Mom & Me Two Archive

...seeing as how I merely enjoy astrology, consider it fun and akin to a calculus for psychological focus (which is by no means foolproof) but once again yesterday morning my eye was caught by the daily scope for my ascendant on my ISP's home page, which I have triggered as my home page for this partition. You should know, which I may have mentioned previously, that I rarely read it, even though I'm the one who edited my page to include it. It usually disappears from sight when I immediately scroll down to the links that include entrance to the writing/editing facility for Blogger. For some time generic horoscopes have irritated me so I haven't been accessing them anyway. Today, though the following lines stood out:

Generally speaking, this should be a fortunate day for you on all sides...love, career, money, and health. Plans for taking a trip might finally materialize...You should be feeling very enthusiastic and optimistic about your future and you might even be daring enough to take a few more chances than you would usually do. Go for the gold - and don't be surprised if it actually comes!

    My initial reaction was, well, yeah, we're finally "taking [that] trip", but I'm not only not expecting much, I'm certainly not expecting any gold along the way, let alone the opportunity to reach for it and, as for the other stuff, all I have to say is, good thing I'm not "a betting man". I'd not only lose out on the "love, career...and health" segments of this forecast but I'd lose "money", as well. Then I forgot about the forecast.
    Curiously, the money part of the forecast didn't forget me. Let me explain that every time we now go to the home in Mesa I subconsciously pull a pall over myself, knowing that we've got to get rid of that place, now more than ever since we need to begin renovation on this home for Mom's convenience and the lot rent we continue to have to pay in Mesa makes initiating any kind of renovation up here impossible. When the previous possibility of selling it for a buck fell through you can imagine that I figured, "Jesus, no one wants it, even for a buck! We're screwed!"
    It was with this attitude that I slogged to both our yardman's residence and the rental office yesterday to write yet another check for the drain. Almost as a joke, I placed my "for a buck as is" offer, with a short, up-front, explanation of why we're letting it go so cheap, on every table before which I happened, which I've been doing for the last three months without success.
    Yesterday, appeared the gold. Without giving details, in part because the buyer wishes to remain anonymous and in part because the details don't matter, by 1400 a firm offer for decidedly more than a buck sought me out. The sale should be complete by the end of the month, thus, yesterday's check is the last I will be washing down the drain. I'm absolutely confident this sale will go through. So confident that by the end of next week I expect to have procured a climate controlled storage room to house what's left of our stuff in Mesa, solicited the help of a marvelous little local moving company I've previously used with supreme satisfaction twice before, made sure all addresses that were attached to the Mesa address for legal purposes are changed and begun to line up bids for the renovations necessary to making this house safer and more convenient for my mother and me.
    God fucking damn! The universe do work in mysterious ways! I guess it was finally time. Yesterday was the beginning of an unexpectedly and outrageous felicitous end to a maddening summer and a desolate year.
    My mother can't believe it. She's trying hard to get used to it. I was away from the home, where she was reading the paper and eating popcorn, when the offer walked up to me and said, "Hello, I want you and, furthermore, I want your house." When I returned home I was sobbing and could barely get the words out, "Mom, this house is sold. It'll be gone by the end of September."
    "But all you were doing was paying the rent and talking to [our yardman]."
    "Yeah, I know..." and then I spilled all the details, mixed with tears of relief, joy and confusion.
    "Well," she said, after I'd finished, "I was hoping for some time to get used to the idea, to enjoy haggling (that's my mother, the perpetual haggler, and, the woman who doesn't realize that now I'm the one who'd have to do the haggling and it's one bent I decidedly did not inherit from her) and to decide if we really should let this house go."
    "Mom," I reminded her, "the decision to let this house go was made about a year ago when we realized that, since you lost so much in the stock market crash, we simply couldn't keep both homes and needed to decide which to renovate for you. And, yes, I made the decision. On my own. Against your wishes." I went on to yet again reiterate why keeping the Prescott home and letting the Mesa home go was the smart decision. I closed with, "Mom, you know, I've handled your business for several years now. Do you think I've been doing a good job?"
    "Oh yes. No question."
    "Do you trust me to continue to keep you financially safe and protected and to make sure that your finances work in your favor?"
    "Absolutely. That's never been at issue."
    "I know you're disappointed, Mom, about this decision. I know it's going to take a lot of getting used to, maybe a year or two of getting used to it. I know we'll both have holes in our hearts both of us will have to tend to for everything this house and this place has meant to you and to me. I know it's not going to be easy and that you will, sometimes, regret what we've done, just because this is where you lived most of your retirement."
    "Well, don't worry about that. I never wanted your Dad to buy this place, anyway. This was his choice, not mine." This is true. She has mentioned this several times throughout the years. More often, though she's mentioned how comfortable she feels there, how much she likes the neighbors and the surroundings, how at home she feels there. Memories have such a strong hold on us, especially as we age. But, again, that's my mother, the obstinate, "I can handle this and come out with flying colors, just watch me," person, kicking in, once again, much to my amazement and relief. Immediately she began her, "I can do this," litany:

1. "You know, we're the oldest residents here; none of the originals live here, anymore."
       Not completely true but what is true is that our immediate neighbors, except for one which she never favored, have all left and she has chosen not to get to know any of the replacements mainly because she was very attached to the old ones.
2. "It certainly will be nice not to have to go back and forth twice a year and you can keep your promise to The Girls (our cats) that they will never have to take a long trip in the car, again."
       Her remembrance of the promise to our cats surprised me. Our trips since 1998, though, have been excrutiating because of The Big Girl's acute motion sickness and The Little Girl's habit of upsetting herself to vomiting distraction by huddling next to The Big Girl and screaming, "The Big Girl's dying! Pull over! The Big Girl's dying!" The other truth, though, is that my mother has always enjoyed the excitement involved in travel. Since she's become averse to travel away from home over the last several years, travel between homes satisfied her continuing urge to "strike out into the world". I'm not sure how I'll negotiate this. Maybe, as and if her energy level returns she'll be more likely to want to take short trips to visit relatives or see the sights of the world. Maybe not. We'll see what happens and I'll just deal with it in the most compassionate and mother-satisfying way I can invent.
3. "I'll sure miss the oranges and grapefruit. You can't buy what we grow anywhere [which is true]. But, they were such a bother to keep up. And, they're old. They probably won't fruit much longer [which is probably not true]."
4. "Well, we certainly got our money's worth out of this place. Time to get our money out of someplace else, I guess."
       This is true on both counts. On the first, my dad paid cash for the house so it's never been on lien and it was ridden hard and put away wet. On the second, yes, now we need to get our money out of the house in Prescott, which becomes more delightful every day we live there.
5. "This'll give us a chance to get to know our neighbors in Prescott. We're never there long enough to socialize."
       The truth is, I know our neighbors. She does not. The "long enough" she's talking about (since we've been in Prescott permanently since a year ago September 13, 2003) is a psychic measurement. She hasn't felt "permanent" here because she's refused to be permanent here, preferring, against the evidence of our taxes and our time, to consider our Mesa home the "permanent" home. Now, she'll have no choice.

    Well, that thing about having no choice isn't completely true, either. Less than an hour after I announced the sale of our Mesa home to her I was out fertilizing the trees and she was supervising from the patio and mentioned that, "It sure will be nice when we come back here to live, again."
    I could have let it go and counted on the fallibility of her short term memory to delete this but I don't do this with my Ancient One, I work on, as well as with, her short term memory to keep her perception of reality as close to reality as possible. "Mom," I responded, "we've sold the house. We won't be living here again. We'll be visiting it several times within the next month but at the end of September that'll be it."
    "Oh, that's right. That's what you said. Well, it's been a good home. On to the next."
    "Yes," I said. "And, luckily, we've got the next one, and we love that one, too."
    She looked shocked. "We do?!?"
    "Yes, Mom. The home in Prescott."
    "Oh, that's right. Yes, that's a good home, too."
    "It'll be our only home, now."
    "It just doesn't seem possible, does it?"
    "What doesn't seem possible, Mom?"
    "Hmmm...well, it doesn't seem possible that we finally sold this home. I didn't think we ever would."
    I laughed. "Neither did I! Now, we can live with our boundaries thrown further out."
    She smiled, satisfied, and nodded. "Yes. That'll be different from the last few years."
    And that is the absolute truth.
    I let Mom sleep in today. Our trip home last night was extended an extra hour by an accident at Sunset Point. We joined the crawling back-up at New River, 24 miles south. We were both so amazed at this experience, the first particularly typical holiday highway back-up in Arizona that we've encountered, that after we arrived home at 2215 we stayed up until just after 0100 this morning talking about it in detail. I was surprised at how much Mom absorbed: Specific cars and drivers; the alarming view from the bottom of "the (actual) mountain" that we traverse going north from just past Black Canyon City to the pass just prior to Sunset Point, of the red lit, bumper to bumper 5 mile snake we still had to negotiate (and wondering how much further beyond the pass the back-up extended); watching the lightning from a far away thunderstorm ahead of us and wondering if it was headed north or south (it was headed north, thankfully)...the experience was so indelible for her that when she awoke this morning and I asked her what was on her mind (when she awakes with a thoughtful look I always probe it) she said, "Miles and miles and miles of cars..."
    "Did you dream about last night?"
    "No, thank goodness, but I couldn't forget it either."

    Although my mother appears laid back today, her energy level is good. We discovered this morning that her urinary tract infection is back. Luckily, we don't have to negotiate the Urgent Care Center. I've got enough of the previous antibiotics, the course of which was interrupted by her recent hospital stay, to get us to Wednesday, when we'll be seeing her PCP in Mesa. Yes, I'm going to keep her Mesa physician. I'm not interested in continuing to try to wring halfway decent care out of the stiff-necked, self-righteous medical community in Prescott.
    I'm a little confused on what to do about this recurring UTI. It makes sense that it continues to recur because of her currently flagging lack of awareness about her bowel movements, her inability to wipe herself correctly and thoroughly anymore and the fact that for some time after she has defecated her colon continues to produce gas and leak a little when she farts. I try to keep up with frequent changes of underwear but I'm not always successful. The issue of wiping has its hard-to-negotiate side, too. On the one hand (pun not intended but appropriate), if she wipes exclusively from the back her lack of flexibility is such that it is guaranteed that she is going to graze her colonic area before reaching her urinary area. On the other, wiping from the front also takes a level of flexibility that is a bit beyond her and she can't quite clean the entire length of her folds. This morning I put forth a stern directive, with which she is just as sternly displeased but which I told her is a must until we can figure out a way to lick this thing without my intrusion into her personal habits: I told her that I was going to become even more intrusive than I have been about her bathroom visits (in response she broad-snided me with "Is that possible?!?") and I was going to take over personal hygiene for awhile, not instead of hers but in addition to hers. She's gotten used to me appearing in the bathroom every time she eliminates. My intrusiveness doesn't bind her or cause bladder shyness so I don't expect any problems except her offense. But we can't have her on antibiotics forever, so we'll do whatever it takes. It has occurred to me that maybe there is another cause: Maybe the original UTI was never completely wiped out or, maybe, reinfection has occurred during her frequent hospital and SNF visits since June because staff at both facilities are not nearly as rigorous as I am at detecting and cleaning her fecal accidents. Of course, the staff is not paid to hang out so close to her 24 hours a day seven days a week that they are able to nasally detect an accident as it occurs. As well, she's been catheterized twice since June 9th, most recently in early August for 4 days. It's possible that her urinary tract was stretched and hasn't yet snapped back, being inelastic with age, thus allowing a swinging door to opportunistic bacteria. At any rate, so that we don't have to waste any more days fooling around with the Urgent Care Center up here, I'm going to ask her PCP for two prescriptions: One for a "refill as necessary" dose of the antibiotic, to be taken on the prescribed course and one for an "as necessary" standing urinalysis at the lab when she complains of difficulty urinating or her urine shows blood. This time around she hasn't complained at all of difficulty urinating. As well, her blood pressure hasn't soared, but it has upped itself a little, into the 130's/70's, within the last few days. I guess, too, since her blood pressure is under such good control now, I'll have to revise my scale of when to wonder if she's infected. Sing to the tune of "Always Something There to Remind Me": "Always something new to adjust to..."
    We've already done a vigorous set of her therapy exercises and she's glued to Animal Planet for awhile, admitting that she didn't feel like going out today. That's fine with me. Neither do I. It's a pleasant, summer-cool day with a thunderstorm possible later. She's considering taking a nap soon, so I'm having her down some V-8 juice with cinnamon, since she's not "particularly hungry" and it hasn't been that long since breakfast. The antibiotic is probably latching itself onto her final letdown from yesterday, so I'm not going to worry about the possibility of her over sleeping, today. Maybe, later, we'll do another set of therapy exercises, maybe not. This evening, as it gets cooler, I'm going to make banana bread from the bananas she had us buy last week and never ate. She's requested Cobb salad for dinner so she certainly isn't going to starve, neither is her blood sugar going to fall dangerously.
    As the day continues I've got Stat Ketchup to make, too, and will be finishing the set up for the exercise therapy journal and publishing my first entry. Since I'm expecting even more intrusive activity requirements than usual over the next couple of weeks I think I'll take the time now while she's napping to catch up and initiate.
    Later.

    We both arose late. I arose at 0952, Mom about an hour after me. Neither of us had much energy. After breakfast we played a little Sorry, talked about our trip to Mesa tomorrow then Mom decided to take a nap. I didn't stop her because I had the same plan. We both slept through most of the afternoon. I slept extremely hard. I awoke in a sweat feeling somewhat better than I've felt in several days. I'm still a little tired but relaxed and in somewhat better humor than I've lately been.
    When I awoke Mom was already up, sitting at the dining room table playing with the magnetic poetry set I gave her as a "Welcome Home from the SNF" gift, arranging and rearranging words. She said she'd been up for about half an hour but, well, who knows. She could have been up much longer than that. Every recent time lapse for her is now either "oh, about 10 minutes" or "oh, about a half hour". I'm sure it was at least half an hour.
    I meant to mention last night that yesterday, twice, she remembered that she "is" a smoker. The first memory was while we were playing Sorry, which used to be one of her prime smoking periods. I wasn't surprised by the timing of this first recall, only that it happened. The second didn't surprise me on either the timing or occurrence levels. I was expecting it. It happened at the courthouse square, which the denizens of the surrounding businesses use as a smoking lounge during the day. She passed several smokers before the recall hit her. I'm sure it was the smell of the cigarette smoke. Both times when she asked me for a cigarette I told her that she no longer smoked and we didn't have any cigarettes. Although she gritted her teeth both times she seemed satisfied and smoking was not mentioned again. Luckily, I didn't need to go into the song and dance about why she no longer smoked.
    No exercises and no walkering today. It just didn't seem like a day for either of us to do anything but seriously pursue rest.
    Tonight's a quiet night. She's very involved in watching Jeremiah Johnson. I'm fooling around playing with template design for the online therapy exercise journal, thinking all the time that I should probably start the food journal before I begin yet another segment. My ambition for my reporting on my mother overreaches the time I have available to me to report and write, despite my speed at both.
    Back to designing.
    Later.

...in order to make sure that I had the drive to stay up and write the essay forming in my head about dehydration. The coffee doesn't seem to be kicking in tonight, though, and both my mind and body are mush.
    I'll probably set up the beginnings of the exercise therapy journal tonight, as that doesn't take an awful lot of mental effort, and then go to bed. I also began researching the Prescott ER doctor's claims about Medicare payments to rural communities on the Medicare website but didn't get very far. It looks as though some of the information for which I'm looking might be available there. It also became apparent that it would take a fresh mind to wade through it since I'm not a provider and need to access areas for which I need specific codes that I'm having trouble finding on the site. The codes that are easy to find aren't the codes I need. Two weeks ago when I ran his claims (that Medicare pays less to providers in rural communities) by MPBIL he carefully considered what I had been told and said, yes, that may very well be true since Medicare bases geographical payment on such aspects of available care in an area as, for instance, number of specialists available, capabilities of local facilities including hospitals, laboratories and surgical centers, etc. He also gave me the name of someone he thought would be able to answer my questions, an activist here in Prescott. Unfortunately I've been unable to locate her. I also haven't had a lot of time to do local research and uncover other activists.
    I'm still suspicious of this doctor's plea for sympathy and the support of rural patients in turning Medicare around in regard to capitation levels for rural communities, as, from my point of view, it is the non-alternative medical establishment that has gotten itself into its fixes in large part by succeeding in turning themselves into an exclusive club out of which the patients (without whom they wouldn't exist) are excluded at every level including the first level which is informed treatment. My feeling is that doctors are getting exactly what they deserve and they need to be the primary problem solvers, without soliciting uninformed and questionable lobbying from patients whose ignorance they not only promote but whose attempts at becoming informed they fight tooth and nail.
    Speaking of which, I did discover, after looking through the past four years of my medical records on my mother, that the pharmacy we use should have been providing her with the extended release version of glipizide according to the prescription but hasn't been. I think I know how this occurred. I believe that when the original prescription for Glucotrol XL was written (which, at that time, had no generic equivalent) the pharmacy, a national chain whose policy is to attempt to substitute generics "whenever possible", probably called Mom's PCP and asked if straight glipizide could be dispensed. As I've mentioned here before, Mom's PCP has a hard time remembering that her prescriptions are covered by TriCare at a very low rate and even non-generic prescriptions leave barely a scratch in our pocketbook. Without checking with us I think her PCP said something on the order of, "Yeah, go ahead, that's fine," thinking he was doing our financial status a big favor. I'm a little annoyed about this because if she'd been getting the extended release version since 2000, we may never have had the problems that metformin created. In addition, at virtually every appointment we've had since 2000, I've found myself, yet again, having to remind her PCP that Mom is on TriCare and her prescriptions are easily handled financially, but he simply doesn't retain this information. I wish I'd been somewhat more assertive up front with the pharmacies. The truth is, I didn't notice the switch until the last prescription was renewed.
    There are so many stupid, ridiculous details a meticulous caregiver must keep up with when negotiating non-alternative medical care on behalf of their Ancient One. I believe it will get worse before it gets better. I also believe it won't get better until the physicians' community finally realizes they need to start acting like service providers rather than demi-gods to whom sacrifices must be made before care is dispensed.
    On to another subject (my mind is doing a race in slow-motion, tonight, courtesy of the late coffee and an unexpectedly early mental let down) for my reference. As far as I know my mother's last bowel movement was day before yesterday. I mention this because she didn't think she'd had a bowel movement but when I was tending her in the bathroom the odor told me that she probably had and I was right. It surprised her. She declared that she "hadn't felt" as though she was having a bowel movement. This happened once before, previous to her adventure with the hospital and the skilled nursing facility. Her bowel movements are usually hearty, in part because of her high fiber diet and in part because she tends to hold onto her waste for awhile. Even when she has daily bowel movements her system literally cleans itself out in one fell (pun not intended but appropriate) swoop. I'm curious as to why currently she seems unable to detect that she is having a bowel movement during the event. I suspect that the reason she is evacuating on a less than daily schedule right now is that her liquid consumption is only about one half to two thirds what it used to be, which tends to render iron-rich shit very sticky and hard to move. With all of her other senses improving lately, though, I'm surprised that her ability to sense a movement when it is happening appears to be dropping. Not caring to be aware could be a factor although she hasn't had an accident since she was released from the SNF despite having had several accidents there. My intent is to explore this development further which is why I mention it tonight. It's been on my mind but I haven't had time to ply it with further thought and research. I think I may have noticed a connection between her bowel movements and her blood pressure dropping below 100, but I haven't recorded anything to which I could refer to see if this connection is real or imagined. Oh well. Nothing like thoughts of shit to end a night.
    Later...definitely tomorrow (which is actually today), since we won't be going to Mesa until Friday and Friday will have to be a no excuses day so we can get our lot rent paid on time...yes, later.

    We didn't make it to Mesa. Today, it was my fault. I awoke tired and hurting, physically. I don't know why. Maybe it had something to do with my attempt, with the tow guy, to lift my mother into the cab of the tow truck yesterday. At any rate, I couldn't face the extra work involved in going down the mountain. My head was in the right place. At first I decided, well, hell, we'll just leave late, whenever we get around. Noon, if that's what happens. Then, as I was fixing breakfast I called MCF on the off-chance that she'd be able to meet us later in the day. She had stuff to do in the afternoon and said, frankly, "Why don't you forget it? It's going to be 110°F today."
    Do I really want to be outside fertilizing trees when it's 110°F? No. That's why I've been trying to get to the Valley early all week. I checked the weather and Friday it's supposed to be in the low hundreds. So, once again I called our yardman and admitted my decision, guiltily, about deciding to put it off, yet again.
    I don't know what it is about the last few days. If something isn't standing in my way, I step up and block myself. Oh well. I'll just go with it right now.
    We've had an energetic day anyway, much to my surprised delight. Well, the delight part applies to everything up to walkering in the square this afternoon after lunch. It's official. I can't seem to communicate to my mother, either verbally or physically, exactly how to use the walker as a machine designed to alleviate effort and circumvent lower back pain rather than a machine that increases effort and assures lower back pain. I didn't become mean, although I warned her that I might if she didn't stop relying on me to remind her to straighten her back, look forward and up and step up to the plate. Finally, we both gave up.
    "Mom," I said, trying to soften my approach, "can you tell me what the problem is?"
    "I'm afraid of doing it wrong."
    I laughed, and not cynically. "Well, believe me, you don't have to be afraid of that. You are doing it wrong!"
    She took what I said in the spirit it was intended and laughed, too.
    She's doing all right with the exercises. Better than all right. She performed like a charmed being on the arm circles this morning, and all the other stuff I've been teaching her, like lifting her legs smartly from the thigh when she practices side-stepping (previously, she was sliding them, and, I guess, the PTs at the SNF thought that was all of which she was capable) is kicking in beautifully. I've even got her doing some of her arm exercises standing up in order to increase her balance and her confidence in her sense of balance, and, damn, all that is working. But not the walkering stuff. I searched my mind for some other way to express what she needs to know so that she'd get it.
    "Mom," I said, while we were in the car heading home, "Do you understand that, at this point, you're damned if you do and damned if you don't? If we don't use the walker you will not enjoy our outings because your back will hurt from the effort of trying to negotiate walking with my arm. If we use the walker, your technique will assure that you won't enjoy our outings because, once again, your back will hurt from the effort you put into using the walker incorrectly. You're making it way too hard on yourself. Part of using the walker is learning how to walk correctly again."
    She understood, but....later, after a very pregnant silence, she said, "I just wish I could figure out where I picked up all these bad habits."
    "You know what, Mom? I can't tell you. I'm 52 and since before I can remember you've been hunching at the table, leaning on shopping carts, pushing lawn mowers as though they weighed three times what they actually do. It doesn't matter anymore where you picked them up. All that matters is retraining your body." I'm now thinking that I probably should have mentioned that her scoliosis has something to do with it, too, but that can be (and, to a small extent, already has been) partially corrected with training, so, I suppose it doesn't matter that I didn't mention it.
    Finally, in frustration, I said, "I don't know why you listen to me about all the other body stuff, but you don't listen to me about this."
    "You might be surprised to know that I am listening."
    Light bulb moment. "You know what, Mom? That's it! I'm the wrong teacher for the walkering stuff! I think what I need to do, when we get a prescription from [her Mesa PCP] next week is have him write it for three times a week and make it specific to not only strength, balance and ambulation training but walkering, too. Man, I feel so relieved! It's just a matter of having the right teacher, I think. Anyway, thank you for trying. I really thought you weren't. I thought you were just relying on me to be your mind. I'm sorry for misunderstanding you. I know how hard you've been working and it touches me deeply that you're doing this for me. I'm so, so sorry that I wasn't getting it either. I'm sorry for torturing you. We won't give up walkering between now and the time you start seeing the therapist but I'll lay back, some. I don't think it'll hurt anything. Right now it doesn't matter how you move, just that you move, so we can't hurt you more doing it one way than the other."
    And that settled it. We were both happy. She was tired, too. In fact, I need to awaken her from her nap, right now. I'll write more...
    ...later.

...and I'm bushed. We really are going to Mesa tomorrow. Believe it. We'd better. I made arrangements with MCF to meet us there since she has the day off.
    The tow guy showed up earlier than we expected, a little after 1330. I hadn't given any thought to the fact that getting Mom into the cab of a tow truck might be a problem. Neither had he. The two of us tried and Mom struggled. Finally, the tow guy suggested that since the front tires of the car hadn't lost much air (thank the gods we bought the tires we did), he'd check their pressure, fill them up to the maximum psi, pick up another car along the way and follow us to Costco for security purposes. That worked well. He made three tow fees on one trip. As Mom and I were driving to Costco, followed closely by the tow guy, I brought up this particularly lucrative trip of his and speculated that maybe it wasn't the tire stealers who punched nails in many tires in our neighborhood last night; maybe it was the Prescott Towing Guild. I'm assuming that most of the people who ended up at the Costco tire garage today had the same level of membership as us which covers free tire maintenance whether you bought your tires there or not (we didn't). Lots of people don't have towing coverage, though. We do because we've had so many unhappy experiences getting our cars repaired up here and then having to have the job redone. A few years ago I searched out extended tow coverage through AAA and our car insurance to cover all the miles from our house up here to our trusted mechanic in Mesa. Then again, it could have been the Policeman's Guild. There isn't a lot of trouble in a town like Prescott, or, if there is, no one considers it troubling enough to report.
    I'm thinking I'll probably start yet another statistical journal as an adjunct to this web effort. The idea came to me today when we were doing Mom's therapy exercises. There is one upper body exercise done with weights with which she's been having particular trouble: An exercise where you hold a free weight in your hand, place your hand over the opposite hip bone, lift the weight in a circular trail to just above the shoulder of the arm holding the weight then bring it home along the same circular trail. The object is to increase shoulder flexibility and strengthen the upper arm. Mom doesn't quite have the feel for this exercise. She has been lifting the weight primarily with the power of her forearm diagonally across her body, barely using her upper arm and not rolling her shoulder joint. Today I decided we'd spend some days simply practicing, without the weight, circling her arm across her body, up, around and back across her body, so she'd get a feel for what she needed to do in this particular exercise. This isn't the first time I've modified one of her exercises to allow her body to learn what it's supposed to do. I've also tweaked a few others in order to encourage joint flexibility and added two exercises, one to increase strength and flexibility in her knees and the other in her hips. As well, I've completely modified how we do her routines, shuffling lower body with upper body exercises. I've also got her standing through some of the exercises through which the SNF had her sitting. Of course, they apparently thought she was not only going to be homebound for the rest of her life but wheelchair bound as well. Anyway, it just seems that I should be recording not only her progress, but the modifications I devise in her routines.
    I'm pleased to report that she is getting better at "stepping up to the plate" when she walkers. I didn't have to remind her nearly as much today as I have in the recent past. Maybe that day of rest and lounging did some good.
    I do want to note that she mentioned today that she "doesn't like to go to Costco". I was a little surprised but I think I get it now. It's not much fun to plod around on a concrete floor in a warehouse set-up without specific purpose. I explained to her that now that she's moving around she'll still have to go because I am going to see to it that she goes almost every place I go now, just to keep her moving through life rather than sleeping and sitting through it. Earlier, though, on our way to Costco as we crawled by the town square she mentioned that she's always wanted to spend time "sitting there and people watching". Hallelujah! We've done this in years past but, of course, those visits are lost in the chasms of her short term memory. I've been suggesting to her that we should spend time, several days a week, leisurely walkering around the square, maybe window shopping the surrounding local enterprises. She's expressed only polite interest. Now, though, her curiosity is beginning to kick in on the heels of her increased energy and she's reconsidering at least one of my suggestions.
    At Costco we also ran into a member of the book club to which I/we belong up here. We haven't attended a meeting since January of this year. When when we ran into my reading comrade today she talked so enthusiastically about this month's selection that I assured her that yes, of course, we'd try to attend September's meeting. So, M(y)D(ear)P(rescott)F(riend)A(nd)B(ook)C(lub)C(omrade) trotted over to the book section, picked up a copy of the book and brought it to us. Tonight Mom and I discussed reading it and it looks as though we are going to use this book to reinitiate evening out loud reading.
    I've got to get to bed. I think 0600 will come much earlier tomorrow morning than 0530 came this morning.
    Later.

    I awoke this morning by alarm at 0500, decided I could shower and pack the car in an hour, thus decided to sleep until 0530. Between 0600 and 0630 I was busy packing our supplies and exploded boxes in the truck when a police cruiser pulled into our driveway. Since we have the only truly accessible driveway in the area I figured the guy who exited the car was there on some errand having nothing to do with us.
    "M'am," he said as we approached one another, "I'm checking to see if any of your car tires were vandalized last night."
    I cursorily scanned both cars sitting in front of our house and responded that I didn't think so.
    "Do you mind if I check?" he asked, then explained that during the night several tires in the area were "vandalized".
    Sure enough, the two front tires of our sedan (which is sitting behind the truck and thus out of the glare of the night street light) had one shiny, large nail apiece pushed into them. When I reported to our Mesa yardman later on his message machine that we would be delayed yet another day I was so annoyed I told him our tires had been "slashed". Actually, we're lucky that the vandals decided to push nails into them instead. The tires are the type that semi-seal themselves when punctured with small objects to allow the driver time to figure out she has a damaged tire and get to a station so the tires haven't even yet lost much air. Even though the sedan is not the car we're taking to Mesa I figured I'd better have the tires repaired now so we don't return from Mesa tomorrow to a car with its nose cradled in the very sandy dirt.
    This isn't the first time that tires have been recently vandalized in our area. A couple of months ago some people decided to steal the tires off Lincoln Continentals, one of our close neighbors being one of the victims. While the policeman and I were outside talking this neighbor approached, mentioned that one of their cars had nails in four tires and speculated that, since one of the tire stealers had been caught and was now out on bail awaiting trial, the tire puncturers were "probably the same idiots who stole our tires."
    The policeman, of course, didn't comment. While we were talking in front of the cars my mother awakened on her own and emerged into the yard in soaked Depends and night shirt to see what was going on. So, my day began just short of a bang.
    I called for a tow and mentioned that both my mother and I would need a ride with the driver to Costco (we have free tire service there) since she was elderly and I didn't want to leave her alone. About half an hour later I got a call from the driver telling me that he has "lots of calls from that area", many headed for Costco and he was trying to pick up two cars at a time. Was it all right, he asked, if he waited to tow us until early to mid-afternoon so he could pick up a car without a driver needing transport and accommodate both my mother and me in his cab? Fine with me. It gives us a chance to have a fairly normal morning AND afternoon, since she'll get in her therapy exercises in a few minutes then walkering at Costco this afternoon.
    Needless to say, we're not in Mesa, which we would have been by now if anger and nails hadn't intervened. But, you know, I'm used to this. Mercury is retrograde, what can one expect?!?
    Mom is not disappointed about not going to Mesa. Police visits and nefarious happenings are always exciting to her. The only aspect of all this that disappoints her is that she'll be, once again, doing her walkering at Costco. I'm sorry about this, too. I was going to try to avoid the place until this weekend and get us out to other venues but as long as we'll be waiting for our tires to be repaired we may as well pick up a few items that will need replenishing this weekend and get Mom's daily walkering in at the same time.
    As I write this yet another tow truck is hauling an SUV down the street, probably to have its tires repaired, probably at Costco. It's a good day for automotive maintenance people, I guess.
    So, I'm going to try to keep Mom moving today since we had a lounge day yesterday. I'm sure I'll check in, here, again...
    ...later.

    At first yesterday when I finally figured out that what I had been experiencing for over a week was a visitor I thought I was the only one of us being visited. Tonight, though, my mother and I were visited together and noticed the event independent of one another.
    I know, I know. Yes, this is going to be one of those posts that should be introduced with the theme from The Twilight Zone. For those of you who aren't interested, I am posting this first for two of my three sisters, both of whom drop by to read, and one of my nieces, although I'm not sure that she drops by to read. I don't think the third sister drops by here, she's busy up to her eyeballs and, anyway, doesn't enjoy reading of any kind. Even if she did come by, for reasons that make a lot of sense her spirituality is much too grounded, primarily based in social activism, to entertain the possibility of spiritual visitors. Secondly, I am posting this for my own reference.
    As I was saying, it wasn't until yesterday that I realized that these events I've been experiencing at least once a day, sometimes more, for more than a week (I'm not sure if they started before my mother's arrival home from the facility or after) are visits. Previous to yesterday's first visit I experienced yesterday I hadn't taken much notice of the events. I'd be busy doing something, have the sense, then an out-of-the-corner-of-the-eye sight, of a presence, turn toward the stimuli and nothing would be there. Although not scary, the events are always startling as I expect to see my mother standing in the area toward which I am turning (she moves with the light-footed, silent slowness of the old) and, well, she isn't. At various times I've interpreted the events as having something in my eye, a burst of dust blown through a window, one of our cats dashing by just out of my line of vision, the reflection off airborne dust particles of one of our drapes flapping in the breeze. At one point I even considered that one of our cats may be practicing astral projection. Since the events have, up to tonight, happen when my mother is not near me it also occurred to me that she might be practicing astral projection, unbeknownst to herself.
    Yesterday I realized, although I'm not sure how I realized this, that the event is a visitor making itself known. Even after realizing this between chores and paying intense attention to my mother I gave it little thought.
    Tonight, though, while Mom was filing her nails, as I was arranging manicure utensils around her she and I were visited. There was a detectable "disturbance" between her rocking chair and the box upon which my computer sits. We both noticed it independently and followed what appeared to be its movement about 5 feet diagonally across the living room in the direction of the dinette, at which point the disturbance vanished.
    "What was that?" my mother asked.
    "Mom," I began, "I know what it was. I've been meaning to mention this to you but keep forgetting. We have a visitor." I got the shivers as I said this, not because the visits are in any way creepy or disruptive; only because I figured she probably wouldn't believe me, even though I was sure, since she'd noticed the event, that we do have a visitor.
    Her interest was piqued. "Really. What kind of visitor?"
    "I know this is going to sound weird, but I guess it's a spiritual visitor. That's the only way I can explain it." I Relate my experience of the visits in detail, including the length of time I've been experiencing them. "I thought I was the only one being visited but I guess we're both being visited." I told her that when I realized we were being visited I mentally ran through all the people I know who are dead and that I don't think it's any of them.
    "Why does it have to be someone who's dead?"
    "Good point. It could be the spirit of someone who's alive on earth now or a spirit that's never been, you know, solid, in this system. Did you get any sense of the visitor?"
    "No," she said, "but I think you're right. We have a visitor."
    "Just so you know, I'm sure the visitor and the visits are benign. I don't know if whether the purpose of the visits has anything to do with us. The visits could have to do directly with us, like a show of support or maybe we're being helped in some way. Then again, maybe we're just being visited out of curiosity. But I'm sure the visitor means us no harm. I am positive that, whatever the reason for the visits, the visitor is benign."
    "Oh, yes. So am I."
    After that, she and I continued with this evening's business.
    Later I stepped out into our backyard, as is typical for me sometime during the evening, in order to soak up our magnificent view of the universe for a few minutes, refocus and shake my internal self out. I thought about our visitor. Our house is not haunted, thus the entity is not a resident. Or, I thought, perhaps it is a resident but for some reason finds it desirable and reasonable to make itself known to us for seconds here and there at this time, whereas, otherwise, us knowing of its presence isn't necessary. I made no attempt to "contact" it or feel it out for identity or intent. I did, however, thank it for visiting, as it seemed a neighborly gesture to acknowledge that Mom and I are now aware of it, aware that its visits are benign and acknowledge that it is welcome.

    Although Mom didn't go to bed over-hydrated I noticed tonight that her feet were the tiniest bit swollen; so tiny no one but me would have noticed. I pointed it out to her, chalked it up to her day of rest and told her this was an indication that we shouldn't make days of rest a day-after-day habit again. Now that I'm thinking about it, it could, I suppose, be incipient anemia, although I doubt it. There could be any other number of reasons for it and I had the urge to run into her bedroom and quickly take her blood pressure right after she'd turned out her light. I resisted. If her blood pressure is up a bit it couldn't be very high. Then I noticed my feet feel a bit swollen tonight, too, which is very unusual. It could be all the sodium in the Cobb Salad. It could also be the last rush of heated weather we're experiencing before fall sets in. Today was unusually warm for this area and tomorrow promises to be hotter. Who knows. If she awakens tomorrow ruddy and grumbling good naturedly about having to rise so early and has, once again, soaked her sheets, I'll be happy.
    We'll be leaving early tomorrow. I haven't decided whether to take the computer. I'm sure, since we'll be down in the Valley all day, that Mom will take a nap. I'm working on the hydration essay and again revising "Doctors and Patience" (I know, I know, I should just stop and publish it at some point and be done with it, but it continues to change with our experiences), so I may take it. I also need to fertilize the citrus trees and that may take all my personal time, depending on how long Mom decides to nap. I'll see how I feel about carting it with us in the morning.
    Later, perhaps a day or so later.

    She and I were playing Sorry and she started rummaging over the table.
    "What are you looking for?" I asked.
    "Cigarettes," she said.
    "Mom, you don't smoke, anymore."
    Her head swiveled in my direction, her eyebrows shot into her forehead and her eyes darkened. "What do you mean!?!" she demanded.
    "You haven't had a cigarette in over a month, now."
    "You're joking!"
    "Nope. You quit."
    "When did I do that?!?" She sounded like she needed to be reminded of some crazy behavior which she would never again repeat.
    "I stopped you from smoking about a week before you went into the hospital on August 1st because you were so weak and every time you had a cigarette you became visibly weaker and you needed to be on oxygen 24 hours a day. Then you spent three weeks in the hospital and the SNF and they didn't allow you to smoke."
    "I'm sure I smoked in the hospital (she refers to both the hospital and the SNF as "the hospital")."
    "Nope. Not a one. You've only missed them once since then and that was my fault." I reminded her of the incident a while back when I tried to put a ball of cat hair in an absent ash tray in front of her.
    "Well, I miss them now."
    "Okay, twice then. Mom, if I were to give you a cigarette I'd have to go out and buy some. There aren't any here. And, you know what? I don't want to. Trust me on this, Mom. Your health is so much improved you can't imagine what a difference it's made. You rarely use oxygen, your energy level is way up there, you can smell again, you can taste again, all your body functions are falling back into line and quitting has been painless. It's just not a good idea for you to smoke anymore."
    She looked as though she was beginning to listen to me but she had a reservation, "Not even one?"
    "Mom, I can't buy just one, and, no, not even one. Best that we let that sleeping dog lie. You're much better off that way."
    "Well, I just can't believe it."
    "Believe it, Mom. You've stayed the course and now you're a winner."
    "I guess so."
    That was the end of the conversation. Nothing has been mentioned since and she hasn't continued her aborted search for cigarettes. I think we are definitely over that hump. I'm not even worried about her being around other smokers. We hardly know any other smokers and those we do are extremely respectful of the fact that she's quit.
    When her sister was dwindling for a couple of years prior to her death her family had stopped her smoking, although her sister never missed cigarettes. They hadn't stopped her because of health problems connected with smoking. They'd stopped her because she couldn't remember what to do with a lit cigarette and was dangerous when she was trying to manage one. Whenever my mother visited her sister, whether at her home or later in the nursing home, she'd take her outside to the patios affixed to both places and offer her a cigarette. Soon after her sister entered the nursing home though she no longer understood what a cigarette was or what to do with it. At this point my mother had to admit to herself that her sister was definitely in major decline and probably wouldn't be recovering. It was heartbreaking when she told me the story that day of how her sister didn't recognize a cigarette and what Mom understood from this.
    I'm now thinking that maybe some of Mom's prior refusal to give up smoking was tied to her realization that her sister's refusal of cigarettes was a signal of the beginning of the end. I think Mom has clung to her cigarette habit in part because of this emotional link, fearing that no longer wanting or recognizing a cigarette would mean that there was no longer any hope for her. I also think that not smoking means exactly the opposite in Mom's case and surmising this for her relieved her fear. As soon as she registered what I was saying it was as though her mind settled on the issue of what cigarettes mean for her, despite what they meant for her sister. I expect in the months to come there will be repeats of what happened today over Sorry but I don't think the outcome will be any different. All she'll need is a few more reminders and I believe she'll be fine and free.

    I decided to read her my new essay at Essaying the Situation. I wanted to hear what she thought of it. I cried as I read the last paragraph. I warned her that I would. She agreed with everything I'd written, especially the parts about no one being truly qualified to give an Ancient One advice and that unless the caregiver is a peer the caregiving situation is always that of a child caring for an adult, not vice versa. She also asked me why I referred to people "of a certain age", as she put it, as "Ancient Ones".
    "I like the connotations," I said. "'Elder' has no connotations, 'senior citizen' has certain negative connotations, 'elderly' sounds like an excuse...'Ancient One' has an air of occult wisdom about it."
    "Is that 'Air' or 'error'?" she asked, her eyes twinkling.
    "Yes," I said, grinning back at her. We both nodded, satisfied.

    When I attempted to rouse her between 1030 and 1100 she was not interested. My first urge was to cajole and argue and whup her out of bed but I reconsidered. Even I, at times prior to the last 5 - 7 years, have wanted and successfully sought days where all I desired was to lounge around, nap every couple of hours and eat lightly, usually after a long, strenuous period. I think this is what Mom needs today so I left her alone. Finally, about noon, I heard her flushing the toilet and our day began. I asked her point blank "Do you just want to lounge around, today?"
    "That sounds good."
    "Okay. You can sleep as much as you want. I'll give you a day off from exercises and walkering (which she hasn't had since she was released from the facility) and we'll just do pleasant things like fixing your hair, doing your nails, making fun of programs on TV If you only end up having two meals I think that's fine..."
    "I'm glad we're not going to Mesa, today."
    "So am I. This way, we'll be completely rested and we can get an early start, tomorrow."
    "I'm for that."
    "So. How about I beat your pants off in Sorry?"
    "I don't think you can."
    "Aha! A challenge. Belt 'em up tight, Mom. I'm on the the opposing side of the board!"

    You know the rest. She's napping, now.

    As I was proofing this, I heard her in the bathroom dropping curlers on the floor from having her hair set before napping. She's up now. I've noticed something very interesting. Just a few minutes ago she was rummaging around, again for something. I asked her what she was looking for and she responded immediately, "A comb. For my hair."
    That's twice today that she'd rummaged and not only known but retained the knowledge of what she was looking for. That's a record. This hasn't happened in ages. Prior to August 1st she rarely remembered, once she began her search, why she was searching.
    I'm very encouraged. If you are close to my mother you should be, too.
    Later.

    I just resolved our mail problem in Mesa by phone, from here in Prescott, with a conversation directly with our Mesa carrier. Everything is better than fine. She even offered to deliver our mail directly to our yardman's residence (she knows all her people very well), so he wouldn't have to check our box several times a week. While the USPS administrative bureaucracy often leaves something to be desired, the front line people in the form of carriers, desk clerks and mail sorters are the people who really allow the USPS to shine. My compliments to the troops.
    I've already attempted to rouse Mom and she's feeling like she'd like to "relax a little" today. She specifically asked why we couldn't wait until tomorrow to go to Mesa. Since the mail problem is resolved and she worked exceptionally hard and well yesterday I've decided to wait until tomorrow for our trip to Mesa. "Ch-ch-ch-changes."
    I'll certainly be entering stats today as they are taken and will probably finish off my second extemporaneous essay and post it today. I'll stop by here and leave a link when it's finished. The house is set up for Mom when she decides to upend herself. I can relax with my coffee and do whatever I goddamned well please for a little bit. A lazy day for Mom (which she hasn't had much lately) usually means a pleasant day for me. Such a gift!

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