Saturday, September 2, 2006
You'd think that holiday weekends wouldn't make much difference to us...
...especially those weekends which don't necessarily imply visiting, visitors and honoring one another with gifts and special meals. They do have a psychic effect on my mother and me, though. When my mother realizes that we are on the verge of a three-or-more-day holiday weekend, she sighs and expresses gratitude, as she did last night, as though she was still teaching and could put away the rigors of a career driven life for an extra day. I relax a little more than usual, knowing that I don't have to "think business" for an extra day.
Despite the tendrils of energy that enlivened my mother's Thursday, this week, yesterday she settled fully into her usual routine: Arising at 1300, after a couple of unsuccessful attempts to rouse her at noon and 1230; an easy-going day in which she was not amenable to any kind of outside-our-door activity and scoffed at my recitation of our "plans" for the weekend; a short nap, very short, it's true, but I had to cajole her to remain awake until 2330 last night. Her BG was up a little, both morning and night, as was her BP, despite no evidence of water retention and meals low in refined carbodydrates. Sometime in the evening, after we watched the last part of Elizabeth I, as I prepared dinner and took her stats, I attempted to lecture her about how her stats were showing, yet again, that it would be better for her if she moved a little more.
"I don't know why you worry about it, child," she sneered, "I don't."
And, she doesn't. She doesn't even worry when she's experiencing a legitimate health crisis and can feel its effects. In fact, she rarely feels the effects of legitimate health crises.
Although I will, at some point, this weekend, do all the errands "we'd" planned and attempt to entice her into accompanying me, especially on the lawn mower buying errand, my guess is that, this holiday weekend, she will insist on spending most of it in The Country of Ancient Idyll. Since it's a holiday weekend, I will probably not punish myself by attempting to push her beyond her reverie.
Later.
Despite the tendrils of energy that enlivened my mother's Thursday, this week, yesterday she settled fully into her usual routine: Arising at 1300, after a couple of unsuccessful attempts to rouse her at noon and 1230; an easy-going day in which she was not amenable to any kind of outside-our-door activity and scoffed at my recitation of our "plans" for the weekend; a short nap, very short, it's true, but I had to cajole her to remain awake until 2330 last night. Her BG was up a little, both morning and night, as was her BP, despite no evidence of water retention and meals low in refined carbodydrates. Sometime in the evening, after we watched the last part of Elizabeth I, as I prepared dinner and took her stats, I attempted to lecture her about how her stats were showing, yet again, that it would be better for her if she moved a little more.
"I don't know why you worry about it, child," she sneered, "I don't."
And, she doesn't. She doesn't even worry when she's experiencing a legitimate health crisis and can feel its effects. In fact, she rarely feels the effects of legitimate health crises.
Although I will, at some point, this weekend, do all the errands "we'd" planned and attempt to entice her into accompanying me, especially on the lawn mower buying errand, my guess is that, this holiday weekend, she will insist on spending most of it in The Country of Ancient Idyll. Since it's a holiday weekend, I will probably not punish myself by attempting to push her beyond her reverie.
Later.
Friday, September 1, 2006
She asked for "another half hour"...
...so she's getting it.
In the meantime, all caregivers, take heed. Click into this post at Emergiblog. A comment from a frequent reader who is also a friendly, interesting and much appreciated cyber acquaintance alerted me to this post but I'm repeating the link, here, in case you happen to miss the comment in which it is encased. It is proof positive that not all outcomes of caregivers' medical dilemmas on behalf of their care recipients are written in stone.
Back I go, to the Ancient Sleep Chamber, once again.
Later.
In the meantime, all caregivers, take heed. Click into this post at Emergiblog. A comment from a frequent reader who is also a friendly, interesting and much appreciated cyber acquaintance alerted me to this post but I'm repeating the link, here, in case you happen to miss the comment in which it is encased. It is proof positive that not all outcomes of caregivers' medical dilemmas on behalf of their care recipients are written in stone.
Back I go, to the Ancient Sleep Chamber, once again.
Later.
Well, I surveyed The Sleeping Mom...
...at 1100 about going in her for blood draw today. No dice.
"Do we have to do that today?" she asked.
No, we don't. So, I'll check in on her again at 1215. If she's still reluctant to arise, I'll let her sleep, considering her active post-retiring-period last night. Rain is scheduled for this afternoon, although, as I write this, the sky is clear, spot-on-cerulean, hosting a few generous, white cumulus here and there, no noticeable wind. Today might be a good day to finish off the pyracantha. I'm watching the weather as I write this. Despite the agreeable sky, I notice the pressure is dropping and a high of 88° is predicted for Prescott proper (low 80's for us), which usually means a build-up of moisture in the afternoon and certain thunderstorms. The air, as well, feels a bit sticky.
I'm not the only one who's sensed an early fall in the air, this year. The day before our day trip, Mom said, "It's getting close to the holidays, isn't it." This clued me to the fact that she's geared for holiday celebrations this year. Considering how well our day trip went, her hemoglobin revival and, well, how her available energy may develop, I'm changing my thoughts about hosting Christmas up here, this year. Our chances of having true family-and-friend celebrations are actually higher if we head toward The Valley for both Thanksgiving and Christmas.
Which reminds me: After noticing this morning that one of my recent visitors searched my site for information about last Thanksgiving's day trip, after reading the intro to our successful trip two days ago, I'm sure, I linked to it in the post.
I've had something on my mind about the Ancient, ailing and terminal and their relationship to death, sparked by a short conversation with our regular oxygen delivery guy yesterday. Over the last several weeks he's been training a new delivery person every week, each of whom has quit soon after training has started. He was working with another trainee this week. I've developed a relationship with this man over several months. I know that he is easy going, both quick to humor and practicality, and I can't imagine that he is anything close to a Tyrant Trainer. I also know, from a survey of the equipment he delivers, that none of the equipment he delivers would be beyond my ability to handle in and out of any type of home or facility. In addition, the trucks are always equipped with handy-dandy mechanical helping devices. Thus, his job is not any more physical than, say, that of a UPS or Fed-Ex delivery person. I've talked to him about salary, too. Although salaries in this area tend to be a bit lower than typical, statewide (Arizona has the distinction of being a state in which real income for a family of four has steadily and precipitously dropped over the last few years, while corporate profits have zoomed), the company for which he works starts people well above minimum wage, even when the person isn't experienced, and even has a modest benefits package, including health benefits, which is very hard to find in this state. The job, as well, is secure, the company rewards stick-to-it-iveness, compensates overtime according to federal law (which is another area in which Arizona lags) and rarely requires after-hours work; when after-hours work is necessary, the company works hard to give it to people who want extra money and not importune those who would prefer fmaily time. Thus, I couldn't avoid wondering out loud, this week, why it is so hard for this company to keep employees, especially considering that their long term employees are very long term.
Our delivery guy began with a joke: "You know we have a saying: People are always dying to see us. It's true," he continued. "Most everyone on our routes is obviously terminal, or close to it. Your Mom is the exception. I think it's hard on people, watching clients decline, losing at least one client every week, getting to know new clients and knowing that they probably won't know these people very long..." his voice trailed off, then picked up, "...you have to make friends with death in this job. I don't think very many people are willing to do this."
This is also one of the requirements for being a successful caregiver to an Ancient One, beloved or not. With every health crisis, a caregiver cannot escape the pressure of the possibility that this crisis will be the last. Even when one's care recipient is doing well, as my mother is, and seems to have a felicitous amount of time packed under her belt, it is common, in the middle of pleasant circumstances, to find oneself beset with poignant expectations that this enjoyable espisode may be one of the last shared with one's care recipient. You never know, and it's impossible to ignore the dime upon which Ancient lives turn.
Thinking about this reminded me of a video Mom and I recently watched, Tibetan Book of the Dead, The Great Liberation. The imminent death of a relatively young man in a Tibetan village is followed, from his bed-ridden state to his death. The most noticeable and astounding aspect of his death is that his whole family and more than occasional village friends and acquaintances were in attendance through his entire journey out of this life, as well as their local Buddhist priest and a young acolyte. Throughout the video it is explained that, in this culture, death is considered so important to life that it would be unthinkable to avoid the dying.
Previous to taking care of my Mom, I too, I must admit, found it hard to be around the dying and those in attendance to the dying one. Although I realized, for instance, during my last conversation with my father after this conversation he would soon die (so did he), I did not come to my father's side, nor my mother's, who was taking care of him. I waited until after his death to return home for my culture's family death throes. Years previous, as an older teen, when a good friend of mine drowned unexpectedly, I could not bring myself to even attend the funeral or meet with his family. About a decade after this, I found myself working for a corporation in which I began to take over the duties of someone dying of AIDS, picking up slack as he continued as he could and slowly working into his job. Although he and I became fast friends, once he was no longer able to continue working, although I vowed, with every good intention, to continue to visit him, I couldn't. I felt awful about my inability, but I couldn't negotiate past my all-thumbs emotional vulnerability. When I was forced to attend to the dying by accompanying my mother through her attendance on her own dying relatives, before and after my companionship of her began, I was a reluctant, grumbling participant and completely abused my opportunities to become familiar with the changing structure of the lives of people who are terminal.
So, you know, I "get" that most people, including but not exclusive to family, who know my mother and I, think that my caregiving is simply an exercise in waiting for her to die. I understand how upsetting it is for people to not only confront this but move past it, take advantage of what is left of her life and renew their relationship with who she is now over avoiding the issue by waiting until she "finally dies" to remember her as she was before she began to shake hands with old age and death. I can't help but wonder, though, if we are not only doing uor Ancient and/or Terminal Ones, but ourselves, a great disservice by avoiding, rather than embracing, their last years, months and days; if in backing away from this period in the lives of our friends and loved ones, we are deliberately truncating the real meaning of their lives in favor of romanticized notions of their past and their value, which keeps us locked in this terminal catch-22, which also badly serves our sense of meaning about our own lives.
Just wanted to mention this.
Think I'll check in on The Mom, see where she is in sleep.
Later.
"Do we have to do that today?" she asked.
No, we don't. So, I'll check in on her again at 1215. If she's still reluctant to arise, I'll let her sleep, considering her active post-retiring-period last night. Rain is scheduled for this afternoon, although, as I write this, the sky is clear, spot-on-cerulean, hosting a few generous, white cumulus here and there, no noticeable wind. Today might be a good day to finish off the pyracantha. I'm watching the weather as I write this. Despite the agreeable sky, I notice the pressure is dropping and a high of 88° is predicted for Prescott proper (low 80's for us), which usually means a build-up of moisture in the afternoon and certain thunderstorms. The air, as well, feels a bit sticky.
I'm not the only one who's sensed an early fall in the air, this year. The day before our day trip, Mom said, "It's getting close to the holidays, isn't it." This clued me to the fact that she's geared for holiday celebrations this year. Considering how well our day trip went, her hemoglobin revival and, well, how her available energy may develop, I'm changing my thoughts about hosting Christmas up here, this year. Our chances of having true family-and-friend celebrations are actually higher if we head toward The Valley for both Thanksgiving and Christmas.
Which reminds me: After noticing this morning that one of my recent visitors searched my site for information about last Thanksgiving's day trip, after reading the intro to our successful trip two days ago, I'm sure, I linked to it in the post.
I've had something on my mind about the Ancient, ailing and terminal and their relationship to death, sparked by a short conversation with our regular oxygen delivery guy yesterday. Over the last several weeks he's been training a new delivery person every week, each of whom has quit soon after training has started. He was working with another trainee this week. I've developed a relationship with this man over several months. I know that he is easy going, both quick to humor and practicality, and I can't imagine that he is anything close to a Tyrant Trainer. I also know, from a survey of the equipment he delivers, that none of the equipment he delivers would be beyond my ability to handle in and out of any type of home or facility. In addition, the trucks are always equipped with handy-dandy mechanical helping devices. Thus, his job is not any more physical than, say, that of a UPS or Fed-Ex delivery person. I've talked to him about salary, too. Although salaries in this area tend to be a bit lower than typical, statewide (Arizona has the distinction of being a state in which real income for a family of four has steadily and precipitously dropped over the last few years, while corporate profits have zoomed), the company for which he works starts people well above minimum wage, even when the person isn't experienced, and even has a modest benefits package, including health benefits, which is very hard to find in this state. The job, as well, is secure, the company rewards stick-to-it-iveness, compensates overtime according to federal law (which is another area in which Arizona lags) and rarely requires after-hours work; when after-hours work is necessary, the company works hard to give it to people who want extra money and not importune those who would prefer fmaily time. Thus, I couldn't avoid wondering out loud, this week, why it is so hard for this company to keep employees, especially considering that their long term employees are very long term.
Our delivery guy began with a joke: "You know we have a saying: People are always dying to see us. It's true," he continued. "Most everyone on our routes is obviously terminal, or close to it. Your Mom is the exception. I think it's hard on people, watching clients decline, losing at least one client every week, getting to know new clients and knowing that they probably won't know these people very long..." his voice trailed off, then picked up, "...you have to make friends with death in this job. I don't think very many people are willing to do this."
This is also one of the requirements for being a successful caregiver to an Ancient One, beloved or not. With every health crisis, a caregiver cannot escape the pressure of the possibility that this crisis will be the last. Even when one's care recipient is doing well, as my mother is, and seems to have a felicitous amount of time packed under her belt, it is common, in the middle of pleasant circumstances, to find oneself beset with poignant expectations that this enjoyable espisode may be one of the last shared with one's care recipient. You never know, and it's impossible to ignore the dime upon which Ancient lives turn.
Thinking about this reminded me of a video Mom and I recently watched, Tibetan Book of the Dead, The Great Liberation. The imminent death of a relatively young man in a Tibetan village is followed, from his bed-ridden state to his death. The most noticeable and astounding aspect of his death is that his whole family and more than occasional village friends and acquaintances were in attendance through his entire journey out of this life, as well as their local Buddhist priest and a young acolyte. Throughout the video it is explained that, in this culture, death is considered so important to life that it would be unthinkable to avoid the dying.
Previous to taking care of my Mom, I too, I must admit, found it hard to be around the dying and those in attendance to the dying one. Although I realized, for instance, during my last conversation with my father after this conversation he would soon die (so did he), I did not come to my father's side, nor my mother's, who was taking care of him. I waited until after his death to return home for my culture's family death throes. Years previous, as an older teen, when a good friend of mine drowned unexpectedly, I could not bring myself to even attend the funeral or meet with his family. About a decade after this, I found myself working for a corporation in which I began to take over the duties of someone dying of AIDS, picking up slack as he continued as he could and slowly working into his job. Although he and I became fast friends, once he was no longer able to continue working, although I vowed, with every good intention, to continue to visit him, I couldn't. I felt awful about my inability, but I couldn't negotiate past my all-thumbs emotional vulnerability. When I was forced to attend to the dying by accompanying my mother through her attendance on her own dying relatives, before and after my companionship of her began, I was a reluctant, grumbling participant and completely abused my opportunities to become familiar with the changing structure of the lives of people who are terminal.
So, you know, I "get" that most people, including but not exclusive to family, who know my mother and I, think that my caregiving is simply an exercise in waiting for her to die. I understand how upsetting it is for people to not only confront this but move past it, take advantage of what is left of her life and renew their relationship with who she is now over avoiding the issue by waiting until she "finally dies" to remember her as she was before she began to shake hands with old age and death. I can't help but wonder, though, if we are not only doing uor Ancient and/or Terminal Ones, but ourselves, a great disservice by avoiding, rather than embracing, their last years, months and days; if in backing away from this period in the lives of our friends and loved ones, we are deliberately truncating the real meaning of their lives in favor of romanticized notions of their past and their value, which keeps us locked in this terminal catch-22, which also badly serves our sense of meaning about our own lives.
Just wanted to mention this.
Think I'll check in on The Mom, see where she is in sleep.
Later.
Today, ah, well, make that yesterday, now...
...was Trip Recovery Day, although it went much more smoothly than usual. This is the first day trip we've taken since her Anemia Due to Chronic Disease has come under sufficient control. I'm tending toward thinking that just this one change has made a huge difference not only in how my mother experiences her life, but in how I experience my caring for her, as well. I've noticed, yesterday and today, that it is almost impossible, now, for me to be truly thrown by anything...simply because I no longer feel quite so helpless.
I am considering, of course, that at some point I will again experience frustration and feelings of helplessness in regard to what I'm sure will be health crises that will, eventually, lead to her death. I'm trying hard, on several mental levels, to prepare myself for these eventualities while I have this blessing of room to breathe that administering a third Niferex-150 has afforded me.
I reported some of our day in The Dailies for what is now yesterday. Mom's day, today involved a surprisingly early awakening and a hard, deep, long nap. Today was a surprise Seattle Day, as well, not predicted by the weather channel. I reveled in it and so did Mom, in her way. I think it aided her sleep recovery from the trip. Although I offered her an adult buffered dose of aspirin both this morning and when she awoke from her nap, she wasn't interested, couldn't even imagine why I was asking her about possible stiffness. As well, she revealed yet another surprise of an extended awake period once she arose from napping. She was in excellent spirits throughout. A few days ago I noticed that HBO's presentation of Elizabeth I, which my mother and I so loved, was for sale and purchased it. We watched the special features and the first part this evening. During the actual presentation we found ourselves moved simultaneously by bits of dialogue, scenes in which multiple subtle looks were exchanged, and, of course, the exquisite sets and costumes. We paused and replayed several snatches. One piece of dialogue in particular we played over three times and discussed: When Leicester and Elizabeth are discussing her desire to revive a once scrapped plan for her to secretly visit Mary and attempt to reason with her and Leicester replies: "Bess, you have the great weakness of the clear minded. You believe that other people think like you." Although I'd noticed that throughout the presentation Mom had been wiping her eyes with Kleenex, I assumed that it was because her allergies were bothering her. At the end of the first part, though, as the credits were rolling and I was exclaiming about how so many parts of the film "caused me chills," she replied, "Yes, and tears, too." I was stunned speechless. She is not a woman who is easily moved to tears or weeps in reaction to drama. I didn't pursue it, nor did I tease her, as she often teases me when tears flow while I'm reading or watching a story.
Later, as I was rubbing down her legs, we discussed plans for the next few days: Possible blood draw tomorrow, depending on the weather; definitely finish off trimming the pyracantha, which it is her intention to supervise; finally, and least expected, she mentioned something I'd talked about earlier in the day, that "I" need to compare prices on manual lawn mowers and purchase one this weekend so I can trim down our ankle-to-waist high grass varieties and scatter seed to ensure an even more lush lawn next summer.
"I should go with you," she said.
"Oh, absolutely!"
"I think I know a little more about manual lawn mowers than you do. All you girls ever used were the ones with engines."
"Good. I could use some advice." Unbeknownst to her, I've already surveyed what's available in the area. All that is left is to compare current prices versus features. I didn't mention my previous survey but, in order to prepare her, since she inevitably expects pricing of anything to be what it was in the 1950's and 1960's, I introduced my guess as to what we'd probably pay for the machine.
Yet again, she blew me away by responding, "There'll be Labor Day Sales this weekend, you know. We should get ahold of the hardware ads."
Frankly, I'd forgotten about Labor Day; we hadn't yet mentioned it this week. I can only guess that she was reminded of it because of the "Ernesto" updates she watched earlier. MFS lives in Jacksonville so Mom likes to keep an eye on that area during hurricane season. After breakfast, before she napped, she asked me to turn to the weather channel while I was finishing up morning chores so she could see if "Ernesto" had proceeded up the coast or turned back on North Florida. I vaguely recall overhearing people along the coast of North Carolina complaining that "Ernesto" was threatening their anticipated Labor Day income. I was amazed that she had retained this information all day long and used it to help us make plans.
So, I have no idea how the coming days will shake out. Could be that, as previously, she'll lapse back into her normal habits, although she has questioned me several times, today, about our upcoming trip to The Valley for her doctor's appointment. Not that she remembers it is for her appointment. She only remembers that it's another day trip and she so enjoyed yesterday's that she's looking forward to it. However, earlier today when, in response to one of her Next Trip Queries, I suggested that maybe we should plan No Reason Day Trips every couple of weeks, since she enjoyed yesterday's so much, she said, with a look of mock consternation, "Now, let's not get too ambitious!"
We'll see.
Hmmm...it is 0152 as I close off this post. A few minutes ago, Mom took a quick trip to the bathroom. I responded to the bathroom door opening and led her back to bed to make sure she replaced her oxygen cannula. I asked her if Mr. Man's attempt to climb the kitchen wall, backing her bedroom wall against which her bed sits, awoke her.
"Oh, no, I was up."
"You mean you haven't slept since your light went off at 0018?"
"No."
"What have you been doing?"
"Oh, thinking."
"Anything in particular on your mind?"
"No, just thinking about [dead uncle] and [her] Grandpa."
I avoided asking her what she was thinking, as I didn't want to get into another Dead Zone discussion, since I'm ready for some sleep. I can't imagine, though, that she was awake all that time without coming out. But, the up and down nature of her night, tonight, indicates that she's completely recovered from the trip and back to her usual schedule.
Yes, definitely, we'll see.
Rabbit, rabbit.
Later.
I am considering, of course, that at some point I will again experience frustration and feelings of helplessness in regard to what I'm sure will be health crises that will, eventually, lead to her death. I'm trying hard, on several mental levels, to prepare myself for these eventualities while I have this blessing of room to breathe that administering a third Niferex-150 has afforded me.
I reported some of our day in The Dailies for what is now yesterday. Mom's day, today involved a surprisingly early awakening and a hard, deep, long nap. Today was a surprise Seattle Day, as well, not predicted by the weather channel. I reveled in it and so did Mom, in her way. I think it aided her sleep recovery from the trip. Although I offered her an adult buffered dose of aspirin both this morning and when she awoke from her nap, she wasn't interested, couldn't even imagine why I was asking her about possible stiffness. As well, she revealed yet another surprise of an extended awake period once she arose from napping. She was in excellent spirits throughout. A few days ago I noticed that HBO's presentation of Elizabeth I, which my mother and I so loved, was for sale and purchased it. We watched the special features and the first part this evening. During the actual presentation we found ourselves moved simultaneously by bits of dialogue, scenes in which multiple subtle looks were exchanged, and, of course, the exquisite sets and costumes. We paused and replayed several snatches. One piece of dialogue in particular we played over three times and discussed: When Leicester and Elizabeth are discussing her desire to revive a once scrapped plan for her to secretly visit Mary and attempt to reason with her and Leicester replies: "Bess, you have the great weakness of the clear minded. You believe that other people think like you." Although I'd noticed that throughout the presentation Mom had been wiping her eyes with Kleenex, I assumed that it was because her allergies were bothering her. At the end of the first part, though, as the credits were rolling and I was exclaiming about how so many parts of the film "caused me chills," she replied, "Yes, and tears, too." I was stunned speechless. She is not a woman who is easily moved to tears or weeps in reaction to drama. I didn't pursue it, nor did I tease her, as she often teases me when tears flow while I'm reading or watching a story.
Later, as I was rubbing down her legs, we discussed plans for the next few days: Possible blood draw tomorrow, depending on the weather; definitely finish off trimming the pyracantha, which it is her intention to supervise; finally, and least expected, she mentioned something I'd talked about earlier in the day, that "I" need to compare prices on manual lawn mowers and purchase one this weekend so I can trim down our ankle-to-waist high grass varieties and scatter seed to ensure an even more lush lawn next summer.
"I should go with you," she said.
"Oh, absolutely!"
"I think I know a little more about manual lawn mowers than you do. All you girls ever used were the ones with engines."
"Good. I could use some advice." Unbeknownst to her, I've already surveyed what's available in the area. All that is left is to compare current prices versus features. I didn't mention my previous survey but, in order to prepare her, since she inevitably expects pricing of anything to be what it was in the 1950's and 1960's, I introduced my guess as to what we'd probably pay for the machine.
Yet again, she blew me away by responding, "There'll be Labor Day Sales this weekend, you know. We should get ahold of the hardware ads."
Frankly, I'd forgotten about Labor Day; we hadn't yet mentioned it this week. I can only guess that she was reminded of it because of the "Ernesto" updates she watched earlier. MFS lives in Jacksonville so Mom likes to keep an eye on that area during hurricane season. After breakfast, before she napped, she asked me to turn to the weather channel while I was finishing up morning chores so she could see if "Ernesto" had proceeded up the coast or turned back on North Florida. I vaguely recall overhearing people along the coast of North Carolina complaining that "Ernesto" was threatening their anticipated Labor Day income. I was amazed that she had retained this information all day long and used it to help us make plans.
So, I have no idea how the coming days will shake out. Could be that, as previously, she'll lapse back into her normal habits, although she has questioned me several times, today, about our upcoming trip to The Valley for her doctor's appointment. Not that she remembers it is for her appointment. She only remembers that it's another day trip and she so enjoyed yesterday's that she's looking forward to it. However, earlier today when, in response to one of her Next Trip Queries, I suggested that maybe we should plan No Reason Day Trips every couple of weeks, since she enjoyed yesterday's so much, she said, with a look of mock consternation, "Now, let's not get too ambitious!"
We'll see.
Hmmm...it is 0152 as I close off this post. A few minutes ago, Mom took a quick trip to the bathroom. I responded to the bathroom door opening and led her back to bed to make sure she replaced her oxygen cannula. I asked her if Mr. Man's attempt to climb the kitchen wall, backing her bedroom wall against which her bed sits, awoke her.
"Oh, no, I was up."
"You mean you haven't slept since your light went off at 0018?"
"No."
"What have you been doing?"
"Oh, thinking."
"Anything in particular on your mind?"
"No, just thinking about [dead uncle] and [her] Grandpa."
I avoided asking her what she was thinking, as I didn't want to get into another Dead Zone discussion, since I'm ready for some sleep. I can't imagine, though, that she was awake all that time without coming out. But, the up and down nature of her night, tonight, indicates that she's completely recovered from the trip and back to her usual schedule.
Yes, definitely, we'll see.
Rabbit, rabbit.
Later.
Wednesday, August 30, 2006
Excellent trip!
No Caregiver-Out-of-Control episodes like last Thanksgiving! Actually, most of our trips are fun, stimulating and work well. It's just hard to forget the one day-mare of a trip!
As before, the ID facility had no one waiting. Mom didn't even have a chance to sit before she was called to the counter. The picture they took, as is typical of ID card pictures, was horrible. Mom, the attendant and I joked about how she looked like a hardened criminal who'd spent several years in stir. My mother loved this!
Mom and I were both totally stress free, so we spent two hours at the restaurant, talking, people watching and enjoying each other's company. The only curious episode is that the restroom, for some reason, had no air conditioning. Bathrooming my mother is always a concentrated chore for me, doubly so in a public restroom, even when the handicapped stalls are available. She was ready for a paper-underwear change by the time we hit the restaurant. This involved removing shoes, slacks, underwear, giving her thigh creases a quick clean and anti-itch cream refreshment, managing a Bathroom Supply Bag that was stuffed to the point of equaling two old time "doctor bags", then putting everything back on and in. Luckily, she didn't have a bowel movement! We joked our way through this, though, as well. At one point my mother reminded me that I "don't have an indoor voice."
I quickly responded that this is because she doesn't have indoor ears.
This set us both to laughing heartily, during which we heard the tiny bathroom door open, then quickly close without anyone entering. "Too bad people are so sensitive," my mother said.
By the time we exited the bathroom, sweat was running down my face and neck and my shirt was soaked. The patrons at the first table we passed gave me a curious look. My mother noticed and said, "She was running laps in the bathroom."
Although we didn't eat pie at the restaurant, my mother was so thrilled with the idea of taking pie home for dinner that she couldn't decide what kind she wanted. "Why don't you choose a couple and we'll freeze one?" I suggested.
She quickly chose, count 'em, three different types, peach, rhubarb and chocolate silk! I stuck with my lemon cream cheese but I might trade it out for the rhubarb this evening, assuming that my mother doesn't eat that one tonight.
The scenery was incredibly green, although no late summer flowers were in evidence. Often, when we take this trip, she doesn't remember it and considers it a "new route". Today, she remembered it and commented that she'd like to take this trip again "soon".
"No problem," I said. "We'll be taking it again in two weeks."
"Oh, that's right, I'll need to get my ID card renewed, again," she said. Time is a wondrous thing for the demented.
Lastly, it seems that rush hour begins, on certain sections of the maze of Phoenix metroplex freeways, a little after 1400, now. I thought, by leaving the restaurant at 1400, we'd beat all congestion but I was wrong. Even, this, though, was instructive for both of us. "I'm sure glad we don't live here," my mother said more times than I can remember this afternoon while we inched the last couple of miles from 202 West through the section of I-10 West leading to the I-17 North exit.
After she'd said this several times I told her, "You know, Mom, the next time you're sitting in your rocking chair up in Prescott asking me, disgustedly, to remind you why you 'ever bought this place', I'm going to remind you of this little jaunt!"
She gave me a side-long sneer. "I'm sure you will, child, I'm sure you will."
She got in some heavy duty walkering. Since she was on display, she performed admirably. Going into and out of the restaurant she had to stop and rest, a bit. The small of her back had begun to bother her, even though I prepped her this morning by substituting an adult buffered aspirin for her usual 81 mg tablet. I hadn't brought any more with me...I had no idea she would attend to walkering as vigorously as she did, especially at the military facility. I think she considered it her duty as a veteran to put on her best show. By the time we got home, though, her back was no longer bothering her. She was tired and generally stiff. She also had begun to get punch drunk during the trip home, as well as slipping in and out of time zones. She made silly, delightful observations as we passed through the many townlets scattered along State Route 69 from Cordes Junction to Prescott; one in particular in which she surmised how many of these townlets began: "I think," she said, "someone buys a plot of land and puts up a trailer. Someone else sees it and thinks, 'What a good idea!' They buy a plot 5 miles away and put up a trailer. Then, along comes a businessman looking for a business. He sees the two houses and thinks, 'I'll bet they'd like to buy their groceries close by.' He sets up a store and suddenly, lots of people who saw the two houses and day dreamed about owning a similar plot but decided against it because there was no store nearby start buying plots and setting up trailers."
"And then," I said, "someone applies for an official postal code for the area..."
"...and it becomes a town!"
Another conversation I don't want to forget: We'd been driving quietly for a few miles. Suddenly Mom announced, "Mother and Dad finally bought a piano, you know."
"Really!" I said. "I thought they were playing harps, now!"
She gave me a funny look. "No, she said, I think that's Lucille (a long, long dead cousin of hers who, I think, actually played the violin). I'm sure they wouldn't mind if you wanted to go over and play it, sometime."
"I don't know, Mom," I said. "Grandpa would probably get annoyed with me playing the same piece over and over."
Again, that funny, sidelong look. No comment, though.
I suddenly realized that she might be mistaking me for [her sister's daughter] who is an excellent pianist. "Mom," I said, "I'm not [name of her niece, my cousin].
"Well, I should hope not! That would be quite a feat, if you were both Gail and [name of niece/cousin]!"
So, I guess she just remembers me as a good pianist, even though, while I was obsessed with the piano when I was younger, I started playing it by ear in the third grade, I never had the fortitude to become good at it. I was eventually thrown out of piano lessons because my teacher discovered that the reason I'd always have her play the selections for the next week before I left class was so I could pick them up by ear and forego learning to read sheet music.
Anyway, she's in bed, now, napping; went down at a little after 1700. Oh! And, she's just now up, hanging over the banister, saying, "I woke up thinking about pie..."
So, I guess it's dinner time!
Later.
As before, the ID facility had no one waiting. Mom didn't even have a chance to sit before she was called to the counter. The picture they took, as is typical of ID card pictures, was horrible. Mom, the attendant and I joked about how she looked like a hardened criminal who'd spent several years in stir. My mother loved this!
Mom and I were both totally stress free, so we spent two hours at the restaurant, talking, people watching and enjoying each other's company. The only curious episode is that the restroom, for some reason, had no air conditioning. Bathrooming my mother is always a concentrated chore for me, doubly so in a public restroom, even when the handicapped stalls are available. She was ready for a paper-underwear change by the time we hit the restaurant. This involved removing shoes, slacks, underwear, giving her thigh creases a quick clean and anti-itch cream refreshment, managing a Bathroom Supply Bag that was stuffed to the point of equaling two old time "doctor bags", then putting everything back on and in. Luckily, she didn't have a bowel movement! We joked our way through this, though, as well. At one point my mother reminded me that I "don't have an indoor voice."
I quickly responded that this is because she doesn't have indoor ears.
This set us both to laughing heartily, during which we heard the tiny bathroom door open, then quickly close without anyone entering. "Too bad people are so sensitive," my mother said.
By the time we exited the bathroom, sweat was running down my face and neck and my shirt was soaked. The patrons at the first table we passed gave me a curious look. My mother noticed and said, "She was running laps in the bathroom."
Although we didn't eat pie at the restaurant, my mother was so thrilled with the idea of taking pie home for dinner that she couldn't decide what kind she wanted. "Why don't you choose a couple and we'll freeze one?" I suggested.
She quickly chose, count 'em, three different types, peach, rhubarb and chocolate silk! I stuck with my lemon cream cheese but I might trade it out for the rhubarb this evening, assuming that my mother doesn't eat that one tonight.
The scenery was incredibly green, although no late summer flowers were in evidence. Often, when we take this trip, she doesn't remember it and considers it a "new route". Today, she remembered it and commented that she'd like to take this trip again "soon".
"No problem," I said. "We'll be taking it again in two weeks."
"Oh, that's right, I'll need to get my ID card renewed, again," she said. Time is a wondrous thing for the demented.
Lastly, it seems that rush hour begins, on certain sections of the maze of Phoenix metroplex freeways, a little after 1400, now. I thought, by leaving the restaurant at 1400, we'd beat all congestion but I was wrong. Even, this, though, was instructive for both of us. "I'm sure glad we don't live here," my mother said more times than I can remember this afternoon while we inched the last couple of miles from 202 West through the section of I-10 West leading to the I-17 North exit.
After she'd said this several times I told her, "You know, Mom, the next time you're sitting in your rocking chair up in Prescott asking me, disgustedly, to remind you why you 'ever bought this place', I'm going to remind you of this little jaunt!"
She gave me a side-long sneer. "I'm sure you will, child, I'm sure you will."
She got in some heavy duty walkering. Since she was on display, she performed admirably. Going into and out of the restaurant she had to stop and rest, a bit. The small of her back had begun to bother her, even though I prepped her this morning by substituting an adult buffered aspirin for her usual 81 mg tablet. I hadn't brought any more with me...I had no idea she would attend to walkering as vigorously as she did, especially at the military facility. I think she considered it her duty as a veteran to put on her best show. By the time we got home, though, her back was no longer bothering her. She was tired and generally stiff. She also had begun to get punch drunk during the trip home, as well as slipping in and out of time zones. She made silly, delightful observations as we passed through the many townlets scattered along State Route 69 from Cordes Junction to Prescott; one in particular in which she surmised how many of these townlets began: "I think," she said, "someone buys a plot of land and puts up a trailer. Someone else sees it and thinks, 'What a good idea!' They buy a plot 5 miles away and put up a trailer. Then, along comes a businessman looking for a business. He sees the two houses and thinks, 'I'll bet they'd like to buy their groceries close by.' He sets up a store and suddenly, lots of people who saw the two houses and day dreamed about owning a similar plot but decided against it because there was no store nearby start buying plots and setting up trailers."
"And then," I said, "someone applies for an official postal code for the area..."
"...and it becomes a town!"
Another conversation I don't want to forget: We'd been driving quietly for a few miles. Suddenly Mom announced, "Mother and Dad finally bought a piano, you know."
"Really!" I said. "I thought they were playing harps, now!"
She gave me a funny look. "No, she said, I think that's Lucille (a long, long dead cousin of hers who, I think, actually played the violin). I'm sure they wouldn't mind if you wanted to go over and play it, sometime."
"I don't know, Mom," I said. "Grandpa would probably get annoyed with me playing the same piece over and over."
Again, that funny, sidelong look. No comment, though.
I suddenly realized that she might be mistaking me for [her sister's daughter] who is an excellent pianist. "Mom," I said, "I'm not [name of her niece, my cousin].
"Well, I should hope not! That would be quite a feat, if you were both Gail and [name of niece/cousin]!"
So, I guess she just remembers me as a good pianist, even though, while I was obsessed with the piano when I was younger, I started playing it by ear in the third grade, I never had the fortitude to become good at it. I was eventually thrown out of piano lessons because my teacher discovered that the reason I'd always have her play the selections for the next week before I left class was so I could pick them up by ear and forego learning to read sheet music.
Anyway, she's in bed, now, napping; went down at a little after 1700. Oh! And, she's just now up, hanging over the banister, saying, "I woke up thinking about pie..."
So, I guess it's dinner time!
Later.
Tuesday, August 29, 2006
Trip preparations continue...
...most of which involve getting stuff together for Mom "just in case"...extra change of clothes, lots of extra paper underwear, water, meds, pillow and blanket, in case she decides to nap in the car on the trip back, extra oxygen, extra this, extra that...
I noticed that Grand Rounds 2.49 (this and the next link have moved and have not been filled in with previous material, yet) picked me up again. For those of you who find it hard to make it through multiple submissions, this one is short, sweet and to the point, with an interesting emphasis on personal stories. I've also had some trouble getting into it. I managed to this morning, then my day started with a bang, so I wasn't able to leave a "thank you for having me" comment. Since then, every time I've tried to get in, I've had trouble; so, I guess I'll wait until we get back from the trip. If anyone from Protect the Airway checks in here, thank you for having me; very nice edition. Cool name for a medical blog, by the way.
Mom's blood sugar this morning was much, much better than it has been the last couple of days. I'm not sure if it's anything I've done or simply that she was having some sort of internal challenge that is finally straightening itself out. When I took her BG this morning and noticed how much lower it was than the last few days, I automatically thought of an episode of Northern Exposure, can't remember which season, in which a traditional healer spends some time observing Dr. Fleishmann's healing techniques and, at one point, says [paraphrase from memory], "Oh, come on Joel. You know as well as I do that if a patient doesn't die, they often get better and we don't know why." I think the reason this bit of dialogue stuck with me is that I often count on this Order of Healing with my mother. We'll see how it goes over the next few weeks until her doctor's appointment, and, of course, however it shakes out, I will be mentioning this episode in detail and researching other type 2 diabetes medications just in case but I'm hoping that this turns out to be one of those "Mom gets better and no one knows why" episodes.
Better get back to tripping.
Later.
I noticed that Grand Rounds 2.49 (this and the next link have moved and have not been filled in with previous material, yet) picked me up again. For those of you who find it hard to make it through multiple submissions, this one is short, sweet and to the point, with an interesting emphasis on personal stories. I've also had some trouble getting into it. I managed to this morning, then my day started with a bang, so I wasn't able to leave a "thank you for having me" comment. Since then, every time I've tried to get in, I've had trouble; so, I guess I'll wait until we get back from the trip. If anyone from Protect the Airway checks in here, thank you for having me; very nice edition. Cool name for a medical blog, by the way.
Mom's blood sugar this morning was much, much better than it has been the last couple of days. I'm not sure if it's anything I've done or simply that she was having some sort of internal challenge that is finally straightening itself out. When I took her BG this morning and noticed how much lower it was than the last few days, I automatically thought of an episode of Northern Exposure, can't remember which season, in which a traditional healer spends some time observing Dr. Fleishmann's healing techniques and, at one point, says [paraphrase from memory], "Oh, come on Joel. You know as well as I do that if a patient doesn't die, they often get better and we don't know why." I think the reason this bit of dialogue stuck with me is that I often count on this Order of Healing with my mother. We'll see how it goes over the next few weeks until her doctor's appointment, and, of course, however it shakes out, I will be mentioning this episode in detail and researching other type 2 diabetes medications just in case but I'm hoping that this turns out to be one of those "Mom gets better and no one knows why" episodes.
Better get back to tripping.
Later.
Monday, August 28, 2006
It's all set.
Wednesday we visit The Valley to renew Mom's military ID at the place I prefer. No appointments necessary, and this facility usually has few people. We should make it there no later than 1100, be in and out in a jiffy, then head for a restaurant lunch, Mom's favorite kind. Mom has voiced a preference of restaurants, "...the place with the pies." In the Phoenix metroplex this can only mean Marie Callender's. She will, as she always does, eat a proper lunch "first". Chances are, as usually happens, she'll take her pie to go and that's what she'll have for dinner, once we return. So, I'll probably go light on the evening stats.
If she's up to it, we'll also be visiting a beauty supply store that carries a brand of facial moisturizing cream she wants to try and we can't find here. I already checked and this supply store carries it.
No hotel, this time. I ran this by her and she "...[couldn't] see the reason for it." So, it'll be a pretty fast and furious trip, but I think she's up to it, and so does she. We'll be heading back probably around 1500, at the beginning of the incredible rush hour down there. It shouldn't be too bad, though. "We'll just take it slow," she says, and, we will.
Time to wake up The Mom plus three minutes.
Later.
If she's up to it, we'll also be visiting a beauty supply store that carries a brand of facial moisturizing cream she wants to try and we can't find here. I already checked and this supply store carries it.
No hotel, this time. I ran this by her and she "...[couldn't] see the reason for it." So, it'll be a pretty fast and furious trip, but I think she's up to it, and so does she. We'll be heading back probably around 1500, at the beginning of the incredible rush hour down there. It shouldn't be too bad, though. "We'll just take it slow," she says, and, we will.
Time to wake up The Mom plus three minutes.
Later.
Also wanted to mention...
...Change of Shift, another carnival. This one happened to me by chance. The moderator of the carnival happened to read my post on Patient-Consumer Parade last week, liked it and wanted to know if she could link to it in her blog. I had no idea, until today, that she'd be adding it to a carnival. I noticed one of my visitors was referred from her blog and decided to click in and see how I was linked. Up came Change of Shift and I found myself at Volume 1, No. 5 of Carnival of Nursing. I was really surprised, and pleased. Curiously, although it is specifically for nurses, I scanned through several of the submissions and realized there's a lot of good caregiver stuff on there, more than I've encountered on any other carnival so far. I doubt that I'll be a regular submitter, since I'm not a nurse and, usually, I can't imagine that the stuff I write is of interest to nurses or apropos to nurse/physician relationships. But, well, you never know; I'll definitely be checking it out on a regular basis because, well, nurses are, after all, besides being highly skilled medical technicians and diagnostians, also professional caregivers. I tend to forget that there is the possibility of a natural bond between nurses and avocational caregivers, until I was reminded, today, by the introduction she wrote to my post, that caregivers nurse and nurses give care.
One other thing I wanted to mention: For the second night in a row, after going over the details of The Dead Zone, we talked about how Mom thought she'd die. Her assumptions are very much like my hopes for her. She figures she'll either go in her sleep or keel over, as I remember mentioning here not too long ago, "by surprise."
"I'm not the type to linger," she said. This could, of course, just be wishful thinking on both her and my parts, but, you never know. She truly isn't the type to linger.
I mentioned that, considering her preference for as little "doctoring" as possible for the rest of her life, and my determination to honor her preference, it's certainly possible that she won't die in a hospital hooked up to instruments. "Even if you develop some sort of terminal illness, like cancer or something, I don't see why that can't be managed at home."
"Oh," she said, I don't think that'll happen."
"You never know, Mom."
She looked at me as if to say, "You may not know, but I do."
Tonight I mentioned to her my some time fantasy that we all (including the cats) go together in some sort of freak accident. I mentioned specifically a meteor falling on our house.
I think it shocked her, but she recovered quickly. "Well, yes," she said, "that would be interesting," note that word, "interesting", "but wouldn't you want to stay around for awhile?"
"Oh, I don't know," I said. "Maybe. Then again, you know..."
"Well," she interrupted, "if you want to come along, you're certainly welcome. I'd love to have you." Just like she used to say when she was doing her thing, I was doing mine and we'd invite each other to cross borders into the other's activities.
I briefly considered that she had forgotten that we were talking about dying. Then, I decided, probably not. Her attitude about death is such that I'm sure she thinks of it as another adventure. She's not ready for it yet, but, you know, she's curious, she knows it's somewhere in the future, no need to hurry it, it'll set the schedule, but, well, you can't help but wonder...
Ahh...her light's gone out. I've got places to call and people to talk to and things to do tomorrow (which is today), early...
...later.
One other thing I wanted to mention: For the second night in a row, after going over the details of The Dead Zone, we talked about how Mom thought she'd die. Her assumptions are very much like my hopes for her. She figures she'll either go in her sleep or keel over, as I remember mentioning here not too long ago, "by surprise."
"I'm not the type to linger," she said. This could, of course, just be wishful thinking on both her and my parts, but, you never know. She truly isn't the type to linger.
I mentioned that, considering her preference for as little "doctoring" as possible for the rest of her life, and my determination to honor her preference, it's certainly possible that she won't die in a hospital hooked up to instruments. "Even if you develop some sort of terminal illness, like cancer or something, I don't see why that can't be managed at home."
"Oh," she said, I don't think that'll happen."
"You never know, Mom."
She looked at me as if to say, "You may not know, but I do."
Tonight I mentioned to her my some time fantasy that we all (including the cats) go together in some sort of freak accident. I mentioned specifically a meteor falling on our house.
I think it shocked her, but she recovered quickly. "Well, yes," she said, "that would be interesting," note that word, "interesting", "but wouldn't you want to stay around for awhile?"
"Oh, I don't know," I said. "Maybe. Then again, you know..."
"Well," she interrupted, "if you want to come along, you're certainly welcome. I'd love to have you." Just like she used to say when she was doing her thing, I was doing mine and we'd invite each other to cross borders into the other's activities.
I briefly considered that she had forgotten that we were talking about dying. Then, I decided, probably not. Her attitude about death is such that I'm sure she thinks of it as another adventure. She's not ready for it yet, but, you know, she's curious, she knows it's somewhere in the future, no need to hurry it, it'll set the schedule, but, well, you can't help but wonder...
Ahh...her light's gone out. I've got places to call and people to talk to and things to do tomorrow (which is today), early...
...later.
Sunday, August 27, 2006
Well, Mom fought it, today...
...when I revved up the walker and led her out for a two-lap driveway session, but it seems to have worked wonders, as usual. She's in an excellent mood, tonight. We talked, read some, watched a couple of Jane Goodall specials on Animal Planet that Mom didn't want to miss, went through the specifics of The Dead Zone, now she's leafing through her new batch of gossip tabloids. Just a minute ago she said, "You know, I'd like to...hmmm..."
"Take your time, Mom, describe the picture you're seeing."
"Well, it doesn't involve much."
"What does it involve?"
"Oh, you know," she said, "looking around, seeing what people are doing..."
"Ah," I said. "You want to get out and see what's going on in the world."
"Oh, I don't care what's going on in the world. I just want to..."
"...people watch, right?"
"Yes...it involves that..."
"Maybe window shopping downtown at the square?"
"Yes...that too...and the mall..."
"Cool. How about the places I go to do errands?"
"Oh, I'm not interested in doing errands!"
"What about just going with me and sitting on benches and watching people?"
"Well, I want you to be there so we can talk about them..."
I couldn't help grinning. Always the dedicated gossiper, that's my mom. "No problem, Mom. Now that I know you're not interested in doing errands, we'll plan other things besides errands. You know, through the fall they usually have the school bands set up at the park and give impromptu concerts."
"Yes. That's what I'm talking about. But we don't necessarily have to go anyplace. We can sit out in our front yard and watch life go by."
"Whoa, Mom, that's a great idea! I'll move the umbrella out front. We could eat our meals outside, if you want."
"Yes. Exactly. We used to do that."
"Yes. We used to. No reason why we can't do it again. Okay. We'll plan on it."
I know, we've talked about this before, and sometimes we've done it, sometimes we haven't. But, since the weather is drying out, autumn is coming on, I felt it in the air today, and we've already agreed that I need to keep her on her feet a little more than has been true, lately (except for that one week a few weeks ago), I think there's a good chance that at least some of this will happen. She runs in seasons; just not normally predictable seasons.
Interesting conversation earlier today, too, before nap. We were rehashing an article in her paper about the spectacular monsoon we've had. I was scouring the article for mention that this might predict a snowy winter, but couldn't find any. Instead, the article mentioned that there appears to be no correlation between monsoon activity and winter moisture. I mentioned this to Mom.
"Well, I think we're going to have a snowy winter."
I laughed. "Well, considering that you hate snow, I'll take your word for that. You certainly wouldn't be voicing a wish!"
"Oh," she said, looking surprised, "but I am."
"You mean to tell me, Mom, that you want a snowy winter, this year?!? Egad, alert the media!"
She gave me one of those ironic grins. "Don't tell anybody I said that."
"Why, Mom, do you suddenly want snow?"
"Oh, I don't know. I was just thinking about our little fir trees out there [in our front yard, we have a small fir forest developing which she noticed this afternoon]. Wouldn't they look pretty with a blanket of snow on them?"
So, this is what I'm thinking. If I can keep her walkering and eating meals out there, looking at our yard a couple of days a week, keep those fir trees appearing in her mind, maybe her forays will operate on the order of a snow dance and we'll have a Christmas Card winter all winter long! Nothing I'd love more!
She just told me she's ready to have her legs rubbed down.
Later.
"Take your time, Mom, describe the picture you're seeing."
"Well, it doesn't involve much."
"What does it involve?"
"Oh, you know," she said, "looking around, seeing what people are doing..."
"Ah," I said. "You want to get out and see what's going on in the world."
"Oh, I don't care what's going on in the world. I just want to..."
"...people watch, right?"
"Yes...it involves that..."
"Maybe window shopping downtown at the square?"
"Yes...that too...and the mall..."
"Cool. How about the places I go to do errands?"
"Oh, I'm not interested in doing errands!"
"What about just going with me and sitting on benches and watching people?"
"Well, I want you to be there so we can talk about them..."
I couldn't help grinning. Always the dedicated gossiper, that's my mom. "No problem, Mom. Now that I know you're not interested in doing errands, we'll plan other things besides errands. You know, through the fall they usually have the school bands set up at the park and give impromptu concerts."
"Yes. That's what I'm talking about. But we don't necessarily have to go anyplace. We can sit out in our front yard and watch life go by."
"Whoa, Mom, that's a great idea! I'll move the umbrella out front. We could eat our meals outside, if you want."
"Yes. Exactly. We used to do that."
"Yes. We used to. No reason why we can't do it again. Okay. We'll plan on it."
I know, we've talked about this before, and sometimes we've done it, sometimes we haven't. But, since the weather is drying out, autumn is coming on, I felt it in the air today, and we've already agreed that I need to keep her on her feet a little more than has been true, lately (except for that one week a few weeks ago), I think there's a good chance that at least some of this will happen. She runs in seasons; just not normally predictable seasons.
Interesting conversation earlier today, too, before nap. We were rehashing an article in her paper about the spectacular monsoon we've had. I was scouring the article for mention that this might predict a snowy winter, but couldn't find any. Instead, the article mentioned that there appears to be no correlation between monsoon activity and winter moisture. I mentioned this to Mom.
"Well, I think we're going to have a snowy winter."
I laughed. "Well, considering that you hate snow, I'll take your word for that. You certainly wouldn't be voicing a wish!"
"Oh," she said, looking surprised, "but I am."
"You mean to tell me, Mom, that you want a snowy winter, this year?!? Egad, alert the media!"
She gave me one of those ironic grins. "Don't tell anybody I said that."
"Why, Mom, do you suddenly want snow?"
"Oh, I don't know. I was just thinking about our little fir trees out there [in our front yard, we have a small fir forest developing which she noticed this afternoon]. Wouldn't they look pretty with a blanket of snow on them?"
So, this is what I'm thinking. If I can keep her walkering and eating meals out there, looking at our yard a couple of days a week, keep those fir trees appearing in her mind, maybe her forays will operate on the order of a snow dance and we'll have a Christmas Card winter all winter long! Nothing I'd love more!
She just told me she's ready to have her legs rubbed down.
Later.
It's official, although I forgot to mention it.
We will be taking a trip to the Phoenix metroplex sometime next week to get Mom's military ID card renewed. This renewal will be the final one, as it will extend indefinitely. I don't know why it took the VA here so long to finally figure out they couldn't do it here. They are "set up" to only renew the cards of those who are living in the "retirement home" for veterans. Seems that information could have been relayed without all the "checking" they felt they needed to do on my mother's "status", but, finally, Monday of last week, someone called and left a message as to the problem. I'm fine with this. Mom loves trips to the Valley, even though they take a bit of a toll on her. She's already excited about this one. We decided to wait until the weather cleared. This entire upcoming week promises to be clear until the weekend. Essentially, I'll call the place that renewed her before, because it's little used and I'm sure we'll be able to get in and out easily, just as before. They have shortened hours, so I'll check those, find out if ID card renewal still works on a walk-in basis or if they've switched to making appointments and make whatever arrangements are required to get it done. Then, we'll head down to the Valley early, get her renewal processed, go to lunch and head back up the mountain. It'll be a one day trip. At this point I see no reason to rent a hotel room, but we'll wait to see what sort of arrangements I can make.
Still thinking, in case you're wondering. Haven't figured out how to proceed, yet, on the issues I'm considering. Might be a series of posts. There is so much experiential, researched and heard-said information I'm working with, here. As well, much of all three types are, well, less than forthright, to say the least. There are a few things I want to run by MCF, as well, regarding her experience with taking care of her father in home. As I recall, when he first joined her family, he was not experiencing dementia, but I may be wrong about this. If he was, he had not yet become confused and afraid of being alone. He simply, as was the case with my mother, didn't want to be alone anymore. I don't think he experienced a "failure to thrive" period, as did my mother, since there were three people in the household besides him. But, my mother's didn't last very long...a couple of weeks, as I recall...the amount of time it took me to discover that she was sleeping all the time and make arrangements to leave the full time job in which I was employed. As soon as I made myself available full time to my mother, she was up and at 'em, again, so much so that we spent the first couple years traveling, not only to see relatives in and out of state but on jaunts: One to Salt Lake City so she could do genealogical research; one to Casper, Wyoming, on a whim of mine; one to the Grand Canyon, no, make that two; and, of course, searching the state for a spring-summer-fall home, which Mom purchased in June of 1997. After that, most of our traveling was back and forth between Mesa and Prescott. We took a couple of trips to visit relatives after that but all our traveling, except for going back and forth between homes, stopped in 2000. I'm smiling as I remember our trips. We were excellent traveling buddies. We even had some illicit adventures. Come to think of it, we're still excellent traveling buddies, even though our trips are few, short and purposeful, now.
Hmmm...well, I'm rambling again. Time to hit the sack.
Later.
Still thinking, in case you're wondering. Haven't figured out how to proceed, yet, on the issues I'm considering. Might be a series of posts. There is so much experiential, researched and heard-said information I'm working with, here. As well, much of all three types are, well, less than forthright, to say the least. There are a few things I want to run by MCF, as well, regarding her experience with taking care of her father in home. As I recall, when he first joined her family, he was not experiencing dementia, but I may be wrong about this. If he was, he had not yet become confused and afraid of being alone. He simply, as was the case with my mother, didn't want to be alone anymore. I don't think he experienced a "failure to thrive" period, as did my mother, since there were three people in the household besides him. But, my mother's didn't last very long...a couple of weeks, as I recall...the amount of time it took me to discover that she was sleeping all the time and make arrangements to leave the full time job in which I was employed. As soon as I made myself available full time to my mother, she was up and at 'em, again, so much so that we spent the first couple years traveling, not only to see relatives in and out of state but on jaunts: One to Salt Lake City so she could do genealogical research; one to Casper, Wyoming, on a whim of mine; one to the Grand Canyon, no, make that two; and, of course, searching the state for a spring-summer-fall home, which Mom purchased in June of 1997. After that, most of our traveling was back and forth between Mesa and Prescott. We took a couple of trips to visit relatives after that but all our traveling, except for going back and forth between homes, stopped in 2000. I'm smiling as I remember our trips. We were excellent traveling buddies. We even had some illicit adventures. Come to think of it, we're still excellent traveling buddies, even though our trips are few, short and purposeful, now.
Hmmm...well, I'm rambling again. Time to hit the sack.
Later.
