Mom & Me Two Archive

As of May 1, 2010...

2010-04-29T22:20:00.001-07:00

...Blogger will no longer allow FTP publishing. Updates to this blog, which will probably be few to none, since this section of The Mom & Me Journals dot Net is, essentially, closed by time, can be found at http://momandmetwoarchive.blogspot.com. This section of the journal will also remain at in it's domain directory, so accessing links should not present a problem.

Everything.

2004-12-31T11:25:00.000-07:00

Tell everything.

Night before last I was so tired and so overwhelmed I was afraid I would die in my sleep.

2004-12-31T11:22:00.000-07:00

    "Afraid" is the wrong word. I was hoping I'd die in my sleep. Die out of this situation. Die out of my mistakes and my successes; my fears and the constant, gnawing need to be fierce; die of out having to negotiate the world on not only my behalf but my mother's; die out of having to deal with business and simultaneously hating it; die out of always having to guard against my mother being taken advantage of; die out of everything and let someone else clean up whatever mess I'd left, knowing that whomever took over wouldn't consider it a mess but a challenge. Die out of all these stupid, ridiculous, stay-alive "growth challenges".
    Autopsy conclusion: Cessation of Inspiration, Undetermined Origin.
    I "thought" about it for a long time after retiring, considering what affect this would have on my mother's circumstances; how her life would be upended and overhauled by the arrangements my death would make necessary. Initially, under the assumption that she'd discover me dead in bed and call 911 and then one or more of my sisters, she'd be alone and floundering in the house for a good 24 hours, maybe more, probably soaked to the gills with urine, her blood sugar out of control, assuming that she figured out or "remembered" how to prepare food; chances are she'd eat condiments, pickles, olives, cheese and left over cheesecake out of the refrigerator. She'd probably "nap" on the sofa, soaking it with her urine. She wouldn't bathe, she wouldn't take her meds, she wouldn't change her clothes, she might attempt to get the mail and fall, crawling her way back to the house if she didn't accidentally lock herself out, she may not hear the phone to answer it, she probably wouldn't even realize she had to feed and water The Little Girl. Once discovered and secured, she'd move in with one (or more, perhaps in shifts) of my sisters. Soon thereafter, as her medical and life management became overwhelming for one or more of them, she'd probably go to a nursing home. Everything I imagined strifed and stung as the possible scenarios flooded me, but, oh, I was so, so tired, so incredibly tired, I decided I didn't care, everything would turn out "fine" because it is my mother I'd be leaving and everything always turns out fine for her in her mind. And, anyway, I'd be dead, unable to do anything, so one way or another, whether death is our annihilation or our introduction into some other of an infinite number of systems, I wouldn't worry and I could rest.
    By the time I reached the "rest" phase of my imaginings I decided I'd better arise and make sure phone numbers were handy for her at her usual sitting place when she awakens. As it happened, she, after having drunk a lot of tea that evening before retiring, was arising to go to the bathroom. Taking advantage of the opportunity, I lightly cleaned her, checked her bed (which was still dry), changed out her underwear and settled her back in bed. Then I figured I'd better prepare her, just in case.
    "Mom," I said, "I've been thinking about it and we need to review what you need to do if you should ever awaken and I died in bed during the night."
    Curiously, she wasn't startled. "I know what to do."
    "Well, just in case, let's go over everything. Who do you call first if you discover I'm dead?"
    "911".
    "Good. I'm going to make a habit of leaving the list of [her other daughters'] numbers out at your chair at the table where you usually go first to sit. You know to dial one before the numbers, right?"
    "Oh, yes."
    "Okay. Well, I'm going to redo the list tonight with the numbers written out exactly as you need to dial them."
    "Good."
    "And, you must keep trying, number after number, until you get someone. Okay?"
    "Of course."
    "And, when the police show up, tell them you cannot be left alone. Tell them to copy the list of numbers and keep trying everyone until someone responds and promises to get here promptly. Okay?"
    "Yes."
    "I'll leave a note on the list stating that you can't be left alone for long."
    "That's not necessary. I'll tell them."
    "Well, no, you won't. I know you well enough to know that you'll tell everyone that you're fine on your own because you think you are."
    "Well, yes, I suppose you're right."
    "I'm afraid even [her other daughters] would believe you, because you believe this and sound so convincing."
    "I know."
    "Okay."
    "We'll talk more about this tomorrow."
    Suddenly there was a lump in my throat. "Well, Mom, I hope that happens (although I actually was hoping the opposite, but I figured this lie would be forgiven) but I might not make it through tonight." I fought to remain calm and objective so she wouldn't worry. "I mean, you never know."
    "Goodness, girl! You're not going to die tonight!"
    I started to cry. "Mom, I don't know. I might. I just want to make sure that if it happens you'll be safe very shortly after I die."
    She peered at me as though I had just spoken Mandarin. "What makes you think you're going to die tonight?!?" She wasn't expressing belief, just investigating this peculiar and ridiculous suggestion.
    By this time I was sobbing. "I'm so, so, tired, Mom. I'm just so tired. I think I might stop breathing tonight and I'll be so tired I won't want to start back up, again, my body won't even do it automatically. I'm sorry, I'm just so tired."
    "Go back to bed, child! You need to sleep. You didn't set your alarm, did you?"
    "Uh, well, no."
    "Good. Get some sleep. You're fine. I'll see you in the morning."
    "Well, I hope so."
    "Oh, stop that! You're over dramatizing! Kiss me goodnight! Don't stay up rewriting that list! You need to sleep!"
    That's what happened, although, I drifted into sleep assuming I wouldn't be awakening.
    Happily, I suppose, the dwelling in my doldrums worked through the depths of sleep. I feel, now, well, not yet ready to die. Sometimes I become so tired from the vigilance of being my mother's sole keeper in the world, of knowing from unexpected but soberly absorbed experience how draining it is to have to keep a wary eye on those with whom I do medical and financial business on my mother's behalf...sometimes I get so tired of being one of this human species in whom the business of life overwhelms any remembrance of joy and I just don't want to do it anymore; don't want to try to negotiate the scams, don't want to try to negotiate anything, don't even want to be where negotiation is necessary. Doesn't matter that I'm taking care of someone. She never doesn't like life so she'll be fine I think. Leave life to those who accept the desperation and consider it invigorating.
    Sometimes I think if you don't really like what you see going on, person after person, day after day, it's best, for you and for those who depend on you, that you not stay around. Sometimes I just get so tired that I can't help but think this.
    So far I've been able to sleep my way out of this fatigue. Maybe I will for years to come. But now I'm settled about what will happen to my mother if I don't. This, at least, is a blessing.

The Sorry Post - A Tribute to My Mother

2004-12-31T10:25:00.001-07:00

The day before yesterday, feeling strange and hyper and trying to do my mother's day through a very uncomfortable mask, I suggested we play Sorry, which we haven't done for some days. I thought it would calm me down and, anyway, we always have good conversations while playing.
As I was setting up the board I spit a rapid string of "rules" across the table at my mother:

Roll up your house coat sleeves. I don't want you knocking off our men while we're playing.
And, lift your arm. Same reason. If you knock any of your men off they automatically go back to Start. Any of my men, they get put back on the board where ever I think they were.
Remember, out on a one or two. And, no, you can't move an extra space when you start a man on a two. And get your men out or you won't have a chance. A one or two wasted on a man over here [pointing to the side opposite her home] when you could get someone out is a stupid move.
Read the cards and think about what they say. I don't want to spend the entire game coaching you on what the cards say and what they mean.
Try to remember that when you're approaching home you'll be moving your men up that way. I haven't decided yet if I'm going to just let you go around and around the board in endless circles.
And pay attention to drinking your cranberry juice. You're a little dehydrated. It'll irritate me if I have to remind you constantly to pick up your glass and drink.

    My mother's response? "Seems like you're already pretty irritated. Are you sure you want to play this game?"
    Whoa. I stopped in my tracks. I looked at her and thought. Almost a minute. Then I laughed. "You know what? You're right. I am irritated I don't think I want to play. I don't know why I suggested it."
    "Well, I think we should do something where we don't bother each other." "Don't bother each other" is my mother's code phrase for, "Jesus! What is your problem?!? Settle down and leave me alone!"
    "Yeah. Thanks for saving us, and me. Got any suggestions? I'm afraid all mine would be excuses to snip away at you."
    She laughed. "Welllll....we could watch Deep Space 9. We both like that, we don't have to talk to each other, and it might settle you down."
    We did and I did. That's the day we snugged in after I duct taped our house problem (which I've since discovered isn't as major as I thought), did laundry and broke well into the second season of Deep Space 9.
    Footnote. Yesterday we played Sorry, too, at my mother's suggestion. Just before we settled in to the first game I said, "Ummm, do you suppose it's warm enough for you to play without your house coat on?"
    Her eyes twinkled. "My thoughts exactly." She wriggled out of the sleeves and let her house coat fall over the back of her chair. Amazingly during the game the only coaching she needed was to be reminded to "go home" when she was on the critical side. She read the cards. She thought about her moves. She strategized bringing her men out. We each won an equal number of games.
    Being a caregiver isn't an "at the recipient" activity. From the outside I know it often looks like it is. I suspect, though, that even when the recipient is deeply stowed in the furthest reaches of old age and its mysterious quirks, caregiving is a constantly adjusting relationship between two people, both of whom are active participants. Sometimes it isn't the caregiver who needs to force an adjustment, it's the recipient.
    Bless my mother for having no qualms about being the enforcer.

Damn! That last post was so good...

2004-12-30T14:46:00.001-07:00

...I decided to formally turn it into an essay, named Don't Wait for Heaven to Help Us, so it wouldn't get lost in the journaling shuffle. Its title now occupies a distinguished place in the essay round-up to the right, in case you ever want to remind yourself about the value of heaven to caregivers, saintly and curmudgeonly alike.

Interesting article in this week's edition of...

2004-12-30T10:30:00.000-07:00

...Caregiver.com. The link will take you directly to the article. It is one woman's story of taking care of her Intense Caregiving Needs grandmother for a week. I would say that it should be required reading for all people who have an Intense Caregiving Needs Caregiver in their family and/or community but, the truth is, I clearly remember being a non-caregiver and if I had read this article then, well, it's not that I wouldn't have believed it, it's that it would have had no effect on me other than some sort of mumbled, witless response like that of the last sentence in the article.
I can't tell you how many times people, both strangers and not so strange-rs (although not, thank the gods, relatives) have told me that there is a special place in heaven for me because of what I'm doing with my mother. The first time it was offered to me I accepted it graciously and, not being a believer in heaven (or hell, for that matter), chalked it up as the best compliment a dedicated born-again Christian thought she could offer me. I continued to let it go without reaction (silent or verbal) a few more times. Then one day after hearing it I was catalyzed into thinking about it while I was wheeling my mother around the old Walmart looking for plastic sheets for her bed. These are those thoughts, not necessarily in deductive or inductive order:

I wonder if there is also a "special place" for all those who know an Intense Needs Caregiver and often think they shoulda-woulda-coulda except that, well, they've got their lives and you know how important one's life is...even caregivers are scolded about the importance of "the lives" we supposedly "give up" to take care of our Ancients and our Infirm.
I don't want a "special place in heaven". I suspect, if there is a heaven drawn to the specifics that many Christians believe, the last place I'd want to be is in the Intense Needs Caregivers Section. Something tells me that they are cordoned together in case someone in heaven needs intense, special care. Believe me, I'm not interested in doing what I'm doing now once I leave this system. If we are cordoned off for special recognition, well, we all know how limiting a life of special recognition is...put me where everyone else is, please. I'm experiencing more than enough separation from others, now, as it is. Don't "honor" me with the same separation after I die!
I don't want any rewards after the fact, I want relief during the fact.
If there is a "heaven" wouldn't it be nice if we were all there because we all "took care" of each other, sometimes in groups if the care of one individual was intense; we designed our entire lives around the reality that we are a decidedly social species and we all need some kind of care all the time, even and especially if that care means being relieved for some alone time from the rigors of intense caregiving?
Please don't leave my "reward" up to a questionably existent "father-god" so that you don't have to worry about it. I'm not in heaven, I'm right here. As an Intense Needs Caregiver I'm in the thick of it. If all you can do is tell me you hope that some benevolent god will reward me in the after-life for what I'm doing, please don't say anything to me. I can accept peaceably co-existing with others in a society that isn't geared toward mutual caregiving. Being reminded of this, as though it's a compliment, by being told that I'll get mine in the sweet by and by, though, is only an irritation.
If we really believe that there is A Special Place In Heaven for caregivers like me I can't help but note that there are an awful lot of people who aren't interested in vying for That Special Place. Kind of brings into question the specifics of That Special Place, doesn't it?!?

    This particular issue of Caregiver.com's newsletter states in the editorial that 54 million of us in this country alone are Intense Needs Caregivers. You'd think, considering our number, that I would not be one of only a few with these troublesome, not-very-caring thoughts. You'd think that I would not be one of only a few who, along with recognizing the extraordinary rewards of the kind of care I give, also recognize the extraordinary burdens engendered by giving Intense Needs Care in a society such as ours.
    Finally, you'd think I wouldn't be one of only a few (and, mind you, I have yet to find those few; I'm sure they're out there, I just don't know where to look) who is impolite enough to say, "Whadaya mean, 'take care of myself'?!? Jesus! You may as well tell my mother to take care of herself!"
    Look. I know we aren't going to "get it" as a society until long after my caregiving stint is finished. Can we at least start questioning Caregiver Wisdom in this country so that the next time some non- or ordinary caregiver gets the urge to tell one of us Intense Caregivers that Someone is Preparing A Special Place for Us for After We Die, they think twice and say something else, like, "Here, let me do that for you..." And, as an Intense Needs Caregiver we know, because life is, finally, "like that", that the offerer knows exactly what needs to be done and we have no qualms about letting them do it for us or our beloved Care Recipient?
    "Oh dear," as my mother would say. The Curmudgeonly Caregiver strikes again. Don't listen to her, she doesn't mean it. Just give her a wide berth. She'll be fine. And, think of The Special Place she's earning in Heaven...would that all of us...
    Yes, exactly. Would that all of us. All. Of. Us. Now.

Today was another late rising for my mother...

2004-12-29T23:16:00.001-07:00

...this time nobody's fault. It rained really hard with lots of strong wind all last night and most of today. Around 1000 I noticed a new house problem engendered by this particularly strong storm but for which the conditions have no doubt been developing beneath the covers for sometime: Leaking windows. This particular straw of a storm was the back breaker. I secured us with duct tape. Although I'll call insurance about it, I used to be an insurance adjuster and I know there won't be coverage for it. There was also no way to know what was developing beneath the surface on this one. It clearly comes under the "Jesus Fucking Christ What's Next" category. I feel so defeated by this problem that I don't even want to talk about it. I didn't mention it to MFASRF when I finally caught back up with him today after a month and after I'd secured the problem at least through the rest of the storm. I usually mention everything like this to him. He gets a kick out of house trials. I just didn't have the heart to think about it enough to write about it.
    Otherwise, I guess we had a good day. Once I awoke her, Mom was up most of the day until just a few minutes ago and took only a short nap. She wanted to break into the second season of Deep Space 9 today, which we did, all day long, well, except for the fact that I did laundry all day long in the aftermath of our house problem. And, I mean, allllldaaaayloooong...the last load of drying came out and was folded just before Mom went to bed.
    God damn, god damn, god damn, doing this alone without someone here with whom I can talk out my frustrations, someone here to at least hold me up while I'm shouldering the burden, someone here who gets it because they've been here for awhile, it's really getting to me now. Really.
    Oh well. Almost time to call it a day.

A late arising again...

2004-12-28T16:21:00.001-07:00

...this time my mother's request. I had to make a Costco supply run. I did it very early, arriving back at 1045, at which time I slipped into my mother's bedroom. She was sprawled and sleeping hard. I awoke her, knowing that I had a lot to do today as we're having company tomorrow. Yes, I know, I said no visitors but these are the people who grab me by the scruff of the neck and pull me out of my doldrums, the people who keep as close and practiced an eye on my mother as I do, the people who tell me to grab a nap while they're here, they'll keep an eye on "Mom". When MCF heard my phone message she insisted on a visit and something in her voice told me it would be a good idea if I didn't refuse her and those of her family (also friends) who could make it.
    Mom begged to be allowed to sleep in until noon. I okayed this, knowing that I could probably get a good start on the necessary cleaning during that hour and 15 minutes. But wait! There's more. The first thing I did was call MCF to let her know rain is setting in and the worst of it is expected tomorrow, with a flash flood watch which will affect her drive. She hates to drive in bad weather. As it turns out, she's sick with something, sounded like warmed over shit and begged off until next week, since we're expecting snow on the weekend and she's like Mom is about snow...been there, done that, never again.
    So, company for tomorrow's been cancelled and I'm over being under the weather, although I suppose, considering how exhilarated rain causes me to feel, one could probably say I am ecstatically under the weather. Mom is flat under the weather.
    At Costco I picked up the second part of the final season of Sex and the City and we've been rewatching that until just a bit ago when Mom decided on a nap. I expect we'll polish it off this evening, take a peak at the alternate endings and see how they compare with our druthers.
    On my way back from Costco this morning it suddenly hit me with some unpleasantness that for the last three months my mother has been homebound, due to me, not to anything inherent in her 'condition'. She hasn't, I don't think, been unhappy nor do I think anything about her has suffered but I need to get her out again for her sake. As I realized this I was also overwhelmed with the memory of how much work it is to get her out:

how long it takes to work her up to it, which includes both mood and body preparation;
how long any outing takes when she's along;
how concentrated I must be on her even while I'm accomplishing the purpose of the outing;
how every trip involves the Emergency Bag which is used about 50% of the time;
how long it takes to 'debrief' her after outings;
how it is that, when I bring her along in our outside life I automatically lose time alone;
how this factor, in large part, has led to the last three months of her homeboundedness...

...and how I want to figure out a way to do all this without losing myself. One way or another, I guess, I'll figure it out because I must. It'll be interesting to see what I come up with. It will most likely consist of three parts attitude change and one part routine change. But it's time. It's definitely time.
Later, probably.

"'Night, 'night...

2004-12-28T11:57:00.000-07:00

...sleep good."
    We kiss goodnight.
    "You too."
    "I'll see you in the morning."
    "Yes, you will, and I'll see you in the morning."
    That's my mother having the last word in our 'Night 'Night ritual.
    Tonight, on my way out of her bedroom, I realized that it is this ritual that insures that my mother will awaken the next morning. We pledge to see each other the next day. We both know we're not only looking forward to that mutual morning greeting, we rely on it. It gives us both a reason to get through the night.
    Some of the important guarantees of this seemingly insignificant ritual are:

That it will be the same person greeting her every morning, regardless of what mood that person, or she, is in;
That it will be someone with whom she is so familiar and who is so familiar with her that small talk will immediately begin upon arising, even if the small talk is along the lines of, "Why should I get up?!?"
That she knows the person greeting her in the morning is as dependent on her awakening as she is on being awakened by that person;
That it will happen within a household that contains the implements of not only her life but the life of the one who awakens her and that her presence in this household is as significant as the presence of the one who awakens her.

I think this bodes well for my mother awakening for many, many mornings to come.
'Night 'night.

Despite my earlier post of today...

2004-12-27T23:26:00.000-07:00

...I was up early paying bills and looking through boxes of papers in an attempt to determine what our final estimated tax bill is so I can get it out before the end of the year. Although it's due in January, if it gets in before December 31st it's posted to this year. I think it will help us if it's posted for this year, although the "help" will be in the form of cutting our April tax bill only a little.
    All other bills except medical bills were figured and paid. This is why Mom's arising was put off so long today. I decided to awaken her at 1100 since she stayed up late last night, almost to midnight. At 1045 I attacked my last bill, full of about $90.00 in over charges (that's right folks, a phone company bill) and, as it turns out, an additional $28.00 in overcharges last month. Since I had it all figured out I didn't think it would take long to address the problem.
    If you read the daily meal stats you'll notice that I took her 'breakfast' blood sugar at 1210. I was still on the phone with the phone company. They were, of course, trying to figure out the same thing I already figured out. I think it was about 1220 when everything was figured out to their satisfaction and mine and we parted, me with a much decreased bill, them with profuse apologies for their "oversights". God, I hate the business world...but unless I absolutely have to get nasty I am always polite and patient when negotiating these "oversights". Seems to work better.
    The medical people can all cool their heels. This is what always happens when my mother goes into the hospital: I provide all her insurance information (she's Medicare/TriCare for Life) to the hospital. The hospital processes it all and presumably sends it on to all the visiting providers (consulting physicians and radiologists) who bill separately. I know, absolutely, that the hospital sends all my mother's information to the providers...I've asked them about this several times when going through provider bills. But, amazingly, the providers' billing departments never get it right. They always 'forget' to bill TriCare and tell me the hospital neglects to include this information. I learned after my mother's first hospital visit that this is a widespread, and apparently approved, medical scam to garner two payments on one bill. The first time she was in the hospital in 2002 we got a bill from a consulting physician. I was not nearly as savvy about medical billing procedures as I am now. Because I misread the "documentation" and since the bill was only $36.00 I paid it. A month later I received notification from TriCare that they were billed and paid the final $36.00 on the account. It took me three more months of calls which degenerated into extreme cynicism on my part to wrest that $36.00 out of the provider's office. Now, I let them spend about six months' worth of paper and computer time and employee time repeatedly billing us until I feel like contacting them and calling them on their "error" in insurance billing.
    If you go to Today's Dinner Stats post, you'll notice that my mother's blood pressure is almost back to normal. It's so normal I'm considering dropping her lisinopril back, but not quite yet. I'm a little worried since it's not yet, I'm sure, a result of regular exercise. We haven't been doing her exercises regularly and she hasn't been very mobile. Dropping blood pressure in her can also signal severely anemic bouts and/or dehydration so I'm being very careful this time. I'll probably take a couple more blood pressures throughout tomorrow, wait it out for a few days then take her in for the long overdue 'monthly' CBC and see where we stand. Overall, though, she's feeling good and doing good.
    We were both way under the weather today. I ended up taking a very hard three hour nap, so hard that I had to remind myself how to walk when I arose. That hasn't happened to me in years. Mom also wasn't up much today and retired early. We're both in good moods, though, despite my business slow-down reported in my earlier post today, which turned out not to be as slow as I would have liked.
    Before I laid down I was not in the best of moods although I wasn't advertising it. Suffice it to say that I lulled myself to sleep with fantasies of dying in some sort of freak accident so that I wouldn't have to continue this rugged, intense section of caregiving that's going on right now, all the more rugged and intense because I so desperately need a break. I guess the sleep must have cleared my system of some 'need-a-break' detritus because I'm feeling better this evening, a bit more optimistic about the days and months ahead and very optimistic about my mother's life.

I awoke this morning...

2004-12-27T11:05:00.000-07:00

...with the need to ask the world to magnanimously forgive my tardiness in rejoining the superficial business of living and indulge me one more day. I haven't yet found the strength to pull myself back into Life As We Consciously Know It.
Maybe tomorrow. I'm working on tomorrow.
Later.

"I was dreaming about cheesecake,"

2004-12-26T15:36:00.000-07:00

my mother said when I greeted her in the bathroom this morning. She awoke of her own accord...I was alerted when I heard her heading into the bathroom.
    "Would that have been pumpkin cheesecake? With raspberry maple sauce?" I teased.
    "I don't remember what kind it was but it was the cheesecake we're going to have tonight."
    "Ahhh...then it was the pumpkin cheese cake with raspberry maple sauce!"
    "Oh, good! I've been hoping we'd have some more before you freeze it!"
    "We'll do the same thing we did yesterday. We'll have a hearty lunch [I'm making the tomato sausage biscuit pie today] then we'll have a Just Desserts dinner."
    She would have applauded if she was the type. "You know," she continued, "that cheesecake didn't taste like pumpkin."
    Over the four years we've purchased Costco's pumpkin cheesecakes I've noticed that each year they contain less pumpkin. Both the flavor and color have been affected. This year the cheesecake had a just-off-white nutmeg yellow color and no pumpkin flavor. It had much less graham cracker crust, as well, which was an improvement. Not that it wasn't a decent cheesecake, just no longer pumpkin cheesecake. I was surprised my mother noticed this. In years past, as a confirmed smoker, she hasn't noticed the taste subtleties of pumpkin versus less pumpkin. This year she not only noticed she remembered the next day. "Were you disappointed?"
    "Goodness no! That raspberry sauce made the cheesecake. Didn't matter whether it was pumpkin or not."
    Funny she would mention this. When I purchased the cheesecake this year,it's color was so similar to a regular cheesecake that the idea for making the raspberry maple sauce came to me.

    This morning I discovered what's causing the excess water in our backyard. It isn't our house plumbing. The moisture is occurring along the drain that diverts our wash under the backyard through to it's natural bed along the west side of our house. The drain pipe is not straight. Somewhere under our yard it obviously takes an obtuse turn. The leak suggests to me that instead of using bent pipe to construct the diversion, welded pipe was probably used. The joint is probably where it's leaking. As well, our wash still has gently flowing water in it so water is flowing through the pipe. Although I'll check our water bill when it arrives I think the leak is in the wash diversion drain. I don't know if we'll fix it immediately. It's possible the wash drain has been cracked for awhile but we were gone a lot in winter over the last several years (and summer during some of those years) so we wouldn't have noticed. No wonder our back yard has been so prolific! No wonder we had a bumper crop of apples this year despite that they were shrunken and less than hardy from malnourishment.
    It's a good, easy day for Mom. We're watching Tracy-Hepburn movies, I'm doing the tomato pie prep, she's sneaking grape tomatoes, bits of chopped green onion and finger dips of the pesto I made to spice the pie. I like that she's been up a lot lately. We're down to no more than 12 hours of sleep.
    Good numbers all the way around.
    Later.

My mother's bladder control was excellent, today.

2004-12-25T23:55:00.000-07:00

    Gee, I wonder why.
    She trotted to the bathroom on her own (by which I mean without being reminded) more than a few times and I changed her underwear about half-way through her "up" time not because they were wet (every time I checked them, which amounts to every time she goes to the bathroom, they were dry as new) but because it seemed the precautionarily hygienic thing to do.
    For all of you who are horrified at what you may consider the abusiveness of my outburst about her accidentally-on-purpose incontinence yesterday, trust me when I tell you, although my reaction was a bit over-the-top it was not abusive. Although I'm not happy that I resorted to such sharpness and continue to vow to look for other in-your-face methods that aren't quite as pointed, it worked. As well, it did not leave her trembling with fear about the possibility of being incontinent today nor did it raise her internal stress level.
    Let me explain something about my mother. She is a natural Buddhist. She consistently sees life from the broad perspective and reacts to it out of an internal serenity that is rarely disturbed. When it is disturbed she retreats into deep, often sub- or unconscious consideration of the disturbance, settles herself with it and reemerges unscathed. She is rarely startled or tricked into loud (meant in several ways) reaction. This has been true all her life. It has been a much indulged in habit of my sisters and mine to imagine my mother harboring deep grievances and burdens. The truth is, I don't think she's had many. The only two of which I know, one involving her inability to forgive someone for a long ago committed act, the other involving regret over an episode of what she considers to be insensitivity toward one of her students when she was teaching before joining the Navy, are not hidden from view out of shame but modesty.
    My mother does not consider life a stage for display but rather, simply, well, life. She does it but she has no taste for advertising her doing of it, although she clearly enjoys those who do. This lifelong tranquility is enhanced through her Ancienthood (as, I guess, everything becomes "enhanced"). Thus, making a point with my mother, which has always been difficult (she came with her own set of rules, very few of which were imparted to her through her environmental raising), now requires a certain amount of dramatics. Sometimes even those don't work. It surprises me that my dramatics of yesterday worked. It could be because they were uncalculated and provoked by and focused on what she considers to be a private matter: Bodily functions. It could be because my outburst was aimed only peripherally at her urination. My intended aim was her lack of consideration of how her decision to happily sit back and ignore her urge to pee affected me. She prefers to be considerate of others, will go out of her way to be so. This quality can successfully be brought to task when she is thoughtless.
    At any rate, today I discovered that she has the ability to be aware of and control her bladder much better than I thought. I've reestablished what her current bladder baseline is. It's much higher than I suspected. This is good news for both of us.
    We both, by the way, discovered that we can stand only one Capra movie at a time. Half way through the second of TCM's Christmas Capra fest we looked at each other and said simultaneously, "How about some Deep Space 9?"
    Later.

Late start to the day.

2004-12-25T16:16:00.001-07:00

    I slept restlessly. My final awakening was at 1100 this morning. I considered awakening Mom but needed coffee.
    At noon Mom awoke of her own accord. I heard her and we went through our wake-up routine in silence except for my directions to her. Not that I was in a bad mood, just internalized, insular. She didn't react.
    By 1400 we were done with breakfast and I was done with my usual morning chores. I decided to empty the compost bucket into the bin out back and turn the pile. As I walked through our back yard I noticed, in the middle of it, a spot about two feet in diameter that is spongy moist. I suppose it's a broken underground pipe. I'm not sure whether it's connected to our house. Considering the layout of the properties around here and the fact that the last quarter of our backyard is the beginning of forest land, I can't imagine from where a water pipe in our backyard would come and/or to where it would be going. I guess I'll call the City of Prescott on Monday and find out if it's ours or theirs or if the water is coming from some other source. It's just inside the edge of our backyard winter shade. It could be collected moisture from very slow melting snow, considering that it's been so cold lately.
    We've lately been hosting a lot of deer in both the front and back of our yard so I collected lots of excellent deer dung for the compost bin.
    Mom watched as much as she could stand of The Greatest Story Every Told. About an hour ago she announced, "I like the other one better."
    "Can you tell me which one?" I was thinking maybe we have a copy of it.
    She thought for a minute.
    I tried to help her out. "Is it the one we got recently? The one that focuses on his death?" I was referring to The Passion of the Christ. If you're an aficionado of Jesus and Judeo-Christian Bible movies as my mother is, this one is at least as interesting as any of the rest.
    "No, no. That's the dark one, isn't it? No, it's the one where Jesus dreams while he's on the cross."
    "Oh, yeah. I like that one, too. The Last Temptation of Christ."
    "Do we have it? After I take a nap, I'd like to watch it."
    "No. But I'll see if anyone is showing it on TV and I'll put it on my list of videos to buy. I can't imagine how I missed picking that one up."
    "Good. It's a good one."
    She's napping now. No one is showing The Last Temptation of Christ today. I'm monitoring the wash and am going to read the collection of essays published in NYT today; one of them is about the breakup of families in China. I'm assuming it's different than the one I read a few days ago, since the essays are from sources other than NYT.
    Mr. Deeds Goes to Town is on at 1800 our time, tonight. I've never seen it so I'm planning on watching it regardless of what else happens. I'm a hopeless Capra and "Capraesque" fanatic. I'm assuming Mom will enjoy it, too.
    It doesn't look good for the tomato pie although I might change my mind later. If we don't have it today I'll probably make it tomorrow. We need to use the tomatoes. We've got some good left-overs. Lunch is going to be late so maybe we'll have a hearty lunch and cheesecake for dinner. The maple/raspberry sauce I'm planning for the cheesecake is easy and quick.
    Nothing has been mentioned about today being Christmas. That's fine with me and it seems to be fine with my mother. If it wasn't, I'd hear about it.
    Later.

Merry Christmas Christ Almighty

2004-12-25T01:32:00.001-07:00

    Today's been a good day right up to the end. Then it turned sour. I swear, it looks like I'm going to have to start making sure Mom doesn't enjoy herself too much, as she did today.
    After lunch we watched a Christmas movie, her choice, Love Actually. She couldn't remember seeing it but remembered the other two we have, the old standards: Miracle on 34th Street and It's a Wonderful Life. She really enjoyed that movie, as though she'd never seen it, so I was satisfied. A couple of times, as I usually do, I paused the movie to ask her if she had to go to the bathroom. Nope, she didn't. I didn't think anything of it. She's been controlling her bladder pretty well during the day for quite awhile.
    It's a long movie. When it was over I decided that we should check her underwear just in case it needed changing. Not only did it need changing, Mom had peed through it and through the fairly sturdy cushion right the seat of her rocking chair. Not a big deal, though. This happens occasionally, especially if she's drinking lots of liquids on her own, which she did today: Coffee sipping and good times go together for her. I also racked the leakage up to her bout of CHF and decided that maybe her body just decided to release a lot of fluid all at once, which is good. This means that this bout is winding down or maybe it's over. Good time to get her moving, again.
    She remained in the mood for Christmas movies but wanted to watch "something different", so I switched to television. TCM was hosting a back-to-back run of Christmas classics, all of which are right up Mom's alley, so I tuned in and let Robert Osborne handle Mom while I got some chores out of the way and fixed dinner. This time, though, instead of leaving urination to chance, I asked her repeatedly if she had to go to the bathroom; to, I guess, the point of her distraction. I also suggested between two movies that we check her underwear just in case.
    She snapped, "I don't have to go to the bathroom! When I need to go, I'll go!"
    I understood and honored her annoyance (how would I like to be harrassed about my urinary habits, I thought, especially during a particularly enjoyable day) but continued my strategy, just a bit more subtly. I didn't force her, though. Considering how much fluid she lost during the first movie I figured that even if she is putting off going to the bathroom to pee, there's no way she's going to leak as much as she did earlier.
    Wrong again. At 2330 we both decided to turn in; unusual for me but I've been dragging this evening, mainly, I think, because I've been going to bed very late for the last couple of nights and setting the alarm in order to start my day in time to make it to the pharmacy first thing. Yesterday the meds I was to pick up "hadn't made it in on the truck" the evening before so I had to repeat the pharmacy trip this morning. I herded her into the bathroom to begin our "getting ready for bed" ritual, closing up the house, turning off lights and turning on the dishwasher on my way. As we undressed her I noticed that, once again, her second-pair-of-the-day flannel pants were wet: She'd leaked through again. This concerned me, especially since I'd been so meticulous after the first accident about quizzing her about her need to urinate and she'd been adamantly denying any need.
    I checked the substitute cushion and, sure enough, it and the chair seat were soaked. Well, I decided, I guess I'm not going to bed as early as I thought. If I want to keep my work load to a low roar tomorrow I'd better wash this cushion tonight, too, which means waiting for the first cushion to dry enough so I can put the second cushion in the dryer before I go to bed. I was weary and a touch disappointed but not upset, although genuinely worried about what could be causing this sudden, copious, day leakage. Such is the life of a caregiver to an Ancient One, I figured.
    When I returned to the bathroom I said, "I don't know, Mom. I think either this bout of CHF is settling in for the long haul or you're developing another UTI. You really let go this evening and since you didn't feel as though you had to pee, something is obviously not quite right."
    "Oh," she said, a little indignant, "I knew I had to pee."
    It took me a few seconds to digest this. "You mean, every time I asked you if you had to go to the bathroom you actually did but you said no?"
    "Not every time," she huffed.
    I exploded. "Well, obviously not every time! You peed in your pants between urges! Why did you allow yourself to do that?!? I must have asked you if you had to go a million times!"
    "I was enjoying the movies," she righteously defended. "I didn't want to miss anything."
    "Well, thank you very much, Mrs. Hudson! Now, I get to stay up well past the time I actually wanted to go to bed because you were enjoying the evening too damned much to go to the bathroom! Unacceptable! I am not here so you can pee on cushions all day long at your leisure! I don't care how irritated you get when I ask you repeatedly if you have to pee! I only do this when it's necessary and I don't do it just for your convenience, I do it for mine, too! I'm tired, tonight! I am not interested in staying up any longer, but, guess what. Because you couldn't be bothered with going to the bathroom tonight I pay the price!"
    "You don't have to do the laundry tonight. Nothing's stopping you from going to bed."
    "Oh, great idea! Leave this wash till tomorrow so I can do an extra wash and add that to all my regular chores and making the Christmas dinner we'd planned! Yeah, that's exactly what I want to do! You know what, I don't care. I'm soooo tired tonight. And I'm disgusted that I can't go to bed when I want because you didn't want to be bothered with going to the bathroom this evening. It doesn't matter when I do that cushion, I'm thinking I'm not interested in doing Christmas dinner tomorrow. It looks like I've already got a schedule that involves keeping a really close eye on you so I don't have to wash more cushions tomorrow; or I suppose I can just give up and wash cushions. Either choice adds more than enough chores to my regular schedule. I can't see any reason to pile what it takes to make a tomato sausage biscuit pie onto that."
    She didn't have anything to say after this.
    I super-cleaned her groin area for the third time today, silent and simmering.
    When I steered her into her bedroom I was upset with myself, not for scolding her but for having exploded while I was doing it. I made a sincere but guarded apology. I didn't want her going to bed hurt because I'd overreacted out of tiredness and annoyance but I also didn't want her to think that she could forget about the evening and pull the peeing stunt again. I hate these kinds of apologies. It's always easier when I'm clearly in the wrong.
    I have no idea what tomorrow is going to be like. I don't know if I'm even going to bother to acknowledge Christmas. I'm beginning to feel as though I shouldn't have softened a week or so ago...I should have stuck to my original No Holiday Holiday plan. Well, I'll keep that in mind for next year, I guess. What a fucking hell of a year. I'm glad it's almost over.
    Thank god, I just heard the dryer stop from the first cushion. I can load the second one, which is now washed, and go to bed.
    Merry Christmas my (dragging) ass.

I'm letting the phone ring audibly today and tomorrow...

2004-12-24T15:11:00.001-07:00

...in case anyone should decide to wish the Holiday Grinch and Her Mother a Merry Christmas, etc. Much to my and my mother's delight, we've already received a call from her eldest grandson, one of the few nieces and nephews with whom we both have an extended and much appreciated history. Aside from being an all around amazing man, we had a good, delighted laugh. After my mother spoke to him and handed the phone to me, at one point in my conversation with him I called him by name.
    "Oh!" my mother exclaimed, that's [First Grandson]?!?
    He heard her in the background and chuckled.
    So did I. "Yeah," I said, "now she really enjoys having talked to you!"
    My mother caught the joke and took it in humorous stride. I think this is one of the aspects I appreciate most about my mother's old age; she is completely relaxed with her Ancient One Quirks. As I was reminded by the behavior of her roommate at the skilled nursing facility, it is heartbreaking when An Ancient One is distressed about their own display of The Vagaries of the Ancients.
    I dialed the phone so my mother could thank MCS and MCBIL for the lovely flower centerpiece and MCS and I had an excellent conversation. Much to my delight, she was to my immediate side in the Flower Shop Debacle so I guess we all inherited the desire to enhance the Holiday Season with a touch of pepper. Talking to her gave us a chance to "celebrate" our ambivalent disappointment that the flower shop came through with flying colors.
    Mom's down again for a nap after a decent (3 hour) "up" interval. Although her day began lively enough, she was awfully stiff, complained of a "hitch in her giddy-up" (meaning her hips and knees), was so not-there when we played Sorry that I snapped at her for moving the pieces with her arm and not breathing through her nose. I finally upped her oxygen to 3/lpm which will trigger puffs with mouth breathing. At one point I blurted, "I get so tired of having to monitor my body and yours, too," and then immediately burst into tears, told her that this didn't mean I didn't want her around and asked her to forgive me.
    She looked at me as though to say, "Forgive you for what? You come by your ass naturally, it's your father's you know; I just ignore it."
    I burst out laughing.
    Firebug that she is, Mom wanted to immediately light the candles upon seeing the arrangement but I convinced her that it would be much more atmospheric if we waited until after sunset, turned on the tree, lit the candles and watched Christmas movies in a provocative holiday atmosphere.
    I haven't decided whether to try an informal exercise session today. Today might be one of those days when it's best to let her do what she wants instead of trying to make her want to do what's best for her.

    Night before last we caught the movie Marvin's Room. You'll notice, in the IMDb link, it mentions nothing about the movie being about a caregiver to an elderly relative. Aside from being a superb ensemble piece with no false performances, it is, indeed, about caregiving to the elderly within a family. I was blown away at how appropriate everything in the movie is to the typical "lot" of caregivers to elderly relatives. The caregiving sister hadn't planned to be caring for her father and her aunt for twenty years. It just happened. Despite all the Good Advisors' blah-blah about "plans", etc., I suspect, since this was the scenario in the movie, this is typical of caregiver situations. As well, several other aspects of the story rang true:

The unintended tension between the caregiving sister and the sister who pursued her "own" life, specifically in regards to the "other" sister not understanding that the caregiving sister also had her own life including friends and lovers, of which her sister was unaware.
The fact that some of this tension involves the perception that The One Cared For and the caregiver would be better off if The One Requiring Care were cared for by professionals.
The unintended tension that arises when the caregiver is too busy and too exhausted to send cards, letters, special day acknowledgments, etc, either on her own behalf or on behalf of The One Cared For.
The "on display" atmosphere surrounding visits of other relatives to the caregiver and The One Cared For.
The sometimes hard to accept fact that an outsider sometimes notices something about The One Cared For that the caregiver, in her daily ministrations, misses.
The fact that visitors often feel rebuffed by the supremely and necessarily well regulated 'trifles' of the life of the household in which The One Cared For resides, and find it hard to accept, or take seriously, such regulation.
The fact that the caregiving child is also, for whatever reason [and, there are many roads to this destination, some of which would surprise those who pursued marriage(s)] the "remained single" child.
Lastly and most stunningly, this specific caregiver's admission that she has "known such love," which the other sister interprets as meaning the love the caregiver has received. The caregiver corrects: No, she says, she means the love she's been privileged to give.

The last point blew me away. A few years ago, after my mother's care took an upward, decidedly intense turn, one day in the midst of doing some curious, intimate chore for her while she was recovering from something (I can't remember what) I realized that I am not only my mother's final companion but most probably the best lover she's ever had. I know her physically better than anyone else has and will and probably better than she knows herself. As a result of all the years of:

leg rubs, back massages, doing her hair (from which she receives intense pleasure);
making it my business to know exactly what she likes including the temperature of her coffee and that she prefers other liquids at room temperature;
knowing when I can push her taste buds into an adventure and when I'd better not;
keeping up with her reading preferences;
understanding that her staring into space is sometimes a not-to-be-disturbed reverie;
having time to not only contemplate but acknowledge with her a variety of small but significant shared genetic traits;
seeing to her comfort and desires in a way no one ever has since she was an infant;
observing her so closely that I move with her, talk with her, sometimes even breathe with her in ways that are soothingly complementary;
learning about her history by being mistaken for people within her history, which imparts an intimacy with that history that is available in no other way...

...through all these activities and more I have become the ultimate lover of her life.
    I know that since I've never been and never will be a mother there is an aspect and knowledge of my mother's life of which I will never know, in which I will never share. It is an aspect all three of my sisters share with my mother through a deep, moving bond that I cannot imagine. It isn't a part of my nature to participate in this particular mother-daughter bond. It is, though, well within my nature to be here, now, with her, as I am and to hold her in exactly the way she needs and wants to be held as she polishes off her very unique life. Because I'm doing this I've realized over the last several years, just as did Diane Keaton's character in the above mentioned movie, that I am among the ranks of the luckiest children.
    I intended to use the above discussion as a reminder to write that essay that's been moving about my thoughts for the last several years which I entitled, at the time I realized it should be 'essayed', I Am My Mother's Lover. I think, though, I just wrote it, so I'm adding it to the essay list as is, where it is.
    Later.

The flowers just arrived...

2004-12-24T09:56:00.000-07:00

...in time for my mother's wake-up call, which will be a thrill for her and push her out of bed more quickly than usual.
    The guy said that some of the flowers had been "replaced" in order to insure that the arrangement "lasts for awhile".
    My mean little internal elf is not disappointed. She's an ingenious demon. She'll find another way to celebrate the holiday this year. In the meantime, my mother and the rest of me will enjoy the sparkling arrangement, complete with candles, one of my mother's favorite things (she hosts a firebug demon, which some of you long time readers and relatives already know).
    Interesting, thoughtful holidays to all my readers and, especially, everyone who's too busy taking care of people to spend time on the internet reading caregiver blogs.
    Time to wake up The Mom.

The flower shop just called.

2004-12-24T09:30:00.000-07:00

    "Someone", it seems, "forgot to mark the flowers for redelivery" and "didn't note that [I'd] called", let alone 15 minutes after the initial attempted delivery. Interestingly, it was this man's voice who left word on our voice mail and heard my message. I told him that we'd waited all day yesterday for delivery based on what the woman I spoke to on Wednesday said.
    "Hmmm..." he said. "Well, we'll get those out today, sometime before one." No apology. To his credit, no excuses, either. At least the sun will be up to allow me to clearly see whether the flowers are in a condition to be accepted.
    My mean little internal elf is dancing with anticipated holiday joy.
    Shame on you, Gail Rae! For shame!

Typical researcher/writer that I am...

2004-12-24T00:55:00.001-07:00

...I've been blithely keeping double copies of everything here as daily posts and archives. It finally caught up with me and I had to copy over four months of daily posts to my hard drive and delete them off my ISP's server in order to continue publishing. I'll probably delete the entire past year's dailies shortly. As it turns out, though, I've got my search engine set to search the dailies and not the archives. I need to change that. I didn't think about it when I began using Atomz. I just wanted to make sure duplicate searching didn't happen. However, it makes more sense to exclude the dailies and include the archives from a page count perspective. Thus, until I find a few hours to do this, the first four months of 2004 won't be available for search. Not that it matters. Very few people search my site. But I thought I'd mention it just in case you're one of those few.

    This evening we talked a little about congestive heart failure. She doesn't have chronic CHF but when she's extremely sedentary, which she's been for the last couple of months (in part my doing, although, she loves being sedentary and doesn't fight me when I allow her to be) she begins to develop slight swelling in her feet at night and a bit of a dry hack, both signs of fluid retention pressuring a heart working harder than it likes. In addition, over the last week or so I've had her on oxygen almost constantly during the day when she's up even though she's mostly been sitting. Combined with her elevated (for her) blood pressure, she's obviously experiencing a bout of CHF-lite. None of the symptoms are yet worrisome. If you didn't look at my mother's feet as often as and with the attention that I do you wouldn't consider them swollen. You definitely wouldn't notice the dry hack or you'd dismiss it as the effects of the extremely dry winter air; the humidity today, for instance, hovered around 6%. The spate of elevated blood pressure? All the physicians she's had are so thrilled with her diastolic that they don't consider her systolic a problem, especially at her age. Despite what could be considered the minor state of her symptoms, I've been considering that I need to get her moving again. As you know if you've been keeping up with us, I started this some days ago, with varied success. Tonight, though, I decided, now that we're initiating earlier wake-ups perhaps it's time to approach increased movement from a different angle.
    While we were in the bathroom readying her for bed I pointed out the slight swelling of her feet and her more aggressive use of oxygen. I explained everything in the above paragraph then added, "You don't have chronic congestive heart failure, Mom, but anyone can develop it and one of the best ways to go about this is to be as sedentary as we've allowed you to be for an extended period. Otherwise, you're doing fine, I'm sure your hemoglobin is good, no colds, few allergies, excellent appetite, excellent everything else, so, you know, it's time to move, again."
    The funny thing is, today (which has been a fairly well motivated day for her and positively busy for me) maybe an hour after lunch I started setting up the chair and foot platform for exercises. I told her as I worked that we were going to do a short session again.
    "No!" Loud, clear, startled and determined.
    I laughed. "Come on, Mom. Only a half hour, maybe a little less, no standing ones, just the sitting ones. You can do it."
    "Absolutely not!"
    I laughed again. "Why not, Mom?"
    "I did those yesterday! I think I deserve a rest, today!"
    "Well, no, I think our last session was a couple of days ago."
    "It may as well have been yesterday!"
    Funny, funny woman.
    I lost this one. That's why I decided tonight to take a different approach. I think the approach worked, too. She was very attentive.
    "You know, Mom, CHF can take out just about anyone if they let it. It's especially good at taking out people who are suffering from something else. But, you know, you're not severely anemic, you're not having problems with sodium, we seemed to have licked the UTI problem, you're in very good health so it's silly to allow CHF to develop and take you out now. Let's wait for a really good reason."
    She understood and agreed. Of course she was also on her way to bed. It's easy to agree with just about any kind of plan for "tomorrow" when one is on one's way to bed. We'll see how it goes.

    Something else I wanted to mention. I think my phone message has offended someone to the point of causing us a problem. Yesterday while I was at Costco (gone maybe an hour and a half in the afternoon) one of the local flower shops attempted to deliver an arrangement to my mother from one of my sisters. I knew it was coming, waited a while but couldn't keep Mom up any longer. When she laid down I headed out. Naturally, the florist arrived 15 minutes before I got home, Mom was asleep and didn't hear the doorbell and the shop left a note asking me to call for an alternate delivery time. I did. I noticed, though, as I picked up the phone that the shop had also called to leave a message on voice mail which means they heard my message.
    Although the employee to whom I spoke wasn't the same employee who left a message (different gender), once I mentioned my name and address her delivery was curt and demanding. I faltered but didn't connect her attitude with my voice mail message. I figured it's been a long day for them, she's probably up to her ass in flowers and about ready to sit on a few arrangements. I took her attitude well and promised her we'd be home all day today except for a short sprint to pick up an Rx between 0800 and 0830. You'd think a florist's shop would attempt redelivery of an arrangement early the next day so the flowers remain fresh. This has been my experience. It has also been my experience that, on heavy business days, florist delivery trucks are on the road early-to-late. No delivery attempt was made today. I thought about calling but my internal, mean little holiday elf decided, nah, let's see how long it takes them to deliver, on purpose, an arrangement of wilted flowers, which I, of course, will refuse; let's see what excuse they invent for taking direct offense at us because of my voice mail message.
    My mother and I spent a fair amount of time today discussing "The Undelivered Flowers". She agreed that I not call. "They know what they're supposed to be doing," she said. "If they don't do it we don't accept the flowers and they don't get paid. What's the name of that shop? Your message [she's heard it; I insisted the day it was recorded that she listen to it] isn't that bad. If they can't deliver flowers in a timely fashion they shouldn't be in the business."
    It's great to have a mother who's always up for some decent trouble.
    I may be wrong, someone may have died, but despite this, if the arrangement is not as fresh as it should be I don't care what excuse they come up with, the arrangement will be refused and I'll immediately call MCS to report the problem, have her contact her florist and get her money back. Nothing like the possibility of some holiday fireworks to get me going! Apparently the same is true for my mother.

We talked about "wake up times in the morning" tonight.

2004-12-23T00:22:00.000-07:00

    It finally came to my attention that this discussion was necessary. She not only awoke late today (I allowed her this), but she slogged through day (about which I can do very little; if she's going to slog, she's going to slog). The problem today, though, is that her late awakening time combined with her long nap and her generally slow attitude pushed her meals and meds so far out of whack that we were just lucky that we still had "Just Desserts" around. I'd made plans for three well spaced, nutritious, delicious meals, which would also appropriately space her meds. As well, I haven't been worried about her "under the weather" days. But, I did help to create this monster in October by accident and then in November on purpose, so, I decided, it's time to modify the monster so I don't have to scurry by habit in order to make sure she is well fed, well med-ed and gets in some quality "up" time.
    I opened the subject by expressing exactly what I wrote in the paragraph above. Not only can I not see any reason not to be truthful and to take responsibility for my part in her life but it seems disrespectful to me to either order her around without reason and discussion and/or have "pretend" conversations that are created out of undignified assumptions about what she can and can't understand or remember.
    After my opening I suggested that we try a 1000 wake up time for the next several days to see how it goes. Despite reminding her that she awoke at 1018 of her own accord the day before yesterday, she was shocked by and not completely happy with my suggestion. She understood the necessity of it, both from my point of view and from the perspective that it might do her some good to be up a bit more than she's lately been. I thought about reminding her of the couple of days when we did "informal" exercising and how she either delayed or forgot about napping on those days but decided, no, unnecessary information.
    She's agreed to "give it a try". We start tomorrow. I'm looking forward to this.

    I've been thinking today, as well, about the mechanics of my mother's memory in connection with her short term memory's inability to hold information. What I've noticed is that the information isn't dumped. It's as though any current information is immediately whisked out of her short term memory (perhaps doesn't stop there) but is stored in her medium and long term memory for retrieval when necessary. Two incidents today caused me to consider this. The first I can't remember (Oops...do you suppose it's catching?!?) but the second I doubt I'll ever forget. When I returned from Costco, awoke her and announced that I'd managed to gather everything we needed for the Christmas dinner we agreed upon yesterday she said, "I thought you decided you didn't want to celebrate Christmas this year."
    This came as a surprise. I didn't think she'd remembered this. "Well, yeah," I said. "But, you know, we talked about it a couple of days ago and decided a special dinner would be nice. Then, after changing my mind a couple times, we decided on the tomato sausage biscuit pie."
    "Yes, I remember," she said. My mother's sense of personal dignity is not tied to her memory so she would not have said this if she didn't remember. "But, I figured you'd abandon the tomato pie just like you abandoned the pork roast."
    Whoa! She remembered the pork roast! "Are you disappointed?"
    "Not at all. You just seemed to need to do Christmas the way you used to, this year."
    I was flattered she remembered and pleased that she was accepting of my No Holidays This Year decision. "Well, I still feel like that's what I'm doing. Even when I lived alone I'd occasionally do something special on the holiday, like go see one of the movies that started on the holiday or fix myself something special to eat, maybe something I'd never tried. So, this isn't that much different. Except I'm doing it with you. Which is very nice, by the way."
    "Good," she said. "You did say you got the cheesecake, didn't you?" Some things obviously brand one's memory.
    "Are you disappointed about not seeing relatives this year?"
    "No. Not at all. We can see them any time and the holidays are so rush-rush. We don't really get a chance to sit and talk."
    This isn't completely true but she knows it isn't and we both know what she means. On almost any holiday there's the clatter of "special, special day" in the background, drowning out any possibility of sitting back and chatting over coffee.
    I've noticed this before, that information isn't lost to her, it's just shuffled around so fast she can't keep up with it in the short term. But, given some time it all comes back and settles into its appropriate places in the puzzle.
    Later.

We are now sufficiently...

2004-12-22T17:35:00.000-07:00

...tomatoed and Parmesaned and green onioned and pumpkin cheesecaked and even frozen raspberried (it occurred to me that raspberry sauce would be wonderful on the cheesecake) for Christmas. Costco had replenished their supply of pork loin roasts (although there were no small ones) but as I passed the refrigerated compartment I glanced at them and thought, "Nah, what we're having is much better and personal, just the two of us eating stuff we love. No obligatory meat slabs this year."
    When I finally awoke Mom she ushered me into yet another of her "Why get up?" days. Because the living room was so sunny this morning despite the cold outside, I set her up there for breakfast. She took a loooong time, to get to the bathroom and lingered over bathing by trying hard not to bathe. I think despite calling her at noon straight up she actually ate breakfast around 1330. Could have been 1345. She lingered through that, too. Couldn't even get a Sorry game out of her. She read a lot, though. After her cranberry juice and herding her into the bathroom to brush her teeth she decided it was nap time. Although I asked her outright if she was bored, to which she answered, "No! I'm tired!", I decided not to snip. She looks rosy enough. Her circulation is excellent, no unusual aches or pains, no constipation as far as I know. I guess she's just feeling old. And, maybe, a little bored, although it's personally enforced boredom. It's not like I haven't tried. Maybe I should pull a few days of nothing but writing and keeping a cursory eye on her, "leave her alone, and she'll come home, wagging her tail behind her."
    Sometimes I wonder what she is getting out of life now, especially during times like these. I guess that's one of those Ancient Secrets that can't be passed on, it has to be lived.
    I decided to drop back to taking her blood pressure once a day when she's settled in her rocker just before dinner. If it seems steady enough over a week or so I won't bother irritating her three times a day with the wrist cuff and the instructions unless I notice worrisome changes.
    I've been checking on her every twenty minutes or so. She's sleeping deeply. I remember when I lived alone, maybe every six months or so I'd take out a day, sometimes a whole weekend and spend most of it with Morpheus, lolling in and out of my sub- and unconscious. I believe I got that from her.
    And, maybe tonight will be a really late night for her. Those are always fun.
    Later.

Even as I've been writing...

2004-12-22T11:56:00.001-07:00

...all these years, the rural Chinese family is being exploded by global economics, and faring the worse for it. The story was published by The New York Times yesterday:
Rural Exodus for Work Fractures Chinese Families by Jim Yardley.
The story is accompanied by a multi-media presentation.
    What does this have to do with caregiving? You might think that I've hidden my head in a hole from international developments since my mother's intense care commenced some years ago. Not so. The situation about which the above story was written has been taking place throughout the developing world for a good decade, if not longer. It's an old story, one that's played out over and over in civilization's history. As we see in this developed country of ours, even under the best of circumstances the details of this story contribute to the marginalization of both familial and community support networks in favor of the highly symbolic and ultimately unreliable and inadequate need for, you've got it, money.
    The birth pangs of a Brave New World? I don't think so. This type of splintering of caregiver networks has been going on since the dawn of civilization (meaning, since the invention of agriculture). Considering our own world in light of this millennial movement, we should be firmly ensconced in the Brave New World, now. How about it, people, do you consider this world of ours brave, or new?
    A couple of nights ago my mother and I watched the Inside the Actor's Studio broadcast of a 2004 interview with George Carlin. His take is that humanity appears to have proven itself pretty much a doomed species but being so is certainly an interesting pasttime in which to participate. I have to agree with him. I've never believed that the death means failure. How can it, since mortality is programmed into everything we perceive, including our planet? I think, though, that as our species continues we are listing ourselves among the first ranks of catastrophic conditions that wreak violent (in terms of the entire life of our planet, and, for that matter, the universe) changes upon its host. I'm not sure how I feel about being one of this species. It is simultaneously exhilarating and terrifying. What I do think is that as a species we may not completely die out but we've certainly proven that we're capable of extraordinary, ultimately thoughtless catalysis and we'll probably take out most of ourselves, as well as quite a few other species and planetary conditions, before we begin our next chapter in The Great Adventure of Existence.
    Science teaches us that something will occur in place of us. On an individual level it seems to be a directive of our fate to be aware, in arrears, of our power. Yet by another fateful directive we are unable to grasp this well enough to understand the consequences of what we do with our power until we are meeting those consequences head on. Do you think that developing, and, for that matter, developed nations of humans want, or even expect, to fracture their familial and community bedrock? Of course not. But we do it anyway, all the while thinking we've got a bead on the best way to survive.
    In the end, it is those few in touch with the nirvana of existence who prosper, so to speak. They see the humor and ecstasy in it all and choose to continue willingly. The rest of us scramble for the next hand or foothold, even as the rocks of our family and community become dislodged and fall away beneath us, making it harder to find the next hold.
    I'm letting The Mom sleep in this morning, trying to avoid a repeat of yesterday, but it's time to begin rousing her.
    Later.

A collage of a day...

2004-12-22T00:44:00.001-07:00

...and that's the only way it makes any sense.
    I awoke from a dismemberment dream. It wasn't scary, wasn't a bad dream. Although I have no idea what dismemberment dreams classically mean, I think I know how this one came about. The dream featured me looking for and finally locating someone to lop off my left hand. Somehow in my sleep I'd managed to assault my "compassion crick" left thumb (which hasn't shown any signs of healing), painfully locking it. I awoke from the dream as I, equally painfully, straightened the offending knuckle out of the lock. Immediately upon awaking, remembering the dream, it occurred to me that, considering how intense the pain is when this happens, it's possible that the discomfort of a phantom hand would be more easily endured than this.
    Despite this things went well for awhile. I awoke early, visited the natural foods store where I purchase Mom's 100% aloe vera gel and one of Mom's iron supplements, had a crazy conversation with a guy about talking the automatic door open, which added a touch of whimsy to the day, and headed home determined to get Mom up and out. It was, by the way, a cloudy morning, which always buoys my spirit. I also tend to forget that the opposite happens for Mom; at least until I awaken her and notice she's dragging. Today, it seems, was going to be another "Why get up?" day for her. Disappointment eluded me, though. Today was Pick up a Pork Roast at Costco Day, whether or not she accompanied me.
    I'm not sure what happened between the time I set Mom up with several episodes on Animal Planet of That's My Baby and the time I set foot on the pavement at Costco. I had even remembered to take my iPod and set it on a playlist loaded with upbeat, soaring music. Before I showed my card at the door I was being shadowed by dread. They had their pumpkin cheesecakes on display and my normal reaction is to stow one in my cart. Although my mother doesn't like pumpkin pie, she loves their pumpkin cheesecake. So do I. Couldn't work up the enthusiasm. Then I noticed I was going around the outside perimeter in order to avoid the sampling kiosks specifically so I wouldn't have to participate in conversation. When I discovered that Costco was out of the small pork roasts they had a few days ago I noticed a mean little elf inside me dancing a gleeful jig. That's it, I decided, I obviously am not interested in preparing Christmas dinner. In fact, I couldn't remember why I became momentarily enthused about it in the first place. Must have been guilt, I decided. Well, to hell with that. I'm not going to try to fool myself into thinking I'm interested in putting on a Christmas Show for anyone.
    When I arrived home I announced to Mom that I'd changed my mind about Christmas dinner. I knew what I wanted this year in the way of celebration. Nothing. That's the way I was going to play it out.
    Mom didn't seem disappointed although she asked, "Not even dessert?!?"
    "We've got those muffins, Mom, we'll continue to have those, off and on, until they're gone."
    "Well," she said, "I was thinking about that cheesecake, you don't have to make that..."
    I tell you, the woman is uncanny. This happens often between us: One of us will be thinking of something relatively obscure and the other one will announce it. "I don't know," I said. "That would mean another trip to Costco, and Christmas is Saturday, and it's Tuesday, now...I don't know..."
    "I can make Christmas dinner," she offered.
    I couldn't help myself. It may sound unkind but I burst into laughter. "Mom," I said, "the last time you attempted to cook anything was four or five years ago, it was a pumpkin pie for a family Thanksgiving dinner and you couldn't concentrate long enough to follow the recipe on the can label!"
    "Well," she said slyly, "I wasn't planning on using recipes."
    My laughter ratcheted up a notch. "Yeow, Mom! That scares me even more!"
    She laughed. Knowingly.
    "Mom, I think I'm going to end up doing Christmas as though it was a regular day. I know you'll probably mind, but, damn, I just don't have it in me to do someone else's idea of Christmas, this year."
    "No, I suppose not," she conceded. "Well, anything you fix will be good. It always is."
    That's when it occurred to me. "Mom, I wouldn't mind making that tomato sausage biscuit pie. You like that, right?"
    "Absolutely. Sounds good!"
    "And it's red and green, it looks like Christmas."
    "You're right, it does."
    "O.K. I think I'm up for that. I'll have to go back to Costco and get one of those two pound containers of grape tomatoes. Those are the only good ones around right now. And Parmesan. We've been out of the shredded kind for awhile."
    "Would you mind picking up one of those cheesecakes, then?"
    Cagey woman. The discussion ended there. Nap time.
    The tomato biscuit pie is labor intensive but it's more my style than a slab of meat. It smells so good while it's baking, all that basil. I'd been thinking lately about springing one on my mother again, anyway. May as well do it on Christmas. Yes, if I can manage to sneak to Costco while that mean little elf is preoccupied maybe I'll pick up a cheesecake.
    I suppose, too, I'll remind my mother on Saturday that it's Christmas.
    I could use some snow...the weather report is predicting sunshine and temperatures in the mid 50's. No rain or snow until the following Monday and Tuesday. Maybe I can call that storm here earlier. I hope so. That would make my day.

Pride Goeth Before the Chicken Stock Pot Falls

2004-12-20T18:03:00.000-07:00

    I awoke through unsettling thoughts this morning despite being in an even-keeled mood. I'm not sure whether the thoughts were provoked by a dream of which I have no memory or unrecognized guilt over deciding to Have [The Holidays] My Way, but I woke up considering that a relative or two, or more, might get their noses so far out of joint regarding me going into Holiday Hibernation and taking my mother with me (who could be said to have no choice about the matter) that we end up with government agents on our doorstep attempting to surprise me in the act(s) of abusing my mother; and/or we are treated to a surprise visit by relatives who figure I must be slacking in my responsibilities to my mother, otherwise I'd be all over the holiday season and the possibility of taking my mother out for show and tell like a bad suit (even though they know me better than this).
    Truthfully, I don't think I have any relatives who would do either. So I must be feeling a little autonomic guilt over my decisions regarding how the holidays are going to (not) be celebrated around here this year. But the super-egocentric prod by which I awoke got me to thinking that: As more and more people are indentured into caregiving for older relatives, as more and more government agencies are "mandated" with oversight of both formal and informal caregiving circumstances and as our culture begins to come to grips with our cultural ambiance being not anywhere near a satisfactory ambiance for the care of children, let alone elderly adults, I wonder how often it will begin to happen that relatives not directly involved in the care of their family's elderly will resent decisions the caregivers make which, while not harming the care recipient, clearly favor caregiver over those relatives who are not involved in caring for the relative. I have a feeling that we're going to see some pretty surprising and ugly law suits filed against family caregivers as we become more numerous and make more decisions based on our needs as caregivers rather than our familys' needs as onlookers. Family members not directly involved in the care of the family's elderly tend to look on elderly relatives as a "family treasures" which come with an obligation to be displayed whenever those not directly involved in elder care have a moment to spare to view the treasure. The family members directly involved in the elder relative's care, though, look on the elder relative as, well, family...a member of the household...someone with whom they interact every day and with whom they cannot help but have a close, detailed personal, social and business relationship.
    While these two considerations of elderly relatives need not necessarily be mutually exclusive, they can become so during periods when the direct caregiver heaves a tired sigh and decides, "You know what? I need to work a little time into my schedule for me, even if I have no way to safely hand off my relative. I need to do this particular season my way because I've been doing it in an unnatural way for 12 years and I think my desires deserve to be honored..." ad infinitum.
    Consider the type of cases that began hitting the courts as a result of stressed parents dropping their kids off at grandma's and grandpa's and leaving them there. It'll be interesting to see what litigious changes take place in the courts as the ranks of the caregiver encompass more, and more types, of people.

    Mom awoke on her own today, 1018, to be exact, which thrilled me. Breakfast took place at 1145 rather than 1345. I was very happy and got a shot of energy from this. I decided, after feeding Mom breakfast, that I'd attack the lower food cupboards (the worst ones) then make chicken stock from the carcass of the roast chicken we've been slowly demoralizing then make home made chicken noodle soup. This is one of my favorites to make, as it fills the house with such tempting aromas, and, anyway, home made chicken soup is one of my specialties and one of Mom's favorites. I spent a good 2 hours tending the simmering of the carcass with a wonderful blend of herbs and spices, fishing out and stripping the bones of every morsel of meat, skin and organs, putting it all back in the pot and readying the refrigerator to hold the stock for about a half hour in order to allow the fat to rise so I could skim it off, all the while celebrating. Just as I was carefully sliding the stock onto the cleared refrigerator shelf, my mother shuffled around up the steps from the living room to the dinette, around the corner into the kitchen, glasses and oxygen off, to announce that she was ready to take a nap. She accidentally bumped into the refrigerator door, I received a jolt which caused me to release the pot, which was less than halfway secure on the shelf. The pot dropped and meaty, herb and spice ridden chicken stock spilled all over the kitchen floor and part way into the dinette. Both of us were stunned, heartbroken and covered with chicken stock.
    In case you're wondering, first I cleaned The Mom then I ordered Mom into the living room, telling her napping would have to wait until I took care of the chicken stock so that it didn't run any further than it already had. Then I cleaned the kitchen and dinette floors then put Mom to bed. Then I cleaned the refrigerator, mopped the floor again and took a shower.
    As it turns out, I caught the pot and uprighted it before it hit the floor so we still have some meaty stock left and I'm still going to make chicken soup tonight. While Mom was napping I hit the grocery and bought a can of chicken broth to expand what we've got to two servings. Curiously, when I reentered the house from the trip I noticed that the house smelled like old chicken soup. Apparently it takes a bit more mopping to remove chicken fat from ceramic tile than I figured, so it's undergone it's third cleaning in a day.
    Amazingly, I'm still in a good, though slightly touchy, mood. I decided, both this morning and this afternoon not to take Mom's blood pressure because I'm so focused I've been afraid I'd snip at her while taking her blood pressure. She is a hard take because she can't remember, even though I tell her every single time I take her blood pressure, to keep her arm limp, not talk, not move, not scratch...
    But things are going well today. I've got to catch up on stats...I went to bed early last night, same time Mom did, so I didn't go on the computer. I woke up nicely early this morning and decided again to avoid the computer and spend time sorting through mail, looking for income tax stuff for next year.
    I discovered yesterday during a call from Mom to MCS that Mom thinks Christmas is past. While thanking MCS for the original calendar, pictures and pickles, she asked MCS how their Christmas was. No, I'm not taking advantage of this. I reminded Mom, after the call, that Christmas was yet to come and, yes, we'll have a Christmas dinner. I've just about decided on pork roast. The pressure is definitely off, though.
    I continue to feel content, even though I still smell, in the odd breeze, like chicken stock.

Wrote another essay over the last 24 hours.

2004-12-19T00:16:00.001-07:00

    It's listed over there in the links for Essaying the Situation or you can access it by clicking through the first word in this sentence. The style is a bit dense. I wrote it quickly. The idea came to me yesterday. I've been working on it mentally almost constantly but didn't have time yesterday or today to write it. I'll probably edit it when I have a moment. Some of the sentences are so long and convoluted they are close to rivaling Ayn Rand's sentences. It has its moments and I'm pleased to notice, as I mentioned to a friend earlier today, that within the collection of essays it could establish me as the Andy Rooney of caregivers. It's readable at this point and flows pretty well but it needs some technical work. The content, though, will remain as it is.
    Mom took a loooong nap, today; started early and slept late. She may have been overwhelmed with the array of plans with which I excitedly presented her when I awoke her: Fixing her hair, making cards to send to family, expecting her supervision while I clean out the lower food cupboards (we did the upper spice cupboards yesterday evening), a short exercise session...ultimately, none of these were pursued except fixing her hair. I have to watch my displays of energy around her and their timing; sometimes they overwhelm her right to bed. Her nap, though, gave me a chance to work on and finish my essay. Although sleep probably isn't the best thing for her right now, today I took advantage of her desire for it.
    Contentment is still relaxing me. I'm feeling unusually good for long periods of time. No, I'm not considering changing my approach (rather, I suppose, my non-approach) to the holidays. I think the primary reason I'm feeling so good is because of my approach. Feels good to take a little more care of myself than I usually do, for a change.
    Later.

Love and All That Shit

2004-12-18T01:19:00.002-07:00

This post has been transported to:
Love and All that Shit.

Nothing much more to report today.

2004-12-17T13:12:00.001-07:00

    Mom was a little under the low weather: Cold and windy despite plentiful sun. It was a slow day for her. We did a few exercises, again informally, until she dropped the weights and said, "No more." I heeded her desire. She was so obscured by the low that she didn't notice the Christmas tree this evening. Usually she notices it anew every evening and talks about it.
    We enjoyed another Just Desserts dinner tonight. It consisted of a lavish, luscious dessert muffin from the dozen sent to us for Christmas by friends. I'm satisfied that, in order to handle holiday sweets and delight my mother with them without trumping her blood sugar, Just Desserts dinners are the way to go. That's how she likes her sweets, pure and unadulterated by nutrition. I hope we aren't sent too many more sweets. If we get too many more I'll have to throw some away.
    We had one 'looking for Kleenex' incident this evening after she'd been on oxygen for a half hour past her exercise session. I always put her on oxygen during the session then leave her on for awhile until she catches her breath. By that time I figured she'd be fine off it, so I cut the tank and retrieved a box for her. She was surprisingly conservative in her use. Maybe breaking this habit won't be much of a problem. I'm wondering now, though, what other obsessive habit she may develop in its place. I'm also wondering how I'm going to handle her eyes watering when her allergies act up. Most of the time the drops we have take care of the problem but sometimes, especially in the spring and fall, even the drops don't help much. As well, any visit to The Valley brings on unstoppable tearing. Could be by the next pollen season she'll have forgotten about her nose.
    We are continuing with Deep Space 9. Despite her "low degree" today she insisted on packing a few episodes in this evening. She remembered that one of the episodes on the last disc we were working through yesterday was entitled "Dax", she was too tired to watch it last night but remembered that she'd determined it was a "must see". It always surprises me how much of my mother's memory kicks in when her interest is seduced. It also surprises me how hard it is for me to determine what might do this. Her interests become less predictable the older she gets. There's also a great deal more interspersing of interests than there used to be: Something that catches her eye one week may have absolutely no glitter the next. I used to think this was a sign that her attention span was shortening but there are some activities, like her crossword puzzles and gossip magazines, that remain attractive under all circumstances except when she's ill.
    I'm feeling unusually content this evening. I'm not sure why and I don't care. It's just nice to feel this way, every once in awhile.

I went to bed around 0030 this morning...

2004-12-17T12:00:00.000-07:00

...and reawoke a bit before 0300 to the hall light blazing. Mom had awakened and was in the living room, sitting in her chair with her TV table in front of her, doing crosswords, a cup of water beside her magazines and pens. She had plugged the Christmas tree in, turned on the kitchen lights and the living room lamp by her chair. She seemed perfectly happy; surprised, too, that I awoke.
    "I got up to go to the bathroom and couldn't get back to sleep."
    I stayed up for a bit, questioned her gently to make sure nothing was wrong, briefly disturbed her reverie for an underwear change, reminded her to "turn off lights, put on oxygen" when she finally retired, made sure the concentrator was on and went back to bed around 0330.
    I have no idea when she went to bed but I noticed this morning that her nail grooming stuff was on her TV table so I imagine she was up for awhile. When I looked in on her she was sleeping 'the sleep of the dead' (cannula securely in place) versus a light sleep that tells me it's safe to awaken her. I let her sleep.
    In 'the old days' a couple of years ago this was one of her typical patterns. She used to enjoy the peace of awakening in the deep of the night and spending a few hours alone with her busywork and her thoughts. My feeling of contentment continues, especially in the wake of the revival of one of her former habits. Seeing her sitting as if from a tableau of her history last night took me back to the days of childhood when I'd awaken in the middle of the night and she'd be sitting alone in the kitchen with a bowl of ice cream or a small glass of gin grading papers; a very secure feeling.
    I'm heading in to see if she's any closer to consciousness. Somehow, even though I expect a slow day, I also expect a good day.
    Later.

Haaaaa-le-lu-jah!

2004-12-16T17:44:00.000-07:00

    I scanned backward a ways to see if I'd mentioned this before, couldn't find mention of it, so I'll outline the entire problem and final solution (which I've been suspecting for a couple of days and confirmed, today).
    I've been having lots of trouble with Oxygen Conservation Devices and my mother for some months now. It began around the time that we transferred from our Phoenix supplier to a Prescott supplier. This was also soon after my mother stopped smoking and wasn't using oxygen that much and, as well, was moving around a bit more.
    This was the problem: It didn't matter what type of regulator we tried (several) or what type of cannulae (also tried several) or how often I changed the cannulae, my mother's natural breathing wasn't pulling adequate oxygen from a tank. Since I know that her breathing capacity has improved by leaps and bounds since she quit smoking this glitch has been very frustrating. The company insisted that the problem was her mouth breathing but she's always mouth breathed and it's not been a problem before although I vowed to work on getting her to stop this. If you've ever taken care of a mouth breather on oxygen you know two things: With the right regulator it doesn't matter and it's impossible to get a mouth breather who is also senile to stop. In order to make sure she was getting one to two liters I'd have to dial the regulator up to 5 or 6 (typically regulators don't go any higher than this). Still I had to keep my ear trained on the puffing of the regulator, which becomes quickly tiresome, in order to either remind her to breathe through her nose or take another stab at figuring what might be the problem.
    A couple of nights ago it occurred to me that the problem might lie somewhere besides the equipment. I became aware of how often she was wiping her nose whether or not she was using oxygen. I began concentrated observation and discovered that her nose wiping wasn't being caused by a runny nose. The tissues she was using (she can go through a large box a day) were mostly not wet a stuck-together dry. Since I'd installed the humidifier a couple of weeks ago she has no longer been waking up with a stuffy, slightly bloody nose. She has been amazingly free of allergic reactions lately (bless mountain air). I began to wonder if maybe she had replaced smoking with the habit of obsessively wiping her nose. This wouldn't ordinarily cause a problem. But, I thought, it might cause a huge problem when using oxygen because at least once a minute, sometimes more often, she was up there fiddling with the cannula, accidentally displacing it and either holding her breath or breathing through her mouth. I briefly tried KY jelly but this only aggravated the problem because, with that stuff in her nose, her nasal passages not only felt wet, they were wet.
    This morning while I had her on oxygen (I put her on oxygen right after bathing her, usually through breakfast, just to give her a lift) I explained it all to her including my guess that her nose wiping was habitual and not necessary, that it was interfering with her intake of oxygen and that I was getting really tired of having to keep an even closer eye on her than normal when she was on oxygen just to make sure she was getting some.
    "Mom, when you're on oxygen, I'm banning all Kleenex and other paper products that can be used as nose wipers from your vicinity. Beginning now."
    I invaded her house coat pockets and divested them of Kleenex. I took away her napkin, got rid of my napkin and hid the rest. I gathered all the Kleenex boxes littered throughout the house and hid them. I made sure all used Kleenexes (which she drops where ever she is) were picked up and thrown away. I told her that the oxygen, itself, should dry up any "running" that was actually occurring (although none was, but the principle is true). Then I dialed her back to 2/lpm and waited. Sure enough, she immediately and autonomically stopped mouth breathing and the regulator puffed away just as it had several months ago. I could have danced all day. In fact, I believe I'm still dancing.
    The oxygen guy was due to show up today. I had been assigned a "special" one with lots of experience because, well, I'm sure it's because I was considered a troublesome client with my continual complaining about regulators. Today he was due perform the 90 day check on the concentrator. I followed him into my mother's room and told him I was no longer going to be a pain in the ass about regulators and explained exactly what the problem was and how I solved it.
    He was astounded. He'd never "heard such a thing". As I explained what I believed had been happening he confirmed it with his engineering perspective on how OCDs work. He went on to tell me that he was very pleased to know this because he thought the information might help him solve problems with current and future clients who were also touchy about regulators.
    I expect it will take awhile to get Mom to stop looking for Kleenex. When she's not on oxygen, if she begins to display agitation from not being able to wipe her nose she can have all the Kleenex she wants. She just can't have any when she's on oxygen.
    Another obscure caregiver problem solved by SuperCaregiver Gail.

Today was Christmas Tree Day

2004-12-16T01:13:00.003-07:00

    We both decided not to bother with the seven footer. Although we've got the ceiling for it we don't have the space for it this year, with all the stuff piled around the house (and in the storage shed). I think we both like the thirty two inch fiber optic tree well enough anyway. It doesn't require loads of cords since it has built in lights and the quality of light is magical. It doesn't take long to decorate, either. Mom can sit in her rocking chair with the tree on its platform in front of her and help decorate it. My mother likes it so much that last year we kept it up until April, I believe. Who knows how long it will stay up this year.
    Since I've been living with my mother my attitude toward the holidays often goes through a quick, dramatic metamorphosis in the weeks immediately before Christmas. I don't think it will this year. Amazingly, although I haven't been grousing about the holidays here at home (it hasn't been necessary, the holidays haven't been noticeable in the house this year) Mom mentioned tonight that she "expects [I'll] get the spirit, soon", like I usually do. I didn't respond, just continued decorating the tree with her. If it happens, fine. I, too, expect the transformation every year, look forward to it, but I don't think it's going to happen this year.
    Mom's been pretty lively, today. I decided to get her started "informally" on her exercises; so informally that I didn't print a list and record the effort. We only did a few, all of them sitting ones, the minimum number of reps (5 or 10, depending on the exercise), one set each. I didn't morph into "Sgt. Ms. Trainer". That'll come later. I just wanted to see where we were, how much ground we have to make up. I was pleased at how much she accomplished with surprisingly little effort. I was also taken aback (although I shouldn't have been), at how reluctant she was to do anything. Instead of handling the weights she let them handle her, for instance, and constantly complained about how heavy they were (she's using one pounders). So I think we'll probably do them "informally" for a couple of days until exercises reestablishes itself as a routine. Her muscles remember how to do the exercises I think but her mind is going, "God damnit, I wish that daughter of mine would just let me sit quietly through the rest of my life!" The abbreviated, resisted session made no difference in her blood pressure. I discuss this in my dinner stats post for today in the Tests & Meds section. She was somewhat brighter eyed and bushier tailed than I've seen her lately.
    Mr. Smith Goes to Washington arrived today. I was positive, since I ordered it at her request, that she would be thrilled but she's become possessed with the Deep Space 9 episodes, thus decided she wanted to watch the movie "later". She watched 3 episodes today or maybe 4, I'm not sure. I tried to keep up because she insisted on discussing every episode but I had stuff to do, too, and had to rewind a lot to keep up with her. At one point I apologized to her for doing this and she said, "I don't mind at all, rewind as much as you want. Gives me a chance to see it again." I think I've created a Deep Space 9 monster! I insisted that we not watch while trimming the tree or doing exercises but only barely gained either ground. I briefly considered banning them during dinner but gave up before trying. On the one hand I am thrilled that something has captured her interest. On the other I wonder how I'm ever going to get her interested in anything else!
    She went to bed early for her tonight, almost immediately after dinner, a little after 2200. I was surprised but considered that today had been an unusually stimulating day for her and she uses sleep, as do I, to process stimulation.
    Did I mention here that I'm beginning to suspect that the older we get, the less likely our peer group is to have any realistic "norm" and the more likely each of us, as individuals, is to diverge from a hypothetical peer norm? I wonder if this is only true of Ancients when Ancienthood is reached by very few people within a particular generation. I wonder if my generation, the frog in the belly of the snake generation, the baby boomers, will foster so many Ancients that for us an Ancienthood peer norm will be more reliable. Did you know that at the time of the birth of our nation, the late 1700's, the population (the European immigrant population) was exactly as it is now, primarily over 45 and aging, and a fairly high percentage of that population not only expected to reach Ancienthood but did? Amazing. Maybe it has nothing to do with medical science, maybe it's a generation's Zeitgeist that determines its ability to forge into The Valley of the Ancients. It would be interesting to look into the social literature of the late 1700s and see whether an Ancienthood peer norm was established that was reliable.
    Good Day. Sunshine. And Deep Space 9.
    Later.

Where to begin?

2004-12-15T01:36:00.001-07:00

    Today began last week, Thursday, to be exact, when I called the pharmacy and registered a refill on my mother's lisinopril through their auto-refill service. I drove through to retrieve it on Friday and discovered (which I'd not checked the last time I refilled it) that it wasn't "due" for a refill because some idiot somewhere had written the instructions wrong; they were probably mistyped. They were supposed to be 1/2 a 5 mg tab twice a day. Instead, the last time it was refilled the instructions had been re-written for 1/4 a 5 mg tab twice a day. The pharmacy wouldn't cop to the error and said they'd have to call the doctor to straighten it out. Unfortunately, the last prescription the doctor wrote for my mother, at my request, was for 1/2 a 2.5 mg tab twice a day. I have never turned in this prescription because her blood pressure's been spiking. I've been keeping her on the old one and saving the "new" one, which was written in September, for the days when my mother is moving again (who knows when that will be) and her blood pressure regulates itself into its lower range. But since that's the last prescription on her doctor's computer I knew that if I didn't call the office, they wouldn't correct the old prescription, they'd simply compare the misprint with the new prescription and say, "Nope, don't refill it until December 24th."
    I called the doctor's office Friday, hoping against hope that they'd be open. They weren't (they usually close at 2 p.m. on Friday). I called first thing in the morning yesterday. Come to find out my mother's doctor left the clinic some time in November so there was heightened confusion in regard to this problem. I did, though, manage to talk to someone who was able to get into the computer, confirm that the second to the last prescription written, on June 8, 2004, was indeed for 5 mg tabs to be administered half a tab twice a day, and who, further, believed me when I told her that I'd never had the second prescription filled so the refusal to refill on Thursday had to be the result of a pharmacy printing error. I had the last prescription, which was computerized with a unique number identification and was able to confirm that it had never been filled (how else would I know the ID number). The final problem, though, was laid out by the woman I spoke with; since my mother's current doctor was no longer current with them and we had yet to be seen by the physician to whom I immediately had her reassigned, the new PCP might not "feel comfortable" okaying the prescription. I didn't argue or beg. I sighed and said, well, okay, I'm sure my mother would live until the 24th if this was the case but she's been pretty immobile lately and, although she doesn't take the lisinopril, classically for blood pressure management, she needs it for that, right now.
    We ran out of lisinopril yesterday morning. As of yesterday evening the pharmacy hadn't received instructions from the doctor's office. Then, through early afternoon, after having been off the lisinopril for over 24 hours, I began to suspect that her very low level of energy was somehow connected with the break in her lisinopril dosage. I wasn't sure what I was going to do if the refill was refused until December 24th but I figured it would have something to do with getting out the mental whip and forcing her to move so that we could get her blood pressure closer to her normal range, which is: Systolic=105-125/Diastolic=55/65. I still need to do this but the medication was keeping her in an acceptable systolic range of 130-160 with only slight blips above this. It was keeping her diastolic in the mid 60s to high 70s. Not stroke range. Or I'd have to initiate yet another battle with two prongs of the medical establishment.
    Needless to say, it was with great trepidation that I approached the drive-thru window at the pharmacy today but, thank the gods, the office in Mesa came through and her prescription was there, mistake corrected. Hallelujah! This one smooth outcome completely reversed my dour mood this morning, which was a reflection of what was going on with my mother.
    I'm not sure how I'm going to get her moving again except rudely. I feel responsible for her current lethargy because of my lack of get-up-and-go on her behalf in October which I followed with My Month of Me in November. I have high hopes, though, despite a niggling incident yesterday in which I sat her out in the bright, sunny, warm yard to watch me do yardwork, bundled up against any cool breeze, assumed that she'd take an interest and wander a little, which she did 10 minutes later: She wandered into the house and refused to come out.
    I scored another video triumph today. For a couple of months she's been having me scout episodes of Star Trek: Deep Space Nine. I haven't minded. She introduced me to Star Trek: Next Generation when I moved in with her, then Deep Space Nine of which I also became a devoted fan. The episodes have become harder and harder to locate in syndication. It looked as though, starting this fall, one of the cable channels was going to air the entire series in the mid-evening. After a couple of weeks they cut back to one episode at unpredictable afternoon times spotted throughout the week. My mother was usually napping when it showed. Today, when I went to Costco for our usual 2 boxes of paper underwear and the jumbo bag of salad greens, in order to avoid a cart jam I veered through the clothes section and just grazed the video section. There, as I passed the end of one of the tables, were copies of the entire Deep Space Nine series. I had earlier last week, while feeling my mother's and my frustration, looked it up on Amazon.com and choked at the price. Costco had it for $136 less. Even though it seemed expensive we can afford it and it seems as though it would be worth it, since she becomes deeply involved in the episodes and loves to discuss them, much like she reacts to Pee Wee's Playhouse. I bought it despite my hesitancy, figuring I'd tell Mom what the price was and if she wanted me to return it I would. She was so hyped that she wouldn't hear of returning it. We watched the first and second episodes of the first year tonight and she announced,afterward, that we will be watching at least one episode every day until we get through the entire 7 years.
    "What then?" I asked.
    "We'll start all over again!"
    On a hunch I asked her if she wanted the Next Generation series. She only wants some of the episodes from the later years, the ones featuring The Traveler, some of the denser episodes involving Q, "the one where the ship turns into a swamp", "the one about the town that's a holograph", "the one where a whole bunch of copies of the Enterprise show up" (she and I have a cherished history with this episode, actually), "the one with Mark Twain" (I think that is two episodes) and "any of the episodes about the crystal sphere". I wrote them down in my ever constant companion, my notebook-that-contains-my-life, so I'd remember them. I was really surprised that she even came up with a list but I guess dedicated fan-dom trumps short term memory loss. She'll be around for awhile, I can tell.
    So, bad to good to even better, all in one day. Maybe I'm finally getting the hang of this.

I receive daily through email...

2004-12-14T10:17:00.002-07:00

...a set of quotes from beliefnet.com. I read them or not, depending on whether the titles perk my interest. This morning's "Inspirational" subject line contained the words "Old age", so I opened the e to the following:

Old age, to the unlearned, is winter; to the learned, it’s harvest time.
--Yiddish saying

    Although I don't consider that my mother is "wintering", despite how closely I observe and live with her Ancienthood, I have no idea if she considers this period her "harvest time" nor what she would consider the contents of her harvest. I live with her. I am so familiar with her I sometimes smell her when I'm away from her. I know a myriad of details about what she likes and doesn't like, what allows her to feel safe and comfortable and loved (although, in tribute to my mother, even when these details aren't present she feels safe and comfortable and loved) but I have not cracked through, and, as I realized this morning, probably won't (until I'm Ancient, if I am), to the essential mystery of Ancienthood. I think everyone who has yet to embark on Ancienthood is one of the "unlearned" and we do not become "learned" until we find ourselves in Ancienthood.
    Thus, I have to assume that this saying was proposed by an Ancient One. If it wasn't, then those of us who tend to and love our Ancients from outside their experience still have no idea where the key to their mystery lies.
    I'll ask my mother what she thinks of this quote. I'll report back if I remember (eventually I will). I may not understand what she has to say.
    Which reminds me, yesterday morning I read her the "You've Got to Give a Little..." More. I wasn't sure what her reaction would be, whether she would even pay attention, but she did, she nodded throughout, smiled at some parts. When I finished she said, "Very good! You know, only caregivers will recognize themselves. No one else will."
    I hadn't thought about it but I'm sure she's right.
    Oh well. And another one rides the bus.
    Later.

Got another essay for you...

2004-12-14T00:18:00.004-07:00

...a song, really. It's a song my mother and I sing at least once every day and it's always our first song of the day. When you view it, you may find it intimidating, but it's been haunting me every day for a couple of months and I finally decided it's time to post it. It's my way of honoring one of the most important events that takes place in the relationship between an intensely involved caregiver and her recipient.

There are times...

2004-12-13T14:22:00.000-07:00

...and the period from last night through, well, all of today that has occurred is such a time, when I wish that this journal wasn't a therapeutic necessity for me; that any therapy I needed happened as a result of my mother having several family care avenues active and available.
Whew! Holidays. Bad, bad holidays. Go to your room and stay there until January 2nd.
Later.

Years ago, catering to a creative urge...

2004-12-12T23:54:00.001-07:00

...wasn't a problem for me because I lived alone. I'm reluctant to swear that, today, it created a problem. I was aware, as each minute past 1100 ticked by, that I should be awakening my mother. I refused, though, to pull myself away from finishing my essay.
    It's a curious position in which to be: On the one hand, my creativity is enhanced by taking care of my mother. Quite a bit of it is focused through my caregiving to her. On the other hand, my personal urge to produce creatively has, traditionally, dispersed through more than a couple types of activity/media. I've practiced creativity through the act of writing in several forms. While taking care of my mother, especially in these last four years, I've been able to practice only writing and only a few forms, those which best suit my creativity as focused through my care of my mother. It can be frustrating because it's impossible for me to ignore my need to create through all the mediums and forms I've explored. Thus, there is much I'm not able to do but this doesn't keep the ideas and their development from rumbling about in my head. On some days, like today, I have to make a choice...write or take care of my mother. This morning I chose to write. I would not ignore my mother if, while I was writing, her needs became urgent. I sometimes wonder, though, if in small ways, when I make a choice for my writing I am simultaneously making a choice against my mother; I am sacrificing her well being for mine. The fact that my writing is at this time focusing on my mother adds an acute irony to the situation. If it weren't for me taking care of my mother much of what I've created in the last couple of years would not have been possible. I am ambivalently grateful for this.

    I want to report a conversation between my mother and me that continued throughout yesterday involving Martelle, teaching, etc. It began in the morning when she, once again, mentioned that she'd definitely decided to teach in Martelle next year. I participated, as usual, by entering into her world until the conversation took a confusing turn for both of us.
    She, once again, conditionally accepted that we don't live close to Martelle, we don't live in Iowa, so it would be necessary for "us" to move in order for her to accomplish her goals.
    "You don't need to move," she said. "Dad (her father), took me to school and brought me home last year. He can do that again."
    I don't know exactly why but, at this point, I decided maybe some reality should be injected into the discussion. "Mom," I corrected, "that wasn't last year. You're 87 and you taught in Martelle when you were 25 (approximately) so that was 63 years ago."
    She stared at me as though I'd just gone over the edge and only the ghost of me remained in her vicinity.
    I continued, "And, your dad is dead. He's been dead for a long time. He wouldn't be able to take you to and from school."
    Her eyes dilated and her brow crinkled as she worked hard to either recall or incorporate this information. "Yes," she said carefully, "now I remember. Well, Mother can take me, then."
    "Your mother is dead, too, Mom."
    For some reason this was harder for her to absorb. She did, though, conclude, "Well, then, I guess you can drive me."
    This did not make me feel completely confident that she wanted me to do this.
    "I'll need some way to get to school, and we don't live very far from there," she added.
    The interesting aspect of this part of the conversation is that in reality she didn't learn to drive until after she was married and pregnant with her first child. So, in her mind, she was neither married, nor my mother. I didn't waste time wondering who I was, I just absorbed that I hadn't yet been born. She hadn't met her husband. She hadn't even thought about joining the Navy, which is where she met my father. I began to make a connection to her not driving now. It seems to me as though this one fact is somehow (maybe only currently) the key to her flight back into her years of teaching in Iowa.
    It appeared as though she had settled everything in her mind but again, for some reason I can't explain, I felt as though, yesterday, with this conversation, maybe it was time for me to insistently insert reality. "Mom," I began, "there's no way we can commute from here to there. Martelle is about 2000 miles from here. If you decide to teach in Martelle next year we'll have to move to Iowa."
    This hit her like a ton of bricks. She literally reeled. She began to argue. So, I opened our trusty Rand McNalley Road Atlas, which has served me well in the maintenance of each and both our realities in the past few years. As it turns out we are more like 1600 miles from Martelle. I showed her graphically exactly where we are, exactly where Martelle is and how we'd have to traverse, twice a day, close to two thirds of the U.S. if we were to follow her strategy.
    She never quite got it. She came close a couple of times: I'd watch her eyes race over the country map; she'd flip between the Arizona map and the Iowa map looking for Prescott in Iowa and Martelle in Arizona. It was not only torture for me, I suspected it was torture for her.
    I stopped it. "Mom," I said, "it's time for a dose of reality. You're 87. There's very little chance that the Martelle school district would hire you. Mom, normally it doesn't bother me when you phase back and forth between now and years ago but, I have to tell you, this time it's getting out of hand and I think each day that I indulge you it's worse for you, not better.
    "We've been having these conversations about you teaching in Martelle next year, you going into the Navy and you having a baby for more than a few days. Up to this point it's seemed harmless for me to enter into the world of your past and respond from there. I don't think it's harmless, anymore, at least not for this conversation. So, I'm telling you, we live in Prescott, Arizona, I take care of you.
    "I take care of your entire life and there is absolutely no way I'm moving us to Iowa, especially since the Iowa you want to move to is an Iowa that no longer exists and the you who wants to move there and teach is a you who exists in memory, not in reality. All the things you want to do you already did. You taught in Martelle. You joined the Navy. You had that baby, you had four and I'm one of them.
    "We're going to go forward, not back, from here. There are going to be times when your 'here' is different than my 'here'. But, Mom, I know where we both are, I know we're together, and I hope you trust that my perception of our reality is the one we need to follow."
    I don't know if she understood most of what I said but she understood the last sentence. Her entire demeanor relaxed while I invited her to trust me, even though it was clear she wasn't sure I was 'right'. "Oh," she said, "I do trust you. I'm glad you're here. Just make sure you don't launch any plans without talking them over with me, first."
    "I haven't, Mom, and I won't. I promise."
    I won't.

    One last insertion: Earlier last week we were watching a current episode of Judging Amy. She likes the show for several reasons, not the least of which is that Tyne Daly is in it and my mother knew, from a distance of two years, her father, Jim Daly, in college. The episode we watched involved a story line which strongly suggests that Daly's character is about to die. Her character was in the hospital in this episode for some sort of blacking out spell, something to do with her heart I think (although I can't be sure, I wasn't watching that closely).
    A conversation ensued with her mother's spirit about her mother's death which granted her clues as to how to approach and move through her own death. As the scenario continued her mother revealed that the one aspect of her own death she would have changed is that she would not have remained in the hospital. As the scenario developed throughout the program my eye was trained on my mother, observing her reaction because she was deeply involved in this plot, hunched forward in her chair, studying every gesture, catching every word.
    At the end of the episode as Tyne Daly's character decides, against doctor's orders, to refuse further treatment, walk out of the hospital and return home, I broke in during Daly's character's triumphant walk through the hall to the door and said, "Mom, I want you to know, I will not let you die in a hospital if I can help it. One way or another, if it's humanly possible, I'll see to it that you're home when you're ready to die."
    Mom relaxed against the back of her rocking chair and took a couple settling sways. "Good," she said. "If you can help it, I don't want to die in a hospital."
    Luckily, I now have enough confidence in myself in the face of the medical establishment and am so little intimidated by it on my mother's behalf that I think if hospitals are at all involved in her approach to death, I'll be able to shove them out of the way and get her home when the time comes so she can leave from her port of choice. I hope so, anyway. Assuming, of course, that my other fantasy of her death doesn't occur, which is that by some quirk of fate we dance through the Great Divide together, maybe with The Little Girl. That would work, too.

    Strange night, tonight. Not unsettling, but definitely strange.

Yes, I let my mother sleep in, way in, this morning...

2004-12-12T12:08:00.001-07:00

...so I could complete a holiday caregiving essay I've been working on over the last twenty-four hours. It could be considered a decidedly Grinchy essay but an important one. You can click through to it on the link provided in the immediately previous sentence or through its listing in the link section to your right.
Happy Holidays, everyone.
Later.

This is the message I left...

2004-12-10T23:54:00.001-07:00

...on our voice mail yesterday:

    "I'm not answering the phone for the holidays, don't have the phone ringer on. I am checking caller ID every once in a while, I am checking messages that are left.
    "For business messages of an urgent nature, I will return them and handle the business as necessary. If they're not urgent they'll wait until after the year is over.
    "For personal messages, I appreciate everybody calling. I'm just not in the mood to talk, not in the mood to do holidays this year except for my way and you guys all know how I feel about the holidays.
    "We are not doing any visiting this year.
    "We are not hosting any events this year.
[Heavy sigh]
    "I may feel like returning calls later, I don't know, just, you know, if you want to leave a message, that's fine.
    "For those of you who enjoy the holidays, Happy Holidays. For those of you who feel like me, hang in there, we'll get through 'em, they're almost over."

    I know, pretty brazen, but I don't feel like enduring anyone trying to talk me into holiday cheer. I've been feeling better since I left it, although very few people have called since. No one has left messages.
    Today was a good day for both Mom and me. Just a few marginal incidents that blew me out of line for awhile. It didn't bother me that Mom was so hard to get going this morning. I decided to start working on her at 1000, assuming that I'd be able to get her up around 1030. She wasn't having any, though, and I didn't feel like whupping her up so I chored the morning away and checked back on her every 15 minutes until I finally got her to give me her hand for blood sugar testing just before 1145.
    She was in a good mood and I worked to get her enthused about accompanying me on a few short errands. Again, she wasn't having any even though the sun was bright and it wasn't that cold outside. I was able to get her to stay up for the hour I was gone with the movie Chocolat, which is clearly a winner. I bought it on a hunch yesterday, since it was on sale. My hunch paid off. She loved it last night and asked for it (as "that movie about chocolate") this morning when I asked her what she wanted to do while I was gone, no napping allowed. I also bought the two volumes of Pee Wee's Playhouse on another successful hunch. At the store I deliberated between those and seasons of M.A.S.H., which she loves, but since she can view that on TV at least twice a day every day for two to fours hours I figured Pee Wee's Playhouse was a better value. I was right. She and I are both transfixed and entertained by that program and she loves to talk about teaching kids while we're watching it and expound on why the various characters and scenarios in the episodes are "perfect for kids". I'm transported into pure joy by the program. Then, of course, we watched Chocolat in the evening and she was transported.
    It was with a light heart that I headed out on errands. They weren't terribly successful but an incident at the feed store where I bought cat food through me for a short loop. Curled up sleeping on the counter was a medium-long haired white-based calico that looked like The Big Girl minus The Big Girl's brown nose. She brought tears to my eyes. The women minding the store were sympathetic and generous and we swapped stories about The Big Girl and their Barn Cat (I buy cat food at a local agricultural feed store in part because of the prices, in part because of the atmosphere and in part because I love the employees and the clientele). So, I felt cleansed when I left.
    Soon after I arrived home a Fed-Ex truck backed into our driveway. I hadn't seen our delivery woman for a couple of months and was anxious to catch up on how her mother and father were doing. They are 85 and 87 (this is the man whom I previously thought was in his 90s) respectively. Her mother was diagnosed as a type II diabetic a couple of years ago. Both parents live with her and her husband, both of whom work and she and I, when she was regularly delivering the breathing meds my mother no longer needs, would discuss our parents' conditions and methods of caring for them. We were both excited to be able to compare notes again.
    They, also, have decided to eschew the metformin that had been prescribed for her mother and are controlling her blood sugar through diet and life-style. We had a lot to talk about.
    Her parents are slowing down but remain 'normally' alert (only slight signs of dementia) and are exhibiting typical age related challenges, especially her mother: Loss of appetite, lack of awareness of thirst, more than occasional constipation. Neither of them is anemic. At one point she told me that her parents were "coming home" tonight.
    "Where did they go?"
    "My sister and brother-in-law in Florida took them for the month of November to give us a rest before the Christmas holidays, all that activity with family and friends, you know."
    I lost control and started sobbing.
    She didn't ask me why. She knew. "You need a vacation," she said.
    I sniffed back my tears and told her that I took a sort of vacation during the month of November, explaining to her what I did.
    She laughed. "You didn't take a vacation," she said, "you talked yourself into thinking you were taking a vacation!"
    Despite the fact that she was grimly right I couldn't help but laugh, too. "Yeah," I said. "It felt good while I was doing it, though, most of the time."
    "But it didn't work," she said, handing me a tissue.
    "No, I guess it didn't. Oh well, I'm taking it light on the holidays this year. Very light. I'm pretending they aren't happening."
    She startled me by climbing down out of her truck and hugging me. "Good for you," she said. "Do what you need to do. You're mom will be fine. You take good care of her."
    "Yeah," I said, starting to cry again, "I know. I just wish I didn't have to make these bizarre choices, I wish I had more energy..."
    "Honey, you've got more energy than anyone I know. If you need a break, take it however you can. Forget what everyone else thinks. You're the not letting your mom down. She'll be fine."
    Several months ago in this journal I wrote about my conversations with the Fed Ex delivery woman and, as I recall (although I haven't looked up the reference), I mentioned that she's my inadvertent local support group. She still is. I'm settled about the my decision on how to do the holidays this year, now.
    Later.

And, yes, I am aware...

2004-12-09T23:29:00.000-07:00

...that "having a baby" could be a sub- or unconscious metaphor she's using to indicate (to herself, not me) that she feels death is near: Not wanting to wait, worried that she may become too old to have the baby, etc. It could also be a recounting of her reason for marrying my father. Although she's told me, at my query, before, that she married him because she was in love with him and she was sure he was the right man for her to marry, well, that's a pretty standard statement and I know both of them were family oriented long before they met one another. It could be that the reason my father was the right man was because he came along at the right time and insisted that she was the right woman.
The problem with looking for death metaphors is that almost all our "surreal" [thank you, brainhell] conversations could contain such metaphors: Joining the Navy, which is a symbol of adventure to her; teaching in Martelle next year, which is a symbol of wanting to have an impact, of which she may feel she is no longer capable in this life; when she called me mother; when she told me I was older than her; when she insisted I'd coached basketball with her in college; all possible 'death is near' metaphors. I used to consider this with every dynamically phasing conversation she initiated and in which I indulged. One by one, the conversations have passed and my mother remains. So I no longer give much thought to this. I figure, I will not know what her final metaphor for impending death will be until she dies soon after stating the metaphor.
Then again, it's possible my mother will refuse metaphors for death. Knowing her, it's possible that death will appear before her, crook its finger, she'll look back, a little surprised, say, "Now? Well, okay, let me go to the bathroom first..." and she'll be off without a fuss.

"I think I'll go ahead and have a baby."

2004-12-09T19:07:00.001-07:00

    Mom had arisen from her nap maybe 15 minutes prior to uttering this sentence. I was teasing her hair, getting it ready to style. "Really?" I said.
    "I was going to wait, but I think I should go ahead and have one now."
    "What made you decide not to wait?" I asked.
    "Well, if I wait any longer I'll be past the time when I could have a baby."
    "Well," I agreed, "that's true. I mean, you had me 53 years ago, so you are pretty far along in your reproductive years."
    She didn't bat an eye at this, just nodded her agreement.
    "Do you have someone in mind to father the child?"
    She gave me a sharp backward glance. "I would hope it would be my husband."
    "So. You're going to embark on a man hunt," I said.
    She laughed. "Not exactly; the men are supposed to come to me."
    "So, you want to raise the child within a marriage."
    "I don't know," she mused. "Maybe not."
    "You know," I suggested, "artificial insemination is a reality, now. You could do that."
    "No, no. Then I'd never know who the father is."
    "Yes you would. Or, at least you might. At the very least, you'd know the genetic traits, including things like height, eye color, genetic predisposition toward disease, intelligence, background..."
    "Really!" Her interest lit at this. "I didn't know that was possible."
    "Oh, yeah, and pretty common, now, too. There are sperm banks, you know."
    "Well, that's certainly a possibility!"
    "Would you consider raising the baby without the father?"
    "I...," she drew the vowel out, "don't know..."
    "Well, if you had a baby by artificial insemination, the likelihood of you being a single mother would be high."
    "Oh, that doesn't bother me. That would be fine."
    "I don't imagine it's any easier now to be a single mother than it might have been when you had your first four children but these days there's a lot more attitude support. There are lots of single mothers and no one bats an eye. There are lots of blended families, too...you know, where a child is living with two parents, one of whom is a step parent."
    "I didn't realize that."
    "Oh, yeah. The family you had years ago is a pretty temporary arrangement, now."
    "That's too bad."
    "I know. We had a good family, didn't we."
    "Yes, we did. We had a lot of fun. And we really seemed to enjoy each other."
    "I know we did. We still do."
    "Yes. We do."
    The conversation slipped into a general discussion of the desire to have babies. We talked about how we'd take care of the baby. It became apparent, and finally verbalized by my mother, that she expected me to take care of the baby. She grinned at me, naughtily and nattily, when she announced this.
    I laughed. "Whoa, there! You're the mother. I'm not. I've never even wanted to have kids! If you have a baby, you get to be the mother."
    "I didn't want to have kids until I had them," she said, in retort.
    "Yeah, you did," I reminded her. "You've told me many times that from the time you were a young child you wanted two things, to be a teacher and to have 'a passel of kids'.
    She looked thoughtful. "That's true," she said. "I think, now, you'd be better at taking care of it than me."
    Again, I laughed. "Hey, if the only reason you're having a baby is for me, please, don't bother! I've got enough people to take care of." I actually considered saying "babies" instead of "people", but quickly substituted. Taking care of my mother is not "baby care".
    My mother laughed, too. By this time her hair was styled and I was fixing her lunch. I noted that the news was on, asked her if she wanted to watch it and she took the suggestion with interest.
    It seems that these episodes in which she (and I, just to keep up with her) straddles time and place zones happen most frequently within an hour after she arises from sleep.
    Why don't I barge in with "the truth", as I do in several other situations? When my mother initiates an episode like this my consideration is that we are talking truth, deep truth. Since we've lately had three such episodes in three days (one initiated by me), it may seem as though they're happening more frequently than usual. Not so. We've gone through periods when she's in dynamic phase (like The Traveler in Star Trek: Next Generation) before and I'm sure we will again. We're probably still in the middle of one of these periods. The first couple of times we hit such a period I was sure that it meant she was close to death. It seemed reasonable to me that such dynamic phasing periods would be a means of gathering one's entire life around one outside of time just before death. Well, it's been at least four years, maybe more, since the first one. I no longer consider them harbingers of death. I do, though, always look forward to them. If you've been following us for at least a couple of years you've noted that I always take advantage of them, rather than freaking and trying to steer her immediately back into The Present wherein those of us who aren't considered senile congratulate ourselves on living. Sometimes I learn history about my mother from them. Sometimes I learn the content of one of those psychological secrets mothers keep from their children either without thinking or by design. Sometimes, my favorite times, I sit back and marvel at that of which my mother is psychologically capable and how delightfully magical is the "senility" we're taught to dread, in ourselves, our loved ones, acquaintances and strangers.
    I'm glad my mother is living in a situation where she is not only safe when she practices dynamic phasing but she's got someone traveling with her who can fill in detail, ask the right questions, someone with whom she feels comfortable and whose presence more or less guarantees a safe return; and, I'm glad it's me.
    My mother is as quietly amazing as an Ancient One as she was during other periods in her life. Tonight I'm overwhelmed with gratitude that I'm in her orchestra pit during this last and most mysterious of her ages.

Strange day, today, for me.

2004-12-08T23:50:00.001-07:00

    My morning before my mother's arising went pretty well. I was feeling good, did a few "extra" chores that aren't daily, like defeathering the laundry area behind the machines and cleaning out the second worst of our cupboards (which means I left the 'spice' cupboard alone). The only odd thing was that I couldn't (and still can't) get comfortable temperature-wise. I fiddled incessantly with the thermostats in the living room and dinette (we have baseboard electric heaters), alternately donned and shed layers, two things I hardly ever do, throughout the morning and early afternoon. I know for sure I haven't fiddled with the thermostats since we triggered heating sometime in early October. Didn't think much about this, though.
    Then, around the time Mom decided to take a nap, sometime around 1500, I surprised myself by deciding to take a nap, too. I'd been fighting fatigue for a couple of hours but didn't think about that, either, I just modified my activity, finally whittled it down to almost nothing but thermostat and clothes layer maintenance. I kept Mom busy with episodes of Northern Exposure and folding laundry.
    When I laid down for a nap I was out like a light. Then began having bizarre, active dreams (not scary, just completely inexplicable) and the light started flickering. I also couldn't get warm. Finally, I heard Mom flush the toilet, which meant she'd taken the tape off the flush mechanism (I'll explain later), and I leapt out of bed and almost fell over. Felt really, really awful. So, noting that it was only 1600, I fed Mom lunch with her iron pills and told her I was going back to bed. At that point I slept like the dead until almost 2000. I guess Mom was fine. She had books and magazines piled around her at the dinette table, a glass of water (which she'd gotten herself, amazingly), and seemed fine. I didn't. I slogged through dinner preparation, which we ate about 2245, huddled on the couch under a blanket staring over Mom's shoulder at her Wednesday programs, West Wing and, damn, something else, I can't remember now, and suddenly broke into a sweat and begin fiddling with thermostats and my layers of clothing again.
    Socially, I've been a bear since about halfway through my day. I don't know, I'd like to think it's just a bug and maybe that's part of it is, I can't think of any other reason why I'd be so temperature sensitive. I think, too, some of it's psychosomatic. The holidays are never my shining season and they are particularly onerous this year, even though I've already decided not to do the holiday dash that I usually do. This afternoon, as I drifted into what turned out to be a troubled sleep, I noticed myself fantasizing about hibernating through the holidays and waking up on New Year's Day. That would work if I could keep Mom in bed, too.

    This morning out of curiosity I asked my mother if she was still "thinking about Martelle".
    "I don't think I'll teach there next year," she said. "They won't have what I need. Martelle is too small a district."
    "What do you mean? What would you need that they don't have?"
    "Oh, you know..."
    "You mean, like audio-visual supplies, resources..."
    "There aren't very many places to take kids for field trips an on-site learning. Most of those kids already know every square inch of territory there."
    "Well, you have a point. Have you thought of teaching in a larger area, like a city?"
    "Yes, but not Phoenix. Too big and too little money in education there."
    That's true. I was surprised that she'd remembered the recent education stories on the local news.
    "Would you consider teaching on Guam, again?"
    "No, too far from family."
    Well, I thought, at least, this morning, she has some idea of where she is, geographically. "How about here? I know, from where we sit, it looks like a small community, but the population ranges throughout the year from seventy to a hundred thousand. Lots of kids. Lots of interest in education. Lots of opportunities in public, private and charter schools."
    She looked at me with interest. "You know, you're right. I hadn't thought about that. Might not be a bad idea."
    I was dying to mention the Navy but, for a reason I can't lingualize, decided against it. "Well," I said, "the next time I'm out, you want me to stop by the county and pick up some information about applying? Where they might need teachers and such?"
    "Oh," she said, "I don't need to apply. I've taught here before. I'm sure there won't be a problem. I'll go where ever they need me."
    She hasn't ever taught here but I decided not to question that point. I figured we might be in Iowa this morning, although a larger town, maybe Cedar Rapids, and, if so, she's right, she has taught "here". "Well," I said, "you'll need to let them know you're returning. And, they might want you to update your hiring information."
    "They know who I am," she said. "Everything will be fine."
    Gotta love that woman.

    Regarding taping the flush mechanism: Breaking Mom of the habit of cleaning herself, especially after bowel movements, is a constant battle. I think it's one of those long term memory items that I'm not ever going to change. So is making sure she doesn't flush her iron-laden feces down the toilet before it's had a chance to soften and disipate. One of the reasons I'm now cleaning her is that she inadvertently dirties herself when she cleans herself. The other reason is that she tends to stuff the toilet with paper. At least a couple times a week, sometimes on a daily basis, I've been having to unclog the toilet. When I got a blister from doing this last week I banned all paper from the bathroom except the paper she wears. Unfortunately, I hadn't figured that, yesterday, in a fit of no-toilet-paper frustration, while I was doing something elsewhere in the house and wasn't aware she was in the bathroom, she'd rip her paper underwear apart, use that as toilet paper and flush the toilet. That's when I decided to tape the flush mechanism on her toilet.
    Today, although I tried to keep an eagle eye and a feline's ear on her bathroom, when I laid down for a nap I was a few seconds too late. She had meticulously untaped the flush mechanism and whatever she used to clean herself, I have no idea, went through the pipes. This time there was no clog. Fortunately.
    I guess I'm going to have to monitor her elimination habits more closely now. I thought this wasn't possible considering that I've already got my nose up her ass. I've also made a mental note to purchase a pipe snake at Home Depot and ask if there's a way to fasten the flush mechanism from the inside of the tank so that it can't be triggered unless it's unfastened.
    A piece of good news, we've finally gotten a handle on the weeks long irritation that was developing in the creases at the tops of her thighs that she'd scratch raw at night. I tried several things, including cornstarch 24 hours a day, anti-itch spray, bacitracin for the skin abrasions she was creating and making sure I cleaned her with a special cleanser at least three times a day. Nothing seemed to work very well for very long. Last week I went back to the skin irritation area of the pharmacy once more and found a generic anti-itch cream that didn't contain any oil or petroleum products. We've been using it, now, with the corn starch regularly. You almost can't tell she had a problem. She has a few funny little spots (no broken skin) on her left side so I decided that I'd check out the jock itch products next time in case the spots are a fungus; see if any of those have no oil or petroleum. If they don't I'll use one instead of the anti-itch cream for awhile. If they do, I'll use that product just on the spots and the anti-itch cream everywhere else.
    I'm feeling a little, hmmm...iffy, tonight, but somewhat better since I finally took ibuprofen. I suppose I was probably spiking a fever all day, but I've been taking so much ibuprofen lately that I was trying to avoid taking it, today. I finally gave in. We'll see how tomorrow goes.
    Later.

Check out the comment on the previous post.

2004-12-07T23:55:00.001-07:00

    Provocative idea, sensitively offered. I thought about it and decided against it. Here's why: The fundamental reason is my mother's seriousness in regard to her decision. To put it bluntly, suppose "you" decide to join or return to the Navy, work up your excitement about it, day dream about the adventure upon which you're about to embark and trot excitedly to the recruiting station only to be told, on sight, that you're 4-F, for some reason so obvious that you're flabbergasted you didn't prefigure your classification? How many photographers and journalists would you like to have recording this moment?
    My mother is nothing if not sassy and would consider 'sassy gal' an appropriate description of herself; so would I, her other daughters and lots of her relatives, friends and acquaintances. While it's true that it is her 87 year old self who intends to re-up, her 87 year old demented self recognizes no reason why the rest of the world would consider her quest merely entertaining. As well, I can imagine what journalists, photographers and editors would make of this moment, considering the absurd pressure toward patriotism in this country right now. The thing is, my mother didn't enter the Navy out of patriotism. She went for adventure. She isn't interested in going into the Navy now out of patriotism. She's interested in the adventure and feels up to it. In addition, she considers the "war" in Iraq ridiculous, ill considered and badly managed. This isn't how the media would portray her. Her visit to a recruiter's office would be interpreted by a savvy editor for the public in a way that would completely misrepresent her, thus sap dignity from her public persona. My mother has never wanted to be known for anything other than who she is. She would never want to be used to promote a cause with which she disagreed. She turned down a "Teacher of the Year" award, once, to this end [Click here for details]. So, while this is an innovative idea offered with sympathetic thought, for my mother it misses the mark.
    Later.

"I think I'll teach in Martelle next year."

2004-12-07T15:19:00.002-07:00

    Not, "Wouldn't it be nice if I could..." or "Do you suppose I could," or any statement with a similar whiff of whimsy.
    So, like any mother-respecting 53 year old daughter of an 87 year old retired teacher, I responded, "What grade do you think you'll teach?"
    "Well. I taught fourth before but I could teach any grade. Where ever they need me."
    "Special Ed style, of course," I added.
    "Oh. Of course."
    "Why Martelle?" I asked.
    "Well, it's close to home..."
    This is the only part of the conversation in which I 'got real'. "Well, no, it's not, we're in Arizona and Martelle is in Iowa..."
    She interrupted me with an "Are you sure about that?" stare.
    "But, we can move there. We've got plenty of time. It's only December and we're good at moving."
    "Yes, we are, that's for sure."
    As her arising and bath continued we talked about her previous experience in Martelle. She taught there for only a couple of years. It was, obviously, not her one-room schoolhouse experience. She lived with a "lady", a "young old maid," she said, "awfully nice, awfully independent" (sounds like a description of herself at that age and beyond). I asked if she got board. "No, I paid rent, had a hot plate, ate out..."
    "Was it Martelle where you decided to go into the Navy?" I asked.
    "No, that was, let me see, I believe we were in Mt. Vernon."
    "Who was 'we'?" I asked.
    "My folks." By this she means her parents.
    "Oh, I never thought about it, but I guess they did live in Mt. Vernon with you, didn't they."
    "For awhile. When Mother went to college."
    My maternal grandmother, while and after my mother went to college, decided to attend college later in life and received her certification in drafting.
    "Were you teaching in Mt. Vernon when you decided to go into the Navy?"
    "No, it was in the summer."
    "Which would you prefer, next year, to teach in Martelle or return to the Navy?"
    "Hmmm, I hadn't thought I had a choice but I suppose I do. The Navy."
    "Hands down?"
    "Hands down."
    "Okay, then. Next year we'll plan on you going into the Navy."
    "What'll you do?"
    "Well, someone's got to take care of your home. I'll do that."
    "You could go into the Navy, too, you know. We could serve together."
    I laughed. "Somehow I don't think they'd take me. Not with my history!"
    "Of course they would," my mother indignantly assured me. I think she figures if she's Navy material, so are all her daughters. In reality, one proved to be and retired from the Navy after 20 years.
    "Well, okay, I'll be your personal assistant, your valet, like Patton had. Certainly, by now your, er, rank would allow you a personal valet."
    My mother shot me her comical "Hold your horses, girl," look. "I heard that pause. I'm glad you didn't say 'age'."
    I had to laugh for a couple of reasons. First, she was inviting laughter with the stern, saucy, cautionary shake of her head and straightening of her shoulders. Second, I realized that she wasn't planning next year from or for her late-twenties self, she was planning it from and for her 87-year-old self.
    "So, next year at this time, we'll be in the Navy," I said.
    "Good. Let's plan on it."

    In case you're wondering, I used to take her memory sessions about Iowa as an indication that she might want to move there for the last years of her life. I've questioned her several times about this. At one point early in our partnership we researched the possibility of moving to Cedar Rapids or Mechanicsville where she still has relatives. Since that time, though, she's visited Iowan relatives twice on her own and has no desire to live there, although not because of the relatives. She's enjoyed their quickly renewed camaraderie but not the area. "It's too old," she's said, as though Iowa has not kept up with her sense of life as an adventure.
    I'm still not sure why she's lately been focusing on Martelle. It used to be Mechanicsville or Mt. Vernon or Cedar Rapids. Now, it's Martelle. Maybe this is a part of a natural Ancient One tradition or rite which involves cleaning out one's attic or, at least, taking inventory and moving stuff around, maybe repacking it.

    I'm in a much better mood than previously. Sometimes I prefer my mother's footloose, fancy-free mind to her shod and shackled one.
    So, next year at this time Mom and I will be on the high seas. Considering that, in Tibetan Buddhism, the ocean is a metaphor for mind, I'm sure this will be true.

Sometime yesterday...

2004-12-07T11:35:00.000-07:00

...a moon mood hit me and I'm continuing to labor under its influence. Perhaps its the brightening of the weather, maybe there's a temporary somatic cause, I don't know. I decided yesterday afternoon to make pot pies (small ones; "individual servings" if you will, even though Mom and I typically can't finish a whole individual pot pie). I assembled everything for the crusts. My mother excitedly positioned herself to my left at the dinette table so she could kibbitz while I cooked. She hates to cook but loves to attend to others' efforts. I measured the floor, dropped my hands, looked at my mother and said, "I don't know, Mom, today's not the day. I don't know." I dumped the flour back in the bag, put everything away, returned to the table and we played Sorry for awhile. Didn't help, didn't hurt.
    Mom was lively yesterday, which helps me when moods descend. She napped briefly and claimed she hadn't slept, although I checked on her a couple of times. When I'm up and she's sleeping I check on her at least once every half hour, usually more during her naps. At one point she was snoring. I'm amused when she tells me she hasn't sleep but I know she has. This means to me that she was dreaming so vividly and appreciatively that she felt like she was awake and thinking or experiencing or both. She stayed up until a little past midnight. We talked, mostly, nothing earth shattering, she watched some Animal Planet while I computed...
    ...last night I noticed, when I went to Carl's Jr. to get Mom a burger and onion rings, I seem to be immune at the moment to holiday lights. Normally, even in the worst of moods, holiday lights have a salutary effect on me. I take it for granted. Didn't even think about it until I noticed, driving home, that instead of opening up and letting the maze of lights along the way glitter through my soul I critiqued the arrangements of color and sparkle. When I returned home I noticed through the back of the carport that our neighbors on the cliff above and behind us have added this year to their typical light glut and extended it to the fence that touches the northwestern edge of our property. Instead of internally reveling in their grandiosity I closed my eyes and turned away as though the soul of early Scrooge had found a friend in me.
    I checked in on Mom at 1000 this morning. Her eyes were open and I started rising preparations. She shook her head and asked for "another hour or two." It was easy to give it to her. I figure I'll check with her at noon when she'll be working on her 12th hour. She should be ready to rise by then.
    I'm hoping her "uppity" antics will pull me out of myself.
    Later.

I'm guessing ahead of time...

2004-12-06T15:36:00.001-07:00

...that this will be a relatively (to my natural loquaciousness) short post. Good time to find out if I'm right.
    Yesterday was a surprising day. My mother remained up from the time she awoke until after midnight. She had a plan, hatched the evening before when she noticed that the Discovery Channel would be airing a program on Rameses at 2200. She's a sucker for everything Egyptian and anticipated the program all day. I asked her a couple of times if she wanted to take a nap and she gave me that "I know you're related to me but you didn't get your insanity from me" look.
    This development was especially surprising because I was equally caught up in a marathon sprint (I know that's an oxymoron, but it's a perfect description of what I did, yesterday) through a particular section of my project. Yes, I am thrilled to report that I am continuing with my project with proper due-to-my-mother diligence. It helps, of course, that she is pleased to see me obsessed with a personal project. This is the way I've lived my life since I was very young and I think she feels more comfortable around me when I'm thus involved.
    As we (I put aside my project to enjoy her reaction) watched the program last night, which was overly dramatic but still informative, depending on how much one already knows about Egyptology, I internally recalled her love affair with Egypt. I remember, after a summer's visit to an Egyptology museum in California (I think it was 1963) when we were on vacation in the states, she spent the balance of the afternoon musing about her interest in Ancient Egypt. "I just can't explain it," she repeated while trying to explain it. I remember thinking as she talked that it sounded like she was just this side of copping to the idea that she thought she was a reincarnated ancient Egyptian. Scarabs transfix her, although she's never been known as a beetle buff. She is also a dedicated sunshine person (although not a dedicated tanner) and desert/plane person. Visible horizons, sparse, prickly flora and reptilian fauna hold much more of a fascination for her than rolling wooded areas.
    You may be wondering why, then, we're in Prescott. Aside from the fact that we needed to get rid of one of our "properties" (in quotes because a mobile home is a vehicle, not a piece of real estate and we didn't own the land on which it sat) and it made no financial sense to keep a constantly depreciating vehicle on a constantly appreciating piece of rental property over a piece of real estate, I don't know why she bought a summer home in the Prescott National Forest. I even tried to talk her out of the area, knowing that she has an emotional block toward it which goes back to her parents having lived here. Her decision, though, was implacable and had something to do with this house and its positioning relative to the sun. When she entered it the first time she recognized it as hers. Her decision, though, has nothing to do with the house being in the town of Prescott. It helps her, I think, that I have come to love the area, at least the fact that it isn't the desert, since it appears that we are bound to be here in Arizona until her death. The seasons here, too, are mild, but recognizable as seasons. Mom does prefer a hint of season to the unseasonal sameness of lower latitudes and elevations. The hyperkinetic ambiance of the area in which we lived in the Phoenix metroplex was also beginning to scare her. She no longer enjoyed riding in the car with me even short distances, as she was convinced that we'd never return home. Traffic all over the Valley is fast and impolite. The air there was keeping her in a constant state of allergic reaction, as well. She has two short, seasonal environmental allergy periods, here, and that's it.
    Since I'm recovering from yesterday's marathon project sprint it's a laid back day, the last of this period's snow days: Alternately sunny and snowy as the blanket recedes and the dead weed stalks spring back. When Mom arises from her nap we'll probably polish off the second season of Northern Exposure and I'll definitely make beef pot pies. We were going to have them yesterday but she couldn't release the delectability of the bean soup I made on Saturday and insisted we have it again last night.
    Later.

I think I created a Sleep Monster.

2004-12-04T23:52:00.001-07:00

    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:

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.

    As well, I realized tonight that for personal reasons I am uniquely suited to what I'm doing with my mother. Since I was, oh, I don't know, an older preteen, I've thought I'd love to be one of those perennial, ivory towered scholars. Over the last year or so I've been thinking that maybe when my mother dies I'd see if this wouldn't be a possibility. Tonight I realized that as I pursue what I'm doing with her I'm already in that scholarly ivory tower. I study her, research her, ponder her, theorize about her, allow myself the luxury of being amazed at the far reaching correspondences between the object of my study and the rest of the world and, when the bookishness of my attention begins to overwhelm me, I have the privilege of being able to sit back and enjoy her.
    Funny how our desires become woven into our lives in the most unexpected patterns.
    Later.

Well, I'm excited.

2004-12-03T23:59:00.000-07:00

    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.

True Story

2004-12-03T13:58:00.002-07:00

    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.

Mom seems to be tolerating her cold...

2004-12-03T10:25:00.001-07:00

...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.

Yes, My Month of Me is over...

2004-12-02T00:07:00.002-07:00

...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.

Ah, yes, the raspberry pie.

2004-11-27T09:05:00.001-07:00

    Turns out Sara Lee doesn't make a passable raspberry pie. I'm not sure what caused it to smell like raspberries while it was baking but it didn't taste like raspberries. It didn't taste like much of any kind of fruit, berry or not, so we dumped our pieces along with the rest of the pie, split the cream I'd whipped and this summer's raspberry sauce, folded them together and that's what we had for dinner last night. It wasn't raspberry pie but it was raspberries, sweet enough to satisfy Mom, delicious enough to satisfy me.
    After the second viewing, Mom is sure that The Terminal is about a man with a speech impediment. Since, depending one one's take, it could be interpreted as such I didn't disavow her of this notion. The point, for her, was that, speech impediment or not, it was his spirit that "won the day", or, days, and this pleased her. Last night's viewing was indeed a discussion viewing, involving not only the movie but fond recollections of our family's experiences "living out of" the Honolulu airport, other family airport experiences of note, other family vacation experiences of note, fire flies and fire opals, black swans and the Black Hills, endless road trips and England, relatives and revelry...we had a pleasant evening.
    Since my mother has been known to savor the shopping experience I asked her last night if she was interested in "braving the holiday crowds" to do some window shopping this weekend. There's only one place here in Prescott that even approaches "holiday crowd" syndrome, the "new" Walmart Superstore, and she and I both prefer to avoid that store any time of the year. It's too big, too hard to negotiate and, inevitably, when you finally find the section you want, the item you want is out of stock. I suggested that I pack her up in the wheelchair and we do the rounds of the shops at the mall and the courtyard square, making sure to linger at her favorite shopping experience, Bashford Court and The Christmas Store (which, much to her delight, is open all year). She didn't seem keen on the idea so I suggested "lunch" (which will probably fall within the early dinner hour) out as well, at which she displayed minor interest. So I'm not sure what's on the agenda for today. I'm not going to push her if she seems uninterested in activity. Maybe I'll get in a lot of project time. There's a happy thought.
    Later.

Aside from everything else, I did what I wanted to do today...

2004-11-26T19:27:00.002-07:00

...which was write the essay mentioned in the last post hurriedly between duties. If you're interested, it's entitled I Can't Get It for You Wholesale. You can reach it by clicking on the aforementioned title or navigating from the Links section to the right.
    Yes, it's been mostly a duties day today. Mom's been very animated and governed by a surge of energy despite her late arising and her nap. She was down for so short a time this afternoon that I don't think she napped, just relaxed long enough to trigger a bowel movement. As well, ham transcends short term memory loss. I've had to keep an eagle eye on her to make sure she doesn't munch ham all day. Last night as I separated, bagged and froze most of what was left (which was quite a bit; the smallest I was able to obtain at such short notice was an 8.5 pounder and I think we ate maybe .75 of a pound) and packaged and secreted enough for today's meals in the refrigerated section I was sure that while she may pick from the little I left unfrozen she'd never go scouting through the freezer for ham. I was wrong. The freezer was the first place she looked (that's long term memory for you). About an hour after breakfast while I was wiping down her bed with alcohol, turning the fan on it and making it she found a package of ham in the freezer (hadn't even bothered to look for the refrigerated portion), transferred it to the counter and, as I entered the kitchen, she was hacking away at the contents with a butter knife and fork. I was relieved when she decided to nap and sorry when it turned out to be a "nap sprint" to the bathroom.
    Mom wants to see The Terminal again tonight. She mentioned it without prompting, referring to it as, "...that movie we saw last night about the man who had a speech impediment." I'm not sure whether I'll watch the movie or steal some time for my project while keeping an eye on her. I'll wait to see whether she's watching the movie in order to absorb it or discuss it. Sometimes her requests for second viewings are primarily for discussion purposes.
    My Month of Me is drawing to a close. Even though it's been difficult during this last week or so to scavenge adequate time for my project, I'm not at all displeased with my progress. When I can I've been working like hellfire. Whether writing or sorting and mulling, I've already accomplished much more than I expected. I'm sorry to see the time come to an end but I now know that the project won't be left behind.
    Later.

Although neither of us knows whether the raspberry pie is passable...

2004-11-26T00:06:00.000-07:00

...the ham, baked yams, pea salad and superb fresh sweet basil bread, sliced, spread with garlic herb butter, sprinkled with freshly grated Parmesan and grilled, were extraordinary. Not that we stuffed ourselves. Since Mom didn't awaken until 1100 we ate dinner around 2000. It's typical in our family to delay dessert. By the time dinner and the movie The Terminal were over both of us were too satisfied to enjoy dessert so decided we'd have raspberry pie for dinner tomorrow evening. It baked up suspiciously good, smelled like raspberries...maybe Sara knows what she's doing.
    Dinner was easy, requiring no more than an hour and a half prep time, thus I was able to get in a much needed nap today. For the last two mornings I've been hacking back our pyracantha bushes (more like super weeds), putting my muscles to the test behind one of my father's old saws that should have been sharpened decades ago and scratching my hands, gloved though they were, beyond recognition. Today my upper body was protesting, "What the fuck did you think you were doing out there?!? If you can get your mother down for awhile, lay me down, too!" So, I did, beneath a blanket of ibuprofen for three hours. I'm feeling much better. Which means, of course, that my mother slept her ass off today, but, well, she was in good spirits while she was up, even volunteered that she enjoyed the movie. Usually I have to pry an opinion out of her but this one impressed her. We talked about how it reminded both of us of Frank Capra's stuff with a veil of light gray over the end. I'll try it on her at least once more before I return it. I'm thinking, considering her reaction, this might be a keeper.
    I've been thinking about some of the stuff in a recent comment all day (when I wasn't asleep). I think I might be writing an essay or at least a somewhat more organized than usual post about it tomorrow if I don't get completely caught up in my project. Stay tuned. One way or another, it will be entitled, "What you can buy, and what you can't", or something like that. But, you know, I'm tired and satisfied and I've got a Little Girl on my lap warming me into thoughts of sleep, so...
    ...later.

Yes, we're having a Thanksgiving Dinner.

2004-11-25T09:55:00.001-07:00

    Although evening before last I'd considered skipping it I was provoked by an advertisement on one of her programs that featured a traditional Thanksgiving feast laden table. Upon viewing it Mom initiated a conversation about Thanksgiving dinner with, "I've never liked turkey. I don't know why everyone serves turkey on Thanksgiving. It has no flavor and neither do the leftovers."
    "Well," I responded, "I know your preference is ham."
    Her eyes lit, thus initiating a discussion of what we'd have for Thanksgiving if our preferences were addressed. From this it was a short skip to deciding to have Thanksgiving dinner.
    Although my meat preference is for some sort of beef or pork roast I don't mind ham and I love Mom's delight in it so that's what we're having. No stuffing, thank you, no mashed potatoes, no gravy, just a baked yam apiece, not candied, not marshmallowed and not those huge spuds that leave no room on a plate for anything else. Lightly nuked peas mixed with sauteed onions, celery and green peppers, fresh bacon bits and a tart herb dressing. Maybe some home made Sweet Basil bread if the breadmaker works and the yeast doesn't fail. None of her traditional Raisin Mustard Sauce. I offered to make it (it's easy) but I guess her ham preferences have changed...she wants her slab neat this year. Definitely bake the ham with pineapple but, I said, I hope she doesn't mind that I'm not using marashino cherries which I detest. That's fine, she agreed, she's never liked them either, she put them on "for the kids". She suggested shrimp cocktail and deviled eggs, too, so I struck a bargain with her and we had the shrimp and the eggs last night for dinner.
    No pumpkin pie. I didn't know this until a few years ago because my mother used to make The Best Pumpkin Pie in the Universe. It's like a highly spiced pecan pie held together with pumpkin instead of carmelized corn syrup; it is so loaded with pecans and so highly spiced that when it comes out of the oven it's brown instead of orange. It's so good that I hate everyone else's pumpkin pie. She confessed, though, that she's never liked pumpkin pie, not even her own. I left the dessert portion open and found a raspberry pie I thought might be an interesting experiment, especially since we still have some of the spectacular whole raspberry sauce I made with this summer's harvest in case Sara Lee's version of raspberry pie leaves something to be desired. Real whipped-on-demand cream, no sugar. Mom prefers dairy products untampered.
    Instead of eating in the middle of the afternoon we'll follow our regular schedule which works best with her meds: Dinner at least seven hours after breakfast, whenever that occurs.

    The wee hours of this morning hosted an interesting occurrence. At 0450 (I looked at the clock) I was awakened (probably out of a very light sleep) by the sound of Mom shuffling over the hall carpet. Figuring correctly that she was on her way to the bathroom I leapt out of bed to make sure that I changed what I knew would be her soaked underwear and manipulate the reattachment of her oxygen before she fell back to sleep. Amazingly, she had not yet leaked through to the sheets. This has happened very occasionally since she began copious night leakage. Normally, though, her bladder's needs don't awaken her and, as I joke to her, her bladder decides aw, what the hell, it's cold, she's comfortable, I'm full of warm liquid, let's forget the trip to the bathroom, Gail can handle the mess in the morning. The interesting thing about this occurrence at this time is that through the last several mornings every time Mom has awakened she's commented on how much she sweated the night previous. I always correct her, she is always shocked that she's leaking urine at night, usually takes some convincing to believe it, then I explain, once again, the trajectory of her incontinence since 10/25/03. It's become one of the funnier daily episodes in our life. Her sleep induced incontinence also causes easily negotiated but annoying rashes in the creases where her thighs meet her pelvic girdle. I've discussed this with her recently because lately we've been tending to them a lot throughout the day to keep the itching down so she doesn't scratch herself raw. This morning when I came to her urinary aid I wondered if maybe, somewhere in her tired, convoluted brain, she's registered our recent conversations and her bladder is changing its attitude because of her emotional shock at being a bedwetter. It will take a few more nights for me to discover if this is true. It may mean that I'll be waking in the middle of the night to make sure that she doesn't go back to bed with underwear loaded for leakage. I'd like to think that I can encourage her to change her underwear herself and I'll certainly try but I'm not going to count on this; she has a problem pulling the underwear tops past the tops of her thighs. I don't really care who changes her underwear if it means that she'll sleep in a dry bed and I'll have less laundry and fewer opportunities to smell her urine.
    Last night we watched The West Wing and I took particular note of something a nurse character said to "Leo", the character recovering from heart surgery: "The body is predictable." The nurse went on to explain the difficulties he was having with recuperation in terms of his neo-post-operative heart. While I was deciding this morning whether to go back to bed or stay up (I stayed up) I thought about this in light of the fact that this particular month is not the time when I would expect my mother's body to be able to jog itself back to nightly continence since she's moved very little and slept much more than I usually allow since November 1st. I've further considered my observation that she is somewhat weaker than she was on 10/31/04. It appears that her body isn't as predictable as younger bodies. I wonder if this is typical of Ancient bodies. Maybe, because the Ancient physical condition often borders on frail if it isn't actually frail, physical determination and ability are no longer triggered in the muscles of movement and the autonomy of the spinal cord but coincide, instead, with mental determination and spark more obviously from the brain. Once this was studied, of course, it could be considered predictable, but I can attest that medical science is far from this eventuality. I cannot tell you how many times my mother's recoveries have amazed her health care providers, whose expectations are based on their assumptions about Ancient bodies and are typically slight. It's funny because it's not uncommon for me to be privy to stories of the amazing recoveries of other Ancient Ones but I don't hear them from health care providers, I hear them from the Ancient Ones' families.
    Thanksgiving preparations call me to duty. I think I'll see if I can arouse her earlier than has been lately usual and give her the opportunity to enjoy my holiday fussing. Oh, yeah, but first, I need to get a paper. She mentioned that she wants to read the Thanksgiving paper this morning.
    Later, again, probably much, I need to put in some dedicated project entry time now that we're approaching the end of My Month of Me.

I discovered something interesting about Mom's urge to smoke.

2004-11-24T23:49:00.002-07:00

The only video (including televised shows and disc-in-the-slot video) presentation that Mom can't seem to watch without wanting a cigarette and thinking that she still smokes is Sex and the City. We've been watching episodes of the show lately. I finally noticed that whenever Carrie lights up Mom looks around for cigarettes. She begins insisting that she smokes and that there must be cigarettes in the house or she stares at me indignantly, expecting me to head out on a short trip to buy her some. I've thought about why this particular character in this particular show is so far her only cigarette trigger: It's true, Mom can watch video after show after video featuring someone lighting a cigarette and doesn't notice. But when Carrie on lights up Mom's a smoker again. I think there are a couple of reasons:

Although Carrie isn't her favorite Sex and the City character all the other characters' lives are filtered through hers so she's the most visible, the most "real" and the most multi-faceted.
Carrie always smokes when she's either highly agitated or highly satisfied (as in after sex). Cigarettes are part of her celebration of emotional extremes. My mother's smoking has had these elements, although not exclusive of simple nicotine replenishment. I do know that capping or inviting satisfaction and sorting through agitation with a cigarette have been important rituals for her. Sex and the City exaggerates smoking for my mother by highlighting these uses of smoking and often talking around them through dramatizing Carrie's constant battle to quit. Interestingly, even in the later episodes where Carrie mentions, in a variety of situations, that she no longer smokes, my mother starts hunting cigarettes. Thus, Carrie's smoking remains visible even though Carrie no longer indulges.

    So, I'm reining in our watching of Sex and the City for awhile.

    Tomorrow is Thanksgiving. I've mentioned to my mother several times why it is we are not visiting relatives in the Valley to celebrate this year. I've been truthful and detailed and she always seems to accept my explanation at the moment. Then, a few to several hours later, she's lost the memory and we go through the same dialogue. Finally, yesterday, by way of bringing up the subject once again, she stated/asked, "I guess MPS and BIL and the kids are visiting BIL's parents this year."
    I know, because of her interminable reiterating, that she's having trouble with the real explanation and probably, too, with my insistence on running the holidays my way this year. I didn't want to go through it all again, so I said, "I don't know but I imagine so." She hasn't asked since. This seems to satisfy her.
    Am I harboring any guilt over keeping my mother from seeing family this year over Thanksgiving (and, maybe, I don't know, Christmas, too); don't I care that this 'might be her last holiday season', etc. No. Every year might be her last; I've been considering this for 10 years. This year I need a break from The Caregiver's Harried Holiday Season so I'm taking it. And, you know what? It feels really, really good.
    A few days ago Mom was watching the "Oprah" part of her afternoon television line-up and I had my project papers sprawled over the floor considering what to keep and what to trash. Once again, Oprah was giving gifts to her audience. As the gifting came to a close she introduced the entertainment segment and her peculiar choice of words suddenly registered with me, "The holidays aren't just about receiving, you know," and I thought Well, this is interesting, she's scolding her audience for taking advantage of her generosity...I guess all gift horses have mouths, don't they. Oprah continued, "they're about giving, too, and hope." I realized this is why caregivers are so damned stressed throughout the holidays. Here we are, giving care constantly throughout the year in the most intimate and demanding of ways while working hard to allow our charges to retain as much of their personal dignity as possible, usually receiving little to no help or inadequate help or help that ups the ante for us as caregivers, being harassed beyond endurance by the caregiver establishment to "take care of yourselves, too," the holidays come along with platitudes about generosity and charity that become so ubiquitous one can't even escape them through Muzak...and if one is a caregiver of the Ancient and infirm hope isn't an issue, living has nothing to do with hope, not that hopelessness takes the trump but life works better under intense caregiving circumstances if one takes a Zen attitude which has everything to do with enhancing the moment and nothing to do with hope...
...and The Rude Caregiver strikes again. Don't talk to me about giving. Don't talk to me about hope. I'm in The Zone. If you think you have anything of value to caregivers to say about giving and hope then step into The Zone, my friend, look around, strip beds, bathe my mother and scan her for new bruises and infections, consider when she might be ready for a bowel movement and make sure these go smoothly enough so she neither strains nor remains dirty enough to give herself a UTI, keep doctors from needlessly plundering her in the name of healing and juggle all the miscellaneous business of her life as well as your conjoined lives. While doing this make her feel as though she is not being personally invaded or victimized, remind her to drink liquids several times a day, take stats, plan meals, keep an eye on her to make sure she doesn't falter when moving about, do everything you can think of to keep her feeling safe and secure including second guessing and constant, creative reevaluation and, by the way, keep her from eating condiments straight out of their bottles from the refrigerator, creatively remind her that she no longer smokes while invalidating society's ubiquitous reminders of smoking, wonder if she's sleeping and moving too little or too much, keep your ears tuned as you sleep in case she decides to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night so you will arise to make sure her journey is uneventful, awaken her in the morning and answer, once again, her daily question "Why?" she should get up and answer it with conviction, truly love her and make sure she knows she's loved, all the while retaining your sense of yourself as an individual with a unique mix of talents, skills and dreams...then talk to me.

Today is the kind of day...

2004-11-21T13:00:00.001-07:00

...wherein, if I were in the normal world of employment I would face my employer, declare that, after unsuccessful negotiations and finally outright protests, I was being abused, the impossible was being expected of me without the help I need to bring both circumstances and goals into the realm of the reasonable and possible (for me, which means that I've agreed to accomplish the super-reasonable and im-possible and am almost there, just a little help from the finish line), I'd cast my karma to the winds and walk out.
    Yesterday afternoon and evening, during a day in which it was obvious that my time would be best spent devoting the day to my mother and ignoring my project, she once again indulged in her "remind me why I ever thought it was a good idea to buy this house" tirade and could not be soothed. After several hours in which I tried to soften her discomfort with a hearty bean and HoneyBaked Ham® bone soup, fresh from the oven blueberry muffins, yet another viewing of one of her favorite movies, Cheaper by the Dozen (the new version), during which I joined her in the audience (so to speak) and in celebrating her dream of a huge family, made every possible effort and then some to assure her of the blessed attributes of this house and our life together, she retired grumbling and inappreciative. Although the subject of my insistence on selling the mobile home in Mesa never came up I'm sure this was also in the back of her mind and contributed to her ornery attitude.
    Despite knowing that today will be a new day for her and she will probably remember nothing of yesterday's discomfort, despite knowing that she, too, is allowed days of multi-layered discomfort and grousing, despite everything, if I was doing this in the world of normal employment I'd be outta here and on my way to redesigning my life.
    Instead, since today's weather dictates another day of savory aromas and insulated comfort, I'll be serving her ham for breakfast, baking pumpkin cranberry muffins and individual beef pot pies, trying to coax her into actually making some of the cards she's been planning for the past few days, maybe playing some games with her, probably watching The Ten Commandments yet again (although, actually, I never mind this movie, I seem to always discover some new ultra-dramatic bit of dialogue or acting that renders the experience delightful) and hoping that, through me, she appreciates the wild, wet weather we're having.
    I've refused to mention Thanksgiving and she seems to have forgotten that it is less than a week away. My intention is not to make a big deal of it. I haven't decided whether I'll cook a special meal...I'm leaning toward not doing this. I'm also leaning toward a very modest, stay-at-home Christmas, as, the closer it gets the less I want to shuffle through making Christmas into a big production. I'm still not interested in honoring the inevitable "do it for Mom" dictate this year. Lately, not a day goes by but what I consider that, for all the advantages of having The Single One taking care of my mother, she probably would have been better off in a family setting despite what the medical profession might have done to her under the auspices of someone who wouldn't have been available to negotiate and refuse diagnoses and treatments.
    I'm not a good nurturer when I have to do it full time without any let-up and with very little time and absolutely no help to nurture myself. "You just do it," I recall my mother and my sisters saying many times with sometimes stubborn, sometimes humble overtones when describing their own super-human nurturing accomplishments. I'm getting to the place where I can't just do it anymore. I'm beginning to feel like consequences be damned. I'm experiencing this incredible thirst that threatens to kill me if I ignore it.
    I think about the possibility that after my mother dies I will feel great pride in a job well done, renewed by my accomplishments; then reality trashes the scenario. Immediately after my mother's death my entire life will be split into fourths, a quarter for me. I will be exhausted, without a home, without income, without a viable employment history for the previous 10+ years (assuming that my mother lives for a few to several more years). I will no doubt have to move and will not have the means to do so. I will probably lose my beloved cat. I will certainly lose most of my possessions, as well as my mother's which, realistically, have become mine, since they form the material spine of our home and our life. One of my sisters has offered to take me in until I "get on my feet" but this doesn't seem like a viable option for me, as it will involve not only my own internal up and at'em drive, but someone else's as well, and, frankly, I expect I won't feel like getting up and at'em at someone else's behest for awhile. I suspect, rather than feeling excitement that the possibilities are suddenly endless for me, I will feel inconsolably bereft and defeated. To hell with the idea that one makes one's own reality, to hell with lemonade. I'm beginning to understand not only the cooperative but the uncooperative effort that life is among humans. My transmission is being drained by the circumstances of intense caregiving. I think, when this is over, I'll be immovably low on fluid and my life will be too wrecked and expensive to fix.
    On days such as today, when the weather tosses everything about, my soul is normally revived. Today I note my difficulty in reveling in my usual way in wild weather and wonder if I've lost, to my mother's needs, my ability to storm my way out of any fortress.
    My mother is stirring. Time to continue...
    Later.

"Not last night but the night before..."

2004-11-19T10:25:00.001-07:00

...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 guess I've been taking a vacation from my vacation...

2004-11-18T01:33:00.000-07:00

...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.

I'm not sure why I'm back here, today...

2004-11-17T10:32:00.001-07:00

...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.

Oliveshit

2004-11-14T20:01:00.005-07:00

    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:

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.

...anyway, normally I take this constant coaching in stride but since November 1st I haven't wanted to play Sorry for both myself and my mother. So, I haven't.
    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.

After November 30th I certainly will continue with these journals about giving care to my mother more assiduously than I have this month, although I'm now thinking that I will probably not fill in all the stats I've recorded. I'll probably just pick up with December 1st's stats. It has, in fact, been a bit of a trial not to be able to find the time to write here, as I've often wanted to but have prioritized myself differently, this month.

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.

Well, folks, that's all for now. I'll be back here again, maybe not for another two weeks, but I'll be back. Know that I'm doing well, my mother is doing well, The Little Girl is doing well, our home is doing well, and we are all in good humor, not suffering any health crises, well fed and surprisingly relaxed.
Later. Probably much.

I could have lied...

2004-10-30T23:59:00.001-07:00

...when my mother remembered this year, today, in fact, after being reminded by the news that tomorrow is Halloween, that Halloween is also my birthday and said, "Well, we should go out to eat, then, celebrate." I could have lied and said, "Nah, I let's stay home and see if we get any trick or treaters," or that I simply wanted a quiet evening at home or something like that.
I didn't. The truth is that two weeks ago I was reminded of a small, local gourmet restaurant (that serves something besides "everybody's hometown" food or chain food or steaks) and thought, yeah, I'd like to go there, and my birthday would be the perfect time. Mom would like it, too. The restaurant has narrow hours so last week I made a reservation for tomorrow. Then, as the days continued, as I journeyed through my caregiving tasks which remain intense and continued avoiding some of them that would probably be beneficial but aren't absolutely necessary, avoiding them because I seem to have lost my motivation somewhere and haven't yet discovered where I last put it, I'd think about going to the restaurant and realized that, well, this is how the day would go:

The entire day would be focused on getting Mom ready to go out:
- Making sure she remembered, throughout the day, what we were planning on doing;
- Making sure that she was up enough, moved enough and her meals were spaced well enough so that her blood sugar didn't shoot too high and her medications and supplements were well spaced;
- Spending the two hours prior to leaving the house getting her ready and gently pushing her to cooperate;
- Getting the "emergency" bag together;
Negotiating her walker and her oxygen at the restaurant;
Keeping her mind on scanning the menu, leading her away from something that would leave its mark in her blood stream for 24 hours or more;
Trying to talk her out of having restaurant decaf coffee in order to avoid a sudden, disastrous bowel movement during dinner;
Picking her napkin off the floor several times;
Reminding her not to eat so much bread or other starchy accompaniment that she would decide not to eat her meal;
Possibly even having to take complimentary food away from her to ensure this;
Making sure no alcohol was served at our table
Shying away from dessert;
Spending so much time and energy making sure the experience was both well modulated and enjoyable for her that I would end up not caring what I ordered and probably not even eating much of it;
Feeling so exhausted by the effort of monitoring her experience that I would be impatient to leave long before she was ready;

    No, I decided, not on my birthday, not this year. I'm too tired to do that. Yesterday I cancelled the reservations. I'd not mentioned it to her, anyway, because I'd begun to have reservations (forgive the pun) immediately after calling the restaurant last week.
    When Mom remembered my birthday and suggested an on-the-town celebration, I said, no, and I told her why. Everything I wrote above, including that I didn't want to spend my birthday this year doing all that. I just don't.
    She was very disappointed. Saddened, even, although she forgot both quickly. I'm neither. My recovery from the intensity of August 1st through October 5th still isn't complete. As well, I have no idea when or how, I pulled the back of my left knee and that's been a bit of a trial although it's getting better, slowly, with the help of occasionally wearing a knee bandage and taking lots of ibuprofen. Staying off it is not an option.
    I don't know. I guess this last month and probably the next is my way of taking a vacation. Dropping things here and there like recording stats, recording in this journal, having Mom do therapy exercises, badgering her to stay up more, thinking of things to do to keep her up and engaged, making appointments for her for physical therapy and acupuncture, taking her with me when I go on errands...I've let all these fairly-non-essentials slide. Still, almost every waking moment is filled with observation of my mother, taking care of my mother. Very little is left for me. All the things that I did without a thought before are presently feeling, like, hmmm, like personal encroachments.
    A week or so ago it occurred to me that maybe I need to re-up my intake of Black Cohosh. That seems to have helped. I decided a week ago that during the month of November I'm going to work on a project that will take a fair amount of time each day and will be only for me. I've been preparing for it and am ready to go. Nothing, I know, nothing will deter me and maybe doing this will get me back on track, on all my tracks, happily, even my caregiving track. We'll see. I have more to write on this but I am very tired and am going to go to bed.
    I'm not much of a birthday person when it comes to celebration, etc. But this year for some reason, well, this year I could have used some sort of celebration that didn't involve keeping an eye on someone else, some sort of clear, unencumbered diversion. This year it's just not possible and, this year, I'm not taking it well.
    Later.

The marginally good news is that tonight I rubbed down my mother's legs and feet.

2004-10-23T00:53:00.000-07:00

    It's been over a month since I've been motivated to do this. I'm not sure why I did it, tonight, as, when I began, despite a 3.5 hour nap this afternoon which I sorely needed, I was still running at the low end of "short tempered and mean", which I've been, pretty much without let up, since, oh, I don't know, around the first of October.
    I thought I'd take all the endings well, giving myself some leeway to work through my grief over The Big Girl's death. But, that hasn't been the case. It's been very difficult for me to work through much of anything here, even (and maybe especially) with the four day visit from relatives. The visit, as I pronounced it, was, indeed, excellent for my mother. Visits from relatives always do her good. For me, well, it had its moments but, overall, it was torture.
    First, my mother lapsed into her typical "Let's Make Fun of Gail's Meticulous Concern About Me" routine and kept it up throughout the entire visit. Normally I take this well, even find it funny, as the visiting observers do, and I magnanimously understand that this outlet allows her to retain an important portion of her personal pride and dignity. Last weekend, even though I, at one time, tried hard to agree with my sister that my mother's routine was funny, cute and personally important, my irritation with it and hurt from it finally built to the point where, on Saturday night, when my mother joked to MPS, after I had, as usual, followed her to the bathroom to make sure she was personally clean and her underwear was changed, that she wanted to go home with MPS, I shot back, "Good idea. Please go home with her. I need a rest, both from taking care of you and enduring you playing my care of you for laughs when we have visitors." Everyone quickly dispersed from the dinner table. Including Mom and me.
    The worst series of distractions happened Saturday afternoon. I can't remember exactly what I was doing when the debacle began but, while I was distracted my mother headed into the bathroom to have a bowel movement. She had used a good half a roll of toilet paper to "clean" herself, which actually was an exercise in distributing shit even more profusely about her nether regions than her body manages to do without her help. She had, then, flushed the toilet, which clogged and overflowed as I ran into her exiting her bathroom, naked from the waist down and oblivious to the rush of shit infused water spilling onto the floor. I ushered her into the second bathroom and cleaned and redressed her, telling her that toilet paper was now banned from her bathroom, to which, having forgotten the disaster in the other bathroom, shocked and angered her. Once I dismissed her I started cleaning the soiled bathroom. Within minutes my niece appeared at the door to inform me that "Grandma" was "making herself something to eat". It was barely two hours after breakfast. I had informed both visitors several different times in a multitude of ways that, while they were free to eat whenever and whatever they wanted, "Grandma's" diet was under strict control, since I was now controlling her blood sugar chiefly by diet and I needed a certain amount of cooperation from them to make sure this worked. It seems that my niece had decided to make herself a sandwich and my mother, watching the fixings, decided this was a good idea, so she began preparing herself a mayonnaise sandwich. When my niece mentioned this to me I was on my knees on the bathroom floor up to my eyeballs (literally), in shitty water. I turned and snapped at her, "Then stop her! I obviously can't!" Within seconds I heard MPS climb down off her perch on the ladder, where she was kindly installing vertical blinds for us, and intervene. When I finally emerged from the bathroom I threw the offending sandwich away and reminded everyone (including my mother) that eating out of boredom was no longer an option for my mother.
    Company, it seems, is no longer an evenly mixed blessing for me. While I am always grateful for house renovations and for the lift in my mother's spirits from visitors, somehow or another, for the last couple of years, each visit ends with me being so exhausted from distraction that I inevitably end up offending someone in some way, sometimes even my mother.
    This particular visit came at an emotionally inopportune time for me, anyway. I was sure, when I assented to it, that, despite everything, including the personal difficulty I was having taking care of my mother and trying to soothe myself into a modicum of acceptance and closure over everything that took place throughout most of September and the first week of October, this visit would "work". I was wrong.
    Being the only caregiver to an Ancient One throws the caregiver into a touchy area with both family and friends. It is very diffcult to love people deeply and, at the same time, resent their presence when they visit, despite the benefits you know will accrue from the visit. It is even more difficult when you feel the heat from our society's WASP oriented women who wordlessly manage to communicate to you that, being parents, they understand perfectly what you're going through (they don't, unless they've taken close care of an Ancient One, but they won't believe this until they've taken care of an Ancient One). As well, if you're one of the caregivers to Ancient Ones who didn't marry or have children, that snide undercurrent is mixed with a smug backwash of "See, thought you'd escape it but you couldn't, could you?"
    Caregiving of all types, at least in this country among WASPs (and, maybe, other subcultures), exists in such an entrenched nasty atmosphere that we don't even realize how much it contributes to our relational problems as a society. We actually think much of our inability to relate to one another in mutually edifying ways is "natural". What a fucking sorry state we've gotten ourselves into.
    I'm going to bed.
    Later.

It's cold and cloudy today.

2004-10-18T10:10:00.000-07:00

    Although The Weather Channel is, as I write, pegging the current local temperature at 51, the thermometer posted outside our home at the coldest corner is showing 40. I was just outside retracking a screen door at the north side of our house. At our out-of-town elevation, t's considerably colder than 51.
    Yesterday ended a four day visit from MPS and her daughter. I'll write more about that later. Right now, I just want to restart my posting self. It's been awhile since I've posted regularly; over a month, I believe, since I've done anything with stats, both testing/food stats or exercise stats. I've been taking fairly regular testing stats, but the exercise sessions have gone by the wayside, for awhile, although an event on Saturday evening which I'll describe later alleviated some personal guilt in this area. We need to get back on track, though, of this I'm sure. Today will probably be an Ease Into It day because, although my mother didn't find it necessary to spend any more than a couple of hours recovering from the visit (which was an excellent visit but, in our household, all visits require recovery of some type), I'm still a little on edge and am needing a bit more time to wind down. Posting, today, I think, will help.
    No eggnog, yet, much to my dismay. I'm hoping someone will have it before my birthday on Halloween.
    I think it's going to be pretty much a stay at home day. The gray light may send Mom back to bed for several naps (once I rouse her, which will happen immediately after I post). I'm not going to fight this. I need some alone time, and I'm going to go ahead and take it.
    Later.

"...to talk of many things:"

2004-10-14T08:25:00.000-07:00

    I was surprised to hear President Bush, during the debates last night, suggest that not only should those invulnerable populations not seek flu shots at this time, but healthy seniors, as well, should put off being vaccinated. I thought this was interesting, considering that I'd already decided to forego having my mother wait in the interminably long, interminably uncomfortable lines continuing to form at those few facilities still offering the injections. Luckily, my mother is not challenged in the area of immune system health. As I determined last week, she would fall into the "healthy" category (see yesterday's post if your curious as to why I made this determination). I suspect, though, that a lot more "unhealthy" seniors (i.e., pulmonarily challenged seniors who can ill afford to "catch" something that might lead to pneumatic lungs) than "healthy" seniors will be refusing to submit themselves to the conditions one is required to negotiate at this time in order to be vaccinated. In the meantime, I have yet to hear of any other industrialized countries in the northern hemisphere experiencing the same shortage. Maybe they aren't. Maybe I simply haven't had the time required to seek out the information.

    Last night, as I was talking to MPS one last time before she and her daughter arrive today for a much and happily anticipated four day visit with us, without listing all the circumstances that have kept me busy and overwhelmed over the last almost-a-month (all of which she is aware), during a discussion of my need to hit Costco while they are here in order to pick up laundry softener, I mentioned that we are completely out and I had to use the small packet of softener that came with the new washer we were forced to purchase when our old washer finally gave up the ghost at the most inopportune time, while The Big Girl was in the middle of her mortal illness, spewing bodily fluids all over the place, and my mother was reacting to our every-other-day trips to Mesa to close out the sale of the mobile home by shedding water so profusely during the night and her naps that I was doing at least two loads of laundry every day, sometimes three.
    "I think you need a few more challenges," MPS joked.
    That's what I love about my sisters, they always have exactly the right perspective on situations, always know what to say to lift me out of my temporary-but-seemingly-permanent frenzies and put my circumstantial celebrations into perspective. All three of my sisters have a knack for this. It's the most valuable and appreciated support I receive.

    "I need a vacation," I blurted a couple of nights ago to my mother when the tension of the last few weeks hit fever pitch before beginning to subside.
    Bless my mother, without flinching she said, "Well then, take one. The Little Girl and I will be fine."
    I briefly considered agreeing and letting the matter disappear into the depths of her dementia. Those depths, though, assured that I could seek some small, expressive relief by telling the truth and count on the truth disappearing, as well. "I can't," I said. "Even if I took just a day off, really off, if I left you with someone I'd wonder, the whole time I was gone, if you were being ignored the way you were the last couple of times I stole a few hours to run some errands. I certainly couldn't leave you alone. I'd return to you and much of the house soaked in your urine, you wouldn't have bathed, or you might have decided to bathe in the tub and then been unable to get out, you wouldn't have tested yourself to monitor your medications, you wouldn't even remember to take your medications, The Little Girl wouldn't be given fresh food and water, chances are you wouldn't eat properly, you wouldn't use oxygen when you need it, at some point you'd forget what I was doing and become frantic wondering where I was and I'd return to twice as much work and chaos as I normally deal with."
    My mother didn't respond. By the time I finished my distressed litany I think she'd stopped listening. That's where I left it.
    The issue of "respite", as the emerging caregiver industry likes to sanitarily label it right now, isn't as simple as scolding caregivers to overcome their guilt and go for it regardless of the consequences. It isn't as simple as putting the oxygen mask over yourself before you put it over your child. It isn't, as I discovered, even as simple as meticulously interviewing and checking the references of potential substitutes. When will the bulk of our society figure out that if we want our caregivers to enjoy and benefit from worry free respite we have to be closely involved with the caregiver, his/her tasks and responsibilities and the nature of his/her charge from day one; we have to take a hand in doing the groundwork to make that "respite" both possible and worry-free; and we have to stop blaming the caregiver for not handling, both emotionally and circumstantially the matter of "respite" on their own?????

    For the past couple of months I've been winking at and trading wits with a man I frequently meet as I perform my out-of-home errands, both with and without my mother. Yesterday, through an undercurrent of excitement, we both acknowledged what we've been doing.
    "Are you flirting with me?" he playfully challenged.
    "It's mutual," I said. We both grinned. Then, without thinking, I added, "You don't need to worry, though. I'm so overwhelmed with the care of my mother and our life that I can't even imagine where I'd find the time or the physical, emotional and mental space to be anymore involved with you than I am, right now."
    Oops. His eyes widened. His eyebrows shot up. We suffered a moment of awkward silence. I was lucky. He recovered almost immediately. His entire aspect softened and he said, "You never know. Maybe we could work something out."
    Since both of us were unsure of ourselves and I was on a strict time schedule, we left it at that.
    Maybe. Maybe my luck will change in this area. Maybe I've bumped into one of the few men who doesn't feel that the bulk of relationship nurturing is the woman's domain and won't be overwhelmed by my commitment to my mother. I'd like to think so.
    I also enjoy imagining that pigs, do, indeed, have wings.

Flu Shot Shuffle

2004-10-13T10:17:00.000-07:00

    Late last week (can't remember for sure which day) my mother and I, after debating whether to try, at this point, to seek out a flu vaccine for her, heard that one of the usual fall flu shot destinations up here (which shall remain nameless) was advertising that it had gotten its hands on a "limited amount" of flu vaccine,after having previously advertised that it would be canceling its flu shot program until further notice. The "vulnerable populations" were urged to show up the following morning when the shots would be available, beginning at 0900. It was estimated that the available vaccine would be completely distributed by or before noon, so early attendance was urged.
    "I suppose we'd better go," my mother said.
    "There'll probably be a long line, a long wait. Are you up for that?"
    "I don't see that I have a choice."
    "Okay," I agreed, "I'll get you up early, get you ready and we'll go."
    As those of you who read this regularly know, preparing my mother for the day takes a good couple of hours. I factored this in. I awoke her at 0600 to her protests, which I muffled by reminding her that we were going for a flu shot. By 0830 we were out the door with my mother's walker, wheelchair (upon which I insisted, telling her that there was no way I could see that she was going to be able to stand for a couple of hours), oxygen (in case the cold caused shallow breathing) and her bundled against the early morning fall mountain cold.
    We arrived at the store a bit more than 15 minutes before the shot start time. The line for shots was already out the door and along the front of the store. We were close to the western corner of the front of the store. By 0900 the line had formed around that corner and about halfway down the northwestern wall. The line consisted of mostly elderly, with a sprinkling of mothers with babies and toddlers in tow. Although the news story the previous night had noted that at another store volunteers had set up shop to provide free water, coffee, doughnuts and sandwiches for those in line, as well as "some chairs" for those who were not capable of standing for long periods of time, there were no such volunteers or amenities at this location.
    We waited. And waited. And waited. The line didn't move. At about 0945 an employee of the store's pharmacy department, clad in a white coat, moved down the line to inform us that the promised vaccine hadn't yet arrived but was on its way. By this, time, out of curiosity, I left my mother in line talking to our immediate neighbors and went around the store to see where it ended. I'd already noticed that people were parking not only along the street but across it in a parking lot owned by another business. The line, by that time, had formed around the back of the store.
    By 1015 we still hadn't moved. Some people in line had already left, but apparently not anyone before us. The mood was not exactly upbeat, but neither was it dour. Seniors are a psychologically hardy bunch.
    Maybe 15 minutes later I noticed a familiar smell coming from my mother. She'd had a bowel movement while sitting in the wheel chair. I leaned over, informed her of this, told her I'd brought supplies for this contingency and asked our immediate queue neighbors if they'd save our place in line if we left so I could clean her. They agreed. On a hunch, though, I decided to leave her in place while I searched out the store bathrooms, figuring that there might be a slight wait there, as well, to secure a stall. It was easy to spot the bathrooms. Both the men's and the women's had lines that snaked along the merchandise racks and around a corner. Some of the people standing in line were in clear distress. One man had wet his pants.
    I did some quick figuring. At this rate, it would be a good half hour, if we were lucky, before I would be able to even begin cleaning my mother. I could get her home in 10 minutes. I trotted through the store to where the vaccination line began and noticed that although there was a table set up and a few white coated employees shuffling the forms that are required to document the administration of the shots, still, no shots were being given. No, I decided, I'm taking her home. Sitting in her shit for a good half hour or more then waiting for who knows how many hours for a vaccination was not a viable option. I packed my mother, her walker and oxygen (which she wasn't, at the moment, using) and our supplies up told my mother I was taking her home to clean her up.
    "Good," she said. "If I get the flu this year it will probably be easier to handle than this." She wasn't referring to her bowel accident, with which she was comfortable, but her discomfort, which included the chill she'd caught despite me bundling her so thoroughly that she looked like an Arctic nomad.
    In the evening we heard that most of the people who had arrived at the location were still waiting in line well after noon for a shot. Finally, as well, there was not enough vaccine to distribute to all who had come. If we'd stayed my mother probably would have been vaccinated, since we were fairly close to the entrance of the store, but we probably also would have been there all day. She would have missed most of her medications and at least one balanced meal, including her critical antibiotic for yet another UTI which she contracted early last week. And, she would have shivered for hours.
    If she contracts the flu this year it probably won't be as easy as she thinks. But, now that she's no longer a smoker her chances of complications are less, at least. As well, she doesn't come into contact with that many people, lessening her chances of infection, as well. Over the last four years all her illnesses have been traceable to her injuries, anemia and physical conditions unrelated to airborne viruses and bacteria. I'm gambling that she'll be okay.
    I have a call into her doctor in Mesa. The office has promised to let us know if and when flu vaccine becomes available to them. In the meantime I've called the veteran's hospital up here and continue to get the run around from them which involves my mother's ineligibility for any kind of treatment since she hasn't been seen in a veteran's facility since 1996. My mother continues, each time the evening news mentions the shortage of flu vaccine, to mention that she needs a flu shot. I remind her of the debacle we experienced last week and she says, "We'll wait until it's easier." This, of course, is my intention.
    I keep up with the information on this flu vaccine problem this year. The truth is, I find it awfully convenient that yet another reason for general panic has been orchestrated just before an election in which the incumbent president's profile becomes more and more questionable by the day, his desperation for reelection is so pronounced one can smell it and, without continuing to attempt to instill a variety of amorphous, often unfounded fears within the general U. S. populace he probably wouldn't have even been nominated by his party, this year. Does his administration really believe that it is going to help his case if he endangers the health and lives of his constituents?
    I have absolutely no solid basis for my suspicions. Certainly, nothing in the media reportage leads me to believe that this national health problem is a result of devious administrative manufacturing rather than faulty health product manufacturing. But, you know, it all just seems so typical of the years we've spent under the Bush administration. What if this crisis is either "solved" by the Bush administration just before the election, or, what if the Bush administration decides to use it to convince the electorate that a change in administration would, at this time, be foolhardy? Will this work? Actually, I don't think so. I think, and hope, that it's a little too late in the game for Bush, that most of us are tired of attempts at making us fearful of unidentifiable bogeymen and life, in general. But, you never know.
    In the meantime, I wonder how many other caregivers of the elderly, as well as those elderly taking care of themselves, are running into the same problems negotiating receiving the flu vaccine this year that my mother and I are having. I'm not afraid, I'm angry. I feel as though my mother and I are being duped at the behest of a desperate administration. So, we'll tough it out. And I'll vote for a new administration this year.
    It all seems so convenient...

Soul Peace - Environmental Peace

2004-10-11T07:43:00.000-07:00

    From 1995 - 1996 I worked for the U.S. Interim Census effort as an administrative assistant, which meant I largely stayed in the office fielding calls, organizing the dispatch of field workers and participating in the initial compilation of the statistics being collected in the huge tablets used by the door-to-door Census takers. Because the door-to-door job was the type that attracted a certain type of personality, absenteeism was a rare occurrence. One day, though, one of our star field workers called in sick, saying that she'd had to put down her beloved dog the day before and needed a day to "register the loss". I reported her absence to her supervisor, a no-nonsense woman from a stalwart truck-farming family in the southeast valley. She scoffed. Being one of two heads of a family with a variety of working and family pets, all of whom she insisted were beloved, she felt the woman was "going overboard" in her reaction to her pet's death and was probably using it as an excuse for an extra day off. The Director of the Arizona Interim Census effort disagreed, luckily, and disallowed the supervisor from firing her. "Give her the day," I remember him saying. "It'll take her longer than that to come to terms with her dog's death. She's doing us a favor by taking off only one day. She doesn't need to be harassed about it."
    My reaction, at the time, was reserved. The truth is, I could see the supervisor's point, having been raised by a woman whose spirit was much like hers: Pets die. People die. The rest of us continue until we die. Get over it and move on or life will leave you behind. I could also hear the extreme sadness choking the census taker's voice and knew that she wasn't "faking it". I had not, though, ever experienced the loss or death of a pet that had temporarily paralyzed me, so I was glad I was not in the position to make a determination about whether to keep an employee based on her reaction to the death of a pet.
    Now, I understand what that field worker was experiencing. Within 24 hours of my optimistic pronouncement, here, that I was taking The Big Girl's death well, sadness began slamming me square across the chest repeatedly and unpredictably. It has affected everything in my life including the way I've ordered our days since last Tuesday, my attitude toward everything that comes across my path, the way I relate to everyone in my life, including my mother. I have been caught completely by surprise by my reactions to this sweet, shy cat's death. It has been especially difficult for me to "process" (as MFASRF puts it) The Big Girl's death, since I live with a woman who is not prone to grief and is at a stage in her life when the past disappears as quickly as a minute, the future is non-existent and the present and what it contains is the only reality. Still, I find that I'm not at all bound to apologize to anyone for the way this death is affecting me. I made the decision, last Thursday, not to push myself, even though my loss of energy and sense of emotional isolation have ordered our small(er) family's days since then. I have, for instance, allowed my mother to sleep as much as she wants and continued the temporary cancellation of her therapy exercises which began when I realized that, between our every-other-day trips to Mesa and negotiating The Big Girl's sudden and extreme illness and care I needed to steal time, here and there, from what had previously been daily routines to deep breathe myself back to a shaky sense of competence over those routines that were absolutely necessary. The many activities that suffered were also the taking of my mother's stats (pretty much taken twice rather than three times a day), the bubbly encouragement and attention usually paid to my mother and my frequent reporting on my mother and me in the variety of journals I've set up here for that purpose.
    The only circumstance that seems not to have flagged, that has, in fact, developed at a soul enhancing rate, is a sense that we are now, finally, at home, at our only home. "Environmental Peace" is what I called it in a recent e to a business associate in the Valley with whom I've had to negotiate the return of pulmonary equipment since our switch for convenience, 4 weeks ago, to a local provider. A couple of days ago, while applying myself without resistance to a need to reset and reorder this Prescott house, I realized, with much internal satisfaction, that I am finally "making a home" for us and seeing to it that we settle in.
    Previous to our sale of the Mesa home, despite my life long belief that "home" is a spiritual quality, not a physical place, homemaking for my mother, our cats and me was undermined by a constant need to keep the one home and our eventual move to it on my mental back burner while negotiating our living in the other. As soon as we touched base in one area, I'd begin cataloging all the items and circumstances that would, in six months or so, need to be once again transferred and handling life in the one to make sure the upcoming, inevitable move went as smoothly as possible. I don't have to do this, anymore. The relief is beyond what I experienced during the consolidation. I am a newly reinitiated homemaker and head of household, positions I realized I haven't held for 10 years. I am infused with a sense of power over our lives which is making it both easy and satisfying for me to finally direct our home and my mother's care and affairs with a startling confidence I never thought would be available to me.
    I continue to be very sad that The Big Girl isn't here to reap the benefits of my newfound ownership over our life. I know she would have appreciated it, especially since, having been the very sick cat that she was (post mortem results to follow) she suffered the most from the month long upheaval that was necessary to complete the consolidation. But, even in the depths of my continued sadness over her death and absence, I'm confident that the environmental peace quickly descending upon our household bodes nothing but good things for us in the future.
    Every time, over the past 10 years, we moved from one home to another, at the end of the move my mother would make a sturdy pronouncement in which I have been unable to share until now: "It feels good to be home."
    Yes it does, finally, yes, it feels wonderful for me. I know that it will feel wonderful to our home, too, for us to be here with a sense of place, peace and permanence that have eluded me, and, thus, in one way or another, my immediate family for much too long.

The Big Girl's Post Mortem (for those of you who are as familiar with the furry members of our household as you are with my mother and me)
    Our vet asked, just prior to The Big Girl's euthanasia, to be allowed to "respectfully" do a post mortem on her, to which I enthusiastically agreed. The results were sobering. The Big Girl's pancreas was so shriveled and dissolute as to be non-existent. Her liver was not nearly as fatty as the vet suspected but definitely and most likely permanently inflamed. The only treatment for a non-functioning pancreas and a challenged liver is prednizone, which, in a diabetic, whether cat or human, is extremely problematic. My decision, our vet confirmed, to euthanize The Big Girl, was a wise one. There was very little hope that she would have been able, even with treatment, to withstand her illness for very much longer. As well, considering how quickly she died from the overdose of anesthetic administered to activate her death, it was almost certain that she would not have survived the operation to insert the feeding tube. The Big Girl was much, much closer to death than either the vet or I suspected.
    My immediate reaction to this news, knowing that "stress" is one of the causes of pancreatitis in cats, was that The Big Girl had, throughout her life, literally stressed herself to death. The vet immediately disavowed me of this notion. The origin, she said, of this type of pancreatitis in cats is of unknown origin but not attributable to chronic stress. The Big Girl did absolutely live with this condition throughout her life. When I told the vet that, even so, I wish I had taken The Big Girl's vomiting more seriously earlier, she told me that, considering that The Big Girl's heart and lungs were fine at the time of her death and all other significators (her appetite, her sense of thirst, her energy level, the condition of her teeth, her diet, her ability to negotiate life in our home, her shyness and sense of disruption every time we had a visitors and, as well, her vomiting, which, despite its frequency always contained hairballs and was well within the range of a cat who exhibits stress vomiting) were normal. Thus, until she exhibited exactly the symptoms which signaled to me that she immediately needed intensive medical treatment, even the vet would not have recommended anything more (a blood panel, for instance, which would have alerted us to her physical problems but which is not normal procedure) during her "well cat" vet visits.
    I did, however, immediately take The Little Girl in for a complete blood panel to discover whether she is harboring any silent condition that could develop mortal problems later. I have no reason to suspect this is true but, well, once burned twice shy. We have not yet received the results. I expect, tomorrow, to learn that The Little Girl is in fine shape and will be with us for a long time to come. In the meantime, The Little Girl is reveling in her position as undisputed Queen of the Household, with deference to the Senior Honorary Cat Queen Mother, Mom.

    I am planning on reinstating my mother's exercise therapy sessions either today or tomorrow, depending on the trajectory of her recovery from yet another urinary tract infection (more on that later). I broke a bone in one of my toes the night before last jamming it accidentally into one of the pieces of furniture I was moving, but I seem to not be experiencing any debilitation and only a little pain when I insist on wiggling my toes. We are all looking forward to a visit with MPS and her daughter beginning later this week and extending through the weekend. The Big Girl remains a blessing presence in our household, I'm still experiencing waves of sadness, alone among the members of our family, and, overall, life here is beginning to straighten from the severe twists we recently experienced. To those of you who count on my regular, almost daily reports to keep you informed of how my mother and the rest of us are doing, I apologize for the break, but expect everything to settle into a new, energetically peaceful normal shortly.
    Sooner than later.

There have been many difficult aspects surrounding my final decision yesterday...

2004-10-06T14:52:00.000-07:00

...to euthanize The Big Girl but the most difficult by far has been dealing with my mother through the process of The Big Girl's illness and final, human engineered demise yesterday afternoon instead of having an esophageal feeding tube inserted.
    As you know from the previous post, my mother has been having a difficult time with the concept of killing The Big Girl kindly. I thought I recalled, previous to our protracted discussion mentioned below, that she was not at all squeamish about putting pets down. I remember at least four of our family pets that were euthanized, one of which MFS and I handled. I don't recall my mother ever protesting these decisions, which were always necessary. I also assume she was one of the family members who made the decisions. I'm not clear enough, yet, of The Big Girl's death to spend time considering why the idea of euthanizing her was so hard for my mother to take that she reversed what I assume was a lifelong pact with euthanization. Monday night, however, when The Little Girl decided she could no longer tolerate The Big Girl's decline and I realized that separation in this small home, while protecting The Big Girl from attacks, did not protect her from the stress of The Little Girl's continually voiced antipathy and did not bode well for healing even with a feeding tube combined with everything else going on with The Big Girl and extra information I solicited from the vet about what we could expect if we chose to allow The Big Girl to die at home in her own time, I reversed my decision about the feeding tube insertion and decided it was time to put The Big Girl down. My mother wearily agreed.
    Throughout Tuesday, prior to me taking The Big Girl in (and, finally, out), my mother could not remember from moment to moment that The Big Girl was very ill, that she had been undergoing (and usually fighting) intensive treatment both at home and during frequent vet visits during the last week and that I was taking her in to hasten her death that afternoon. She did remember that "something" was going on with The Big Girl, thus she spent the entire day up to the time I left peppering me with the same questions and repeatedly expressing shocked surprise and dismay about what was to happen to The Big Girl at 1500 yesterday afternoon. Whereas on Monday I finally tired of repeating everything to my mother, yesterday I felt an obligation to go over the facts, my decision, my reasons and the upcoming death drama each time she required the information. It was torturous.
    Since The Big Girl's death, though, my mother has been undisturbed. I thought I'd need to remind her several times but this hasn't been the case. She not only remembers "what happened to The Big Girl" but is beginning to recall details of The Big Girl's almost two week health plight and is now at peace with my decision.
    She is nowhere near as emotional about it as I am. I tend to grieve ahead of time. I have, for instance, throughout the last 10 years, already completed a large portion of grieving over my mother's death even though there is no indication that she will die any time soon. Most of my grieving over The Big Girl's death was done by the time a vein was found (most of The Big Girl's veins hadn't yet recovered from the IVs and shots during her hospital stay), the serum was injected and The Big Girl's pupils blew (yes, I attended the death). The only part of the grieving process left for me are the spasms of teary sadness I'm experiencing as the normal events of yesterday evening and today repeatedly bring forward the realization that The Big Girl, who was my shadow, is gone, she won't be growing into her eccentric old age in our home and how much I miss her. My mother, as tends to be characteristic of her and which characteristic she recovered by the time I returned from putting down The Big Girl, finds my convulsions of missing The Big Girl just this side of ludicrous. I'm grateful that she is handling the entire experience so well, but, frankly, I also wish there existed, within my household, an avenue through which I could express my feelings and exhaustion over the entire Big Girl ordeal and receive some informed sympathy. The lack of such is also very hard.
    My mother is, however, a lively companion when it comes to remembering The Big Girl and talking about her, which I appreciate. Here's the best of these heart healing moments, excerpted from a very recently written e to MFASRF:

    Last night my mother could not resist yet another "pet psychic" observation. "Do you suppose," she asked, "that The Big Girl is visiting us and talking to The Little Girl?"
    I laughed. "If she is," I said, "I'll bet she's not giving up her self-appointed position as The Little Girl's malicious mentor. She's probably telling her, 'See? If you don't straighten up and become a half-way decent cat, this is what Gail's going to do to you!'"
    My mother gasped. "You don't suppose that's what she believes, do you?"
    "No," I said, "but that's what she'd like The Little Girl to believe. But don't worry. It was a major stress of The Big Girl's life that The Little Girl never believed anything she said."
    My mother nodded and finally laughed. "You're right," she agreed. "She was a character, that's for sure."
    As she remains.

    Ah, endings. We've had too many sudden, traumatic endings in too short a period of time. I'm ready for some beginnings, some renewals. I hope my mother is, too.

The Truth about Cats and Moms (and Me)

2004-10-04T13:28:00.000-07:00

    After a very long session with our very patient, excellent vet, I've decided to have an esophageal feeding tube installed in The Big Girl tomorrow. The procedure is a temporary measure to insure that The Big Girl receives enough nutrition and medication to turn the tide on her fatty liver, the cure for which is to eat, which The Big Girl is accomplishing at only a below moderate level. Day by day over this weekend she has appeared to me to be reviving but not fast enough to reverse any of her conditions. Depending on how quickly The Big Girl returns to a normal weight and begins to recover from her pancreatitis, her diabetes (which the vet believes is temporary) and her fatty liver, the feeding tube could remain bandaged to her neck for anywhere from a week to a month. Although I'm sure that The Big Girl's pancreatitis (and her attendant diabetes) is due to her ability to stress herself over the slightest things, I was mystified regarding the cause of her fatty liver until I explained to the vet today exactly the extent of her ability to stress herself out. The vet said that in a cat such as The Big Girl who is fed an excellent diet and is otherwise well cared for her periodic and frequent refusal to eat and hydrate when she becomes stressed can very easily cause this syndrome. I also asked the vet whether there exists some sort of pet approved psycho-pharmaceutical that might help The Big Girl lower her stress level. There is such a product, a natural herb tincture, the name of which escapes me at the moment, available at a natural food store here, that does have a calming effect on animals with The Big Girl's temperament. The vet is going to email me with this information along with a proposal she is drafting for continued professional care of The Big Girl. I'm choosing a conservative approach with slight modifications depending on how she does. The vet is going to write up and suggest several options. Interestingly, when I mentioned that I expected The Big Girl to require fairly frequent and intense veterinary care for the rest of her life the vet said she felt exactly the opposite and that once we control this particular crisis, which shouldn't take long, considering The Big Girl's desire to live, The Big Girl and I can both expect for her a life as care-free as a normal, healthy cat, provided we can get her stress level under control. The insertion of the feeding tube tomorrow will also include a liver aspiration/biopsy so the vet can see what's going on with her liver and whether her hunch that "all" she's suffering from, hepatically, is a fatty liver," is correct. She's been on target with all her hunches so far, so I'm expecting good news tomorrow.
    My mother's distress over the involved treatment of The Big Girl continues and is compounded by her short term memory loss. After explaining three times between 0745 and 0900 why I was taking The Big Girl back to the vet today, when she asked a fourth time I said, "Mom, you know, I'm very sorry that you can't remember what I've told you about this three times already this morning but I don't want to repeat it again, nor answer your questions again. You'll just have to trust me that I'm doing the right thing by The Big Girl and that we are solvent enough to be able to afford her care." Her brow wrinkled but she accepted what I said. Amazingly, she did not ask again.
    She does, however, continue to recall as fresh information my aborted decision to euthanize The Big Girl. We've had two extended discussions on this topic, one last night and one this morning. Her feelings are that while people can before or at the critical time express their desires about whether or not they wish to be euthanized, domestic animals cannot. "They trust us," she said, "and putting them to sleep without being able to determine whether this is what they want is an abuse of that trust."
    I could not let the discussion go without a specific plumbing of more of her thoughts. I asked her if she thought that it was difficult to determine whether an animal was suffering.
    "No," she answered.
    In that case, I asked, was she saying that she believes it is preferable to allow an animal to suffer when there is no remedy than to end the suffering.
    "Well," she said, "maybe it isn't as easy as we think to tell how much an animal is suffering."
    I asked her if she thought I am incapable of determining whether either of our Girls was suffering.
    "You were wrong Saturday, so I'm not sure."
    I reminded her that when I realized I was wrong I changed my mind. Had this not make an impression on her?
    Yes, she said, it had, but she is still concerned that "people" tend to interpret their own convenience as the suffering of an animal, thus put animals down when "the animal still has a chance".
    "Are you saying," I asked, alarmed, "that you think my internal debate over whether to put The Big Girl down and my final decision, which I reversed, were based on my convenience?"
    The gravity of her possible answer registered in her face. She was silent for some moments, then said, "I don't know."
    "You've watched me over the last week or so take intense care of The Big Girl, care, I might add, which The Big Girl, for the most part, was unwilling to accept. You've watched the struggles that have ensued. You've watched me doggedly search out information and agonize over it in order to make the right decision on behalf of The Big Girl. You've watched me reverse decisions more than once. Do you believe that any of this was 'convenient' for me to do?"
    Once again she was silent while she contemplated what I'd said. I could tell that she was trying hard to remember all the images she'd gathered over the last week plus of me being so concentrated on The Big Girl that my expressions of affection and assurance toward The Little Girl lagged, my ability to finish the sale of the Mesa home was pressured beyond belief and my care of my mother fell a bit left of my target.
    "No, you're right, it wasn't. It hasn't been convenient for any of us."
    I sighed my relief. "I know, it hasn't been. From now on," I said, "I think it might be a good idea if you trust me to make appropriate decisions about The Girls' health care. You trust me to make these decisions about your own health care. Do you believe your trust has been well placed?"
    "Absolutely. I trust you over the doctors."
    "Then believe me, Mom, when I tell you my love for The Girls is in the same category as my love for you."
    "I know."
    "The only difference is the mode I have to use to make decisions. I can't consult with The Girls in the same way I can consult with you. I can't, for instance, after noticing that something seems to be off, ask them 'where it hurts'. Sometimes I have to be even more vigilant of them than of you in order to figure out whether professional care is necessary, what kind is advisable and whether that care will turn out to be beside the point or cause even more problems. Do you trust me to do this with The Girls with the same level of astuteness as I do with you?"
    "Oh, yes."
    Finally I asked, "Mom, if I had determined, irrevocably, that The Big Girl needed to be euthanized on Saturday, would you have resented me for that decision?"
    Once again she had to think about this. "I wouldn't have resented you," she said carefully, "I would have resented your decision."
    "Let me explain something to you, Mom. You saying this is akin to someone saying to, for instance, an artist, 'I'm not rejecting you, I'm rejecting your work.' The truth is that a person's work is that person. So is a person's judgment. I don't care that the prevailing feel-good theory is 'it's not you, it's what you do', that theory is a lie. We are all no more and no less than what we do. All of us face rejection and all of us have more than enough opportunities to learn how to get over it and go on. So you can't duck the question with a platitude, not with me, anyway. Let me see if you agree with this: Do you believe that I'm capable of making sound decisions across the board?"
    "Yes."
    "Do you believe that I'm capable of seeing my decisions through and taking responsibility for them regardless of whether anyone else agrees with me?"
    She laughed. She has seen me make very unpopular and highly challenged decisions many times in my life and many times on her behalf. "No question!"
    "Then," I asked, "do you feel that regardless of whether you resent my decisions, and, thus, me, I am capable of seeing to it that my decisions make the best of whatever situations in which we find ourselves?"
    I expected hesitation but I was wrong. "Yes. I'm sure of that."

    The ultimate importance of the two versions of the above discussion we had isn't whether The Big Girl is allowed to live through the weekend. The month of September contained yet another life altering decision I made on our behalf that my mother found stressful and did not always consider wise: The sale of our mobile home in Mesa. It is now beyond her to understand that we haven't been able to afford that home for almost two years. Throughout the last month Mom has had periods of trying to figure, in her now limited capacity, how we could keep both places. She has no understanding of how difficult it has been, both financially and circumstantially, for me to negotiate us living in both places. She does not even remember that her health has "stuck" us in one or the other of the homes when our enforced stays have been convenient medically but wildly inconvenient from every other perspective of our life. She ultimately had (and has) to trust that my decision on selling the Mesa home is the best for our family. She did so grudgingly and under protest. She continues in some ways to protest and grieve this loss. The two discussions we had gave her a chance to consider that I do not lightly beset us with loss and the possibility of grief. I do not make a decision that involves a loss for us without first going to sometimes ridiculous lengths to retain whatever it is we stand to lose. I am not incapable, as well, having made such a decision, of reversing it if the circumstances warrant. Now that she's considered these aspects of my ability to care for our family I think it will be easier for me to handle our life without undue stress to my mother. She may not remember the discussions but I think, somewhere in the depths of her psyche, she will remember that she came to a settlement within herself that I can be trusted to handle our life to best effect for both of us. This is what is important.

The Big Girl remains very ill. The Mom is recuperating from our many trips up and down the mountain.

2004-10-04T07:07:00.000-07:00

    It's been a week and a day since I've written here but only a matter of hours since I've wanted to write. Life has demanded my attention in other directions.
    My mother's blood pressure is on the high side. I'm sure that it is a reaction to our incessant trips to close out and sell the Mesa home, the last of which was Friday. Although she sometimes forgets The Big Girl's distress she is reacting to this, as well, especially since we are now at the point of reevaluating The Big Girl's treatment and I am trying to decide on an hour by hour basis whether to put The Big Girl down. My mother is very uncomfortable with the idea of pet euthanization, which is funny because she is not adverse to human euthanization. I try not to discuss the matter with her but sometimes, when The Big Girl comes out to be with the family then exhibits some sort of behavior or symptom that appears to make it clear that she hasn't much more time with us, my mother is reminded of her plight and euthanization once again becomes the topic of discussion and of Mom's distress.
    Mom is retaining a little fluid, especially evident in her feet. I began controlling this with a low dose of furosemide yesterday, which worked fairly well but may not have been high enough to handle the entire problem. I'll be reevaluating the dose today.
    I made an appointment to put The Big Girl down on Saturday at 1430 p.m. In order to accomplish this and accede to my mother's wishes that she not be asked to accompany us to the death chamber, I put The Big Girl in her cage at 1400 and prepared Mom for a nap. At 1410, once Mom was down, I decided to take The Big Girl, in her cage, out into our very sunny living room so she could enjoy one of her favorite things for the last minutes that she remained in our home. By the time I entered my bedroom where her cage was sitting she was pushing back the upper last lock on her cage with her head and crawling out the top. At that point it was beyond me to put her down. I decided to simply allow her to continue, throughout the weekend here at home, doing whatever she wants without the added torture of trying to force feed her and force medication down her throat. Friday evening's feeding and medication session were so torturous for her that my mother finally pleaded with me to stop and leave her alone, which I gladly did. She is still eating and drinking far too little, even of the people food I am preparing for her to tempt her to eat. Her spirit, however, remains strong and she goes about enjoying her favorite activities in a luxurious manner. Each night when we all retire I expect that she will be dead by morning. Each morning she awakens before I do and accompanies The Little Girl and me out to the kitchen to prepare for the day. If necessary, my intention, at this point, is to allow her to either recover or die in her own home at her desire.
    Time to shower before I awaken The Mom and get her day started. For awhile my reports here may be few and far between but I'll try to report the important goings on in a timely manner.

The Big Girl is not doing well.

2004-09-26T17:39:00.000-07:00

    She is, it has been determined, diabetic and has apparently been so long enough so that she is experiencing severe ketosis. This affects both her liver and her pancreas, but is not the only problem. They remain inflamed, she remains very, very ill and in the hospital, is beginning to vomit up even the forced feedings and the by-pill antibiotics with which the vet attempted to dose her this morning and continues to do far better on IV fluids than forced hydration by mouth. She is officially jaundiced. If she survives this she will need a feeding tube, most likely esophageal, for the rest of her life. If she were to return home she would also need to be kept separate from The Little Girl, our other cat, for the rest of her life and the only way we'd be able to accomplish this is by constructing a living cage somewhere in the house, thus, my feeling is that if she recovers she will not be able to return home to us. This contingency creates another problem, that of finding someone who will fall in love with The Big Girl and provide a home that suits her. Aside from what will be her medical requirements, she is a "difficult" cat in the sense that she is not just a one family cat but a one person cat. As a cat who now needs a feeding tube she would have to be the only pet in the home.
    I've always been pleased that our vet is not a fan of putting animals down if treatment and a change in living conditions can allow them a satisfactory quality of life. Now that The Big Girl is in the hot seat, though, because of the peculiarities of her character, the fact that she can no longer live with us (unless we find another home for The Little Girl and that is out of the question) and, as the vet more or less admitted, the difficulty we will probably have finding another home and love for her, I'm leaning toward putting her down while our vet is going to almost bizarre extremes to try to avoid this. I'm giving the decision time, hour by hour, as I would like to think that The Big Girl, after this particular experience, may be amenable to changing her extremely strong character and decide she is able to bond easily with just the right person (assuming the right person can be found). When I visited The Big Girl today, though, I got the distinct impression that she is tired and would like an end to all the illness and the troublesome medical care. Luckily, when she is sick she is docile and will let anyone pet her and care for her. When she is well, though, she does not even let me hold her and I am her polestar. She is, at least before she became ill, not at all interested in other people coming into our life, either briefly or long term. She loves to be petted, brushed and loves to snuggle but absolutely hates being fussed over. Not a good prognosis for an alternate existence in this system.
    Although it would seem beside the point to be writing about The Big Girl in a journal about my mother and me, The Big Girl's illness has affected my mother. She continues to "see" The Big Girl in her peripheral vision (as do I). She also thinks that The Big Girl is visiting someone other than the vet and has to be reminded that she is ill and in the animal hospital. Throughout the day my mother continues to ask, as is her habit when one of The Girls is sequestered in a Sacred Nap, "Where's The Big Girl?" I have reminded her more than I care to count of all the details of The Big Girl's whereabouts and whyabouts. Each time I do yet another pall descends over our home and we find ourselves reliving, afresh, The Big Girl's predicament and its affect on us. In order to get a fresh personal perspective on what would be best for The Big Girl I've avoided telling her that my belief is that it would be best for her to put her down. As it turns out, my mother, for reasons identical to mine, also believes putting The Big Girl Down would be best. Once she expressed this, sadly and with a display of emotion I rarely see from her, I reminded her that the other option, if she appears to begin to recover from what is happening within her body, is to try to find someone who would fall in love with The Big Girl and convince her to reciprocally fall in love.
    "I don't think that would work for The Big Girl. It would for The Little Girl, she's sociable and adaptable (marginally, anyway). The Big Girl isn't. Passing her on to someone else would be torture before the inevitable."
    Exactly my feeling. I'd like to think I'm wrong, that The Big Girl would adapt, but it is becoming successively harder for me to believe this, especially now that my mother has expressed the same impression I have of The Big Girl's chances for a quality of life acceptable to her.
    So we are plodding a bit today. Tomorrow is Move the Goods Day. We'll be in Mesa most of the day busily emptying our Mesa house and meditating on The Big Girl.

...and then a nuclear blast cloud mushroomed on the horizon...

2004-09-25T05:27:00.001-07:00

...and everyone in the car (me as driver, MPS & BIL, Odo from Star Trek: Deep Space Nine in his Bajoran security uniform and some other character from the Star Trek multi-series whom I didn't recognize in an equally unrecognizable uniform) blurted their version of, "Oh, shit."
    That is the dream from which I awoke this morning. As I recall from the dream, those of us in the car were not expecting the nuclear blast. We were all proceeding somewhere benign from an equally benign seminar held in a large auditorium in the Phoenix metroplex sponsored by social workers and featuring the explanation of the contents of a book that was about something having to do with creating some sort of kinder, gentler world by starting in one's home and community. As we drove from the seminar to a place I cannot recall none of us was expecting, nor had reason to expect, that we'd witness the beginning of the nuclear destruction of the United States. I do remember that we were being passed on the streets by impossibly large semis constructed to transport impossibly large objects along normal streets and freeways, all of which were carrying impossibly large parts of military planes: Pieces of fuselage, wings and tail.
    This is not to say that the consolidation is going badly. It's going well. Today we should be able to complete packing out. The shed is the only room left to tackle. The house has only a few hanging and bathroom items left to collect, most of which will be thrown away.
    Over the last 3 days the The Big Girl has become increasingly ill. It took me a day to figure out that she was suffering from something that wouldn't "go away". I took her into the vet yesterday. She has a serious upper respiratory infection, was severely dehydrated, thus is spending yesterday evening through Sunday morning in their hospital being fed IV fluids, antibiotics and being nursed back to relative health. I say relative because she also exhibits something else curious: Her liver is so enlarged that it has pushed her stomach out of the way. The condition and the cause is a mystery to our very fine veterinarian but is probably unrelated to the respiratory infection expect that the condition no doubt weakened her immune system to the point where she was unable to fight off the agents carrying the infection.
    I consider us lucky that The Big Girl's illness happened at this time, as the money from the sale of the house should be just enough to cover the vet bills. Although the sale was negotiated for significantly more than a buck the amount is also significantly less than that which grungiest of houses would bring.
    Mom is doing well. The Little Girl is doing well. Although I'm probably running on empty again it's hard for me to tell, as I am keyed so high I don't believe there is an instrument that has the ability to produce the notes I'm playing. I continue to be refreshed by an undercurrent of pure relief over the consolidation.
    For those of you who have been wondering about the quality of the final push, it is strong and hardy. The mover's pick up date was pushed to Monday afternoon of next week which was fine with me since I discovered that packing out is happening more slowly with Mom there than I anticipated. We'll be ready. By Thursday we'll be a one home family. Again. Thank the gods.
    Time to awaken Mom. I have no idea when I'll have the time to report again before the sale is complete. Assume, please, that no news is good news.

Yes, we went down yesterday, yes, we'll be going down tomorrow.

2004-09-22T16:33:00.000-07:00

    Today is Mom's Recovery Day and my Close Out Yesterday, Do Today and Get Ready for Tomorrow Day. These in between days are my heaviest days and I still don't get everything done. There is much not involved in the consolidation of homes that is waiting in the wings until after the consolidation is completed.
    I've got a stat from yesterday, stats from today and an exercise session from the day before to post. I may end up serving stat ketchup again. I'm considering putting Mom through an exercise session today just to give her an edge tomorrow but haven't decided absolutely if this is a good idea. So far her day has been an eat and nap day. I believe it's possible that Mom's BP is running high because of her confusion and occasional forgetfulness about the move, as well as the frequent altitude changes. I think, underneath it all, this is a bit traumatic for her. I remember once several years ago during a different traumatic event that her blood pressure ran high for a while. Since she appears to remain healthy, no UTIs, no minor illnesses or major problems, I think her BP is reflecting her concern over the consolidation of homes and the loss of a home that has been her most permanent home, well, goodness, throughout her entire life. On occasion, thankfully, her spirit of adventure kicks in and she rubs her hands together and asks, "What's next?" with a glee that allows me to know that, if this isn't exactly "the right thing", it is, at least, not "the wrong thing". It's a circumstance, one to which both of us will not only adjust but, in the long run, consider felicitous.
    It became apparent to me yesterday that if I was able to simply do all this consolidation stuff myself it would happen faster. Mom loves the idea of helping. I like the idea of allowing her to feel helpful. When she's helpful now it makes more work for me. In this episode of our lives, though, it is very important that Mom be kept as involved as I can keep and allow her since she has such strong feelings about the consolidation, both positive and negative. I want to provide as many resources as possible for her that will allow her to come to her own terms with what's going on.
    Yesterday, in the middle of sorting and packing, she sat down and began an informal inventory of the memories and connections attached to the Mesa house. We spent a good 45 minutes just talking. At one point I became so overwhelmed that I began weeping and apologized to her for making the decision to divest ourselves of that home. I simultaneously reiterated that since I now handle all her business as well as her personal life and, as well, keeping that house also keeps us financially strapped, I still feel as though what we're doing is absolutely necessary. I told her that if I could have thought of a way for us to keep both homes and tax neither her finances nor me I would have jumped at the chance. she understands this. She also understands that keeping that house instead of this would be incredibly stupid financially, so stupid that it would negate any emotional advantage. I'm heartened that when we are here she pretty much forgets about the Mesa home and extols the virtues of this one.
    I doubt that I'll post much more today. It's late afternoon and I still have much to accomplish before tomorrow, another pack-out day in the Valley. For those of you who know us, know that the consolidation is going well, the last details fell into place yesterday, my relief over what is happening continues to grow, my energy level is high, Mom's confusion isn't too bad, certainly not so bad that I question the wisdom of this decision and both of us are looking forward to the end of next week.

"The Adventure" of our household consolidation...

2004-09-21T05:26:00.000-07:00

...is beginning to grip my mother. Yesterday evening immediately after I had settled on a date for pickup/delivery of our goods with the moving company I explained to her our entire schedule up through Saturday morning, the time of our goods' delivery here in Prescott. Although she likes the stimulation of going back and forth between what are, at this moment, our two homes, she likes the opportunity to eat at restaurants or decide what type of fast food to buy, she likes watching me work through packing (she's always liked the excitement of moving), she does not like the stiffness from the car rides, the inconvenience of not having a place to lie down or a television to watch and the inevitable plugging of her ears as we switch elevations quickly and twice in a day. As I was telling her that we'd be making day trips today, Thursday and Friday, I was surprised by the incipient excitement in her response to my schedule rundown for this week, "It's possible we'll need to go down Wednesday, too."
    "Well, yes, that's possible, but I'm hoping we'll have a day to recover between the first trip and the others."
    "You don't need to do that for me."
    I laughed. "Well, good. We might need to do it for me, though. I might need tomorrow to relax and contemplate where we are."
    "We need to be sure to get everything done," she protested.
    "Believe me, we'll get everything done, Mom. One way or another we will no longer own the Mesa home as of October 1st."
    "So, when do you think we can start going through boxes?"
    Wow. She does love the activity of moving, whether or not it involves an actual move. I've been anticipating that all of this, especially now that the crunch has begun, is going to be hard on her. I'm now thinking that it will be harder on me than on her. This is good. Her enthusiasm gives me a standard for which to reach.
    Yes, we'll be on our way down in about two hours. It'll be a long day. I don't anticipate us returning tonight until 2200 or later. Tomorrow we'll rest and recalculate and repeat today on Thursday. Friday we'll head down to the Valley in the middle of the day, supervise the movers as they load our stuff and Saturday morning they'll deliver. It's happening. And Mom's into it. I couldn't ask for more.
    We did endure a short episode late yesterday evening in which her brain had dumped everything about the move and it was all perplexing news to her. Her brain kicked back in later, though, so I'm not worried.
    Needless to say, I don't expect to be taking many stats today or Thursday and probably not Friday. If we have an exercise session it will be tomorrow then not again until Saturday at the earliest, possibly later if I can't keep my mother's hands out of the boxes of stuff we'll be having delivered.
    I'll keep you posted on how it goes but I expect nothing but, well, the adventure my mother's anticipating.
    Time to get her up. On days when we have plans such as this it's easy to get her up and going. Off we go, into my mother's "wild blue yonder".

We are not in Mesa, again, today.

2004-09-20T15:22:00.000-07:00

    I awoke in the middle of the night having an anxiety attack over what to do with the stuff we need to dump but that I can't transport by myself. I decided that I would devote the morning to figuring out how to get rid of it. I'd assumed that there would be some sort of charity in the Phoenix metroplex that has a repair workshop for such items. I believe one used to exist but I had no luck finding it. I also thought it would be really easy to find someone to help me transport this stuff to the dump since it seems this will now be necessary. No such luck. Everyone casual is bound up with duties. Much to my surprise, there is only one professional in the area who does this, the City. It took me awhile to discover this as it's not something that is advertised and I recall, during previous moves, the most recent one in 1997 when we moved half our stuff to this house, calling the City and being told that they do not provide this service; they provide the dump but not the transportation. Well, apparently they do now provide pick-up and transport for a reasonable fee. It took me most of the morning (around getting my mother up and moving) to discover this. I'm definitely relieved.
    Other than this it's a quiet day. We've had an exercise session which I've not entered. There are stats for breakfast but not for lunch since Mom ate very light, snacked, really, so I forgot to do stats. I tend to do that when preparations aren't labor intensive. I'll post all stats and sessions later, probably late tonight.
    Later today we'll know when the movers can schedule themselves. It will probably be this weekend, thank the gods. "We don't usually do this," the rep said, "but considering what's involved it would be to our advantage to do it on a weekend." Good. It would be to our advantage, too.
    Until September 30 I expect I'll be hanging out in move mode, which tends to turn my attention away from deep thought about Mom & Me. Probably just as well. I could use a vacation, even as I relish my ability to consider our situation at a deep level.
    Not sure when, but later.

We didn't make it down the mountain, today.

2004-09-19T14:18:00.001-07:00

It rained and blew all night, rained and blew all morning. It's blowing now and threatening more rain. Although I was more than up for the trip Mom was not and I understand her discomfort with traveling in wet weather. So she's doing what she loves to do during rainy days, nap. I'm doing what I love to do on rainy days, absorbing the atmosphere, drinking an especially decadent cup of the hot cocoa I talked about in my first post for my food-and-Mom-and-me-I-guess journal and settling down to watch Kenneth Branagh's 1995 movie production of Othello with Laurence Fishburne. I consider myself lucky that it's on today. I've been wanting to see it for awhile and this is the perfect day for it. The cocoa is perfectly for this afternoon; made with Millstone's Chocolate Velvet Coffee and generous splashes of Raspberry di Amore and Chambord liqueurs. I'm set. My mother's set. Relax today, act tomorrow.
Later.

We did do an exercise session today...

2004-09-18T21:32:00.001-07:00

...much to my surprise. It went very well, as usual. I continue to experience surprise and delight that she shows marked improvement every single time we have a session. I wasn't expecting much today because we'd had a session yesterday and she walkered a lot at Costco today. But she went to work. We talked more about body philosophy today. I explained the change in my approach from the time we began doing her exercises when she first arrived home from the SNF through now. I reported all this on both the sheet I fill out as she exercises and on the site. Check it out; I think you'll find it interesting.
Things are going well. It's a quiet evening. I have one more post to make in the food journal and then I'll be done reporting for the night. I'm not sure how much posting I'll get in tomorrow nor how many stats I'll take. It's a travel day. On travel days I feel safer not knowing.

I just published a spectacular post...

2004-09-18T17:09:00.001-07:00

...over at =>Moving =>Mom regarding Mom's walkering today. The link will take you right to it. The best part of today's walkering is that Mom does not consider the trip spectacular but for a couple of reasons it was. If you're curious, click the link.
    Not much to report, at the moment. It's been a good day, started early, Mom's napping now and I'm getting things together for our trip to Mesa tomorrow. It's supposed to rain both here and there so it should be a good trip. This is our second packing out trip and it's going to be a long one. Tomorrow I continue to pack out even if we run out of car space. We can make transport loads later.
    It continues to feel as though time is stretching out for me. I don't feel pressured even though the home will no longer be ours in less than 2 weeks. Everything is falling into place, everything is being accomplished on a flexible on-time schedule, I'm feeling more and more relaxed and relieved as the time draws near for us to bid that home farewell. Mom is no longer grieving the loss of the home in Mesa. Her brow crinkles a bit when she talks about it but she's not looking frantic around the edges anymore. I'm sure many times in the next several months I'll need to remind her that we no longer own a home there. I'm just as sure that each time I remind her she will buy yet another ticket on The Little Engine that Could and go with the flow. I know that the relief I'm feeling is having a positive effect on her. That, in itself, helps her work out the loss without losing anything.
    Her homes have always been chosen by someone else. Once in awhile if selection involved a buy she's had input into a decision but overall where she's lived has been out of her hands. In a sense, this is happening again, now, as she would prefer to keep both homes. This time, though, the home and the community we are retaining are her selection and bought against my better judgment and counsel. Even though it's hard for me to forget her complaining months ago that she's never lived in the home of her dreams (which is still true), this time she's living exclusively in a home she chose by herself. I think this makes a difference.
    I'll probably report stats once more today. Not sure if I'll do any more reporting. We'll probably just hang out and have a great evening together...maybe, if I can talk her into it, even do her exercises. Then again...
    ...later.

A new extemporaneous essay.

2004-09-17T17:59:00.001-07:00

You can get to it from here or click into it over there to the right, the latest and last entry under Essaying the Situation.
She's sleeping in this afternoon. That's what usually happens after a good buzz. If you're wondering what I'm talking about, read the essay and today's exercise session to which it refers, linked in the immediate previous post.

When my mother has a period of improvement...

2004-09-17T15:30:00.001-07:00

...MFS always laughs devilishly and says, "Scary, isn't it?!?" Yes, sometimes, it is scary to contemplate that I might just keep the old woman going into my Ancient years. Mom and I have a running joke about that: Sometimes in the evenings of a hectic day I'll laboriously rise from the floor, leaning on the arm of her rocking chair for support, and say, "Mom, I'm gettin' old."
    "You sure are, Gail. I feel sorry for you."
    "What's gonna happen when I'm older than you?"
    "We'll sure be in trouble then, won't we?"
    We both laugh.
    I think, though, my saving grace (and, perhaps, my mother's too) is that I never think, too long and too hard about how long I'll be with her (or, to be more accurate, how long she'll be with me and with the world) and what I'll do "after". I already know that taking it day by day and comparing the present only with pasts, not futures, is the way to greet everything that happens with a freshness equal to the event. This is what works when caring for an Ancient One. Being here. Now. Even if your Ancient One is someplace else at the moment. If you're here, not wandering in fearful futures or open-to-interpretation pasts, then each day works.
    Anyway, the point of all this is to announce, another interesting exercise session today with interesting results...take a look if you're curious about following my mother's development.
    Probably...later.

It just occurred to me...

2004-09-17T10:21:00.001-07:00

...hint, hint, hint, something someone in the family who enjoys stretching their computer savvy might consider doing. I know that between maternal relatives there are lots of people who have lots of memorabilia regarding Latchstring Inn while my grandparents owned and ran it. That stuff could be collected to "your" central area, scanned in, and a website (non-profit) could be set up documenting the history of Latchstring Inn while my grandparents owned and ran it and it was considered a landmark. Remember "The Chapel by the Side of the Road"? Remember the foot pump organ? The Sunday tour busses? Grandpa's stories about the same characters mentioned in the link in the immediately previous post, and others less well nationally known but certainly locally known.
I'm sure, actually, that when we retrieve material from the shed there will be stuff in there that can help trace a history.

My horoscope...

2004-09-17T10:12:00.002-07:00

...for today:

Don't let others push you around today...People may talk themselves up quite a bit, but it could be that there is very little behind their words. Be careful that you don't misfire. This is a day to care about yourself and your own needs. Take aggressive steps towards making sure you are getting what you want. Connect with people you have met recently. There is great significance in synchronistic meetings.

    I know. I should stop noticing that stupid horoscope. I have a call to make today that involves advanced negotiation. Previous to the business I had to conduct on behalf of my mother I was not "in to" advanced negotiation business calls. I'm sure I am, now, but this is the first one that involves me as the seeker, rather than the granter. I'm a little nervous. And, the person with whom I'm dealing, well, totally read me on the first call as not too sure of myself, even though I have, and I mentioned this to him, used them twice before. So he didn't really listen to what I said and called me back with a "standard package", which is a dynamite deal if I had a standard package move. I don't. So, I have to call this guy back. He dodges and talks over the speakerphone, and, you know, just generally makes my skin crawl. I am not concerned about whether I'll successfully attain what I seek. I know I will. I'm concerned about the journey.
    Time is still syrupy. I know everything will get done, in fine style. Very nice, indeed.
    Mom was up on elbows and coughing about an hour ago. I peeked in on her and she said she didn't want to get up yet. I'm letting her sleep. She knows what kind of stuff will be going on for the next two weeks, trips, etc. She's up to it. She just wishes she wasn't.
    I guess I mentioned, she is still not quite into relocating when we first arrive at that home. She always says something along the lines of, "I'll sure be glad when we live here again."
    At which point I have to gently remind her that we won't be "living here again".
    So far I have not detected any deep sadness/melancholy within her over this. Certainly no regrets over our use of the mobile home and the life we led between this home and that. No regrets prior, either. It's kind of like me having to remind her that her sister is dead. She has no trouble remembering that her brother-in-law is dead and her brother is dead. But inevitably, once a month or so, she gets the urge to "call MS and see what's going on with them," and I have to remind her that a lot of "them" are dead now, primarily her connection to them, her sister.
    I have memories of visiting my maternal grandparents one summer, I think in 1966, in Spearfish Canyon between their enterprise, Latchstring Inn and their cabin just up the way and around a corner about an eighth of a mile. While we were there it was always old home week among the elders, part of whom to us children were our parents. Thus, there were endless visits upon which us kids sometimes reluctantly stumbled on hot summer afternoons when we couldn't find anything else to do. The conversations were thus (all names are fictional):
    "So, what do you hear from so-and-so?"
    "Died. Last spring. Heart attack, I hear. Dolores will probably have to go into a nursing home."
    Everyone nodded.
    "Did you hear that so-and-so died?"
    "Really. So soon after George. It figures."
    "So, how's so-and-so doing since they amputated his foot?"
    "Not good. They think they're going to have to take the other. He's not expected to make it."
    Us kids would hang out on the fringes on the floor, playing jacks or snatching food from the buffet and roll our eyes and sneer. I think these conversations were, in fact, part the inspiration for our infamous car song composition, "Everybody's Dead in the Cem-e-tar-ee".
    I understand, now, why those conversations were spoken in monotone and were important. So does my mother. I've only recently begun to understand that, being as yet immortal, she probably didn't fully register the import of those conversations, although since she was anxious to catch up with relatives, she participated flawlessly.
    The Roll Call of the Dead.
    Speaking of which, we need to call M(om's) C(ousins) I(n) C(edar) R(apids) and see how they're doing. They are all older than she. I think the youngest just turned 89 and he's not the one who lives alone.
    Looks like I've got stuff to do, although I've already prepared for the day. We didn't do therapy exercises last night so we'd better do them sometime today. I need to make a short supply run involving two stops. I know Mom isn't thrilled with supply runs but they get her out and moving and I don't want her to lose her walkering edge. However, for her, the day as a whole and her part of it for me will probably start somewhat later than now.
    We'll see.
    Later.