Saturday, March 27, 2004
Continuing, somewhat later...
The immediately previoius post is how it began with the PT. In part while she was working on my mother, in part while we were sitting out my mother's from-the-gut reaction to yesterday's treatment. Before she got to the part where she would have told me some version of the airplane safety story though, she favored me with a poignant litany of her own. In few words, while she was talking about her child, who is presently taking care of her mother, she mentioned something about her mother's condition: A lot of pain that can't seem to be addressed (ah, Ancient Territory is a foreign country) and how the PT is just ending the intense years of nurturing her son and now...her mother...she didn't say much. She didn't have to.
I immediately stepped in. I know, I said. I'll tell you, if I had spent the previous 30 years of my life nurturing a family only to find myself facing another 10 to 20 that would be even more intense I don't know if I'd do it. She looked at me from an angle. I told her that this is my first nurturing stint and that's why, even though I sometimes think I'm overwhelmed, I never truly am. I haven't been doing this all my life, I tell her, so I think it's easier for me. In fact, I confessed, I consciously avoided nurturing of almost any type for years. I often wonder, I tell her, if I had been married with a family, how Mom's life would be, now: If she would be with one of her daughters' families, if she would be in a nursing home, if she would be here...it's lucky, I tell the PT, that, of four daughters, my mother had one who would lead a life that allowed her to be fully available to her as she aged.
I had no advice for her. I honestly don't know what to tell people who wonder if they can handle yet more caretaking and caretaking of a more tragic kind; caretaking in which the death of the cared for is expected during the life of the nurturer.
I noticed, though, as I once again performed my schtick, some defensiveness on my part even though I hadn't been challenged by the PT. A tart wagging of my head and shoulders. I remember saying at one point, "I didn't come to nurturing until long after I came to know myself well, so I don't feel as though I'm losing myself. I know who I am. I can't lose myself in taking care of my mother."
Thinking back on it, I must have sounded a bit like the lady protests too much. I was protesting, but, you know, not protesting what she'll think. She'll think I'm protesting the possibility that I need regular breaks, room to breathe as myself...when, in fact, I'm protesting that being a later-in-life first time nurturer is a different experience from taking on more nurturing just as you thought you'd be wrapping it up. For me nurturing is an addition. For those who have been nurturing all their lives, nurturing may have a pronounced negative component.
I don't know what to tell those of my peers who are finding themselves having to negotiate more intense nurturing than they've done in a long time and for many more years. I can see, from this perspective, the need for professionals; the need for all members of a household to become active in nurturing The Ancient One; the need for trust and risk assessment of professional options. I think if I were in this position I would probably feel as though I was totin' a bale o' guilt.
One thing I can say from my perspective: My feeling is that the best caretakers for an aging relative are someone within the familiar family who has led a life similar to mine or a couple who were not involved in hands on parenting.
Later in our conversation, in reaction to what I said as I explained that I'm pleased I have a chance to do this, the PT talked a bit about how she has noticed that there is something about people who haven't done intensive nurturing...that they have less regard for the need and time of others; that no matter how good they are, they are missing a certain depth of understanding about life and other people that only comes from intense, long term nurturing.
Before I began nurturing my mother, I wouldn't have questioned what she said. I would have thought that what she was alluding to was a simple difference of experience, a quantitative rather than qualitative difference.
Now, though, I see that there is a qualitative difference in the perception of those who have been or are committed nurturers. It is not just a difference I've noticed since beginning my own nurturing sojourn. I noticed it before in others. I think it is the quality that attracts me to some people and allows me to simply shrug by others.
I often imagine myself, quite without conscious determination, as similar to the bachelor son, the one who traveled, who read, who studied, who pursued a variety of careers and affairs, was perhaps even an avocational inventor or artist, spending a certain portion of decades of his middle years caring intently and intensely for an aging parent...slipping in quietly, allowing a gradual diminution of the parent's independence, a growing comfort in leaning on the son. With apologies to Joseph Campbell, this is the archetype with which I identify and from which I derive inspiration.
Later.
I immediately stepped in. I know, I said. I'll tell you, if I had spent the previous 30 years of my life nurturing a family only to find myself facing another 10 to 20 that would be even more intense I don't know if I'd do it. She looked at me from an angle. I told her that this is my first nurturing stint and that's why, even though I sometimes think I'm overwhelmed, I never truly am. I haven't been doing this all my life, I tell her, so I think it's easier for me. In fact, I confessed, I consciously avoided nurturing of almost any type for years. I often wonder, I tell her, if I had been married with a family, how Mom's life would be, now: If she would be with one of her daughters' families, if she would be in a nursing home, if she would be here...it's lucky, I tell the PT, that, of four daughters, my mother had one who would lead a life that allowed her to be fully available to her as she aged.
I had no advice for her. I honestly don't know what to tell people who wonder if they can handle yet more caretaking and caretaking of a more tragic kind; caretaking in which the death of the cared for is expected during the life of the nurturer.
I noticed, though, as I once again performed my schtick, some defensiveness on my part even though I hadn't been challenged by the PT. A tart wagging of my head and shoulders. I remember saying at one point, "I didn't come to nurturing until long after I came to know myself well, so I don't feel as though I'm losing myself. I know who I am. I can't lose myself in taking care of my mother."
Thinking back on it, I must have sounded a bit like the lady protests too much. I was protesting, but, you know, not protesting what she'll think. She'll think I'm protesting the possibility that I need regular breaks, room to breathe as myself...when, in fact, I'm protesting that being a later-in-life first time nurturer is a different experience from taking on more nurturing just as you thought you'd be wrapping it up. For me nurturing is an addition. For those who have been nurturing all their lives, nurturing may have a pronounced negative component.
I don't know what to tell those of my peers who are finding themselves having to negotiate more intense nurturing than they've done in a long time and for many more years. I can see, from this perspective, the need for professionals; the need for all members of a household to become active in nurturing The Ancient One; the need for trust and risk assessment of professional options. I think if I were in this position I would probably feel as though I was totin' a bale o' guilt.
One thing I can say from my perspective: My feeling is that the best caretakers for an aging relative are someone within the familiar family who has led a life similar to mine or a couple who were not involved in hands on parenting.
Later in our conversation, in reaction to what I said as I explained that I'm pleased I have a chance to do this, the PT talked a bit about how she has noticed that there is something about people who haven't done intensive nurturing...that they have less regard for the need and time of others; that no matter how good they are, they are missing a certain depth of understanding about life and other people that only comes from intense, long term nurturing.
Before I began nurturing my mother, I wouldn't have questioned what she said. I would have thought that what she was alluding to was a simple difference of experience, a quantitative rather than qualitative difference.
Now, though, I see that there is a qualitative difference in the perception of those who have been or are committed nurturers. It is not just a difference I've noticed since beginning my own nurturing sojourn. I noticed it before in others. I think it is the quality that attracts me to some people and allows me to simply shrug by others.
I often imagine myself, quite without conscious determination, as similar to the bachelor son, the one who traveled, who read, who studied, who pursued a variety of careers and affairs, was perhaps even an avocational inventor or artist, spending a certain portion of decades of his middle years caring intently and intensely for an aging parent...slipping in quietly, allowing a gradual diminution of the parent's independence, a growing comfort in leaning on the son. With apologies to Joseph Campbell, this is the archetype with which I identify and from which I derive inspiration.
Later.
The prologue to the question/advice, was subtle, as typical...
...although, recently, I've encountered more than a few who aren't quite as subtle, who dispense with the prologue. First some questions posed to me:
Mom just arose. I'll continue...
...later.
- Do you have any friends around here?
- Do you have any support?
- Yes (usually answered with a self-conscious smirk), sometimes too many!
- If I needed it desperately, probably, but casual support (i.e., someone who comes in and babysits Mom for me, or a day care program lined up), not much, no.
Mom just arose. I'll continue...
...later.
I'm going to indulge in some selfish nurturing, today.
It would, admittedly, do my mother good to get up, get bathed, fed and dressed and go to Costco with me on the now urgently needed supply run. We're down to one pair of paper underwear. But, I need to dash, today, and I awoke with the energy to dash early, so I'm going alone. I knew this last night. I prepared Mom for this by telling her that it would be "necessary" for her to sleep in today. Telling her things just before she goes to bed usually works. If I'm unsure about the technique's effectiveness on a particular night, I tell her aloud that I am talking to her subconscious and unconscious mind/s. I told her I would tell her when I am leaving and I will. I expect to be gone just over an hour and that's being generous. I don't expect a crowd at 9:30 a.m. on a Saturday. Normally she isn't up this early anyway, nor as early as I'll be back. I'm also letting her sleep in because of the dramatic nature of her PT, yesterday.
Time to collect myself and go. Later.
Time to collect myself and go. Later.
Friday, March 26, 2004
Very interesting PT appointment, today.
Aside from learning how to help my mother up from a lying-on-side position, which help she doesn't need anymore but it may come in handy later, her PT gave both of us lessons in the importance of the pelvis in movement and suggested some movement exercises involving sitting that will help Mom get more experience in moving from her pelvic center. I am very grateful for these tips. Although I had connected shuffling to a lack of confidence in one's legs, I had not connected shuffling to a lack of moving from one's center. The PT explained that as one ages and adjusts to injuries, etc., to, well, life, one of the ways one compensates is by stiffening movement. It seems, superficially, to make physical sense to move as a unit...but since we are made of parts it is non-physical-sense. However, once those patterns are set, they are hard to break. She checked Mom over and was pleased to note that Mom is quite capable of independent movement. So, rehabituating is the only problem. She cautioned Mom to "walk from her hips" when she walks; it's a sturdier stride. Of all the good advice I've drill-sergeanted Mom with during our walks, one thing I haven't encouraged, simply because I've taken it for granted, is "walk[ing] from the hips". This is where my observation, several years ago when I used to walk to walk everywhere around the cities in which I lived, was that I would "sit on my hips and let my legs take me to work." Good imagery to describe to Mom how to walk from her hips.
The PT also described the circumstances through which one becomes accustomed to doing what I describe as "walking on one's arms", in which one attempts (unsuccessfully) to transfer the seat (it's not called the "seat" for nothing) of one's power to the shoulders. Unfortunately, this cramps the chest; the position she demonstrated is exactly, exactly the way Mom has stood for years, hunched over. Essentially what the PT delivered was a "Trust Your Torso" pep-talk.
She did some heavy duty manipulation, particularly in Mom's upper back. Some of her techniques caught my eye this week: She allows my mother's natural inclination when laying on the treatment platform to direct the focus and flow of her treatment. This allows my confidence in the appropriateness of this treatment for my mother to soar. As well, most of the PT's movement is beneath the skin muscle movement or such slow joint movement that it is barely detectable. Yet she actually repositions my mother's body.
The PT also clarified for me when I might want to bring her in early for a treatment: If Mom begins to feel as though she wants more work done, wants to be able to do more, to operate more smoothly...or if something happens that threatens to debilitate her (like, for instance, I guess, pulling her back in bed, I never thought about calling the PT for that). So, that's good. I'm never sure what an emergency is when it comes to alternative treatments.
Today, while manipulating her back, the PT pressed and/or jiggled something. My mother had no apparent reaction until she was asked to roll over, then became sick to her stomach. No pain. No stiffness. Just sudden nausea. I understood immediately what had happened, even though the therapist explained it as a release of physical stress taking place while the client is resisting that release. It has happened to me when my right knee has popped out and back. As we walked out I noticed that part of her upper back hump had straightened a bit. I mentioned this to the PT as the possible site of the dramatic part movment. Although Mom didn't vomit at the therapist's office, she did on the way home. She tends toward motion sickness and the combination of movements overwhelmed her. I was surprised, when she vomited, that she still had food in her stomach to release and pleased to note that there was no blood.
I am learning a great deal about my mother's resilience and her spiritual strength from observing these appointments. She continues to amaze me. How lucky I am to be able to tend to her during this part of her life.
Later.
The PT also described the circumstances through which one becomes accustomed to doing what I describe as "walking on one's arms", in which one attempts (unsuccessfully) to transfer the seat (it's not called the "seat" for nothing) of one's power to the shoulders. Unfortunately, this cramps the chest; the position she demonstrated is exactly, exactly the way Mom has stood for years, hunched over. Essentially what the PT delivered was a "Trust Your Torso" pep-talk.
She did some heavy duty manipulation, particularly in Mom's upper back. Some of her techniques caught my eye this week: She allows my mother's natural inclination when laying on the treatment platform to direct the focus and flow of her treatment. This allows my confidence in the appropriateness of this treatment for my mother to soar. As well, most of the PT's movement is beneath the skin muscle movement or such slow joint movement that it is barely detectable. Yet she actually repositions my mother's body.
The PT also clarified for me when I might want to bring her in early for a treatment: If Mom begins to feel as though she wants more work done, wants to be able to do more, to operate more smoothly...or if something happens that threatens to debilitate her (like, for instance, I guess, pulling her back in bed, I never thought about calling the PT for that). So, that's good. I'm never sure what an emergency is when it comes to alternative treatments.
Today, while manipulating her back, the PT pressed and/or jiggled something. My mother had no apparent reaction until she was asked to roll over, then became sick to her stomach. No pain. No stiffness. Just sudden nausea. I understood immediately what had happened, even though the therapist explained it as a release of physical stress taking place while the client is resisting that release. It has happened to me when my right knee has popped out and back. As we walked out I noticed that part of her upper back hump had straightened a bit. I mentioned this to the PT as the possible site of the dramatic part movment. Although Mom didn't vomit at the therapist's office, she did on the way home. She tends toward motion sickness and the combination of movements overwhelmed her. I was surprised, when she vomited, that she still had food in her stomach to release and pleased to note that there was no blood.
I am learning a great deal about my mother's resilience and her spiritual strength from observing these appointments. She continues to amaze me. How lucky I am to be able to tend to her during this part of her life.
Later.
As you know, if you follow us...
...I rarely bother to report live from the scene of an event although I have occasionally, with success. This morning I am live and only a bit behind The Event. I couldn't resist. All my sisters, at least, will get a kick out of this.
Whether you (universal) know this or not, every morning my mother and I bathe her from head to toe. For many reasons having to do with her love of soaking in a bath but hatred of washing in that bath, I've been monitoring her baths (and, making sure she takes a healthy number) for some years, now. It may seem excessive, but our previous method allowed her the freedom to bathe herself (except for her back) and also allowed me to monitor and get rid of her persistent thigh crease rash and a build up of rough skin on her back. Now, of course, since she soaks in her urine every night, it is paramount that she be white glove cleaned at least once a day, sometimes twice. At first I was doing all the bathing. Now we each do half the appendages, she does her head and I do her torso, front and back. I monitor her progress and every morning I remind her (it's necessary, believe me) when she is, for instance, washing her arm, to "wash top of shoulder, armpit, back of arm, top and bottom of hand, and everything else, of course." After experimenting with allowing her to wash her belly and front groin area while I washed her back, I've denied those privileges. Some mornings when she has very little energy but has to get up she is grateful that someone does this for her. Otherwise, her feelings about this necessary ritual always contain some degree of hostility and a sense of dignity betrayed. I often attempt to dissipate this for her by attributing what could be her incensed outbursts to our cats, who wander in and out monitoring The Bath Procedure. Every couple of days Mom suggests "bath bathing" again. I truly evaluate the suggestion each time she offers it. All things considered though, it's still not a good idea. My mother accepts none of this gracefully. But, from day to day we work on it.
This morning after we completed her head, feet and appendages and I asked her to rise and face me she looked at me in innocent horror and asked, "Are you going to bathe all of me?!?"
"Well, yes, Mom," I stuttered. "I know you're not remembering this right now, but I do this every morning."
"No you don't! I bathe myself every morning!"
"Well, maybe soon, but not now."
"Well, I don't know how that happened!"
Oh boy. Here we go. "Well, Mom, since you hurt your back..."
"I'm just not sure it's necessary!"
I took a deep breath and decided to take another approach. "Mom, listen, I know it's a terrible inconvenience, but thank you for putting up with my insistence on doing this..." From this point, I continued on to explain why meticulous skin care is important, that the skin is the most important organ of the body, her back makes it very hard for her to reach her entire body without risk of reinjury right now, etc.
When I finally finished both my gentle lecture and her torso and she was facing me again she said, through an impish smile, "And, what was the original question?"
We both exited laughing.
Later.
Whether you (universal) know this or not, every morning my mother and I bathe her from head to toe. For many reasons having to do with her love of soaking in a bath but hatred of washing in that bath, I've been monitoring her baths (and, making sure she takes a healthy number) for some years, now. It may seem excessive, but our previous method allowed her the freedom to bathe herself (except for her back) and also allowed me to monitor and get rid of her persistent thigh crease rash and a build up of rough skin on her back. Now, of course, since she soaks in her urine every night, it is paramount that she be white glove cleaned at least once a day, sometimes twice. At first I was doing all the bathing. Now we each do half the appendages, she does her head and I do her torso, front and back. I monitor her progress and every morning I remind her (it's necessary, believe me) when she is, for instance, washing her arm, to "wash top of shoulder, armpit, back of arm, top and bottom of hand, and everything else, of course." After experimenting with allowing her to wash her belly and front groin area while I washed her back, I've denied those privileges. Some mornings when she has very little energy but has to get up she is grateful that someone does this for her. Otherwise, her feelings about this necessary ritual always contain some degree of hostility and a sense of dignity betrayed. I often attempt to dissipate this for her by attributing what could be her incensed outbursts to our cats, who wander in and out monitoring The Bath Procedure. Every couple of days Mom suggests "bath bathing" again. I truly evaluate the suggestion each time she offers it. All things considered though, it's still not a good idea. My mother accepts none of this gracefully. But, from day to day we work on it.
This morning after we completed her head, feet and appendages and I asked her to rise and face me she looked at me in innocent horror and asked, "Are you going to bathe all of me?!?"
"Well, yes, Mom," I stuttered. "I know you're not remembering this right now, but I do this every morning."
"No you don't! I bathe myself every morning!"
"Well, maybe soon, but not now."
"Well, I don't know how that happened!"
Oh boy. Here we go. "Well, Mom, since you hurt your back..."
"I'm just not sure it's necessary!"
I took a deep breath and decided to take another approach. "Mom, listen, I know it's a terrible inconvenience, but thank you for putting up with my insistence on doing this..." From this point, I continued on to explain why meticulous skin care is important, that the skin is the most important organ of the body, her back makes it very hard for her to reach her entire body without risk of reinjury right now, etc.
When I finally finished both my gentle lecture and her torso and she was facing me again she said, through an impish smile, "And, what was the original question?"
We both exited laughing.
Later.
It seems I forgot to mention...
...that she twisted her back again Tuesday night in bed. I think the reason I didn't mention it is that it's part of the two steps forward, one and a half steps back that we've been going through since her back injury. Yesterday, if I hadn't known, I wouldn't have guessed that her back had been giving her trouble on Wednesday except that I've been here, I do know, and I can see the increments, however small (or large), in her progression and/or regression. We've had a couple of these, the most surprising of which was the first when she twisted her back in bed (it always seems to be in bed) the day after a Christmas weekend of company which had gone so incredibly well. At any rate, I take these minor setbacks in stride, now. It's sort of like limping for a day on a trick knee that popped out and in.
The reason I'm remembering to record this is that the company we were expecting are coming next weekend instead, which will work better for us. Although I had high hopes, I wasn't sure Mom would be up to even going outside and visiting on Sunday. She might have wished to remain in the house, so I would've done the same.
I'm still not expert at this, but there is a trajectory that her relapses/rehealings seems to follow. I think Sunday will be on the low end of the spectrum.
She will be going to physical therapy today. I haven't yet awakened her. This morning I've checked in on her twice and she is snoring, which is unusual for her but fine. This means she was exhausted when she retired last night. Although she seemed game to remain awake and really didn't do much, what she did, I guess. gave her back a work out.
I think a lot about time, the way time flows here in our lives versus the way it flows around us in the business world. I sometimes wonder, however unusual it is, if it is really much of a benefit to Mom to have someone (me) taking care of her who can spend long periods in her time zone. It is not uncommon for me to lose track of days of the week, days of the month and, sometimes, which day I'm still occupying. I do this because it is easy for me to do, I get a kick out of being flexible in time and it makes it easier for me in my dealings with Mom to be where she is. I know, though, that if, for instance, it was necessary for me to be working a job, well, at this point, she may have just emerged from temporary skilled nursing home care, I would probably have sitters lined up for her, I would also probably be relatively aware of her physical, emotional and spiritual condition but not in detail and I would be relying heavily on professionals for my sense of her self. This is not to impugn any of these caregiver strategies. As well, her social contacts would be very high, she may even be enjoying and benefiting from this in ways that would render her, hmmm, well, more able to deal with less primary involvement with me. Then again, if I had not had the time and energy to put into energetic management of her medical care and health needs, she may very well have been scoped from end to end to no avail and with some debilitation. She may have already died due to medication mismanagement and/or complication from one of many anesthesized procedures.
She's up. Immediately. Later.
The reason I'm remembering to record this is that the company we were expecting are coming next weekend instead, which will work better for us. Although I had high hopes, I wasn't sure Mom would be up to even going outside and visiting on Sunday. She might have wished to remain in the house, so I would've done the same.
I'm still not expert at this, but there is a trajectory that her relapses/rehealings seems to follow. I think Sunday will be on the low end of the spectrum.
She will be going to physical therapy today. I haven't yet awakened her. This morning I've checked in on her twice and she is snoring, which is unusual for her but fine. This means she was exhausted when she retired last night. Although she seemed game to remain awake and really didn't do much, what she did, I guess. gave her back a work out.
I think a lot about time, the way time flows here in our lives versus the way it flows around us in the business world. I sometimes wonder, however unusual it is, if it is really much of a benefit to Mom to have someone (me) taking care of her who can spend long periods in her time zone. It is not uncommon for me to lose track of days of the week, days of the month and, sometimes, which day I'm still occupying. I do this because it is easy for me to do, I get a kick out of being flexible in time and it makes it easier for me in my dealings with Mom to be where she is. I know, though, that if, for instance, it was necessary for me to be working a job, well, at this point, she may have just emerged from temporary skilled nursing home care, I would probably have sitters lined up for her, I would also probably be relatively aware of her physical, emotional and spiritual condition but not in detail and I would be relying heavily on professionals for my sense of her self. This is not to impugn any of these caregiver strategies. As well, her social contacts would be very high, she may even be enjoying and benefiting from this in ways that would render her, hmmm, well, more able to deal with less primary involvement with me. Then again, if I had not had the time and energy to put into energetic management of her medical care and health needs, she may very well have been scoped from end to end to no avail and with some debilitation. She may have already died due to medication mismanagement and/or complication from one of many anesthesized procedures.
She's up. Immediately. Later.
She awoke, surprisingly, sometime before 1130.
When I walked into her bedroom at this time she was on her elbows sighting the room, which means she'd been rocking her way out of sleep for a good quarter hour. So we hit the ground running. We didn't go out of the house so we have much running around to do tomorrow but Mom was up all day from 1115 or so on, didn't even consider a nap and we kept busy although I can't remember everything we did. We spent four hours watching two more old movies, one neither of us had seen, Sabrina and one both of us have seen more than once but only I) remember, Mildred Pierce. She was shocked at the emotional violence in Mildred Pierce. She had a hard time remembering who Humphrey Bogart was, so out of character was his role opposite Audrey Hepburn's Sabrina.
It hit me today that Mom is balking about going "out" because she hasn't been officially out in so long that she's shy, again. It's not because she's hurting or tired from her dis-ease anymore. It's time to force it. Those days, of which I expect tomorrow to be one always contain the worst of mornings and the best of evenings. They also usually lead to a spurt of active days for her. Good, because I've been putting things off and I, which means we, need to get busy very quickly.
I think this weekend is going to be a company weekend again, including a birthday celebration. We'll both enjoy this although I am feeling a little stressed about it right now. I had plenty of advance notice, two weeks exactly, yet I seem to have frittered time away doing...something else. Jesus. Oh well.
Mom wanted ice cream tonight. What happened is that she was searching the refrigerator for "just a taste of something" this afternoon (although her eating was somewhat more regimented today) and found a six-or-more month old jar of hot chocolate fudge that we'd purchased when someone visited and requested ice cream. So I put on a pot of chili beans with some beef and lots of MPBIL's Southwestern Fire and went to the store to get ice cream, "not chocolate, something that would be good with chocolate". I also shot her full of the daily limit of metformin, 2000 mg, especially since she had an unexplained hike over 200 at "lunch". I gave her the last two 500 mg doses during dinner and during the ice cream. Her pre-dinner reading was eighty-something which is excellent. I'm not too worried. Luckily, her glipizide doses were able to be administered correctly in terms of time and food. I would love to be able to skip forward to morning to see what her blood sugar is going to be.
I've been preparing her all day for a busy tomorrow out. She seems up for it. Perhaps by staying in and staying up she put herself in training for it.
I jokingly called her "Old Woman" today, knowing it would get a rise out of her. It did. Today her reaction allowed me to see that she is back to believing that "old woman" is not, yet, a reality for her.
I'm having to be careful about making sure I separate those lotions and scents I love from those I use with my mother. I've lost the ability to enjoy anything with a Ginger/Lemon combination, a very light scent that was kind of ethereal, and a rose lotion that I absolutely adored and used one morning on her just because I love it so much and I knew she'd love it. She peed all over herself right after I put the lotion on her.I lost my nose for that lotion as I cleaned her off that day. The Ginger/Lemon scent was spoiled for me when I was assaulted with it mixed with shit during her accidental colonic previous to the colonoscopy: The emetic we used was Ginger/Lemon. Sometimes within a particular scent there is a range of scents and mixes so that if there is something she and I both love, say, lavender, I can find one to keep for me and one to use on her, both of which differ significantly from one another. I prefer an English and French lavender and she prefers a strong, essential lavender. I'm happy to let her have all the peaches, most of the fruits and the florals except for gardenia, which is a problem because she loves gardenia and introduced me to it. We haven't yet crossed the honeysuckle bridge; that one may create a problem. There is one brand lotion, a mixture of scents, that is so strong and signifies on each of our bodies so differently that she can defecate through it and I still like it and want to wear it. There was one recently, though, to which my Chandler niece introduced me that I will not let within a 20 foot radius of my mother. I feel the same way about sandalwood and, to a lesser extent, patchouli. I work hard at preserving these distinctions for two reasons: Secondarily, I am too used to asserting my own identity not to; primarily, after my mother dies I do not want my nasal memory to be conjuring up the smell of her eliminations with everything I own and love. Perhaps if she were my child I would feel differently, but she is my parent and I had a large hand in shaping my identity before I came to live with her. I'm grateful to know her so intensely. I also know that if I not as present as possible in this adventure its ability to enrich my life would be diminished by as much as I back off.
Later. Unless I think of something else before I go to bed.
It hit me today that Mom is balking about going "out" because she hasn't been officially out in so long that she's shy, again. It's not because she's hurting or tired from her dis-ease anymore. It's time to force it. Those days, of which I expect tomorrow to be one always contain the worst of mornings and the best of evenings. They also usually lead to a spurt of active days for her. Good, because I've been putting things off and I, which means we, need to get busy very quickly.
I think this weekend is going to be a company weekend again, including a birthday celebration. We'll both enjoy this although I am feeling a little stressed about it right now. I had plenty of advance notice, two weeks exactly, yet I seem to have frittered time away doing...something else. Jesus. Oh well.
Mom wanted ice cream tonight. What happened is that she was searching the refrigerator for "just a taste of something" this afternoon (although her eating was somewhat more regimented today) and found a six-or-more month old jar of hot chocolate fudge that we'd purchased when someone visited and requested ice cream. So I put on a pot of chili beans with some beef and lots of MPBIL's Southwestern Fire and went to the store to get ice cream, "not chocolate, something that would be good with chocolate". I also shot her full of the daily limit of metformin, 2000 mg, especially since she had an unexplained hike over 200 at "lunch". I gave her the last two 500 mg doses during dinner and during the ice cream. Her pre-dinner reading was eighty-something which is excellent. I'm not too worried. Luckily, her glipizide doses were able to be administered correctly in terms of time and food. I would love to be able to skip forward to morning to see what her blood sugar is going to be.
I've been preparing her all day for a busy tomorrow out. She seems up for it. Perhaps by staying in and staying up she put herself in training for it.
I jokingly called her "Old Woman" today, knowing it would get a rise out of her. It did. Today her reaction allowed me to see that she is back to believing that "old woman" is not, yet, a reality for her.
I'm having to be careful about making sure I separate those lotions and scents I love from those I use with my mother. I've lost the ability to enjoy anything with a Ginger/Lemon combination, a very light scent that was kind of ethereal, and a rose lotion that I absolutely adored and used one morning on her just because I love it so much and I knew she'd love it. She peed all over herself right after I put the lotion on her.I lost my nose for that lotion as I cleaned her off that day. The Ginger/Lemon scent was spoiled for me when I was assaulted with it mixed with shit during her accidental colonic previous to the colonoscopy: The emetic we used was Ginger/Lemon. Sometimes within a particular scent there is a range of scents and mixes so that if there is something she and I both love, say, lavender, I can find one to keep for me and one to use on her, both of which differ significantly from one another. I prefer an English and French lavender and she prefers a strong, essential lavender. I'm happy to let her have all the peaches, most of the fruits and the florals except for gardenia, which is a problem because she loves gardenia and introduced me to it. We haven't yet crossed the honeysuckle bridge; that one may create a problem. There is one brand lotion, a mixture of scents, that is so strong and signifies on each of our bodies so differently that she can defecate through it and I still like it and want to wear it. There was one recently, though, to which my Chandler niece introduced me that I will not let within a 20 foot radius of my mother. I feel the same way about sandalwood and, to a lesser extent, patchouli. I work hard at preserving these distinctions for two reasons: Secondarily, I am too used to asserting my own identity not to; primarily, after my mother dies I do not want my nasal memory to be conjuring up the smell of her eliminations with everything I own and love. Perhaps if she were my child I would feel differently, but she is my parent and I had a large hand in shaping my identity before I came to live with her. I'm grateful to know her so intensely. I also know that if I not as present as possible in this adventure its ability to enrich my life would be diminished by as much as I back off.
Later. Unless I think of something else before I go to bed.
Thursday, March 25, 2004
I have been zoned out since yesterday morning...
...so much so that everything I've been doing in the way of nurturing has been automatic. I've been surprised at my ability to give care on a decent day while, technically, being outside of it, but I'm still in need of "alone" time so I've been stealing some from Mom's up time. Mom was up and down and up and then down again yesterday; in all probably more up than down. She did a lot of reading, a lot of TV watching. I was somewhere else, experiencing a completely different world in my head while performing maintenance nurturing by 'finger memory'. She was on her feet a lot yesterday, insisting on, for instance, throwing away her constantly collecting tissues each time they threatened to overwhelm her TV table. Since I was always peripherally aware of what she was doing I kept an eye on her but she seems to be doing fine around here. This bodes well for the outside world. The truth is, I think she encounters more steps and "rough ground" here than anywhere else. I suggested several supply trips yesterday, the need of which is beginning to crowd us, but I couldn't get her interested. So I went on a mini-errand for eggs and half and half (which I hid so she wouldn't drink down this 12 ouncer) and saved the major supply trip for another day, which I'm hoping wil be tomorrow. It should be today but we're both focused in other directions.
The ups and downs led to a very late retirement time for both of us: Early this morning at 0230 and 0245. TCM had a special on Charlie Chaplin and The Great Dictator which culminated with the movie, which we watched. Mom claims not to have seen it. This may or may not be true. For the most part, although my mother has always loved movies, she has mostly been in circumstances where going to the movies was not an easy recreation. She has, for instance, vivid memories of watching Spencer Tracy/Katherine Hepburn movies but not such other classics as Mr. Smith Goes to Washington, The Glen Miller Story or even All About Eve or The Women. Anyway, I'd never seen The Great Dictator entirely and Mom, as we watched the movie, relented that she "may have seen" it but could only recall parts of it so we watched it. I am more of a Chaplin fan than Mom. Interestingly, he is too sentimental for her and she considers his physical art too akin to slapstick to appreciate, although she loves his music and considers many of his compositions personal classics. She was very animated during the movie. There was no closed captioning but that didn't seem to bother her. As well, she always enlivens when she is up "into the wee hours". She feels she is participating in whatever she normally has thought, since childhood bedtimes, she is missing.
I was so preoccupied yesterday (and, considering my success at being in two dimensions at once, probably will continue so today) that although she got her medication no blood sugars were taken. I also allowed her somewhat less liquids than normal, although she drank in sips all her waking day including through the movie. She hasn't eaten much over the last few days so I've made sure that what she has eaten is rich in both calories and fiber. The Split Pea and Ham soup turned out to be the best in the universe. Even I loved it. The only seasoning was from simmering two hambones for a couple of hours, one a Honeybaked core bone and using the stock and the meat as the base for the split peas, adding sauteed onion, carrots, celery and smashed garlic. I added about 1 1/2 tsp Sweet Basil and a Bay Leaf although, truthfully, I couldn't tell whether they influenced the flavor. Yesterday she ate a lot of orange/date/nut muffins, cheese products, V-8 juice, lots of coffee (I've switched her to a decaf for which I grind the beans; she likes it better and drinks more coffee, thus more liquids). We had a pretty hefty dinner: Cottage cheese, very spicy buffalo wings and yet another orange/date/nut muffin. Oh, and hot and spicy Cheezits. She's been snacking on those a lot. Because of all the refined starch she's been receiving 850 mg metformin in the morning and the evening and cinnamon in the afternoon for the last two days. She has been taking her glipizide but both doses yesterday were compromised by her all day snacking. That was okay. It was good to see her appetite returning.
Although it appears as though she's sleeping in this morning, she's not. Figure, she's not yet been asleep nine hours. As I check on her I tell is she no where near "The Surface" so I don't expect to hear from her until after noon. Which is fine. If we have another late night, that's great. Late nights become us.
As a reminder, it has seemed, off and on in certain diffident light, that she might be anemic again. I've cut her iron by one tablet but I think I'll begin administering that third one again.
Later.
The ups and downs led to a very late retirement time for both of us: Early this morning at 0230 and 0245. TCM had a special on Charlie Chaplin and The Great Dictator which culminated with the movie, which we watched. Mom claims not to have seen it. This may or may not be true. For the most part, although my mother has always loved movies, she has mostly been in circumstances where going to the movies was not an easy recreation. She has, for instance, vivid memories of watching Spencer Tracy/Katherine Hepburn movies but not such other classics as Mr. Smith Goes to Washington, The Glen Miller Story or even All About Eve or The Women. Anyway, I'd never seen The Great Dictator entirely and Mom, as we watched the movie, relented that she "may have seen" it but could only recall parts of it so we watched it. I am more of a Chaplin fan than Mom. Interestingly, he is too sentimental for her and she considers his physical art too akin to slapstick to appreciate, although she loves his music and considers many of his compositions personal classics. She was very animated during the movie. There was no closed captioning but that didn't seem to bother her. As well, she always enlivens when she is up "into the wee hours". She feels she is participating in whatever she normally has thought, since childhood bedtimes, she is missing.
I was so preoccupied yesterday (and, considering my success at being in two dimensions at once, probably will continue so today) that although she got her medication no blood sugars were taken. I also allowed her somewhat less liquids than normal, although she drank in sips all her waking day including through the movie. She hasn't eaten much over the last few days so I've made sure that what she has eaten is rich in both calories and fiber. The Split Pea and Ham soup turned out to be the best in the universe. Even I loved it. The only seasoning was from simmering two hambones for a couple of hours, one a Honeybaked core bone and using the stock and the meat as the base for the split peas, adding sauteed onion, carrots, celery and smashed garlic. I added about 1 1/2 tsp Sweet Basil and a Bay Leaf although, truthfully, I couldn't tell whether they influenced the flavor. Yesterday she ate a lot of orange/date/nut muffins, cheese products, V-8 juice, lots of coffee (I've switched her to a decaf for which I grind the beans; she likes it better and drinks more coffee, thus more liquids). We had a pretty hefty dinner: Cottage cheese, very spicy buffalo wings and yet another orange/date/nut muffin. Oh, and hot and spicy Cheezits. She's been snacking on those a lot. Because of all the refined starch she's been receiving 850 mg metformin in the morning and the evening and cinnamon in the afternoon for the last two days. She has been taking her glipizide but both doses yesterday were compromised by her all day snacking. That was okay. It was good to see her appetite returning.
Although it appears as though she's sleeping in this morning, she's not. Figure, she's not yet been asleep nine hours. As I check on her I tell is she no where near "The Surface" so I don't expect to hear from her until after noon. Which is fine. If we have another late night, that's great. Late nights become us.
As a reminder, it has seemed, off and on in certain diffident light, that she might be anemic again. I've cut her iron by one tablet but I think I'll begin administering that third one again.
Later.
Tuesday, March 23, 2004
It's been an appointment day...
...which means that everything has been geared to getting her ready and going to her acupuncture appointment, including doing her hair from scratch. She's pretty much spent the majority of time (a slight majority) in bed over the last three days. Her appointment was at 1500. I expected she was going to move very slowly. She did, so I started on her at 1000, hoping to get everything in and also get my own shower in before we go. I wasn't keen, this morning, on continuing concentrated caretaking but it didn't seem to matter that I wasn't. So much of it is habit and routine, now. The aspect of my caretaking adventure for which I am most grateful and makes the difference is that my mother and I get along well and genuinely like and respect one another. A big difference.
Tonight I am fixing one of her favorites, split pea with ham soup. I'm boiling down two hambones for the stock. I'm also going to make some more muffins, tonight: Date, nut, orange muffins with some orange flavored craisins thrown in just to get rid of them. She's liking the fact that The Muffin Man has turned out to be a woman and her daughter. A while back, in February, I think, I decided to bake something, I can't remember what but it may have been a tomato biscuit pie. She decided that she could help me. Yes, that was it, because she started helping me by cutting the celery. The strength wasn't a problem but the strategy was. I'm not a fast vegetable cutter but I was done with everything else by the time she finally had enough celery cut. Further, rather than cut the celery, she sawed it. So it was pretty chewed up.
I'm not sure that she'll be up the entire afternoon/evening. Since she awoke late I gave her a light lunch when we got home from her appointment, about 1630. I forgot to give her any medication. She clearly didn't need iron but I forgot her metformin, too, although I automatically put cinnamon in her V-8 juice. Let's see, she had about 3/4 cup of 4% milkfat cottage cheese, probably about 15 Hot & Spicy Cheezit Crackers and the V-8 juice. It'll be interesting to see what her blood sugar will be tonight before dinner.
I didn't consult with the acupuncturist after Mom's appointment today either, which I usually do. I haven't any overriding concerns regarding her health, lately. The truth is, I don't really want to consult if there is nothing the acupuncturist feels I need to know. I'll check next week when I go. I like to use a light touch when possible as I keep tabs on my mother. It preserves some of her dignity.
Looks like she'll be up for awhile. She's settled down with Animal Planet. Good. It'll be nice to visit with her again in the evening.
Sideshow Curiosity: I often wonder why it is that the older people get the more likely they are to be fascinated with animal shows and animal behavior. Could it be that, when one isn't, say, a biologist, which most of us aren't, age divests us of our illusions about being somehow different than and separated from animals?
Tonight I am fixing one of her favorites, split pea with ham soup. I'm boiling down two hambones for the stock. I'm also going to make some more muffins, tonight: Date, nut, orange muffins with some orange flavored craisins thrown in just to get rid of them. She's liking the fact that The Muffin Man has turned out to be a woman and her daughter. A while back, in February, I think, I decided to bake something, I can't remember what but it may have been a tomato biscuit pie. She decided that she could help me. Yes, that was it, because she started helping me by cutting the celery. The strength wasn't a problem but the strategy was. I'm not a fast vegetable cutter but I was done with everything else by the time she finally had enough celery cut. Further, rather than cut the celery, she sawed it. So it was pretty chewed up.
I'm not sure that she'll be up the entire afternoon/evening. Since she awoke late I gave her a light lunch when we got home from her appointment, about 1630. I forgot to give her any medication. She clearly didn't need iron but I forgot her metformin, too, although I automatically put cinnamon in her V-8 juice. Let's see, she had about 3/4 cup of 4% milkfat cottage cheese, probably about 15 Hot & Spicy Cheezit Crackers and the V-8 juice. It'll be interesting to see what her blood sugar will be tonight before dinner.
I didn't consult with the acupuncturist after Mom's appointment today either, which I usually do. I haven't any overriding concerns regarding her health, lately. The truth is, I don't really want to consult if there is nothing the acupuncturist feels I need to know. I'll check next week when I go. I like to use a light touch when possible as I keep tabs on my mother. It preserves some of her dignity.
Looks like she'll be up for awhile. She's settled down with Animal Planet. Good. It'll be nice to visit with her again in the evening.
Sideshow Curiosity: I often wonder why it is that the older people get the more likely they are to be fascinated with animal shows and animal behavior. Could it be that, when one isn't, say, a biologist, which most of us aren't, age divests us of our illusions about being somehow different than and separated from animals?
Monday, March 22, 2004
Home Buildout in anticipation of Mom's arising has occurred...
...down to doling out all the medication I can without taking her blood sugar. My energy is high and should be higher shortly, as I am just beginning my second cup of The Strongest Coffee In The Universe. I've been making lists for both necessities and pleasures, checking off in my mind the business I shouldn't put off (although I'm probably going to put it off until tonight or tomorrow morning) and, and, and, I can't seem to bring myself to awaken Mom even though I sense she would be amenable to arising now. The entire house is open. A cool breeze is wafting through. She kicked off her comforter sometime before she began to shed water. I can smell urine but cannot see a sheet stain or a pajama top stain so she must have only begun to overflow. This is an excellent sign. Maybe allowing her to sleep despite my lack of approving has been good for her. I've been worried, since she does not have a bladder or kidney infection, whether falling flat on her back bruised or in some other way traumatized her bladder and/or kidneys. Maybe the default rest they've gotten over the weekend and may get today, if my personal greed for time "alone" wins out over my serious wondering about how deleterious any more sleep would be for her, has been and will continue to be healing for any internal injuries. The abdominal ultrasound showed that her left kidney was some 4 cm larger than the right. Even taking into consideration that organs in one's body do not match, maybe some of the larger size is due to some swelling.
She was well hydrated when she retired last night. So well hydrated I counseled her not to drink anymore if she could help it, which, of course, she can always help. Although she slept a lot yesterday I relentlessly pushed liquids on her of all types and made sure she had a high sodium dinner. I decided against giving her Detrol in order to allow her body to wash the fluid through and out. Maybe, though, finally, her body is incorporating some of it. Deja vu. Didn't I say something similar in here not too long ago? Well, days fade into one another here in The Land of the Ancient Ones. It is sometimes hard to remember what was previously said in favor of what feels as though it needs to be said now.
More time "alone". I'm voting for more time "alone". Right now.
Later.
She was well hydrated when she retired last night. So well hydrated I counseled her not to drink anymore if she could help it, which, of course, she can always help. Although she slept a lot yesterday I relentlessly pushed liquids on her of all types and made sure she had a high sodium dinner. I decided against giving her Detrol in order to allow her body to wash the fluid through and out. Maybe, though, finally, her body is incorporating some of it. Deja vu. Didn't I say something similar in here not too long ago? Well, days fade into one another here in The Land of the Ancient Ones. It is sometimes hard to remember what was previously said in favor of what feels as though it needs to be said now.
More time "alone". I'm voting for more time "alone". Right now.
Later.
I checked in on Mom soon after I awoke...
...about 0730. I'd heard a cough, although not really a reconnaissance cough. She opened her eyes, looked at me, looked at the clock and said, "Not yet."
I'm feeling a little anxious about today. My intent, going into the weekend, was to have a busy one with Mom in tow. Didn't happen. When I noticed neither of us was feeling up to "busy" I decided to work on getting a vacation weekend in the middle of caregiving, in which I am tuned in but only peripherally available. Mom seemed up for this. This didn't happen, though, since it was this weekend that my body chose to contract its yearly bout with spring fever. Every year around this time for 24 to 36 hours I get a fever. It comes on quickly, is usually accompanied by sinus irritation, I mistake it for all kinds of other conditions until it fells me then, after a demonic sleep, a good sweat and about 24 hours of feeling wasted, I'm fine. The first bout of spring fever I remember happened when I was mid-4 when we lived in Sunnyvale, CA. 235 Twinlakes Drive. At that time I was more likely to hallucinate. It may be that I remember that bout because it was the first time I experienced a fever hallucination. Sometimes I still hallucinate but I didn't this time.
I notice and am sometimes irritated the tiniest bit by her habit, as she ages, of being less sympathetic, let alone empathetic, toward others' illnesses. I sometimes wonder if this peculiarity is eccentric to her character or inevitable after living through a spate of illnesses that could have been one's last. I know my mother was knocked down (and thought she was going to be knocked out) in a nationwide flu epidemic when she was teaching before joining the military. I know she's had at least one killer bout of "walking" pneumonia. I've witnessed some of her very painful structural frailties. I know that my mother considers pain part of the package now. I suspect she uses a type of behavioral feedback on herself to endure it. Still, as I've mentioned here before, not a fortnight goes by but what she doesn't look me dead in the eye and say, "Don't ever get old, Gail."
I asked her last night, when she was particularly tired and pain ridden, as she was lowering herself into the rocker for her before-bed foot rub, if, all in all, she thought it was worth it getting old.
She had to think before answering. "Yes, it is," she said, settling her butt into the reinforced cushion.
I was immediately reminded of recently telling a friend that my mother still thinks she is going to get out of being old in some other way besides dying. I considered mentioning this to my mother then decided against it. She would deny it. The trick to immortality is not being aware of one's belief in one's immortality.
Knowing that we are meant, at least for the time being, to follow evolutionary dictates and wear out, I am both amazed and grateful every time my mother's body hesitates, considers the odds, the pain and the inconvenience involved and decides to heal itself. I don't know whether she continues out of habit or courage. I do know, though, she continues despite non-alternative medicine.
Maybe she'll be up to going to Wal-mart today. She's wanted to take a tour of the new Super Center. She'll get confused but if she's up for it she'll have a good time.
Later.
I'm feeling a little anxious about today. My intent, going into the weekend, was to have a busy one with Mom in tow. Didn't happen. When I noticed neither of us was feeling up to "busy" I decided to work on getting a vacation weekend in the middle of caregiving, in which I am tuned in but only peripherally available. Mom seemed up for this. This didn't happen, though, since it was this weekend that my body chose to contract its yearly bout with spring fever. Every year around this time for 24 to 36 hours I get a fever. It comes on quickly, is usually accompanied by sinus irritation, I mistake it for all kinds of other conditions until it fells me then, after a demonic sleep, a good sweat and about 24 hours of feeling wasted, I'm fine. The first bout of spring fever I remember happened when I was mid-4 when we lived in Sunnyvale, CA. 235 Twinlakes Drive. At that time I was more likely to hallucinate. It may be that I remember that bout because it was the first time I experienced a fever hallucination. Sometimes I still hallucinate but I didn't this time.
I notice and am sometimes irritated the tiniest bit by her habit, as she ages, of being less sympathetic, let alone empathetic, toward others' illnesses. I sometimes wonder if this peculiarity is eccentric to her character or inevitable after living through a spate of illnesses that could have been one's last. I know my mother was knocked down (and thought she was going to be knocked out) in a nationwide flu epidemic when she was teaching before joining the military. I know she's had at least one killer bout of "walking" pneumonia. I've witnessed some of her very painful structural frailties. I know that my mother considers pain part of the package now. I suspect she uses a type of behavioral feedback on herself to endure it. Still, as I've mentioned here before, not a fortnight goes by but what she doesn't look me dead in the eye and say, "Don't ever get old, Gail."
I asked her last night, when she was particularly tired and pain ridden, as she was lowering herself into the rocker for her before-bed foot rub, if, all in all, she thought it was worth it getting old.
She had to think before answering. "Yes, it is," she said, settling her butt into the reinforced cushion.
I was immediately reminded of recently telling a friend that my mother still thinks she is going to get out of being old in some other way besides dying. I considered mentioning this to my mother then decided against it. She would deny it. The trick to immortality is not being aware of one's belief in one's immortality.
Knowing that we are meant, at least for the time being, to follow evolutionary dictates and wear out, I am both amazed and grateful every time my mother's body hesitates, considers the odds, the pain and the inconvenience involved and decides to heal itself. I don't know whether she continues out of habit or courage. I do know, though, she continues despite non-alternative medicine.
Maybe she'll be up to going to Wal-mart today. She's wanted to take a tour of the new Super Center. She'll get confused but if she's up for it she'll have a good time.
Later.
Now I know why I've been so agitated for the past few days...
...finally, this afternoon, I could no longer ignore a fit of sneezing, a persistently runny nose and what felt like and was confirmed to be a fever. Once again, I couldn't keep from crashing into bed late this afternoon with some ibuprofen under my belt. I figured, from my track record, I'd sleep like the dead for an hour, maybe the fever would break and I'd be up and feeling fine before Mom was up from her first nap of the day. Instead, I slept like the condemned for I think three hours, phasing in and out of Night Terrorauma. I remember turning on a few lights before laying down, thinking that it would be about time to water the roses when I awoke and some lights should be on in case Mom awoke while I was outside. Around 2000 I awoke drenched, still exhausted, but so thirsty I had to get up. It was full dark. A light I hadn't turned on was shining down the hallway. I dashed out into the kitchen to see how Mom had dealt with hunger on her own. She was halfway through a 12 oz. bottle of half and half and a spoon coated with a syrupy substance lounged in front of a loosely lidded jar of cherry preserves. I wasn't too worried about either of these, nor about the fact that we'd have to forego glipizide. She needed something nourishing, though, and I needed to replace the half and half before tomorrow morning so I rounded her up a fast burger.
Being a sick caregiver is a bitch. I'm sure most of us caregivers would swear that we "never get sick". Actually, we never notice when we're sick until it gets so bad we have no choice. My mother is past the point of sympathizing with anyone anymore when they're sick. This is okay with me because my sick style involves holing up alone through the healing phase. This used to involve a day or so. I can't do this any longer but I seem to have made the adjustment to a few delirium drenched hours and then business as usual.
I did worry, today, going in and out of my "nap", how much harm I was doing my mother by not watching her closely. Since it has happened before when she and I have both been noticeably sick at the same time, I know that unless I have, say, broken my back, I can usually tend to her even when I'm sick. I consider it a luxury to be able to steal some hours in the middle of one of my mother's normal days to take myself to my sick bed.
After two days of rest and one day of eating anything she goddamn well pleased without the benefit of medication she is restless and she asked me this evening if I would be up to shopping tomorrow. I promised her I would. I believe it will not be hard to keep that promise.
She also reminded me that last night I had not rubbed her legs and feet. I was surprised she remembered so I know, now, her sleep over the last few days hasn't been the sleep of the over sugared, the demented or the bored. She was too tired to want to sit up for a leg rub last night and surprised me by insisting on going to bed early at 2035, I think. At any rate, I'm pleased to know that she is aware of this nightly simultaneously relaxing and invigorating ritual of pleasure and misses it even when she cancels it of her own accord.
She continues to notice without prompting the improvement in her back. She mentions improvement in her legs, too, which is good. I've noticed since her 2nd PT treatment that I do not have to remind her as much, when we sink bathe her in the morning, to "stand on your legs, not on your arms". Previous to PT she was primarily supporting herself with her arms when she stood for a long time. She still leans to the right, especially when she's tired (translated: Especially yesterday and today) but her body makes more of an effort to set her straight when she's not conscious of it. It reminds me of the explanation in the Feldenkrais book I read about how, in some cases, neuromuscular relearning takes places primarily or only by therapeutic manipulation and improvement shows up during first movements. This has certainly been the case with my mother.
Mom mentioned tonight that she'd "sure like to get rid of this carpet." I agree and immediately suggested tiling the entire house and using area rugs. She seemed enthusiastic. I wish I had foreseen, when insurance recarpeted this house after our water heater flood, that carpet would be entirely impractical for much of Mom's ancient years. It isn't just elimination accidents, although this plays a large part. She is no longer as deft at "walking and chewing gum" as she used to be. She will consistently drop food on the floor while eating and watching TV, something she loves to do. She notices this but often can't reach the crumbs and lets it go. There are the cigarette accidents, too, which I intend to eliminate in another manner. But tile or even sheeting linoleum would be better than carpet. Area rugs are much less expensive to clean and replace.
Her awareness level is rising so I think we'll be doing money business again soon. That's good. We need to.
Later.
Being a sick caregiver is a bitch. I'm sure most of us caregivers would swear that we "never get sick". Actually, we never notice when we're sick until it gets so bad we have no choice. My mother is past the point of sympathizing with anyone anymore when they're sick. This is okay with me because my sick style involves holing up alone through the healing phase. This used to involve a day or so. I can't do this any longer but I seem to have made the adjustment to a few delirium drenched hours and then business as usual.
I did worry, today, going in and out of my "nap", how much harm I was doing my mother by not watching her closely. Since it has happened before when she and I have both been noticeably sick at the same time, I know that unless I have, say, broken my back, I can usually tend to her even when I'm sick. I consider it a luxury to be able to steal some hours in the middle of one of my mother's normal days to take myself to my sick bed.
After two days of rest and one day of eating anything she goddamn well pleased without the benefit of medication she is restless and she asked me this evening if I would be up to shopping tomorrow. I promised her I would. I believe it will not be hard to keep that promise.
She also reminded me that last night I had not rubbed her legs and feet. I was surprised she remembered so I know, now, her sleep over the last few days hasn't been the sleep of the over sugared, the demented or the bored. She was too tired to want to sit up for a leg rub last night and surprised me by insisting on going to bed early at 2035, I think. At any rate, I'm pleased to know that she is aware of this nightly simultaneously relaxing and invigorating ritual of pleasure and misses it even when she cancels it of her own accord.
She continues to notice without prompting the improvement in her back. She mentions improvement in her legs, too, which is good. I've noticed since her 2nd PT treatment that I do not have to remind her as much, when we sink bathe her in the morning, to "stand on your legs, not on your arms". Previous to PT she was primarily supporting herself with her arms when she stood for a long time. She still leans to the right, especially when she's tired (translated: Especially yesterday and today) but her body makes more of an effort to set her straight when she's not conscious of it. It reminds me of the explanation in the Feldenkrais book I read about how, in some cases, neuromuscular relearning takes places primarily or only by therapeutic manipulation and improvement shows up during first movements. This has certainly been the case with my mother.
Mom mentioned tonight that she'd "sure like to get rid of this carpet." I agree and immediately suggested tiling the entire house and using area rugs. She seemed enthusiastic. I wish I had foreseen, when insurance recarpeted this house after our water heater flood, that carpet would be entirely impractical for much of Mom's ancient years. It isn't just elimination accidents, although this plays a large part. She is no longer as deft at "walking and chewing gum" as she used to be. She will consistently drop food on the floor while eating and watching TV, something she loves to do. She notices this but often can't reach the crumbs and lets it go. There are the cigarette accidents, too, which I intend to eliminate in another manner. But tile or even sheeting linoleum would be better than carpet. Area rugs are much less expensive to clean and replace.
Her awareness level is rising so I think we'll be doing money business again soon. That's good. We need to.
Later.
Sunday, March 21, 2004
One cat is on the floor...
...in The Dead Cat position. One is on Mom's rocker in The Modified Meatloaf position. The Honorary Master Cat is in The Holding Up The Wall position in her bedroom. All, I guess, is well with the world.
My plans, plans, plans for us yesterday came to naught, naught, naught. Sometime after posting yesterday morning, doing some light gardening and some chores, starting to sort through mail and get tax information together (I know, I'm late), I decided, as I explained to a friend, that I simply didn't want my day to incorporate starting my mother's day at 1000. I got the distinct feeling, when checking on her, that she wasn't interested in me starting her day without her initiation yesterday, as well. So I doodled around some more, took an hour's nap (during which I am pleased to report that I slept), took some supply inventories and quickly determined that we could get through a day or two without a supply run unless I decide to make yet another batch of muffins and finally, at 1330, Mom was on her feet of her own accord.
I let her sleep in, too, because I was concerned that she did not take a "settling in" nap or rest immediately after her physical therapy. Well, she incorporated it into her night. After she awoke we cleaned her off and commenced a late, true "break-fast", upon which she wandered around the house looking out windows, enjoying the breeze, settled into her rocking chair in order to watch the Animal Planet channel and announced, without being asked, that her back felt "so much better".
"Than yesterday?" I asked.
"Oh, yes."
What a surprise. For both of us. Her color was excellent, too, although her energy was flagging. I mentioned all our shopping plans for today, devised yesterday. She remembered them and begged off. I told her this was fine with me, I hadn't really wanted to go out. We took rain checks from each other for today. She made it a point to have me remind her to take a look at her roses when I watered them yesterday evening but when the sun was low enough she simply looked out the window and watched me. Later in the evening she mentioned that she hadn't seen her roses. I told her she wasn't missing much yet but we'd aim for today.
From what I already knew and have discovered since her back injury regarding her healing profile, I sense that she is gathering her strength. This physical therapy is absolutely the right thing at the right time. I'm sure it would have helped earlier, probably would have been provided in a somewhat gentler manner, but I'm not regretting the snafus in PT scheduling.
Because she is eating so little I'm relying on rich, savory foods to keep her from losing any more weight. Her bowels continue to move almost daily, much to my continued verbal amazement.
I have one quick change I am going to make to her medication schedule this morning; the addition of the OTC eye drops she uses twice, sometimes three times a day if we remember it. If she's tearing profusely we remember it. It has worked better for her than any of the prescription salves and drops, was recommended by her Mesa physician almost a year ago and does the trick to stem her eye weeping, even when her eosinophils are high.
Depending on the development of the day, I may be reporting again later.
My plans, plans, plans for us yesterday came to naught, naught, naught. Sometime after posting yesterday morning, doing some light gardening and some chores, starting to sort through mail and get tax information together (I know, I'm late), I decided, as I explained to a friend, that I simply didn't want my day to incorporate starting my mother's day at 1000. I got the distinct feeling, when checking on her, that she wasn't interested in me starting her day without her initiation yesterday, as well. So I doodled around some more, took an hour's nap (during which I am pleased to report that I slept), took some supply inventories and quickly determined that we could get through a day or two without a supply run unless I decide to make yet another batch of muffins and finally, at 1330, Mom was on her feet of her own accord.
I let her sleep in, too, because I was concerned that she did not take a "settling in" nap or rest immediately after her physical therapy. Well, she incorporated it into her night. After she awoke we cleaned her off and commenced a late, true "break-fast", upon which she wandered around the house looking out windows, enjoying the breeze, settled into her rocking chair in order to watch the Animal Planet channel and announced, without being asked, that her back felt "so much better".
"Than yesterday?" I asked.
"Oh, yes."
What a surprise. For both of us. Her color was excellent, too, although her energy was flagging. I mentioned all our shopping plans for today, devised yesterday. She remembered them and begged off. I told her this was fine with me, I hadn't really wanted to go out. We took rain checks from each other for today. She made it a point to have me remind her to take a look at her roses when I watered them yesterday evening but when the sun was low enough she simply looked out the window and watched me. Later in the evening she mentioned that she hadn't seen her roses. I told her she wasn't missing much yet but we'd aim for today.
From what I already knew and have discovered since her back injury regarding her healing profile, I sense that she is gathering her strength. This physical therapy is absolutely the right thing at the right time. I'm sure it would have helped earlier, probably would have been provided in a somewhat gentler manner, but I'm not regretting the snafus in PT scheduling.
Because she is eating so little I'm relying on rich, savory foods to keep her from losing any more weight. Her bowels continue to move almost daily, much to my continued verbal amazement.
I have one quick change I am going to make to her medication schedule this morning; the addition of the OTC eye drops she uses twice, sometimes three times a day if we remember it. If she's tearing profusely we remember it. It has worked better for her than any of the prescription salves and drops, was recommended by her Mesa physician almost a year ago and does the trick to stem her eye weeping, even when her eosinophils are high.
Depending on the development of the day, I may be reporting again later.
