Mom & Me Four Archive

Dogs vs. Cats
    As you know, my mother has wanted, for some time for us to host a dog as a pet. She mentions it fairly often, especially since she watches Animal Planet a lot, which always has lots of animal commercials, particularly those featuring dogs, and she's a fanatic about not missing the dog shows. She loves our cats, but, although she's never able to put her finger on exactly why (believe me, I've asked her), she still would love to host a dog. I think it's because she imagines that a dog would be much more interactive than cats, and she's probably right, although we're very involved with our cats and they're just about as interactive as cats can get.
    I've been blunt with her about my desire not to host a dog. I like dogs. My born-into family has hosted some wonderful dogs. I know several dogs through friends, all of whom I enjoy, and all of whom seem to enjoy me. The problem with owning a dog, now, for me, though, is that my care of my mother is so intense that I have no desire to up the ante by adding a pet to our small menagerie that requires anymore daily care and attention than I already mete out to my mother and our cats. As well, owning a dog would mean having one more not particularly small detail to negotiate when we go on trips: How to make sure the dog is cared for while we're away. We don't have to worry about this with our cats, since we always take short trips. But, a dog would continue to require walking, etc., while we were gone. Yes, I know, there are pet sitters, and kennels, all of which cost and require a level of trust that would have to develop. As well, there would be the added detail of arranging for these services and either delivering the dog to them or making sure the services arrived, on time, to us. So, I've always said, "No." This doesn't cause my mother any permanent disappointment, but she never forgets that she wishes we had a dog.
    Whenever we're traveling, we never forget our cats. We often speculate about what they're doing, joke about them and talk about how they'll meet us at the door, complain about our absence, even though the evidence will indicate that they slept the entire time, probably with relief. We also talk about how good it will be to see them, again. We did all this while we were traveling on September 12th. Once we had turned onto State Route 69 and were on the short stretch home, as usual, we talked a lot about our cats and the upcoming exchange of greetings. When we were in Prescott Valley, about 20 miles from home, Mom suddenly said, "You know, it's a good thing we have cats and not dogs."
    Whoa, I thought, I can't wait to hear what she has to say about this, since it's the complete opposite of what I'm usually hearing from her. "So," I coaxed, "tell me, Mom, why are cats better?"
    "Well," she said, "if we had dogs, they wouldn't be at home to greet us, and there's nothing quite like being greeted by your pets when you arrive home."
    "If we had an at-home pet sitter, they'd be home," I said. Not that I wanted to argue with her, but I was curious how she'd developed this position.
    "That's true," she said, "but then we'd have to immediately walk them, pay all kinds of attention to them, dodge them as we bring our things in the house, you know how dogs are. All I really want to do when we get home is sit. Cats are great at greeting you when you're sitting. Dogs sometimes aren't. And, they require extra work when you get home. Cats just require your acknowledgment."
    True enough. So, I guess, I can trash the small measure of guilt I carry about not making it possible for Mom to have a dog. Although the guilt over this was insignificant, the relief over being able to dump this guilt is huge.

"Cute" Is As "Cute" Does
    When we arrived in Mom's PCP's waiting room, there were a fair number of people waiting either for appointments or walk-in visits, about half elderly and about half other ages. As is usual in medical waiting rooms, every one was quiet. Except for Mom and me. There is virtually no situation that has the ability to put a damper on our conversation, public or private. As well, Mom, when in public anywhere, is a constant observer of and commenter on human behavior, so we find plenty to occupy us, magazines or no. I also continue all my automatic caregiver routines that apply to whatever situation in which we find ourselves. One of these routines involves the stretching and hip wiggling through which I coach her as she arises to her walker and before she sits after a walkering session. I don't even think about this, now, I just activate it.
    The first time I put her through her paces at the doctor's office was immediately after she arrived, just before she sat in a chair. She was a little shy about doing this in public, so I said, "Come on Mom, let's give the public a sample of what they'll be getting for their money." She grinned, looked around expectantly, and hootchy kootched with the best of them. I noticed, peripherally, that several of the waiting clients smiled appreciatively. From that point on I had no problem running her through this routine.
    Her name was called for her appointment and we headed through the door, which the new nurse held for us, into the hall where her weight was taken. As always, my mother mentioned that she should take off her shoes, the constant insistence of probably every woman on the planet who finds herself standing before a scale. The nurse said, no, then winked at me and said she'd take off a pound for her shoes. This satisfied Mom. Then, we headed further down the hall to an examination room at the end. The nurse headed our parade and I took up the rear while Mom walkered assertively on, pausing to peer into other examination rooms, acknowledge staff standing to the side and notice and comment on posters hanging on the wall. As we proceeded, I noticed the nurse's grin widening. She stepped aside as Mom entered the proper examination room, then said to me before I entered, "I know it sounds demeaning to call old people 'cute', but I hope I'm as cute as your mother when I get to be her age."
    It's true, I've often internally bridled when hearing Ancient Ones referred to as "cute". Sometimes, the object of the observation has been my mother. But, this time, as I looked at the nurse, I found myself exchanging eyes with her. I saw my mother, impeccably dressed in her green "go-to-meetin'" suit; hair styled fashionably askew, her pastiche disguised with two pearl barrettes fastened to one side like an indignant tiara; her blazing blue eyes darting about, noticing everything possible; tiny, yes; bent to the Ancient Art of Walkering, yes; determined to register her environment, formidable in presence and, undeniably "cute". Yes.
    I grinned back at the nurse. "That's okay," I said. "I see what you mean. I think I hope the same thing for myself."

Caregiver Compliments
    After Mom's appointment with her doctor, we were back in the Waiting Room Holding Pattern previous to being called for her blood draw. Most of the people who'd been in the waiting room when we arrived were still there.
    One of my mother's obsessive habits is checking her watch against any clocks in her vicinity. I always kid her obliquely about it by asking, "Got a date?" To which she always replies, "Yes, I don't want to be late." Normally, her watch agrees with clocks displayed. That day, though, she noticed that her watch seemed to be 10 minutes off, according to the clock in the doctor's office. She fussed, a little about this.
    She was overheard by a woman sitting catty corner from us in the office (the chair arrangement in this waiting room is peculiar, to say the least). "Hold on," the woman said, "I have atomic time. I'll check." Suddenly a computerized voice called the correct time through the room. Turns out, my mother's watch was right, the doctor's clock was wrong.
    "What was that?!?" Mom asked the woman.
    "I'm blind (which was astonishingly inobvious)," replied the woman, "so I have a satellite device, here, attached to my pants. All I have to do is press a button and it tells me what time it is." She registered my mother's intense interest and continued, "Want to come over and see it?"
    Whereupon, we went through yet another brief stretch-and-wiggle routine and Mom walkered over to take a look and exclaim her astonishment.
    In order to make room for her and make sure the door was clear in case someone entered, I stepped across the threshold to the other side of the room. This placed me in front of a woman, probably in her mid thirties, who was tending to a sick son, stretched out across a couple of chairs without arms, covered in a blanket. She'd also been there since we'd arrived. As I stood there, keeping an eye on my mother, the woman reached out and touched my arm. "I've been watching you with your mom," she said. "I hope my kids," she lovingly patted her son's head, "handle me like that when I'm her age."
    It's not uncommon for strangers to notice my mother and I together and say something similar to me, or a slightly different version to my mother about "[your] daughter." It doesn't happen all the time, but I've written about more than a few instances of this throughout these journals. The reason I'm always moved to write about them is that, when someone goes out of their way to comment on my mother's and my bond, I'm surprised, as well as grateful. Such comments always render me fairly speechless. I can usually only manage a smile and a quick response, "So do I." I, also, often, find that the comments trigger tears, which I quickly disguise and inhibit.
    On the 12th, when this woman reached out to me, I had an instantaneous revelation. I think the reason we all notice bonds like that between my mother and I and often feel the need to acknowledge them verbally and wistfully is because we all know that it is more than likely that we will not be "handled", in our Ancient years, as I handle my mother. It isn't something that works in this society. It is so uncommon that my mother's doctor, yet again, felt moved to thank me for "taking such good care of [my] mother." It wasn't an automatic gratitude, either. Although he's thanked me once before, this time when he said it he sounded like he was choking on surprise that I was continuing to do this in the face of so many obstacles.
    Many of the people who have stepped out of line to approach me on this subject have mentioned that they do not do this; their families do not do this. It's mostly impossible, the way this society's set up, to consider indulging someone in the kind of "handling" I do. And yet, most of us wish we could offer this "handling" and we all hope we will be blessed with someone who offers it to us.
    I know the dynamics, economic, cultural, social and spiritual, are complicated. Nonetheless, I hope, soon, our society will awaken to our desires regarding our Ancient Ones and being Ancient and begin to make it possible, by changing this maniacally consumerized culture, for relationships to flourish that silently guarantee that none of us ever, again, feels compelled to say, "I hope..." but will be able to say, "I know...".

# posted by Gail Rae @ 17:47    email......this post