Friday, September 16, 2005
A detailed report...
...on Mom's day today and my feelings about this recent Lethargic Episode is over at Mom's Daily Tests and Meds. The link will take you directly to it. On that issue I have no more to say at the moment other than what is over there.
I just finished cataloguing the particular partition of The Mom and Me Journals through Mom's early, startling recovery from her blood tranfusion in early June, 2004. Again, I'm glad I've decided to catalogue all this writing for somewhat easier access. I was gripped by the build-up to her transfusion, the transfusion itself and her recovery from her flirting with grave iron deficiency anemia. I learned a lot from rereading it. I'm so glad I record in detail in these journals. Her journey into grave iron deficiency anemia, I can see, started long before her dangerously low hemoglobin was discovered. All the symptoms I was researching, all the amateur diagnosing I was doing never led me to this conclusion. I'm somewhat better informed now, of course, but that isn't saying much. What, for instance, is the cause of this recent Lethargic Episode? I haven't the faintest idea. I think I'd be able to recognize another dangerous dip in her hemoglobin and I don't think that's happening now, primarily because there is no vomiting, no radical fluid retention and no surprisingly low blood pressure. I don't know, though. As I mention in today's Breakfast Stat post, I'm glad we've got a blood draw coming up soon.
Maybe it's just old age. It's hard to tell with her. I realized how hard this is when I reread the section about her demeanor in the ER at the hospital the night that her dangerously low hemoglobin was discovered: She was animated, to be diplomatic. I don't know, yet, if I wrote about this but I'm going to here: I remember that during diagnosis and prep in the ER behind the curtain she continually tried to get off the gurney to the point that restraints had to be threatened to keep her on it, insisted she wanted to go home and that she was, under no circumstances, going to assent to a transfusion. One of the ER nurses mentioned, before a blood test was done to confirm her dangerously low hemoglobin, that the previous test that had sent us to the ER room was probably wrong because, normally, someone with hemoglobin that low would be unconscious or close to it.
I invoked my MPOA and overrruled my mother's desire to leave without a transfusion. I did it gently, considering the circumstances. In front of one of the doctors who was fast becoming exasperated with her I remember telling her that, "...this time, Mom, you're wrong. This time you need to trust me to make this decision, even though it's not the decision you'd make. I've done the footwork, I've gone over your entire history of blood draws, the doctors are right. You need this transfusion and I'm not going to let you refuse it." I'm paraphrasing, of course.
She settled down.
I clearly recall the surprise of all her feisty, determined, crazy, oppositional energy after days, weeks really, of extremely low energy. Such a woman. Such a woman. I wonder what she has up her sleeve this time.
Hmmm. Maybe I'd better go back and read the link I published when I thought, previous to the blood transfusion, that she might be experiencing acute mitral valve leakage. She's probably not now but it wouldn't hurt to review that just in case.
She's been down for almost three hours. Despite me agreeing to a "sleep day" I think it's time to get her up and moving if for no other reason than to feed her, pill her and remind her that I'm here: Her family awaits.
I just finished cataloguing the particular partition of The Mom and Me Journals through Mom's early, startling recovery from her blood tranfusion in early June, 2004. Again, I'm glad I've decided to catalogue all this writing for somewhat easier access. I was gripped by the build-up to her transfusion, the transfusion itself and her recovery from her flirting with grave iron deficiency anemia. I learned a lot from rereading it. I'm so glad I record in detail in these journals. Her journey into grave iron deficiency anemia, I can see, started long before her dangerously low hemoglobin was discovered. All the symptoms I was researching, all the amateur diagnosing I was doing never led me to this conclusion. I'm somewhat better informed now, of course, but that isn't saying much. What, for instance, is the cause of this recent Lethargic Episode? I haven't the faintest idea. I think I'd be able to recognize another dangerous dip in her hemoglobin and I don't think that's happening now, primarily because there is no vomiting, no radical fluid retention and no surprisingly low blood pressure. I don't know, though. As I mention in today's Breakfast Stat post, I'm glad we've got a blood draw coming up soon.
Maybe it's just old age. It's hard to tell with her. I realized how hard this is when I reread the section about her demeanor in the ER at the hospital the night that her dangerously low hemoglobin was discovered: She was animated, to be diplomatic. I don't know, yet, if I wrote about this but I'm going to here: I remember that during diagnosis and prep in the ER behind the curtain she continually tried to get off the gurney to the point that restraints had to be threatened to keep her on it, insisted she wanted to go home and that she was, under no circumstances, going to assent to a transfusion. One of the ER nurses mentioned, before a blood test was done to confirm her dangerously low hemoglobin, that the previous test that had sent us to the ER room was probably wrong because, normally, someone with hemoglobin that low would be unconscious or close to it.
I invoked my MPOA and overrruled my mother's desire to leave without a transfusion. I did it gently, considering the circumstances. In front of one of the doctors who was fast becoming exasperated with her I remember telling her that, "...this time, Mom, you're wrong. This time you need to trust me to make this decision, even though it's not the decision you'd make. I've done the footwork, I've gone over your entire history of blood draws, the doctors are right. You need this transfusion and I'm not going to let you refuse it." I'm paraphrasing, of course.
She settled down.
I clearly recall the surprise of all her feisty, determined, crazy, oppositional energy after days, weeks really, of extremely low energy. Such a woman. Such a woman. I wonder what she has up her sleeve this time.
Hmmm. Maybe I'd better go back and read the link I published when I thought, previous to the blood transfusion, that she might be experiencing acute mitral valve leakage. She's probably not now but it wouldn't hurt to review that just in case.
She's been down for almost three hours. Despite me agreeing to a "sleep day" I think it's time to get her up and moving if for no other reason than to feed her, pill her and remind her that I'm here: Her family awaits.
Wednesday, September 14, 2005
Over the weekend...
...we had a couple of really windy days which swept the last vestiges of summer out of the mountains. The nights are bordering on cold, now, the days are cool and bright and I'm making bread again, every day to every other day. I found a store that sells high altitude flour and what a wonderful invention that is! I'm not having any flops. In the spring I was having such trouble with figuring yeast usage on a day to day basis that a little over every other loaf was either too well yeasted or didn't have enough. We ate them anyway and they were good, but the texture and the tops left a lot to be desired. This flour makes for a much more pungent smell when the baking cycle on the bread machine starts, too. Both Mom and I are reveling in the smell. We were experiencing a loaf back-up so on Monday I didn't make bread and in the afternoon Mom complained about the lack of the aroma of bread baking.
Speaking of which, we've begun our Christmas baking list. Mom's famous fruitcakes are on it. I'm going to attempt our own Panettone this year, too, in the bread machine, of course. As well, we're planning on old fashioned ginger snaps, Mexican Wedding Cake cookies, the old original Hudson Date Bars (totally different than the one's you're probably used to with the date mixture between oat crumb layers), my original German Chocolate Cake cookies, the perfected Honey Bear Brownies, of course, and we're looking for a really spectacular chocolate cookie, something different from the usual. I'll probably be pulling out my maternal grandmother's cookbooks and notes to see what I can find there, too. We haven't done Christmas baking for more than a few years. If you're suspicious about why I'm making sure we do Christmas baking this year, you've probably guessed the reason: It's one of my mother's favorite things to do during the year and I'm thinking we don't have too many more years to incorporate it before she won't be here, anymore. I just want to make sure that she slip slides away in the midst of doing some of her favorite things.
My fascination with my writing in these journals continues to hold up the actual creation of the dynamic Table of Contents. The database I'm setting up is divided into categories underwhich I'm cataloguing anchored snippets that pertain to the categories. I hadn't expected that I would find so much to catalog. I thought I'd repeated myself a lot in these journals and probably said a lot that wouldn't need to be catalogued. I'm find the opposite, though. In case you're curious, here are the categories underwhich I'm currently cataloguing journal entries and snippets of journal entries:
Shit! 36! I was figuring maybe 25. My guess is that by the time I'm done with the initial cataloguing I may have added a few more categories.
Some of the categories contain entries as straightforward as the titles underwhich they're organized. Some of them cover a variety of sins. The "Leaving Mom Alone" category, for instance, not only contains posting about, well, leaving Mom physically alone but also contains stuff about not pestering her about stuff that doesn't matter anymore. "The Caregiving Situation", which is one of the largest categories, contains a variety of material organized around postings that describe what it is like to be a caregiver and ruminations about caregiving in general. You'd think that "The Detail of What I Do" would contain essentially the same type of material as "The Caregiving Situation", but it is far more specific.
I will be including yet another separate category listing the essays and various other stand-alone pages and journals such as the Test Index and the Movies, Mom & Me journal.
Anyway, as I read I'm doing a bit more editing than I intended so my material reads more smoothly. I'm not taking out my stylistic peculiarities but as I read I notice and correct flubs that make reading difficult for me. I'm deleting excess commas, as well. I'm also trying to standardize items like how I publish links to movies, web sites I mention, places within this set of journals, etc.
Well, I think I'll catalogue another archived section then head for bed.
Later.
Speaking of which, we've begun our Christmas baking list. Mom's famous fruitcakes are on it. I'm going to attempt our own Panettone this year, too, in the bread machine, of course. As well, we're planning on old fashioned ginger snaps, Mexican Wedding Cake cookies, the old original Hudson Date Bars (totally different than the one's you're probably used to with the date mixture between oat crumb layers), my original German Chocolate Cake cookies, the perfected Honey Bear Brownies, of course, and we're looking for a really spectacular chocolate cookie, something different from the usual. I'll probably be pulling out my maternal grandmother's cookbooks and notes to see what I can find there, too. We haven't done Christmas baking for more than a few years. If you're suspicious about why I'm making sure we do Christmas baking this year, you've probably guessed the reason: It's one of my mother's favorite things to do during the year and I'm thinking we don't have too many more years to incorporate it before she won't be here, anymore. I just want to make sure that she slip slides away in the midst of doing some of her favorite things.
My fascination with my writing in these journals continues to hold up the actual creation of the dynamic Table of Contents. The database I'm setting up is divided into categories underwhich I'm cataloguing anchored snippets that pertain to the categories. I hadn't expected that I would find so much to catalog. I thought I'd repeated myself a lot in these journals and probably said a lot that wouldn't need to be catalogued. I'm find the opposite, though. In case you're curious, here are the categories underwhich I'm currently cataloguing journal entries and snippets of journal entries:
- Anemia
- Assistance Devices
- Bad Days
- Bowels Away
- Caregiving and Relationship Issues
- Caregiving and Spirituality
- Dementia
- Family Dynamics and History
- Food
- General Health and Medical Issues
- Giving Up Things
- Home Doctoring
- Housing and Ancient Ones
- Hydration
- Inactivity
- Incontinence
- Leaving Mom Alone
- Medical and Healing Treatments, Procedures and Diagnostics
- Medical Professionals and Us
- Mom Mourning
- Mom's Attitude and Stamina
- Mom's Changing Preferences
- My Commitment to My Mother
- Old Age Diabetes
- Pertinent Descriptions of My Mother
- Protecting and Surrendering
- Purpose of Journals
- Sleepy Time Gal
- Taking Over Business Affairs
- The Caregiving Situation
- The Detail of What I Do
- The Literature
- The Smell of Caregiving
- What Old Is
- When Other's Notice Caregiving
- When Others Notice My Mother
Shit! 36! I was figuring maybe 25. My guess is that by the time I'm done with the initial cataloguing I may have added a few more categories.
Some of the categories contain entries as straightforward as the titles underwhich they're organized. Some of them cover a variety of sins. The "Leaving Mom Alone" category, for instance, not only contains posting about, well, leaving Mom physically alone but also contains stuff about not pestering her about stuff that doesn't matter anymore. "The Caregiving Situation", which is one of the largest categories, contains a variety of material organized around postings that describe what it is like to be a caregiver and ruminations about caregiving in general. You'd think that "The Detail of What I Do" would contain essentially the same type of material as "The Caregiving Situation", but it is far more specific.
I will be including yet another separate category listing the essays and various other stand-alone pages and journals such as the Test Index and the Movies, Mom & Me journal.
Anyway, as I read I'm doing a bit more editing than I intended so my material reads more smoothly. I'm not taking out my stylistic peculiarities but as I read I notice and correct flubs that make reading difficult for me. I'm deleting excess commas, as well. I'm also trying to standardize items like how I publish links to movies, web sites I mention, places within this set of journals, etc.
Well, I think I'll catalogue another archived section then head for bed.
Later.
Tuesday, September 13, 2005
One good day of movement deserves another...
...good day of rest. Some of Mom's day is described in today's posts over at Mom's Daily Tests and Meds postings for today, primarily the Breakfast Stat post.
I'm not at all disappointed with today, even though I was looking forward to another day of movement for Mom. It's been awhile, though, since she's gotten out. Once I realized that she was going to need some recuperative space I was okay with this.
I made sure I acquired several spirit lifting treats for her and Costco cooperated: I was able to find another light, cable knit sweater shirt in brown in her size, the only one, which I snatched. She'd mentioned, when I told her about the set of Joan Crawford movies, that she'd like to pick up a set so I did. I noticed there were some very light weight fleece pullover sweaters with hoods that I thought she'd appreciate so I picked up two of those. She was thrilled. Lastly, as I was heading for the check-out I noticed the flower stand and decided, yes, that's what she needs, flowers all over the house. I purchased a two dozen bunch of extraordinary cream colored roses and a large bunch of colorful varietals featuring orange, purple, light yellow and rust to highlight the roses. By the time breakfast was over I had distributed the flowers, broken into three arrangements, throughout the main rooms of the house with the largest arrangement situated close to her rocker area in the living room. She touched and commented on them all day.
Knowing that she was going to be fairly immobile for the day I suggested a "movie day" which I expected to feature the Joan Crawford set. We watched The Women, a movie both of us have seen and enjoyed, especially poking extra fun at the already heightened satire in the film and admiring the clothes. For some reason, though, it didn't do much for Mom today. Luckily, the first season of Roseanne, which I'd ordered a little over a week ago, arrived this afternoon. This was exactly what the avocational doctor ordered. Aside from the fact that we both enjoy the show without end (except for much of the last season), she was ready for some laugh-out-loud family comedy. She mentioned after the first episode, "That's what family life is really like." From that point on (we watched all of the first disc and half of the second) we talked about our own family in comparison with each episode and decided that "real", "enjoyable" families are families that operate out of "controlled chaos". All quotes except the last are my mother's. I provided the last when she was looking for "the right descriptive phrase".
Something peculiar has been happening to me lately that I want to mention, just to see how long the phenomenon lasts. For the last more than a couple nights, four that I can remember but I think it's been going on longer, about 10 minutes after my mother retires, while her light is still on and she's still reading, I've thought I heard her voice calling me and headed into her room to see what what she needs. Each night when I enter her room she's been peacefully involved in her book. Before I ask her if she called out for me I know that she hasn't. The voice I hear sounds far away but clear and is faintly recognizable as my name. Tonight when I entered and asked if she called for me she said, "You've been doing this a lot lately. Are you worried about something?"
Good question. I don't know. I joked with her and said it's either my "guilty conscience" or "the devil" calling me. I don't have any idea why I'm doing this to myself. It doesn't seem as though I'm overly concerned about my mother's and my life at the moment. If anything I feel unusually secure and upbeat about our conjoined lives, much more accepting of all sorts of circumstances than I've felt for a long time.
Oh well. We'll see what develops. Maybe I'll discover its source. Maybe the source isn't me. Maybe the call will stop without me ever having solved the mystery, whether it's internal or external. Just thought I'd mention it, primarily for my reference.
I think I'll do a little more TOC cataloguing before I retire.
Later.
I'm not at all disappointed with today, even though I was looking forward to another day of movement for Mom. It's been awhile, though, since she's gotten out. Once I realized that she was going to need some recuperative space I was okay with this.
I made sure I acquired several spirit lifting treats for her and Costco cooperated: I was able to find another light, cable knit sweater shirt in brown in her size, the only one, which I snatched. She'd mentioned, when I told her about the set of Joan Crawford movies, that she'd like to pick up a set so I did. I noticed there were some very light weight fleece pullover sweaters with hoods that I thought she'd appreciate so I picked up two of those. She was thrilled. Lastly, as I was heading for the check-out I noticed the flower stand and decided, yes, that's what she needs, flowers all over the house. I purchased a two dozen bunch of extraordinary cream colored roses and a large bunch of colorful varietals featuring orange, purple, light yellow and rust to highlight the roses. By the time breakfast was over I had distributed the flowers, broken into three arrangements, throughout the main rooms of the house with the largest arrangement situated close to her rocker area in the living room. She touched and commented on them all day.
Knowing that she was going to be fairly immobile for the day I suggested a "movie day" which I expected to feature the Joan Crawford set. We watched The Women, a movie both of us have seen and enjoyed, especially poking extra fun at the already heightened satire in the film and admiring the clothes. For some reason, though, it didn't do much for Mom today. Luckily, the first season of Roseanne, which I'd ordered a little over a week ago, arrived this afternoon. This was exactly what the avocational doctor ordered. Aside from the fact that we both enjoy the show without end (except for much of the last season), she was ready for some laugh-out-loud family comedy. She mentioned after the first episode, "That's what family life is really like." From that point on (we watched all of the first disc and half of the second) we talked about our own family in comparison with each episode and decided that "real", "enjoyable" families are families that operate out of "controlled chaos". All quotes except the last are my mother's. I provided the last when she was looking for "the right descriptive phrase".
Something peculiar has been happening to me lately that I want to mention, just to see how long the phenomenon lasts. For the last more than a couple nights, four that I can remember but I think it's been going on longer, about 10 minutes after my mother retires, while her light is still on and she's still reading, I've thought I heard her voice calling me and headed into her room to see what what she needs. Each night when I enter her room she's been peacefully involved in her book. Before I ask her if she called out for me I know that she hasn't. The voice I hear sounds far away but clear and is faintly recognizable as my name. Tonight when I entered and asked if she called for me she said, "You've been doing this a lot lately. Are you worried about something?"
Good question. I don't know. I joked with her and said it's either my "guilty conscience" or "the devil" calling me. I don't have any idea why I'm doing this to myself. It doesn't seem as though I'm overly concerned about my mother's and my life at the moment. If anything I feel unusually secure and upbeat about our conjoined lives, much more accepting of all sorts of circumstances than I've felt for a long time.
Oh well. We'll see what develops. Maybe I'll discover its source. Maybe the source isn't me. Maybe the call will stop without me ever having solved the mystery, whether it's internal or external. Just thought I'd mention it, primarily for my reference.
I think I'll do a little more TOC cataloguing before I retire.
Later.
Monday, September 12, 2005
Don't ask me how or why...
...but we got her moving today. She walkered around the grocery on a short trip and did pretty well. Here's a description of our sojourn. She did well. Applause, please.
There's a funny little sugar vignette from last night over at the daily tests site, too, that might interest you.
I ordered a spoken dvd of The King James version of the Christian Bible for us. She's always been thoughtful and contemplative about religion, specifically hers, which is Methodist Christianity. A couple of her ancestors were Methodist ministers: One a fire and brimstone circuit rider; his son, a milder, Victorian-type Methodist minister. One of her aunts was a deaconess. She has taken every opportunity throughout her life to study Christian scripture, scripture of other religions and spirituality in general. She considers herself, without doubt, a Christian but waffles on such fundamental Christian beliefs as the divinity of Christ, original sin and the necessity of believing that Jesus was "the Son of God". A few months ago, since I also like to ponder religion, spirituality and scripture, it occurred to me that we might enjoy going through the Christian Bible together. I wasn't sure that reading and discussing would be the way but when I saw an advertisement for this DVD I thought it would be worth a try. I was more than right. It arrived today and we're on the 23rd chapter of Genesis. Although I expected discussion I'm surprised at how alive and lively this presentation has rendered my mother. Once she understood that the DVD could be stopped and picked-up where we left off, she initiated regular stop-for-discussion breaks which I now initiate, too. Our plan is: Little by little we'll go through the whole Christian bible. Both she and I have read the entire Christian bible at least once. We have several books and reference materials laying around specific to these scriptures, including comparative texts involving the other Abrahamic religions. We're making plans for a trip to the shed to find some of this material so we'll have it handy for further discussion. I'm so pleased I thought of this.
Today we had an interesting episode which I introduced in today's Breakfast Stat review over at the Mom's Daily Tests & Meds site. She forgot that Dad, my dad, was dead. We spent a good hour reviewing everything I knew about his illness and death including all events throughout his life that led up to it. We talked about the little we knew about his family history that might have lead him to his particular death: Emotional atmospheres inherited and taught; how his brothers and sisters appeared to have reacted to these; why of all five of the siblings only one, his older sister (the oldest of all of them) rejected the emotional atmospheres that caused all the others to die when they were in their 60s, thus she lived into her 80s. This led to a detailed discussion of Mom's siblings and speculation about why both of them chose behaviors that fairly guaranteed early (for my mother's family), difficult deaths. I think discussions like these allow Mom to ponder the possibilities inherent in her own death and allow her to consider the inevitability of her death from an objective position she prefers which keeps her death figuratively, and probably literally, at bay. I'm pleased to do this for her. I think, although she would probably deny it, that she may have felt closer to death a few times in the last two years than she is comfortable feeling and needs some space and company to work out her ambivalence and wrestle with her sense of her own immortality (that's right, immortality; my mother continues to not believe in her own death). Maybe this is why the subject comes up so much through the strategy of forgetting the deaths of loved ones and having to be reminded, thus allowing her, once again, to talk about death from a comfortable remove.
There's something I've been meaning to mention, too: A conversation we had a couple of days ago. Prior to her nap when she was sitting on her bed, I was, once again, delivering mild harrassment regarding her lack of moving. At one point I started sobbing, I couldn't help myself, and told her the reason I couldn't let the subject go was because I was afraid that if she lost the use of her legs and became severely disabled I wouldn't have the ability to take care of her and I didn't want this to happen.
She gazed at me through a haze of pure beatitude and said, "Don't worry, Gail, you'll always be able to take care of me. Nothing will happen to me that you can't handle."
It was as though a powerful god had spoken these words to me through her. I believe her and am much calmed through this belief. I'm not worried anymore about any further disabilities that may afflict her. Not that I believe they won't happen. What I now believe is that if they do I'll be able to handle them because she knows I will. She's correct: I have an uncanny knack for rising to the occasion. She has a right to believe that I will continue to do so on her behalf from now to her death because, well, because I have and I will.
I think the confidence that underlies competent caregiving is a product of the relationship between the caregiver and the one receiving care. Lucky am I that my mother's and my relationship in these days inspires confidence in both of us.
There's a funny little sugar vignette from last night over at the daily tests site, too, that might interest you.
I ordered a spoken dvd of The King James version of the Christian Bible for us. She's always been thoughtful and contemplative about religion, specifically hers, which is Methodist Christianity. A couple of her ancestors were Methodist ministers: One a fire and brimstone circuit rider; his son, a milder, Victorian-type Methodist minister. One of her aunts was a deaconess. She has taken every opportunity throughout her life to study Christian scripture, scripture of other religions and spirituality in general. She considers herself, without doubt, a Christian but waffles on such fundamental Christian beliefs as the divinity of Christ, original sin and the necessity of believing that Jesus was "the Son of God". A few months ago, since I also like to ponder religion, spirituality and scripture, it occurred to me that we might enjoy going through the Christian Bible together. I wasn't sure that reading and discussing would be the way but when I saw an advertisement for this DVD I thought it would be worth a try. I was more than right. It arrived today and we're on the 23rd chapter of Genesis. Although I expected discussion I'm surprised at how alive and lively this presentation has rendered my mother. Once she understood that the DVD could be stopped and picked-up where we left off, she initiated regular stop-for-discussion breaks which I now initiate, too. Our plan is: Little by little we'll go through the whole Christian bible. Both she and I have read the entire Christian bible at least once. We have several books and reference materials laying around specific to these scriptures, including comparative texts involving the other Abrahamic religions. We're making plans for a trip to the shed to find some of this material so we'll have it handy for further discussion. I'm so pleased I thought of this.
Today we had an interesting episode which I introduced in today's Breakfast Stat review over at the Mom's Daily Tests & Meds site. She forgot that Dad, my dad, was dead. We spent a good hour reviewing everything I knew about his illness and death including all events throughout his life that led up to it. We talked about the little we knew about his family history that might have lead him to his particular death: Emotional atmospheres inherited and taught; how his brothers and sisters appeared to have reacted to these; why of all five of the siblings only one, his older sister (the oldest of all of them) rejected the emotional atmospheres that caused all the others to die when they were in their 60s, thus she lived into her 80s. This led to a detailed discussion of Mom's siblings and speculation about why both of them chose behaviors that fairly guaranteed early (for my mother's family), difficult deaths. I think discussions like these allow Mom to ponder the possibilities inherent in her own death and allow her to consider the inevitability of her death from an objective position she prefers which keeps her death figuratively, and probably literally, at bay. I'm pleased to do this for her. I think, although she would probably deny it, that she may have felt closer to death a few times in the last two years than she is comfortable feeling and needs some space and company to work out her ambivalence and wrestle with her sense of her own immortality (that's right, immortality; my mother continues to not believe in her own death). Maybe this is why the subject comes up so much through the strategy of forgetting the deaths of loved ones and having to be reminded, thus allowing her, once again, to talk about death from a comfortable remove.
There's something I've been meaning to mention, too: A conversation we had a couple of days ago. Prior to her nap when she was sitting on her bed, I was, once again, delivering mild harrassment regarding her lack of moving. At one point I started sobbing, I couldn't help myself, and told her the reason I couldn't let the subject go was because I was afraid that if she lost the use of her legs and became severely disabled I wouldn't have the ability to take care of her and I didn't want this to happen.
She gazed at me through a haze of pure beatitude and said, "Don't worry, Gail, you'll always be able to take care of me. Nothing will happen to me that you can't handle."
It was as though a powerful god had spoken these words to me through her. I believe her and am much calmed through this belief. I'm not worried anymore about any further disabilities that may afflict her. Not that I believe they won't happen. What I now believe is that if they do I'll be able to handle them because she knows I will. She's correct: I have an uncanny knack for rising to the occasion. She has a right to believe that I will continue to do so on her behalf from now to her death because, well, because I have and I will.
I think the confidence that underlies competent caregiving is a product of the relationship between the caregiver and the one receiving care. Lucky am I that my mother's and my relationship in these days inspires confidence in both of us.
Sunday, September 11, 2005
It occurred to me today...
...that when my mother calls me "mother" she isn't referring to thinking that I am actually her mother but to the relationship we now have wherein I take care of her with the intensity that a mother takes care of an infant, toddler and child. This isn't to say that caregiving to an Ancient One is anything like caring for a child. I think, though, in this culture and some others, because the primary caregiver in a family is always the "mother", this condition sticks in our subconscious. When someone, later in our lives, ministers intense care to us we can't help, from out of our sub- and unconscious, but equate that person with "mother". Thus, when we are Ancient and our under-conscious states are closer to the hand of our conscious states, we are apt to refer to those who are taking intense care of us as "mother". A shame, really, that in this society we aren't just as apt to refer to an intense caregiver as "father", or "daughter" or "son", "child", even, "aunt" or "uncle" or "nephew"...
It is well to remember that our under-consciousness states are not influenced and shaped only by Nature but by Culture, which is a large part of our Nature as humans. Humanity has proven repeatedly that primary caregiving of fellow humans at any stage of life need not be administered by only one person, nor only women, nor only mothers in the case of children, nor only daughters in the case of caregivers to Ancient Ones. It would be interesting to launch a comparative cross cultural study of what Ancient Ones who are in various phases of creative mentality call their caregivers when they are practicing what we, the 'undemented', refer to as "mistaken identity". In certain Asian cultures, for instance, wherein it is assumed that daughters-in-law will take care of one when one is Ancient: When someone other than a daughter-in-law takes on a caregiving role to an Ancient relative, what would that Ancient One, when in the depths of "mistaking" identities (or, perhaps, correctly identifying relationships) autonomically call the caregiver?
Food for thought...
It is well to remember that our under-consciousness states are not influenced and shaped only by Nature but by Culture, which is a large part of our Nature as humans. Humanity has proven repeatedly that primary caregiving of fellow humans at any stage of life need not be administered by only one person, nor only women, nor only mothers in the case of children, nor only daughters in the case of caregivers to Ancient Ones. It would be interesting to launch a comparative cross cultural study of what Ancient Ones who are in various phases of creative mentality call their caregivers when they are practicing what we, the 'undemented', refer to as "mistaken identity". In certain Asian cultures, for instance, wherein it is assumed that daughters-in-law will take care of one when one is Ancient: When someone other than a daughter-in-law takes on a caregiving role to an Ancient relative, what would that Ancient One, when in the depths of "mistaking" identities (or, perhaps, correctly identifying relationships) autonomically call the caregiver?
Food for thought...
"It disgusts me!"
After retiring around midnight, Mom was up again around 0100, somewhat disconcerted and agitated. I met her in the bathroom (I am super tuned to hearing her move around after she's retired). "Is your stomach bothering you?" I asked.
"No," she said, "but I haven't been to sleep. I've got the visit on my mind."
I assumed she was referring to MCS's & MCBIL's upcoming visit in October. We've been talking about this a lot. She's so excited about it she hasn't forgotton it.
"No, I know all about that," she corrected. "I'm wondering about the letter I got a few days ago. The one about the folks coming. Where are we going to put them? And, are the men coming?"
I immediately understood that she was talking about her folks. It sounded, as well, as though she was talking about not only her parents but her sister, brother and their families. I guessed that she was harkening back to a former family reunion that probably took place before I was a gleam in her eye. Just to make sure, I queried her about who she expects to visit.
"Everyone," she said. "Your folks, my folks..."
"Well Mom," I said, thinking this was one of those flights of fancy about which I should correct her, "You're my folk, you're my mom and you're already here. My father, you're husband, is dead, so I don't think he'll be visiting."
She sneered at me. "Well, I know that. But there are my folks, you know, and everyone else. I know DU is dead too, but what about the other folks? And the other men?"
Ahhh, I realized. We're in the Partially Not Dead Zone. I've lately discovered that there is more than one Not Dead Zone. In one of these zones those with whom she's had somewhat difficult and often volatile relationships, which are surprisingly few, remain dead but those with whom she's had delightful relationships which engender longing within her for their continued presence are alive. I satisfied myself that further correction was definitely necessary at this time.
"I'll tell you what, Mom. Why don't you come out into the living room, I'll heat up some water for coffee for you and we'll discuss all this."
"That's a good idea. I need to get this straight in my mind."
Once we were settled I pulled out the Who's Dead sheet and began the Litany of the Deceased. As usual, she was stunned that so many were "gone" and that among her immediate, born into family she was "the only one left". I corrected her memory of receiving a recent letter about an upcoming visit and suggested that she may be confusing this with MCS's and MCBIL's impending visit. I joked with her a little about "the men" thing in order to establish a humorous connection between her concern about "the men" and her mother's deep-into-dementia concern about "where are the men", taking care to point out that although the similarities are interesting, Mom is nowhere near Grandma's descent into The Land of Dementia and likely won't be following Grandma's path.
This episode of Dead Zone phasing surprised me a bit. Earlier yesterday she initiated a conversation about how sorry she was that her sister and brother had died so early in her life. We talked about how long it had been, how old they were when they died and how and why they died. She was pretty much on the money about all these details.
I decided to do a little out loud speculation with her. "You know Mom," I began, "I think your memory phasing must happen more frequently when you're tired. Earlier today you had no trouble remembering that a lot of people had died. Now, tonight, while you were settling into sleep, all these people are alive again and coming to visit." Although I didn't mention it, I wondered if this episode was also connected to us watching, immediately previous to her retiring, part of the movie Dead Again.
She flashed me a startled look of recognition. "I believe you may be right," she said, "but I wish I could remember these things all the time."
I found myself switching tracks. "What difference does it make?" I asked. "You remember what you need to rememeber. I'm here to remind you of those things you don't remember but which would clear up confusion for you if you did remember them. I mean, let's face it. You're functional within your life. I'm here to help you negotiate the areas that are a little hazy for you. The truth is, sometimes it doesn't matter whether you remember who's dead and who's not. Are you afraid of your creative memory?"
"I like the way you put that, 'creative'," she said.
"Well, I don't see any reason to call it "failing". I mean, the stuff you forget is usually stuff that is window dressing."
"Usually," she repeated.
I decided to be completely up front. I'm here. She can take it. "Yeah, well, you know, very occasionally, like during your colonoscopy, you don't remember where you are are what's being done to you. That type of short term memory loss can cause problems which is one of the reasons I don't allow you to be victimized by those types of procedures anymore. But for the most part you know where you are. Even if you don't remember some people when you're not in their presence, your history with them floods back when you are and you remember all your significant relatives whether or not you remember that they're dead. As far as daily routines are concerned, I'm here to remind you of those and I don't have a problem with you not remembering the unpleasant ones, like me cleaning you after a bowel movement. So, you know, don't worry about your creative memory. It's not a problem, for you or for me."
Her face was screwed up with some kind of difficulty.
"What's wrong, Mom?"
"It disgusts me!" She spit the verb out like it was sawdust.
"Whoa! Why does it disgust you?"
"I should be able to remember those things, who's dead, who's not..."
I took curious note that she didn't include, "...why you clean me after bowel movements..."
"Okay," I said, "tell me why you 'should' remember those things."
She considered this for some minutes. "Well, I don't know, it just seems as though I should."
"Mom," I said, "let me tell you something. Despite all the propaganda, very, very few people your age have memories that are as sharp and clear as when they were in their 60's or 40's or 20's. I always find it disconcerting when people describe Ancients in their nineties or early hundreds as 'sharp as a tack'. People used to say that about Grandpa [my mother's Dad] when he was in his nineties. You know what I remember? Yes, he mostly knew where he was and, yes, he remembered who people were but he didn't remember to do the business of his and Grandma's life, which is why they were moved in with your sister's family. Neither did Grandma. He had to be reminded of daily things just like you. He told the same stories over and over and over and it often seemed to me as though he was telling them as though they'd just happened. You know what else I remember? He didn't care.
"The one area he did usually remember is who was dead and who wasn't. But you know what? Dwelling on that is one of the things that took him out. Remember when he died? One of his regular litanies was that 'everyone was gone'. Everyone wasn't gone. Grandma was alive and fairly functional. Children and grandchildren were alive and vibrant. He was still chatting up anyone who would listen and usually people listened because, you know, when Grandpa spoke, people listened. What he was mourning was that all his peers are gone. Well, I say, so what? If some people are gone then you look around to see who's left. Grandpa didn't do that. He might have lived to be a hundred if he had. I'm not saying that one 'should' or 'shouldn't' dwell on one thing or another. And, you know, maybe one of the signals that one is close to death is that a person begins to mourn those who aren't around anymore; maybe it's natural and is 'supposed' [I drew quotation marks in the air] to happen. What I'm saying is that you, personally, are probably better off because you remember the dead as being alive. Your dreams are full of happy times and treasured relationships. So are your memories. Don't grieve what you can't control about your memory. Be glad that your memory isn't yet turning dour like Grandpa's. Knowing you, it probably never will. You're lucky. You've got very pleasant, very in the moment memories of your life. Celebrate that. Don't let all those 'shoulds' spoil your pleasure or your life."
She listened intently to me. "I think you've got something there."
Both of us were silent while she continued to consider what I'd said. She finalized our conversation thus: "Well, I still want to go over that list [The Dead Zone list] tomorrow."
"Okay," I said. "Not a problem. It's right here. We'll go over it tomorrow."
And, we will.
If she remembers.
[NOTE 1: Of course, as always, assume that we both said the gist of everything I recorded above but that quite a bit of it is paraphrased. Understand, it's a memory problem...
NOTE 2: She finally went back to bed around 0115. I'm going to allow a late rising this morning, er, afternoon. Talk about creative memory; what about creative days!?!]
"No," she said, "but I haven't been to sleep. I've got the visit on my mind."
I assumed she was referring to MCS's & MCBIL's upcoming visit in October. We've been talking about this a lot. She's so excited about it she hasn't forgotton it.
"No, I know all about that," she corrected. "I'm wondering about the letter I got a few days ago. The one about the folks coming. Where are we going to put them? And, are the men coming?"
I immediately understood that she was talking about her folks. It sounded, as well, as though she was talking about not only her parents but her sister, brother and their families. I guessed that she was harkening back to a former family reunion that probably took place before I was a gleam in her eye. Just to make sure, I queried her about who she expects to visit.
"Everyone," she said. "Your folks, my folks..."
"Well Mom," I said, thinking this was one of those flights of fancy about which I should correct her, "You're my folk, you're my mom and you're already here. My father, you're husband, is dead, so I don't think he'll be visiting."
She sneered at me. "Well, I know that. But there are my folks, you know, and everyone else. I know DU is dead too, but what about the other folks? And the other men?"
Ahhh, I realized. We're in the Partially Not Dead Zone. I've lately discovered that there is more than one Not Dead Zone. In one of these zones those with whom she's had somewhat difficult and often volatile relationships, which are surprisingly few, remain dead but those with whom she's had delightful relationships which engender longing within her for their continued presence are alive. I satisfied myself that further correction was definitely necessary at this time.
"I'll tell you what, Mom. Why don't you come out into the living room, I'll heat up some water for coffee for you and we'll discuss all this."
"That's a good idea. I need to get this straight in my mind."
Once we were settled I pulled out the Who's Dead sheet and began the Litany of the Deceased. As usual, she was stunned that so many were "gone" and that among her immediate, born into family she was "the only one left". I corrected her memory of receiving a recent letter about an upcoming visit and suggested that she may be confusing this with MCS's and MCBIL's impending visit. I joked with her a little about "the men" thing in order to establish a humorous connection between her concern about "the men" and her mother's deep-into-dementia concern about "where are the men", taking care to point out that although the similarities are interesting, Mom is nowhere near Grandma's descent into The Land of Dementia and likely won't be following Grandma's path.
This episode of Dead Zone phasing surprised me a bit. Earlier yesterday she initiated a conversation about how sorry she was that her sister and brother had died so early in her life. We talked about how long it had been, how old they were when they died and how and why they died. She was pretty much on the money about all these details.
I decided to do a little out loud speculation with her. "You know Mom," I began, "I think your memory phasing must happen more frequently when you're tired. Earlier today you had no trouble remembering that a lot of people had died. Now, tonight, while you were settling into sleep, all these people are alive again and coming to visit." Although I didn't mention it, I wondered if this episode was also connected to us watching, immediately previous to her retiring, part of the movie Dead Again.
She flashed me a startled look of recognition. "I believe you may be right," she said, "but I wish I could remember these things all the time."
I found myself switching tracks. "What difference does it make?" I asked. "You remember what you need to rememeber. I'm here to remind you of those things you don't remember but which would clear up confusion for you if you did remember them. I mean, let's face it. You're functional within your life. I'm here to help you negotiate the areas that are a little hazy for you. The truth is, sometimes it doesn't matter whether you remember who's dead and who's not. Are you afraid of your creative memory?"
"I like the way you put that, 'creative'," she said.
"Well, I don't see any reason to call it "failing". I mean, the stuff you forget is usually stuff that is window dressing."
"Usually," she repeated.
I decided to be completely up front. I'm here. She can take it. "Yeah, well, you know, very occasionally, like during your colonoscopy, you don't remember where you are are what's being done to you. That type of short term memory loss can cause problems which is one of the reasons I don't allow you to be victimized by those types of procedures anymore. But for the most part you know where you are. Even if you don't remember some people when you're not in their presence, your history with them floods back when you are and you remember all your significant relatives whether or not you remember that they're dead. As far as daily routines are concerned, I'm here to remind you of those and I don't have a problem with you not remembering the unpleasant ones, like me cleaning you after a bowel movement. So, you know, don't worry about your creative memory. It's not a problem, for you or for me."
Her face was screwed up with some kind of difficulty.
"What's wrong, Mom?"
"It disgusts me!" She spit the verb out like it was sawdust.
"Whoa! Why does it disgust you?"
"I should be able to remember those things, who's dead, who's not..."
I took curious note that she didn't include, "...why you clean me after bowel movements..."
"Okay," I said, "tell me why you 'should' remember those things."
She considered this for some minutes. "Well, I don't know, it just seems as though I should."
"Mom," I said, "let me tell you something. Despite all the propaganda, very, very few people your age have memories that are as sharp and clear as when they were in their 60's or 40's or 20's. I always find it disconcerting when people describe Ancients in their nineties or early hundreds as 'sharp as a tack'. People used to say that about Grandpa [my mother's Dad] when he was in his nineties. You know what I remember? Yes, he mostly knew where he was and, yes, he remembered who people were but he didn't remember to do the business of his and Grandma's life, which is why they were moved in with your sister's family. Neither did Grandma. He had to be reminded of daily things just like you. He told the same stories over and over and over and it often seemed to me as though he was telling them as though they'd just happened. You know what else I remember? He didn't care.
"The one area he did usually remember is who was dead and who wasn't. But you know what? Dwelling on that is one of the things that took him out. Remember when he died? One of his regular litanies was that 'everyone was gone'. Everyone wasn't gone. Grandma was alive and fairly functional. Children and grandchildren were alive and vibrant. He was still chatting up anyone who would listen and usually people listened because, you know, when Grandpa spoke, people listened. What he was mourning was that all his peers are gone. Well, I say, so what? If some people are gone then you look around to see who's left. Grandpa didn't do that. He might have lived to be a hundred if he had. I'm not saying that one 'should' or 'shouldn't' dwell on one thing or another. And, you know, maybe one of the signals that one is close to death is that a person begins to mourn those who aren't around anymore; maybe it's natural and is 'supposed' [I drew quotation marks in the air] to happen. What I'm saying is that you, personally, are probably better off because you remember the dead as being alive. Your dreams are full of happy times and treasured relationships. So are your memories. Don't grieve what you can't control about your memory. Be glad that your memory isn't yet turning dour like Grandpa's. Knowing you, it probably never will. You're lucky. You've got very pleasant, very in the moment memories of your life. Celebrate that. Don't let all those 'shoulds' spoil your pleasure or your life."
She listened intently to me. "I think you've got something there."
Both of us were silent while she continued to consider what I'd said. She finalized our conversation thus: "Well, I still want to go over that list [The Dead Zone list] tomorrow."
"Okay," I said. "Not a problem. It's right here. We'll go over it tomorrow."
And, we will.
If she remembers.
[NOTE 1: Of course, as always, assume that we both said the gist of everything I recorded above but that quite a bit of it is paraphrased. Understand, it's a memory problem...
NOTE 2: She finally went back to bed around 0115. I'm going to allow a late rising this morning, er, afternoon. Talk about creative memory; what about creative days!?!]
