Mom & Me Four Archive

...to illustrate what I mean when I say that bringing her anemia under control has alleviated the grip of her dementia a little but she remains disabled by her dementia, nonetheless.
    Mom was, indeed, not much for doing anything, including playing Sorry or Brain Age so, after her breakfast we watched De-Lovely and half of All That Jazz. By that time I could tell that her back was bothering her (not unusual in this kind of weather). She was shifting awkwardly in her rocker every minute or so and trying to hold herself in a comfortable position by propping herself askew with her right arm against the arm of the rocker. I suggested an adult buffered aspirin and a short nap (it was, by that time, 2000), after which I'd fix supper and we'd continue with the movie. After a short argument over both the aspirin, she hates to take medication, and the nap, she felt it was too late to take a nap, I won by assuring her that I would awaken her in an hour if she wasn't already up and telling her it was silly to prolong physical torture when the relief was benign.
    She did, indeed, awaken on her own, a few minutes before 2100. I met her in the bathroom. Her first words were, "Do you know where [her dead brother] is working, now?"
    "Well," I said, "since he's been dead for almost thirty years, I know he's either tuning harps or shoveling coal, but that's as specific as I can be."
    I busied myself at the sink, watching peripherally as her face registered the usual "Dead Again" shock, then relax as she pulled the proper references out of her trunk of jumbled memories. The process took maybe a minute. Once she'd composed herself in the tricky present, she said, wryly, "Probably shoveling coal."
    I laughed. Her irreverence always tickles me.
    "What's his wife doing, then?" she asked.
    I could see that she was struggling to remember what her name was. She often has trouble recalling this woman's name because she didn't like her, despite the fact that she compassionately took her under her wing and kept an eye on her until she died. "[She's] dead, too, Mom. You were the executrix of her will."
    "Hmmm..." she said, not registering any particular type of adjustment to this information, "well, that's too bad, but she's probably better off. She was so hard to please."
    Just for "fun", I decided to set up a possible discussion of their family, which included a son and around whom one of the more delightful and nefarious family scandals swirled. She remembered none of it. As I slowly filled in the details, each offered after questioning her about her memories, I discovered that she recalled none of this, including the son's existence. She was, however, primed for the details and lapped each up with that perverted glee typical of humanity's gossipy interest in the darker side of life.
    Once I'd settled her in the living room with the last episode of M*A*S*H and told her I was going to prepare dinner, then we'd finish the movie, she fixed me with one of her "I know something you don't know" looks and said, "You've forgotten, haven't you."
    I immediately knew to what she was referring. "Dinner at Denny's, right?"
    "We were going to do that tonight."
    I sat down on the couch. "Yeah, Mom, I didn't forget. It just didn't work out for today. You were sluggish, so was I, we got so involved in the movies we didn't get around to doing your hair, and then your back started bothering you. I'm sorry I didn't mention it. I wasn't trying to pull one over on you." I wasn't. I figured, though, that, as was true a month or so ago, she'd forgotten that she'd suggested, last night, that we go to Denny's for dinner tonight and I'd agreed, and I wouldn't have to worry about negating it for tonight...I could get away with bringing it up for tomorrow as a new idea. No such luck, though, now that she's running around with 450 mg of Niferex-150 coursing through her system every day.
    She wasn't disappointed. She just pushed me to the wall and exacted a promise from me that we'd go tomorrow, "regardless".
    Then, as we watched the last half of All That Jazz, during Joe Gideon's death production she turned to me and said, "I've always liked this part."
    What is startling about this is that, although she's seen the movie maybe four times since I've come to live with her, earlier this afternoon during the first half she said, "This is very interesting. I'm glad you rented this movie," indicating to me that she didn't remember seeing it previously. I didn't correct her.
    So, it looks like our life is going to rock, again. Her mental plates are readjusting to accommodate the increase of oxygen to her brain, which means that it will be anybody's guess what she's going to remember and what will remain buried under all the other treasures in her brain. As well, since her interest in eating out is perking up, I'm hopeful that she'll want to do this, again, at least once a week: Getting out, people watching, being waited on, eating food cooked in hidden kitchens with different techniques and ingredients...I'm thinking maybe she'll even be interested in going on errands, again, getting a little exercise, maybe doing some window shopping; all activities in which she used to love to indulge. We'll take it slow, of course, and I'll follow her lead. I'll let her call the shots, as usual, on how much she sleeps (which hasn't changed since she began taking the extra iron) and whether any particular day seems right for movement. She's going to need some time to build her strength (although she typically snaps back like a rubber band...I'm hoping this remains the case). I've learned my lesson, over and over again, about pushing her. Both of our lives work better when I follow her lead.
    I was thinking about something else, today, too, regarding for whom and why I am doing this...taking care of my mother. Hmmm...as I sit here and try to figure out how to express it I'm realizing that I'm not quite "there" as far as lingualizing it is concerned. I'll save that for another day. Maybe tomorrow, then again, tomorrow I'm slated to be both Mom's hot date and her lady-in-waiting as she prepares for her date, so I might not get around to it until...
    ....later.
    "Sleep tight. Don't let the bedbugs bite," she said to me as she was retiring. I can't tell you how long it's been since she's tossed out this tidbit. As I think over the last 12+ years of our lived-together life and the constant surprises of her declines and revivals, I'm overcome with gratitude that she's still here; and that I'm with her. Life is just so damned amazing.

...at her 12-hour mark and she asked for another half-hour. I can do that.
    I'm feeling "beside the point", today, mentally. When I awoke I had it in mind that today would be a good day to stay inside, today. I've been outside in the heat and humidity a good deal the last few days, rescreening windows, plugging up cat access to the outside, wrestling with screen doors, etc. I've also been pushing my exposure to the internet, lately, and I need a day to reorient.
    I have it in mind, today, to watch off-track musicals (All That Jazz and De-Lovely) and, maybe later, a strong dose of The Shawshank Redemption, all of which never fail to strengthen my resolve. Since my mother seems to be under the weather, today, too, I think I might be able to pull this off.
    Later.

...specifically those at Alzheimer's Disease Information: I spent some time last night reading through both the "civilian" blogs at that site (Dorian's and Lydia's), then spot read the other three, all of which I consider "commercial" productions. I'm not fond of any of the blogs. The personal experiences and the advice seem canned, although there were a few moments when I thought, "ahhh...yes, there's the caregiver who is writing this blog". None of them, as well, have that, "ohmygod, guess what happened today...and I wasn't prepared" quality which is the music of private blogs. But, I'm still pleased that caregiver blogging has reached the commercial sphere. From what I understand of the blog sphere, commercial blogs are more, rather than less, likely to drive people to seek private efforts. By their "canned" quality, I think they create a hunger for the real thing. That's pretty much what has happened in the world of political blogs. First came the personal ones. Then, commercial political enterprises attempted to co-opt private blogs. Then, in response, private political blogs exploded in opposition to commercial attempts at opinion making. Now, private political blogs are regularly cited in commercial political blogs, in an attempt by commercial blogs to remain "hip" and attract traffic, however momentary. The same thing happened with tech blogs. My guess is that this will also happen with caregiver blogs. The initial private caregiver blog mushroom has already begun. I notice that it seems to have started this year; the majority of private blogs to which I've been directed were started this year. The commercial site also started this year, just a few months behind the private caregiver blog mushroom. This is why I celebrate commercial attempts to enter the caregiver blog sphere, and am listing them. The more caregivers click into them, the more likely caregivers will feel as though they need to tell their story on their own terms, I think.

[To be faxed to Mom's doctor 7/21/06 AM]

Blood Pressure
No significant changes. BP average over this period: Arising: 126/66; Pre-dinner: 135/67.

Blood Sugar
No changes since last report.

Urinary Issues
No changes since last report.

Hydration
No changes since last report.

Energy Level
No changes since last report.

Skin & Circulation
Two curious bumps on right leg since last report. Aren't growing very fast but I'll have you check them during our September 12, 2006, appt. They may just be what I call "old skin things".

Appetite & Diet
No changes since last report.

Dementia
Appears to have improved slightly since her anemia has come under better control. Her memory and alertness are slightly better; not so that most people would notice, but I do.

Will & Spirit
Remain strong and high, respectively.

Medication & Supplements
Received adult buffered aspirin a few times this month for minor aches and stiffness; see BP report.

CHF
She has needed no furosemide this period! I'm very pleased about this!

COPD
No change from last report.

Bowel Movements
No change from last report. No laxatives have been administered this period.

OTHER ISSUES:

1. Well, [PCP's name], can you believe it? No other issues! You and I seem to be doing an excellent job of keeping my mother as well as possible and satisfied with her life! Thank you for continuing as her PCP.

    Please note, to the right in the Honorable Caregiver Blogs section, three more caregiver journals, all of which I've read, all of which I intend to follow, all of which are excellent and highlight, with literacy and honesty, different aspects of caregiving for an Ancient One. The author of Alzheimers - The Carer's View, Patricia Howitt of New Zealand (her journal is particularly interesting to me because it confirms that much of what we caregivers endure is not dependent on the nation in which we live; it's global) recently wrote the following to me, which is an excellent reason for caregivers who are reporting their journeys online to interconnect with one another through mutual linking:

...building strong internet bonds between those of us who are "out there" is a really good way to start the process of caregiver empowerment! The more we are interlinked the easier it is for the spiders to find us and place a premium on our listings.

    I must confess, I'd not thought of this. It's possible that I'm the only caregiver, in the small but growing group of caregivers with whom I'm beginning to identify, who didn't know this or figure it out. Nonetheless, it's good for us caregivers to keep this in mind, whether it's old or new information.
    As well, the author of The Tangled Neuron sent out an e, today, listing four Alzheimer's caregiver blogs that are gathered at the following site on the page connected to the following address: Alzheimer's Disease Information. I'm pleased to note that a commericial organization dealing with Alzheimer's is noticing the value of the direct caregiver's perspective. I'll be adding this link to my outgoing links section shortly.
    Later.

1.     About a week and a half before MPS & MPNC visited, my mother noticed her several bottles of nail polish on top of the medicine cabinet in her bathroom.
       "The next time I see MPNC," she said, "I'm going to give those to her. I don't use them, anymore."
       "I've been meaning to ask you, Mom, why you don't like having your fingernails painted anymore."
       "Because all I do is peel the polish off as soon as it dries. My nails look better without polish."
       I forgot about this until the day MPS & MPNC arrived. Within minutes of greeting them, Mom scurried off into the bathroom, collected the bottles of nail polish and gave them to MPNC (who has gorgeous nails and goes through periods when she loves to wear polish).
2.     Yesterday, when Mom arose, I greeted her (as I usual do) with the news about her blood draw. "You're almost 100 per for Prescott, Mom, and absolutely 100 per for Mesa." "100 per" is one of her typical responses when someone asks her how she's feeling or doing and she's feeling good.
       From there we started her day, and her bathing. Three quarters of the way into our routine, as she was rising from the toilet so I could wash her torso, she asked, "That 100 per...is that about my anemia?"
       I was amazed. Previously, she's remembered that she has anemia only when I've talked about it, which isn't often. "Yes. It's about your anemia," I confirmed.
       "Well," she said, "I'm glad we've got that taken care of."
       "Me too, Mom. Still feel like going for 120 (years; she often says she intends to live to 120)?"
       "How about 150?"
       That's what I like to hear.
3. Yesterday we spent some hours watching That's Entertainment Parts I & II. The first part features a segment on the Judy Garland/Mickey Rooney series of musical movies. "I've seen all of those, you know," she suddenly told me, then proceeded to recount some of the scenes she remembered. Not only has she not done this for years, her typical response to old movies that I know she's seen, either with me or because she mentioned them in years past, has been, "I've never seen this movie," after which she'll mention whether she likes the movie in question.
4.     At 1915, while I've been writing this post, my mother awoke from her nap.
       "Have they finished the scraping they were doing on that road this morning?" she asked.
       Earlier today several pieces of heavy machinery used our driveway to turn around while they were in the process of repaving half the road that shoots off ours immediately opposite our house. Mom's interest in what was going on was acute, which is not unusual. We discussed the various machines and what they were doing for several minutes while we were playing Sorry and she had a good view of the activity through our dinette window; also not unusual. What is unusual is that she remembered the activity after her nap and asked about it. When I reported that the road was half done she said, "Aha! Quitting time was five o'clock. I guess those machines will be in our driveway tomorrow, too."

    The four instances above aren't the only "little things" I've noticed, lately, but they're the only ones I can think of at the moment. The second prompted me, yesterday, to make a note to myself to write this post when I got back here. My best guess is that bringing her anemia under control has slightly alleviated the grip of her dementia. This doesn't change the fact that the bulk of her dementia is due to her mini-stroke in the back left lower quadrant of her brain. This doesn't mean that she is "getting better" from an overall demential standpoint. She continues to enter The Dead Zone regularly. She continues to need to be reminded of all the things of which I reminded her before the advent of the third Niferex-150. She is absolutely not capable of living independently or carrying on her life business. Within the last month we've watched a couple of movies as repeats that she continues to claim she's never seen. Her mind continues to hop skip and jump from thought to blank area to thought to blank area...but, I'll take this latest development.
    The one point I want to make: Regardless of what type of dementia an Ancient One has, other conditions can strengthen or lessen its grip. The effect may seem minimal, but, believe me, every little bit helps. This is a development I wasn't expecting, although perhaps I should've been. After all, when one is anemic, one's entire body isn't getting the proper amount of oxygen it needs to function at its optimum, including one's brain.
    I'm sure that this slight but welcome improvement is not because Mom's been playing Brain Age. In fact, I think her original interest in this device may have been partially triggered because her own brain has been working a little bit better since I upped her iron supplement in April. As well, she continues to play all the various games "wrong"; although I still haven't checked, I doubt that her brain age has improved, according to the device.
    I'm fairly sure, from all the anecdotal descriptions I've recently read and the confirmation of her mini-stroke and subsequent diagnosis of vascular dementia, that either my mother's dementia is not Alzheimer's related or, if some of it is, she's in the category of people, like some nuns in The Nun Study, who appear to be not or not as much as usually affected by the neurological changes recorded in their brain, upon autopsy, that are indicative of Alzheimer's. At this point, of course, the cause makes little difference. What is important is what I perceive her dementia to involve and how I design our lives to circumvent possible problems arising from it; and it's progression, which appears to be fallow, right now. Perhaps it will remain so. Perhaps it won't. It's very nice, though, to know that at least one of the weights, minor as it was, has been lifted, however temporarily, from her dementia.
    Despite the fact that my mother's demential trajectory doesn't seem to be mimicking what I've perceived as the Alzheimer's trajectory suggested by other anecdotal accounts which I've recently (and gratefully) discovered, Alzheimer's is always on my mind, primarily because dementia is always on my mind. The one aspect of Alzheimer's that scares me and for which I keep keen lookout, should my mother develop it, is the loss of personal identity. Last night Mom was watching a cable channel on which a credit card company had paid to broadcast several of those commercials that feature an actor whose voice is overdubbed, often hilariously, with the voice of someone who's stolen their credit identity. My mother loves these commercials and always mentions them, so, at least during these minutes, my attention was turned to them. Suddenly, during the one in which a male weight lifter speaks in the voice of a young, silly, female aspirant to American Idol, I realized: Alzheimer's is the ultimate identity thief. Perhaps if PR for the disease were cast in this mode, using this slogan, many more people would realize that this is reason enough to redouble, and then double again and again and again, all efforts to bring an end to this disease and its devastating effects.
    Any commercial enterprise who wants to buy the copyright to above slogan (and the slogan) from me for public relations/advertising use [I'm nothing if not shamelessly survival savvy when necessary; besides, in one of my previous lives I was an advertising director], contact me either through commenting on any post in any of my journals or with my email address, listed to the right. Please note, in the subject line of your email, the title to this post.

...being just this side of normal that, this time, I'm not nearly as excited as I usually am when I pick them up. Yes, this month's CBC results are up. Even the two stats that remain low for Prescott, her RBC and her MCHC, have been slowly responding to her increased iron dosage. Her RBC is practically normal for Prescott. These laggers, of course, and occasional others are the stats that indicate that she remains Anemic Due to Chronic Disease. Unless those handy dandy Star Trek medical devices are invented within the next few years, she will remain so for the rest of her life. But, I'm happy, and she's comfortable and pleased with her life.
    Strange morning, today. Mom awoke a little before 0600 from a hard, fast rainstorm that also roused me. I met her in the bathroom, we changed out her underwear (she hadn't yet begun to leak onto the sheets) and I said, "I guess you'll be going back to bed."
    "No, I think I'll stay up."
    Again, didn't bother me. Especially when I headed into the kitchen to prepare breakfast and she said, "I think I'd just like a cup of coffee. I'll be going back to bed soon." No, she isn't immune to caffeine. She drinks decaf almost exclusively.
    She was up until almost 0830. One of the cats had knocked over a short stack of videos sitting on the TV stand. As I picked them up so Mom could settle into her rocker without dislocating this or that joint, she noticed the last one I retrieved, Why We Fight. "What's this about?" she asked.
    We watched it a couple nights ago, so I reminded her of our viewing, the subject of the movie and that we'd both enjoyed it. Neither of us found it quite as startling or unsettling as The Fog of War. It's primarily a reiteration and expansion of commonly known history, but since this history is commonly ignored, most commonly by those who decide on, declare and mount war, it's won a permanent place in our DVD archive.
    When we watched it, I didn't think to ask Mom about her own attitudes toward WWII, seeing as how she joined the Navy at that time and was a gunnery instructor to U.S. soldiers. This morning I decided to ask her about her memories of and attitudes toward "her" war and her involvement in the Navy during that war. Should have podcast this (although, as usual, the podcast would have required a lot of editing for thought pauses), but, I didn't, so, here's what I learned:

    She says that she joined the Navy not because of any particular feelings of patriotism or loyalty to the U.S., but because "everyone was joining." Her primary goal wasn't to shore up the Allies' war effort. She was seeking adventure. She said she had no concern about the Allies' defeating opposing forces. She was sure this would happen.
    She had hoped that the Navy would send her overseas. This didn't happen. But, as she said this morning, when her stint was up (she was discharged when she and my father decided to marry; she met him in the Navy; he was one of her students) she wasn't disappointed because it ushered her into marrying and having children, something she also wanted to do, "...and that was adventure enough!"
    She has fond memories of her term in the Navy: High spiritied, satisfying commaraderie among her peers; the satisfaction that comes from being a part of an important cause, despite the fact that she was sure of the outcome; the always present possibility that the overseas part of her ideal adventure might materialize; the acquiring of new, not-considered-feminine skills and authority.
    She is no longer aware of much of the detail of WWII. She remembers rationing but remembers its effects only on her pre-military life. Her recall tells her that "rationing didn't affect us in the military," even though I know it did. My guess is that it didn't seem like it affected the military because most of the rationing going on was done in order to make sure the military was well provided. She does not recall the general patriotism of the country. When I asked her if she was patriotic she said, "Not particularly."
    I asked her if she thought the war was "justified".
    She thought for a moment. "I don't know that I'd use the word 'justified'," she said. "'Necessary' is better."
    "Do you think all large scale wars are necessary?" I asked.
    "Well," she said, picking her words carefully, "We can't seem to stop people who want to fight from fighting so..." her voice dwindled.
    "Do you remember ever being afraid that the war would come home to roost on American soil?" I asked.
    "It did!" she said.
    "I mean, you know, foreign armies invading the U.S., the U.S. being bombed..."
    "Goodness no! We were perfectly safe!"
    "Really!" I exclaimed. "Are you aware that many people thought just the opposite?"
    "Oh, yes," she said. "Some people will always make mountains out of molehills."
    "Why, then, if you figured that being in the U.S. was 'perfectly safe', did you long to go overseas, where it obviously wasn't safe?"
    "For the excitement," she said.
    Interesting response.
    She remembers her social life during that time as being at its high point. Lots of passes with groups of "the girls" for nights out on the town; lots of attention from both civilian and military men. Lots of movies, lots of dances, lots of dates, lots of excitement about both being in uniform and being out of uniform.
    Finally, I asked her, if she hadn't gotten married, would she have stayed in the military? I've asked her this before but wondered if her answer would change.
    No hesitation here. "Yes."
    "What about your teaching career?" I asked.
    "I was teaching."
    "Are you sorry, then, that you got married and had kids?"
    "Not at all."
    "Why not?"
    "Well, it's something I always wanted to do and I met your Dad."
    "So, you were pretty picky about who you wanted to marry and have kids with."
    That inscrutable gleam lit her eyes. "Oh, yes. I wasn't about to marry just anybody!"
    "Did you ever think you might not get married?"
    "Yes, that's why I went into the Navy."
    "You were looking for a husband?"
    She looked at me as though I was a pre-feminist throwback. "No," she said. "I never looked for a husband. They looked for me."
    Whoops! Excuse me! "So, it was primarily adventure you were looking for."
    "Yes," she said dreamily.
    "Are you now satisfied with your choice?"
    "I got to do both, so, yes, I'm satisfied."
    "No regrets?"
    "None."
    That's my mom. No sorrows, no regrets. That must be where I got it from.

    I'm going to let her sleep in until I start to get nervous. Seeing as how it's almost 1330, my nervousness will probably prod me to awaken her about 1400. I have a feeling it's going to be a laid back day. Good. I've still got a screen door to disengage and deliver; although I've already called the business and told them I may not get that in until tomorrow. No problem. This isn't one of those jobs they're counting on to keep them in the black.
    Later.

...that when I send her e's, she receives more than one of the same e. This is a problem created by my cable connection company. They've been upgrading equipment. Although the upgrade was supposed to be finished on June 6th I guess they've been having problems. On my end, the problem has been that I get error messages when I try to send e's, sometimes. This afternoon it was so bad that I finally switched to my dial-up connection.
    Anyway, I wanted to let anyone who typically receives e's from me know, if you've been receiving multiple copies of the same e, IT'S NOT ME...I'VE NOT YET GONE OFF THE DEEP END! I didn't know the multiples problem was happening. It seems that the multiples happen when I have to try to send an e more than once. Apparently the e's go through but I get a false negative on this end.
    So, please, bear with this for awhile. It won't last forever; at least, that's what the cable company told me when I finally called about it this afternoon.
    Also, I intend to get back to those of you who've written and commented within the last few days; I'm a little behind, though, here.
    Today has continued very well. Although Mom's BG was a little high this evening, still working off the breakfast, I guess. As well, my strategy of taking advantage of my mother's good day also made it impossible for her to relax when I took her BP both this morning and tonight. Normally it's hard enough for me to engineer conditions so that I get a good, relaxed reading (she hates the cuff). Today it was absolutely impossible. Just in case this wasn't the real problem, though, I'm going to record the readings. I expect them to be way overshadowed by her normal range from tomorrow on but, well, you never know...
    Later.

    Miracle of miracles, my mother was up at 0854 this morning. The "wiggling" she saw was me, just rousing, late, for me, with no excuse. I went to bed the same time she did. I guess I was just really tired.
    If you've read this journal for any length of time, you know that the last thing I want to happen is for Mom to arise at the same time I do in the morning. Didn't bother me today, though, for a couple of reasons:

•     On Saturday I re-upped my Black Cohosh supplement, doubling the skimpy amount I've been taking for several months, now, under the observation that my hormones were settling down. They are, but they are still having their moments. Aside from having PMS symptoms over the past few days, I also noticed that tears were coming so easily to me it was ridiculous. I cried at the end of one of Mom's Walker, Texas Ranger episodes Friday night! At that point my mother stared at me and said, "Is it time for your period?"
      "I'm not supposed to be having any more, Mom."
      "I've heard that one, before."
•     I realized that this would be the perfect morning to usher her to the lab for her "monthly" blood draw. Results will be up tomorrow. Just the CBC this month.

    At any rate, I'm getting in some quiet time (I think that's what I'll call it, from now on, versus alone time, which I don't actually get, anymore), now, while she sleeps off the Extreme Slam breakfast she had at Denny's this morning. That was her blood draw day compromise; she'd agree to go if I'd take her out to breakfast. She ordered the Slam without pancakes, which surprised and pleased me, then proceeded to eat the whole thing, including a small glass of orange juice and two pieces of toast. I'm surprised she didn't pick up her plate and lick it clean. She's sleeping off 'the damage', now. She mentioned, though, that she really enjoyed herself this morning and would like to "do that again soon". I'm trying not to get my hopes up, but she was in such a good mood (through about 1400, when she went in for a nap) that I'm thinking, hmmm...maybe she just needed to adjust to all these volatile monsoon days.
    I spent the entire business part of the day yesterday looking for someone to design us a new Arcadia screen door for the dinette. Despite purchasing yet another child-guard and stacking them across the screen door, Mr. Man has figured out that he can jump on top of the second one and drop down between the screen and the guard, which automatically pops the screening out of the door, and enjoy a little wild time. There is not, unfortunately, enough room for a third child-guard. Finally, around 1630, I found a door place just down the street that thinks they can modify the existing door to keep the spline from popping out. I'll be taking it in tomorrow. At the same time, I'm going to have them screen the door with super-strong screening material. I mentioned having a door made with metal screening.
    "If your cats aren't declawed, they'll be able to rip the metal screening faster than some of the newer fabric screening on the market."
    The funny thing is, even when I was considering metal screening, I had a flash of memory (which I wasn't sure I could trust) from a time when I hosted a magnificent cat (I used to call him my "dog/cat" because he embodied the best qualities of both) named Ricki, who much preferred the outdoors (which I allowed him; he had been raised as an outdoor cat before he was passed to me). Once, when I lived up in Pinetop, AZ, with him, I wasn't quick enough when he wanted to go out and chase some small animal he'd spotted, so he ripped through the metal screening in the window of my front door. I guess that was a trustworthy memory!
    Otherwise, we've been doing fine. I may be a bit scarce and breezy for a few days, here. I've got a few yard things I want to do and, if Mom is truly in the mood for movement, I'm going to take advantage of this and try to get her out, a little.
    Oops...The Mom's up.
    Later.

...I'm not sure, but, yesterday, while I was bathing my mother, I was stealthly overtaken by one of the best Abandoning Fantasies in which I've yet indulged. I want to record it here so I remember it.
    It is important for me to mention that yesterday's bathing was one during which I was not "being here now".
    My mother had just handed me a wash cloth with which she'd soaped her left arm. I was autonomically aware of the job she'd done, "gold star", which I mentioned to her (I often grade her efforts as a celebration or a tease, especially when either her vigor or lack of such surprises me). Otherwise, my mind was elsewhere and wasn't signaling me its location. I handed her a rinse cloth, began washing out the soaped cloth and suddenly, my exhausted self called to me in the voice of a god: "Drop the wash cloth. Turn off the water. Find your shoes. Put them on. Call whichever sister you can reach. Tell her it's her turn, now, to take care of your mother. Walk out of the house. Pick up your hiking stick. Head into the forest. Keep walking. Don't turn back. Become a 'lily of the field'. Know that you will find shelter and provisions. Leave the care of your mother to the civilization she loves, thank her for creating you and return to your natural habitat."
    During the rest of her bath, while monitoring her progress and keeping up light conversation with my mother, I imagined my solitary journey 'back to my roots' so to speak...roots I've never experienced but, nonetheless, mine. I watched myself travel northward through high desert forest and rugged mountain passes...wandering the west central flat desert like Moses, expecting a deadly collapse at any moment. Crawling into fertile valleys. Gorging on water, greens and roots. Reviving. Picking my way further northward and westward until I found myself in a natural haven. The voice tells me, "Stop. You're home." I stop, explore my immediate surroundings and prepare to live the rest of my days there, however many or few are left. At home in whatever deciduous shelter the voice tells me I belong.
    This is not a new fantasy. I've depended on this one periodically for years, when nothing except the bare fact of my existence makes sense, anymore, and I need to give myself some psychological leeway to take stock and figure out, yet again, how to reorient myself to living conditions among humans that often seem, to me, confusing and brutal. Some years ago I called this fantasy into play when I was worrying about what I'd do with my life after my mother died. After exhausting myself with all sorts of civilized options that seemed just this side of ridiculous, I began making elaborate plans for solitary living in "the wilderness". I researched survival manuals. I planned and began collecting items I thought I'd need for self-sufficiency. I calculated how long it would take for my body to adjust to the organisms in water treated only by natural processes. I looked up locations that promised potable water least likely to have been polluted by the activities of civilization. I spent many refreshing alternate hours (meaning hours in which I was primarily engaged in caregiving and secondarily engaged in planning my final living situation). The startling aspect of yesterday's version of my long nursed fantasy is that, this time, I did it naked. No manuals, no research, no handy survival gadgets, just the summery clothes on my back and a pair of close-toed shoes with traction soles. It was exhilarating to contemplate.
    It wasn't until yesterday that this fantasy became an Abandoning Fantasy...the best one yet. Would I ever do this? I've had too widely varied a life and found myself doing too many things I never thought I'd have the courage or audacity to do that, well, I never say never. I figure, if I can imagine myself doing something like this, there's always the possibility, remote as it seems at the moment, that I will become so overwhelmed by any current situation that I might just walk away. Home.
    Better awaken The Mom. I've let her sneak enough extra sleep.
    Later.