Tuesday, September 19, 2006
We've got an outing planned, today...
...about which Mom is excited and has been talking for a couple of days: We're going to Costco for no other reason than to survey their initial holiday layout of decorations and gifts. We've talked about how it would be silly to buy anything more for the holidays, since we have so many holiday decorations, collected through the years, that we use only a fraction of them during any particular season. Some are still in their original boxes. But, Mom's Mrs. Christmas, so she has to familiarize herself with the field, every year. Because her energy level is so high, we'll probably spend a lot of time, between now and Christmas, hitting all the stores that put out amazing holiday displays.
I want to touch on one more incident, which isn't a trip incident but I listed it in the tacked on section to the trip ticks (pun intended).
I had to replenish our supply of paper underwear, so, as usual, I went to Walmart, who has the cheapest price on the brand that Mom prefers (because they fit the best and don't bulk her clothes, even when she's wearing two of them). We use two sizes, one for the inside and one for the outside. They were out of the outside size and I noticed the inside size was dwindling, as Walmart was actually advertising them, so I picked up three packages. As I was exiting a section, a woman who looked to be just this side of Ancient noticed the packages in my cart. I noticed that she was carrying a very small package of panty inserts in her hand, trying to disguise them by holding them close to her purse.
As she stared into my cart she said, "I hope you don't mind me being forward, but I'd like to ask you a question."
"Go for it," I said. I leaned into her and continued, sotto voce, "I have no secrets that the rest of humanity doesn't also have."
She grinned and displayed the package of panty inserts she was holding. "I've recently had to start using these. My doctor says that 'everyone uses them' but, honestly, you're the first person I've ever seen buying any. And, you're buying so many!"
"For my mother," I explained. "She's 89 and terribly incontinent, so we go through a lot of these."
"Does it bother her to have to use them?"
"Funny you should ask," I replied. "Her incontinence developed fairly slowly. She was probably about your age when it started. At that time, she used the pads, just like you. She didn't like the idea of using them, though, she didn't like buying them, either, and, until I came to be her companion, she'd often 'forget' (I drew quotes in the air) them and risk accidents in public. When I came to be with her, I insisted on her wearing them because it cut down on the laundry and the accidents. She finally got used to it."
"She doesn't use pads anymore?"
"No, she's way beyond that stage, now. She's also beyond the stage where it bothers her. Frankly, I don't think she even realizes that her underwear is disposable, anymore. She has Dementia-Lite and sometimes argues with me when I tell her to throw her used underwear away. She's of that generation who was raised during the depression and didn't throw anything away."
"Oh, yes. I just missed that generation, but have had many friends like that." She leaned in even closer. "You know," she said, "although I would never do this, sometimes I wish I had the courage to just slip them in my purse and shoplift them out of the store. I hate having people know that I can't hold my bladder anymore."
"If it gives you any comfort, there are lots of people who can't do that, now, and, believe me, as my generation gets older, stores will be selling more of these," I pointed to the paper underwear in my cart, "than they will regular underwear! And, anyway, television is loaded with commercials for these things, now. Pretty soon, it'll be a badge of honor to have them in your shopping cart."
We both laughed.
"You know, though, this should make you feel even better. Once these packages are in my cart, I forget they're there until I get to the checkout stand. Then, funny, I always manage to work a reference into the conversation I'm having with the check-out clerk that these are for my mother, and I usually say it loud enough so anyone in line behind me can hear it. I never thought of that before! I guess buying them embarrasses me, a little, too, because I go out of my way to make sure everyone within earshot knows they're not for me!"
Again, we laughed. "Well, she said," I don't think I could get away with that. People would hardly believe they were for my mother!"
"I'll tell you what," I said, patting the hand in which she clutched the package of panty inserts, "Tell them they're for my mother."
As a sidebar, she also asked me how long I'd "been with [my] mother". I'm italicizing those two words because her use of them struck me. It's the first time I've encountered someone who has referred to my bond with my mother as "being with" her, rather than "taking care of" her. I like this and have been considering her phrasing ever since. I suspect that the reason she thought to use this phrase has something to do with her age. We all have a resistance, as we approach the upper limits of age, to the idea that we need someone to "take care of" us. We do, however, naturally accept the idea that life is an interdependent exercise that often works much better if we have company while we negotiate it. Perhaps, if we can begin to look at "caregiving to the elderly" from this perspective, it wouldn't seem so daunting and impossible to us and more of us would consider doing it, thus lightening the actual burden of companionating our Ancient and Infirm ones and lightening the emotional burden that the idea of "caregiving" places upon those who are becoming more dependent upon we who feel we can allow ourselves the luxury of identifying ourselves as "independent". We might, finally, consider the companionating of the Ancient and Infirm a relationship for which we want to make room in our lives. The mere act of changing our perspective in this way might lead to a grass roots revolution through which we will demand that "society" change in order to accommodate our desire to keep our Ancient Ones close to us, not so much to protect them from the evils of the "long term care industry" but to enjoy their company and avail ourselves of the perks of becoming thoroughly familiar with, even loving, their existence, until they're ready to pursue further adventures beyond the borders of this life.
One final thought: A change in language often engenders a change in thought. A change in thought always engenders a change in society.
"What a wonderful world this would be." [Thank you, Sam Cooke/Alpert/Adler]
I want to touch on one more incident, which isn't a trip incident but I listed it in the tacked on section to the trip ticks (pun intended).
I had to replenish our supply of paper underwear, so, as usual, I went to Walmart, who has the cheapest price on the brand that Mom prefers (because they fit the best and don't bulk her clothes, even when she's wearing two of them). We use two sizes, one for the inside and one for the outside. They were out of the outside size and I noticed the inside size was dwindling, as Walmart was actually advertising them, so I picked up three packages. As I was exiting a section, a woman who looked to be just this side of Ancient noticed the packages in my cart. I noticed that she was carrying a very small package of panty inserts in her hand, trying to disguise them by holding them close to her purse.
As she stared into my cart she said, "I hope you don't mind me being forward, but I'd like to ask you a question."
"Go for it," I said. I leaned into her and continued, sotto voce, "I have no secrets that the rest of humanity doesn't also have."
She grinned and displayed the package of panty inserts she was holding. "I've recently had to start using these. My doctor says that 'everyone uses them' but, honestly, you're the first person I've ever seen buying any. And, you're buying so many!"
"For my mother," I explained. "She's 89 and terribly incontinent, so we go through a lot of these."
"Does it bother her to have to use them?"
"Funny you should ask," I replied. "Her incontinence developed fairly slowly. She was probably about your age when it started. At that time, she used the pads, just like you. She didn't like the idea of using them, though, she didn't like buying them, either, and, until I came to be her companion, she'd often 'forget' (I drew quotes in the air) them and risk accidents in public. When I came to be with her, I insisted on her wearing them because it cut down on the laundry and the accidents. She finally got used to it."
"She doesn't use pads anymore?"
"No, she's way beyond that stage, now. She's also beyond the stage where it bothers her. Frankly, I don't think she even realizes that her underwear is disposable, anymore. She has Dementia-Lite and sometimes argues with me when I tell her to throw her used underwear away. She's of that generation who was raised during the depression and didn't throw anything away."
"Oh, yes. I just missed that generation, but have had many friends like that." She leaned in even closer. "You know," she said, "although I would never do this, sometimes I wish I had the courage to just slip them in my purse and shoplift them out of the store. I hate having people know that I can't hold my bladder anymore."
"If it gives you any comfort, there are lots of people who can't do that, now, and, believe me, as my generation gets older, stores will be selling more of these," I pointed to the paper underwear in my cart, "than they will regular underwear! And, anyway, television is loaded with commercials for these things, now. Pretty soon, it'll be a badge of honor to have them in your shopping cart."
We both laughed.
"You know, though, this should make you feel even better. Once these packages are in my cart, I forget they're there until I get to the checkout stand. Then, funny, I always manage to work a reference into the conversation I'm having with the check-out clerk that these are for my mother, and I usually say it loud enough so anyone in line behind me can hear it. I never thought of that before! I guess buying them embarrasses me, a little, too, because I go out of my way to make sure everyone within earshot knows they're not for me!"
Again, we laughed. "Well, she said," I don't think I could get away with that. People would hardly believe they were for my mother!"
"I'll tell you what," I said, patting the hand in which she clutched the package of panty inserts, "Tell them they're for my mother."
As a sidebar, she also asked me how long I'd "been with [my] mother". I'm italicizing those two words because her use of them struck me. It's the first time I've encountered someone who has referred to my bond with my mother as "being with" her, rather than "taking care of" her. I like this and have been considering her phrasing ever since. I suspect that the reason she thought to use this phrase has something to do with her age. We all have a resistance, as we approach the upper limits of age, to the idea that we need someone to "take care of" us. We do, however, naturally accept the idea that life is an interdependent exercise that often works much better if we have company while we negotiate it. Perhaps, if we can begin to look at "caregiving to the elderly" from this perspective, it wouldn't seem so daunting and impossible to us and more of us would consider doing it, thus lightening the actual burden of companionating our Ancient and Infirm ones and lightening the emotional burden that the idea of "caregiving" places upon those who are becoming more dependent upon we who feel we can allow ourselves the luxury of identifying ourselves as "independent". We might, finally, consider the companionating of the Ancient and Infirm a relationship for which we want to make room in our lives. The mere act of changing our perspective in this way might lead to a grass roots revolution through which we will demand that "society" change in order to accommodate our desire to keep our Ancient Ones close to us, not so much to protect them from the evils of the "long term care industry" but to enjoy their company and avail ourselves of the perks of becoming thoroughly familiar with, even loving, their existence, until they're ready to pursue further adventures beyond the borders of this life.
One final thought: A change in language often engenders a change in thought. A change in thought always engenders a change in society.
"What a wonderful world this would be." [Thank you, Sam Cooke/Alpert/Adler]
