Saturday, December 4, 2004
I think I created a Sleep Monster.
Not really. But, the same thing happened this morning as did yesterday morning, with a twist. I awoke my mother initially at 1000. I reminded her that today was Costco day and her first outing in almost a month. She groaned. I couldn't even coax her to put her hand out over the edge of the bed for me to test her blood sugar. So, I told her I'd give her a few minutes to "gather herself together". To my surprise, when I'd finished putting the final touches on the bathroom she was sitting on the edge of her bed; still, though, huddled in her blankets, which she's never done since I've lived with her.
"Give me a hand, any hand." This is, typically, the second thing I say to her every morning, soon after I say, "Good morning, Mary Sunshine."
"It's snowing." My mother likes the looks of snow up here but doesn't like the fact of snow anywhere.
"Well, no, it's not. It's a little cloudy right now, but the weather report says that it's supposed to get up to 51° today, partly cloudy, a little windy, but we'll dress you warm. You've got winter underwear, we'll layer you..."
"Are you sure it's not snowing?"
I looked out her window. "Nope. It's not supposed to snow until tomorrow afternoon. Come over here and take a look."
"I'll take your word for it but my bones are telling me it's going to snow. I'm going back to bed."
She was determined. Snugged back down in bed. I let her.
So, today got started late, I let her talk both of us into me going to Costco alone but made her promise to stay up while I was gone and set her in front of Victor/Victoria, which she loves. I left about a quarter of two. By the time I got to Costco snow had begun falling between Prescott and Prescott Valley. It was swirling when I returned to the car with my purchases and it followed me home. I walked in the house singing, "Sleigh bells ring, are you listening...".
"It's snowing, isn't it." This wasn't a question, it was an I-told-you-so statement.
"Yeah, I brought it home with me from Costco. I'm sorry, Mom, but you know how I love snow."
"My bones are never wrong."
I kissed her. "Thank you," I half-joked. "Now I get two days of snow!"
"You and your dad."
It's true. My dad loved storms, snow, rain, typhoons, etc. So, though, did Mom's grandfather. He, like my dad, would stand outside in the middle of a storm and absorb the wild weather. My dad also liked beans with a storm. "So," I said, "I'm planning on making bean soup tonight...are you telling me you'd rather I make something else?"
Her face lit.
"Maybe some garlic cheese bread, too?"
"Bring on the snow," she said.
"You and your husband," I kidded.
On a hunch, along with the snow, I brought home the second season of Northern Exposure from Costco today. I introduced her to the series when I returned from Seattle in 1994. I think by that time it was in no longer being made and was in syndication (although I'm not sure). I'm always looking for stuff to vary her screen viewing experience since she spends a lot of time in front of the set. I scored a hit with Northern Exposure. Although she didn't remember it by name from having watched it in syndication on television, as soon as the theme began and the moose came into view she was so excited she practically clapped. We spent the evening watching three of the four episodes on the first disc. It's one of the few programs wherein she remains enrapt throughout the episodes and likes to discuss what's going on and what's being said, much like with Sex and the City and Cosmos, and, come to think of it, I, Claudius, too. I'm always game for audience participation with her and DVDs make it easy to stop or pause something with clear delivery through the pause. I noticed they also have a couple of seasons of Pee Wee's Playhouse, a particular favorite of mine to which I briefly introduced her when I arrived from Seattle. She was surprised by the show and enthusiastic about it but it was too hard to catch on TV, being a children's program, and she didn't see very many episodes. I haven't decided whether to get that. I may wait to see if it shows up in a video rental store, check out a season or two and see if she still likes it. Although I also purchase DVDs of movies and programs that appeal only to me I tend to keep them to a minimum simply because, with everything going on, I rarely get a chance to watch one of "my" favorites alone. Believe me, the one thing you never want to do with my mother is watch something you like but she doesn't. She has a peculiarly polite was of being impolite during the viewing of something that bores her or annoys her. I've written about this before so I won't repeat myself, but my mother can ruin the experience of watching a personal favorite with one well-placed, innocuous phrase, like, "Do you suppose they [refering to those responsible for producing a film or program] thought that was funny [or "important", or "worth the time it took to make it", or "worth the time it takes to watch it"]?!? It's a very unnerving experience and one you don't want to repeat too often.
All in all, we had a thumbs up day. She didn't nap, which surprised me. Once enough snow had fallen to enhance the view out our living room windows she relaxed and enjoyed it. She even mentioned (once again, although I'm sure I haven't heard the last of her opposite opinion) that she was glad we own this house, it's her favorite. Her knee bothered her today for the first time in a few weeks but I'm sure that's because of the low atmospheric pressure. I couldn't get her interested in games or exercises but I didn't stress about this. We relaxed and enjoyed each other's company.
I was thinking this evening, while we were mulling over the third Northern Exposure episode, that I am very lucky to be able to spend so many years in the kind of environment an Ancient One automatically creates around her just by dint of her age. I'm especially lucky that my Ancient One has aged like fine cheese or wine, some of the flavors of which are:
Funny how our desires become woven into our lives in the most unexpected patterns.
Later.
"Give me a hand, any hand." This is, typically, the second thing I say to her every morning, soon after I say, "Good morning, Mary Sunshine."
"It's snowing." My mother likes the looks of snow up here but doesn't like the fact of snow anywhere.
"Well, no, it's not. It's a little cloudy right now, but the weather report says that it's supposed to get up to 51° today, partly cloudy, a little windy, but we'll dress you warm. You've got winter underwear, we'll layer you..."
"Are you sure it's not snowing?"
I looked out her window. "Nope. It's not supposed to snow until tomorrow afternoon. Come over here and take a look."
"I'll take your word for it but my bones are telling me it's going to snow. I'm going back to bed."
She was determined. Snugged back down in bed. I let her.
So, today got started late, I let her talk both of us into me going to Costco alone but made her promise to stay up while I was gone and set her in front of Victor/Victoria, which she loves. I left about a quarter of two. By the time I got to Costco snow had begun falling between Prescott and Prescott Valley. It was swirling when I returned to the car with my purchases and it followed me home. I walked in the house singing, "Sleigh bells ring, are you listening...".
"It's snowing, isn't it." This wasn't a question, it was an I-told-you-so statement.
"Yeah, I brought it home with me from Costco. I'm sorry, Mom, but you know how I love snow."
"My bones are never wrong."
I kissed her. "Thank you," I half-joked. "Now I get two days of snow!"
"You and your dad."
It's true. My dad loved storms, snow, rain, typhoons, etc. So, though, did Mom's grandfather. He, like my dad, would stand outside in the middle of a storm and absorb the wild weather. My dad also liked beans with a storm. "So," I said, "I'm planning on making bean soup tonight...are you telling me you'd rather I make something else?"
Her face lit.
"Maybe some garlic cheese bread, too?"
"Bring on the snow," she said.
"You and your husband," I kidded.
On a hunch, along with the snow, I brought home the second season of Northern Exposure from Costco today. I introduced her to the series when I returned from Seattle in 1994. I think by that time it was in no longer being made and was in syndication (although I'm not sure). I'm always looking for stuff to vary her screen viewing experience since she spends a lot of time in front of the set. I scored a hit with Northern Exposure. Although she didn't remember it by name from having watched it in syndication on television, as soon as the theme began and the moose came into view she was so excited she practically clapped. We spent the evening watching three of the four episodes on the first disc. It's one of the few programs wherein she remains enrapt throughout the episodes and likes to discuss what's going on and what's being said, much like with Sex and the City and Cosmos, and, come to think of it, I, Claudius, too. I'm always game for audience participation with her and DVDs make it easy to stop or pause something with clear delivery through the pause. I noticed they also have a couple of seasons of Pee Wee's Playhouse, a particular favorite of mine to which I briefly introduced her when I arrived from Seattle. She was surprised by the show and enthusiastic about it but it was too hard to catch on TV, being a children's program, and she didn't see very many episodes. I haven't decided whether to get that. I may wait to see if it shows up in a video rental store, check out a season or two and see if she still likes it. Although I also purchase DVDs of movies and programs that appeal only to me I tend to keep them to a minimum simply because, with everything going on, I rarely get a chance to watch one of "my" favorites alone. Believe me, the one thing you never want to do with my mother is watch something you like but she doesn't. She has a peculiarly polite was of being impolite during the viewing of something that bores her or annoys her. I've written about this before so I won't repeat myself, but my mother can ruin the experience of watching a personal favorite with one well-placed, innocuous phrase, like, "Do you suppose they [refering to those responsible for producing a film or program] thought that was funny [or "important", or "worth the time it took to make it", or "worth the time it takes to watch it"]?!? It's a very unnerving experience and one you don't want to repeat too often.
All in all, we had a thumbs up day. She didn't nap, which surprised me. Once enough snow had fallen to enhance the view out our living room windows she relaxed and enjoyed it. She even mentioned (once again, although I'm sure I haven't heard the last of her opposite opinion) that she was glad we own this house, it's her favorite. Her knee bothered her today for the first time in a few weeks but I'm sure that's because of the low atmospheric pressure. I couldn't get her interested in games or exercises but I didn't stress about this. We relaxed and enjoyed each other's company.
I was thinking this evening, while we were mulling over the third Northern Exposure episode, that I am very lucky to be able to spend so many years in the kind of environment an Ancient One automatically creates around her just by dint of her age. I'm especially lucky that my Ancient One has aged like fine cheese or wine, some of the flavors of which are:
- Clock time is a convenience, not a dictator, and is often dispensed with.
- I'm able to rely on her knowledge, gained from having lived so many years, that it's a blessing that everything changes: No bad situation is permanent and no good situation is lullingly static, which takes the manic edge off celebration and the depressive edge off disaster.
- Every moment is a brand new moment even if it contains the same elements as a previous moment. This, in particular, is one of the benefits of living with someone with severe short term memory loss.
- Achievement of all types is delightful and involving, to be sure, but nonetheless an illusion and is best pursued with a light heart and remembered as an experience, not as a score.
- Finally, there isn't any experience that doesn't, in it's aftermath, offer up some type of treasure.
Funny how our desires become woven into our lives in the most unexpected patterns.
Later.
Friday, December 3, 2004
Well, I'm excited.
This evening after Mom asked her usual, "What's on the docket for tomorrow?" and I told her that "I" needed to go to Costco, we're running out of paper towels then off-handedly invited her along she not only accepted, she talked about how she felt like she needs to get out "again". I'm looking forward to this. I know she's pretty weak, although the ability of her spirit to infuse her body with strength when she's determined never fails to amaze me.
I think I've figured out something about her increasing energy in the last few days, and I'm, well, very circumspect about it. As you may have read, throughout "My Month of Me" I not only allowed her to sleep a lot and refused to argue her out of her "No thank you"'s when I had errands, but I also forgot several times to administer her second dose of iron when she lunched in the middle of her day. Thus, throughout much of the month of November she was receiving a lower dose of iron than usual. Since November 29th I've missed her middle dose only once and I think getting her back to her "normal" dose of iron may have a lot to do with the rise in her energy level. The more I think about this, though, the more uncomfortable I become. It's rather as though I became The Tyrant Caregiver during the month of November and arranged my care of her to insure a low energy level so that I would have more time to work on my project. At any rate, this is exactly how the November unfolded.
In some ways this strategy was conscious. I know, and admitted such in this journal, that the less she moves the less she is likely to move and the weaker she becomes, thus, the less she moves... Although I didn't mention, here that this was to my advantage I was not completely unaware that it was, especially considering my discussion some days ago about finite resources when applied to life sustenance. I'm somewhat uncomfortable that I was so adept at manipulating my caregiving in order to favor myself and my needs. I'm even more uncomfortable that I didn't initially see this clearly, make sure I remained completely conscious of what I was doing and admit to it up front. If I had perhaps I might have been able to mitigate some of her slippage, even though I'm sure she'll recover, especially after her reaction to the trip to Costco tomorrow. She was fully and continually informed of what I was doing and repeatedly, even excitedly at times, offered her cooperation. If I'd made sure that her iron level remained up she might very well have stayed up more, been able to entertain herself while I worked (she is able to do this when her energy level is high, I think; she has, anyway, in the recent past) and her physical strength would not have had to slip.
I think I need to take a lesson from this. I think I need to be a bit more aware of what I'm doing to her when I take my vacations.
I'm beginning to recover from my cold. It's been several hours since I've taken ibuprofen. I forgot. I'll take some tonight before bed to make sure I don't wake up feeling like shit but I'm not having a "cold night" tonight. I feel, in fact, a little internal revving going on so I think I'm over the hump. Mom's cold appears to have completely disappeared. I'm considering that this is a good indication that I needn't worry about her getting the flu before we're able to obtain a flu shot for her. Her immune system seems to be functioning better than mine.
I'm feeling better about full saddle riding. I'm looking forward to monitoring a tandem visit to Costco tomorrow. I'm still certain that I'm going to see to it that the holidays go very easy on me, thus us, this year. But I'm feeling good about that, too.
I think I've figured out something about her increasing energy in the last few days, and I'm, well, very circumspect about it. As you may have read, throughout "My Month of Me" I not only allowed her to sleep a lot and refused to argue her out of her "No thank you"'s when I had errands, but I also forgot several times to administer her second dose of iron when she lunched in the middle of her day. Thus, throughout much of the month of November she was receiving a lower dose of iron than usual. Since November 29th I've missed her middle dose only once and I think getting her back to her "normal" dose of iron may have a lot to do with the rise in her energy level. The more I think about this, though, the more uncomfortable I become. It's rather as though I became The Tyrant Caregiver during the month of November and arranged my care of her to insure a low energy level so that I would have more time to work on my project. At any rate, this is exactly how the November unfolded.
In some ways this strategy was conscious. I know, and admitted such in this journal, that the less she moves the less she is likely to move and the weaker she becomes, thus, the less she moves... Although I didn't mention, here that this was to my advantage I was not completely unaware that it was, especially considering my discussion some days ago about finite resources when applied to life sustenance. I'm somewhat uncomfortable that I was so adept at manipulating my caregiving in order to favor myself and my needs. I'm even more uncomfortable that I didn't initially see this clearly, make sure I remained completely conscious of what I was doing and admit to it up front. If I had perhaps I might have been able to mitigate some of her slippage, even though I'm sure she'll recover, especially after her reaction to the trip to Costco tomorrow. She was fully and continually informed of what I was doing and repeatedly, even excitedly at times, offered her cooperation. If I'd made sure that her iron level remained up she might very well have stayed up more, been able to entertain herself while I worked (she is able to do this when her energy level is high, I think; she has, anyway, in the recent past) and her physical strength would not have had to slip.
I think I need to take a lesson from this. I think I need to be a bit more aware of what I'm doing to her when I take my vacations.
I'm beginning to recover from my cold. It's been several hours since I've taken ibuprofen. I forgot. I'll take some tonight before bed to make sure I don't wake up feeling like shit but I'm not having a "cold night" tonight. I feel, in fact, a little internal revving going on so I think I'm over the hump. Mom's cold appears to have completely disappeared. I'm considering that this is a good indication that I needn't worry about her getting the flu before we're able to obtain a flu shot for her. Her immune system seems to be functioning better than mine.
I'm feeling better about full saddle riding. I'm looking forward to monitoring a tandem visit to Costco tomorrow. I'm still certain that I'm going to see to it that the holidays go very easy on me, thus us, this year. But I'm feeling good about that, too.
True Story
Some of you may remember the Tibetan Buddhist compassion ring I received earlier this year in late spring (or, maybe, early summer); the ring that is said to contain a "prayer for suffering" but actually contains a mantra meant to evoke compassion. During the three week period when I was popping back and forth between Prescott and the Phoenix Metroplex while my mother was first in the hospital, then in a skilled nursing facility, I lost some weight and the ring became too big for my little, ring and index fingers, too small for my f-fingers but just right for my thumb, so that's the finger (on my left hand) on which I began wearing it. It actually felt best there because I'm not good at wearing jewelry of any kind except earrings. Surprisingly, while I constantly played with it on my other fingers, I left it alone on my thumb. At any rate, whether on thumb or one of my other fingers, I always took it off at night.
Maybe four weeks ago, maybe a little less, when I finally settled into bed I was so tired I forgot to take it off. Just before I went through the final drift into sleep I remembered it was on but I was too tired to take it off. "Maybe I'll have compassionate dreams, leaving it on," I thought, and nodded away.
The next morning I discovered, when I reached for something in the bathroom, that my thumb was painfully out of joint; popping when I tried to crook the top knuckle, extremely painful on the uptake, especially if I tried to move it under my own power. At that time it was also swollen. I removed the ring with some difficulty and haven't replaced it since.
My thumb is no longer swollen but still out of joint. I've learned to use it with as little joint movement as possible, although that's a bitch, as I'm sure you can imagine. I do therapy on it like a nervous habit several times a day, moving it back and forth with my other hand and enduring the pain to move it under its own steam. Still, though, it seems to have hit a plateau. It doesn't keep me from doing anything. I even sawed down the pyracantha canes with my thumb in this condition. It's annoying, though, and doesn't seem to be getting any better. Every other night I forget, in sleep, that I can't move that joint and some unconsciously triggered movement that involves that joint will wake me up yelling, "Ow!".
My mind has played with the curiosity that the thumb to which the compassion ring was consigned is the thumb that is injured. I call it my "compassion crick" and I speculate that the episode contains some sort of lesson about compassion versus flexibility. I haven't decided exactly what that lesson is, yet, but whatever it is it's an indication that nothing escapes irony, not even compassion.
In Today's Breakfast Stats I discuss what her normal stats have been during My Month of Me and how she's continuing to do, in case you're interested.
Later.
Maybe four weeks ago, maybe a little less, when I finally settled into bed I was so tired I forgot to take it off. Just before I went through the final drift into sleep I remembered it was on but I was too tired to take it off. "Maybe I'll have compassionate dreams, leaving it on," I thought, and nodded away.
The next morning I discovered, when I reached for something in the bathroom, that my thumb was painfully out of joint; popping when I tried to crook the top knuckle, extremely painful on the uptake, especially if I tried to move it under my own power. At that time it was also swollen. I removed the ring with some difficulty and haven't replaced it since.
My thumb is no longer swollen but still out of joint. I've learned to use it with as little joint movement as possible, although that's a bitch, as I'm sure you can imagine. I do therapy on it like a nervous habit several times a day, moving it back and forth with my other hand and enduring the pain to move it under its own steam. Still, though, it seems to have hit a plateau. It doesn't keep me from doing anything. I even sawed down the pyracantha canes with my thumb in this condition. It's annoying, though, and doesn't seem to be getting any better. Every other night I forget, in sleep, that I can't move that joint and some unconsciously triggered movement that involves that joint will wake me up yelling, "Ow!".
My mind has played with the curiosity that the thumb to which the compassion ring was consigned is the thumb that is injured. I call it my "compassion crick" and I speculate that the episode contains some sort of lesson about compassion versus flexibility. I haven't decided exactly what that lesson is, yet, but whatever it is it's an indication that nothing escapes irony, not even compassion.
In Today's Breakfast Stats I discuss what her normal stats have been during My Month of Me and how she's continuing to do, in case you're interested.
Later.
Mom seems to be tolerating her cold...
...better than I am mine. Some of this probably has to do with the humidifier I placed in her room some days ago. I'm feeling exactly the way I felt yesterday morning and responding to ibuprofen in exactly the same way; my symptoms are masked for the day so, although I'd like to go back to bed, I don't feel the need to go back to bed.
I'm going to awaken Mom in a few minutes, slowly pushing her toward a reasonable morning. I've checked in on her a couple of times; she's breathing easily and deeply. I noticed from her eye movements at 1000 that she was dreaming so decided to give her another half hour...her dreams are always good reverie for her (which, I imagine, is something like good karma).
I've just about decided to completely ignore the rest of the holidays this year in exactly the same way I ignored Thanksgiving. I'm too damned tired to switch into warp drive and shuffle Mom around at relatives' pleasure. Since I'm looking forward to the possibilities with dread, it seems the easiest way to get rid of the dread is to confine the holidays to our house and ignore what everyone else would like. A weekly caregiver newsletter I receive yakked on and on about "making the holidays easier" by scouting out possibilities for temporary care of one's loved one to free the caregiver up for holiday preparation. Sounds too damned complicated and busy to me. Just what I need: Worrying about the quality of subs, spending at least an hour before and after working Mom up then working her down; frantically doing "holiday chores", trying to smash them into the smallest amount of time so that "my loved one" doesn't spend too much time in the company of equally frenzied subs, planning, planning, planning...I'm tired. No way I'm going to rev myself up for that kind of "ease".
So, I'm just going to let the rest of the holidays descend on us this year. Maybe we'll do some activities, visit the Gingerbread House exhibit, for instance; we might also do a couple of car tours of the lights around Prescott, which are amazing, encased in their homey mountain niche as they are. Whatever happens, happens. I'm sure I'll do a modified holiday dinner. I'll think of something besides ham or turkey, make sure it's absolutely delicious, maybe even make a pie from scratch now that I know I can do this and that Sara Lee's pie making skills leave something to be desired (like raspberries, for instance). I might even make an apple pie (fruits of the season), which I usually don't like. The idea, though, of Mom lighting up at a truly lip smacking apple confection gives me some pleasure. I'm not dashing around this year, though, on behalf of displaying Mom to those who'd like to see her. If anyone comes here, well, they'll need to be forewarned, I'm not fooling around with any extra preparations or niceties. They can come, they can go, whatever, we'll be glad to see them, but I'm not working us up over to-or-from visits this year. It's been a hard year. Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow.
Time to awaken the sleeping Ancient beauty.
Later.
I'm going to awaken Mom in a few minutes, slowly pushing her toward a reasonable morning. I've checked in on her a couple of times; she's breathing easily and deeply. I noticed from her eye movements at 1000 that she was dreaming so decided to give her another half hour...her dreams are always good reverie for her (which, I imagine, is something like good karma).
I've just about decided to completely ignore the rest of the holidays this year in exactly the same way I ignored Thanksgiving. I'm too damned tired to switch into warp drive and shuffle Mom around at relatives' pleasure. Since I'm looking forward to the possibilities with dread, it seems the easiest way to get rid of the dread is to confine the holidays to our house and ignore what everyone else would like. A weekly caregiver newsletter I receive yakked on and on about "making the holidays easier" by scouting out possibilities for temporary care of one's loved one to free the caregiver up for holiday preparation. Sounds too damned complicated and busy to me. Just what I need: Worrying about the quality of subs, spending at least an hour before and after working Mom up then working her down; frantically doing "holiday chores", trying to smash them into the smallest amount of time so that "my loved one" doesn't spend too much time in the company of equally frenzied subs, planning, planning, planning...I'm tired. No way I'm going to rev myself up for that kind of "ease".
So, I'm just going to let the rest of the holidays descend on us this year. Maybe we'll do some activities, visit the Gingerbread House exhibit, for instance; we might also do a couple of car tours of the lights around Prescott, which are amazing, encased in their homey mountain niche as they are. Whatever happens, happens. I'm sure I'll do a modified holiday dinner. I'll think of something besides ham or turkey, make sure it's absolutely delicious, maybe even make a pie from scratch now that I know I can do this and that Sara Lee's pie making skills leave something to be desired (like raspberries, for instance). I might even make an apple pie (fruits of the season), which I usually don't like. The idea, though, of Mom lighting up at a truly lip smacking apple confection gives me some pleasure. I'm not dashing around this year, though, on behalf of displaying Mom to those who'd like to see her. If anyone comes here, well, they'll need to be forewarned, I'm not fooling around with any extra preparations or niceties. They can come, they can go, whatever, we'll be glad to see them, but I'm not working us up over to-or-from visits this year. It's been a hard year. Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow.
Time to awaken the sleeping Ancient beauty.
Later.
Thursday, December 2, 2004
Yes, My Month of Me is over...
...and Day One of the resumption of Me Doing My Mother's Life has been interesting and strange. The last two days were very relaxed for us. Yesterday I even held off the sorting I'm doing on my project and we spent the day with Spiderman, which we both enjoyed. She hasn't taken naps for the last two days, but she did today. Today began late for her, as usual, but ended later than has been her habit, recently: 1100 - 2300; not too bad.
We didn't do exercises or directed movement, didn't go anyplace, but she ate three regularly scheduled meals.
She spent most of today in Iowa. I don't know why. She began this morning as we were bathing her, asking me when was the last time I'd been to Martelle, a small town in Iowa in which she taught for a couple of years. I assured her that I hadn't.
She looked at me askance. "But, it's only a ways up the road."
I laughed gently. "Mom, we're in Arizona. It's quite a bit further up the road."
She looked at me as though I was out of my mind.
So, I decided, okay, we'll spend the day in Iowa.
She spent a good hour or so this afternoon studying our latest road atlas map of Iowa, mentioning towns, talking about relatives who'd lived in these towns, asking me if I knew what had happened to this person or that person. In about half the cases, from having paid attention to her in past decades when she talked about her past life, I did.
Something peculiar happened just before she went to bed, a repeat, in fact, of what happened last night. She told me that if I wanted to I was welcome to sleep here either in her bedroom or the back bedroom, as though I hadn't been sleeping either in her room or "the back bedroom" for the last 10, almost 11 years, now. Last night I brushed by her mention of it. Tonight, though, I decided to correct her and remind her that I've been living with her for a long time, now.
"Oh, good," she said. "I was planning on asking you if you wanted to stay."
"Of course I'll stay, Mom. I won't leave you ever again."
"Well, that settles it, then. I don't like living alone."
We've had these occasional conversations before and I've never thought much about them. Tonight it occurred to me that, maybe, during My Month of Me, although I was actually in the house and around her more than usual, the direct attention I paid to her (versus the indirect attention, which did not falter) was limited by about half its usual amount and maybe this made her feel several times throughout the last month that I hadn't been here. Wow. I didn't think my psuedo vacation was affecting her much. Sobered me a bit in regard to doing this again. I probably will, but not for quite a while. The good news is that today she must have felt that I was directly here all day long. I guess she must have missed me during My Month of Me.
I'm having a little trouble switching from riding off the saddle to riding on, again. Perhaps I would feel differently if I'd had an actual vacation, away from here and from Mom. I didn't "return refreshed" as vacationed people are supposed to return. Rather, I felt heavy and perturbed that I was again giving up time and attention to my mother to which I'd become accustomed to using for me.
I did, though, slip back into our normal routine without a hitch, except for forgetting to take her blood pressure twice today. I am going to resume 3 times a day stats again for awhile (which reminds me, stats are back, starting December 1st) to see if the movement of which I've been allowing her to slack lowers her blood pressure again and we're able to go back to her reduced dosage of lisinopril. For more information on this see today's stats at Mom & Me Tests and Meds.
I feel a little as though I'm voluntarily going back into The Twilight Zone.
We didn't do exercises or directed movement, didn't go anyplace, but she ate three regularly scheduled meals.
She spent most of today in Iowa. I don't know why. She began this morning as we were bathing her, asking me when was the last time I'd been to Martelle, a small town in Iowa in which she taught for a couple of years. I assured her that I hadn't.
She looked at me askance. "But, it's only a ways up the road."
I laughed gently. "Mom, we're in Arizona. It's quite a bit further up the road."
She looked at me as though I was out of my mind.
So, I decided, okay, we'll spend the day in Iowa.
She spent a good hour or so this afternoon studying our latest road atlas map of Iowa, mentioning towns, talking about relatives who'd lived in these towns, asking me if I knew what had happened to this person or that person. In about half the cases, from having paid attention to her in past decades when she talked about her past life, I did.
Something peculiar happened just before she went to bed, a repeat, in fact, of what happened last night. She told me that if I wanted to I was welcome to sleep here either in her bedroom or the back bedroom, as though I hadn't been sleeping either in her room or "the back bedroom" for the last 10, almost 11 years, now. Last night I brushed by her mention of it. Tonight, though, I decided to correct her and remind her that I've been living with her for a long time, now.
"Oh, good," she said. "I was planning on asking you if you wanted to stay."
"Of course I'll stay, Mom. I won't leave you ever again."
"Well, that settles it, then. I don't like living alone."
We've had these occasional conversations before and I've never thought much about them. Tonight it occurred to me that, maybe, during My Month of Me, although I was actually in the house and around her more than usual, the direct attention I paid to her (versus the indirect attention, which did not falter) was limited by about half its usual amount and maybe this made her feel several times throughout the last month that I hadn't been here. Wow. I didn't think my psuedo vacation was affecting her much. Sobered me a bit in regard to doing this again. I probably will, but not for quite a while. The good news is that today she must have felt that I was directly here all day long. I guess she must have missed me during My Month of Me.
I'm having a little trouble switching from riding off the saddle to riding on, again. Perhaps I would feel differently if I'd had an actual vacation, away from here and from Mom. I didn't "return refreshed" as vacationed people are supposed to return. Rather, I felt heavy and perturbed that I was again giving up time and attention to my mother to which I'd become accustomed to using for me.
I did, though, slip back into our normal routine without a hitch, except for forgetting to take her blood pressure twice today. I am going to resume 3 times a day stats again for awhile (which reminds me, stats are back, starting December 1st) to see if the movement of which I've been allowing her to slack lowers her blood pressure again and we're able to go back to her reduced dosage of lisinopril. For more information on this see today's stats at Mom & Me Tests and Meds.
I feel a little as though I'm voluntarily going back into The Twilight Zone.
