Mom & Me Four Archive

...which, I notice, is now yesterday; just as a memory of a very full, interesting day.
    Mom's first words today, immediately upon being roused, were, "I was just carrying a tray of brownies..." she mimed picking up a tray and steadying it for carrying...
    I laughed. "This time, you're dreaming, girl! So, where were you taking the brownies?"
    "Oh, you know. No where."
    "Hmmm. Well, it seems to me that when you're carrying a tray of brownies, you're headed somewhere with them."
    "Oh, you know, to the table."
    "To whom?"
    "No one," she said, with a start. "I was going to eat them."
    "Eat them all, you didn't make them for anyone?"
    "Well, yes! For me."
    "I suppose this means you want brownies, today."
    Her eyes gleamed. "How did you ever guess that?!?"
    "I guess I could make some of those Honey Bear brownies."
    She smacked her lips, to keep the saliva from drooling out the sides of her mouth.
    "Or, you know, we've got some of those Costco brownies, the ones with caramel and pecans, in the freezer." Loads of them. She only ate two and I shaved a little off the cut-into circle to try but they were waaay to sweet and chocolately for me.
    "Mmmm...sounds even better!"
    "Not for breakfast, though. How about, if you don't eat any lunch, we have an early, light dinner, I was thinking of that spaghetti sauce over noodles for tonight, maybe we'll just sample it, then, an hour or so later, I'll give you your pills with a brownie. How's that?"
    "Do we have ice cream?"
    "I've got whipping cream."
    "Oh...you know how I love whipped cream!"
    So, that seemed settled. Until I took her blood glucose. I noticed her intense interest in the meter.
    When it beeped and I looked at it, she surprised me by asking, "What's my blood sugar?"
    Occasionally she'll ask me about this. I always tell her, when she asks, even though she has no referent for the numbers. "It's 143."
    "Is that good?"
    I was even more surprised "Well, it's not bad. The doctor said he'd prefer to see you between 100 and 134 in the morning, but he'd be fine with this, considering the potato chips you had last night. He wants to see your hemoglobin A1c higher, anyway, and this'll help." Probably too much information, I figured, but she prefers to be talked to as though she'll understand anything she hears and she'll ask questions if she's truly interested and doesn't understand. "Those things always raise a person's blood sugar, and you had bread, too. I'd consider it a good reading. Why?"
    She grinned. "Just wanted to make sure I have room for brownies."
    "Mrs. Hudson, I think the official word is that you always have room for brownies."
    Her grin was broader than a cat's, now. "Good to hear it!"
    Curiously, when "early dinner time" arrived, even though she hadn't had any lunch except coffee, she wasn't hungry.
    I reminded her of our plan.
    "Oh, yes, I remember that," she said. "How about a full dinner later tonight, and nothing but brownies for dinner tomorrow night? Then I can have two."
    "Sounds like a plan, Mom."
    "Now, I'm depending on you not to forget."
    "I'm your right brownie hand woman, Mom."

    Although the walkering session was nothing spectacular, she was a little stiff. About a half hour after it ended, I noticed her adjusting her spine repeatedly against the rocker back.
    "Got a hitch in your giddy-up, Mom?" I asked.
    "Oh, just a little kink."
    "Does it hurt?"
    "No, not really, it's just annoying."
    "Want an adult aspirin?"
    "Noooo, it's not that bad."
    I watched her squirm for a few more minutes, then I got an idea. "Mom, here. I'm going to put your TV table in front of you. I want you to lean over it and relax your head on your arms. I'm going to pull your shirt up and unlatch your bra."
    She immediately complied, with an almost secret smile, thinking she was going to get a back massage.
    I had in mind something similar, but better, I was thinking, to begin, which I'd end with a light massage. I wrote the letter "M" on her back. "What did I just draw?" I asked.
    "Do it again...'M'."
    First I spelled "Mom", just to get her used to it and see what her facility would be. It was pretty good. She had a little trouble with the "o", but, as we continued, she sensitized herself. I wrote with increasing difficulty for a good twenty minutes or so: I started with words, then, introduced multi-word phrases by first writing "The Little Girl" and "Mr. Man" (the names of our cats, she got the period with no problem, although I screwed it in to make the point).
    "Mmmm...that feels better than a massage."
    I know. It's an activity Mom started on us early and our whole family performed on each other for many years during our childhoods. I'm not sure why it works better than a straight massage; I do know, though, that it sets up waves of pleasure shivers throughout one's body that massaging doesn't always provoke, even when the massage completely relaxes they body. Something about those shiver waves seems to peform a pleasurable toning that straight massage misses; maybe because the waves stimulate surface nerves that are ignored by the deep touch of muscular massage. When I finished off with a traditional back massage, although Mom appreciated this, she, too, noticed the difference and reported that she was glad I did the back writing, too.
    It occurred to me that this is probably a wonderful way to encourage sense stimulation in the Ancient, even the demented (not to mention the rest of us). If the person is too demented to identify drawn shapes (which is, undoubtedly, an extremely pleasurable way to stimulate brain activity), no problem. Just draw without this purpose. The gods know, none of us ever gets touched enough, once we're past the toddler stage. The Ancient, in particular, suffer this lack.
    I also noticed, much to my chagrin, that, when Mom announced that she was ready to retire, the combination of a very full day and the back drawing/massage seemed to have drained me. Every evening before she retires I make it a point to rub down her legs with lotion. I moved to do this and realized that I wasn't up to it. I'd simply had too much taken out of me and had no more to offer. I explained this to her and apologized. She took it in stride without even a hint of complaint, voiced or silent, but, you know, I was surprised. It's always disconcerting to be confronted by limits to my ability to give. They come up suddenly out of the shadows and I find myself slamming into them without warning.
    Later.