Saturday, January 15, 2005
An Extraordinary Awakening
Although I allowed my mother, with some trepidation (because she's been sleeping so much, lately), to sleep until noon today, wonder of wonders, her urinary leakage was amazingly minimal! It was so insignificant that I realized if I'd awakened her at 1000 her sheets and pajamas would probably have been dry. I did notice that it appeared as though she'd awakened in the middle of the night to urinate, which she's been doing for, oh, the last week or so, even before I began treating her for a urinary tract infection, which is a very good sign. It means she's consciously noticing her bladder's signals and responding to them. This morning I could have danced!
One instance does not a pattern create, of course. Now I'm wondering if maybe, aside from all the e coli infections she's been experiencing since undergoing the blatant, extended and unnecessary catheterizations, perhaps she's had a "deeper" infection in her urinary tract that Levaquin wasn't addressing. Maybe she needed Augmentin, although in a much lower dose that originally prescribed, to address something else that's gone untreated for a long time. Maybe, finally, it's being treated.
I'm very excited about tomorrow morning [ahh, the life of an Ancient One Caregiver, getting excited about urination and defecation habits of one's loved one]. Although she was specific tonight that I "let her sleep in" tomorrow morning (I won't let her sleep past noon, as usual), I'm going to check her very carefully several times before I awaken her to see if her bladder is functioning better than it has for over a year. I'm hopeful, but, of course, cautious. It's not that she's not shedding, it's that she's shedding much less than previously. I don't think it's simply the cut back on water, either, because I've upped her fluid intake from its recent cutback, as per the standard practice when administering both antibiotics and acetaminophen to the elderly. As well, she's thirsty on her own so she's probably been receiving pretty close to 2 liters of liquid per day between what I choose to give her and the instant decaf coffee she drinks.
I forgot to mention: Last night, while we were preparing her for bed, she once again expressed concern about next year's teaching job. "It's a new year," she said, which surprised me...I was sure she wasn't aware of this. "I've got to decide where I'm going to teach next year."
I thought about it hard for some seconds before I decided how to respond. As you know, when I can't see any reason not to, I enter into her version of the world. But remembering how, over a period of several days of doing this within the last few months, she became very agitated and confused, I decided, no, I'm not going to set this one up again. So, I took the straight and narrow path. "Mom," I said, "no, you don't have to worry about where you're going to teach next year. You're 87, it's been decades since you taught last and you are no longer up to teaching. Relax. You don't have to worry about that anymore."
Her initial reaction was to look at me as though I'd gone crazy. It's the funniest experience...to correct someone's view of the world and have them think you're the one who's insane. She has a particular expression, halfway between worry and shock that always registers when we have these kinds of conversations. I have to stifle a laugh when this happens.
After a few seconds she suddenly snapped back into the non-teaching, 87 year old reality and said, "Oh! Well, good! That's been worrying me! I guess I can relax next year! Good! I could use a rest!"
"Yes, Mom. You can relax. You can sleep in mornings and do whatever you want during the day."
"Sounds wonderful!"
You just gotta love her.
Today was the first of two Dog Show Evenings. The entire day was geared toward watching the first part of the Eukanuba Tournament of Champions this evening, including the pre-tournament hour-long show about the competition. She would love to have a dog "for The Little Girl" (as though The Little Girl would love having a dog around) and suggested it several times tonight, each time she saw a breed she liked. I'd like us to have a Newfoundland: Get one as a puppy and let The Little Girl raise it so that they'd get along really well together. But, finally, as I've done before, when the show was over and we talked about getting a dog I had to resort to realism and explain to her that there is only one caregiver in this household and the last thing that caregiver needs is a dog.
"Oh," she countered, as she always does, "we'd get used to it, it wouldn't be anymore work. You just work those kinds of things in. You just do it. I'd help."
"Mom, that's not the way it would happen. I know in a normal family that's how it happens. That's how it always happened in our family. But we had several people capable of caregiving living in the same place. Now, we've only got one. And, believe me, I know what I can and can't do in the way of taking on yet another charge. Maybe another cat if there comes a time when The Little Girl no longer enjoys being The Queen and seems to want company of her own kind (although, frankly, I doubt this will happen now; she's very comfortable being the only cat) or if I obviously run across The-Big-Girl-come-back as a brand new cat and she wants to live with us, again. But, a dog, no, even though I'd love to have one. Not a good time for that."
"Well, I suppose you're right. Maybe when I'm feeling better and can take it for walks."
"That's a good idea. We'll reconsider when you're feeling better."
AWe left it at that.
Soon after we had this conversation while I was cleaning in the kitchen after dinner I wondered how often it happens that a lone caregiver to an Ancient One or someone else with special needs decides to bring a new animal (as a pet, not as a working animal) that requires much more care than a cat or a fish into the home because it seems as though it would benefit the care recipient, then, after the fact, realizes that the added work load works against a serene caregiving atmosphere. People need to be realistic and absolutely honest with themselves and others about the effect of upping their caregiving load in the name of pleasing a loved one. When The Big Girl was sick but it looked as though she might recover (which, unfortunately, was a chimera) the main concern I expressed to the vet was that, considering how much care my mother required, I had strong doubts about my ability to care for The Big Girl as her needs intensified and be able to continue to do justice to my mother and The Little Girl and myself. The vet was shocked at first but she's "a good egg". She thought about it and suggested the possibility of foster care until The Big Girl could successfully fit back into our home. Of course, first of all, whether The Big Girl would even have accepted foster care, considering how cautious and scared she was of any change in her environment, was highly debatable. So,though, was the possibility of me being able to successfully care for my mother and two cats, one of which was quite ill and the other of which hated the sick one and wanted to rip her apart because she was sick. Everything, of course, was resolved when it was discovered that The Big Girl was too far gone to recover anyway.
But, you know, caregiving alone often requires very difficult, painful decisions of a type that no one can anticipate when one decides to become an Intense Needs Caregiver. On the one hand the caregiver's heart grows admirably in size and strength and becomes capable of unusual feats of love and endurance; On the other, it is automatically exposed to more dimensions of damage and breakage than the independent heart is capable of imagining. I know I'm not saying anything new, I'm not saying anything most parents don't know. But as I consider this I am even more astounded that we, in this country, as a society, for the most part, have so little awareness of and give so little support to the situation of caregivers of all stripes. How is it that we have allowed ourselves to become so narrow in focus that we think "One Primary Caregiver per Household" even begins to address the actual human condition?!? Those who suffer in silence and consider it sucking it up and being brave are doing neither themselves nor our society any favors.
Oh well. Time for bed.
Later.
One instance does not a pattern create, of course. Now I'm wondering if maybe, aside from all the e coli infections she's been experiencing since undergoing the blatant, extended and unnecessary catheterizations, perhaps she's had a "deeper" infection in her urinary tract that Levaquin wasn't addressing. Maybe she needed Augmentin, although in a much lower dose that originally prescribed, to address something else that's gone untreated for a long time. Maybe, finally, it's being treated.
I'm very excited about tomorrow morning [ahh, the life of an Ancient One Caregiver, getting excited about urination and defecation habits of one's loved one]. Although she was specific tonight that I "let her sleep in" tomorrow morning (I won't let her sleep past noon, as usual), I'm going to check her very carefully several times before I awaken her to see if her bladder is functioning better than it has for over a year. I'm hopeful, but, of course, cautious. It's not that she's not shedding, it's that she's shedding much less than previously. I don't think it's simply the cut back on water, either, because I've upped her fluid intake from its recent cutback, as per the standard practice when administering both antibiotics and acetaminophen to the elderly. As well, she's thirsty on her own so she's probably been receiving pretty close to 2 liters of liquid per day between what I choose to give her and the instant decaf coffee she drinks.
I forgot to mention: Last night, while we were preparing her for bed, she once again expressed concern about next year's teaching job. "It's a new year," she said, which surprised me...I was sure she wasn't aware of this. "I've got to decide where I'm going to teach next year."
I thought about it hard for some seconds before I decided how to respond. As you know, when I can't see any reason not to, I enter into her version of the world. But remembering how, over a period of several days of doing this within the last few months, she became very agitated and confused, I decided, no, I'm not going to set this one up again. So, I took the straight and narrow path. "Mom," I said, "no, you don't have to worry about where you're going to teach next year. You're 87, it's been decades since you taught last and you are no longer up to teaching. Relax. You don't have to worry about that anymore."
Her initial reaction was to look at me as though I'd gone crazy. It's the funniest experience...to correct someone's view of the world and have them think you're the one who's insane. She has a particular expression, halfway between worry and shock that always registers when we have these kinds of conversations. I have to stifle a laugh when this happens.
After a few seconds she suddenly snapped back into the non-teaching, 87 year old reality and said, "Oh! Well, good! That's been worrying me! I guess I can relax next year! Good! I could use a rest!"
"Yes, Mom. You can relax. You can sleep in mornings and do whatever you want during the day."
"Sounds wonderful!"
You just gotta love her.
Today was the first of two Dog Show Evenings. The entire day was geared toward watching the first part of the Eukanuba Tournament of Champions this evening, including the pre-tournament hour-long show about the competition. She would love to have a dog "for The Little Girl" (as though The Little Girl would love having a dog around) and suggested it several times tonight, each time she saw a breed she liked. I'd like us to have a Newfoundland: Get one as a puppy and let The Little Girl raise it so that they'd get along really well together. But, finally, as I've done before, when the show was over and we talked about getting a dog I had to resort to realism and explain to her that there is only one caregiver in this household and the last thing that caregiver needs is a dog.
"Oh," she countered, as she always does, "we'd get used to it, it wouldn't be anymore work. You just work those kinds of things in. You just do it. I'd help."
"Mom, that's not the way it would happen. I know in a normal family that's how it happens. That's how it always happened in our family. But we had several people capable of caregiving living in the same place. Now, we've only got one. And, believe me, I know what I can and can't do in the way of taking on yet another charge. Maybe another cat if there comes a time when The Little Girl no longer enjoys being The Queen and seems to want company of her own kind (although, frankly, I doubt this will happen now; she's very comfortable being the only cat) or if I obviously run across The-Big-Girl-come-back as a brand new cat and she wants to live with us, again. But, a dog, no, even though I'd love to have one. Not a good time for that."
"Well, I suppose you're right. Maybe when I'm feeling better and can take it for walks."
"That's a good idea. We'll reconsider when you're feeling better."
AWe left it at that.
Soon after we had this conversation while I was cleaning in the kitchen after dinner I wondered how often it happens that a lone caregiver to an Ancient One or someone else with special needs decides to bring a new animal (as a pet, not as a working animal) that requires much more care than a cat or a fish into the home because it seems as though it would benefit the care recipient, then, after the fact, realizes that the added work load works against a serene caregiving atmosphere. People need to be realistic and absolutely honest with themselves and others about the effect of upping their caregiving load in the name of pleasing a loved one. When The Big Girl was sick but it looked as though she might recover (which, unfortunately, was a chimera) the main concern I expressed to the vet was that, considering how much care my mother required, I had strong doubts about my ability to care for The Big Girl as her needs intensified and be able to continue to do justice to my mother and The Little Girl and myself. The vet was shocked at first but she's "a good egg". She thought about it and suggested the possibility of foster care until The Big Girl could successfully fit back into our home. Of course, first of all, whether The Big Girl would even have accepted foster care, considering how cautious and scared she was of any change in her environment, was highly debatable. So,though, was the possibility of me being able to successfully care for my mother and two cats, one of which was quite ill and the other of which hated the sick one and wanted to rip her apart because she was sick. Everything, of course, was resolved when it was discovered that The Big Girl was too far gone to recover anyway.
But, you know, caregiving alone often requires very difficult, painful decisions of a type that no one can anticipate when one decides to become an Intense Needs Caregiver. On the one hand the caregiver's heart grows admirably in size and strength and becomes capable of unusual feats of love and endurance; On the other, it is automatically exposed to more dimensions of damage and breakage than the independent heart is capable of imagining. I know I'm not saying anything new, I'm not saying anything most parents don't know. But as I consider this I am even more astounded that we, in this country, as a society, for the most part, have so little awareness of and give so little support to the situation of caregivers of all stripes. How is it that we have allowed ourselves to become so narrow in focus that we think "One Primary Caregiver per Household" even begins to address the actual human condition?!? Those who suffer in silence and consider it sucking it up and being brave are doing neither themselves nor our society any favors.
Oh well. Time for bed.
Later.
