Saturday, January 28, 2006
I awoke out of an excellent sex dream...
...so good and so complete that when I came to it took me a moment to realize I wasn't someplace cool, humid and foggy collapsed next to a man running at the same frequency as me...I was here, the sun blasting in through my east facing window, my mother in the next room, her oxygen concentrator breathing the desert air like a greedy beast...my spirit plummeted and that is how my bad day began.
Without wishing to amend myself I became an asshole in need of a few days-of-me...and my day quickly began disagreeing with me. Two trips became necessary on a day when I wasn't interested in making any; one to replace our old water boiler which almost caught fire while I was heating water for my first cup of coffee. Later, after Mom had arisen, I realized we were out of certain supplies of which I hadn't been keeping track and a trip to Costco was in order...couldn't wait for a day or two when I'd feel more like dealing with my mother and turning it into a walkering session.
I informed my mother soon after she arose that I was having a difficult time, today, and repetition was likely to drive me mad, or, at least, into unwarranted nastiness. Interestingly, she took note and the need for repetition was kept to a minimum. It never fails to amaze me that my mother, when the pressure of me going under becomes apparent to her, steps up to the plate and suddenly becomes easier to manage, takes me seriously, listens to me the first time. On the one hand there I times when I desperately need this cooperation from her; on the other, when I receive it because I'm under personal duress it annoys me that she can't muster this cooperation before I begin to show the strain of intense caregiving.
My spirit improved this evening. I'm still desperately in need of time to myself, though. Somehow I'm sure I'll manage a slightly less than adequate substitute over the next few days because, well, because during my mother's bedtime ritual tonight I realized the need is close to overwhelming. I mentioned to her that, just as I had designed most of this evening to suit me...watching movies I wanted to watch whether or not she enjoyed them (she did, much to her surprise), doing things on my schedule rather than on hers, I was planning to design tomorrow and possibly Monday the same way. I sounded a little arrogant, a defensive posture, I guess.
My mother smiled devilishly and said, "Oh ho, really?!?"
Upon which I unexpectedly burst into tears. "Mom," I sobbed, "don't make a joke of it. I spend all day every day most of the time designing days for you. Day after day after day. Most of the time I'm fine with it. Sometimes, though, I have to have some days designed for me, even though, right now, taking care of you, I can't completely design them for me, I have to do the best I can. You can at least respect this and not make a joke of it. This is serious. I'm at the edge. Don't make the mistake of pushing me over by making fun of me."
Whoa! That took the punch line out of her joking. She sobered up and said something I've never heard her say, "I know. You're right. I know in this situation you can't get the time you need to be alone, to be with yourself. I can't promise to remember in the morning, but if you remind me I'll do the best I can for the next few days to respect your needs."
I sobbed once more and thanked her.
And, damnit, after kissing her goodnight and leaving her room, being in the kind of mood I am, I cursed the fact that I'd have to remind her, probably more than once, that tomorrow and most likely Monday will be designed for me, as much as is possible.
How strange to be in a situation in which win-win is the same as no-win. For both of us.
Oh well.
If this is your first visit to this site and the first post you're reading, don't even wonder why I'm not assigning her to respite in a facility or why other family members aren't at hand to take her in for a bit. Search this site and read. And leave me the fuck be. I'm doing the best I can with the tools I have available and the tools I'll accept, for both her and me.
Mundane miscellanea for the day:
Without wishing to amend myself I became an asshole in need of a few days-of-me...and my day quickly began disagreeing with me. Two trips became necessary on a day when I wasn't interested in making any; one to replace our old water boiler which almost caught fire while I was heating water for my first cup of coffee. Later, after Mom had arisen, I realized we were out of certain supplies of which I hadn't been keeping track and a trip to Costco was in order...couldn't wait for a day or two when I'd feel more like dealing with my mother and turning it into a walkering session.
I informed my mother soon after she arose that I was having a difficult time, today, and repetition was likely to drive me mad, or, at least, into unwarranted nastiness. Interestingly, she took note and the need for repetition was kept to a minimum. It never fails to amaze me that my mother, when the pressure of me going under becomes apparent to her, steps up to the plate and suddenly becomes easier to manage, takes me seriously, listens to me the first time. On the one hand there I times when I desperately need this cooperation from her; on the other, when I receive it because I'm under personal duress it annoys me that she can't muster this cooperation before I begin to show the strain of intense caregiving.
My spirit improved this evening. I'm still desperately in need of time to myself, though. Somehow I'm sure I'll manage a slightly less than adequate substitute over the next few days because, well, because during my mother's bedtime ritual tonight I realized the need is close to overwhelming. I mentioned to her that, just as I had designed most of this evening to suit me...watching movies I wanted to watch whether or not she enjoyed them (she did, much to her surprise), doing things on my schedule rather than on hers, I was planning to design tomorrow and possibly Monday the same way. I sounded a little arrogant, a defensive posture, I guess.
My mother smiled devilishly and said, "Oh ho, really?!?"
Upon which I unexpectedly burst into tears. "Mom," I sobbed, "don't make a joke of it. I spend all day every day most of the time designing days for you. Day after day after day. Most of the time I'm fine with it. Sometimes, though, I have to have some days designed for me, even though, right now, taking care of you, I can't completely design them for me, I have to do the best I can. You can at least respect this and not make a joke of it. This is serious. I'm at the edge. Don't make the mistake of pushing me over by making fun of me."
Whoa! That took the punch line out of her joking. She sobered up and said something I've never heard her say, "I know. You're right. I know in this situation you can't get the time you need to be alone, to be with yourself. I can't promise to remember in the morning, but if you remind me I'll do the best I can for the next few days to respect your needs."
I sobbed once more and thanked her.
And, damnit, after kissing her goodnight and leaving her room, being in the kind of mood I am, I cursed the fact that I'd have to remind her, probably more than once, that tomorrow and most likely Monday will be designed for me, as much as is possible.
How strange to be in a situation in which win-win is the same as no-win. For both of us.
Oh well.
If this is your first visit to this site and the first post you're reading, don't even wonder why I'm not assigning her to respite in a facility or why other family members aren't at hand to take her in for a bit. Search this site and read. And leave me the fuck be. I'm doing the best I can with the tools I have available and the tools I'll accept, for both her and me.
Mundane miscellanea for the day:
- Dinner: Home made chili dog for her with a variety and lots of chopped onion and cheese on a bollilo roll, her choice; a lavish salad for me, with lots of feta, green pimiento stuffed olives and Greek dressing. Mine looked so good to my mother (and it was superior) that she wished out loud that she'd chosen that. I was not about to make yet a third dinner, though.
- Bowel Movement at 2310: Fair volume; excellent consistency (thank god, she's not dehydrated anymore); very easy elimination; very easy clean-up.
- Didn't get to any of the writing I intended. It's been hard, lately, for me to write when my mother's up. I'm not sure why. Better luck tomorrow. Maybe she'll want to sleep a lot.
Friday, January 27, 2006
I had to laugh...
...when I reviewed yesterday's posts against today's early post. First, I took a nap yesterday, which, to me, is, definitely "sleeping a lot", no matter how short the nap. Second, this morning I'm thinking of yesterday as a very busy day. Both are true, because I felt so bad. Weird how that works out. Today actually was busy, without feeling bad and without a nap. Mainly, though, I'm here at the moment to record some miscellanea reminders:
Later, later, later, later.
- Dinner tonight, a chicken concoction with all kinds of fresh chopped vegetables, stuffing, lots of chicken breast, cream of chicken soup, chopped green olives, sour cream and lots of freshly ground pepper.
- No bowel movement today, much to my surprise, considering the laxative last night.
- Hydration has been difficult to manage, today. I didn't want to over hydrate her but I also didn't want to under hydrate her and encourage yet another shit rock bowel movement. I'm not sure how I did. All I know is that her feet are pudgy, she looks a little bloated but there's no dry hack, so I'm hoping it's just a hold over from the laxative and she'll lose it tonight. I'm holding off on a decision about furosemide until tomorrow.
- Stats were taken, though, and she's doing fine. Her blood glucose was a little high, but I think it was dinner last night, specifically the french fries, and, you know, it's not completely the french fries, it's the amount of ketchup she uses on her french fries.
- She is officially, as of today, on prescribed 10 mg lisinopril twice a day. I had to call her doctor's office and explain everything but, thank my lucky stars, he continues to trust me with her and okayed the change for her renewal without any problem.
- No trip to Costco today; maybe tomorrow. She's been doing pretty well today, feeling lively, didn't nap for a long time despite sleeping only 10 hours last night. She didn't feel much like moving today, though. I didn't blame her. It was cold and windy outside, even though she never discovered this. The weather was due to the tail of a low swishing through.
- No lunch today. She wasn't hungry for it. I don't worry about it when she refuses lunch. She's at a healthy weight and I can trust her appetite.
- We did another interview. I'll begin editing it tonight after Mom's retires. I'm not sure whether I'm pleased with it. I'll wait to see how much of it I'll be cutting out and what's the quality of what I leave in.
- Mom's still up. She's alert and focused on her evening shows. We've made a date to watch a show about the first Emperor of China on Sunday from 2200 - midnight. During the breaks in her shows she continues to anticipate what it might be about.
- She tried to encourage me to "go to Cornell" this afternoon. More about that later.
- "Even my mom..."; more on this later, as well.
Later, later, later, later.
"Such a Night" --Thank you, Dr. John
One of my favorite songs by one of my favorite artists. Last night, though, was not one of my favorite nights. I finally headed for bed close to 0100 this morning. I was tired and almost asleep when, 10 minutes after my head hit the pillow, I heard Mom shuffling down the hall.
"Going to the bathroom?" I asked.
"No, I can't sleep. I'm going into the living room."
"No, you're not. If you get up, I have to get up. And, Mom, I've had a hell of a day. It started early, ended late and I was on my feet for most of it. I have to get up early and run a couple of errands I didn't run today because there were things you wanted to do here. You're going back into your room."
"I'll be fine in the living room."
"You would be if I was there to keep an eye on you. You wouldn't be on your own."
"What am I going to do in my room?" She was miffed.
"What were you planning on doing in the living room?"
"I was going to read." She was indignant.
"You can read in your room."
"Well! What if I want a glass of water!?!"
"You've got water by your bed. Fresh water."
"What if I want something to eat?"
"You've had enough to eat today."
"What if I want to watch TV?"
"Mom, look. I accommodate you all the time. I put aside all kinds of things that I want to do so you can do what you want. Tonight, after a day full of accommodating you, I'm tired. You need to accommodate me. Do you understand?"
Dramatic sigh. "Yes, I understand."
I'm not sure when her light went out. Since it was glaring in my eyes I was unable to sleep for some time. The last time I looked at the clock it was 0145. But, I know she stayed in her room.
Does this sound a little like she's in prison? I can't apologize for this. Most nights, if she's needing to stay up late, I'll either stay up and get back up and allow her to do what she wants. Last night, though, I just couldn't do it.
People talk about the selfishness of the elderly. The truth is, it's not all their fault. It's hard not to accede to your Ancient One's wishes most of the time when you're a caregiver, simply because it's often harder to explain why you can't or won't accede to them then deal with the fall-out. If you've chosen to be a full-time caregiver, as well, it's your job to be available at the behest and whims of your Ancient One's life. This usually works best if you are as generous as possible as unobtrusively as possible. Sometimes, though, it backfires. Sometimes your Ancient One is lead to believe that their desires and needs are primary and unquestionable. At other times, because you as a caregiver have done such a good job of seeing to it that your Ancient One feels (and is) both comfortable and safe in her home, she thinks her safety has nothing to do with you and everything to do with her. If she also has Dementia-Lite you'll never be able to convince her otherwise. Sometimes you just have to order her around. If ordering isn't the order of most of your days, it's going to be difficult when, for a few hours, you need to order her around.
She accepted my demand and, as far as I know from the lack of evidence in the rest of the house this morning and the fact that she's sleeping in, she remembered and managed herself according to my demand.
Anyway, time to awaken the Mom. I want to get her hydrated and moving so that her bowels respond to the laxative in a timely manner.
My plans for this weekend, though, starting today, are to do some catching up. I've got loads of half-essays that I want to finish. I want to catch up on stats and delete those details from here. I want to begin gathering our income tax stuff and see what's missing. And, with any luck, I might be able to entice Mom into a trip to Costco tomorrow. I also want to attempt yet another podcast, this time regarding something that's been on her mind for the last more than a few mornings: Her maternal grandfather and one of her maternal uncles. I'm hoping this will segue into some interesting insights regarding her life as a young woman.
Busy weekend, if things go according to plan. I know, it's Friday, bear with me here; I'm considering this the start of my busy weekend, if things go according to plan.
Later.
"Going to the bathroom?" I asked.
"No, I can't sleep. I'm going into the living room."
"No, you're not. If you get up, I have to get up. And, Mom, I've had a hell of a day. It started early, ended late and I was on my feet for most of it. I have to get up early and run a couple of errands I didn't run today because there were things you wanted to do here. You're going back into your room."
"I'll be fine in the living room."
"You would be if I was there to keep an eye on you. You wouldn't be on your own."
"What am I going to do in my room?" She was miffed.
"What were you planning on doing in the living room?"
"I was going to read." She was indignant.
"You can read in your room."
"Well! What if I want a glass of water!?!"
"You've got water by your bed. Fresh water."
"What if I want something to eat?"
"You've had enough to eat today."
"What if I want to watch TV?"
"Mom, look. I accommodate you all the time. I put aside all kinds of things that I want to do so you can do what you want. Tonight, after a day full of accommodating you, I'm tired. You need to accommodate me. Do you understand?"
Dramatic sigh. "Yes, I understand."
I'm not sure when her light went out. Since it was glaring in my eyes I was unable to sleep for some time. The last time I looked at the clock it was 0145. But, I know she stayed in her room.
Does this sound a little like she's in prison? I can't apologize for this. Most nights, if she's needing to stay up late, I'll either stay up and get back up and allow her to do what she wants. Last night, though, I just couldn't do it.
People talk about the selfishness of the elderly. The truth is, it's not all their fault. It's hard not to accede to your Ancient One's wishes most of the time when you're a caregiver, simply because it's often harder to explain why you can't or won't accede to them then deal with the fall-out. If you've chosen to be a full-time caregiver, as well, it's your job to be available at the behest and whims of your Ancient One's life. This usually works best if you are as generous as possible as unobtrusively as possible. Sometimes, though, it backfires. Sometimes your Ancient One is lead to believe that their desires and needs are primary and unquestionable. At other times, because you as a caregiver have done such a good job of seeing to it that your Ancient One feels (and is) both comfortable and safe in her home, she thinks her safety has nothing to do with you and everything to do with her. If she also has Dementia-Lite you'll never be able to convince her otherwise. Sometimes you just have to order her around. If ordering isn't the order of most of your days, it's going to be difficult when, for a few hours, you need to order her around.
She accepted my demand and, as far as I know from the lack of evidence in the rest of the house this morning and the fact that she's sleeping in, she remembered and managed herself according to my demand.
Anyway, time to awaken the Mom. I want to get her hydrated and moving so that her bowels respond to the laxative in a timely manner.
My plans for this weekend, though, starting today, are to do some catching up. I've got loads of half-essays that I want to finish. I want to catch up on stats and delete those details from here. I want to begin gathering our income tax stuff and see what's missing. And, with any luck, I might be able to entice Mom into a trip to Costco tomorrow. I also want to attempt yet another podcast, this time regarding something that's been on her mind for the last more than a few mornings: Her maternal grandfather and one of her maternal uncles. I'm hoping this will segue into some interesting insights regarding her life as a young woman.
Busy weekend, if things go according to plan. I know, it's Friday, bear with me here; I'm considering this the start of my busy weekend, if things go according to plan.
Later.
Thursday, January 26, 2006
Surprise Bowel Movement tonight...
...three days in a row again, right? More, not sure, but I don't feel like doing a "view blog" to check. This one kept her in the bathroom for about 15 minutes: 2310 - 2325. She was blocked with hard little shit balls for a few minutes. I had her rise and I rolled a few of them out. Once those were gone, her movement was fairly good volume; good consistency; easy elimination, slightly smeary clean-up. While she was on the toilet she asked for some Phillip's. I gave her two tablespoons. I usually don't give her this much, but she and I have been having fluid battles for the last couple of days. I gave her a short lecture last night and again tonight about this being the wages of refusing liquids. Last night, of course, she didn't have a problem eliminating but she eliminated shit rocks. Tonight she was blocked by the shit rocks she didn't eliminate last night. Behind them, though, was easily eliminated, moisture rich loaf shit.
I feel that the laxative was premature, but it'll probably clean her out, which isn't a bad thing, at this point. As well, with its administration, I was able to get 8 more ounces of water down her. So, we might have an active day tomorrow, colonically speaking. We're running low on supplies, too, so I need to get to the grocery early tomorrow and pick up a little replenishment...then, I imagine, I'll be going to Costco later for the bulk and paper supplies, with or without Mom.
Later.
I feel that the laxative was premature, but it'll probably clean her out, which isn't a bad thing, at this point. As well, with its administration, I was able to get 8 more ounces of water down her. So, we might have an active day tomorrow, colonically speaking. We're running low on supplies, too, so I need to get to the grocery early tomorrow and pick up a little replenishment...then, I imagine, I'll be going to Costco later for the bulk and paper supplies, with or without Mom.
Later.
...and Joan Baez was singing, "The ni-i-i-ght they drove old 14 down..."
...in one of my many strange but not really upsetting dreams this afternoon. Yeah, I took a nap. The fog has been worse today and I have a feeling it's origin is physical. Earlier this evening I felt as though I was "coming down with something". So I took ibuprofen. I don't feel like that anymore but I'm not looking forward to tomorrow. For the first time long before December of 1993 my resistance is the lowest I can remember. I'm a little concerned but, well, so far there doesn't seem to be anything I can do right.
So, I've been wondering since this afternoon what significance the number 14 has for me. I can't remember any of the details of that or any of the other short, intense dreams.
Dinner tonight: A burger and fries from Carl's Jr. I wasn't into cooking and wasn't hungry so I allowed Mom to choose whatever fast food she wanted.
She and I have both slept a lot today. If I'd been up more she would have been up more. I couldn't do it, though. As I recall, dimly, we'd planned to go to Costco today. Oh well. There's always tomorrow.
Mom continues to feel good, especially since she's slept almost as much as she's wanted, today. I say "almost" because she was about to head for bed at 2215 this evening. I talked her into staying up until all her M*A*S*H's are over. That'll help keep today's lisinopril doses almost twelve hours apart.
Later.
So, I've been wondering since this afternoon what significance the number 14 has for me. I can't remember any of the details of that or any of the other short, intense dreams.
Dinner tonight: A burger and fries from Carl's Jr. I wasn't into cooking and wasn't hungry so I allowed Mom to choose whatever fast food she wanted.
She and I have both slept a lot today. If I'd been up more she would have been up more. I couldn't do it, though. As I recall, dimly, we'd planned to go to Costco today. Oh well. There's always tomorrow.
Mom continues to feel good, especially since she's slept almost as much as she's wanted, today. I say "almost" because she was about to head for bed at 2215 this evening. I talked her into staying up until all her M*A*S*H's are over. That'll help keep today's lisinopril doses almost twelve hours apart.
Later.
Wednesday, January 25, 2006
Introduction to an Introduction
I was spurred by inspiration, last night, until 0500 this morning, in several areas, the manifestation of the most obvious of which appears above, just below the description of my journal, in deep pink. After finishing the editing on The Teaching Interview, added to the right under the podcast links, it occurred to me that an audio introduction to The Mom & Me Journals might help it seem less intimidating to visitors. Even if you're a regular visitor to this group of sites you might want to listen to it. I explain the contents of all the links to the right. If you've been curious about any of them but haven't wanted to become entangled in yet more written words the Audio Intro reviews each link's material. The introduction announcement is a link to an mp3 file. I think the only thing I neglected to mention, by accident, is the amount of repetition in these site. After uploading the file and listening to it to make sure it was coming through okay I considered modifying it but decided, nah, the repetition in the site becomes obvious very soon after someone visits. Which is why I've set up search facilities.
Although The Teaching Interview appears to be long, certainly longer than my plan for each interview, I cut 50 minutes out of it before uploading it. The 50 cut minutes consisted of:
Thus, some of my inspired time last night was devoted to analyzing why I'm having what I consider to be only minor success interviewing my mother. My realizations are, in no particular order:
Last miscellaneous detail: Bowel Movement occurred at 2310: Poor volume; rocky consistency; very easy elimination; very easy clean-up.
She hasn't moved around much in the last few days. Maybe I can get her interested in the sample kiosks at Costco tomorrow.
Later.
Although The Teaching Interview appears to be long, certainly longer than my plan for each interview, I cut 50 minutes out of it before uploading it. The 50 cut minutes consisted of:
- thought pauses;
- "Yes" or "No" answers;
- and a lot of elaborate questions and conversation by me concocted on the fly to try to provoke more elaborate answers from my mother. My concoctions were, for the most part, impotent.
Thus, some of my inspired time last night was devoted to analyzing why I'm having what I consider to be only minor success interviewing my mother. My realizations are, in no particular order:
- I know, simply because I can read her eyes, that as soon as I ask a question, her mind produces images in response to that question. I haven't yet figured out how to get her to consciously focus on, control and describe these images. I've even used the technique of asking her directly, "Describe what you see in your mind in response to my question." It looks as though she's trying but I'm not sure whether she isn't used to doing this or is beyond this activity. Time, I suppose, will tell. I'm not, by the way, adverse to teaching her how to do this. I'm just not sure how to teach it. As well, even if I manage to teach this to her, progress may be slow and sometimes trumped by her Dementia-Lite.
- Although my mother admits (in one of the first two interviews) that when she was in her teens she suffered from a lack of strong self-concept and self-esteem, overall my mother's life is marked by the opposites. She is not, however, unlike me, egocentric. My mother's eyes always focus outwards. Her character dictates that interior contemplation is akin to obsessive masturbation, an activity that doesn't appeal to her. She isn't afraid of what she'll find, she's just not interested in it. The world outside herself is much more interesting to her than the world inside herself. This lack of a contemplative turn hasn't kept her from being a shrewd observer of human behavior, nor has it caused her to habitually behave in an unconsciously oblivious manner. Again, quite the opposite. Her lack of self-interest, though, makes it challenging to get her to settle down and talk about herself, her life and her past environments. She finally admitted, during the winding down of the teaching interview, when I gently and humorously upbraided her for not being forthcoming, that she "can't imagine that anyone would be interested in any of those things." This admission of hers effectively blocked me until I was able to think about ways around it last night. This morning at breakfast I launched the first. She was eating breakfast and meticulously combing her gossip tabloids.
"Mom," I asked, "why do you read those magazines?"
She was startled but had no trouble answering. "Well," she began, "they have lots of interesting information. And, it's fun to read about people. Whether or not what I'm reading is true, it's interesting. It helps me get a picture of what these people might be like, especially the little details about their lives. I don't care about their romantic lives, but the other stuff is interesting."
"Exactly," I said. "Now think of yourself as an object of others' curiosity, especially the members of your family. Does it make sense to you that stuff about you that is of no interest to you is of enormous interest to others?"
"Hmmm, I see where you're going with this. You're upset with me for not answering lots of the questions you ask."
I laughed. "Shrewd woman!" I said. "You've found me out!"
"Gail, I don't always remember a lot of those things you ask about."
"Maybe that's true. But I know you remember a lot more than you admit to. The reason I know is that I can see you thinking after I ask a question, and I can see that you aren't searching, you're reviewing. Am I right?"
Thought pause. "Well, yes. Mostly. Sometimes I really do forget."
"Would you believe me if I told you that I can tell when you're reviewing a blank slate, too?"
This time she laughed. "How can you tell?" she challenged.
"Your forehead looks different when you're drawing a blank. It's not relaxed, it's scrinched and you look worried."
She laughed again. Cagey woman that she is, she only half confirmed my diagnosis. "That's probably true."
"Do you remember how hard it was for you to get interesting detail from Grandma?" I asked.
"Well, yes. But it turned out that she had Alzheimer's."
"Mom, if that's what she had, it wasn't affecting her when you tried to record her. The thing is, she had exactly the same outlook as you. She was interested in the lives of others, not her own."
"I see what you mean."
"And, now, because you weren't able to crack through that, to this day you continue to say, 'I wish I'd been able to get that out of Mother.'"
"Yes..." She wondered where I was leading.
"Okay, let me pose a problem for you that only you can solve. Do you want your descendants saying the same thing about you? Having no way of being aware of who you are, what you think, how your life went, what changes you went through, how circumstances changed around you from decade to decade, how you felt about and adapted to the changes..."
"I'm very adaptable," she trumpeted. "I had a microwave, a computer and a movie machine long before you."
I pointed my finger at her. "Exactly! Now, don't you think your descendants would be interested in knowing that?"
"Well, yes!" It surprised her that she was beginning to come around.
"Consider, Mom, that, especially after your death, your descendants will be as hungry for information about you as your are for the information in those tabloids. Do you want them to know who you are, who you 'were', to them? Or do you want them thinking and saying, 'Ah, she was just this stupid old woman who couldn't remember anything. What difference does it make? Her life must not have been that interesting if she didn't feel like talking about it.' Your choice, Mom."
The "stupid old woman" and the "her life must have not been that interesting" got to her. "I see what you mean," she said.
"So, you'll try harder?"
"I'll try."
"I'll remind you. Strongly."
"I have no doubt."
"You'll go along with me?"
"If you remind me..."
Always the sly one. - I've thought of one technique I'm going to try. The next time we settle into an interview I'm going to try to work on her to imagine that she has a group of eager 9-11 year olds (upper elementary school age; the age at which children have enough awareness to absorb anything and ask audacious questions; also the age the children she most enjoyed teaching) sitting at her feet wanting to know every little detail about what her life has been like. It's not that I don't ask the audacious question, it's that I'm not a 9-11 year old, even though I feel and sometimes act like one. Maybe this will help.
- I'm going to remind her as often as necessary that if she doesn't consider her life interesting enough to talk about, neither will anyone else.
- The next time she says, "I don't remember," and her forehead is telling me she does, I'm going to tell her, "unacceptable. If you chose not to remember your life, you're guaranteeing that no one else will remember it, either."
- I think that deviating from the standard questionnaire organization is, for the time being, our best bet. I'm not sure what the organizing principle or subject for our next interview will be but something will come to me.
- I'm still working on the possibility of figuring out how to sneakily slip the open, computer connected mike into our spontaneous conversations. Many of them contain rich lodes of information about her life and her attitudes.
- 1/23/06:
- Two KFC thighs (she ate both), cole slaw and mac & cheese
- 1/24/06:
- Bowel Movement at 2225: Fairly good volume; excellent consistency; easy elimination; very easy clean-up
- Dinner: Home made ham salad, Doritos Nacho Cheese chips, V-8 juice, Mandarin Orange slices
Last miscellaneous detail: Bowel Movement occurred at 2310: Poor volume; rocky consistency; very easy elimination; very easy clean-up.
She hasn't moved around much in the last few days. Maybe I can get her interested in the sample kiosks at Costco tomorrow.
Later.
Monday, January 23, 2006
Very quick dinner and BM reminders for last night.
I'm finally "in the mood" to get my ass over There and do some serious fill in, but my time is limited at the moment, so here are a few for-myself reminders:
Sidebar: You'd think, wouldn't you, that writing every little detail down here would satisfy my need to vent, but no. I realized, this morning, talking to MCS, that every time I'm on the phone with her or another one of my sisters I manage to turn the conversation to Taking Care of Mom and run my mouth off to what I am sure is their distraction. I'm sure, too, I'm boring as hell when I do this because quite a bit of it is repetitive. I'm kind of like a one-horse town in that respect, right now. I've been thinking about it and I'm not sorry that my focus is as acutely concentrated as it is. It works for me. But, it doesn't work really well for the few social relationships I retain (I might add, it has been my decision to curtail social relationships; that also works for me). I'm not sure if I'll be successful at modifying this behavior but I'm going to give it a try. If, however, being more cosmopolitan in my conversational acuity doesn't work for me I'll just shrug my shoulders and agree, "Yeah, I'm a Caregiving Asshole. Deal with it."
- Meals yesterday were a bit topsy turvey. Mom talked ice cream all day so I figured last night would be a good time to finish off the little bit of the non-chocolate ice cream we had left from the holidays. In case you're wondering, to Mom there are only three flavors of ice cream: Chocolate, Butter Pecan and Non-Chocolate, in that order. I was continuing to hanker, as well, for non-cured Canadian Ham and Jarlsburg Swiss. So, lunch/dinner (which happened late enough to qualify) was a drawn out affair beginning with grilled ham and cheese sandwiches on sourdough and V-8 juice at about 2030 and Non-Chocolate ice cream with chocolate sauce at about 2200. Her pills were administered throughout the evening; supplements and antibiotic at dinner; blood sugar and aloe vera gel with ice cream; lisinopril at bedtime.
- Bowel Movement pretty much on schedule at 2115: Good volume; good consistency but a little hard, probably due to the furosemide and it's diuretic effect; elimination extended but not hard; very easy clean-up.
Sidebar: You'd think, wouldn't you, that writing every little detail down here would satisfy my need to vent, but no. I realized, this morning, talking to MCS, that every time I'm on the phone with her or another one of my sisters I manage to turn the conversation to Taking Care of Mom and run my mouth off to what I am sure is their distraction. I'm sure, too, I'm boring as hell when I do this because quite a bit of it is repetitive. I'm kind of like a one-horse town in that respect, right now. I've been thinking about it and I'm not sorry that my focus is as acutely concentrated as it is. It works for me. But, it doesn't work really well for the few social relationships I retain (I might add, it has been my decision to curtail social relationships; that also works for me). I'm not sure if I'll be successful at modifying this behavior but I'm going to give it a try. If, however, being more cosmopolitan in my conversational acuity doesn't work for me I'll just shrug my shoulders and agree, "Yeah, I'm a Caregiving Asshole. Deal with it."
"I know you don't like your physical dependence.
I know you dislike it so much that you prefer to forget it but you're independent of spirit and that's what's important." I said this to my mother earlier this evening and it seems to have lightened her load.
We had another of our typical, usually weekly, sometimes more often, incidents in which I am watching something on television that I want to watch all the way through. It is often something in which Mom's not interested. I try to keep these incidents to a minimum and it's not hard because I don't pay a lot of attention to TV; it's pretty much her domain. Occasionally, though, there's something I want to watch that I know is not going to catch Mom's interest. As fate would have it, these programs are rarely on when Mom is sleeping...probably because I don't watch TV at all when she's sleeping. Her sleep times are my vacation from TV.
Anyway, she'd already decided that she was going to stay up through The L Word and "my" program came on just previous to this so I thought I was safe. Just in case, however, I bathroomed her, filled her coffee cup and asked after all her needs just before the program. I also told her I expected she'd find the program boring, provided her with new issues of all her tabloids and thanked her in advance for her indulgence.
For some reason she decided to hone in on the program. It was, indeed, incredibly boring for her; so much so that about halfway through (it was a program without advertisements) she began to wriggle out of her chair.
Trying to stay abreast of both her needs and the program, I asked her, "What do you need, Mom?"
"I need to go to bed."
"I thought you were going to stay up for The L Word. It's right after this."
"It's not worth the wait. I'm going to bed."
"Are you tired?"
"Well..."
"Mom, if you go to bed, I'll miss a good 15 minutes of this program and it doesn't repeat." By this time I'd already missed a good minute of it.
"You don't have to go to bed, too."
"That's not the point, Mom. I know you don't like to remember this but when you go to bed I help you prepare. It takes about 15 minutes. Sometimes longer."
"You don't have to do that."
I sighed, although I tried not to sound annoyed. "Yes, Mom, I do. Listen. I don't want to miss anymore of my show explaining to you once again something you don't want to remember. Please. There's only about a half hour left, then The L Word comes on. I've already missed a couple of minutes, here. Would you please do me this favor and remain seated through the rest of this program?"
It was her turn to sigh. She made no effort to hide her annoyance. "All right. I don't understand why I can't go to bed, but all right. If you insist."
"Read your magazines."
"I can't keep my eyes off this show."
"Then watch it but, please, don't disturb my viewing of it anymore."
She forgot her annoyance with me and with the show I was watching almost immediately. She also forgot that the show had distracted her and read her magazines quietly until The L Word came on, which she enjoyed this week.
Afterwards we performed her bedtime routine. As she was putting on her pajamas I noticed that her forehead was crinkled more than usual with either worry or agitation. I asked her what was "on [her] mind."
"Oh, nothing. Well, something. I just don't understand why you feel the need to be right here with me every time I decide to do something."
"Does it bother you?"
"Well, sometimes. Like when you won't let me go to bed when I want."
Hmmm...I guess she didn't forget the earlier incident. "Well, Mom, sometimes I don't let you go to bed because you just woke up!"
We both laughed.
"You know what I mean," she said.
"Yeah, I do Mom. And I know you feel completely competent. I know you think I'm foolish and overbearing to be hounding your footsteps, literally and constantly. I know. You need to trust me on this, though. You're safe and comfortable and secure because I do this and it's an extra bonus that I do it so well that you think I don't need to do it. And I can't, in good conscious, stop doing it. It's my job. It's how you need to be taken care of, and I'm here doing the caring for you. It's my job to keep you safe and secure and comfortable and this is one of the ways I do it."
This is when I uttered the two sentences that open this post.
Her reaction?
She grinned with pleasure. "I never thought of it like that," she said.
Bingo! I thought. Now I know how to settle her down and seek her cooperation when she becomes so annoyed with my caregiving that she could scream.
Insight doesn't always emerge after hours of considered thought from on high with an aura of benevolence. Sometimes it offers its best treasures instantly and serendipitously in the sparks of conflict.
We had another of our typical, usually weekly, sometimes more often, incidents in which I am watching something on television that I want to watch all the way through. It is often something in which Mom's not interested. I try to keep these incidents to a minimum and it's not hard because I don't pay a lot of attention to TV; it's pretty much her domain. Occasionally, though, there's something I want to watch that I know is not going to catch Mom's interest. As fate would have it, these programs are rarely on when Mom is sleeping...probably because I don't watch TV at all when she's sleeping. Her sleep times are my vacation from TV.
Anyway, she'd already decided that she was going to stay up through The L Word and "my" program came on just previous to this so I thought I was safe. Just in case, however, I bathroomed her, filled her coffee cup and asked after all her needs just before the program. I also told her I expected she'd find the program boring, provided her with new issues of all her tabloids and thanked her in advance for her indulgence.
For some reason she decided to hone in on the program. It was, indeed, incredibly boring for her; so much so that about halfway through (it was a program without advertisements) she began to wriggle out of her chair.
Trying to stay abreast of both her needs and the program, I asked her, "What do you need, Mom?"
"I need to go to bed."
"I thought you were going to stay up for The L Word. It's right after this."
"It's not worth the wait. I'm going to bed."
"Are you tired?"
"Well..."
"Mom, if you go to bed, I'll miss a good 15 minutes of this program and it doesn't repeat." By this time I'd already missed a good minute of it.
"You don't have to go to bed, too."
"That's not the point, Mom. I know you don't like to remember this but when you go to bed I help you prepare. It takes about 15 minutes. Sometimes longer."
"You don't have to do that."
I sighed, although I tried not to sound annoyed. "Yes, Mom, I do. Listen. I don't want to miss anymore of my show explaining to you once again something you don't want to remember. Please. There's only about a half hour left, then The L Word comes on. I've already missed a couple of minutes, here. Would you please do me this favor and remain seated through the rest of this program?"
It was her turn to sigh. She made no effort to hide her annoyance. "All right. I don't understand why I can't go to bed, but all right. If you insist."
"Read your magazines."
"I can't keep my eyes off this show."
"Then watch it but, please, don't disturb my viewing of it anymore."
She forgot her annoyance with me and with the show I was watching almost immediately. She also forgot that the show had distracted her and read her magazines quietly until The L Word came on, which she enjoyed this week.
Afterwards we performed her bedtime routine. As she was putting on her pajamas I noticed that her forehead was crinkled more than usual with either worry or agitation. I asked her what was "on [her] mind."
"Oh, nothing. Well, something. I just don't understand why you feel the need to be right here with me every time I decide to do something."
"Does it bother you?"
"Well, sometimes. Like when you won't let me go to bed when I want."
Hmmm...I guess she didn't forget the earlier incident. "Well, Mom, sometimes I don't let you go to bed because you just woke up!"
We both laughed.
"You know what I mean," she said.
"Yeah, I do Mom. And I know you feel completely competent. I know you think I'm foolish and overbearing to be hounding your footsteps, literally and constantly. I know. You need to trust me on this, though. You're safe and comfortable and secure because I do this and it's an extra bonus that I do it so well that you think I don't need to do it. And I can't, in good conscious, stop doing it. It's my job. It's how you need to be taken care of, and I'm here doing the caring for you. It's my job to keep you safe and secure and comfortable and this is one of the ways I do it."
This is when I uttered the two sentences that open this post.
Her reaction?
She grinned with pleasure. "I never thought of it like that," she said.
Bingo! I thought. Now I know how to settle her down and seek her cooperation when she becomes so annoyed with my caregiving that she could scream.
Insight doesn't always emerge after hours of considered thought from on high with an aura of benevolence. Sometimes it offers its best treasures instantly and serendipitously in the sparks of conflict.
Sunday, January 22, 2006
"Cruelty is not condoned in this household."
It happens, occasionally, very occasionally, but it's not condoned or tolerated. That's what I was moved to tell my mother last night just before she retired.
Weird what happened. It was 0100 (this morning, actually). Mom was lively but thought she might be ready for bed. We'd had an interesting evening, watching episodes of Roseanne, 2nd Season and pausing the DVD frequently to discuss what was, last night, Mom's well remembered version of our family life (the family she and my father created).
I helped Mom out of her chair, supported and directed her through wiggling her hips to gain her balance and alleviate stiffness then guided her around the rocker. I noticed that the cuff of my pants was coming undone so we stopped, I placed her hand securely on the chair (the rocking action of which has been stopped with wooden breakers under the front and back; she never rocked in it, anyway, and the breakers make it easier for her to sit and rise), backed off about a foot and bent from the hips to fix my cuff. When I attempted to rise I noticed my mother's free hand on my head. I thought she might be using my head for further standing security, even though we've discussed many times that she is not to do this as, if she falls we both fall and become likely candidates for injury. I also thought that as I rose she'd lift her hand. She didn't. She pushed on my head harder (surprisingly hard, in fact), preventing me from rising...and, she giggled.
Oops! Not a recommended joke. When I realized what she was doing I reached up, grabbed her hand pulled it off my head, held it securely so that she wouldn't lose her balance, rose, faced her with a fury to which she is completely unaccustomed from me and lit into her.
"That, Mom, is not funny. Let me explain to you how not funny it is. This little idea of a joke has the potential for serious injury to me and you."
Her eyes widened and she stared at me with consternation. Her expression clearly read, "Jesus! Can't you take a fucking joke!?!"
"I see you don't get it. Okay, we're going to stand here and I'm going to scold you until you do."
Her face slackened a little.
I launched into a detailed explanation of what the consequences of injury due to jokes of physical cruelty could be for her and me, including the possibility of a nursing home stay for her unmoderated by me because I could be hospitalized. I gave her no quarter. At all. I scolded her for even considering that such an action might be funny. Then, I launched into a short, sharp sermon recounting for her recent episodes of her purposely stepping on our cat's tail or catching and pulling it, which have resulted in an angry, scratching cat and minor legs wounds to my mother to which I have not been sympathetic. I told her that I know that in such close quarters as we live both of us have bad days and I'm not immune to occasionally (very occasionally) cruelly lashing out at her, either. But those are not to be tolerated, either, they cause me as much pain as they cause her and, at any rate, I do not use cruelty for my pleasure as she does.
I stopped and scrutinized her reaction. I could tell that she was not only offended at being scolded but she wasn't convinced.
As I paused she said, "It didn't hurt you. It doesn't hurt the cat."
I narrowed my eyes. "Mom," I said, "let me remind you. You've always had a penchant for cruelty to beings in the service of fun when they're vulnerable. Remember the boots-on-cats stunts you used to pull? Remember how many times over the last seven years (the age of our cat, The Little Girl) you've been scratched because some form of teasing you thought would be funny wasn't funny to The Little Girl? You even believe that countering a cruel child's antics on the playground with the same applied cruelty is an adequate lesson in how to act. 'If a child bites another child, you bite the child to show the child how it feels.' You need to stop and take a long look at your little ventures into cruelty, especially now that you're thinking they're fun to pull on me. Believe me, they aren't fun for me, and I'm going to make sure that you learn, tonight, that they carry the risk of not being fun for you, either. I know you would never consider yourself cruel at heart. You generally aren't. But let me tell you, you may be 88, you may be mentally hazy, but you are not too old or demented to expand your ability to be compassionate and merciful."
I stopped. Mom was no longer meeting my gaze with defiance. She wasn't cowed but she was clearly shocked. I could see the wheels turning as she considered what I'd said. I think the part that got to her was me telling her that she was aware enough to recognize the cruelty of some of her habitual "fun" behaviors and change them.
"Do you understand me?"
"Yes." Very quiet.
"Are you sure?"
"Yes."
"Do you agree with me?"
"Yes." It wasn't automatic, which was a relief. I could see she was beginning to view these behaviors of hers in a new light.
"You need to apologize to me, now, just as I make you apologize to The Little Girl every time you bedevil her."
"I'm sorry."
"What are you sorry for?" I considered this very important. If she was beyond remembering that for which she needed to apologize, I needed to readjust my reaction and the apology would need to come from me.
"I'm sorry for trying to keep you from getting up. I'm sorry I thought it was funny. I'm sorry I victimized you for my pleasure."
Whoa! That last admission was a surprise. I realized, from that statement, that she did, indeed, know what she was doing, that she wasn't doing it from a demented depth.
"O.K. Apology accepted. I'm still simmering, though. If you feel the need to get back up after you go to bed because you can't sleep, I advise you not to. I need some time to settle down and think my way out of this. You need to give me that time. Do you understand?"
"Yes."
"O.K. Into the bathroom. Let's get you ready for bed."
For the first time in several nights I didn't have a Night Visitor during my Cooldown from Caregiving period.
If my mother didn't have this slight but glittering streak of cruelty in her I would be tempted to wonder whether we might be entering a new Experience in Dementia. I considered it last night but I'm sure, after reviewing all the incidents I can remember directed at our cat over the last several years and all her assertions of Cruelty as A Lesson in Compassion, that this was not a new episode in Dimensions of Dementia (hmmm..."dimensions" and "dementia"; I wonder if they're etymologically related...must look them up; even if they aren't, the similarity is provocative). I did, at any rate, consider whether I'd be able to handle her if she began journeying into the stage of Demented Rage and Cruelty which seems to be a hallmark of specifically Alzheimer's related dementia. I'm satisfied, today, that I would be able to handle it, but I don't think I'll have to.
The point, now, for me, is one I've had to consider a few times before: Is it possible for An Ancient One with Dementia-Lite to continue becoming aware of and reforming her questionable behaviors as she did in the past? I can think of only one other time when I scolded her for something: Eating directly out of condiment jars. Although I continue to keep an eye on her and work to keep her from foraging food on her own in the kitchen, there have been two times I can remember when I wasn't successful since The Condiment Incident. Both times she was careful to tell me, of her own accord, that she "didn't eat out of jars". The evidence confirmed this. As well, she didn't eat condiments either time. Both these incidents suggest to me that she remains capable of modifying offensive and/or dangerous behaviors and will probably think twice before she again attempts to entertain herself with cruelty to other beings.
I will, I know, from now on, be wary of stumbling into situations in which she might decide it would be funny to be cruel to me, even though my best guess is that she probably won't do this again.
We'll see how it goes.
My mother is, overall, a credit to her species, has been publicly lauded as such more than once and very deservedly so. She, though, like all of us, has her rough edges: Fewer than in the past, of course, but still jarring when confronted. When someone is old as my mother is old (and, specifically as she is old, as there are, I realize, Stages of Old in which bewildering behavior is intractable to anything but chemicals and/or restraint, if those) it's tempting to overlook flaws, assuming that nothing can or should be done about them. "She's old, after all." I think we rob dignity from the person in question when we take this tack. The Ancient are not always The Intractable. In many cases they are not only able but willing to modify their behavior to better effect, especially if they still recognize the entire world as their stage. I think the important point to remember is that regardless of how old we are or whether we've entered the lighter realms of Dementia, if we retain essential awareness of ourselves in society, as my mother does, it is never too late to sand yet another rough edge away.
I'd like to assume that it is needless to write the following, but I think I should anyway: These incidents in which my mother displays behavior that cries out to be modified are very rare. I expect them to remain rare for the rest of her life. Her fundamental character is well-developed and delightful. It is not, however, finished. It won't be finished until she's finished. She believes she has a long way to go. I think I honor her in assuming the same and treating her as though, along the way, she continues to not only have lessons to learn but has the ability to learn them. I think I'll know if we reach a point where assuming this no longer honors but hampers her. With a little luck and the influence of her extraordinary genes, though, I suspect that even her death will be, for her, yet another adventure in learning. I hope so. We should all be so lucky and blessed.
Weird what happened. It was 0100 (this morning, actually). Mom was lively but thought she might be ready for bed. We'd had an interesting evening, watching episodes of Roseanne, 2nd Season and pausing the DVD frequently to discuss what was, last night, Mom's well remembered version of our family life (the family she and my father created).
I helped Mom out of her chair, supported and directed her through wiggling her hips to gain her balance and alleviate stiffness then guided her around the rocker. I noticed that the cuff of my pants was coming undone so we stopped, I placed her hand securely on the chair (the rocking action of which has been stopped with wooden breakers under the front and back; she never rocked in it, anyway, and the breakers make it easier for her to sit and rise), backed off about a foot and bent from the hips to fix my cuff. When I attempted to rise I noticed my mother's free hand on my head. I thought she might be using my head for further standing security, even though we've discussed many times that she is not to do this as, if she falls we both fall and become likely candidates for injury. I also thought that as I rose she'd lift her hand. She didn't. She pushed on my head harder (surprisingly hard, in fact), preventing me from rising...and, she giggled.
Oops! Not a recommended joke. When I realized what she was doing I reached up, grabbed her hand pulled it off my head, held it securely so that she wouldn't lose her balance, rose, faced her with a fury to which she is completely unaccustomed from me and lit into her.
"That, Mom, is not funny. Let me explain to you how not funny it is. This little idea of a joke has the potential for serious injury to me and you."
Her eyes widened and she stared at me with consternation. Her expression clearly read, "Jesus! Can't you take a fucking joke!?!"
"I see you don't get it. Okay, we're going to stand here and I'm going to scold you until you do."
Her face slackened a little.
I launched into a detailed explanation of what the consequences of injury due to jokes of physical cruelty could be for her and me, including the possibility of a nursing home stay for her unmoderated by me because I could be hospitalized. I gave her no quarter. At all. I scolded her for even considering that such an action might be funny. Then, I launched into a short, sharp sermon recounting for her recent episodes of her purposely stepping on our cat's tail or catching and pulling it, which have resulted in an angry, scratching cat and minor legs wounds to my mother to which I have not been sympathetic. I told her that I know that in such close quarters as we live both of us have bad days and I'm not immune to occasionally (very occasionally) cruelly lashing out at her, either. But those are not to be tolerated, either, they cause me as much pain as they cause her and, at any rate, I do not use cruelty for my pleasure as she does.
I stopped and scrutinized her reaction. I could tell that she was not only offended at being scolded but she wasn't convinced.
As I paused she said, "It didn't hurt you. It doesn't hurt the cat."
I narrowed my eyes. "Mom," I said, "let me remind you. You've always had a penchant for cruelty to beings in the service of fun when they're vulnerable. Remember the boots-on-cats stunts you used to pull? Remember how many times over the last seven years (the age of our cat, The Little Girl) you've been scratched because some form of teasing you thought would be funny wasn't funny to The Little Girl? You even believe that countering a cruel child's antics on the playground with the same applied cruelty is an adequate lesson in how to act. 'If a child bites another child, you bite the child to show the child how it feels.' You need to stop and take a long look at your little ventures into cruelty, especially now that you're thinking they're fun to pull on me. Believe me, they aren't fun for me, and I'm going to make sure that you learn, tonight, that they carry the risk of not being fun for you, either. I know you would never consider yourself cruel at heart. You generally aren't. But let me tell you, you may be 88, you may be mentally hazy, but you are not too old or demented to expand your ability to be compassionate and merciful."
I stopped. Mom was no longer meeting my gaze with defiance. She wasn't cowed but she was clearly shocked. I could see the wheels turning as she considered what I'd said. I think the part that got to her was me telling her that she was aware enough to recognize the cruelty of some of her habitual "fun" behaviors and change them.
"Do you understand me?"
"Yes." Very quiet.
"Are you sure?"
"Yes."
"Do you agree with me?"
"Yes." It wasn't automatic, which was a relief. I could see she was beginning to view these behaviors of hers in a new light.
"You need to apologize to me, now, just as I make you apologize to The Little Girl every time you bedevil her."
"I'm sorry."
"What are you sorry for?" I considered this very important. If she was beyond remembering that for which she needed to apologize, I needed to readjust my reaction and the apology would need to come from me.
"I'm sorry for trying to keep you from getting up. I'm sorry I thought it was funny. I'm sorry I victimized you for my pleasure."
Whoa! That last admission was a surprise. I realized, from that statement, that she did, indeed, know what she was doing, that she wasn't doing it from a demented depth.
"O.K. Apology accepted. I'm still simmering, though. If you feel the need to get back up after you go to bed because you can't sleep, I advise you not to. I need some time to settle down and think my way out of this. You need to give me that time. Do you understand?"
"Yes."
"O.K. Into the bathroom. Let's get you ready for bed."
For the first time in several nights I didn't have a Night Visitor during my Cooldown from Caregiving period.
If my mother didn't have this slight but glittering streak of cruelty in her I would be tempted to wonder whether we might be entering a new Experience in Dementia. I considered it last night but I'm sure, after reviewing all the incidents I can remember directed at our cat over the last several years and all her assertions of Cruelty as A Lesson in Compassion, that this was not a new episode in Dimensions of Dementia (hmmm..."dimensions" and "dementia"; I wonder if they're etymologically related...must look them up; even if they aren't, the similarity is provocative). I did, at any rate, consider whether I'd be able to handle her if she began journeying into the stage of Demented Rage and Cruelty which seems to be a hallmark of specifically Alzheimer's related dementia. I'm satisfied, today, that I would be able to handle it, but I don't think I'll have to.
The point, now, for me, is one I've had to consider a few times before: Is it possible for An Ancient One with Dementia-Lite to continue becoming aware of and reforming her questionable behaviors as she did in the past? I can think of only one other time when I scolded her for something: Eating directly out of condiment jars. Although I continue to keep an eye on her and work to keep her from foraging food on her own in the kitchen, there have been two times I can remember when I wasn't successful since The Condiment Incident. Both times she was careful to tell me, of her own accord, that she "didn't eat out of jars". The evidence confirmed this. As well, she didn't eat condiments either time. Both these incidents suggest to me that she remains capable of modifying offensive and/or dangerous behaviors and will probably think twice before she again attempts to entertain herself with cruelty to other beings.
I will, I know, from now on, be wary of stumbling into situations in which she might decide it would be funny to be cruel to me, even though my best guess is that she probably won't do this again.
We'll see how it goes.
My mother is, overall, a credit to her species, has been publicly lauded as such more than once and very deservedly so. She, though, like all of us, has her rough edges: Fewer than in the past, of course, but still jarring when confronted. When someone is old as my mother is old (and, specifically as she is old, as there are, I realize, Stages of Old in which bewildering behavior is intractable to anything but chemicals and/or restraint, if those) it's tempting to overlook flaws, assuming that nothing can or should be done about them. "She's old, after all." I think we rob dignity from the person in question when we take this tack. The Ancient are not always The Intractable. In many cases they are not only able but willing to modify their behavior to better effect, especially if they still recognize the entire world as their stage. I think the important point to remember is that regardless of how old we are or whether we've entered the lighter realms of Dementia, if we retain essential awareness of ourselves in society, as my mother does, it is never too late to sand yet another rough edge away.
I'd like to assume that it is needless to write the following, but I think I should anyway: These incidents in which my mother displays behavior that cries out to be modified are very rare. I expect them to remain rare for the rest of her life. Her fundamental character is well-developed and delightful. It is not, however, finished. It won't be finished until she's finished. She believes she has a long way to go. I think I honor her in assuming the same and treating her as though, along the way, she continues to not only have lessons to learn but has the ability to learn them. I think I'll know if we reach a point where assuming this no longer honors but hampers her. With a little luck and the influence of her extraordinary genes, though, I suspect that even her death will be, for her, yet another adventure in learning. I hope so. We should all be so lucky and blessed.
Listing again.
Dinner last night? What did I serve for dinner last night? Ah, yes. Home made burgers on almost stale onion buns, Mom's topped with yellow sharp Cheddar, mine with Vermont extra sharp White Cheddar; both topped with dill pickle relish (which I whipped up from some mini dills and roasted, pickled red peppers since we were out of the commercial kind and, I have to say, it was gooood), bottomed with a thick slice of Bermuda onion and accompanied with 11.5 oz V-8 juice. No bowel movement yesterday. I also forgot to administer her bedtime dose of lisinopril last night, but her BP was unusually low for a morning reading, probably due to my lack of usual enthusiasm over her awakening. I'll explain that in an immediately later post.
I'm still in a bit of a daze, still noting stats Here rather than There. Oh. I gave her an adult aspirin last night about a half hour after dinner when she complained of "all over aches". I held my breath to see if she was coming down with a cold or the flu, but she was fine upon awakening today, except for a some upper torso fluid retention, noticeable mainly from a distinctive CHF cough and some very slight feet pudginess. I gave her 10 mg furosemide at breakfast to stimulate gentle diuresis. She's unusually tired today, though, which usually accompanies all this. She refused a trip to Walmart about which she became unusually excited last night, thinking that "they'll have their Christmas decorations out." I didn't counter her expectations. I figured, by the time we got to Walmart and she was entranced by everything else, she wouldn't remember those expectations. As it turned out, though, I had to bargain to keep her up for four hours after she arose, so she didn't make it to Walmart with me. She just went down for a nap a few minutes ago.
Lately she's been keeping late to very late nights, so her "mornings" do not technically begin in the morning. She's also been going to bed then arising anywhere from a half to an hour later, claiming she hasn't been to sleep, then staying up for awhile. These are usually excellent times for us. They have the aura of "staying up late" glamour for her, to which she's always been attracted.
As well, because we were running low on bread and I've been spacing the essential buttermilk that's needed for it when I've been to the store, lately, I pulled out a frozen loaf of pumpkin/apple/walnut bread I made over the holidays and have been serving that to her for breakfast. Surprisingly, it hasn't seemed to affect her overall blood sugar readings.
In case you're wondering why we haven't yet tripped to the lab for a draw, I'm waiting until the very last of January or the first of February. I have a "special" prescription for a Hemoglobin A1c that the doctor wanted taken three months after her last appointment, along with a CBC and BMP. Although I'm not sure, I think a lipid panel may be included in that. I hope so. I'd like to see if the Omega-3 fatty acid pills have had any effect.
I got her out on the driveway, yesterday, for some walkering. She did four laps of her own accord. You'd never know it, today. It's as though she hasn't moved for months. I guess it's just one of those days. When she went down for a nap she told me she didn't think she'd be down long. I tend to think otherwise, considering her overall tiredness. I'm going to let her go until she reaches three hours down, if she does. I think her body's asking for it.
I think I covered everything I wanted to mention except, well, you'll see...
...later.
I'm still in a bit of a daze, still noting stats Here rather than There. Oh. I gave her an adult aspirin last night about a half hour after dinner when she complained of "all over aches". I held my breath to see if she was coming down with a cold or the flu, but she was fine upon awakening today, except for a some upper torso fluid retention, noticeable mainly from a distinctive CHF cough and some very slight feet pudginess. I gave her 10 mg furosemide at breakfast to stimulate gentle diuresis. She's unusually tired today, though, which usually accompanies all this. She refused a trip to Walmart about which she became unusually excited last night, thinking that "they'll have their Christmas decorations out." I didn't counter her expectations. I figured, by the time we got to Walmart and she was entranced by everything else, she wouldn't remember those expectations. As it turned out, though, I had to bargain to keep her up for four hours after she arose, so she didn't make it to Walmart with me. She just went down for a nap a few minutes ago.
Lately she's been keeping late to very late nights, so her "mornings" do not technically begin in the morning. She's also been going to bed then arising anywhere from a half to an hour later, claiming she hasn't been to sleep, then staying up for awhile. These are usually excellent times for us. They have the aura of "staying up late" glamour for her, to which she's always been attracted.
As well, because we were running low on bread and I've been spacing the essential buttermilk that's needed for it when I've been to the store, lately, I pulled out a frozen loaf of pumpkin/apple/walnut bread I made over the holidays and have been serving that to her for breakfast. Surprisingly, it hasn't seemed to affect her overall blood sugar readings.
In case you're wondering why we haven't yet tripped to the lab for a draw, I'm waiting until the very last of January or the first of February. I have a "special" prescription for a Hemoglobin A1c that the doctor wanted taken three months after her last appointment, along with a CBC and BMP. Although I'm not sure, I think a lipid panel may be included in that. I hope so. I'd like to see if the Omega-3 fatty acid pills have had any effect.
I got her out on the driveway, yesterday, for some walkering. She did four laps of her own accord. You'd never know it, today. It's as though she hasn't moved for months. I guess it's just one of those days. When she went down for a nap she told me she didn't think she'd be down long. I tend to think otherwise, considering her overall tiredness. I'm going to let her go until she reaches three hours down, if she does. I think her body's asking for it.
I think I covered everything I wanted to mention except, well, you'll see...
...later.
