Mom & Me Four Archive

Movement and Ancient Energy
    So, yes, her energy level during the day trip to her doctor was amazing, although as I review the last few weeks, specifically since I've been having trouble with her blood glucose levels and have insisted on at least some extra movement every day, even if this means walkering in the house, in a home based effort to control it (of which I continually remind Mom, and to which I continually solicit her agreement), I've noticed that the old health saw we all recognize and to which all of us pay at least verbal obeisance, "movement begets movement", is certainly true. I just hadn't considered, until our trip, that it remains true for my mother.
    As we began the day I perused my memories of all our day trips within the last few years and "decided" that, considering her shortened night-sleep time and all the extra movement the trip would require, I should be prepared for her to take a couple of naps. This, I decided, would work out fine, since I had a little shopping I wanted to do in the Valley during our "down" time pre- and post-appointment. She sleeps hard after vigorous movement and as long as I let her know I'd be gone from the hotel room and keep my shopping trips short, we shouldn't have a problem.
    Much to my surprise, she wanted to shop with me. She's always loved window shopping, or, during her less active periods, the idea of it. So, I took her along with me to Ulta, at her insistence.
    I thought she might like to see a little of this part of the city, which had been her stomping ground from 1981-2004. I suggested we take the long way around. She agreed. She didn't remember a lot on her own, but I kept up a running commentary, which she enjoyed and in which she participated. As usual, Mesa continues development, which fascinated her, at first. Then, as she tired of taking in the sites, the surprise of new this and new that began to annoy her. As well, she was itching to move, also a surprise, and began to wonder when we'd get to "the store". I'd driven quite a bit out of our way. I told her we'd "head back" and be there "soon".
    Not soon enough, apparently. About three miles from our target, she said, "Doesn't this city ever end?!?"
    Whereupon, I reminded her that about three decades ago, when most of our family first came back to the States from Guam to live here, on road trips, during night driving, we used to discuss the curiosity of the extension of lights through what, during the day, looked like undeveloped desert between Phoenix and Tucson and Phoenix and Prescott. "Remember," I said, "when we used to talk about how, eventually, Arizona was going to be one big city?"
    She laughed. "Oh, yes! That was one of your dad's favorite subjects!"
    "Well," I said, "welcome to Arizona, the Twilight Zone of Cities! We will never get to Ulta because, even as we drive, the city continues to expand!"
    She laughed. "Your dad would love that," she said.
    About a mile before we reached our destination we got caught in a traffic jam on Power Road, just north of Southern, outside Leisure World in Mesa. Mom nodded toward the ostentatious display sculpture, a huge globe on top of a pedestal, just inside the gated community, and mentioned, "Your dad considered buying there, you know."
    "Really! I had no idea! I remember him mentioning that he was impressed that Arthur Godfrey was somehow connected with it, but I didn't know you guys considered buying."
    "Oh, yes! I'd forgotten that!"
    "So, which community (the other was Palmas Del Sol, where they finally bought) did you prefer?"
    She shook her head, looked a bit sour. "Oh, neither. I was fine with whatever Dad wanted. I didn't want to live someplace that he didn't like. I never would have heard the end of it."
    "Okay, well, he's dead, now. I mean, maybe he can hear us, but I can't imagine he'd hold it against you, anymore. So, just between us and old ghosts, where would you have preferred to live?"
    She leaned into me and said, voice lowered, "The farm. I never wanted to leave the farm." By this, she meant the five acre farm in Wichita Falls, where they lived for some years in the 1970's.
    "Oh, yeah. You loved that place, didn't you?"
    "Well, most of it. But your dad just couldn't settle down there."
    "As I recall, he couldn't settle down anyplace."
    "Well, no, that's true."
    "So, at least, finally, in Prescott, you're living in a place that you picked out yourself."
    "Oh, no, Dad picked that one out, too!"
    I laughed. "No, Mom, that one's your fault! I even tried to talk you out of it, but you were adamant. And, you know what? You were right. It is, now, the perfect place for you. For us."
    "Well, you just keep reminding me of that, child."
    "Oh, don't worry, I'll never stop reminding you of it!"
    Once we arrived at Ulta, she spent most of her time browsing the perfume/perfumed products section, which is no surprise...these displays are always the most seductive in the store. She didn't want to buy anything. She didn't remember being there a few weeks ago, either. She even mentioned, "I've never been here. We need to come here more often."
    Just across the parking lot, obscured by a Souper Salads restaurant, is a Black Angus. I'm surprised she noticed it, it seemed out of her view, but, as we exited the beauty supplies store she spotted it, mentioned that she was hungry and wanted meat. She also wanted to walker over to the restaurant. I considered the possibility but thought the better of it. I mentioned to her that, after eating, we'd also have to walker back.
     "Oh, that's right," she said. "Well, let's drive, then."
    Good thing we did. By the time we finished dinner she was complaining that she was "awfully stiff".
    Once we were back at the hotel and she was considering a nap, I commented on the surprising amount of walkering she'd done without back and knee problems.
    "I know," she said, working her arms as though she was power walking. "I felt like I could just go and go!"
    I couldn't help interjecting a little lesson, here. "That, Mom, is because you've been doing a little walkering almost every day for the past couple of weeks. See what a difference it makes when we keep you in practice?"
    "My goodness, yes," she agreed.
    "So, do you see, now, why it's important to keep you moving, especially when you're feeling good?"
    She gave me a sly look. "I don't have to remember that. You'll remind me."
    Yes, I will, that's for sure.
    Before she laid down for an hour of relaxation, we talked a bit about what a wonderful day we were having and how successful this trip was. We discussed the possibility of further day trips to the Valley, strictly for pleasure.
    "We could go other places, too," she said.
    "Oh? What do you have on your devious little mind?" I asked.
    "Well, I was thinking about Iowa..."
    My previous automatic response would have been, "No, no way, not overnight," but, you know, in light of this trip, well, who knows what she and I will be able to not only endure but enjoy. "Hmmm..." I said carefully, "Yeah, maybe we could fly there, rent a car..."
    "I see no reason why we couldn't drive there."
    Thinking that her excellently controlled anemia hadn't had any effect on her geographical dementia, I said, "Well, Mom, that would probably be a four day trip, at the least, maybe more."
    "Well, goodness! I know that!"
    "Don't you think you'd rather fly?"
    "You can't see the countryside when you fly," she insisted.
    "I see your point but, you know, that's a loooong trip by car, and, once we're committed, turning back, if we wanted to, wouldn't shorten the trip."
    She thought about this for a few minutes. "I see your point," she conceded, "but, I think we'd have a good time. We've always have a good time on road trips."
    She's right. We do, especially when she feels good. We're great traveling companions. Before I could respond, though, she said, "Well, we'll think about it. We don't have to make any plans right away."
    I silently sent a prayer of thanks to the travel gods. This "wait and see" addendum is an indication that she's realizing she might be over-imagining her stamina.
    So, it's on our mental table. Our extended, formal dining table. Which means, it may not ever be eaten but it's there. Even if we don't partake, it will provide lots of hours of pleasurable savoring.
    At one point, she asked when we were going to see "those friends of [mine]." That would be MCF and family. I specifically planned our last trip two weeks ago and this one without a visit with them because all my recent memories of our visits, while they've been wonderful for both of us, have also tired her out so much that I can barely get her out of the car when we get home. After our doctor's visit in April, she had suggested that the next time we visit MCF, we make sure we have nothing else on the docket. She felt like trying to do business and see friends was just too much. Her energy level is up now, though, and, well, I guess I should have factored this in. I think she would have loved spending the evening with them, even if it meant a much later arrival at home than we accomplished. Besides, since her energy level was high, with a little rearrangement we probably could have accomplished the same time schedule, had "dinner with friends" which Mom always loves and still arrived home at a decent hour.
    For some reason, though, I couldn't bring myself to cop to having purposely planned a friendless trip. I'm not sure why. Instead, I lied and said "everyone was busy".
    "I remember they were busy when we were down here recently..." Uh oh, I thought, I forgot I used this lie before "...but I thought you said we'd being seeing them this time."
    I might have...I couldn't remember. It was definitely possible, though, because our last trip went so well, but it had been a very short trip. We'd left the Valley at 1400.
    About a half hour later she asked a version of the same question, "What time are we supposed to meet those friends of yours?"
    Again, I lied.
    I guess, from now on, at least as long as her energy is up and her "conditions" are under good control, I need to factor visiting friends back into our traveling plans.
    As our conversation at the hotel about our trip wound down, before she took a short nap and I headed out to my favorite Mesa coffee shop for a very large/four espresso shot/non-fat/mocha Valencia iced latte to bolster me for the trip, we both sat silently regarding each other, smiling, savoring all the detail we'd just covered.
    "Mom," I said, bleary with success, "I just want you to know, I can't think of anyone I'd rather be with."
    I heard a sharp intake of breath, looked at her and noticed she was tearing up, trying to disguise it as weepy allergy eyes. "I was just thinking the same thing," she said, choking little and disguising that as a cough, "only I couldn't find the words."

It's Never Too Late
    Although this trip did not involve smoking, I knew before we left, from weather reports, that it would involve some very bad air in the Valley. I packed a lot of oxygen, knowing that by the time we headed back up the mountain she'd probably be having a little trouble breathing and the oxygen would help her body negotiate the sharp rise in altitude from dirty air to somewhat less oxygenated air. To make sure all went well, I hooked her up to oxygen before we drove out of the hotel parking lot to head home and dialed her to 5/lpm pulse, knowing that this would guarantee that she would get at least 2/lpm between bouts of mouth breathing. She fussed about this, but after I explained the situation to her, she agreed she'd probably be more comfortable with it. She'd barely gone without oxygen throughout the whole trip. Usually she only uses it when she moves, down there, but I noticed, both at the restaurant and during our short rests at the hotel, that she was doing significantly more mouth breathing than is typical in the Valley, so I knew that the quality of the air was bothering her and kept her attached to her tank.
    Since her level of alertness has improved, reminding her to "breathe through your nose" isn't quite the chore as it used to be. Because I didn't have to do it as often on this trip, I was able to silently observe her breathing habits on oxygen with a more finely honed focus than usual. Something I noticed that had escaped me before: My mother tenses when she anticipates. By this I mean, it doesn't matter what she is anticipating: Good, bad, exciting, stressful, relaxing, routine, a break in routine, anticipation causes her body to tense, particularly her upper body.
    Whoa, I thought, this is interesting! I've always considered my mother a self-relaxation specialist but, as I thought back, I realized this tensing-in-anticipation behavior is of very, very long standing. So, I decided, before we were out of the Valley, instead of reminding her to "breathe through your nose, not your mouth" and/or reminding her not to swallow air (which she does, a lot, when she tenses), when I noticed she was beginning to tense her upper body, I'd simply tell her to "relax". This worked beautifully; so well, in fact, that, about halfway through the trip back, I decided that maybe a little self-realization might underscore my efforts.
    I explained to her what I'd observed. "You know, Mom," I said in summation, "the really funny thing about this is that you are actually very good at relaxing, you always have been. Except when you are anticipating something. That's when you tense and that causes you to become breathless. I know that sometimes you're breathless because your lungs are challenged, but, you know, they're in much better shape than they used to be (I didn't mention why this was so). So, now, a lot of the time when you become breathless, I think it's because you feel like, when you know something is going to happen, anything, you feel like you have to put your shoulder to some figurative wheel, you tense for the effort, and, just like that, you become short of breath. The really bizarre thing about this is that I think I learned from you, by observation, that, you know, things happen, just go with the flow, do what you have to as challenges come to meet you, and everything will work out all right. It's almost as if you've hoped this is true but you haven't really believed it."
    The car filled with my mother's stunned silence. As we cleared Black Canyon Pass and approached Sunset Point she said, "You know, I think you might have something, there."
    I let another several seconds go by before I ventured, "Well, you know, it's never too late to test your beliefs, Mom. I, personally, think your belief is true, but that isn't going to help you, any. I'm going to be super vigilant from now on, though. I'm going to be reminding you every time I notice you tensing, until it becomes such a habit that you internalize my voice and remind yourself, to 'relax, you can't stop life coming at you, but, hey, you've lived this long, you can get through anything, good, bad, middling, anything, and you don't need to expend nearly the effort you think you do.'"
    More silence. Finally, timidly, "Can I count on you to do that?"
    "Yes. I promise. Aside from making your experience of life more pleasant, it'll make my experience of our life much easier."
    "Good."
    Since then, I've also noticed that it helps if I give her a mini shoulder and back massage when I tell her to relax. I've also added a reminder for her to "drop your shoulders, you don't have to do anything, here, everything is unfolding on its own." As a result, since last Tuesday, even though her energy level has kept her interested in getting up and out and moving around and doing and seeing things more than in the past, even though I continue to hook her up to 2/lpm continuous oxygen whenever she's involved in walkering movement, she's using significantly less oxygen than before. I'm truly amazed.
    It is such a treat to be able to do this for my mother and to watch her learn to take life even easier than we both thought she already took it. It has put me in mind of something a wonderful friend of mine said about my mother years ago: That he considered my mother, "...resigned, in the best sense of the word." He was right about this. Until recently I've considered this statement a stunning tribute to her. Lately, I've been thinking about this tribute in connection with her nascent ability to relax into the tradewinds of life, though, and realized that a modification of this phrase, into which she is just now, bordering on nonagenarianism, developing, is an even more stunning tribute: "...accepting, in the best sense of the word."
    Not just resignation, even in its best sense, but acceptance. Of everything. With calm breathing and relaxed carriage. That's the key. What an honor it is to be able to pass this key onto my mother, especially since it isn't a key I've yet been privileged to use.

# posted by Gail Rae @ 02:18    email......this post