Thursday, July 15, 2004
How Loooow Can I Goooo?
It appears as though I discovered the answer to that question tonight [see Tonight's Dinner Stats; this link will take you directly to the specific post]. Perhaps you will recall that at lunch today I administered no type 2 diabetic medications to my mother, only supplements, including 1/4 tsp cinnamon and 2 oz aloe vera gel juice. As well, she had exactly the same lunch today as yesterday and a breakfast with less sugar in it than yesterday. A half hour before dinner tonight, her blood glucose tested at 158; actually, somewhat lower than I was expecting but definitely higher than I'd hoped. Considering what I learned yesterday regarding adding another 10 mg of glipizide at lunch to her medication regimen, I think I am very close to hitting on the correct way to medicate her for her type 2 diabetes without using metformin.
Keeping in mind that she received 1 dose of 225 mg of metformin at breakfast yesterday, I've decided that tomorrow I will administer 10 mg glipizide 1/2 hour previous to all three of her meals and use the aloe vera supplement at both breakfast and dinner, to be administered with her glipizide. I'm hoping this will work. I'm going to start with 1 oz at breakfast and 1 oz at dinner; this is the recommended dose. However, since I don't know whether I'm giving her 80% aloe vera gel juice and I can't tell from today's experiment whether the aloe vera gel juice worked (it may have...she may have been quite a bit higher if I hadn't given it to her) tomorrow should fill in some of my knowledge gaps.
Although she has been dragging most of the day today and was very reluctant to arise from her nap this afternoon, she's quite lively tonight, except for a congested cough. She ate a good dinner, has been drinking fluids pretty well and is leafing through The Joy of Cooking marking recipes that pique her interest with playing cards, such as (she's so funny and so predictable) waffles, pancakes and French toast; a page with a variety of chocolate shortbreads; a page on the decorative art of powdered sugar dusting...you can take the sugar out of the woman but you can't take the woman out of the sugar, I guess.
Earlier this evening we had what is a continuing discussion addressing her fear of developing Alzheimer's. Forgive me if I've written on this before. It seems as though I may have recently but I performed several searches and couldn't seem to find anything. When we discuss this it is because Mom brings it up and uses the following sentence toward the beginning of these discussions, "Mother [her mother] had Alzheimer's, you know."
Actually, since the family did not ask for an autopsy this is not known, although because of her mother's behavior in her last years (I'm thinking between 5 and 10 years, but I may be off on the long side) the chances are fair to good that her senility was Alzheimer's. Whether or not it was, she traveled into advanced dementia and probably died of this. Many of her senile behaviors were specific to Alzheimer's also not exclusive to it. In the beginning she hid things and she wandered. As her senility advanced she hallucinated and had an urgent need to "go" somewhere, a where she could never define. She not only lost touch with her friends and loved ones but with herself. During her final days, which she spent in a nursing home, she curled into a fetal position. By the time she was my mother's age, she had begun to exhibit the first of these behaviors with abandon.
My mother's sister also traveled into moderately advanced senility. The family referred to her senility as Alzheimer's but I don't think it was. Her senility developed very quickly and at the beginning was pronounced by at least one of her physicians as stemming from malnutrition due to advanced alcoholism. She did, at times, exhibit a need to "go" somewhere, but the most significant characteristics of her senility were constant, severe fogginess and a lack of ability to do anything for herself. There were certain aspects of her character that she did not lose and which she exhibited often. As well, she paused at a certain point and never went further.
Tonight, when my mother, once again, voiced her fear, we talked about all these aspects of senility in her family. I also reminded her that she takes after her father's side of the family.
"That's true," she agreed.
"Grandpa certainly became forgetful, and he lost interest in life close to his death, but he did not lose himself, nor did he lose the ability to remember those who were significant in his life and who he'd encountered many times throughout his life."
"I know," she said.
"Grandpa also never stopped telling stories about the past."
She glanced at me sardonically. "Are you suggesting something?"
We both laughed. I reminded her that she doesn't tell nearly as many stories as Grandpa did, nor does she repeat them nearly as often, but she has her moments.
So she'd know that I wasn't trying to josh her into a false sense of security, I reminded her that she's occasionally mistaken me for her mother, students of hers from scores of years ago or treasured friends.
"I have!?!" she said. "Does it bother you?"
"Not at all! You always mistake me for someone you love a lot, and that pleases me."
She grinned. "Well, good!"
"I'll start to worry when you mistake me for someone you hate."
"I don't think that'll happen," she said thoughtfully. "I can only remember one person I've hated, and that was a man. Have I ever mistaken you for a man?"
"No," I assured her. "You haven't."
"Well, it bothers me that there is so much I can't remember."
"That's why I'm here," I told her, something I say to her often when she needs reassurance. "I remember the things you need to remember, and, if I don't remember it it's probably not important."
Once again, she displayed that wily grin. "Probably, eh? How many things have you forgotten that you shouldn't've?"
"It's probably a good thing that neither of us knows the answer to that question," I said.
She cast a wizened glance my way. "I'm sure you're right about that."
She went to bed about 45 minutes ago. We had a very good evening. I told her this as I settled her into bed. "I was worried earlier today but you seem to be feeling much better than you were before you took your nap."
"You don't need to worry," she said. "We're just fine."
Through it all, through every step of the way, whether I'm feeling optimistic or pessimistic about what's going on, underneath it all, I agree with her.
Now it's my turn. The second drying cycle just ended. Time for me to go to bed.
Later.
Keeping in mind that she received 1 dose of 225 mg of metformin at breakfast yesterday, I've decided that tomorrow I will administer 10 mg glipizide 1/2 hour previous to all three of her meals and use the aloe vera supplement at both breakfast and dinner, to be administered with her glipizide. I'm hoping this will work. I'm going to start with 1 oz at breakfast and 1 oz at dinner; this is the recommended dose. However, since I don't know whether I'm giving her 80% aloe vera gel juice and I can't tell from today's experiment whether the aloe vera gel juice worked (it may have...she may have been quite a bit higher if I hadn't given it to her) tomorrow should fill in some of my knowledge gaps.
Although she has been dragging most of the day today and was very reluctant to arise from her nap this afternoon, she's quite lively tonight, except for a congested cough. She ate a good dinner, has been drinking fluids pretty well and is leafing through The Joy of Cooking marking recipes that pique her interest with playing cards, such as (she's so funny and so predictable) waffles, pancakes and French toast; a page with a variety of chocolate shortbreads; a page on the decorative art of powdered sugar dusting...you can take the sugar out of the woman but you can't take the woman out of the sugar, I guess.
Earlier this evening we had what is a continuing discussion addressing her fear of developing Alzheimer's. Forgive me if I've written on this before. It seems as though I may have recently but I performed several searches and couldn't seem to find anything. When we discuss this it is because Mom brings it up and uses the following sentence toward the beginning of these discussions, "Mother [her mother] had Alzheimer's, you know."
Actually, since the family did not ask for an autopsy this is not known, although because of her mother's behavior in her last years (I'm thinking between 5 and 10 years, but I may be off on the long side) the chances are fair to good that her senility was Alzheimer's. Whether or not it was, she traveled into advanced dementia and probably died of this. Many of her senile behaviors were specific to Alzheimer's also not exclusive to it. In the beginning she hid things and she wandered. As her senility advanced she hallucinated and had an urgent need to "go" somewhere, a where she could never define. She not only lost touch with her friends and loved ones but with herself. During her final days, which she spent in a nursing home, she curled into a fetal position. By the time she was my mother's age, she had begun to exhibit the first of these behaviors with abandon.
My mother's sister also traveled into moderately advanced senility. The family referred to her senility as Alzheimer's but I don't think it was. Her senility developed very quickly and at the beginning was pronounced by at least one of her physicians as stemming from malnutrition due to advanced alcoholism. She did, at times, exhibit a need to "go" somewhere, but the most significant characteristics of her senility were constant, severe fogginess and a lack of ability to do anything for herself. There were certain aspects of her character that she did not lose and which she exhibited often. As well, she paused at a certain point and never went further.
Tonight, when my mother, once again, voiced her fear, we talked about all these aspects of senility in her family. I also reminded her that she takes after her father's side of the family.
"That's true," she agreed.
"Grandpa certainly became forgetful, and he lost interest in life close to his death, but he did not lose himself, nor did he lose the ability to remember those who were significant in his life and who he'd encountered many times throughout his life."
"I know," she said.
"Grandpa also never stopped telling stories about the past."
She glanced at me sardonically. "Are you suggesting something?"
We both laughed. I reminded her that she doesn't tell nearly as many stories as Grandpa did, nor does she repeat them nearly as often, but she has her moments.
So she'd know that I wasn't trying to josh her into a false sense of security, I reminded her that she's occasionally mistaken me for her mother, students of hers from scores of years ago or treasured friends.
"I have!?!" she said. "Does it bother you?"
"Not at all! You always mistake me for someone you love a lot, and that pleases me."
She grinned. "Well, good!"
"I'll start to worry when you mistake me for someone you hate."
"I don't think that'll happen," she said thoughtfully. "I can only remember one person I've hated, and that was a man. Have I ever mistaken you for a man?"
"No," I assured her. "You haven't."
"Well, it bothers me that there is so much I can't remember."
"That's why I'm here," I told her, something I say to her often when she needs reassurance. "I remember the things you need to remember, and, if I don't remember it it's probably not important."
Once again, she displayed that wily grin. "Probably, eh? How many things have you forgotten that you shouldn't've?"
"It's probably a good thing that neither of us knows the answer to that question," I said.
She cast a wizened glance my way. "I'm sure you're right about that."
She went to bed about 45 minutes ago. We had a very good evening. I told her this as I settled her into bed. "I was worried earlier today but you seem to be feeling much better than you were before you took your nap."
"You don't need to worry," she said. "We're just fine."
Through it all, through every step of the way, whether I'm feeling optimistic or pessimistic about what's going on, underneath it all, I agree with her.
Now it's my turn. The second drying cycle just ended. Time for me to go to bed.
Later.
