Mom & Me Two Archive

    Today was a lost day. Although I need to get ahold of myself, I may lose tomorrow, too. I'm thinking of putting off visiting the Valley until Tuesday. I'm questioning the tax situation surrounding the sale of the home and I need to make some phone calls on Monday without the pressure of being down there. Plus, maybe I can get myself in gear, feel better and trek out to look at sheds.
    Mom is delighted that I'm under the weather because every day I feel like shit she gets to sleep and lounge as much as she wants. Today she was up more than me, and ate very well, as you may note over at Mom's Daily Tests and Meds, better than me. I simply didn't have much of an appetite and felt slow and hunched.
    Everything works better when I feel better. The slipping up on the food wouldn't have happened because I would have been up the whole time, monitoring her hunger, what she "wants" to eat and when she eats it. When I feel bad, though, I look at what I normally accomplish, what I am able to accomplish while I'm not feeling well and blanch at what I do day after day after day.
    Although the sale month is already half over I've just begun. I don't, though, think we'll have a problem doing everything. I'm still looking forward to a renewed restoration of energy and am still very, very relieved, so much so that time seems to be slowing down for me.
    I can't remember if I mentioned it so I'm mentioning it here: When Mom was released from the SNF she weight 128.1 lbs. Although the nursing home did not indicate any specific weight trends, she's been losing weight steadily since August of last year. Some of it has been good. Some of it has not. She was wasted when she was released from the SNF. Some of that may have been dehydration, too, as no matter how much I worry about how dehydrated she is, she is always better hydrated here than anywhere else. I've been trying, in subtle ways, while continuing to control her blood glucose largely by diet, to add some extra pounds and I've been successful. She weighed 137 on September 8, 2004. Right on the money. Some of that, I'm pleased to say, is muscle weight, I'm sure, which I've heard is four times as dense as fat weight.
    I continue to recall throughout the days something the manager of the mobile home park with which we will soon be breaking ties said, "You know," she leaned across the desk, "your mother can't live down here anymore. The air is bad enough, but that's not the only thing..." allowing her voice to dwindle into the dire. There is something about this small town atmosphere here in Prescott, too, that works on behalf of my mother's health, and our distance keeps us away from the doctors, which seems to help. The Valley, in decades past before the age of air conditioning, used to be considered a citadel of health, particularly cardio-pulmonary health. People used to recover from TB and other chronic lung ailments in the part of the Sonoran that the Phoenix-metroplex now occupies. Now, coming down from Prescott I can smell the Phoenix-metroplex at about Carefree Highway. It is neither pleasant nor unpleasant; it's the smell of industrial dust and gas and desert sand. Superb atmosphere for communicable viruses. The Valley now has a few indigenous viruses, Valley Fever being the most virulent and taking the highest toll, especially among the elderly.
    Well, I thought I should check in before the day is done.
    Later.

...and, I've developed a cold. I've been up and down throughout the day; officially, if you count that I went back to bed at 0630, I've had two naps. I awoke from the second one in a sweat, so I must have had a fever.
    In case you're wondering, I don't worry about being sick around my mother. There may be some things at which her body isn't very good anymore, like making hemoglobin and absorbing insulin, but her immune system is a thing of beauty and all the major organ systems work, including her skin. Hallelujah. If she begins to break down physically before she dies I have no idea how I will react. I'm sure I won't recognize it at first but it probably won't take long. I've wondered over the past year if specific, relatively long lasting periods of weakness she's had have been precursors to her body finally saying, "You know what, Mary Lois? You're going to have to go on without me." So far, they haven't been.
    By the way I was notified by the commenter in the post immediately previous that the link to Shenar's Adventures was broken. It's fixed. I misspelled one of the words in the address. Good thing, too, because I decided to upload it in case anyone is curious about it. It's soft to medium core erotica with story. Some of it's very good. Some of it is so-so. There was supposed to be a tying-together-of-lose-ends story line but I'm not sure where that went. I've been thinking over the last few days that I've got some stories rarin' to be writ for that site and it would help motivate me to reload the original site, embarrass myself and replace it with something better if I can find the time.
    The commentator's blog, by the way, is really interesting. Different, in the way that mine is different. If you visit here because you like reading what I write then you'll probably like his, too, brainhell.
    I wish I had more time to read blogs. I rarely read any others besides my own and then only the blogs of my commentators, all of which have been interesting. After a thorough scan I bookmark them but I don't seem to get back to them. I am demonized (or seduced) by the isolation of what I'm doing with my mother, what I'm doing with it in these journals and my propensity toward isolation. A three way strike out when it comes to being a participatory member in the blogging community. I feel bad about this. I have fond alternative feelings toward my fellow invisible bloggers of all stripes. But "time, time, time, see what's become of me?" Is that how it goes? Maybe there's a Freudian slip in there.
    What a day it's been. Mom stayed up fairly long considering how wiped out she seems. Maybe I'm being too easy on her but it's easy to be easy when I'm feeling, well, not up to par physically. I don't get sick or injured often so she enjoys it when I'm out of commission.
    It looks as though the rest of this month (all of it, actually) is a "No Excuses" month. By the end of tomorrow we will have a climate controlled shed and the boxes still in the truck bed will be in that shed. A lot of the stuff in the Mesa home will be going to Good Will or whatever, you know, Salvation Army, St. Vincent de Paul's, whomever can perform pick-ups before 9/30/04. I don't care. There's an antique TV, circa 1973, in one of those sturdy, custom wood cabinets, totally not cable capable, over which a collector would probably salivate but I don't have time to ebay. The tube's going but I think it can be fixed. We'll probably have, finally, two refrigerators for Good Will, if I don't have time to scrounge a buyer for this one...I find myself going over and over these things in my head constantly. It's refreshing. I can feel myself relaxing, spreading out, feeling as though there will be some more room for me in this shared life, now.
    All med and meal stats are caught up. All exercise sessions are caught up. I considered publishing in the exercise section something about her walkering lately except that there is nothing noteworthy to say. She needs to be working this out with someone besides me, and, maybe, with a different type of walker.
    The cat's cradling on top of the cable box and the cow's, well, we don't have a cow. Maybe I'll start the food section of this web I'm weaving on The Web, tonight. Then again, maybe I won't. I should go over and take a look at Shenar's Adventures. I uploaded it while I was doing some chores and checked to see if anything's broken.
    Later, although I don't know how much later.

"She runs a bit dry."

    Yes, it's all true. I "designed" the introduction for the searcher who, within the last week ending 9/8/04, searched this section of my Mom & Me web effort for the phrase "the whore next door". Knowing the sheer volume of words I've spent on these publishings and certain eccentricities of expression I practice it wouldn't have surprised me if, sometime, somewhere, in this section alone I might have used the phrase, "the whore next door", even though I, personally, have never lived next door to a whore as far as I know. Nor, do I believe, has my mother. So out of curiosity I searched, too. Nope. Sort of like that "gays at Annapolis" search.
    Then I got to thinking. I have a peculiar erotic history on the web. For more than a few years I had a site called Shenar's Adventures. If you visit now you'll see my dated apologia for taking it off the web, a copy of which I used on several sites on which I'd published a variety of material. Lately I've been thinking of reviving it with new stories, but, I don't know, it caused some trouble in my life so I'm not sure. Anyway, it was reviewed in Jane's Guide and received notice as "original" and something else, some other kind of appreciated label. I notice it still appears in some erotic indexes but the files are down. My mother was aware of my erotic website and considered herself daringly lucky to have a daughter who writes erotica. She's mentioned it to people. She thinks I still have the site up. I was lucky she absorbed that bit of information about me before the major shift in her short termentalmemory plates.
    Figuratively speaking, I was my own "whore next door" except that my porn was free and all words. I laughed when I realized that.

    This, though, doesn't explain the first link up there. That is to an important addendum to the Water Whichery essay; yet another perspective from which to consider hydration in the elderly. [Inserted 9/18/08: While updating links after migrating this section to the new domain, I discovered I had linked "She runs a bit dry" to "Water Whichery", which makes no sense. I have a vague memory of this phrase somewhere else in the journals, but I'm not sure where it is. I will continue to look and, hopefully, someday, correct the link. In the meantime, I'll leave it as it is.]
    It's turned out to be a low-key day with some walkering on the driveway. She tends to walker more slowly on the driveway, thus she corrects herself more often. I'm still placing calls to answering machines and waiting for calls back on some business matters. The last two business days following a big holiday weekend are not good for doing business. On other matters I'm dragging. I think yesterday and today were/are, my "it's sinking in" days: We will become a one-home household by the end of the month. My mother has had a bit more energy than me, although I'm, surprisingly, getting some things done.
    Monday we return to Mesa. I'll pack out what we'll be transporting. I'll call my marvelous local moving company from there and set up disconnect dates on utilities. I'm thinking I should be able to procure a storage shed tomorrow. Those places are open on Saturdays. I'd like to be able to transfer the boxes of stuff I've already removed from our Mesa home into storage this weekend. I shudder thinking about the contents of the dilapidated shed attached to our Mesa home. I expect that I'll be able to can handle them. They'll probably need to be repacked on the spot and, as well, hmmm, maybe I have some face masks in order to filter out the dust and dirt; I think I do. Anyway, without a mask Mom will not be allowed anywhere near the shed and she'll be on oxygen if she ventures near it.
    I'll probably pick up some boxes at our grocery tomorrow for packing, and maybe buy newspapers for the next couple of days; or, it may be cheaper to buy those large sheets of foolscap from the storage shed renters. I don't know.
    I need to go through paperwork this weekend. Mom may get yet one more day without doing exercises although I don't know, I'm up for it. She just wasn't this morning and I gave her some slack.
    I am going to enter stats. Immediately after I finish this, or, maybe not so immediately.
    Mom's becoming disgusted with my insistence on cleaning her every time she has a bowel movment. for the moment, though, I can't help it. I repeat this and I talk crassly and tell bad jokes while I do it so she laughs, too. I continue to tell her, "Believe me, Mrs. Hudson, I wish I didn't have to do this!" She gets that.
    Later. Maybe. I don't know.

    In our clothes. Neither of us thought either would sleep through the night. I did, in a sense. I got a good night's sleep and awoke in one of my favorite hours, 0200. I decided to do some administrative/technical drudge work on some of my sites. Adding links to web log indexes. Cleaning up a few details. Stuff like that.
    I think we both collapsed from the relief of knowing that our life will be easier shortly. And, of course, for Mom she reacted to the after-effects of the trip.
    I've also been doing chores that I neglected last night: Laundry; dishes; setting up the bathroom for Mom.
    There are stats to enter but not many, and a notation in the therapy exercise journal. I don't know, maybe some other things. I'm not sure today will be quite as laid back as yesterday. I've got more phone calls to make. I imagine a certain portion of the day will be devoted to telling Mom, yet again, about the sale of the house in Mesa as though it is news.
    I'm sure I'll be back...
    ...later.

    The day has gone well. I discovered I can both receive and send faxes and received our first fax today the selling contract for our manufactured home in Mesa. The initial asking price was knocked down after the buyer had agents inspect it yesterday but it is still a damn sight more than a buck. I'm satisfied. I'm even energized to do as most of the chores of cleaning out the home and removing stuff myself. I think I'll leave the big things to the excellent local mover I know and consider our need to pack out as an opportunity to allow Mom to visit as much as possible before we say good-bye to that home on September 30th, although I hope that we aren't down here on that day and it passes silently or in some other manner than for us to remember the home in Mesa.
    That's right, folks. It's a done deal. The relief I feel is inexpressible. We will be solvent again on a month to month basis, may be able to make some dents in some credit cards and generally breathe a bit easier. All in all, in the give and take of what we will no longer be paying out and the small new bill the storage will add, we'll definitely be a nice amount more to the good every month. Not to mention not having to think about another residence while trying to run this one. Now we can explore having some of those renovations for Mom done; maybe hire a local landscape consultant who is very knowledgeable about the local flora and fauna who can help me to decide what to keep as well as those plants of which we need to be rid and how to rid ourselves of them. There are only a few possible rejects but I want to know how to manage what we have. Our yard is delightfully indigenous. Our most successful and prominent tree is an opportunistic scavenger I at first thought was a "king weed" that took a ride on some bird shit and in one year graces our yard with the promise of green summer shade over the front of the house. Nice. We've got some amazing flora which I need to know how to manage and set aside money and time for the work. And, I think, get some opportunistic, scavenger-like help.
    Mom had to be reminded this morning when she awoke on the heels of the fax receipt of everything, and I mean everything about the home in Mesa, why we were selling it and why we were selling it for so little.
    "I'll have to think about it," was all she said after I went through the entire history and explanation and showed her the one page straighforward contract with our one monitary obligation set out.
    As I mentioned to MFS later on the phone, it's a good thing I have Durable Power of Attorney. I carry it everywhere. I let everyone know I have it. The buyer's representative, who knows Mom well from long years of dealing with her on a business level and knows any promise of a deal is safe in the hands of my legal authority over Mom's interesting and faulty short term memory, thinks my mother's having to be reminded of what's going on daily is "cute". I find it unnerving. Scary, even. She can seem so "here", especially lately and especially to those who are unfamiliar with her present state of life.
    We had an incident yesterday at the doctor's office in regards to my mother's decision to donate her body to science through ScienceCare. Mom and I have discussed this many times since she was successfully introduced to it at the hospital. Donating one's body to science, as MCS pointed out, is an "ever the teacher" act for my mother. Every time I mention it though, and I mention it often, it's a totally new idea to her. She always loves it and finally, again, agrees to it but, well, what can I say, it's always a new idea.
    At the doctor's office I brought out the form, of which I have, unfortunately, neglected to fill out the information needed for filing a death certificate, to have her PCP and nurse witness. Everyone is satisfied until her PCP off-handly says to Mom, "So you agree to this scientific donation of your body at your death?"
    Mom's head, which has been pivoting around the office, fixes onto the doctor. "What?!?" she exclaims.
    Her PCP turns to me. I start to say, "I put copies of all my Powers of Attorney is your file, today..."
    ...just as he was saying, "I saw your Powers of Attorney in the chart."
    He and his nurse signed as witnesses. So, with my mother's desire but without, in An Ancient Way, her knowledge, her wishes are being upheld.
    There was a much more tense incident recently through the telling of which MFS howled with laughter:

    My mother's financial advisor finally insisted that he needed legal permission to deal with me in lieu of my mother. This was before I realized I have Durable Power of Attorney. The form had to be witnessed by a notary public. No problem. We proceeded to the bank.
    I'd coached Mom several times on what the form is, where she needs to sign, when she needs to produce ID, etc. I wasn't too worried, though. Typically, my sense of authority and my mother's sense of trust in me get us through.
    As we were waiting it was noticed by the notary public who anticipates serving us that my mother is having a hard time grasping where she is and why she's there. When we were seated at her desk and I explained our business and our needs she said, "I need to read this document and see if it says anything about 'sound of mind,'" implying that if it did she might have to decline to witness my mother's handing this authority over to me. She scanned the document.
    I was tense. My mother was animated and distracted.
    "Good. It doesn't," the notary declared.
    She and I heaved a sigh of relief.
    I appreciate being served by such honest public servants. Especially now. But, it is often a touch and go affair.

    Through her connection with the military as a veteran and a dependent (retired) I can be her designated "Caregiver", with privileges in lieu of hers, which would help. MCBIL was unable to let me know if the military, as an arm of the US Government, also does not recognize Power's of Attorney.
    MFS informed me that they certainly do citing the evidence that when MFBIL shipped out with the Navy they were ordered on base to get temporary (tecnically, Revokable Powers of Attorney) in order to cover their separation as joint heads of household.
    So, it's a web, and a tangled recognition, at that.

    At her PCP's stringent reminder and insistence I am now to observe Days of Rest for my mother after trips up and down the mountain. So today I am. She's staying fairly well hydrated between naps and popcorn and sluggish spirits. She's napping now. This came up because I informed him of the sale of our home in Mesa and our permanent-permanent move to Prescott then, on emotional hands and knees, eloquently pleaded for his support in agreeing to remain Mom's PCP.
    He was touched and conflicted and reminded me of two concerns: "I'm concerned about the trips back and forth because of her age," which he followed with his Day of Rest prescription. He also mentioned that if something very, very urgent happens we need some kind of connection up there, obviously, to get anything done. I threw out my concerns involving very doubtful strategies interlinking her veteran's status with a reluctant but technically obligated Veteran's Hospital ER room.
    He agreed to remain her PCP as long as I had trouble finding someone with whom "we could work", so I think he has no intention of losing touch with my mother. But he encouraged me to "keep [my] eyes and ears open, look for someone reasonable..." so I will. I'm not sure how, but I will.

    I posted one more test, the Urinalysis - Collection Date 9/2/04 and added a section to the last 9/2/04 Blood Test, the erhythropoietin test.

    I'm suddenly very tired. I think I'll publish this without checking for errors of any kind and continue...
    ...later.

    In the only way I know to get back to you. Your comment was a much appreciated, informative surprise, yesterday.
    Later.

    First of all, I couldn't help but notice all the website visitors. My guess is they arrived through search engines looking for something about "powers of attorney" and/or "caregivers". If you haven't gone back to that post read the comment. Really helpful from an advice point of view about the background of government problems when negotiating business for someone else from an international perspective. It's a small world after all. I can remember some of the peculiar problems involved in negotiating with government agencies on Guam (I was raised there). You had to have an "in" to get anything accomplished but it was very easy to establish an "in" by brazenly presenting yourself face-to-face with the local official. They liked the laid back, "we're all siblings" approach there. A good example: One day, on a whim, a friend of mine and I were discussing a minor local political issue. Local politics were extremely active from a citizenry level at that time if you lived and were involved in the local community. During an intense discussion we decided that the only possibility of getting anything done was to see Guam's governor. At that time it was, I want to say "Bordallo" (of the infamous, both on Guam and in Japan") but that isn't who I'm seeing. I want to say "Guerrero", but that was who was elected when I was in the fifth grade. It might have been "Camacho", my best friend's orthodontist. Anyway, we did not call ahead for an appointment. My friend, who was somewhat older than me, over drinking age and a possessed a lively and memorable social presence, had met Camacho in a bar some time previous to his election, had enjoyed his company and flaunted herself for fun and betted that he'd remember her and see us. He did, and he did. Whatever it was we felt needed to be accomplished was that afternoon.
    I also remember my father, who was highly respected both at work and within the community, in part because of my mother, an educator on the island who was even more highly respected within both the work and the community, being told that he could have his daughters' first drivers' licenses fixed into existence if he wished. My father loved and respected driving and insisted we go through with the tests. I respect him for this even though at the time I was not looking forward to being road tested and I got "the worst tester", meaning the one man who had the island-wide reputation of being the definition of the word "stickler". I vaguely remember later finding out that my father did fix this aspect of the drivers' license testing procedures. He made sure that we got this guy. I respect him for this, too.
    "Scott" from Australia also mentioned, warming my heart, "I wish you and your Mom (here in Australia we say Mum) all the best for the future. It looks like there is a great deal of love between the two of you."
    Yeah, there is, I am tickled to say. Which reminds me: I silently and surprisingly observed during our wonderful visit with MCF and her family yesterday that Mom and I have an extemporaneous comedy act that sometimes triggers when we interact with others. I'm the slightly deluded but obviously caring and loving straight man and she works off me. It's her way of defining her relationship with me for others. It's also her way of maintaining her dignity when difficult subjects come up. Everyone, including me, enjoys it. Yesterday, for instance provoked the following exchange, which I will set up:

    It had been several hours since Mom had even ventured accidentally toward a bathroom. Although I'd padded her with two pairs of paper underwear I was beginning to worry about MCF's chair cushions. Everyone was at the table participating in a lively pie-after-dinenr discussion. I decided I needed to consider how to delicately broach the subject of Mom and I going to the bathroom in this atmosphere. For at least two reasons the subject was becoming urgent. I decided on a quick, blunt approach.
    During a rare lull I turned to Mom. "Well, Mrs. Hudson, let's go to the bathroom."
    Her expression reared at me. She looked around the table, waved her finger comically to include everyone then swept her hand in my direction. "Does she do this with you?!?"
    Everyone agreed that if I hadn't they'd certainly observed signs that I wanted to.

    Hmmm...I'll finish this post later. I need to make an important phone call regarding the impending sale of our Mesa home.
    Later, hopefully soon. I have other news...later.

    Tomorrow, today, actually, is "doctor appointment" day in Mesa, as well as "meet with the representative of the buyers of our Mesa house" day and "have dinner with beloved friends" evening. I just finished all the stats I need to turn into Mom's PCP. I'm not too worried about the lack of sleep under which I am sure to be operating, tomorrow, as I am very excited about all three events. It is also "No Excuses" day and we need to leave here no later than 0800, so I'll just do it.
    Aside from informing those of you who are interested in what is going on tomorrow, I also wanted to mention: No stats or movement session entry today on either of those sites. Although all stats were taken (well, except lunch stats) and she had an exercise session, I didn't have the time to enter those. Didn't have time to enter the urinalysis, either. I'll catch up Thursday.
    I'm almost too excited to sleep but I'd better try.
    Later, in a day or so.

    The title above is both an interesting piece of information I learned today and a direct quote from an extremely helpful Civil Service Office of Personnel Management Retirement Services employee as I was in the process of changing Mom's mailing address on her Survivor's Benefit profile. Typically, the way we conduct government business over the phone is:

1. I make and negotiate the call;
2. I inform the person to whom I'm speaking that Mom is sitting next to me and can confirm that she authorizes me to do business on her behalf;
3. At some point they ask to speak to Mom to confirm this;
4. Business is conducted.

    The employee I spoke with today asked if I was her caregiver and have Power of Attorney. Yes, I responded, I'm her full time companion and have Durable Power of Attorney.
    That's when he spoke the sentence above, the title of this post. I have no idea why this is so, nor did he. Considering, I mentioned, that all Powers of Attorney are overseen and authorized by Attorneys General offices this glitch seems absurd. The employee went on to recommended that I become my mother's "Registered Payee", this U.S. Government office's designation of people registered to do business on someone else's behalf. I asked if this designation would transfer to all Government offices since much of my mother's business as a retiree's dependent survivor is Government business. No, he said. All the offices have their own protocol. He then mentioned Social Security in particular. His voice dwindled as it expressed his assurance that each office probably has it's own protocol.
    So, now I find that as my mother's caregiver and business agent it is necessary for me to register with each U.S. Government division with which I do business on her behalf. I expect that it will be fairly easy, but I wonder how many caregivers are not aware of this fly in Government ointment. Despite having very few readers I thought I should post something about this and include specific phrases that might be picked up by a search engine in order to attract other frenzied caregivers trying to negotiate the web as they attempt to conduct Government business on their Ancient Ones' behalf as I was doing this morning.

...last night as I drifted off to sleep and wanted to post, for my own benefit, to see if my attitude changes...
...a thought I had yesterday as I was doing my errand and happened to be driving behind a pick-up out of which a youthful arm emerged from a passenger side window, flipping off an elderly driver in front of the pick-up who was a little confused and changed lanes with not quite enough notice to satisfy the driver of the pick-up...
...I don't envy the young, nor do I find it nearly as interesting to be in their company as I do the company of Ancient Ones, now. All that twitching from the rush of peaking biological urges, sure that they can make life happen when the truth is that life makes us happen. I'm so glad we grow out of this.
    I know it is said that the old favor the young and vice versa but I'm wondering how much of this is a reflection of the truth and how much is a reflection of our middle aged desire not to be dismissed in our Ancient Years. For me, I'm ready to eschew the attention and company of the young (past puberty and pre-old, that is). Although we like to think that life belongs to the young, from my "older" vantage point I'm beginning to think that the young are simply not willing to accept that they belong to life. The older we become, though, the more willing we are to accept this; the better able we are to realize that the pleasures of life are available to us only when we let life wash over us rather than thinking we can direct the deluge.
...just a thought...that may change as time continues...god, I'm glad we get older rather than younger...

...and Mom's eyes were open when I looked in on her.
    On automatic, as I usually am first thing in the morning, I said, "Ready to get up?"
    "It's nine [yes, I slept in this morning, amazingly], I suppose I should."
    As usually happens when I know I'm not going to have a good 90 minutes to myself in the morning before "our" day begins, my spirit drooped but, as also happens, I went into automatic and said, "Okay. I just got up. I have to get the bathroom ready for you and set up breakfast stuff. We're having bacon today so I have to get it ready to turn it on while you're bathing. I haven't had coffee or anything so I'll probably be a little off. Thought I'd better let you know. It'll take a few minutes."
    "That's okay."
    I headed into the kitchen, remembering, while I set up breakfast things, what a horrible day I'd had recently when I didn't have some time to myself, didn't have coffee, wasn't able to ease into the day. No, I decided, I'm not going to let that happen again. I don't need to be feeling deprived today and take it out on Mom. I don't care whether she's ready to get up. I'm not ready for her to get up and if we repeat that recent "rushed morning" episode neither of us is going to have a good day, courtesy of me.
    So, I went back into Mom's bedroom. Her eyes were closed but I could tell from her breathing that she was awake, waiting to be called into the day. "Mom," I said, "I need some time to myself in the morning before I deal with 'us'. I'm glad you're ready to get up without me calling you but if I don't have some time to myself we'll both be sorry that you awoke early (for her, anyway). I'm going to let you sleep for another hour or so."
    I could tell she was surprised but she took it in stride. "I never mind a little extra sleep," she said, grinning.
    The truth is, I feel a touch of guilt for insisting on my alone time over her readiness to arise. I'm thinking I'm reinforcing behavior in her that I have wanted to turn around. I don't feel very good about doing this but I know from experience that I'd feel even worse putting aside my morning needs in favor of her morning desires.
    I'm a little surprised. Trying to manage and quell my discomfort about taking my time this morning will probably drape a sheer but guilt-gray veil over my day. When I awoke I realized I'd lost that "ready for anything" surge I'd had last night and still haven't recovered it after a good hour and a half. But, you know, days are days and life continues regardless of the tenor of one day or another.
    I'm ready. Time to up end the Mom.
    Later.

    I was able to do almost all the writing and entering I wanted to do today. Didn't get the urinalysis posted but I can do that tomorrow. All stats and sessions are up-to-date. The hydration essay is posted. Mom didn't spend nearly as much time sleeping as I expected but she and I enjoyed each other's company and had a good day, including a vigorous, improving exercise session. I'd love a couple more days like these I've had this weekend to care for Mom easily and write as much as I'd like here but, what the hell, fuck me if I can't take a joke.
    Anyway, I'm tired, and happy. Headed for bed. I expect a busy business day tomorrow. I'm looking forward to it, can you believe it? I feel like I can handle just about anything and still play on the side, although I'm hoping that Anything doesn't crawl out of the woodwork tomorrow.
    Later.

...the first as per the immediately previous post. It occurred to me, while out on my errand, that the non-alternative medical industry may not, for along time, be interested in exploring the possibility that iron-deficiency anemia in Ancients needs to be subjected to different blood test ranges than for the rest of the population. There's a lot of money to be made in this particular area of medicine, not only for physicians but for the diagnostic and drug communities, especially considering that, when internal bleeding cannot be found as the cause of iron-deficiency anemia tests are conducted over and over and over without end. There will, I'm sure, be a few brave physicians on the outskirts who will not only consider different ranges but will not declare their patients anemic out of hand. Medicine, though, in our capitalistic economy, is a business first and a service second at this time. Too many people's dinners depend on opportunistic, almost fad diseases, like iron-deficiency anemia among the Ancient and type 2 diabetes among middle-aged baby boomers. Caregivers of Ancient Ones who assertively manage their charge's medical care will need to keep on top of this issue.
    A curious occurrence from yesterday. After her nap, as Mom and I were in the bathroom preparing her for her debut into active wakefulness, she asked, "Do you remember that line of traffic when we came back from Mesa the other night?"
    "How could I forget?!?"
    "Well, I talked to [MPS] and she said something similar happened to them when they were on vacation some time ago."
    "Really. When did you talk to her?" I was curious because I realized that perhaps at some time when I wasn't completely focused on her over the last few days (a time that I couldn't recall) she must have used the phone to call MPS, since from caller ID that we hadn't received a call from her. Mom initiating a phone call would indicate that we had passed some significant milestones in Mom's recovery.
    "Oh, today, maybe an hour ago."
    Hmmm. "Well, Mom, since you've been asleep for a few hours and I know you haven't been on the phone all day, you must have talked to her in your sleep." I was only half kidding. I take nothing for granted when it comes to the unplumbed powers of Ancient Mentality. "In fact, MPS is probably taking as many naps as possible during this holiday since that's what she always does when she's off, so it's entirely possible the two of you did have a conversation in your sleep. It just didn't happen over the phone."
    Mom studied me from a considering distance. "Do you suppose that could have happened?"
    "Anything's possible, Mom."
    Of course, it's also possible that somewhere in her sleep she remembered me relating, during our interminable trip, an incident in which MPS and her family got caught in a six hour stopped back-up on I-17 South because of a fatal accident that closed the freeway at Cordes Junction. But, you know, I take nothing for granted anymore when it comes to Ancient Possibility. I'm making a mental note to run this by MPS at my next opportunity. You just never know...the world is full of possibilities extraordinaire...

...at Blood Test Draw Date: 9/2/04. Her hemoglobin is low (lower than I was hoping; I expected the results to be in the 10s), but stable. Reminds me of that medical article I read a while back that suggested that it may be "normal" for some Ancient Ones to run iron deficiently anemic, which would mean that what would be low for most of the population would be normal for those Ancient Ones. Unfortunately, enough data doesn't yet exist to make this absolute determination. My mother's and our generation will probably shake this one out.
    This time I included reference ranges for both Mesa and Prescott if available. Only one result came out normal here (although reference ranges weren't given for this area) and high in Mesa, the Monocytes result (Mono %). There is also a urinalysis with curious results which I'll be entering later. At the top of the page of the blood test is a short list of results which haven't yet been calculated. There is also a note under the Folate Serum result that explains that "Folic Acid Levels May be Appreciably Increased by Recent Food Intake" which I didn't include because her Folate levels are usually high due to the fact that she takes a folic acid supplement.
    At any rate, I'm not worried. She's doing well from my point of view, better than she has in a long time despite her anemia and her UTI.
    Mom is still sleeping, which is okay with me, since I have a short errand to run. I'm assuming she'll still be asleep when I return. As well, today is my last personal "holiday", so I'm not going to keep her from sleeping. I think she'll be okay with some extra hours under her belt. We didn't do her therapy exercises yesterday (mainly because I exhausted her with the walkering) but we'll be doing those today. Hopefully, I'll be able to keep up on all stats and upload the hydration essay today. Then again...I'll see where the day takes us.
    Later.

...after expecting to spend some wee hours catching up here besides the meal stats I just updated and after guzzling a cup of coffee for some extra zip, I'm tired. Maybe the last few days are beginning to catch up with me. Anyway, folks, I'm going to bed. I think I'll fill in the details about the incident at the grocery tomorrow. Maybe I'll arise early. Maybe I won't. Who knows. All I know is that I can, suddenly, barely keep my eyes open and can't wait to snug into my down and drift into sleep. I did polish the hydration essay but was too tired to proofread it one more time so I'll do that tomorrow and publish it. That one isn't really extemporaneous in part because I wrote it before, here, and lost it and in part because it's an issue that I spend a lot of time thinking about, thus spent a lot of casual mental time polishing even before I rewrote it.
    Our nights are beginning to reflect fall...temperatures dropping into the low 50's or high 40's, perfect sleeping-with-the-windows-and-doors-open weather. Mmmmm...well, I'm off to dreamland with The Girls.
    Oh. For my reference: Mom had a bowel movement today; seems like her new schedule is every other day, which is fine. She knew before her bowels moved that she'd be having one, which is good. Because of her UTI's I've been insisting on cleaning her afterward. Today I was just a touch late on the uptake and she'd already begun to wipe herself. Sure enough, when I cleaned her, I discovered she'd tracked fecal matter the entire length of her uro-genital area. I'm not sure how I'm going to continue to handle this. Too bad there isn't some type of protective outer urinary-labial condom that allows for urination for Ancient Women to keep this from happening. It occurred to me today that she may have contracted a vaginal "trich" infection, so I'd better see if I can get a referral from her PCP for a gynecologist (or, maybe he does this, seeing as how he's an internist) and have her checked. Her regular gynecologist died about a year and a half ago from, you guessed it, uterine cancer. Doesn't it figure. Or, if her PCP doesn't do this I'll take her to Planned Parenthood up here. We'll have to cross the ever present right-wing Christian picket line but Mom will probably consider that exciting and it won't bother me. The women have been hanging out there so long (a couple of years, now) that they tend to plod weary as though they wished that more liberal women would have abortions so there'd be fewer liberal people, thus less need to protest liberal policies.
    Later.

    I awoke at a little before 1000. On a hunch, considering that she went to bed significantly earlier than me last night, I peaked into Mom's room even before I hit the bathroom and she was on her elbows, bright-eyed. So our day began. I went into mine without coffee. I'm not sure whether it had an effect, but today was a "good cop/bad cop" day, me playing both roles, Mom and a strange woman at the grocery as the recipients. I know better than to do this: To, you know, luxuriate into the wee hours, as I love to do, and then expect mornings to be easy. Oh well, I hear I'm human after all, despite what the woman at the grocery thought, so I guess it's okay.
    Mom did get some walkering in today. We had to make emergency trips to three stores to pick up supplies of which I hadn't been keeping track, not the least of which were paper underwear, vegetables and aloe vera gel, each at a different store. At first Mom didn't want to go. When the trip appeared to involve only one store fairly close I decided to allow her to stay as long as she promised not to nap and not to eat (she's back on antibiotics and we needed a clear 2 hours without food to make sure the pill works well). When I realized that the trip was going to involve three stores I overruled both of us. It was an interesting trip. I'm sure I'll write about it later, especially since I still have a bug up my ass about The Strange Woman at the Grocery incident.
    That's not really why I'm here at this time, though. I wanted to mention that I've begun the therapy exercise journal, =>Moving =>Mom. Some of you might find it interesting; most of you will probably find it about as interesting as you find Mom's Daily Tests and Meds (which I need and plan to update this evening; yes, I expect it to be another glorious late night, again, and I'm sure I'll pay for it tomorrow). It is another of those journals that is primarily for me, so I can keep orderly, reliable track of what she's doing in the way of movement. I particularly like and am proud of the layout. I had to tweak the template more than usual and enjoyed hours of fun, as well as sharpening my grasp of CSS and XML.
    Although I'm not typically a "missing" kind of girl, I miss being able to have long periods of time at my disposal to play around like this on the computer, especially since I am always thinking of things I want to do and have a long, long list of backed up plans and projects. I've been cheating a little this weekend, taking it for my own holiday even as I tend to Mom, rearranging my hours, doing my own stuff whether Mom's awake or asleep and not worrying if she "over"-sleeps. She's napping right now in fact, but some of that is probably her sleeping off this "good cop/bad cop" day into which I drew her.
    Funny that I'm having such trouble getting the food journal started. I thought about it a bit last night and decided it's because all the other specific journals involve recording precise "measurements", so to speak, and this one is pretty much seat of the pants, but the food journal is going to be, well, much the way I cook, which the graphic I drew for Playing With Food pretty much describes: throwing foodstuffs into the air and seeing how many I can catch and where the rest land. It's harder to write about that, especially since it involves throwing food at my mother. I will get that started soon, but I want to add at least one other essay to the new essay journal and well, there's always something.
    I didn't get the banana bread made yesterday. Maybe tomorrow. Didn't sort through the mail, either. Maybe tomorrow. This evening I'm mainly grabbing at the computer in an effort to restore myself.
    We're having chicken pot pie tonight, courtesy of Costco. Mom's dangerous in that place. She hung out and drooled over the prepared meal section until I agreed to take home one item for dinner tonight. That's the one she chose. I can smell it baking. It's got another half hour to go. This might be a good time to wake up The Mom, get The Girls moving, and do the evening.
    Later.