinnamon): 109. In some circles that is normal. In others, it's 9 points above normal but good, nonetheless. Depends on how strict one's nutritionist wants to be.
Dinner:
6 oz. country style pork ribs braised in hoisin sauce
3/4 cup green beans with sauteed onion, green olives, bacon, tarragon vinegar and lemon pepper seasoning
We eat well and imaginatively, here
12 oz. diet root beer
10 mg glipizide 1/2 hour before dinner
425 mg metformin at dinner
1/4 tsp cinnamon in diet root beer
15 ml (15 mg elemental iron) Floradix
guaifenex
Now that I'm thinking about it, I'm curious to know what her blood sugar was just before bed. She retired about an hour and a half after finishing dinner. She was tired but she looked good, although still a bit underhydrated, no doubt due to the influence of the guaifenex. As long as her salts and her kidneys look good I can load her meals with salty flavor, something we aren't used to and tend to tire of quickly, anymore, but it's a nice treat every once in awhile and should aid her body in water retention.
She's been wanting popcorn every day lately, which normally isn't a problem. Since she's been spending so much time either in bed or as sedentary as possible while remaining upright, though, the popcorn seems to be, well, unnecessary, to say the least, challenging, to say the most, in regard to her regular bowel movements. I'm going to try to get her moving tomorrow, although tomorrow is supposed to be our worst weather day yet. I'm not sure what that means. It was supposed to snow and rain all day today. Although it was cloudy and cold we got very little precipitation. One way or another though, I'll need to make a supply run. If I bundle her up well and put her in the wheel chair I see no reason why she can't go along, depending on how volatile the weather is. If it seems cruel to force her out into it maybe by tomorrow she'll be sick of sleeping [A girl can dream, can't she?] and will be able to stay up while I'm gone. If not, maybe I'll wait until she is secure into one of her Sacred Naps.
I have some business to which I need to attend tomorrow, too. I'll definitely need to get out for at least an interim trip to the grocery, if not a full supply trip to Costco, which, depending on the weather, might be tricky for even me, alone.
Now I need to go to bed. It's funny. I woke up very, very early this morning, walked, was back here, thrilled with the day and journaling before 0500. It felt like the day was going to be mine and mine alone, something I haven't experienced in some time. Several hours later, as I became aware of the approach of the time to awaken Mom, I flitted in and out of this state in which it seemed to me as though there was no reason why I couldn't just let her sleep through the day so I could just, well, have a day to myself. I didn't seriously consider doing this but the fantasy delayed me awakening her. I'm sure she wasn't upset but I have to be careful how much I let her sleep because, especially when she's anemic or battling anything else, she can weaken quickly. Once I got her up I kept her up, enjoyed myself, enjoyed her company, she's a funny, funny woman. Now she's in bed and I remember the luxury of those seven or so hours before focusing on my mother and how I was so hungry for them that they weren't enough. Sometimes, the only thing that gets me through in good humor is my ability to allow myself to be overwhelmed by my mother's needs to the point where they become my needs. I'm lucky I'm doing this after a life long lived independently If you know yourself very well it is impossible to really lose yourself in someone else. What is possible is for you to become the other so the other no longer exists and the needs of two become interlocked.
It's been a long day. Sleep sounds wonderful.
Later.
Dinner:
6 oz. country style pork ribs braised in hoisin sauce
3/4 cup green beans with sauteed onion, green olives, bacon, tarragon vinegar and lemon pepper seasoning
We eat well and imaginatively, here
12 oz. diet root beer
10 mg glipizide 1/2 hour before dinner
425 mg metformin at dinner
1/4 tsp cinnamon in diet root beer
15 ml (15 mg elemental iron) Floradix
guaifenex
Now that I'm thinking about it, I'm curious to know what her blood sugar was just before bed. She retired about an hour and a half after finishing dinner. She was tired but she looked good, although still a bit underhydrated, no doubt due to the influence of the guaifenex. As long as her salts and her kidneys look good I can load her meals with salty flavor, something we aren't used to and tend to tire of quickly, anymore, but it's a nice treat every once in awhile and should aid her body in water retention.
She's been wanting popcorn every day lately, which normally isn't a problem. Since she's been spending so much time either in bed or as sedentary as possible while remaining upright, though, the popcorn seems to be, well, unnecessary, to say the least, challenging, to say the most, in regard to her regular bowel movements. I'm going to try to get her moving tomorrow, although tomorrow is supposed to be our worst weather day yet. I'm not sure what that means. It was supposed to snow and rain all day today. Although it was cloudy and cold we got very little precipitation. One way or another though, I'll need to make a supply run. If I bundle her up well and put her in the wheel chair I see no reason why she can't go along, depending on how volatile the weather is. If it seems cruel to force her out into it maybe by tomorrow she'll be sick of sleeping [A girl can dream, can't she?] and will be able to stay up while I'm gone. If not, maybe I'll wait until she is secure into one of her Sacred Naps.
I have some business to which I need to attend tomorrow, too. I'll definitely need to get out for at least an interim trip to the grocery, if not a full supply trip to Costco, which, depending on the weather, might be tricky for even me, alone.
Now I need to go to bed. It's funny. I woke up very, very early this morning, walked, was back here, thrilled with the day and journaling before 0500. It felt like the day was going to be mine and mine alone, something I haven't experienced in some time. Several hours later, as I became aware of the approach of the time to awaken Mom, I flitted in and out of this state in which it seemed to me as though there was no reason why I couldn't just let her sleep through the day so I could just, well, have a day to myself. I didn't seriously consider doing this but the fantasy delayed me awakening her. I'm sure she wasn't upset but I have to be careful how much I let her sleep because, especially when she's anemic or battling anything else, she can weaken quickly. Once I got her up I kept her up, enjoyed myself, enjoyed her company, she's a funny, funny woman. Now she's in bed and I remember the luxury of those seven or so hours before focusing on my mother and how I was so hungry for them that they weren't enough. Sometimes, the only thing that gets me through in good humor is my ability to allow myself to be overwhelmed by my mother's needs to the point where they become my needs. I'm lucky I'm doing this after a life long lived independently If you know yourself very well it is impossible to really lose yourself in someone else. What is possible is for you to become the other so the other no longer exists and the needs of two become interlocked.
It's been a long day. Sleep sounds wonderful.
Later.
Interesting day, blood sugar wise.
Some of the curiosities could have been due to the fact that my mother was in bed a fair amount more than usual (or, perhaps, than I'd like to see her and have seen her) and had only two meals yesterday, breakfast and lunch. Naming these meals is critical when dealing with medicating a diabetic. Glipizide is breakfast or dinner. So, essentially, the only diabetic medication my mother had yesterday was her breakfast meds and cinnamon for breakfast and lunch. I was barely able to keep her awake long enough during "the dinner hour" to get her to drink two glasses of water, which she needed.
This morning, though, I was hopeful. Her before breakfast reading was 122. Not bad, not uncommon. A normal reading is preferable but that's not bad. I repeated her breakfast and her meds exactly as yesterday, including the cinnamon. After breakfast I remembered that I'd read something a while ago, or maybe Dr. Mesa PCP told me this, he's good at knowing what's going to throw blood sugar off, that guaifenex is known to have a mild elevating effect on the blood sugar of diabetics. This led to a hunch. I decided to take her blood sugar just a few hours after breakfast, still a few hours before lunch, just to see what it was doing in case I felt I needed to give her something besides 1/4 tsp of cinnamon at lunch. 198. Although I was expecting a high reading this was a surprise. I was expecting the 170's. I've been giving her guaifenex twice a day, including this morning, for a few days. Yesterday she got very little of anything except barely adequate hydration and that's stretching a point. Today has gone better, the congestion is improving but I think I'll be medicating her for it through tomorrow. So at this point I decided I'd probably better follow my usual regimen, although I couldn't resist one tilt: Just before lunch her blood sugar was 112 so her body is working hard to regulate her blood sugar and is doing a good job despite the fact that I've been throwing it curve balls. I think I'll simply add cinnamon to her diabetic meds without cutting back on the metformin. I'll wait to cut back the metformin until I no longer feel the need to give her guaifenex.
I know that it's always a gamble to take blood glucose readings every few hours on a Type 2 diabetic who developed it in old age. I went through a phase like that with Mom and you can unncecessarily scare yourself. Unlike a non-diabetic, a type two diabetic can range through a fairly wide map throughout the day and still be considered under control as long as those numbers settle back down regularly. So for the most part it's best not to take more than 3 readings a day at regular times. Since, however, I am familiar with how my mother's blood sugar zigs and zags under well-medicated conditions, I think for a matter of days maybe, once we've settled into a cinnamon/metformin routine, or a day here and a day there, I might take two extra readings per day, maybe three, just to see if there are any changes in my mother's regular flow. For a week or so before the cinnamon experiment I may do the same thing while medicating my mother exclusively with glipizide and metformin.
Today she seems a bit paler than usual, although it's been a stormy day and the light's been bad. She was surprisingly tired although game to stay up even though she was drawn into herself. The guaifenex is making it even harder than normal for her body to remain hydrated so I hope I won't have to continue this for long. We are having the sleeping-too-much fecal accidents again. When her bowels are regular but she isn't up enough to listen to their signals to cooperate with their need to evacuate it doesn't take long for accidents to begin occurring. One yesterday and one today. I scolded both of us. "Mom, we need to keep you sitting up, if nothing else, for at least 12 hours a day just so you give your bowels a chance to work without accidents according to their schedule."
She looked at me with disgust, although I'm not sure whether it was for the subject or me. "I know," and she let out a sigh.
When we were cleaning her in the bathroom (we both do it; the exercise is good for both her body and her mind) I noticed and mentioned to her that her back was "significantly straighter than yesterday".
"Well, thank you," she said, registering surprise.
"Maybe today would be a good day for a therapy walk."
She leered at me over her shoulder. "Maybe not."
I could clearly see she was still feeling under the weather and I didn't want to push it. "Okay. But, at least, let's keep you up for awhile. Please. Mom, you can fall asleep sitting up watching movies. That'll be somewhat better for you than falling asleep laying down.
She looked at me as though I'd caught her hand in the candy jar and was now using this to bargain with her.
I was.
"I'll see what I can do," she said, a little too mischievously to keep me from feeling comfortable.
She's napping now but she's only been down since 1639, after a hearty lunch and two back to back episodes of Sex and the City. She's sworn me on my honor to wake her up in time for the Sex and the City special at 1800 and the last episode at 1900. I will.
She probably won't eat again until 2000 or so. After that I'll post my last reporting for today.
Later.
This morning, though, I was hopeful. Her before breakfast reading was 122. Not bad, not uncommon. A normal reading is preferable but that's not bad. I repeated her breakfast and her meds exactly as yesterday, including the cinnamon. After breakfast I remembered that I'd read something a while ago, or maybe Dr. Mesa PCP told me this, he's good at knowing what's going to throw blood sugar off, that guaifenex is known to have a mild elevating effect on the blood sugar of diabetics. This led to a hunch. I decided to take her blood sugar just a few hours after breakfast, still a few hours before lunch, just to see what it was doing in case I felt I needed to give her something besides 1/4 tsp of cinnamon at lunch. 198. Although I was expecting a high reading this was a surprise. I was expecting the 170's. I've been giving her guaifenex twice a day, including this morning, for a few days. Yesterday she got very little of anything except barely adequate hydration and that's stretching a point. Today has gone better, the congestion is improving but I think I'll be medicating her for it through tomorrow. So at this point I decided I'd probably better follow my usual regimen, although I couldn't resist one tilt: Just before lunch her blood sugar was 112 so her body is working hard to regulate her blood sugar and is doing a good job despite the fact that I've been throwing it curve balls. I think I'll simply add cinnamon to her diabetic meds without cutting back on the metformin. I'll wait to cut back the metformin until I no longer feel the need to give her guaifenex.
I know that it's always a gamble to take blood glucose readings every few hours on a Type 2 diabetic who developed it in old age. I went through a phase like that with Mom and you can unncecessarily scare yourself. Unlike a non-diabetic, a type two diabetic can range through a fairly wide map throughout the day and still be considered under control as long as those numbers settle back down regularly. So for the most part it's best not to take more than 3 readings a day at regular times. Since, however, I am familiar with how my mother's blood sugar zigs and zags under well-medicated conditions, I think for a matter of days maybe, once we've settled into a cinnamon/metformin routine, or a day here and a day there, I might take two extra readings per day, maybe three, just to see if there are any changes in my mother's regular flow. For a week or so before the cinnamon experiment I may do the same thing while medicating my mother exclusively with glipizide and metformin.
Today she seems a bit paler than usual, although it's been a stormy day and the light's been bad. She was surprisingly tired although game to stay up even though she was drawn into herself. The guaifenex is making it even harder than normal for her body to remain hydrated so I hope I won't have to continue this for long. We are having the sleeping-too-much fecal accidents again. When her bowels are regular but she isn't up enough to listen to their signals to cooperate with their need to evacuate it doesn't take long for accidents to begin occurring. One yesterday and one today. I scolded both of us. "Mom, we need to keep you sitting up, if nothing else, for at least 12 hours a day just so you give your bowels a chance to work without accidents according to their schedule."
She looked at me with disgust, although I'm not sure whether it was for the subject or me. "I know," and she let out a sigh.
When we were cleaning her in the bathroom (we both do it; the exercise is good for both her body and her mind) I noticed and mentioned to her that her back was "significantly straighter than yesterday".
"Well, thank you," she said, registering surprise.
"Maybe today would be a good day for a therapy walk."
She leered at me over her shoulder. "Maybe not."
I could clearly see she was still feeling under the weather and I didn't want to push it. "Okay. But, at least, let's keep you up for awhile. Please. Mom, you can fall asleep sitting up watching movies. That'll be somewhat better for you than falling asleep laying down.
She looked at me as though I'd caught her hand in the candy jar and was now using this to bargain with her.
I was.
"I'll see what I can do," she said, a little too mischievously to keep me from feeling comfortable.
She's napping now but she's only been down since 1639, after a hearty lunch and two back to back episodes of Sex and the City. She's sworn me on my honor to wake her up in time for the Sex and the City special at 1800 and the last episode at 1900. I will.
She probably won't eat again until 2000 or so. After that I'll post my last reporting for today.
Later.
Check out today's New York Times Magazine.
Here's the url. The address for the article, Life in the Age of Old, Old Age. It is such a lovely, thought provoking article that I expect several Sunday editions will run it.
I know a fair number of who I call The Ancient Ones. It comes as no surprise to me that old age carries with it as many variations as any other age. Our yard man is my mother's age and continues to be the most trusted, sought after and eccentric yard man in our Mesa mobile home park. One of the women in my Prescott book club is 85 or, perhaps older, with a curious, softly outspoken turn of mind. I know of another, the father of a long time friend, who just entered The Halls of the Ancient at 80 and has appeared to turn a dark mind dwelling on dark thoughts to his advantage.
As I consider those Ancients I know I can't help but remember the varieties of experience and attitude among my intimates at other ages. One of my sisters, at the tender age of 25, announced to me that "it hurts to get old". Physically hurts. I didn't begin experiencing this until I was in my late forties. My mother is only now experiencing how much it can "hurt to get old".
Despite my close involvement with my mother and my astonishment at how reliably an ancient body can work, I am not sold on the idea of getting old. I can't imagine myself at the age of 86, but, then, I am sure my mother never imagined herself at the age of 86. I asked her. My maternal grandfather was so astonished, past 85, that he continued to survive year after year well into his 90's that he couldn't stop reminding people how old he was. My mother, in contrast, no longer cares to remember how old she is although she usually gets the decade right. "Let's see, now, they tell me I'm, ...80? Can that be right?"
At any rate, read the article, either on the internet or in paper. I'm leaving shortly to pick up a hard copy even though I've read the text online. It's a keeper.
Sometimes I think my mother is still alive in cooperation with me, her "outdoor voiced", can't keep a secret, "thinks every detail of her entire life and the lives of people she shares is important" daughter. I am the recorder following the advance scout.
She's coughing. I think I'll take a peak and see if she's hit water shed yet. If not, maybe I can convince her to change underwear and perhaps avoid yet another load of wash, until...
...later.
I know a fair number of who I call The Ancient Ones. It comes as no surprise to me that old age carries with it as many variations as any other age. Our yard man is my mother's age and continues to be the most trusted, sought after and eccentric yard man in our Mesa mobile home park. One of the women in my Prescott book club is 85 or, perhaps older, with a curious, softly outspoken turn of mind. I know of another, the father of a long time friend, who just entered The Halls of the Ancient at 80 and has appeared to turn a dark mind dwelling on dark thoughts to his advantage.
As I consider those Ancients I know I can't help but remember the varieties of experience and attitude among my intimates at other ages. One of my sisters, at the tender age of 25, announced to me that "it hurts to get old". Physically hurts. I didn't begin experiencing this until I was in my late forties. My mother is only now experiencing how much it can "hurt to get old".
Despite my close involvement with my mother and my astonishment at how reliably an ancient body can work, I am not sold on the idea of getting old. I can't imagine myself at the age of 86, but, then, I am sure my mother never imagined herself at the age of 86. I asked her. My maternal grandfather was so astonished, past 85, that he continued to survive year after year well into his 90's that he couldn't stop reminding people how old he was. My mother, in contrast, no longer cares to remember how old she is although she usually gets the decade right. "Let's see, now, they tell me I'm, ...80? Can that be right?"
At any rate, read the article, either on the internet or in paper. I'm leaving shortly to pick up a hard copy even though I've read the text online. It's a keeper.
Sometimes I think my mother is still alive in cooperation with me, her "outdoor voiced", can't keep a secret, "thinks every detail of her entire life and the lives of people she shares is important" daughter. I am the recorder following the advance scout.
She's coughing. I think I'll take a peak and see if she's hit water shed yet. If not, maybe I can convince her to change underwear and perhaps avoid yet another load of wash, until...
...later.
