tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-80983956945465915192023-11-15T10:58:03.161-05:00Who Cares What Nansi Thinks?Unknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger75125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8098395694546591519.post-66861940139553081472011-05-29T12:53:00.001-04:002011-05-29T12:53:28.723-04:00<h2 class="date-header"><span>Sunday, May 29, 2011</span></h2> <a name="3219484092405550421"></a> <h3 class="post-title entry-title"> Still Crazy... After all these years... </h3> <div class="post-header"> </div> I guess I lost my will to blog. :-)<br /><br />For a while there...<br /><br />I read over my last post in November 2009. I thought those were hard days. I had no idea what hard days were about to come...<br /><br />I've been told by my mother's doctors to "prepare your loved ones" at least three times this year. Mom has had three strokes since March. Each one worse than the last. Each one taking more of mom's simple pleasures.<br /><br />These most recent strokes have hit Mom's speech center of her brain. For days she couldn't say anything. Now she cans start a thought but is unable to finish it.<br /><br />She has difficulty choosing the correct word to express her thoughts. This is particularly frustrating for Mom. She was always a talker, that one....<br /><br />Today she's back in the hospital, depleted in every way. She's being tube fed, IV fluids, blood transfusions. And she presses on.<br /><br />She's like the energizer bunny... she keeps on....<br /><br />And to the watcher... Excelsior.... yk.... ( * )Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8098395694546591519.post-68699515658665876632009-11-13T21:02:00.002-05:002009-11-13T21:08:16.365-05:00UPDATEHere it is, four months after mom's cataract surgery and we're still struggling with her eyes. It's been such a struggle. About a week or so after her last surgery she began seeing "red spots". It turned out to be a retinal hemorrhage. She's had laser surgery, but the spots really aren't clearing up.<br /><br />The retina specialist won't let me get Mom's glasses prescription filled because he thinks there will be major changes once the problem settles.<br /><br />Mom can, however, still read with drug store readers. She's also been able to get unlimited large print books and magazines. I'm amazed at her determination NOT to lose her ability to read.<br /><br />It's been three weeks since I've actually seen her. The nursing home has a ban on visitors with any sort of illness in their family. We've had so much going around our house! We've been five days without a fever though so I think we're good to visit this weekend.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8098395694546591519.post-4129122507815084662009-07-19T11:12:00.002-04:002009-07-19T12:29:03.726-04:00Ch-ch-ch-changes....<span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 102, 102);">Last week Mom began seeing "red spots" through her right eye. The nursing home rushed her right over to see the surgeon who'd done her cataract surgeries. Her right eye had been the most difficult eye to work on, according to Dr. Daily, so I wasn't too surprised to hear that she was experiencing a retinal hemorrhage. It wasn't much of an emergency because we weren't scheduled to see the specialist for another seven days.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 102, 102);">We went to the retina specialist on Thursday. Visiting a new doctor is difficult. There's so much paperwork. Apparently I didn't fill it out to the nurse's satisfaction. She lectured me and talked to me like I was three. I was just too tired to let her have it. (lucky for her, I can be brutal)</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 102, 102);">The hard part of the paperwork was that Mom couldn't remember her vital statistics. She kept insisting that her birth date was June 3. (That's my dad's birth date.) She couldn't remember her social security number. Just six weeks ago when we started this, she was able to rattle all of that off without hesitation. Now? It's simply not there.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 102, 102);">It was a long day at the retinologist. First we had to endure the nurse who was so angry. Then we met the doctor. Then he sent us for scans. After that, they photographed Mom's eyeballs. Then back to the doctor for results. The bleed was very evident. No doubt about it. The doctor felt that it was already resolving and for the time being, has opted not to do any laser surgery. We go back in two weeks to see if the healing process is complete.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 102, 102);">Each phase of our visit was separated by a wait in a waiting room full of people. Most of them were between 60 and 80 years of age. To me, they all fit the "Pennsylvania elderly" mold. The women were frail, tanned and white haired with their little matching outfits. The men were nearly deaf, balding, white haired and thick in the middle.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 102, 102);">Mom was unusually quiet. She kept looking from face to face. I said, "What's wrong, Mom?" She replied, "I know this can't be true, but the waiting room is full of your dad's aunts and uncles." I said, "Well, they're Pennsylvanians, Mom. They all sort of do look like Dad and his relatives." Her answer to that sort of startled me "Your dad's not from PENNSYLVANIA! He's from FLORIDA!" After she said that, she sort of deflated and said, "Oh yeh. We were from Pennsylvania, weren't we?"</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 102, 102);">My mom has spent the last three years remaking her history. She forgets sometimes that I was there, and I know the truth. I've heard her tell people that my dad was "the head of P.R. for NASA" or that she went to Medical School but had to drop out when she began having children. She tells of her years as a teacher in a school for disabled children. She told the eye doctor that he goal in Medical School had been to be an ophthalmologist. Her new reality has obscured the REAL reality and she is sometimes very sad when she has to come back. I think she's losing her real memories in the process.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 102, 102);">Visiting Mom is getting to be more and more difficult. I want her to be happy. Her two favorite pass times are (1) telling her outrageous stories-- and expecting ME to validate them; and (2) saying shocking and gross things then pointing at me and yelling "oh look, I've shocked my daughter!" Guffaw Guffaw. *wretch* </span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8098395694546591519.post-781717763505965812009-07-12T18:48:00.002-04:002009-07-12T20:29:38.394-04:00She's baaaackkkkkMy mom has completed her cataract surgeries. I would say it was a success. We are having a complication, so it's not yet a complete success, but I feel sure things will work out.<br /><br />Ten days after the second surgery, I went to pick her up to be fitted for new eye glasses. She was bitterly complaining that the surgery didn't work. Her eyes were worse than ever. (She said this while wearing her glasses. Glasses prescribed before the surgery.)<br /><br />The doctor required that I be present during the exam. I was amazed at how well she was seeing without any glasses. The doctor said her vision had an 80% improvement as a result of the surgery. EIGHTY PER CENT! She's actually able to read large print without any correction at all. No WONDER she couldn't see with her old glasses!!! The doctor advised me to take her glasses away from her and get her some readers from the drug store until the new glasses can be made. She so accustomed to having glasses on her face that she won't go without. The old lenses are massively too strong.<br /><br />Her newly improved vision has been (at the risk of throwing out a shameless pun) a real eye opener for her. She's taking more pride in her appearance and is even more critical about the appearance of others! :-)<br /><br />So now that Mom's vision is restored, she's full of vim and vigor. She announced that the nursing home is holding a Senior Prom. (Please shoot me.) She wants to make herself a dress. Mom can't sew anymore. It's not her vision that prevents her from sewing. She lacks the ability to organize the project. After the first stroke, she became unable to lay a pattern out. She'd spend hours trying to figure out where the pieces go.<br /><br />When she went into the nursing home, after the third stroke, I got rid of her machines. Somebody at the nursing home brought her a sewing machine. It became a MAJOR source of frustration for her. She couldn't figure out how to get it threaded and would call Sears over and over. The local Sears store actually blocked her cell phone number because of all the phone calls. When they moved Mom to the renovated wing, someone knocked the machine over and broke it to smithereens. (And I didn't even have to pay a BRIBE!)<br /><br />Now she's fixated on sewing again. For the past decade or so, sewing to my mother has not been about making actual garments. It's been about acquiring fabric and patterns and stacking them in every corner of her house. I did manage to salvage some of Mom's fabric, but most of it was full of bugs. <br /><br />Mom was a fabulous seamstress. I remember a gorgeous gown she made for my sister. You'd never know it was home made. It was the prettiest pink and white. She looked like a princess in it.<br /><br />The thing my mother created MOST successfully was to turn ME into a total clothing addict. After my siblings were married and gone, Mom would make me a new outfit every week. It was a rare day when I didn't just LOVE what she made for me. She made my bridesmaids dresses. They were so gorgeous! They appeared in at least two other weddings besides mine! <br /><br />I miss my mom's sewing days. Believe me, it hurts to be the one who has to keep telling her "no" to the sewing. It's another aspect of the role reversal that parents and children experience as time goes by. On the way home from the doctor's office the other day, I actually caught myself putting my arm across my mother's check when I had to slam on my brakes.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8098395694546591519.post-46013218319771661612009-06-07T14:18:00.004-04:002009-06-07T15:39:52.853-04:00A Momentous Decision....<span style="color: rgb(255, 102, 0);font-family:verdana;" >One of my more embarrassing moments was when I sold my Oldsmobile Intrigue. I had actually gone to the dealership to look around and wound up signing on the dotted line. They guy said, "Let's clear out your old car so you can drive home in your new car." I almost tore up the contract. </span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 102, 0);font-family:verdana;" >I was not at all prepared for ANYONE to lift the trunk of my Olds. It was FULL of Mom's stuff. I had been carrying it around for over a year. It was crap that I didn't have room for in my house, but couldn't bring myself to toss.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 102, 0);font-family:verdana;" >I purged about half of it the next day because I went from a mid-sized luxury to a compact economy (VW Jetta) with about half the trunk room.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 102, 0);font-family:verdana;" >So, I've driven around another year and a half with a trunk full of mom's crap.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 102, 0);font-family:verdana;" >Last week, when I took Mom to the eye doctor, I had a heck of time cramming her wheel chair into the backseat of my Jetta. Plus it left black marks all over my seats. It would have been SO much easier to tuck the thing into the trunk...</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 102, 0);font-family:verdana;" >Yesterday, Mike and I went to Mom's new room (yes, she's moved AGAIN) to rearrange her furniture. Her room was full of JUNK. I wish they would admit her to the hospital on the days they have rummage sales out in the parking lot!!! She had several serving platters and bowls. (This did not include the stack of Christmas platters I brought home with me a few weeks ago.) She had stacks of ancient magazines and ripped up puzzles books. She had a ton of bizarre little figurines--crap she would have pitched in her better days. etc. etc.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 102, 0);font-family:verdana;" >Mike watched as I rearranged and reorganized to get her two extra hospital tables OUT of the room. She was thrilled when she came back to see the finished product.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 102, 0);font-family:verdana;" >She's always thrilled. She can NEVER tell me what's missing. So why am I carting around a load of crap that she hasn't lain eyes on in nearly three years? Guilt.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 102, 0);font-family:verdana;" >So I sucked in a deep breath and went through the boxes and bags in the trunk. I could not find one item of hers that I thought she gave a fig about. I can't even figure out why I felt so compelled to keep the stuff. </span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 102, 0);font-family:verdana;" >It's all gone. The only thing in my trunk today is a big umbrella and an emergency roadside kit. I could fit TWO wheelchairs in there if I wanted to!</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 102, 0);font-family:verdana;" >It's been a hard lesson for me to learn. It's not WHAT Mom collects, but THAT she collects that is the issue. Hoarders will hoard whatever is in their pathway. If they live in a diamond mine, it'll be diamonds. If they live in a nursing home, it's straws, butter pats, and salad dressing packets. And no matter what a hoarder hoards, they'll stack it to the rafters if you let them!</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 102, 0);font-family:verdana;" >Today I decided that if MY rafters are going to be stacked, it'll be MY STUFF I stack! </span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8098395694546591519.post-50511053316180015172009-06-03T21:07:00.003-04:002009-06-03T21:49:10.604-04:00You see what you want to see....<span style="font-family: trebuchet ms; color: rgb(255, 204, 255);">Mom's eye surgery was uneventful today. She came out of it just fine. They didn't give her general anesthesia, but they gave her a sedative. She was still sort of happy in recovery.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms; color: rgb(255, 204, 255);">We got there plenty early and had time to sit in the waiting area. Mom spotted a young woman across the room and commented that the woman looked like an idiot. WHAAA???? The lady was just sitting there. Mom swore that she was jumping up and down and "gyrating" like a floozy. Honest. She was just sitting there.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms; color: rgb(255, 204, 255);">Mom accused me of trying to make her think she was crazy.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms; color: rgb(255, 204, 255);">I was reminded of the last time Mom was in the hospital for a urinary tract infection. She kept seeing ME. The nurses told me that mom buzzed them several times to say her daughter, Nansi, was out in the hall looking for her. A few times they brought in people who happened to be out there. Mom would be so relieved, but the people weren't ME. And mom wouldn't believe them. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms; color: rgb(255, 204, 255);">As the fog cleared, Mom realized that she'd been seeing things.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms; color: rgb(255, 204, 255);">With the cataracts it's hard to tell when Mom's "seeing things" or just unable to clearly see what's really there. Last Sunday at dinner, the aide put a piece of cake at mom's plate. It was strawberry cake with a dollop of whipped cream on it. Mom thought it was smoked salmon with butter on it.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms; color: rgb(255, 204, 255);">Today when we were driving back to the nursing home, Mom asked what I thought of the surgery. I said, "I don't know, Mom, I wasn't there." She said, "YES YOU WERE! I heard your voice the whole time!" </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms; color: rgb(255, 204, 255);">It dawned on me that when Mom's in distress she sees me, or hears me. Something tells me that fixed eyes isn't going to correct that misconceptions. :-)</span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8098395694546591519.post-53185521626930144912009-06-02T17:09:00.002-04:002009-06-02T17:30:13.952-04:00The Eyes Have It...<span style="font-family: trebuchet ms; color: rgb(255, 255, 204);">My mom is having cataract surgery tomorrow. I'm a wreck. When this first started I was under the impression that all they did was scrape off the cataracts and it was over.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms; color: rgb(255, 255, 204);">NOT ANYMORE... they actually remove the affected lens and replace it with an artificial lens. That just has me buggin' big time.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms; color: rgb(255, 255, 204);">Recently, my mother told me that she'd been classified as "loud and disruptive" by her social worker. Imagine that! </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms; color: rgb(255, 255, 204);">Under the </span><span style="font-style: italic; font-family: trebuchet ms; color: rgb(255, 255, 204);">best</span><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms; color: rgb(255, 255, 204);"> of circumstances, my mother is loud and disruptive. She just is. I can't even imagine what she'd be like if this eye surgery somehow goes awry. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms; color: rgb(255, 255, 204);">I had a dream the other night that I went to my husband's company picnic at a baseball game. Everyone in the stadiums got quiet and began chanting "you stuck your mother in a nursing home and now she's blind." Woke up drenched in sweat....</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms; color: rgb(255, 255, 204);">So the first eye is tomorrow... the other eye is two weeks later. By July 4th things will be OK... right???</span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8098395694546591519.post-39323804845385283802009-03-15T12:26:00.004-04:002009-03-15T13:26:20.257-04:00Death Watch<div style="text-align: center; font-weight: bold;"><span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 0);">My mom called me this morning. Her room mate died in the wee hours this morning. </span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 255);">Mom's spent many nights lately holding Frances' hand because she was afraid to fall asleep. Clinically, it's a miracle that Frances lived as long as she did. They sent her to the nursing home a year ago expecting that she'd die in a few days. She had leukemia. </span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 255);">I'm so glad Mom met and lived with Frances. Frances was a real lady. She wasn't worldly wise or well traveled. She had a unique ability to perceive the other side of the story. While Mom is quick to take offense, Frances was quick to assume otherwise. She showed Mom that everyone isn't bad or evil, that sometimes people who aren't feeling well do thoughtless things without malice of forethought. </span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 255);">Frances TRIED to get Mom organized. I could have told her that was a pointless occupation, but the two of them seemed content in their roles.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 255);">This is my only real nursing home experience. What are they supposed to do when it's obvious that one room occupant is very near death and the other isn't? </span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 255);">I don't know what's supposed to happen, but what DID happen is this: My mom was witness to a death vigil. She was an outsider forced into the intimacy of sons being with their mother as she passed. She spent many hours alone in a room with her friend's body.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 255);">I had decided that I wasn't going to be able to handle Mom today, opting for a quick lunch visit on Monday rather than a long Sunday visit. </span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 255);">Mom called around 9:30 this morning, obviously shaken and sad. She reported that she was so tired, but couldn't settle herself down to sleep. I convinced Mom to go lie down and promised that I'd get her help. The nursing supervisor said they thought they could administer a sedative. I'll be going this afternoon to see how she's faring.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 255);">I'm very upset with the nursing home. I realize that there are privacy issues and they probably can't say "Hey, your mom's room mate is dying." But wasn't there </span><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(255, 204, 255);">something</span><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 255);"> that they could have done??? What is the protocol? Surely there </span><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(255, 204, 255);">is</span><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 255);"> a protocol--I mean, isn't death a pretty normal occurrence in such a place?</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 255);">What would have been my perfect solution? I would like to have been able to get my mom out of that room for the night. Why can't they take the surviving room mate to a quieter place? Knowing my mother, I'm sure she interjected herself into the situation. Wouldn't Frances' family have been more comfortable to have the room to themselves? Why didn't I get the news first thing this morning from the nursing home? Why did they leave it up to my Mom to tell me she needed help?</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 255);">I am getting more and more fed up with the nursing home. Two weeks ago I learned that they had suddenly canceled all of my mom's pain meds. She's got bilateral knee replacements, a hip replacement and a shunt in her brain. Mom deals with pain at some level all the time. Especially headaches because of the shunt. She's been on prescription pain meds for at least five years. They did not wean her off, or even discuss the orders with her or with me. When the nurse told me, I hit the roof. I was really going to read her doctor the riot act. He knew nothing of the order change and shared my outrage. The medical record was falsified, saying that I had been notified. I was not. I learned first from my mother with clarification from the nurse on duty upon questioning.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 255);">I'd like to move Mom. The things that hold me back are first and foremost her financial situation. Mom's penniless and not the kind of patient that a nursing home vies for. They want well-funded patients. Secondly, she's happy where she is. At least as happy as a person in a nursing home can be. She's got friends. She's very involved in the activities. Would it be difficult for her to adjust to completely new surroundings? </span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 255);">It's not an easy time.</span><br /><br /></div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8098395694546591519.post-35802400143356457522009-03-11T20:27:00.002-04:002009-03-11T21:07:40.121-04:00Role Reversals.....<span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);">I've had friends say "My mother and I have switched places.... when did THAT happen?"</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);">I remember exactly when it happened, when I became the mother and my mother became the child... It wasn't the day my father died, or even the day we moved her in with us. </span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);">One day I was driving my oldest daughter to cheer leading practice. I was pregnant with my son. We drove by a car accident. About a quarter mile down the road, it hit me, "That looked like Mom's car!" I turned around and sure enough, there stood my mom with a police officer. Her car was a wrangled mess. </span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);">Thankfully Mom was unhurt. Up until that day, my mother and I had pretty much lived separate lives under one roof. Mom paid her own bills. She had her own auto insurance. She had her own car. She just resided with my family and me.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);">After we dealt with the tow truck and the police officer, I loaded Mom into the front seat of the car and headed home. It was the first time (but not the last) that I saw that wild, disconnected look in my mother's eyes. He car had been totaled. It was a miracle that she wasn't hurt, and the accident had been deemed "her fault". But Mom was elated. She was euphoric. "This is EXACTLY what we needed, Nans. We don't spend enough time together. Now I won't be able to go anywhere and we can just be together all the time!" </span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);">Clearly she was in shock.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);">On the way home, she kept prattling on about how she didn't want to drive anymore, and how now *I* was responsible for *her*. I was numb.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);">It had been about seven years since my dad's death at that time. It was the first time I felt the weight of exactly what I had taken on when I'd promised him on his death bed that I would take care of Mom for the rest of her life. </span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);">OK... I felt the weight, but it was WAY lighter than the reality would prove to be.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);">I could almost feel the *snap* in the universe as mother became child and child became mother.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);">The regression from that day forward was gradual. Even though Mom had stopped driving, I managed to get her into her own apartment shortly after my son was born. I think I was terrified of having her in my home when the day came that she would need round-the-clock care. That was a happy accident. I've since learned that it is almost impossible to place an aging adult who lives with family.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);">Here we are at today. The nursing home thinks Mom is ready to "graduate" to assisted living. If everything works out, Mom will be in a more independent part of the nursing home. She'd still share a room, but she'd be in a section where there are no nurses or nurse's aides. In Mom's world that translates to one simple thing: No call bell. </span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);">If she goes to assisted living, she wouldn't be able to hit a button if she drops her pen, or if she can't reach her water, etc. No one will bring her water. She'll be expected to get her own water. She won't get breakfast in bed, and no one will help her get dressed or shower every day. I personally can't see her being able to do it, but we'll see.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);">We had a mother/child role reversal moment last week. Mom has decided that she wants an electronic book reader. I think she'd do really well with one. She'd be able to enlarge the print so she could read easily. They're light weight, so her hands wouldn't hurt when she holds the book. But I know how my mother lives. She'd have something spilled into it before a month went by. If not that, she'd lose it. She loses her remote all the time. She'd lose her cell phone when she had it. She loses money like crazy. How can I justify spending hundreds of dollars on a devise that mother will either lose, break or toss in a pile and never use. Trust me, one of those three things will happen. Maybe she'll forget about it and I won't have a decision to make. Ha! Maybe!</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);">Mom fixates. She will nag and nudge and plead and prod until she gets the item that is so vital. Then I'll find it, unopened, unused and forgotten. And I clean her room, nag her to get organized, determine what she can and cannot have, etc. etc. etc.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);">And the beat goes on....</span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8098395694546591519.post-1955434751250675132009-02-03T20:43:00.002-05:002009-02-03T21:02:18.854-05:00Status Quo...<span style="color: rgb(51, 255, 51);">All things considered, life is pretty dull right now. Dull is good! </span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 255, 51);">Mom and her roomie, Frances, have had a bit of a trauma, but have recovered well. The second week in January there was a water main break at the nursing home. At first they thought moving them to different rooms was for a night or two, but the damage is taking WEEKS to repair.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 255, 51);">Both ladies were extremely upset at being apart. They were across the hall from each other, and each of their temporary room mates were none too happy with all the yelling across the hall. "JAN???? You OK over there???" "I'm FINE FRANCES, WHAT DO YOU NEED?"</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 255, 51);">Cuties.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 255, 51);">After complaining from four different families, the nursing home shuffled things around and got the rabble rousers back together! Peace has at last been restored.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 255, 51);">I love how these two ladies have bonded. They are so opposite, it's not even funny! Frances never worked a day in her life (outside the home.) She was a fastidious homemaker. Mom's pretty worldly. She's owned her own businesses, worked in factories, restaurants, and DISNEY WORLD!!! Oh and do I need to tell you that Mom wasn't a fastidious homemaker? I've mentioned that, right?</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 255, 51);">Frances is way into soap operas, Nascar, and reality shows. Mom likes the news, 700 club and infomercials. Mom's an evangelical Christian and wants to win the world for Jesus. Frances worships God in her heart and considers it an extremely private matter. (Go Frances!) I think she messes with Mom by refusing to engage in religious conversation. Mom's scare to death that her room mate's going to Hell. Her room mate thinks it's none of her damn business.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 255, 51);">With all those differences, each is lost without the other. When Mom was in the hospital in January, Frances lost five pounds. She wouldn't eat. When Frances was so ill that all she did was lay there, Mom drove the nurses NUTS trying to make sure Frances didn't want for anything.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 255, 51);">Now they're both pretty healthy, happy to be back together, and waiting for a spanking new room!</span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8098395694546591519.post-58658151502874896302008-12-26T19:55:00.003-05:002008-12-27T08:53:52.684-05:00HEY!!! Don't call me JAN!!!<span style="color: rgb(153, 255, 255);font-size:100%;" >As my sisters and our seven accumulated husbands can attest, the worst thing you can call us is "Jan". (I think I'd rather be hit with a C bomb!) </span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /><br /></span><span style="color: rgb(153, 255, 255);font-size:100%;" >I admit it. My mother and I have similar personalities and quirks. I'd like to believe that I keep mine in check, but my husband might disagree. Mom fixates and so do I. My latest fixation is new silverware and pots and pans. Moms? Her damn CHRISTMAS TREE!!</span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /><br /></span><span style="color: rgb(153, 255, 255);font-size:100%;" >Lord help me. The Activities Director called me nearly in tears today because Mom was ragging her ass for her Christmas tree. Hello? A) It's December 26, give it up. and B) Her room already looks like Christmas exploded in there. Her room mate's sons decorated the whole place. They'd have decorated the old ladies if they'd sit still long enough. Even the BATHROOM is decorated. How festive. Red hazardous waste cans with green ribbons. Fa La La La La La La La La....</span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /><br /></span><span style="color: rgb(153, 255, 255);font-size:100%;" >Even their TV's have garland and bows. I keep asking Mom, "Where would you put the TREE?" On top of that pile of men's underwear that I swear I'm going to take HOME with me to throw away! (I've thrown them away TWICE now, only to have Mom figure out where I threw them and fish them back into her room!)</span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /><br /></span><span style="color: rgb(153, 255, 255);font-size:100%;" >So the Activities Director calls to tell me "Your mom says we've stored her winter clothes and her Christmas tree." OK, yes, they lost her Christmas tree. It's a tiny little pre-decorated thing that was falling apart when I took it down last year. And her winter clothes? She demanded that I get rid of them, they're rags. Now they're her favorite things and she misses them terribly. Great.</span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /><br /></span><span style="color: rgb(153, 255, 255);font-size:100%;" >So I waited until I was alone to call Mom and remind her that there are no clothes for her in storage and that it's too late for her tree. "But it's MINE and I WANT IT!" *sigh* </span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /><br /></span><span style="color: rgb(153, 255, 255);font-size:100%;" >She's off her Zoloft. Boy can I tell. Her emotions are very friable. The slightest thing reduces her to tears. A pretty Christmas tree makes her cry. The gift I got her for Christmas... I expected it to make her cry, it was a side-by-side picture of my son and my dad. It's very moving how much they look alike. But Mom literally shrieked and bawled and cried. I began to think I'd done the wrong thing. (But the mere mention that maybe I should have gotten something else shut the faucette off immediately--so I know she can control it.)</span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /><br /></span><span style="color: rgb(153, 255, 255);font-size:100%;" >As I'm on the phone with Mom tonight, she begins rattling off a litany of injustices being perpetrated upon her. Some of them are absolutely reasonable. However, Mom doesn't pick her battles wisely. She pitches the same fit over a fire in her room as she does a lost Christmas tree after Christmas is all over. Her intensity never waivers, it's always high gear, high pitch, and high volume-- no matter the issue. Quite frankly, it's exhausting. It's only human nature for the staff to give up on trying to please her. I'm her daughter and I'd love to give up!!!</span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /><br /></span><span style="color: rgb(153, 255, 255);font-size:100%;" >She's cried "wolf" too many times. </span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /><br /></span><span style="color: rgb(153, 255, 255);font-size:100%;" >My dilemma with her Zoloft is, she's telling me she's feeling more clear-headed than she has in years. But she's also a trembling bowl of jello! I called the nursing supervisor to start the process to get Mom back on the meds. Mom's other major (and justifiable) complaint is they canceled her order for artificial tears along with the order for Zoloft. The tears we can fix tonight. My mom is very child-like and easily distracted. If she feels she's won the "tears" battle tonight, she'll probably calm down for a day or two. Hope. Hope. Hope.</span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /><br /></span><span style="color: rgb(153, 255, 255);font-size:100%;" >Why did the orders get cancelled? It seems there's some Medicare law that states when a nursing home patient gets admitted to a hospital, they get discharged from the nursing home. Apparently they can't legally be admitted to both facilities at the same time. What I don't understand, is why can't they reinstate the original doctor's orders when she returns to the nursing home? I guess it all depends on why they were in the hospital.</span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /><br /></span><span style="color: rgb(153, 255, 255);font-size:100%;" >A friend once told me "The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and each time, expecting a different result." So who's crazy? Mom, for her constant fixations? Or ME for thinking I can talk her down, for thinking if I just explain it right, talk a little more slowly, or yell or SOMETHING... then Mom will understand and remember that the clothes she's missing are the ones she hated. Or she'll remember that the Christmas tree she loves so much is falling apart and has been for years. (She declares she just bought it last Christmas.)</span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /><br /></span><span style="color: rgb(153, 255, 255);font-size:100%;" >Dr. Phil says we fight about topics, not issues. Mom's topics du jour are old discarded clothes, a broken Christmas tree, and artificial tears. The issue? It's always the same. The core need or desire for my mother is to have you drop everything and do her bidding. Unfortunately, when you've jumped through all the hoops, she doesn't want it anymore. You arrive with the prize on a silver platter and she hands you a different list of "needs", ignoring the platter.</span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /><br /></span><span style="color: rgb(153, 255, 255);font-size:100%;" >For the most part, I've stopped jumping through the hoops. That frustrates Mom to no end, and unfortunately, she takes it out on the staff. Honestly, I'm not trying to frustrate my mom. I'm trying to preserve my own sanity. I can't walk away from her physically. I do my best to keep her safe. The demands are becoming too demanding.</span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /><br /></span><span style="color: rgb(153, 255, 255);font-size:100%;" >When Mom was rushed to the Emergency Room with chest pain two weeks ago, I said to my husband, "I don't think I know how to live without my mother." That is not to say "I can't live without my mother." I mean, for the past 20 years my mom has been the central focus of my life. Every decision I've made has been weighted with its affect on Mom and her well-being and happiness. That's not nobility on my part. It's a tragic mistake for there is no sense of well-being or happiness for my mom. I've watched her reach moments of contentment, only to put forth an effort to find fault or offense. My mistake has been in thinking I can fix that. It's a mistake for which my children have paid dearly. A mistake that I don't know how to rectify....</span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8098395694546591519.post-7636925425165012582008-12-13T21:59:00.002-05:002008-12-13T22:12:51.098-05:00Gifts for Nursing Home Staffers...It is actually against nursing home regulations for a staff member to receive any kind of gratuity from a patient or a patient's family. A nursing home can be fined heavily if such activity is discovered. Most nursing homes terminate employees for accepting gifts of any kind from the patients or their families.<br /><br />Mom called me from the hospital today and asked that I go buy something very nice for the activities directer and mom's favorite nurse. Once again I explained to Mom that this was against the rules. "I don't care about the rules. I want them to have a gift from me to show how much I care!" I explained to her that they will lose their jobs if they accept gifts from us.<br /><br />It is such a difficult position in which to be. Part of my job at the nursing home was to navigate the financial waters for the residents and their families. Of course they were appreciative. They were often hurt when I had to refuse their gifts.<br /><br />What can you do? You can do something that the entire staff can enjoy. Send pizzas. Bake cookies. Give each nurse's station one of those giant boxes of chocolates. My husband's grocery store sells those huge tins of flavored popcorn for under $10 a can. Those are always a hit. <br /><br />Just don't put an individual in the awkward position of choosing their jobs over your feelings.<br /><br />I suggested to my mother today that she write her gratitude in a card. We'll see what she does.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8098395694546591519.post-56864357570360819152008-12-07T19:51:00.002-05:002008-12-07T20:12:22.224-05:00Felix Navidad<div style="text-align: center; font-weight: bold;"><span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">Ten Great Gifts For Your Elderly Parent</span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: rgb(0, 153, 0);">10) Hat and gloves for trips outside. Heat escapes quickly from the bodies of senior citizens. Keeping head and hands warm is essential. And it's often the first thing they misplace. So more than one set is not a problem!</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);">9)</span><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);"> Page-sized magnifiers for reading. </span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 153, 0);">8) Cozies, or lap blankets. Sometimes it's nice to have a place to tuck cold hands when watching TV or reading.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);">7) Reminisce Magazine - This is the coolest periodical and a discounted subscription can be purchased at www.magazines.com.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 153, 0);">6) Large print periodicals. My mom loves the large print Reader's Digest we have subscribed for her. There's also a large print TV Guide. (also available with deep discounts at www.magazines.com)</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);">5) Warm sleepwear. I can't believe my mother loves flannel nightgowns. She always slept in very light weight nighties when I was growing up, but now I think she can even wear them in the summer. She's always cold.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 153, 0);">4) Bathrobes are a nice idea, but be sure to sew the belt on. Especially in a nursing home, that waist belt is the first thing to get lost. After the belt is lost, the robe is useless. I tried to get Mom the zip-up kind, but she has difficulty managing the zipper.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);">3) Old time music. A friend of mine sent my mother a bunch of CD's. She loved them. Mom likes classical music and traditional Christian music.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 153, 0);">2) Books on tape or CD. </span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);">1) I think the number one favorite gift in the nursing home is homemade food. Of course, there are diet considerations, but the nursing staff will be more than happy to guide you. If your loved one isn't in a nursing home, bake something, or have them over for their favorite home-cooked meal.</span><br /></div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8098395694546591519.post-77730348212108984062008-11-30T18:59:00.003-05:002008-11-30T19:20:50.593-05:00It's Yesterday Once More....<span style="color: rgb(255, 102, 102);font-family:Arial;font-size:130%;" >Today I went on a day trip to State College. I used to live there in another life... forgotten. Until today.<br /><br /></span> <div style="color: rgb(255, 102, 102);"><span style="font-size:130%;"> </span></div> <div style="color: rgb(255, 102, 102);"><span style=";font-family:Arial;font-size:130%;" >My (then) husband dragged me kicking and screaming to State College in 1992. Jessi was a newborn. Sandi was just 12. Sandi was such a trooper when we moved. I was probably in the middle of post partum depression, but who knew about that stuff back then?<br /><br /></span></div> <div style="color: rgb(255, 102, 102);"><span style="font-size:130%;"> </span></div> <div style="color: rgb(255, 102, 102);"><span style=";font-family:Arial;font-size:130%;" >The first few months in State College I was alone with the girls. Their dad's transfer hadn't been finalized, but I wanted to move in the fall so Sandi could start the school year anew. The best part was State College is a town in constant flux. New kids were in the majority. So Sandi adjusted really well. And she adored Jessi. That year Sandi had to write a paper about her best friend. She wrote that her best friend was her baby sister.<br /><br /></span></div> <div style="color: rgb(255, 102, 102);"><span style="font-size:130%;"> </span></div> <div style="color: rgb(255, 102, 102);"><span style=";font-family:Arial;font-size:130%;" >I was lonely and I felt guilty because we didn't move Mom with us. Mom was still living in her apartment then. She was livid with us for moving so far away. Eventually she moved up with us.<br /><br /></span></div> <div style="color: rgb(255, 102, 102);"><span style="font-size:130%;"> </span></div> <div style="color: rgb(255, 102, 102);"><span style=";font-family:Arial;font-size:130%;" >Driving through State College I was slammed with memories of events long forgotten. I drove past the place where I should have seen that something was wrong with Mom. That day was rainy. Instead of watching actual traffic, Mom was watching headlights. When she saw a break in the headlights, she floored it into traffic and was broad sided by a truck (who didn't have his headlights on). I just happened to be driving by when I saw the remains of the accident. I pulled over and picked Mom up. She was giddy, with a wild look in her eyes. This accident was just what she needed, she'd said, "Now we can all spend more time together!" I'll never forget the look in her eyes. How can I? She's got it pretty much all the time now.<br /><br /></span></div> <div style="color: rgb(255, 102, 102);"><span style="font-size:130%;"> </span></div> <div style="color: rgb(255, 102, 102);"><span style=";font-family:Arial;font-size:130%;" >The years in State College weren't easy. We were always in dire straights, financially. We belonged to a pretty nutty church. My marriage was falling apart. I was so far away from my very best friend, who had been my entire life before we moved. Being without her was almost unbearable.<br /><br /></span></div> <div style="color: rgb(255, 102, 102);"><span style="font-size:130%;"> </span></div> <div style="color: rgb(255, 102, 102);"><span style=";font-family:Arial;font-size:130%;" >My grandmother died while we were up there. I had taken my children to see her a week or so before she died. She thought I was my sister. She thought Sandi was me. And she thought Jessica was my niece. It was so strange to see my vibrant grandmother in diapers and utterly confused. I was so mad at the nursing home for making her wear diapers. How little I knew about old age at that time.<br /><br /></span></div> <div style="color: rgb(255, 102, 102);"><span style="font-size:130%;"> </span></div> <div style="color: rgb(255, 102, 102);"><span style=";font-family:Arial;font-size:130%;" >I was hard put to find any memories that weren't traumatic today. I found two. One was when I drove past a house I'd lived in for year while in State College. It was a quaint yellow house. The back yard had been small and garden-like. It had two levels. The upper level lined with a mossy stone wall. There were tons of flowers and vines. And there was a stone table and bench. One summer evening, Sandi and I were sitting on the stone bench in the back. She asked me if I believed in faeries. Of course I did! The evening was oddly quiet and alive with fire flies...and as we sat there we began to hear a pan flute. It was magical. I wonder if she remembers that too?<br /><br /></span></div> <div style="color: rgb(255, 102, 102);"><span style="font-size:130%;"> </span></div> <div style="color: rgb(255, 102, 102);"><span style=";font-family:Arial;font-size:130%;" >Memory # 2-- One of the ways I coped with being in a strange town was to totally immerse myself in a kind of music I'd never listened to before-- Country Music. (That way I never heard an old familiar song, and music didn't bring back memories of happy times and a home so far away.) I'll never forget the first time I heard "Don't Take The Girl". For some reason it just gripped my heart. I was sitting in the post office parking lot when it played for the first time. I started with a lump in my throat. Then a tear or two. And then I went into Oprah's "ugly cry" complete with sobs and contorted face. (falling just short of bubbles in my nostrils-thank you). When the song came to a (merciful) end, I realized that the ending could be taken as happy or sad. I picked happy, dried my tears and went in to buy stamps. A total stranger came up and put her arms around me and said, "Are you all right? Do you need help of any kind?" Embarrassed, I thanked her, told her I was just homesick and that I'd be all right. How could I say "Uh... I was engrossed in a sappy hick song on the radio????"<br /><br /></span></div> <div style="color: rgb(255, 102, 102);"><span style="font-size:130%;"> </span></div> <div style="color: rgb(255, 102, 102);"><span style=";font-family:Arial;font-size:130%;" >My mission in State College today was to help my friend navigate the waters through some health insurance issues involving her mother. Her mother is slipping and just not financially prepared for her "golden" years. I found her mother to be fascinating. Brilliant. Just a joy to be around. Like everybody who doesn't know her finds MY mother to be!<br /><br /></span></div> <div style="color: rgb(255, 102, 102);"><span style="font-size:130%;"> </span></div> <div style="color: rgb(255, 102, 102);"><span style=";font-family:Arial;font-size:130%;" >Isn't it amazing how our own life experiences are mirrored in the lives of others?? Her mom is something entirely different when it's just the two of them. Around company, she's the picture of charm and wit. It is so frustrating to deal with insanity and have it cause you to question your own sanity!!!<br /><br /></span></div> <div style="color: rgb(255, 102, 102);"><span style="font-size:130%;"> </span></div> <div style="color: rgb(255, 102, 102);"><span style=";font-family:Arial;font-size:130%;" >I'm home now. Safe and sound. Safe and sound. Already the bad memories (bad gunkies as Stephen King calls it) are subsiding, just like the retreating tide.... Breathe in. Breathe out. Relax.... and good night.</span></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8098395694546591519.post-67171273580246923812008-11-22T16:33:00.004-05:002008-11-28T20:41:46.776-05:00November is Difficult<span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 0); font-weight: bold;">I've started this a half dozen times... only to scrap it and go to bed. Today I'm determined. </span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 0); font-weight: bold;">November is a difficult month for my family. On top of memories of Thanksgiving Nightmares of the past, it's also the month my dad died.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 0); font-weight: bold;">Dad's death is actually more impactful now than it was then. For me, his death came on the heels of a disastrous couple of years. I'd just gone through a divorce and remarried </span><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(255, 204, 0); font-weight: bold;">way </span><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 0); font-weight: bold;">too soon after. I had not been home since I'd remarried, and my first husband was from home. I was bringing a stranger into territory that belonged to my first husband and me. THAT was the hard part, believe it or not.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 0); font-weight: bold;">I come from a Christian family who feels absolutely assured of their final destination. Dad's passing was almost joyful. It was certainly peaceful. It was peaceful for most of us. I remember sitting in the waiting room with my sisters and my cousins, singing. We sang all of Dad's favorites, "Amazing Grace" "How Great Thou Art" and "It is Well With My Soul" And when the time came, we stood with Dad as his spirit left his body.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 0); font-weight: bold;">It wasn't until Mom went into the nursing home that she began to mourn my Dad's passing. She was sort of mad at him in the years just after his death. I don't blame her. My dad truly believed to the very depths of his soul, that he would not taste death. It's not that he thought he was special, he just was certain that Jesus would come back in his life time. And he lived like it. He didn't save. He didn't plan. He didn't buy life insurance. He didn't even buy credit life insurance. Mom had $80 to her name at the funeral. I'd have been pretty mad too, if I'd been left in such dire straights.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 0); font-weight: bold;">Mom's forgotten all of that. Blessedly, I think. She began to truly mourn him when she entered the nursing home -- 17 years after his passing.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 0); font-weight: bold;">And then there's Thanksgiving. I think we all have a "funny" story about the calamities that befell us on that day of the year. Like the year my dad decided it would be a good idea to baste the turkey with a mixture of orange juice concentrate and Tabasco sauce. Trust me, it was vile. Or the year Mom invited two families for dinner, and then canceled on Thanksgiving morning. Back then only Denny's was open on Thanksgiving Day.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 0); font-weight: bold;">The year after Dad died, Mom announced that SHE was cooking Thanksgiving Dinner and forbade any of us to help her. Oh my holy God. What a nightmare. There were pots and pans lining my kitchen floor. There were piles of vegetable peelings on newspaper all over the counter tops. (Excuse me, how hard is it to throw that stuff away???) And to add insult to injury, our kitchen faucet kept malfunctioning and spewing water all over the place.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 0); font-weight: bold;">The result of a life time of Thanksgiving chaos is stress free preparations and a flawless presentation when I cook. I plan and I plot. I clean and prepare and pre-cook. When I get up on Thanksgiving morning, all that's left to do is put the bird in the oven and prepare mashed potatoes. Everything else is done in advance. And when we sit down to dinner, the only dishes that need washing are the ones on the table. That's just as insane as the chaos, don't you think?</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 0); font-weight: bold;">In recent years, the holiday has been even easier. We go to my mother-in-law's where everyone does something, and nobody does everything. Confidentially, I really miss cooking the dinner myself, but not enough to give up the time with my in-laws. I'm so blessed to have married into such a great family!</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 0); font-weight: bold;">To end this post, I want to list the things I'm thankful for as it relates to my Mom--which is who this blog is all about.....</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 0); font-weight: bold;">In No Particular Order I'm thankful....</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 0); font-weight: bold;">-:- My mom got me hooked on reading</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 0); font-weight: bold;">-:- My mom taught me how to dress well </span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 0); font-weight: bold;">-:- My mom taught me how to cook and bake</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 0); font-weight: bold;">-:- My mom inspires me to excellence (in a "what not to wear" sort of way)</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 0); font-weight: bold;">-:- My mom instilled in me an insatiable thirst for knowledge (she never accepted "I don't know" for an answer. She'd say "I didn't ask you if you knew...") </span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 0); font-weight: bold;">-:- Through her self-loathing my mother taught me self-love</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 0); font-weight: bold;">A note about the final point... One of the most difficult things I deal with is my mother's sense of worthlessness. She mistrusts people who love and admire her in a Charlie Chaplin style. (He used to say, "any club that would have me, isn't worth joining") When I was growing up, I'd hear my mother berating herself for her weight or looks, and I'd think "If only she could see what a good looking woman she is, no matter what her size...." And I purposed in my heart to accept myself, no matter how old, or large I got. So mothers out there, step back and ask yourself "How am I impacting my daughter?" Please?</span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8098395694546591519.post-36256064461906016512008-10-30T19:42:00.003-04:002008-10-30T22:15:55.493-04:00Things have changed?<span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(51, 255, 51);">I got called to answer a survey today. The person who called me was the new RNAC (RN Assessment Coordinator) at the nursing home. She probably asked me thirty questions. I actually got the feeling that she was </span><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold; color: rgb(51, 255, 51);">listening.</span><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(51, 255, 51);"> </span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(51, 255, 51);">We talked about Mom's on-going issue with perching on the wheelchair all day. She agreed that many of Mom's issues with pain and circulation would be resolved if Mom spent less time in the wheelchair and more time in the recliner, putting her feet up.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(51, 255, 51);">She asked me the questions twice. First from my perspective and then from my mother's. She'd ask, do you feel that the facility is doing a good job in providing your mother with a variety of food? Then. Would your mother say that the facility is doing a good job in providing her with a variety of food. The answers were often polar opposites.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(51, 255, 51);">I did have a few complaints about the nursing home. They tend to make health decisions about Mom without consulting me. For instance, I got a phone call at work the other day saying that they were stopping Mom's physical therapy. What therapy? I didn't know anything about Therapy! They tend to change her meds without informing me and often schedule Dr.'s appointments without my knowlege.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(51, 255, 51);">I think my biggest gripe is her room. Every time I go in there, I've got a mountain to climb. The RNAC said, "So maybe this is something we can encourage your mother to work on." I nearly choked on my drink! AS IF!!! Good luck with that. My mother never in her life kept a handle on her clutter, to think she'd start doing it now is a portrait of insanity!</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(51, 255, 51);">There were questions about my relationship with the nursing home administration. I'm locked in an odd, almost adversarial relationship with the administrator. Neither one of us has figured out how to move out of the boss/employee relationship. I do better with nursing administration.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(51, 255, 51);">The final question's answer would seem to be in direct opposition to the over all answers of the poll. "All in all, how would you say your mother's quality of life is here at the facility." Unlike my mother, I remember what her days were like when she was living alone. She was languishing. EMS was called to pick her up off the floor at least three times a week, and she had a virtual non-existent social life. Another frightening aspect of Mom's safety back then, was the fact that Pennsylvania had closed their mental hospitals and were housing young "able-bodied" mentally disturbed people in what had been senior housing. In the last days there, Mom was being hit up for cash and medication by much younger and stronger people. She was always a little afraid and often VERY afraid.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(51, 255, 51);">To sum it up, Mom is healthier, safer and happier at this time in her life than I've seen her in decades. She's got really good friends and adores dining with them in the evening. She has plenty of interesting choices of activities--and not just gluing macaroni to a paper plate and spraying it gold. Mom belongs to a current events discussion group. She can take painting classes, if she wants to. (She usually complains about "the medium" of paint supplies--whatever Mom.) The four foot stacks in every inch of her room indicate that she's got plenty to read. There is always some sort of visiting entertainment from musicians to ministers to pet therapy. They have trips to Red Lobster (don't get me started) Perkins (for breakfast) and Lord help me- Walmart. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(51, 255, 51);">Believe it or not, Mom's happier than I've seen her. She wouldn't tell you that. Those of us who know her could look back at any period of her life and tell you she's got it good... while Mom would report how bad it really was. So, I guess, the more things change-the more they stay the same.</span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8098395694546591519.post-65239131450487437752008-10-26T16:27:00.003-04:002008-10-26T16:43:50.069-04:00Hoarding gone WILD!!!!<span style="color: rgb(255, 102, 0);">Is it Sunday again already??? </span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 102, 0);">I found Mom in good spirits today. An old friend of mine was in the hallway as I approached Mom's room. Her dad's back in the nursing home after a bout of pneumonia. Linda stopped in to see Mom and went on a rant about all the trouble they've had with her dad's care.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 102, 0);">That opened the door for MOM to complain. And complain. And complain. Her main grievance today was that she couldn't get anyone to clear off her recliner. (hint hint) So I tackled it. There were two pillows on her bed and three pillows in the seat of the recliner. I said, "MOM! How many pillows do you need????" She said, "Five" She sleeps in a twin hospital bed and needs FIVE PILLOWS. Lordie Lordie.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 102, 0);">Also in the recliner was a two foot tall stack of magazines. I asked Mom who was bringing her all the magazines. She's lifting them from where ever she finds them. I found FOUR Reader's Digests for THE SAME MONTH!! Mom's like me, I'm more of a book owner than a book reader. And I wouldn't be surprised if I found multiple copies of the same book. So who am I to judge???</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 102, 0);">The other thing in the recliner (Can you IMAGINE how high this stuff was stacked!!) was a huge plastic bag of clothing. Stapled to the bag was a note that read "Please mark these clothes and return to room 602-2". There was a signature on the note that indicated the clothing was marked. So I said, "Mom, why don't I hang up these clothes for you?" </span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 102, 0);">There were twelve pairs of men's underwear in the bag. (all with her name marked in them) I said, "oh, I think these aren't yours... they're men's briefs!" They're hers. She bought them at the rummage sale they had last weekend. Men's underwear. </span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 102, 0);">It's all about ownership and my mother's absolute inability to pass up a bargain. I grabbed up the drawers and went to find a place to throw them out. There were several aides and nurses at the nurses station who got a big kick out of me. "Oh you found your mother's shopping spree!" Nice.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 102, 0);">All in all, Mom's in good spirits. Life is normal. The piles of weirdness abound in her room. Life is good. </span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8098395694546591519.post-15688074743987497942008-10-15T19:50:00.002-04:002008-10-15T20:50:36.185-04:00Writer's Block....I guess the only way to get over writer's block is to write... so here goes....<br /><br />I went to see Mom on TUESDAY this week. It had been 10 days since I'd seen her. I haven't gone that long without seeing my mother in about 5 years. It felt good and bad. It was good to have a break from the constant..... but the guilt felt bad.<br /><br />A couple of weeks ago I slipped at work and did a number on my knee. It was all I could do to get through a day. The thought of hobbling through the nursing home was just too much. (Is that a good enough excuse?)<br /><br />I'd love to go visit Mom and just have a conversation. Each visit has a theme-- the need of the day. It's always something that she wants me to fix, buy or arrange. It can get exhausting. She's been bugging to see an ophthalmologist. She won't consent to the cataract surgery she needs. The glaucoma is being monitored by the facility's optometrist. Both her ophthalmologist and optometrist agree that her vision can no longer be corrected with glasses. So.... now what?<br /><br />A few weeks ago Mom kept telling me to "DO SOMETHING" about her heels. They HURT. *sigh*... I ignored her and did nothing. She complained loud enough and her nurse stepped in. She got regular foot massages, new sleeping booties and a new air mattress. Go MOM! Even in a nursing home, she works the system! Just as a precaution, the nurse ordered a dopler study on her legs. <br /><br />Turns out, Mom is having pretty severe circulatory problems in BOTH legs causing nerve damage to her heels. I don't know which way to go with Mom. It seems like when I jump through her hoops, there's nothing wrong. When I throw up my hands and do nothing, it's something serious. Guess I should just jump through the hoops and let the chips fall where they may.<br /><br />Back to the circulatory problems-- they are a direct result of her dependence upon her wheel chair. Mom can walk. She just won't. She perches on the front of her wheel chair 10 - 14 hours per day. She complains of back pain, heel pain, has bed sores. All as a result of the way she sits on a sheet of thin vinyl all day every day. There's no talking to her about it either. <br /><br />So today I had a phone conference with Mom's RN coordinators. She's finishing up some therapies. She's back on blood thinners. Both RN's noted that Mom's memory is really slipping. I knew that. Mom has what I call Irish Alzheimer's. She forgets everything but the grudge. She remembers all offenses verbatim. *g* Anyway, the one RN was lamenting about how sad it is to see Mom slipping so much-mentally.<br /><br />It is sad. But when I walked in yesterday she said, "How was your trip???" OK... we'll go with that. I'd much rather her think I'm on a trip that know that I just couldn't face a visit on Sunday. :-(Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8098395694546591519.post-85861032549643983032008-09-22T20:35:00.002-04:002008-09-22T20:51:17.584-04:00Worried...I'm not waxing very poetic tonight. Something's up with Mom. She's been having some bleeding so they took her to a gynecologist today. H `e didn't find anything wrong with her, so he referred her back to the urologist. (These two bat Mom back and forth like she's a badminton birdie.)<br /><br />When the urologist heard Mom was having trouble, he wanted to see her right away. So she goes to see him on Wednesday. It's probably kidney stones again. Looking back over my journals, Mom gets kidney stones about twice a year. She's had one big one that seems to flare up now and then. I hope she isn't looking at surgery. <br /><br />Mom was so cute on Sunday. She's got this HUGE sunburn! Saturday was "community day" at the nursing home and Mom didn't miss a minute of it. They gave her a sun visor, but I don't know how she wore it! She's got this big red band of sunburn at her hair line, a white line that starts halfway down her forehead and covers her eyes, then beet red on the rest of her face and hands. She refused sun screen saying the visor was enough. I chided her "Don't you know if you get sunburned now, you'll have wrinkles when you get old???" Ba dump bump.<br /><br />Mom's emotions are still very friable. She cries at everything! Good and bad. <br /><br />Please keep my mom in your thoughts and prayers. I'm worried.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8098395694546591519.post-6615182072324886462008-09-13T21:42:00.002-04:002008-09-13T22:18:42.690-04:00History Rewrites Itself.....<span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 102);">OR... Lies my mother told me....</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 102);">Before I begin, I want to stress that I'm not trying to paint my mother as a liar. My goal is to illustrate the disease process of an aging bi-polar.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 102);">We've talked about confabulation a lot on this blog. This is the tendency to fill in the missing memory items with assumptions of what the truth could be.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 102);">My siblings and I are pretty far apart in age. (I'm the menopause baby!) My older siblings have a history that I do not share. I remember when my grandmother (Mom's mom) turned 80, my sisters came to Pennsylvania to attend a luncheon in Grandma's honor. I live a couple of hours away from where Grandma lived and died, and where my brother and sisters were born and spent their formative years.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 102);">All the way to Grandma's house they pointed out landmarks and reminisced about people and places that I had never known or experienced. It struck me that our lives were completely different. Their foundation was one of family, extended family, the love of grandparents, life with cousins and aunts and uncles. This was something that I did not know.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 102);">I don't know my cousins, or even my aunts and uncles, really. Whenever we were around them, I always felt like "poor relations". Of course, that probably came as a result of the conversations my parents had in the car on the way.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 102);">Being the child of a bi-polar requires a meticulous attention to detail and a near photographic memory. The child must remember what sets off a tirade, where the keys are, phone numbers, what's in the fridge, who's coming to dinner, etc. etc. Even remembering all these things is no guarantee of peace. But it's a good hedge to the bet.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 102);">I say that to tell you that I remember my mother's history very well. I remember every job she had, from waitress to factory worker to fabric store clerk to Disney employee. I remember them well. And I remember dad's too.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 102);">My earliest memories of dad's career are of him being a mechanic of some sort with TWA. He was an airplane mechanic during the war and when the space program came along, they used airplane mechanics in the Apollo Space program. Dad's claim to fame in the space program was his run as a union shop steward.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 102);">Mom tells people that Dad was "Head of PR for NASA". And that prestigious position allowed him to "span the globe" in search of only the best titanium for her knee replacements. Total fabrication.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 102);">Family history tells that when Dad first came back from the war, he worked for Sylvania Electric as a research lab assistant. Dad's research team invented the process that allows you to see the color red on your color TV. I understand that the patent contains all the names of the people involved in this project.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 102);">When Mom's TV started making all the people look badly sunburned, she told everyone that this was the TV that my father used to single handedly invent the color red. I bought her the TV when she moved from my house to her own apartment about 10 years ago.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 102);">I went to Mom's room on Wednesday and found her wringing her hands over the Fannie May/Freddie Mac debacle. "When I owned a real estate firm, we had to deal with those crooks all the time." Folks, I can't even tie that to a thread of truth. Mom never had anything to do with real estate in my life time.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 102);">When my son was diagnosed with Asperger's Syndrome, a form of autism, my mom related how many autistic kids she'd worked with when she was a special needs teacher. Again, I have no idea where she got that.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 102);">Mom's always been an embellisher and it used to mortify me when she'd start spinning her yarns. Now it doesn't bother me so much. I am certain that you could hook my mother up to a polygraph, ask her questions about her new history and she'd pass with flying colors. This is now my mother's reality. Absolutely.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 102);">I wish her life </span><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(255, 204, 102);">had</span><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 102);"> been so fulfilling and so exciting. I know that her life was a disappointment to her. She's always been one of the most self-loathing people I've ever encountered. I never understood that. My mom was funny, talented, brainy, and attractive, yet she genuinely hated herself. I think my sisters and I all struggle with that same tendancy. I know that we are all driven to do well in our lives. We all clammor for "the prize". What is "the prize"? It's our mother's approval. </span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 102);">Approval. Funny. Mom approves of whichever one of us is not in the room.</span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8098395694546591519.post-60308233846409245782008-09-04T21:43:00.003-04:002008-09-06T12:58:18.253-04:00Crazy???<span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 204);">A couple of weeks ago the nursing home called me just before midnight. I don't know about you, but phone calls after 9:00 PM make me nervous. The nurse who called said, "Your mom lost her wallet." What??? You called me at midnight to talk about her WALLET??? That's CRAZY.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 204);">So I go see my mom last night. She tells me that she's been passing blood. I asked her if she knew from where and she said, "They think I've got another UTI (urinary tract infection)." That makes sense. She went on to tell me that the nurse examined her and ordered tests. She said she was concerned because they hadn't done the catheterization yet.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 204);">Not that I don't believe Mom, but she has been known to embellish and exaggerate. So tonight I called to see if they'd done the tests. The nurse on the phone was a little defensive and dismissive. She said "Your mother didn't complain of pain...." When I pressed her for details about the hemorrhaging, she expressed doubts about Mom's story. I suggested she check nurses notes for the night before and sure enough, there was an entry detailing finding Mom in distress about the amount of blood that was present.<br /><br /></span><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 204);">Now I ask you, why wouldn't someone have picked up the phone and called me??? They'll wake me up for a wallet, but let my mother be found with a bed full of blood and no one thinks to call. Of course, I made that point loud and clear to the nurse on duty.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 204);">A UTI explains a lot of my mom's confusion lately. She's been asking what day it is, what month it is. Her piles of stuff are odder. I realized that Mom does really strange things with her stuff when she's confused. </span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 204);">You know what bothers me??? The nurse told me that it will probably Monday or TUESDAY before the lab results come back. Are you KIDDING me??? Who waits that many days to find out the results? I'll be keeping a very close eye on my mom in the next few days.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 204);">So how about that Sara Palin??? Now there's a feminist. :-)</span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8098395694546591519.post-76531369737596567942008-08-31T09:09:00.004-04:002008-08-31T10:33:09.722-04:00In the Land of WomenA movie. I've watched it twice in 24 hours. I love Meg Ryan so it's not hard to watch one of her movies a couple of times. What drew me to this movie was it's description on the "INFO" tab. It said it was about a young writer who is taking care of his elderly grandmother.... Funny, when I watched the movie, it didn't seem to be about that at all.<br /><br />This is one of those rare movies where I could see myself in all five of the major characters.<br /><br />The guy. He's an aspiring writer who decides to take some time off to take care of his demented grandmother. (Olympia Dukakis) At one point Grandma answers the door with no pants on. The boy/man sternly says "Grandma, get with the program here. It's not OK for you to do anything that involves other people when you're not dressed. If you want to give the illusion that you're not <span style="font-style: italic;">completely</span> demented, you will heed my advice on this, OK? Put some pants on!" (My co-workers have seen my mother naked.)<br /><br />The Mom. (Meg Ryan) Her teenaged daughter thinks "she breaks her neck trying to make her life look like a crate and barrel store". The mom wants to connect with her teenaged daughter, but can't break through the contempt that the girl holds for her. The girl is mad at her mother because her father hasn't been faithful. The mom's 10 year old child is happy to let mom in. So the family has become dad/16 year old: Mom/10 year old. Mom's got interests, hopes, dreams, aspirations. People in the household don't always see it.<br /><br />The teenager. She is so angry at her mother. Her mother is so LAME! She's mad at her dad too, but she's madder at her mom. And she can't be mad at <span style="font-style: italic;">everybody</span> or who would take care of her? The teenager has interests, hopes, dreams, aspirations. People in the household don't always see it.<br /><br />The 10 year old. She's the youngest in the family. But often, she's the voice of reason. She reads up on everything. If something scares her, she finds out everything she can about the thing. She breaks it up into small, digestible pieces and conquers it. The chips often fall on her. When The Mother got sick, the 10 year old stepped in. The dad and the sister didn't know quite what to do. So the 10 year old finds out about the illness and takes it on.<br /><br />The Grandmother. While I see my own mother in this character, I can also see myself. Sometimes I just don't WANT to be responsible. I <span style="font-style: italic;">want</span> to dress funny, wear funny hats, and sort of check out. This grandmother keeps telling her grandson that she's dying. But he doesn't believe her. And when she choses her time with dignity (like I hope to someday do) he's devastated by the loss. While I never want to inflict pain on my children, I <span style="font-style: italic;">do</span> want them to feel an empty place when I'm gone. An empty place that isn't a huge relief.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8098395694546591519.post-59491057285665750352008-08-24T15:17:00.004-04:002008-08-31T19:39:45.249-04:00Precious Memories<span style="color: rgb(51, 153, 153);">I received a call from the nursing home administration on Friday. Mom had been telling everyone that we were going on a shopping trip today. The nursing home asked that I please remove some things from her room before I bring more in. </span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 153, 153);">I didn't end up needing to take much stuff out. Mostly it was newspapers and food stuff. Not a difficult clean up at all. In the end, Mom was really too tired to shop. Good. I was too!</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 153, 153);">When I first arrived at the nursing home, I saw that Mom wasn't in the dining room again, so I headed straight for her room. She wasn't there. I went out to the nurses' station and found Charlie, her nurse. Can I just take a minute here and sing Charlie's praises??? He's the most wonderful nurse I've ever had the pleasure to work with. He's found a way to treat the residents like they're perfectly rational and normal, yet meet their needs-no matter how odd or eccentric.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 153, 153);">I told Charlie that I was concerned because Mom had just been through a rather pronounced manic phase. He seemed to notice it too. I said, "I worry when Mom comes out of these manic phases. Money seems to trigger and sustain the mania. If she can shop and buy, she stays 'up.' When she stops acquiring, she really crashes into a depression." Charlie asked me a question that just sort of stopped me in my tracks....</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 153, 153);">"What does she want?" He asked. "What is it that she's trying to acquire?"</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 153, 153);">Wow. What a loaded question. Honestly, I don't think I know. So much of what I do know, is based upon an accumulation of negatives. Mom doesn't like chocolate ice cream, but she loves chocolate. Mom hates the smell of grape bubblegum, but loves grapes. She must have a clean bathroom, but there better not be any grit left behind in the tub. I never knew exactly how she wanted something done, just how she </span><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(51, 153, 153);">didn't</span><span style="color: rgb(51, 153, 153);"> want them done. </span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 153, 153);">I finally found Mom--all by herself--in the activities room. She was parked in front of a big screen TV that was playing a Gaither's Gospel Music Reunion. (Hence the new background music!) Mom looked at me and began sobbing. "I've been in </span><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(51, 153, 153);">mourning</span><span style="color: rgb(51, 153, 153);"> (she's so dramatic) all weekend because I FORGOT YOUR BIRTHDAY!!!" She wailed. "Um. Mom? My birthday's nearly a month away!" She said, "Isn't today September 24th?" No. It's August 24th. "Oh." She said, and then stopped "mourning"--sort of.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 153, 153);">Then, the fabulous Vestal Goodman began singing. I figured Mom would be ready to leave. She always hated hearing Vestal Goodman's "caterwauling". Mom would gripe and groan about how she shrieks and wails and who would want to listen to </span><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(51, 153, 153);">that</span><span style="color: rgb(51, 153, 153);">??</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 153, 153);">Well, much to my surprise, mom lamented about how nobody knows how to sing good gospel music anymore. "Vestal was the best!" Apparently in Mom's new history, she really liked Vestal Goodman!</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 153, 153);">I sat with her while the good old groups sang one after another of the classics. The men in the crowd either looked like Elvis or Billy Ray Cyrus. Holy mullets batman. The women made me long for the 80's. I miss big hair and shoulder pads!</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 153, 153);">I asked Mom if she wanted to come guide me while I cleaned her room. I didn't want to just pitch stuff. (That is such a lie, I </span><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(51, 153, 153);">totally</span><span style="color: rgb(51, 153, 153);"> wanted to pitch stuff!) I offered her the opportunity to direct the disposition of her things. She let out a big sigh and said, "Nooooo... just do what you think is best... I just want to sit here and listen to the music." Her face was shiny with tears.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 153, 153);">I fought back tears all the way to her room, praying no one would ask me what was wrong. That good old gospel music brought back a few my own memories. </span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 153, 153);">I got Mom's room back in shape quickly. I went back to get Mom. She was hungry now. She had refused lunch earlier. So I went and got her Taco Bell. I left her with strict instructions to eat, warning her that delayed gratification is NO gratification. "This food won't keep. If you're not going to eat it now, just throw it out. It'll be horrible later." </span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 153, 153);">As I left, she asked me for money. Fortunately, I didn't bring my purse in with me. The very last thing Mom needs right now is money. I left her in her recliner. I hope she gets some rest and wakes up feeling happier. </span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 153, 153);">I doubt it will happen though. I think she's heading for a real doozie. Time will tell.</span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8098395694546591519.post-44678608726899542682008-08-20T22:18:00.002-04:002008-08-20T22:56:26.094-04:00Bi-Polar Heaven<span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 204); font-weight: bold;"> My mom is coming off a two week long manic phase. </span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 204); font-weight: bold;">I went to see her tonight and was surprised to find that she wasn't having dinner with her girlfriends in the dining room. They said she hadn't been at lunch either. When I went back to her room, I found her slumped over in wheelchair.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 204); font-weight: bold;">Her room was a total disaster area. Worse than I'd ever seen it. She's been on a couple of major shopping benders. They took her to Wal-Mart last Wednesday. Holy crap. She bought the store out. Her blood sugar has to be through the roof. There is so much candy in that room it's pathetic. She told me about all the fresh fruit she bought. The activities director actually came up to me and said, "You need to go organize your mother's room. She bought a LOT of stuff at Wal-Mart today." I have told them and told them "Don't take my mother to Wal-Mart." Did they listen? Noooooo. I told her "You took her to Wal-Mart, YOU deal with it." Hmmmm I think I ticked her off!</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 204); font-weight: bold;">So if Wal-Mart wasn't enough, they had a big yard sale at the facility on Saturday. Mom's room is FILLED with stuff. She got a ton of clothes, shoes, books, TOYS (for babies!), kitchen stuff, tons of things.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 204); font-weight: bold;">As so often is the case with bi-polars, she's momentarily come to her senses. She's found herself sitting in chaos. She realizes it's a chaos of her own making and is coming down. She's headed for an emotional crash.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 204); font-weight: bold;">Her chair, again, was piled high with schtuff and she complained of how sore she was from sitting in the wheel chair. What to do, what to do...</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 204); font-weight: bold;">I didn't have the energy to clean it up again today. She wants to go shopping on Sunday. How can we? There is NO PLACE LEFT to put anything. I'm hoping that by Sunday, I'll be rested up and can dig in once again.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 204); font-weight: bold;">Oh... and on a "lighter" note. Remember that 84 page PDF book I was so afraid to let my mother read? I found food soaked pages all over her room. Apparently she's not too broken up by it! LOL</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 204); font-weight: bold;">They say bi-polars have a predictable pattern to their lives. So do the people who live with them. I know it sounds like I've got the short end of the stick here, but I think it's my mom who's suffering the most. She looked so bewildered and overwhelmed today. And there wasn't anything I could do to help her. One hundred percent of my energy was being put toward pressing my upper lip against my lower lip and shutting the heck up. I WANTED to scold, yell, question, advise, and fix. I just kept my mouth shut. It was EXHAUSTING!!!</span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8098395694546591519.post-90419086061874974032008-08-13T19:34:00.002-04:002008-08-13T20:02:19.490-04:00On the Horns of a Dilemma<span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(255, 204, 0);">Note: Before I launch into today's post, may I direct you to a web page that gives an interesting little history of the phrase that titles today's thoughts?<br /><br /> http://www.worldwidewords.org/qa/qa-hor2.htm<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;"><br /><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"></span></span>Yesterday I put a CD into my player at work. It was a John Denver duets collection. My co-workers were concerned when they saw me tearing up to the Placido Domingo pairing. It was beautiful. The result of listening to this ancient selection of music was a trip down my own memory lane. Each of the songs from my teen years brought back faces and places near to my heart.<br /><br />Several weeks ago my niece sent me an 84 page PDF file that she'd found on line. It was "The History of Temple Baptist Church, Titusville, Florida". My dear husband spent hours printing out all of the pages for me to give to my mother. I've held it back and didn't even tell Mom it existed. A recent visit from my niece resulted in the cat being soundly let out of the bag.<br /><br />I've truly been on the horns of a dilemma. Do I give it to Mom or not? You might wonder what the deal is. <br /><br />I read the book. I don't know if it was the writing style or the fact that most of my entire life is on those 84 pages. At least from the years of five to thirty. I was carried from one page to the next until suddenly, it was over. Isn't life just like that?<br /><br />The story begins in 1964 when our comfortable pastor was our music director. He and his family were the main "entertainment" in our church in Orlando. For every Correll kid, there was an Edsell kid. My oldest sister still maintains contact with their oldest daughter. I was the youngest and started first grade with their youngest. Ten minutes after first grade, my mom was driving both of us from Titusville, Florida to Springfield, Missouri where we both attended Baptist Bible College.<br /><br />In 1964, Brother Correll was "called" to save this decrepit little church 38 miles away from Orlando. The book takes you from that first night with just eight people in attendance to the present day church that is the largest and most wealthy in the area. Mrs. Correll goes year by year mentioning births, deaths, marriages, graduations and other landmark events. <br /><br />Today I sat at my desk at work and tearfully read about that horrible day in 1984 when an arson burned that gorgeous church to the ground. My heart broke all over again when she lovingly chronicled the life, ministry, and tragically untimely death of her beloved son Kim. Kim had been a professor at Baptist Bible College when I was a student. His wife often fed the poor starving kids from home. And like his father before him, Kim stepped away from a pretty comfy and cushy life of a professor and ventured out into the mission field. He died there of undiagnosed leukemia.<br /><br />In the pages of that book I saw my own young life. There was my graduation, my departure to Bible college, my marriage, the birth of my daughter. And a loving tribute to my dad. <br /><br />The past few days have been almost torturous for me. I am so filled with longing for happier and simpler days, and with regret for roads not taken--or roads taken and taken for granted. What will this do to my mother???<br /><br />After much thought and prayer, I decided to take the book to Mom today. I started reading some of the old names and places to her. We both gave into tears.<br /><br />I feel so bad for my mom. That church and the people there were her very life. It all came to a screeching halt when my dad died suddenly. Mom lived with me for a few years, and decided to try to go back on her own. She was back in Florida for about 4 years before she was too old to work and too broke to make it on her Social Security. She came back to PA to live with me. As the years slipped by, Mom has lost contact with all of her old friends from Temple.<br /><br />I worry that reading Mrs. Correll's words will break her heart. I hope that she will be able to look back over the years fondly and not have too much regret. I hope I did the right thing by giving it to her.<br /><br />If I messed up, I'll pick up the pieces.<br /></span></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2