Mom & Me Four Archive

    That is a modification of a blues rif my sisters and I made up and sang in the car on cross country trips to the states every three years back in the 60's when we lived on Guam. I modified it because, well, it was too good to be true. Mom's attempt at a nap was interrupted this afternoon because she couldn't stop wondering about all her relatives, where they are and what they've been doing lately. Needless to say, we had yet another Dead Zone conversation.
    She was also concerned about our family business, beginning with the buying of this home, including her stock profile, why she bought this house, why we haven't been down to our Mesa house "lately", why I sold it, talked about how she needed to "go down and see [MA] and get her taxes in (I'm surprised she knew it isn't April, yet), whether we should consider moving back down to the Valley, god, it went on and on. I was pretty cool about it. For some reason, despite continuing to feel a bit shaky all day, I handled all the history repetition well, it didn't bother me at all, in fact I was so into it that I entertained her with stories surrounding the deaths of people: My grandfather's ashes showing up late to his funeral, for instance; the famous, "It's a good thing people in this family die," comment; my father's ashes blowing up in my sister's face during his scattering at sea; her grand nephew's well heard comment halfway through her sister's funeral that "it's time to go, now"; Mom's decision to immediately do several things against Dad's previous wishes immediately after his death like purchase a microwave and replace the dour, rust colored shag wall-to-wall carpet with sculpted off white; the twenty-one gun salute at her brother-in-law's funeral; the fact that his funeral was delayed because the ovens were really busy that time of year; MexFBIL's extraordinary help after Dad's death; her maternal uncle's and aunt's merry attendance at her mother's funeral; on and on and on. I suppose that's why she wasn't interested in reading, tonight.

    As a preview, one of the very interesting sub-conversations MCS and I had yesterday during our marathon phone call was her telling me, while relating a conversation between her and MPS, that she and Ken would not be available to take care of Mom in their home if something were to happen to me, and why. I was surprised at her candor and, frankly, pleased. Although it would seem a contradiction, knowing this actually bestowed a measure of grace on me. Knowing is always better than not knowing, and so much easier to accept.
    As well, she took issue with my superlative that "nobody" in the family visits the web site. I know she does, fairly regularly. MFS used to. I don't know if she does anymore. I faced this head on. Yes, I knew as I wrote the statement that it was not just an angry exaggeration but inaccurate, as well. I apologized. I was frustrated, I said, and angry, and sometimes I do that when I'm frustrated and angry. MCS, in fact, fairly regularly comments on stuff I write. Yesterday she listed suggestions based on the bootcamp description of my day. There were several that were helpful and others that prompted me to explain why we don't do them:

• Have Mom flex her ankles every time she rises from bed (I'm having her do this when she rises from sitting, too, since she sits so much) as this encourages pooled blood in the legs to resume a vigorous track through the body;
• Consider having Mom rest her arm on something comfortable, covered with a pillow, when taking her BP in the morning, as this will help her keep her arm relaxed and keep the pressure of the rest from fooling with her blood pressure;
• When I begin massaging her legs, during the pre-rubdown, consider starting with my palms rather than my fingers, as some people are extremely sensitive to finger touch and using fingers initially will irritate, rather than relax them; actually, my mother loves the finger stimulation, she claims it gives her "shivers up and down [her] spine", which I imagine are the same of what I call "pleasure shivers"; at this point MCS and I speculated that this may be her Ancient orgasmic experience, since she no longer has a sexual partner; I wanted to pass this one on because it may be helpful to others;
• Consider a bathtub spray fixture and an in-the-bathtub seat for bathing Mom; we've not only considered this, we tried it once in a hotel; doesn't work for Mom; she doesn't like being sprayed with water, never has, which is why she's always bathed; now that we sink bathe her and the primary challenge is to keep her warm and comfortable while bathing, the best way to do this is to keep water application to a minimum and make sure she doesn't get sprayed; at one time a few years ago I was considering remodeling our bathroom to include such a set-up for when it became necessary but the sink bathing works much better for her; I mention all this here because one of the primary necessities when taking care of an Ancient One is being careful about setting up necessities before they are necessary; it's entirely possible, as has happened with our situation many times, that the "approved necessities" may not work, for a variety of reasons, for a particular Ancient One.

    We had another important sub-conversation about Mom's nature and each of our perceptions of it, during which we discussed what I had written in a post last May about my understanding of Mom's mothering technique, which seems to me much like an animal's. MCS agreed with me. In discussing our experiences of this perception of my mother, though, we differed. I was surprised to discover that MCS had always wanted a relationship with Mom much like those she saw between some of her friends and their mothers: Her explanation of this used the example of a mother and daughter shopping together, comparing clothes and prices, giggling and laughing together, having a mundane experience that promises a later blooming into close friendship when the child reaches adulthood. I was amazed by this. I told her that, for me, what could be interpreted as Mom's distance was a gift. Since it was, as a child, my nature to spend as much time alone as possible amusing myself, yet, I was a cowardly child who, in public, needed to maintain such strict physical closeness with my mother that for years I feared I'd never be prepared to live on my own, her mothering technique worked very well for me. I asked MCS if her experience of Mom's mothering technique made a difference in how she mothered her own daughters and she replied that it made an enormous difference. She consciously worked (and works, with her granddaughter) to form bonds with her daughters that insure active emotional attachment, rather than the passive emotional attachment that my mother practiced. We also agreed that this was a habit of mothering passed down to Mom through her family and confirmed for one another our perceptions of Mom's mother not being particularly maternal. MCS had an acute experience of this when she stayed with our maternal grandparents the summer before she went to college in the states. Come to think of it, I'm wondering, now, if this may be why Mom remembers her experience living with her uncle and maternal grandfather with much more, hmmmm, enthusiasm, I suppose, than she remembers living at home. Maybe living with these two was more emotionally active for her than living at home. "I must remember" (a phrase frequently used by my mother; usually accompanied with a finger vigorously wagging in the air in what I imagine she assumes is the general direction of her conscious memory) to ask her about this. I wonder, as well, how my other two sisters experienced Mom's mothering technique. I remember mentioning to MCS yesterday that it was precisely this technique that allowed me to not only not feel at all pressured into marrying and having children but it also allowed me to always feel completely comfortable with my penchant for a solitary life. I remember finishing off by saying something along the lines of, "I shudder to think what sort of problems I might have had to negotiate if Mom had been different." Funny how the varying personalities of children within one family change the perceptions of the mother as they experienced her. Interesting, too, now that I consider it, that of the four of us, I'm the one who's her final companion. Weird how those things happen.
    I've been thinking, since our extremely edifying conversation, that I'd like to poll my other two sisters about their willingness to take care of Mom if something should happen to me that would render me unable to see her through to her death. I spent some time this evening designing the question in what I hope would be an unintimidating fashion. I am quite relieved to know MCS's position. Although she gave me her reasons, those don't matter, despite the fact that they could be considered highly legitimate. Just knowing, one way or another, has helped me locate myself in this journey in relation to Mom and the possibilities. I considered that the best way to ask is to pose that Mom probably has no more than a good five years in her, possibly less. Although my intention is to be here to her end, it would help me considerably to know what sort of instructions I should design in the event of my untoward inability to see her through to her death. Regardless of what those instructions might be, whether someone or no one would feel adequate to the task of caring for Mom in their home as a part of their immediate family, for me, knowing ahead of time and being able to write a sort of advance directive as to what to do with Mom if I couldn't be here until the end would, I think, considering how calming it was for me to discover MCS's intentions, completely relieve any anxiety I now have about this. Somehow, the calming effect also strengthens my resolve to be here with Mom right through her last breath. I think some of my frustration and anxiety that I refer to as caregiver burnout (although there is an element of burnout in it) is an oblique expression of my anxiety over not knowing my sisters' individual willingness to step in and care for Mom if I should be unable to continue, thus not knowing where Mom would "end up", so to speak. Even if I were to discover that she would probably end up in a nursing home if I was unable to continue, well, knowing is better than not knowing. To quote myself from What if I Told You..., "The unadorned face is always less upsetting than the mask."

    Although I recorded Mom's bedtime tonight as 2338 over at The Dailies, she arose a little after midnight to discuss, yet again, where all The Dead are. She remained up discussing the fates of her relatives until 0055 this morning, then headed back to bed and read until 0110. So, arising time for later this morning has changed, which is just as well. With any luck I'll be heading out to a lighting specialty store to see if I can replace the fixture cover.
    Life is fucking amazing, isn't it.
    Later.

    I'm going to let Mom sleep a half hour beyond what would be her normal 12 hour awakening at 1300. It seems this entire area of our house, most especially including me, has the dropsies. When I awoke this morning I walked into the kitchen to grab a clean bra before I showered and discovered that sometime during the night the fixture cover for the kitchen ceiling light had dropped and shattered all over the kitchen and dinette floor (I changed one of the bulbs three days ago and must not have secured the cover well enough to keep it up). So, "naked as we came" [Thank you, Iron & Wine], I grabbed a broom and swept up both the glass and a fascinated kitten who thought I was playing a wonderful kitty game.
    Finally headed into the bathroom and while showering managed to drop three items, one of which I never pick up, another of which dropped on the big toe on which I've been successfully nursing and healing an ingrown toenail. Ouch!
    While doing the errands I'd already planned I stopped at Ace Hardware to examine light fixture covers. While I was handling one of the samples, in front of a CSR, measuring it to see if it would fit (it wouldn't), I dropped that and broke it. I was aghast. I pleaded over and over to be allowed to pay for it, especially since they didn't have anything I could use, but the guy waiting on me, the clean-up person and the manager, who materialized to see what was going on, all refused. Needless to say, although I was an occasional customer before, I'm a dedicated customer, now.
    Finally arrived home. Made my first cup of coffee of the morning. Picked it up to transfer it from the "coffee making area" of our kitchen to the opposite counter so I could drink it while I was setting up breakfast preparations in anticipation of awakening Mom. While I was handling it over the counter I lost hold of it for absolutely no good reason and it was a miracle that I managed to catch it, although I was determined: It is my favorite coffee cup, given to me by one of my nieces when she lived in Alaska. I did, however, splash all the coffee over everything in the vicinity and myself. Yet another clean-up.
    As well, I burst into tears. Funny, I thought I was feeling pretty good, this morning. I still think this. But, I'm shaky, now, obviously, and need some extra time to cool down, hoping that will keep me from dropping Mom.
    I'll check back later. If I don't drop my laptop.

"Gail, this one's for you." As of last night the weather report was predicting some rain, maybe. When I awoke the sky was bright and clear and I thought, "Fuck, not even any rain." I checked the weather again; rain, maybe some snow, with a "who knows" attitude...I aroused Mom at 1300 after checking in on her at noon and noon-thirty; she was snoring and in REM sleep both times. At 1300 her eyes were opening. The sky had darkened a little and the clouds were spitting a very light hail which was melting as soon as it hit the ground. I dismissed this display. Mom and I commenced her bathing. A half hour later when we emerged from the bathroom we peered out into yet another Christmas card snow, already covering everything. The snow continued all day. When it ended around 2000 we'd gotten about 5 inches. I am satisfied.
    The rest of the day went well, too. I have much to report catalyzed by a long, amazing phone call with MCS but I'm tired and ready for bed. I want to mention, though, in case MCS checks in, since we talked about the latest Dead Zone report, that when Mom awoke from her nap (she had spoken with MCS immediately before napping) she asked, "Does MCS know about Mother?" By which she was indicating that she is finally remembering that "Mother" is dead.
    I assured her that, yes, MCS knows, she was informed immediately after Grandma's death. I gently reminded her that Grandma has been dead for "almost a couple of decades", so we all, including Mom, have known for a long time.
    "Well, good," Mom said. "She'd [MCS'd] want to know."
    In case you're wondering why Mom would be concerned about Mom knowing, although there may be other reasons, I know one of them is that she remains aware that MCS is now the family genealogist and has taken over the records Mom collected.
    I should mention something else connected with the latest Dead Zone episode that slipped my mind earlier. After the episode, when we reviewed The Deaths in the Family, I noticed and mentioned that this episode occurred on the anniversary (the 26th, to be exact) of her father's death. We both found this curious. I kidded her that she might find herself dreaming her father's death on the next anniversary of her mother's death.
    We both chuckled at this possibility and she responded, "I don't think so. I remember that he died."
    So, you know, maybe her catch-up with herself is close to completion.
    More...
    ...later.

    As soon as Mom was sitting on the edge of her bed she said, "I had a dream that Mother died. Is she all right?"
    I've negotiated enough of these episodes to know that this might be an interesting one. "You mean that you think she's living here, right?"
    She looked surprised. "Well, yes, of course."
    "And you dreamed that she died?"
    "Well, that she was already dead."
    "Where was she?" I asked.
    "In her bedroom. Laying on her bed."
    "And she was already dead?"
    "Yes." She was getting a little irritated.
    "Which room was her room in the dream?"
    She looked at me as though I was loosing my mind. "Well, her bedroom, of course."
    "Her bedroom in this house?"
    "Of course!"
    "And which room was her bedroom in the dream?"
    "The back bedroom! Where she sleeps!"
    "That's my bedroom, Mom."
    "Well, I know that! You sleep with her!"
    I had begun to smile, gently. She was looking at me as though I was a child who needed to be indulged. "Mom, this is very interesting. You dreamed that Grandma, your mother, was dead. She's been dead for a long time..."
    "I know, that's what you keep saying, but I think you're mistaken."
    "Okay. Anyway, for a long time you've been 'dreaming' [I mimed quotes] that she's alive, living with us, and, lots of times those aren't really even classic dreams, they're memories that you think are very short term memories. Well, now you've dreamed that she's dead. And, she is. She's been dead for a long, long time, almost a couple of decades, I think. Maybe this means you'll no longer be thinking of her as alive and living with us."
    Mom looked stunned.
    "Do you know how she died in your dream?" I asked.
    "Well, no, she was already dead."
    "In bed, you said."
    "Yes..."
    "In the back bedroom."
    "Yes."
    "It'll be interesting to see if you continue to think of her as alive after this."
    "I don't expect to, since she just died."
    "We'll go over all the death dates later, after we bathe you, Mom, but, believe me, she's been dead for a long time."
    "Well, I want to hear this. No one told me."
    "Well, yes, not only were you told, but you were around when she died. We'll talk about it later."
    When we went over death dates and circumstances later, Grandma was the only one she didn't remember. She remembered everyone else's deaths, although not necessarily all the details, which is interesting. Maybe she's catching up to herself.
    She hasn't had any Dead Zone episodes since this one Sunday morning. Of course, she doesn't have them everyday; sometimes not even every week. But, I'm looking forward to the next one, just to see if she has one.

...and because a couple of the vet people commented on how sweet natured he is, even for a kitten, it reminded me of an almost unbearably sweetthing that happened maybe a week and a half ago between Mom and Mr. Man. Although Mr. Man is very active, as kittens his age are, and full of Mexican Jumping Beans as well, when he is being handled by The Mom he is in his element and loves, loves, loves the Mom. It is true that, by the time he reaches the stage where he understands that he needs to watch his claws and teeth around her she will probably be criss-crossed with scratches on her arms and legs, he is normally very settled around her (unless she decides to provoke him to play, which I try, usually unsuccessfully, to discourage) and likes nothing better than to sit in The Mom's lap and be cuddled and petted. One morning recently, while Mom was in the bathroom on the toilet, naked, awaiting bathing, Mr. Man invited himself into the bathroom and jumped up on her lap for some cuddle time. When I entered he was settled on her thighs, purring loud enough for me to hear, and Mom was tending to him with a huge, soft grin. I couldn't bear to break into their reverie so I settled on the floor and waited, for almost a half hour, until Mr. Man was ready to hunt down and bedevil The Little Girl, again. It was the sweetest thing I've witnessed in a long time. Although I was nominally sure when I decided to bring Mr. Man home that it would be a good thing for Mom, this convinced me that he is better than good for her.
    A couple of days ago, while he was on her lap in the evening (I try to see to it that there is always a towel between Mom and Mr. Man but even this doesn't completely prevent scratches, especially on her arms), Mom said, only half joking, that when "she" (I think she will never be broken from referring to him as "she") passes the kitten stage, we'll just have to get another kitten. Of course, we won't; two cats is quite enough for this household. But, I think, Mr. Man is sweet natured enough (significantly more sweet natured that The Little Girl, even though The Little Girl is significantly more sweet natured than The Big Girl, who was not sweet, at all, except to me, and would tell anyone who cared to ask to their face that she was not a sweet cat) that "s/he" and Mom will be buds for life. I'm sure, now, especially from what the vet said, that he is going to be a much bigger cat than The Little Girl, who is small, anyway, but I think both his technique and Mom's lap will adjust and she will "end up" with the lap cat she's wanted for a long time. He, I am sure, will be devoted to her and she to him/her.
    Even though Mom's light went out about 0100 this morning, I'm going to try getting her up at noon, today. Although we still appear, from the window, to be "snowed in", it's warming up, the snow is rapidly melting, the sun is in it's element, the house is warm and bright and I'm thinking that shaving an hour off her normal sleep cycle won't be hard, today.
    Later this week, when downtown hits the 70's and it's in the 60's here, I'm planning on scattering a bag of wild flower seeds all over our yard, front and back. I'm hoping this will help control our usual weed growth, as well as turn our yard into a fantasy of color within a month or so that will last through the spring, summer and fall. This should encourage Mom to get out and examine what I hope will be our beflowered yard as the weather warms.
    I called her clinic in Mesa this morning. As it turns out, their lab guy will be there at the time Mom is there on April 4th, so I don't need to push her appointment earlier in the day, which is good. Getting her up at 0600 is hard, but not nearly as hard as getting her up at 0500 or earlier.

...nothing urgent, just some stuff:

• A very small dry skin patch on top of her right forearm that has been dormant for a long time but is finally beginning to look like "something";
• A mole she's had at the base of her throat forever that could just be looking like a very old mole, now, but may have decided to become something else;
• A small, warmer-than-the-rest-of-her-skin area on her lower, outside right shin, about the place where the leg begins to form the ankle, not hugely warm but I've been noticing it the last few days when I've been rubbing down her legs and, although I could be imagining it, it feels like there's a little bump, no bruise, though, no pain, even when I press there, could be an irritated varicose vein, I don't think it's a clot, she's showing no other symptoms that would indicate clotting in her legs, but the unusual warmth surprises and concerns me.

    Her appointment is scheduled as routine on April 4th, 2006, at 1400. I'm going to call tomorrow to see if we can get it moved up to before their lab closes so he can take blood there for an HA1c, although I'll be having a her "monthly" (I postponed it at the beginning of this month) CBC/BMP done sometime this week, probably Thursday or Friday when the weather is supposed to hit the low 70's downtown. We won't be visiting anyone, as far as I know. Everyone's working. So I'll be getting a hotel room (and renting a car) so Mom can take a nap, we can go out to eat during rush hour and head back up the mountain sometime after 1800. I need to check into both of those tomorrow, too...I sort of forgot about them until this weekend...spring is not the easiest time to get what you want in rooms in the Phoenix metroplex.
    It snowed all afternoon and evening today; not like last weekend's snow that dropped it's entire load within a couple of hours and covered everything indiscriminately. This one started easy, sculpted the trees and rocks and miscellaneous stalks in our yard to perfection, then iced it over with a fast, thick patina within the last hour. It's gorgeous outside, like a premium snow globe.
    Better get over and do The Dailies, then I have one more tick to add to the This Isn't Your Mother's Caregiving essay, then, well, I suppose I should go to bed, but I'm not really ready, yet. Maybe I'll do some reading! Hey! What an idea!
    Later.

    Yesterday was mostly wind and rain and hail with a barely noticeable hint of snow. Today, just a few hours ago, one of those "look at me, aren't I beautiful" snows started. Slow, straight start, cooling down the ground; now, the flakes are bigger, there's a bit of wind whirling everything around, it's sticking on the landscape like a virgin Christmas snow, except for the concrete and pavement. It's one of those snows that reminds you, when you look into it, that we view things in 3-D; that makes you burst into a chorus of "Sleigh bells ring, are you list'nin'". Mom has even been enjoying it. She just retired for a nap but it wasn't the snow that drove her to bed; it's just that her usual nap timer went off. So, now I'm sitting here on the floor, staring out our kitty windows (the ones close to the floor), sipping raspberry cocoa (I offered my mother cocoa, any flavor she wanted, but she turned it down) and feeling snow-charmed. Thank the gods we aren't hosting distracting company, regardless of the fact that our company would have liked the snow, too. The thing is, company would have also suggested, "Ooooh, it's snowing, this would be a good time to..." and any possibility of personal snow reverie would have evaporated. Much as I love my family, I love my desire for solitude more.
    People forget, I'm a natural isolate. For me, the world is most luxuriously experienced one-on-one. That's: Me-on-The-World or The-World-on-Me. I can make allowances for my mother's presence, as she's known this about me from The Beginning and has always accepted it and worked around it. But, you know, sometimes, I can't make allowances for anyone else, especially when it's raining or snowing.
    We are furiously working our way through Christ the Lord: Out of Egypt once again. I think it's going to be one of those books, like some of the classic children's books, that I'll be reading aloud to Mom again and again. This time, she sits forward in her chair and devours every word with a not quite secret smile. It's pure pleasure for me when she is so captivated by a story. I hope Anne Rice makes this into a series of novels, for my mother's sake.
    The snow and the ambiance dictate that today is Tomato Biscuit Pie for Dinner day. Everything's ready to go.
    Later.