Friday, November 19, 2004
"Not last night but the night before..."
...I had a curious dream. I dreamed that my father, who appeared as a cross between Vin Diesel and Brad Dourif (the actor who played Billy Bibbit in One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest) arrived at our home (which was an expanded version of an old apartment I rented many years ago on 5th Avenue and Roosevelt in downtown Phoenix, an apartment I remember with fondness as it was a luxury apartment in the 1920s with features such as arched doorways, a true garden bathroom, completely tiled, with a bathtub window that opened onto a small courtyard and such amenities as an ironing board that dropped from a wall cabinet, a kitchen sink window framing a western/sunset exposure and tiling throughout the kitchen area including on the counter tops) on motorcycle, announced that he was going to take over my mother's care and that it was time for me to leave and start life anew. My mother was horrified. She didn't want him to manage her care nor live with us. I fought his attempts to enter the house and eject me. I was unsuccessful at keeping him out but was successful at remaining in the house and disallowing his takeover of my mother's care. As I was protecting my mother and frantically interrupting his attempts to accomplish caregiver tasks, a variety of people dressed in everything from business suits to formal party attire arrived one by one offering me this and that job, begging me to engage in formal employment in a variety of fields. I considered every offer carefully, thinking that maybe my father was right but realized and voiced, with incredulity, that I was unqualified to handle any of the jobs: Positions such as president of a bank; scuba diver on a research team beneath the Arctic ice; featured exhibitor at an art gallery in Chicago; and, one peculiar position that, in an awakened state, delights me, sweeper of the sun off the streets of the Phoenix Metroplex. I recall thinking that I was qualified for this position but was unsure of its necessity and considered that it was underpaid. None of my protests seemed to matter to these people. Toward the end of the dream (which was determined by me awakening out of it) I decided that I was best suited to taking care of my mother and continued my efforts to protect her from my father's takeover by trying to talk him into taking one or another of the jobs being offered me, as they all were positions for which, in the dream, anyway, he was well suited. The dream ended before my success was established. My mother, by the way, was in a fancy, gadgeted to the hilt wheelchair.
I wanted to record this dream before I forgot it, although since I had it I've fixated on it and, far from fading, it becomes sharper and clearer.
I wanted to record this dream before I forgot it, although since I had it I've fixated on it and, far from fading, it becomes sharper and clearer.
Thursday, November 18, 2004
I guess I've been taking a vacation from my vacation...
...yesterday and today, the 16th and the 17th, that is, considering that a new day has begun. Well, not really on the 16th since I did some sorting and shuffling and rethinking on my project but definitely today; I didn't go anywhere near my project. Today I couldn't resist almost a full day of being my mother's caregiver without restraint. It felt good. Not that she slept any less nor did I push her to do any more. I needed to go to Costco today, asked her once if she wanted to go rather than telling her that she was going. I thought she might. She seemed, well, somewhat livelier today than she has recently. She declined, though, I accepted and she settled into a two hour nap while I made the two hour supplies trip (which included a few other stops). As I pulled into our driveway I saw her bathroom light up; perfect timing.
Today I purchased a card making kit for her. I approached and backed off the kit several times before putting one in my basket. It occurred to me that it might be as labor intensive for me as the beading kit was and I might not yet be in the proper frame of mind to supervise her crafting. I finally decided to take a chance. She spent most of the evening looking it over, exclaiming about the variety of materials and reading parts of the instruction booklet. Although she didn't begin making cards she paid attention and not only made tactile contact with the materials but arranged them on the table as though she had something in mind. I reminded her several times that I purchased the kit at the behest of MCS, who misses what used to be Mom's frequent card and letter writing, wants her to start making regular contact with people again and suggested that if Mom made cards she might be more likely to write in them and send them out. From Mom's reaction this evening to the kit and to my repeated reminders I think MCS might be right.
I had a thought provoking conversation today with a new acquaintance who may become an interesting friend. During a short period when we were splitting some shared supplies he asked me about my mother. Although I spent most of our time together talking about my mother and myself (bless his heart, he never winced...I guess I was just in talking mode today and he was gracious), he managed to get some words in edgewise about his now deceased mother-in-law.
The woman died either when she was 83 or 86; in the last few days I've talked to someone else about an Ancient relative who died so I'm confused about ages. He told me she was very independent, living on her own into her 80s even after she broke her hip. "She seemed to be better than before," when she recovered from the first break, he said. Then she broke her other hip. From that point on she headed downhill. Whenever others relate their Ancient Ones' experiences to me I automatically compare my mother's experiences. Today as I was doing this mid conversation, I became aware that I do this and watched myself recreating what I imagined to be this woman's life as an Ancient One and comparing it to my mother's. I watched myself imagine a woman in her 80's physically and mentally spry, living alone. I saw myself wonder, lighting quick, all in images, why my mother's trajectory through Ancienthood bypassed the hardy independence of his mother-in-law. As he mentioned his mother-in-law's quick decline after her second hip break my maternal grandfather popped in for a visit, reliving his equally quick decline into death in his 90's after breaking his knee. I watched myself wonder what my mother's catalyst toward death would be...had she already experienced it? Was it the low sodium episode? Or was that her first broken hip? What would be her second broken hip?
While I was erratically explaining what I do for my mother he broke in to ask if she had "MS or something like that". I was surprised but I realized that it probably sounds, to most people, like she must have some sort of systemic infirmity. No, I assured him, she doesn't, she is "just very old"; severe short term memory loss, unable to handle the business or the personal stuff of her life without someone around to either do things or remind her to do things and how to do them. Although I didn't get a chance to mention this, one of the examples of personal chores that have to be monitored that I had ready to relate was an incident that happened yesterday. I reminded her after breakfast to brush her teeth, talked her through rising from the table in the proper way so as not to compromise her back, followed her to the bathroom, reminded her, while she peed, why she was really there then, satisfied that she was well on her way to brushing her teeth, I exited to perform a quick chore. A minute later I reentered the bathroom. She was, indeed, brushing her teeth and the bathroom smelled of Gold Bond antiseptic anti-itch spray, which I use when she's developing a rash from her middle-of-the-night urine marination. I realized that she had become confused as she considered all the items on the sink counter about which was toothpaste and had decided to use the nearest item. I stopped her, reviewed with her which was the toothpaste and made a mental note to start setting up the counter so that it only contained, at any particular time, the item or items she needed to use for a particular grooming task.
Although I didn't get a chance to relate this to him, as I combined my recollection of this incident with the information he provided me about his mother-in-law and another tidbit about his experience with a landlord who suffered short term memory loss, I began to wonder why it is that when I'm privy to incidents about other people's Ancient Ones, they mostly sound much 'better off' than my mother.
"She's 101, blind as a bat and alert as ever," one woman told me about her grandmother.
"Yeah, he's 92 and still drives, and he's one of the safest drivers around."
"She's 89, gets up every morning at 0600 and walks three miles."
Maybe it's because people stop talking about their Ancient Ones when they can no longer be presented as evidence for The American Dream of Ancienthood. Once in awhile I'll chance upon a brave person who is willing to tell me about their Ancient One's decline; the Fedex delivery woman, for instance. This doesn't happen often.
One thing I know about Ancienthood is that there are far fewer reliable group landmarks for the Ancient than there are for, say, teenagers as a whole or two year olds as a whole. I think, maybe, that the further one advances into Ancienthood the less likely one's life is going to resemble the lives of any of one's peers. For every 80-something Ancient One who has broken a hip, then another, then headed down the road of rapid decline there is an Ancient One who, like my mother, has never broken a major bone and probably won't despite her periods of back injury and collapsing. For every Ancient One who continues driving safely at 92 there is an Ancient One like the 92 year old woman in Glendale, Arizona who, while driving through a local Park and Swap, mistook the gas for the brakes and smashed into a couple of kiosks, killing a few people. For every Ancient One who walks at 0600 every morning there is an Ancient One, like my mother, who, having spent most of her life making sure she moved a lot, is no longer interested in even therapeutic movement and doesn't care to remember that the more she moves the better she feels because, well, when she's sedentary she feels just fine, thank you. She doesn't envy younger people the "excess energy" that haunts them into movement.
Well, tomorrow, today, that is, after I sleep, will be another project day, I can feel it gathering. I'm excited. Nothing like a vacation from vacationing to spur on the vacation.
Later, once, again, probably much.
Today I purchased a card making kit for her. I approached and backed off the kit several times before putting one in my basket. It occurred to me that it might be as labor intensive for me as the beading kit was and I might not yet be in the proper frame of mind to supervise her crafting. I finally decided to take a chance. She spent most of the evening looking it over, exclaiming about the variety of materials and reading parts of the instruction booklet. Although she didn't begin making cards she paid attention and not only made tactile contact with the materials but arranged them on the table as though she had something in mind. I reminded her several times that I purchased the kit at the behest of MCS, who misses what used to be Mom's frequent card and letter writing, wants her to start making regular contact with people again and suggested that if Mom made cards she might be more likely to write in them and send them out. From Mom's reaction this evening to the kit and to my repeated reminders I think MCS might be right.
I had a thought provoking conversation today with a new acquaintance who may become an interesting friend. During a short period when we were splitting some shared supplies he asked me about my mother. Although I spent most of our time together talking about my mother and myself (bless his heart, he never winced...I guess I was just in talking mode today and he was gracious), he managed to get some words in edgewise about his now deceased mother-in-law.
The woman died either when she was 83 or 86; in the last few days I've talked to someone else about an Ancient relative who died so I'm confused about ages. He told me she was very independent, living on her own into her 80s even after she broke her hip. "She seemed to be better than before," when she recovered from the first break, he said. Then she broke her other hip. From that point on she headed downhill. Whenever others relate their Ancient Ones' experiences to me I automatically compare my mother's experiences. Today as I was doing this mid conversation, I became aware that I do this and watched myself recreating what I imagined to be this woman's life as an Ancient One and comparing it to my mother's. I watched myself imagine a woman in her 80's physically and mentally spry, living alone. I saw myself wonder, lighting quick, all in images, why my mother's trajectory through Ancienthood bypassed the hardy independence of his mother-in-law. As he mentioned his mother-in-law's quick decline after her second hip break my maternal grandfather popped in for a visit, reliving his equally quick decline into death in his 90's after breaking his knee. I watched myself wonder what my mother's catalyst toward death would be...had she already experienced it? Was it the low sodium episode? Or was that her first broken hip? What would be her second broken hip?
While I was erratically explaining what I do for my mother he broke in to ask if she had "MS or something like that". I was surprised but I realized that it probably sounds, to most people, like she must have some sort of systemic infirmity. No, I assured him, she doesn't, she is "just very old"; severe short term memory loss, unable to handle the business or the personal stuff of her life without someone around to either do things or remind her to do things and how to do them. Although I didn't get a chance to mention this, one of the examples of personal chores that have to be monitored that I had ready to relate was an incident that happened yesterday. I reminded her after breakfast to brush her teeth, talked her through rising from the table in the proper way so as not to compromise her back, followed her to the bathroom, reminded her, while she peed, why she was really there then, satisfied that she was well on her way to brushing her teeth, I exited to perform a quick chore. A minute later I reentered the bathroom. She was, indeed, brushing her teeth and the bathroom smelled of Gold Bond antiseptic anti-itch spray, which I use when she's developing a rash from her middle-of-the-night urine marination. I realized that she had become confused as she considered all the items on the sink counter about which was toothpaste and had decided to use the nearest item. I stopped her, reviewed with her which was the toothpaste and made a mental note to start setting up the counter so that it only contained, at any particular time, the item or items she needed to use for a particular grooming task.
Although I didn't get a chance to relate this to him, as I combined my recollection of this incident with the information he provided me about his mother-in-law and another tidbit about his experience with a landlord who suffered short term memory loss, I began to wonder why it is that when I'm privy to incidents about other people's Ancient Ones, they mostly sound much 'better off' than my mother.
"She's 101, blind as a bat and alert as ever," one woman told me about her grandmother.
"Yeah, he's 92 and still drives, and he's one of the safest drivers around."
"She's 89, gets up every morning at 0600 and walks three miles."
Maybe it's because people stop talking about their Ancient Ones when they can no longer be presented as evidence for The American Dream of Ancienthood. Once in awhile I'll chance upon a brave person who is willing to tell me about their Ancient One's decline; the Fedex delivery woman, for instance. This doesn't happen often.
One thing I know about Ancienthood is that there are far fewer reliable group landmarks for the Ancient than there are for, say, teenagers as a whole or two year olds as a whole. I think, maybe, that the further one advances into Ancienthood the less likely one's life is going to resemble the lives of any of one's peers. For every 80-something Ancient One who has broken a hip, then another, then headed down the road of rapid decline there is an Ancient One who, like my mother, has never broken a major bone and probably won't despite her periods of back injury and collapsing. For every Ancient One who continues driving safely at 92 there is an Ancient One like the 92 year old woman in Glendale, Arizona who, while driving through a local Park and Swap, mistook the gas for the brakes and smashed into a couple of kiosks, killing a few people. For every Ancient One who walks at 0600 every morning there is an Ancient One, like my mother, who, having spent most of her life making sure she moved a lot, is no longer interested in even therapeutic movement and doesn't care to remember that the more she moves the better she feels because, well, when she's sedentary she feels just fine, thank you. She doesn't envy younger people the "excess energy" that haunts them into movement.
Well, tomorrow, today, that is, after I sleep, will be another project day, I can feel it gathering. I'm excited. Nothing like a vacation from vacationing to spur on the vacation.
Later, once, again, probably much.
Wednesday, November 17, 2004
I'm not sure why I'm back here, today...
...maybe it's the exhilaration of discovering a few more readable and interesting comments to a post, my last one.
I especially enjoyed the one about how playing games with an Ancient One is exactly like playing them with a Young One. When I play games with my mother I often remember playing games with my older and younger sisters. For the first year or so as the younger player I thought that the reason I always lost was because I wasn't old enough to have mastered the game skills and understand strategy. After that year I realized that my losses were often chalked up to being ripe for cheater's pickings. Later, as my younger sisters became interested in games I realized that I could cheat them, although from experience I knew I'd be able to do this only for awhile. I think of this as I play with my mother and how easy it would be to reinstitute the Sibling Cheat Rule with her if my ego needed the approbation of winning at any cost. I'm long beyond that phase but remembering it spurs lots of enjoyable conversations between my mother and me about our memories of our childhoods, our childhood learning curves and how our siblings inadvertently promoted learning by taking advantage of our innocence.
Contemplating this also reminds me that now I often use our games as a way of nourishing whomever needs to be nourished at the time. If I perceive that my mother's ego could use a few solid wins I 'think' her through the game so that she gets them. If I need the wins (sometimes I do) I withdraw my 'thinking' on her behalf.
My history in competition has been that I'm a sore loser and a graceless, in-your-face winner. Although this has softened (a little, not much) through my years of adulthood and even more in caregiving for my mother, she and other members of my family have always taken self-satisfied delight in this quirk of mine. Sometimes when she and I are facing off across a board or a deck, I perceive that she'd very much like to game me into one of my "God damnit, I lost!" fits or watch me perform my ugly version of gloating through a win so I think her through to whichever she's wanting and let myself sink into my behavior at its worst. She loves it. So do I. It's a way for her to keep in touch with the family history she is most likely to always remember.
I'm sort of aimless today. I spent yesterday rethinking and resorting my project. Then, to clear my mind, my mother and I spent the late afternoon through evening and night watching back-to-back episodes of our mutual guilty pleasure, Sex and the City. At one point during the first season disc I was finishing the preparation of our Cobb salads and let this disk linger for several minutes in the episode selection phase where sensational bits of conversation from the episodes are replayed. My mother tends not to distinguish between previews and actual programs and I noticed from the kitchen that her attention was riveted on the replays. As I began to set up her TV table with pills, supplements and utensils I said, "Give me just another minute, Mom, and you won't have to listen to, 'He's Mr. Pussy...he loves going down on women,' again."
She looked up at me, startled. "Is that what she was saying?!? I couldn't make it out!"
Hmmm...I wondered, "You know what that means, right?"
She glanced sardonically at me and promptly blew me out of the water. "I knew what that meant long before you were a gleam in my eye."
Sometimes when we're watching these shows I wonder if her natural reticence toward talking about sex, which translated, when I was a kid, into not ever having a sex discussion with my mother, wasn't really natural but instigated by her own 'don't talk about it' youth. Maybe she always wanted to talk about sex freely and now, in her Ancient years, her parents long dead, this program is giving her the pleasure of doing so. One's Ancient Years, I think, have their compensations.
I especially enjoyed the one about how playing games with an Ancient One is exactly like playing them with a Young One. When I play games with my mother I often remember playing games with my older and younger sisters. For the first year or so as the younger player I thought that the reason I always lost was because I wasn't old enough to have mastered the game skills and understand strategy. After that year I realized that my losses were often chalked up to being ripe for cheater's pickings. Later, as my younger sisters became interested in games I realized that I could cheat them, although from experience I knew I'd be able to do this only for awhile. I think of this as I play with my mother and how easy it would be to reinstitute the Sibling Cheat Rule with her if my ego needed the approbation of winning at any cost. I'm long beyond that phase but remembering it spurs lots of enjoyable conversations between my mother and me about our memories of our childhoods, our childhood learning curves and how our siblings inadvertently promoted learning by taking advantage of our innocence.
Contemplating this also reminds me that now I often use our games as a way of nourishing whomever needs to be nourished at the time. If I perceive that my mother's ego could use a few solid wins I 'think' her through the game so that she gets them. If I need the wins (sometimes I do) I withdraw my 'thinking' on her behalf.
My history in competition has been that I'm a sore loser and a graceless, in-your-face winner. Although this has softened (a little, not much) through my years of adulthood and even more in caregiving for my mother, she and other members of my family have always taken self-satisfied delight in this quirk of mine. Sometimes when she and I are facing off across a board or a deck, I perceive that she'd very much like to game me into one of my "God damnit, I lost!" fits or watch me perform my ugly version of gloating through a win so I think her through to whichever she's wanting and let myself sink into my behavior at its worst. She loves it. So do I. It's a way for her to keep in touch with the family history she is most likely to always remember.
I'm sort of aimless today. I spent yesterday rethinking and resorting my project. Then, to clear my mind, my mother and I spent the late afternoon through evening and night watching back-to-back episodes of our mutual guilty pleasure, Sex and the City. At one point during the first season disc I was finishing the preparation of our Cobb salads and let this disk linger for several minutes in the episode selection phase where sensational bits of conversation from the episodes are replayed. My mother tends not to distinguish between previews and actual programs and I noticed from the kitchen that her attention was riveted on the replays. As I began to set up her TV table with pills, supplements and utensils I said, "Give me just another minute, Mom, and you won't have to listen to, 'He's Mr. Pussy...he loves going down on women,' again."
She looked up at me, startled. "Is that what she was saying?!? I couldn't make it out!"
Hmmm...I wondered, "You know what that means, right?"
She glanced sardonically at me and promptly blew me out of the water. "I knew what that meant long before you were a gleam in my eye."
Sometimes when we're watching these shows I wonder if her natural reticence toward talking about sex, which translated, when I was a kid, into not ever having a sex discussion with my mother, wasn't really natural but instigated by her own 'don't talk about it' youth. Maybe she always wanted to talk about sex freely and now, in her Ancient years, her parents long dead, this program is giving her the pleasure of doing so. One's Ancient Years, I think, have their compensations.
Sunday, November 14, 2004
Oliveshit
It's been half a month since my last post. I thought I'd better check in and report on how my month of pursuing a project for myself in depth has been going. Very, very well, thank you, for the project, me and not inconsequentially, my mother.
It's obvious to me by now that my project will continue after this month but I am making so much headway on it that I'm not worried about devoting somewhat less time to it once the month of November closes.
I'm reveling in doing mostly just what I want to do for a month. Of course I have given the "what I want to do" category wide latitude, as many of the chores I do to keep my mother well and happy are unavoidable and are done every day. If I have chores outside the house and she isn't interested in going and I don't feel like spending the hour here and the 15 minutes there and the 20 minutes elsewhere that it takes to bring my mother along, get her out and get her moving I don't. As it turns out she hasn't been out of the house except to get the mail since November 1st. That's fine with her and, except for slight twinges of guilt and concern, fine with me.
We've played Sorry only once since My Month Of Me began. During that one game I realized how much it presently irritates me to play my side of the board and keep her attuned to what she needs to do on her side including such things as reminding her that:
I've judiciously allowed my mother to sleep almost as much as she wants. For the most part I've allowed her to awaken on her own, which means she usually arises around noon. She is not allowed to go back to bed for four to five hours after this but, if she wishes, once this mandatory "up" period is accomplished she may take a nap. After a nap she usually remains awake until late into the evening, sometimes past midnight, which has always been her preference. Even so, I figured that she is managing a good 14 to 16 hours of sleep a day. I asked her a few days ago if its bothering her to sleep so much.
She laughed. "It's like a vacation!"
Physically she is weakening some since I haven't yet felt like directing her through her exercises. Every couple of days I think we should reinstate her exercises today before she gets really weak. Then she stays up a little longer, moves a bit more around the house, stands and watches me at the Arcadia doors while I do work in the yard and I decide, nah, she can handle a month of relative inactivity.
She's eating well although her prodigious sleep habits have dictated that she is eating two full meals and a snack (usually V-8 juice with cinnamon, half of a 3 oz bag of "lite" popcorn and five to seven large green olives stuffed with pimento, depending on whether I thinks we're going to have olives with dinner) rather than a full lunch. Her blood sugar is remaining under good to excellent control. After the 1st, in other words after I stopped harassing her about sleeping too much and not moving enough, her blood pressure settled down quite a bit. She is mostly on the low end dosage of lisinopril now and sometimes I don't even give her that because her blood pressure would go too low (for her). There have been a couple of very short bouts of high (for her) BP, usually when I become short tempered about something, although this is happening rarely during this period.
I've also rediscovered some of my interest in cooking and have made some truly spectacular meals since this period began, most notably a beef pot pie. I'd never made a crust and was unclear about how to make the filling. I followed cookbook directions exactly on the crust, though, followed my instincts about what would make a savory, hearty filling and produced a magnificent result, so much so that we've decided to never buy a Costco pot pie, chicken or any other type, again. I finally got around to making muffins with Splenda®. They were a huge disappointment, both in flavor and texture. I noted with some sardonicism a few days ago that Splenda® has just come out with a half sugar/half Splenda mixture for baking. I know why, although I don't intend to use it. There is something about the chemical character of Splenda® that causes it to toughen flour mixtures and, of course, everything in which one uses it still has that peculiar artificial over-flavor. I started mixing Splenda® in her cranberry juice, though, since the type we use is the pure juice and is mouth puckering tart, about which she complained. I figured if I mixed some Splenda with it she'd be prone to drink more, which would be good for her urinary tract. She now requests it throughout the day, which may have something to do with us finally reaching what I hope will be a non-UTI plateau.
I've forgotten from day to day to take her in for her monthly blood draws. I think she's doing okay, though. I also have forgotten more than a few times to give her 36 mg of iron protein succinylate during her midday snacks and I am speculating from her nail beds that her hemoglobin is running at about 9 (although I may be mistaken) but I vow to do better continually and I'm sure I will. At any rate, running at 9 doesn't seem to be hurting her. I expect, before the month's over, I'll take her in for a draw just out of curiosity but, still, when I think of the effort it takes to prepare her to go somewhere on a day by day basis I decide, nah, not today.
She's kept squeaky clean, including her hair, although I haven't styled it for awhile. She enjoys the way she looks when its styled but, typically, once she's had a session in curlers under the heat of the dryer she wants to take a nap and this month I'm letting her. By the time she awakens both the curl and the styling cement I've applied to her hair have been pillowed out and she and I both forget about styling it.
I've discovered over the last half month that if I feed my mother enough olives the oil changes the character of her shit felicitously; it's less sticky and less likely to spread throughout her entire uro-genital area on its own. This was an accidental discovery. I began feeding her olives with her V-8 juice during her midday snacks in order to cut down on the amount of popcorn she was eating (thus controlling her blood sugar a bit better) and allay her sweet tooth. Sour foods, such as brined pickles, olives and other pickled vegetables, are famous for their ability to settle and satisfy a craving for sweet. My mother loves green olives. After about a week of feeding her olives daily I noticed that her bowel movements weren't smearing themselves nearly as much as they had. Once I began to wonder why it was a short step to considering the inclusion of olives in her diet and remembering that olive oil is a millennia's old intestinal protectant (usually from toxins) and its ability to prevent constipation is legion. I suppose I could simply feed my mother olive oil but when I was dancing in high school one of my teachers suggested a periodic three day diet of apples and olive oil to keep us internally clean. Trust me, it doesn't take long to develop a gag reflex to the taste, and soon after the smell, of olive oil. Encouraging her to eat olives is not only healthy on all counts and has a welcome effect on the quality of her shit and the orneriness of her sweet tooth but she loves olives and never refuses them.
I continue to insist on cleaning her after every bowel movement (she remains regular and eliminates without undue effort or any discomfort), which annoys her, but I've kept her UTI free since the last one and remind her with each cleaning session that, even as she hates me to do this, it is not my idea of how to spend several minutes every day or so, either. Since The Advent of the Olives, though, I no longer go through half a box of baby wipes cleaning her. 5 - 10 seems to do the trick.
We've come to a truce about her bathing. MCS suggested that my mother's preferred method of immersed bathing may no longer be a good idea since it tends to encourage UTI's if one is prone to them. I've discussed this with my mother at length and given her the option of sitting on a stool in the tub and taking a shower. She hates the idea of having water beat down on her, though, so we've both made peace with the fact that she and I will be sink bathing her throughout the rest of her life.
During this personal vacation I've been taking I've also happened upon set of directives issuing 'new' orders to caregivers on how to oversee an Ancient One's hospital care. One of these directives addresses urethral catheters and cautions that if one is absolutely necessary (often during surgery) the caregiver should insist that it be in for as short a period of time as possible. The directive explains that catheters often carry microbes that cause urinary tract infections. It doesn't mention that, in an old, inelastic urethra the trauma to the urethral walls of being held by the pressure of the catheter is difficult from which to recover. It also doesn't mention that even when a caregiver is super vigilant and super assertive regarding their Ancient One's hospital care if the hospital is inconvenienced by an Ancient One's urinary incontinence they will catheterize with abandon, slip it back in every chance they get and/or simply refuse to honor the caregiver's request not to use catheters for the staff's convenience. This is, of course, in large part due to current understaffing in hospitals and health care facilities, which is due in large part to the financial trauma the health care system in this country in undergoing including severely inadequate salaries for front line health care providers, which is due in large part to our traumatic transition from health care as a service delivered 'from on high' and couched in an occult environment to a service Average Jane and Joe should be able to perform for themselves as much as possible with providers becoming a health resource to the recipient rather than Health Dictators. Whew! I did that without taking a breath!
Let's see, what else has been going on since November 1st? Mom and I have been collecting and viewing our favorite movie classics as we can. This is entertaining, keeps Mom up and gives me lots of time to work on my project even as I'm watching movies with her. I picked up a couple of beading kits on a hunch and Mom took to it very well, made an interesting, pretty bracelet the first night, from start to finish. We haven't done this since because keeping the beads separated became a necessary, labor intensive activity of I which I was the only one capable. I didn't enjoy it and decided I could wait until after November to come up with a system for keeping the beads separate and instituting it (which will also be labor intensive).
I've decided as well that I won't be going to the book club meeting this month even though it is our anniversary meeting and members have pleaded with me to please come despite me not having read the book; I've read no more than the introduction. Why haven't I, during this month of My Vacation at Home? Because, even while on vacation, at least half if not more of my time is devoted to negotiating my mother's life so that she remains in good health and spirits and continues to include intense observation so that I can detect if this vacation of mine starts to sour on her. The rest of my time is devoted to my project. But this isn't the reason I've decided not to go. I don't want to spoil the time I've managed to carve out for myself this month in order to, yet again, attend a meeting in which all my energy will be directed toward my mother having a relaxed, enjoyable evening. I'm considering, in fact, canceling our plan to spend Thanksgiving at MPS home in Chandler primarily because I work double time not only on the holiday but for a day before and after when we travel for holiday visits and, falling as it does in the month of November, I'm not interested in doing that this year.
Despite her increased sleep and decreased activity Mom's been reading and doing crosswords significantly more since I began my month long vacation. I explained my intention to her several times during the days preceding my vacation at home. I talked about how I was going to be spending less time making sure she stayed awake and moving. If she resisted going with me on errands I was going to let her win. Easily. One question. One answer. I explained why, going into detail about the amount of time, energy and focus it takes for me to do her life and that, after all these years, I needed a month to at least make an attempt at doing some of mine. I explained why I picked this month and what my project was going to be. We even celebrated the beginning of my vacation on my birthday, the day before it was to begin.
With half that month now gone I can say, with surprise and pleasure, that she is doing fine. We can address her physical weakness after November. I have no doubt but what I'll be able to get her moving again. When this month is over will I simply drop my insistence on self-interested time and whirl myself vigorously back into my mother's life? Hmmm...I don't know. I expect that I will take a somewhat more considered approach toward snatching time here and there for myself, especially in light of how easily my lack of attendance is sitting with my mother. I'm sure I'll spend much less time on my project and other activities and interests that, in the last month, I've remembered I've missed. But I don't think I'll be abandoning them as I have. I hope not, anyway. I'm aware that in these last two weeks I may have become accustomed to misremembering how much time it takes for me to keep my mother up and moving. However, I'm also reminding myself of how much I love to follow my interests, to practice them, to allow myself time to think them through and create out of them. I don't think I'll be forgetting this quickly.
I continue to have moments when I'm overwhelmed by frustration and hopelessness, although much fewer than previously. A couple of afternoons ago I had a reoccurrence of an episode in which I find myself smelling my mother's urine everywhere, even outside the house, despite knowing that I'm not carrying it on me. The following morning I suddenly began weeping as I was stuffing her urine soaked sheets and comforter into the washing machine. I'm now considering that I will never be free of these spasms as long as I'm taking such intense care of my mother. I'm feeling better about this now, though.
Am I sacrificing some of my mother's well-being for my own? Yes, I imagine I am. I'm thinking about this often this month. She is doing much better than I expected but I remain aware that she is probably doing less well than if I hadn't taken a month 'off', rather, if I hadn't needed to take a month off (if I'd, in effect, been The SuperCaregiver of SuperCaregivers). I can think of no justification for what I'm doing. I'm not sure anymore if justification even applies to this issue. I think about resources, a lot:
Some notes to myself off the top of my head on issues about which I want to write in here after November 30th:
Later. Probably much.
It's obvious to me by now that my project will continue after this month but I am making so much headway on it that I'm not worried about devoting somewhat less time to it once the month of November closes.
I'm reveling in doing mostly just what I want to do for a month. Of course I have given the "what I want to do" category wide latitude, as many of the chores I do to keep my mother well and happy are unavoidable and are done every day. If I have chores outside the house and she isn't interested in going and I don't feel like spending the hour here and the 15 minutes there and the 20 minutes elsewhere that it takes to bring my mother along, get her out and get her moving I don't. As it turns out she hasn't been out of the house except to get the mail since November 1st. That's fine with her and, except for slight twinges of guilt and concern, fine with me.
We've played Sorry only once since My Month Of Me began. During that one game I realized how much it presently irritates me to play my side of the board and keep her attuned to what she needs to do on her side including such things as reminding her that:
- A player can bring a man out only on a 1 or 2;
- When a player brings a man out on a 2 the man may not advance a step beyond start;
- A player may draw another card and move on it after moving on a 2;
- One should attempt to bring out one's men on a strategic basis when one draws 1s and 2s instead of playing one man around the board and waiting to draw Sorry cards to get their men out mainly because there are only 4 Sorry cards in the deck and eight 1s and 2s, thus if a player depends only on Sorry cards they will, indeed, be sorry;
- A player should pay attention to what their arms are doing as they reach across the board instead of inadvertently shoving their own and other men around and off the board;
- A player can split the move between two men on a 7;
- A player may trade places with another player's man on an 11 and must do so if they cannot advance 11 spaces;
- A player can use backward 4s and the facility to use a 10 as a backward 1 to their advantage.
I've judiciously allowed my mother to sleep almost as much as she wants. For the most part I've allowed her to awaken on her own, which means she usually arises around noon. She is not allowed to go back to bed for four to five hours after this but, if she wishes, once this mandatory "up" period is accomplished she may take a nap. After a nap she usually remains awake until late into the evening, sometimes past midnight, which has always been her preference. Even so, I figured that she is managing a good 14 to 16 hours of sleep a day. I asked her a few days ago if its bothering her to sleep so much.
She laughed. "It's like a vacation!"
Physically she is weakening some since I haven't yet felt like directing her through her exercises. Every couple of days I think we should reinstate her exercises today before she gets really weak. Then she stays up a little longer, moves a bit more around the house, stands and watches me at the Arcadia doors while I do work in the yard and I decide, nah, she can handle a month of relative inactivity.
She's eating well although her prodigious sleep habits have dictated that she is eating two full meals and a snack (usually V-8 juice with cinnamon, half of a 3 oz bag of "lite" popcorn and five to seven large green olives stuffed with pimento, depending on whether I thinks we're going to have olives with dinner) rather than a full lunch. Her blood sugar is remaining under good to excellent control. After the 1st, in other words after I stopped harassing her about sleeping too much and not moving enough, her blood pressure settled down quite a bit. She is mostly on the low end dosage of lisinopril now and sometimes I don't even give her that because her blood pressure would go too low (for her). There have been a couple of very short bouts of high (for her) BP, usually when I become short tempered about something, although this is happening rarely during this period.
I've also rediscovered some of my interest in cooking and have made some truly spectacular meals since this period began, most notably a beef pot pie. I'd never made a crust and was unclear about how to make the filling. I followed cookbook directions exactly on the crust, though, followed my instincts about what would make a savory, hearty filling and produced a magnificent result, so much so that we've decided to never buy a Costco pot pie, chicken or any other type, again. I finally got around to making muffins with Splenda®. They were a huge disappointment, both in flavor and texture. I noted with some sardonicism a few days ago that Splenda® has just come out with a half sugar/half Splenda mixture for baking. I know why, although I don't intend to use it. There is something about the chemical character of Splenda® that causes it to toughen flour mixtures and, of course, everything in which one uses it still has that peculiar artificial over-flavor. I started mixing Splenda® in her cranberry juice, though, since the type we use is the pure juice and is mouth puckering tart, about which she complained. I figured if I mixed some Splenda with it she'd be prone to drink more, which would be good for her urinary tract. She now requests it throughout the day, which may have something to do with us finally reaching what I hope will be a non-UTI plateau.
I've forgotten from day to day to take her in for her monthly blood draws. I think she's doing okay, though. I also have forgotten more than a few times to give her 36 mg of iron protein succinylate during her midday snacks and I am speculating from her nail beds that her hemoglobin is running at about 9 (although I may be mistaken) but I vow to do better continually and I'm sure I will. At any rate, running at 9 doesn't seem to be hurting her. I expect, before the month's over, I'll take her in for a draw just out of curiosity but, still, when I think of the effort it takes to prepare her to go somewhere on a day by day basis I decide, nah, not today.
She's kept squeaky clean, including her hair, although I haven't styled it for awhile. She enjoys the way she looks when its styled but, typically, once she's had a session in curlers under the heat of the dryer she wants to take a nap and this month I'm letting her. By the time she awakens both the curl and the styling cement I've applied to her hair have been pillowed out and she and I both forget about styling it.
I've discovered over the last half month that if I feed my mother enough olives the oil changes the character of her shit felicitously; it's less sticky and less likely to spread throughout her entire uro-genital area on its own. This was an accidental discovery. I began feeding her olives with her V-8 juice during her midday snacks in order to cut down on the amount of popcorn she was eating (thus controlling her blood sugar a bit better) and allay her sweet tooth. Sour foods, such as brined pickles, olives and other pickled vegetables, are famous for their ability to settle and satisfy a craving for sweet. My mother loves green olives. After about a week of feeding her olives daily I noticed that her bowel movements weren't smearing themselves nearly as much as they had. Once I began to wonder why it was a short step to considering the inclusion of olives in her diet and remembering that olive oil is a millennia's old intestinal protectant (usually from toxins) and its ability to prevent constipation is legion. I suppose I could simply feed my mother olive oil but when I was dancing in high school one of my teachers suggested a periodic three day diet of apples and olive oil to keep us internally clean. Trust me, it doesn't take long to develop a gag reflex to the taste, and soon after the smell, of olive oil. Encouraging her to eat olives is not only healthy on all counts and has a welcome effect on the quality of her shit and the orneriness of her sweet tooth but she loves olives and never refuses them.
I continue to insist on cleaning her after every bowel movement (she remains regular and eliminates without undue effort or any discomfort), which annoys her, but I've kept her UTI free since the last one and remind her with each cleaning session that, even as she hates me to do this, it is not my idea of how to spend several minutes every day or so, either. Since The Advent of the Olives, though, I no longer go through half a box of baby wipes cleaning her. 5 - 10 seems to do the trick.
We've come to a truce about her bathing. MCS suggested that my mother's preferred method of immersed bathing may no longer be a good idea since it tends to encourage UTI's if one is prone to them. I've discussed this with my mother at length and given her the option of sitting on a stool in the tub and taking a shower. She hates the idea of having water beat down on her, though, so we've both made peace with the fact that she and I will be sink bathing her throughout the rest of her life.
During this personal vacation I've been taking I've also happened upon set of directives issuing 'new' orders to caregivers on how to oversee an Ancient One's hospital care. One of these directives addresses urethral catheters and cautions that if one is absolutely necessary (often during surgery) the caregiver should insist that it be in for as short a period of time as possible. The directive explains that catheters often carry microbes that cause urinary tract infections. It doesn't mention that, in an old, inelastic urethra the trauma to the urethral walls of being held by the pressure of the catheter is difficult from which to recover. It also doesn't mention that even when a caregiver is super vigilant and super assertive regarding their Ancient One's hospital care if the hospital is inconvenienced by an Ancient One's urinary incontinence they will catheterize with abandon, slip it back in every chance they get and/or simply refuse to honor the caregiver's request not to use catheters for the staff's convenience. This is, of course, in large part due to current understaffing in hospitals and health care facilities, which is due in large part to the financial trauma the health care system in this country in undergoing including severely inadequate salaries for front line health care providers, which is due in large part to our traumatic transition from health care as a service delivered 'from on high' and couched in an occult environment to a service Average Jane and Joe should be able to perform for themselves as much as possible with providers becoming a health resource to the recipient rather than Health Dictators. Whew! I did that without taking a breath!
Let's see, what else has been going on since November 1st? Mom and I have been collecting and viewing our favorite movie classics as we can. This is entertaining, keeps Mom up and gives me lots of time to work on my project even as I'm watching movies with her. I picked up a couple of beading kits on a hunch and Mom took to it very well, made an interesting, pretty bracelet the first night, from start to finish. We haven't done this since because keeping the beads separated became a necessary, labor intensive activity of I which I was the only one capable. I didn't enjoy it and decided I could wait until after November to come up with a system for keeping the beads separate and instituting it (which will also be labor intensive).
I've decided as well that I won't be going to the book club meeting this month even though it is our anniversary meeting and members have pleaded with me to please come despite me not having read the book; I've read no more than the introduction. Why haven't I, during this month of My Vacation at Home? Because, even while on vacation, at least half if not more of my time is devoted to negotiating my mother's life so that she remains in good health and spirits and continues to include intense observation so that I can detect if this vacation of mine starts to sour on her. The rest of my time is devoted to my project. But this isn't the reason I've decided not to go. I don't want to spoil the time I've managed to carve out for myself this month in order to, yet again, attend a meeting in which all my energy will be directed toward my mother having a relaxed, enjoyable evening. I'm considering, in fact, canceling our plan to spend Thanksgiving at MPS home in Chandler primarily because I work double time not only on the holiday but for a day before and after when we travel for holiday visits and, falling as it does in the month of November, I'm not interested in doing that this year.
Despite her increased sleep and decreased activity Mom's been reading and doing crosswords significantly more since I began my month long vacation. I explained my intention to her several times during the days preceding my vacation at home. I talked about how I was going to be spending less time making sure she stayed awake and moving. If she resisted going with me on errands I was going to let her win. Easily. One question. One answer. I explained why, going into detail about the amount of time, energy and focus it takes for me to do her life and that, after all these years, I needed a month to at least make an attempt at doing some of mine. I explained why I picked this month and what my project was going to be. We even celebrated the beginning of my vacation on my birthday, the day before it was to begin.
With half that month now gone I can say, with surprise and pleasure, that she is doing fine. We can address her physical weakness after November. I have no doubt but what I'll be able to get her moving again. When this month is over will I simply drop my insistence on self-interested time and whirl myself vigorously back into my mother's life? Hmmm...I don't know. I expect that I will take a somewhat more considered approach toward snatching time here and there for myself, especially in light of how easily my lack of attendance is sitting with my mother. I'm sure I'll spend much less time on my project and other activities and interests that, in the last month, I've remembered I've missed. But I don't think I'll be abandoning them as I have. I hope not, anyway. I'm aware that in these last two weeks I may have become accustomed to misremembering how much time it takes for me to keep my mother up and moving. However, I'm also reminding myself of how much I love to follow my interests, to practice them, to allow myself time to think them through and create out of them. I don't think I'll be forgetting this quickly.
I continue to have moments when I'm overwhelmed by frustration and hopelessness, although much fewer than previously. A couple of afternoons ago I had a reoccurrence of an episode in which I find myself smelling my mother's urine everywhere, even outside the house, despite knowing that I'm not carrying it on me. The following morning I suddenly began weeping as I was stuffing her urine soaked sheets and comforter into the washing machine. I'm now considering that I will never be free of these spasms as long as I'm taking such intense care of my mother. I'm feeling better about this now, though.
Am I sacrificing some of my mother's well-being for my own? Yes, I imagine I am. I'm thinking about this often this month. She is doing much better than I expected but I remain aware that she is probably doing less well than if I hadn't taken a month 'off', rather, if I hadn't needed to take a month off (if I'd, in effect, been The SuperCaregiver of SuperCaregivers). I can think of no justification for what I'm doing. I'm not sure anymore if justification even applies to this issue. I think about resources, a lot:
- How it is that my care of my mother was draining my resources and I finally reached a point where I needed replenishment;
- How it turned out that I found myself in the position of needing to accomplish self-replenishment without being able to have someone else take care of my mother;
- How it is that in order to replenish my internal resources I am draining, only slightly but still draining, her internal resources;
- How this happens for parents but they have a silver lining to which to look forward: As their child grows the parent's resources are demanded less;
- How the opposite happens when taking care of an Ancient One or someone who is infirm;
- How it is that health care and elder care facilities are often under-resourced or withhold resources to stay in business;
- How, ultimately, in nature survival and well-being depend upon one being able to marshal resources to oneself;
- How my mother has done this unconsciously by being the kind of person her children want to continue to enjoy and do not want to release to death prematurely and the type who encouraged at least one of her daughters to ply life without creating an energy draining family;
- How others don't do this, either consciously or unconsciously;
- How my frustration after several years of focused caregiving prompted me to replenish my own resources even as I remained within the caregiving situation, since my frustration was affecting the adequacy of the care I was giving my mother;
- How it is very curious that my mother is doing so well as I pull time, energy and focus back from her to replenish myself.
Some notes to myself off the top of my head on issues about which I want to write in here after November 30th:
- Having strangers (and relatives, oddly, not friends, yet) thanking me for taking care of my mother. A new acquaintance addressed this for me some weeks ago at my request and triggered some new thoughts about this.
- "They say that anger is just love disappointed..." ---There's A Hole in The World; Eagles (I'm assuming Glen Frey wrote this song; it sounds like his style) and how this applies to caregiver anger.
- My newly discovered homemaking bent and the anxiety it is fostering.
Later. Probably much.
