Tuesday, September 20, 2005
Soon after that last post, yesterday...
...the day was lost to frustration and depression for me. It started soon after she awoke, while I was trying to get her "up" for taking an errand trip with me to the grocery store. she was "joking" about how it wasn't necessary, she's seen the store, blah, blah, blah. Then, as she was moving off the bed, she faltered a bit. I came to her aid but, I don't know, something about the incident set me off. I castigated her thus [paraphrased from memory]: "You know what? You shouldn't joke your way out of outings. This faltering? It's because you're refusing to move. Because it is so exhausting for me to try to get you to do exercises that I only do it, anymore, when I'm in a really, really good mood. It takes so much of my energy to get you to move that it regularly exhausts me. It exhausts me just to try to get you out of bed in the morning. It exhausts me to try to keep you up at least 10 hours a day and, lately, I've been giving up so much that your up part of the day has dwindled to 8 hours, if that. And now you're faltering. And, overtly, I'm at fault because I can't motivate you to move, but you're at fault because you continue to think you don't need to continue to move. Listen, Mom. You are, officially, now, a danger to yourself whenever you move. You stand up and you're a danger to yourself. You take a step and you're a danger to yourself. Why the hell do you think I make sure I've got my nose up your ass whenever you're up?!?
"And, you know what, I've had it. I'm taking a vacation today. You don't want to move? Don't move. You want to sleep yet another day away? Have at it. All I'm saying is, if you continue this happy-idiot (yes, I used that phrase) lethargy, thinking that it doesn't take movement to keep moving safely, you're not far away from not being able to move at all."
From that point on I was stony silent for the rest of the day. It wasn't fun for either of us. I got lots of errands in during her nap, though, because she slept like a log.
I still had some of that frustration and exhaustion left over this morning and barked at her a little but it's been fading for the last few hours. This morning before she awoke I did a lot of deep thinking about why I seem to be more suseptible to these moods during this time of year and realized something that I wish I'd realized long before: Fall and winter are my favorite times of year. They are known to be not only my most productive but my most social (which is saying something, considering that I'm not terribly social anyway). This has been true for decades. I have, too, for decades, associated the internal rush of energy and inspiration and amiability that typically floods into my life at this time with these seasons and look forward to it. Last year and this year, though, I've been laboring under the conditions that are required by intense caregiving. Without observing what had been going on, I've allowed these conditions to adversely affect my usual fall/winter internal ambiance. When I figured this out this morning I could feel myself relax. I doubt that I'll be able to alleviate the conditions but I seem to have inherited the same operational system that often influences my mother to change when necessary: Become aware of the need for change and change begins to happen, often without conscious effort. I can't predict how I will modulate myself in order to remain an effective caregiver and allow myself to enjoy my Dark Season Surge. I now know, though, that I will and I'm looking forward to the process, however subconscious it is.
I had to explain to my mother this afternoon why it is that although I spend a lot of time trying to agitate her into movement I also sometimes refuse movement to her in which she offers and/or wants to indulge. The situation: I asked my mother if she wanted some coffee.
She confirmed that she did then said, waving me away with her hand, "I'll get it."
"No, Mom, I'll get it for you."
"But you always want me to move, then you don't let me move!"
I know this is what it looks like to her. "Mom, if you want to go into the kitchen with me while I make your coffee you can. I've invited you to move around the house with me any number of times. Is that what you want?"
"Doesn't seem necessary if you won't let me make my own coffee."
I sighed and reseated myself on the couch. "Mom, let me explain to you why you no longer make you're coffee."
"Good," she said, stern as the school teacher she's been. "I'd like to know that."
"A couple of years ago you started exhibiting a few behaviors when making your coffee that caused problems, sometimes dangerous problems. First, you could no longer remember that some of our cups shouldn't be used in the microwave either because they had metal decoration [gold and silver] or they became hot in the microwave. You burned yourself hands more than once, dropped cups and broke them, and sparked the microwave. Second, you could no longer remember the difference between one minute and ten minutes on the microwave. Third, you could no longer remember to remove the spoon you used to stir your coffee into the water from the cup when you used the microwave. Fourth, you decided that you could sprinkle coffee from the jar into your cup instead of spoon it and often ended up using a good quarter of a jar in one cup, didn't realize this and went ahead and made the coffee that you refused to drink. Fifth, when I instituted using the electric water pot you couldn't hear the water whistling and we went through a couple of pots very quickly because you burned them out. You also burned out one of our microwaves with spoons in cups."
By this time Mom was shaking her head in shock as though I was describing someone else's behavior.
"So, Mom, that's why you don't make your own coffee anymore. Some of these reasons are also reasons why I won't let you cook anymore. Are you suffering because I won't let you do these things?"
"No, no. I never liked to cook anyway. But I would like to be able to make my own coffee. I'd have to move to do that."
"You can move when I do it, Mom. I'm not stopping you from going into the kitchen with me. It's common for me to invite you in there. Do you want to go and watch me make your coffee now?"
She waved away the suggestion. "Doesn't seem necessary."
My difficult thirty six hours have also caused me to consider that perhaps we're entering another period in which my mother will noticeably slow, perhaps even lose a significant amount of the little physical strength she still has. I'm definitely going to get a prescription for a cane when we go to the doctor in late October/early November. Maybe I can head off some of that strength loss at the pass if she feels more confident moving around here. Then again...
"And, you know what, I've had it. I'm taking a vacation today. You don't want to move? Don't move. You want to sleep yet another day away? Have at it. All I'm saying is, if you continue this happy-idiot (yes, I used that phrase) lethargy, thinking that it doesn't take movement to keep moving safely, you're not far away from not being able to move at all."
From that point on I was stony silent for the rest of the day. It wasn't fun for either of us. I got lots of errands in during her nap, though, because she slept like a log.
I still had some of that frustration and exhaustion left over this morning and barked at her a little but it's been fading for the last few hours. This morning before she awoke I did a lot of deep thinking about why I seem to be more suseptible to these moods during this time of year and realized something that I wish I'd realized long before: Fall and winter are my favorite times of year. They are known to be not only my most productive but my most social (which is saying something, considering that I'm not terribly social anyway). This has been true for decades. I have, too, for decades, associated the internal rush of energy and inspiration and amiability that typically floods into my life at this time with these seasons and look forward to it. Last year and this year, though, I've been laboring under the conditions that are required by intense caregiving. Without observing what had been going on, I've allowed these conditions to adversely affect my usual fall/winter internal ambiance. When I figured this out this morning I could feel myself relax. I doubt that I'll be able to alleviate the conditions but I seem to have inherited the same operational system that often influences my mother to change when necessary: Become aware of the need for change and change begins to happen, often without conscious effort. I can't predict how I will modulate myself in order to remain an effective caregiver and allow myself to enjoy my Dark Season Surge. I now know, though, that I will and I'm looking forward to the process, however subconscious it is.
I had to explain to my mother this afternoon why it is that although I spend a lot of time trying to agitate her into movement I also sometimes refuse movement to her in which she offers and/or wants to indulge. The situation: I asked my mother if she wanted some coffee.
She confirmed that she did then said, waving me away with her hand, "I'll get it."
"No, Mom, I'll get it for you."
"But you always want me to move, then you don't let me move!"
I know this is what it looks like to her. "Mom, if you want to go into the kitchen with me while I make your coffee you can. I've invited you to move around the house with me any number of times. Is that what you want?"
"Doesn't seem necessary if you won't let me make my own coffee."
I sighed and reseated myself on the couch. "Mom, let me explain to you why you no longer make you're coffee."
"Good," she said, stern as the school teacher she's been. "I'd like to know that."
"A couple of years ago you started exhibiting a few behaviors when making your coffee that caused problems, sometimes dangerous problems. First, you could no longer remember that some of our cups shouldn't be used in the microwave either because they had metal decoration [gold and silver] or they became hot in the microwave. You burned yourself hands more than once, dropped cups and broke them, and sparked the microwave. Second, you could no longer remember the difference between one minute and ten minutes on the microwave. Third, you could no longer remember to remove the spoon you used to stir your coffee into the water from the cup when you used the microwave. Fourth, you decided that you could sprinkle coffee from the jar into your cup instead of spoon it and often ended up using a good quarter of a jar in one cup, didn't realize this and went ahead and made the coffee that you refused to drink. Fifth, when I instituted using the electric water pot you couldn't hear the water whistling and we went through a couple of pots very quickly because you burned them out. You also burned out one of our microwaves with spoons in cups."
By this time Mom was shaking her head in shock as though I was describing someone else's behavior.
"So, Mom, that's why you don't make your own coffee anymore. Some of these reasons are also reasons why I won't let you cook anymore. Are you suffering because I won't let you do these things?"
"No, no. I never liked to cook anyway. But I would like to be able to make my own coffee. I'd have to move to do that."
"You can move when I do it, Mom. I'm not stopping you from going into the kitchen with me. It's common for me to invite you in there. Do you want to go and watch me make your coffee now?"
She waved away the suggestion. "Doesn't seem necessary."
My difficult thirty six hours have also caused me to consider that perhaps we're entering another period in which my mother will noticeably slow, perhaps even lose a significant amount of the little physical strength she still has. I'm definitely going to get a prescription for a cane when we go to the doctor in late October/early November. Maybe I can head off some of that strength loss at the pass if she feels more confident moving around here. Then again...
