Wednesday, June 7, 2006
Blood Draw Day was not to be, today.
I was fine with this. I slept fitfully last night for a couple of reasons: Odd dreams, miscalculating how cold it would become deep into the night and a kitten whose spirit was co-opted by the storm gods and simply wouldn't leave me alone to sleep for very long. I turned off my alarm about 0330. Awoke with a start at 0841.
The weather, while muggy (which I love but my mother hates), was clear so I decided to aim for Blood Draw Day anyway, even though I had to scrounge for the energy that would be needed to prepare my mother for public presentation. I figured the consequent endorphin production would rev me up for the rest of the day.
At 1000, since she wasn't already awake (why I thought she might rise early I have no idea) I headed in to call her. She wasn't having any. Really wasn't having any. "Let's do it tomorrow." This isn't an unusual response and, factoring in the heavy air and our bouncing atmospheric pressure, I wasn't surprised.
I agreed. "I'll let you sleep 'till noon, then." I calculated this time based on the time her light went out last night. I should have taken into account that at the word "noon" Mom's eyes fluttered open in surprise, but I didn't.
At noon she still wasn't having any. I wasn't alarmed (frankly, her prodigious sleep habits never "alarm" me anymore, although sometimes they concern me). I figured, if I gently bother her every half hour, she'll be up by sometime between 1300 and 1400, not unusual, lately.
After ignoring my gentle botherings six times, she decided, at 1530, that, "I guess it's about time for me to get up."
Although it seems like such a day would not only be easy for my mother but for me, it's one of the hardest types of days I have to endure. Although prodigious sleeping is perfectly natural for my mother, considering her health profile (according to The Wondrous FNP and related researched literature), and can be expected to not only continue but increase, it's not natural for me to consider prodigious sleeping natural. I believe, in fact, that it is natural for anyone not in the grips of a health profile like my mother's to assume that some of her physical problems could be allayed if I'd just badger her to get up and/or stay up; plan activities; refuse to let her sleep, etc. Guess what. Doesn't work. If you've been reading me for any length of time, you know this.
This should be bone knowledge for me, now, considering that I've been living and writing what you've been reading. It isn't, though. I think, no matter how much experience both professional and avocational caregivers accumulate, if one isn't Ancient and one's body isn't dancing to the tune of, say, as in my mother's case, CRF, ADCD, mild COPD, occasional symptoms of CHF, vascular dementia, and/or any of a number of other conditions that happen when someone approaches the end of life, it is impossible to believe that there really is nothing one can do, as a caregiver, to keep someone who is bound to sleep from sleeping. No matter how many times one has failed in keeping the care recipient "up", no matter how many techniques have worked once or twice then never again, no matter how perplexing and "wrong" it seems that someone, anyone, should sleep as much as my mother does, including her lighter and heavier sleep periods, no matter how clear it seems that you as caregiver must be at fault, you must not have stumbled upon the right technique, you never really let go of the possibility that there must be yet something else you can do.
In a sense I've given up. I believe The Wondrous FNP and the related research to which her pronouncements led me. I can see that she's right, both about my mother's prognosis and the fact that pitched battles are a waste of both energy and do nothing but disturb the peace. And yet, when days like today occur, whether we encounter a close spate of them or they pop up less frequently during a surprise of extended energy, while my mother spends an extra three and a half hours in sleep-bliss I spend that time chewing internal fingernails. It is never easy to let her sleep. In some ways, it isn't even easier to let her sleep than to harass and force her out of bed, as I used to when gentleness didn't work; to try to shame her into wakefulness and movement when suggestion and example didn't work. Failing health and Ancienthood are so against the nature of the younger and healthier that it's just never easy. No caregiver ever steps back in gestures of acceptance comfortably and willingly, unless they've mastered Buddhist detachment.
For those of us who are ensconced in the stages of life in which it is natural to need to do something, it's disquieting to admit that, for some people, stages exist in which it is natural to need to do nothing. My mother used to respond to company. Now, not even company keeps her from her beloved inertia and sleep. Novelty used to stimulate her to a kind of interest that would assure a bit more activity and wakefulness than she now manages. Anymore, though, she rarely recognizes novelty. A few years ago, "supervising" me in a variety of activities and chores in which she can no longer directly participate would turn her head. Now, when I suggest supervision, she is likely to say, "I can supervise from my bedroom."
Still, occasionally, she takes a keen interest in something; like tax preparation this year, or baking last holiday season. My hopes are raised. Then, the inevitable inertia of Ancienthood tightens its embrace and my mother says, "Hmmm...seems like a good time for a nap."
I can't help but think that if we were more familiar, all our lives, as families and communities, with our Ancient Ones, those of us who find ourselves involved in the tasks of primary caregiving to them would find it easier to relax with the natures of The Old and Those of Declining Health.
This morning, after Mom's bath and breakfast, hoping that she might feel somewhat more enlivened than usual as she has the last more than a couple extended sleep nights (which have all happened within the last couple of weeks, which is unusual), I pulled out the Sorry game and tried teasing her into something other than just sitting by saying, "I feel like beating your pants off in a couple games of Sorry. What's your lucky color today?"
She gave me a comic grin, "Not a chance. I feel kind of blah, today."
As she shuffled from the table to her rocker in the living room, a bolt of anxiety split my soul. It lasted only a second, though, the thunder was delayed and muffled and I knit together so quickly I barely noticed the rent. I still shudder like I used to on days like this and the storms still threaten, but more often, now, they're staying to the south.
Wanted to record a few details of one of my dreams last night so I can think more on it later. Since we live in a community that is truly one where if you forget to lock your doors it doesn't matter, the dream was not just frustrating, it was a nightmare: In the dream I was obsessed with protection, of both myself and my mother. The entire dream found me discovering that I was unable to close and secure any of our doors and windows. None of the locks worked. None of the doors or windows fit securely in their frames. The harder I tried to secure the doors and windows, the more wobbly and resistant each became. There was no climax, no denouement. I awoke in the middle of the frustrating, terrorizing feeling that I had to protect us from something imminent but was unable to bring the structure of our home into compliance and cooperation.
Later.
Comment that couldn't be posted while Blogger's been down:
Gail, once again I felt my head nodding as I read this. The Sleep Issue. My Mom is in that zone, too--and as I read this I realized that this is the real reason I hired a homemaker: so my mother wouldn't be able to sleep as much as she wants to. You're right, it goes a little farther than our concern for their mental and physical health. It bothers me in a big way, and I'm not sure why. Maybe I think she's giving up? Maybe life is better for her in her dreams? As cluttered as I am (you should see my house) I'm still a "rules" person, and this much sleep is breaking some kind of rule. And I know it's a shallow rule, like not wearing white after Labor Day, but it reflects my upbringing. I have to agree with you--there's a point where acceptance of the biorhythms of the Ancients has to be seen as right, and not capitulation. Considering how little institutional attention is paid to that stage of Life, I don't know why we fret over advice we get from "the professionals." Wow--who would have thought this would stir up so much psychological turmoil! But I do think it's one of the biggest stresses of caregiving. I wonder how directly your dream reflects the realization that you (or I) cannot keep Mom awake (ie restore her old life to her). In my dreams a house always seems to symbolize my self, so I read this as you struggling with some encroaching realization, trying to batten down the hatches against it.
posted by Deb Peterson on 6/08/06 @ 16:59
The weather, while muggy (which I love but my mother hates), was clear so I decided to aim for Blood Draw Day anyway, even though I had to scrounge for the energy that would be needed to prepare my mother for public presentation. I figured the consequent endorphin production would rev me up for the rest of the day.
At 1000, since she wasn't already awake (why I thought she might rise early I have no idea) I headed in to call her. She wasn't having any. Really wasn't having any. "Let's do it tomorrow." This isn't an unusual response and, factoring in the heavy air and our bouncing atmospheric pressure, I wasn't surprised.
I agreed. "I'll let you sleep 'till noon, then." I calculated this time based on the time her light went out last night. I should have taken into account that at the word "noon" Mom's eyes fluttered open in surprise, but I didn't.
At noon she still wasn't having any. I wasn't alarmed (frankly, her prodigious sleep habits never "alarm" me anymore, although sometimes they concern me). I figured, if I gently bother her every half hour, she'll be up by sometime between 1300 and 1400, not unusual, lately.
After ignoring my gentle botherings six times, she decided, at 1530, that, "I guess it's about time for me to get up."
Although it seems like such a day would not only be easy for my mother but for me, it's one of the hardest types of days I have to endure. Although prodigious sleeping is perfectly natural for my mother, considering her health profile (according to The Wondrous FNP and related researched literature), and can be expected to not only continue but increase, it's not natural for me to consider prodigious sleeping natural. I believe, in fact, that it is natural for anyone not in the grips of a health profile like my mother's to assume that some of her physical problems could be allayed if I'd just badger her to get up and/or stay up; plan activities; refuse to let her sleep, etc. Guess what. Doesn't work. If you've been reading me for any length of time, you know this.
This should be bone knowledge for me, now, considering that I've been living and writing what you've been reading. It isn't, though. I think, no matter how much experience both professional and avocational caregivers accumulate, if one isn't Ancient and one's body isn't dancing to the tune of, say, as in my mother's case, CRF, ADCD, mild COPD, occasional symptoms of CHF, vascular dementia, and/or any of a number of other conditions that happen when someone approaches the end of life, it is impossible to believe that there really is nothing one can do, as a caregiver, to keep someone who is bound to sleep from sleeping. No matter how many times one has failed in keeping the care recipient "up", no matter how many techniques have worked once or twice then never again, no matter how perplexing and "wrong" it seems that someone, anyone, should sleep as much as my mother does, including her lighter and heavier sleep periods, no matter how clear it seems that you as caregiver must be at fault, you must not have stumbled upon the right technique, you never really let go of the possibility that there must be yet something else you can do.
In a sense I've given up. I believe The Wondrous FNP and the related research to which her pronouncements led me. I can see that she's right, both about my mother's prognosis and the fact that pitched battles are a waste of both energy and do nothing but disturb the peace. And yet, when days like today occur, whether we encounter a close spate of them or they pop up less frequently during a surprise of extended energy, while my mother spends an extra three and a half hours in sleep-bliss I spend that time chewing internal fingernails. It is never easy to let her sleep. In some ways, it isn't even easier to let her sleep than to harass and force her out of bed, as I used to when gentleness didn't work; to try to shame her into wakefulness and movement when suggestion and example didn't work. Failing health and Ancienthood are so against the nature of the younger and healthier that it's just never easy. No caregiver ever steps back in gestures of acceptance comfortably and willingly, unless they've mastered Buddhist detachment.
For those of us who are ensconced in the stages of life in which it is natural to need to do something, it's disquieting to admit that, for some people, stages exist in which it is natural to need to do nothing. My mother used to respond to company. Now, not even company keeps her from her beloved inertia and sleep. Novelty used to stimulate her to a kind of interest that would assure a bit more activity and wakefulness than she now manages. Anymore, though, she rarely recognizes novelty. A few years ago, "supervising" me in a variety of activities and chores in which she can no longer directly participate would turn her head. Now, when I suggest supervision, she is likely to say, "I can supervise from my bedroom."
Still, occasionally, she takes a keen interest in something; like tax preparation this year, or baking last holiday season. My hopes are raised. Then, the inevitable inertia of Ancienthood tightens its embrace and my mother says, "Hmmm...seems like a good time for a nap."
I can't help but think that if we were more familiar, all our lives, as families and communities, with our Ancient Ones, those of us who find ourselves involved in the tasks of primary caregiving to them would find it easier to relax with the natures of The Old and Those of Declining Health.
This morning, after Mom's bath and breakfast, hoping that she might feel somewhat more enlivened than usual as she has the last more than a couple extended sleep nights (which have all happened within the last couple of weeks, which is unusual), I pulled out the Sorry game and tried teasing her into something other than just sitting by saying, "I feel like beating your pants off in a couple games of Sorry. What's your lucky color today?"
She gave me a comic grin, "Not a chance. I feel kind of blah, today."
As she shuffled from the table to her rocker in the living room, a bolt of anxiety split my soul. It lasted only a second, though, the thunder was delayed and muffled and I knit together so quickly I barely noticed the rent. I still shudder like I used to on days like this and the storms still threaten, but more often, now, they're staying to the south.
Wanted to record a few details of one of my dreams last night so I can think more on it later. Since we live in a community that is truly one where if you forget to lock your doors it doesn't matter, the dream was not just frustrating, it was a nightmare: In the dream I was obsessed with protection, of both myself and my mother. The entire dream found me discovering that I was unable to close and secure any of our doors and windows. None of the locks worked. None of the doors or windows fit securely in their frames. The harder I tried to secure the doors and windows, the more wobbly and resistant each became. There was no climax, no denouement. I awoke in the middle of the frustrating, terrorizing feeling that I had to protect us from something imminent but was unable to bring the structure of our home into compliance and cooperation.
Later.
Comment that couldn't be posted while Blogger's been down:
Gail, once again I felt my head nodding as I read this. The Sleep Issue. My Mom is in that zone, too--and as I read this I realized that this is the real reason I hired a homemaker: so my mother wouldn't be able to sleep as much as she wants to. You're right, it goes a little farther than our concern for their mental and physical health. It bothers me in a big way, and I'm not sure why. Maybe I think she's giving up? Maybe life is better for her in her dreams? As cluttered as I am (you should see my house) I'm still a "rules" person, and this much sleep is breaking some kind of rule. And I know it's a shallow rule, like not wearing white after Labor Day, but it reflects my upbringing. I have to agree with you--there's a point where acceptance of the biorhythms of the Ancients has to be seen as right, and not capitulation. Considering how little institutional attention is paid to that stage of Life, I don't know why we fret over advice we get from "the professionals." Wow--who would have thought this would stir up so much psychological turmoil! But I do think it's one of the biggest stresses of caregiving. I wonder how directly your dream reflects the realization that you (or I) cannot keep Mom awake (ie restore her old life to her). In my dreams a house always seems to symbolize my self, so I read this as you struggling with some encroaching realization, trying to batten down the hatches against it.
posted by Deb Peterson on 6/08/06 @ 16:59
