Saturday, July 23, 2005
It's official: When I have a bad day emotionally...
...my mother has a bad day physically.
It was a little thing that pushed me over the edge and this time the edge, for most of the day, was strictly internal. I was very careful and, I thought, successful in keeping my bad mood from my mother. The little thing was: I needed rain, today, really, really bad. Worse than yesterday. I was sure, too, it was going to rain. First, this morning. The sky was dark and the air fairly cool all morning. But I watched that storm cell pass to the southwest, both through our windows and on the Local on the 8's, without releasing a drop over us. I died a little inside. Started thinking about Seattle. How, even when the perfect summer days pissed me off with their overabundance of sunlight, I always knew it would rain soon because, well, that's what it does in Seattle. It always rains soon. Even during its 2 months of perfect summer it rains here and there.
Mom awoke at 1130 on the nose while I was indulging in my backlash fantasy about Seattle. I stopped fantasizing and swung into my mother's day, somewhat disappointed about the lack of rain but feeling pretty good. Today, as you know, was Dog Show day. That means shows about dog breeds leading up to the main show. There was also a double play of Corwin's Quest, which Mom loves, immediately preceding the breed shows. I knew it was going to be difficult to break up her run of shows. I also knew I had the best chance of keeping her up without a nap if I didn't pester her. I knew, too, her body could probably use a one day's rest from what I've been insisting on putting it through, especially since she was complaint-walking as though her knee and back were bothering her. When I asked her, she confirmed that I was right. I responded that we'd rest from exercising today. She was on her feet walking to and from the bathroom every two hours and her energy level was high enough early in the evening for her to insist on helping me with dinner, although everything was cut and marinating and, well, when you're fixing stir fry with ancho chile sauce there isn't much that the help can do.
Then, during the first hour of The Dog Show it happened again. The sky blackened. The air stilled. The thunderheads gathered. The air cooled yet again. I stood in the living room halfway between the television (I also enjoy watching the dogs) and the front windows willing the rain this way. Again, a provocative storm passed us just to the southwest, so close I could see the deluge over the Bradshaws. "It's probably raining at [my friend's house who lives in the direction I was looking] maybe two miles to the south of us," I thought. For a half hour I stared at the just out of reach storm then watched it break up and blow to the west. I couldn't help myself. I sobbed quietly. I was sure my mother didn't see.
I turned back to the dogs and suggested that we make a list of those dogs we thought we might like to have as a part of our family. My mother was enthusiastic. The list is as follows, in order of the breeds' appearance on the show:
Still, I thought I kept a pretty good lid on my feelings. I kept up my outward good humor toward my mother. I snapped at her only once (which is unusual when I'm feeling desperate) regarding dinner. She, once again, claimed she couldn't eat anymore when I'd given her a smaller than usual portion and coached her to eat it before her appestat turned off. A part of me was enjoying the dogs and the fantasy of us having one in our family, and that's the part I was sure I was keeping toward her during the entire evening, while I was internally wishing I was somewhere else, doing something else.
A movie on The Hallmark Channel in which my mother had expressed interest immediately followed the dogs. During the movie (I can't remember what it was) I cleaned the kitchen, finished evening chores and carried on light conversation with my mother during the commercials, all the while continuing my desperate thinking on that other, obstinate track. We had only one minor altercation: at 2120 my mother thought the movie was over and decided to go to bed. I had a little trouble convincing her that she'd miss part of the movie if she retired. As well, I told her that I'd prefer it if she remained up until 2200, since she awoke in the morning at 1130 and even though I knew I wasn't going to be able to keep her up until then, tonight, since she hadn't had a nap today (amazing, actually, that she never suggested napping), I thought she needed to stay up a little longer. It wasn't a major disagreement, though. Once her movie restarted she was glad that I'd warned her that she'd miss part of what she was watching.
Because her systolic blood pressure had been in the 130's at dinner I decided to take it just before she retired in case she might need a third lisinopril. I was alarmed to discover that her blood pressure was very high, 170s/70's. She'd been wearing slippers all day, since it was cooler than usual even though we weren't running the window a/c in the living room. I'd noticed in the bathroom earlier that her belly looked a bit swollen (although she hadn't coughed at all this evening) and immediately removed her slippers. Sure enough, her feet were very pudgy. I asked her to remain on the edge of her bed for a minute or two so I could take her blood pressure again. In the meantime, I retrieved a lisinopril tablet and split a furosemide in half, figuring that if her blood pressure was essentially the same I'd better give her 2.5 mg lisinopril and 20 mg furosemide. It was. I did. I also told her that, apparently, from now on, we should probably exercise every day in some way, both walkering and the therapy exercises. "It looks," I said, "as though a one day rest isn't a good idea anymore."
After I kissed her goodnight and left her room I realized that despite my efforts to keep my emotional desperation under wraps and my assumption that I'd done a passable job, I hadn't. She'd somehow detected my dolorous mood and reacted to it physically during the evening hours.
I'm not sure what lesson I'll take from this. Obviously, as is true in all relationships based on deep love, the internal fretting of one person in the relationship acutely affects the other person. If the other person's health is sensitive, as my mother's is, the reaction can include obvious physical reverberations. This is no surprise to me. I learned my first lesson in this some time ago. I know better, though, from tonight's experience, than to mask what I'm going through and assume I'm doing her a favor. I'll be thinking about this for awhile, though. Initial consideration seems to indicate that we're both better off if I'm upfront about what I'm experiencing. I get over it quickly and my mother isn't left to react to disturbing signals with physical debilitation. Humor will help, of course. We're both experienced in this.
But, anyway, tonight held a very pointed lesson for me in how my bouts of emotional desperation affect my mother. It's time to apply myself consciously to ways to alleviate this problem that are appropriate to her, me and our situation.
I'll be recording her stats from today in the morning. I'm tired, now. Time for me to sleep off my doldrums.
Later.
It was a little thing that pushed me over the edge and this time the edge, for most of the day, was strictly internal. I was very careful and, I thought, successful in keeping my bad mood from my mother. The little thing was: I needed rain, today, really, really bad. Worse than yesterday. I was sure, too, it was going to rain. First, this morning. The sky was dark and the air fairly cool all morning. But I watched that storm cell pass to the southwest, both through our windows and on the Local on the 8's, without releasing a drop over us. I died a little inside. Started thinking about Seattle. How, even when the perfect summer days pissed me off with their overabundance of sunlight, I always knew it would rain soon because, well, that's what it does in Seattle. It always rains soon. Even during its 2 months of perfect summer it rains here and there.
Mom awoke at 1130 on the nose while I was indulging in my backlash fantasy about Seattle. I stopped fantasizing and swung into my mother's day, somewhat disappointed about the lack of rain but feeling pretty good. Today, as you know, was Dog Show day. That means shows about dog breeds leading up to the main show. There was also a double play of Corwin's Quest, which Mom loves, immediately preceding the breed shows. I knew it was going to be difficult to break up her run of shows. I also knew I had the best chance of keeping her up without a nap if I didn't pester her. I knew, too, her body could probably use a one day's rest from what I've been insisting on putting it through, especially since she was complaint-walking as though her knee and back were bothering her. When I asked her, she confirmed that I was right. I responded that we'd rest from exercising today. She was on her feet walking to and from the bathroom every two hours and her energy level was high enough early in the evening for her to insist on helping me with dinner, although everything was cut and marinating and, well, when you're fixing stir fry with ancho chile sauce there isn't much that the help can do.
Then, during the first hour of The Dog Show it happened again. The sky blackened. The air stilled. The thunderheads gathered. The air cooled yet again. I stood in the living room halfway between the television (I also enjoy watching the dogs) and the front windows willing the rain this way. Again, a provocative storm passed us just to the southwest, so close I could see the deluge over the Bradshaws. "It's probably raining at [my friend's house who lives in the direction I was looking] maybe two miles to the south of us," I thought. For a half hour I stared at the just out of reach storm then watched it break up and blow to the west. I couldn't help myself. I sobbed quietly. I was sure my mother didn't see.
I turned back to the dogs and suggested that we make a list of those dogs we thought we might like to have as a part of our family. My mother was enthusiastic. The list is as follows, in order of the breeds' appearance on the show:
- Airedale
- Staffordshire Bull Terrier
- Chow Chow
- Shiba Inu
- Tibetan Spaniel
- Brussels Griffon
- Irish Wolfhound
- Otterhound
- Pharaoh Hound
- Basenji
- Newfoundland (of course)
- Tibetan Mastiff
- Rottweiler
- Akita
- Chesapeake Bay Retriever
- Wirehaired Pointing Griffon
Still, I thought I kept a pretty good lid on my feelings. I kept up my outward good humor toward my mother. I snapped at her only once (which is unusual when I'm feeling desperate) regarding dinner. She, once again, claimed she couldn't eat anymore when I'd given her a smaller than usual portion and coached her to eat it before her appestat turned off. A part of me was enjoying the dogs and the fantasy of us having one in our family, and that's the part I was sure I was keeping toward her during the entire evening, while I was internally wishing I was somewhere else, doing something else.
A movie on The Hallmark Channel in which my mother had expressed interest immediately followed the dogs. During the movie (I can't remember what it was) I cleaned the kitchen, finished evening chores and carried on light conversation with my mother during the commercials, all the while continuing my desperate thinking on that other, obstinate track. We had only one minor altercation: at 2120 my mother thought the movie was over and decided to go to bed. I had a little trouble convincing her that she'd miss part of the movie if she retired. As well, I told her that I'd prefer it if she remained up until 2200, since she awoke in the morning at 1130 and even though I knew I wasn't going to be able to keep her up until then, tonight, since she hadn't had a nap today (amazing, actually, that she never suggested napping), I thought she needed to stay up a little longer. It wasn't a major disagreement, though. Once her movie restarted she was glad that I'd warned her that she'd miss part of what she was watching.
Because her systolic blood pressure had been in the 130's at dinner I decided to take it just before she retired in case she might need a third lisinopril. I was alarmed to discover that her blood pressure was very high, 170s/70's. She'd been wearing slippers all day, since it was cooler than usual even though we weren't running the window a/c in the living room. I'd noticed in the bathroom earlier that her belly looked a bit swollen (although she hadn't coughed at all this evening) and immediately removed her slippers. Sure enough, her feet were very pudgy. I asked her to remain on the edge of her bed for a minute or two so I could take her blood pressure again. In the meantime, I retrieved a lisinopril tablet and split a furosemide in half, figuring that if her blood pressure was essentially the same I'd better give her 2.5 mg lisinopril and 20 mg furosemide. It was. I did. I also told her that, apparently, from now on, we should probably exercise every day in some way, both walkering and the therapy exercises. "It looks," I said, "as though a one day rest isn't a good idea anymore."
After I kissed her goodnight and left her room I realized that despite my efforts to keep my emotional desperation under wraps and my assumption that I'd done a passable job, I hadn't. She'd somehow detected my dolorous mood and reacted to it physically during the evening hours.
I'm not sure what lesson I'll take from this. Obviously, as is true in all relationships based on deep love, the internal fretting of one person in the relationship acutely affects the other person. If the other person's health is sensitive, as my mother's is, the reaction can include obvious physical reverberations. This is no surprise to me. I learned my first lesson in this some time ago. I know better, though, from tonight's experience, than to mask what I'm going through and assume I'm doing her a favor. I'll be thinking about this for awhile, though. Initial consideration seems to indicate that we're both better off if I'm upfront about what I'm experiencing. I get over it quickly and my mother isn't left to react to disturbing signals with physical debilitation. Humor will help, of course. We're both experienced in this.
But, anyway, tonight held a very pointed lesson for me in how my bouts of emotional desperation affect my mother. It's time to apply myself consciously to ways to alleviate this problem that are appropriate to her, me and our situation.
I'll be recording her stats from today in the morning. I'm tired, now. Time for me to sleep off my doldrums.
Later.
