Saturday, November 19, 2005
I'm catching up to myself.
I'm speaking of the cataloguing of links for the dynamic index. I'm halfway through August of this year and it's going pretty fast, now. I imagine I'll be able to start dynamizing the index and setting up a page for it within a few weeks. I'm not going to read through the rest of the journals that might contain material that should be indexed until I've set up the Table of Contents for the main journals.
For the last several months I've moved my "bed" (which exists in a variety of disguises depending on which futon I'm using or where I'm sleeping) in front of the back Arcadia door, between it and my bedroom door. This allows me complete hearing access to the hall so that I can hear Mom get up in the middle of the night or, if necessary, hear any unusual sounds in her room. As my mother headed down the hall for her nap, today, she stopped just before her door, gazed into my bedroom and asked, "Your bed looks soooo comfortable! May I take my nap on it this afternoon?"
My bed is as comfortable as it looks. It's probably the most comfortable bed in the universe. It's current base is a single futon. That is covered by a full feather bed. I sleep under a winter-strength down comforter. Above this is a thick, king size Italian wool spread with which one of my sisters gifted me. Over this, for the convenience of The Little Girl and because it is a family heirloom, I've thrown a thin, odd-sized chenille spread that came to us from my father's side of the family in North Carolina. It apparently belonged to my fraternal grandmother and was sent to us as a keepsake some 20 years after she died, when they finally cleaned out her attic and sold her home and land. My head is cradled and my hands are warmed by five down pillows I've collected throughout my life, one of them having been owned by my favorite maternal uncle's wife. Another I've had since Guam. One of the pillow cases I use was one my father used when he was bedridden before his death. The entire production of my bed is deliberate, warm and wraps me in family when I sleep.
My mother knows all this but most of the information she phased out long ago. So, I assured her that my bed is, indeed, the ultimate in comfort. I recited the history of my bedding. Then, although I would have loved to have let her sleep in it, I denied her request.
"Mom," I said, with regret hanging off each syllable of what I said," I'd love to let you sleep there. I won't be using it for a nap. But if you lay down at floor level, even though under duress we've seen that I can pick you up off the floor, that's always been a hard floor. I'm not sure I could do it with you in a prone position and a squishy bed underneath my feet. I certainly wouldn't want to pay paramedics just to get you up after your nap."
I had another concern that I didn't voice: I don't want my bedding soaked with urine that I'd have to try to get out, leaving me without my essential bed this evening. I could protect the feather bed with a plastic sheet (which steal some of it's fundamental comfort from my mother's napping experience) but we haven't the utilities to protect everything else.
I probably should have felt miserly and selfish by refusing her, but I didn't. I did, however, suggest that we purchase a single feather bed for her mattress. I also reminded her that she sleeps with down comforters (which are much defeathered from constant washing but still serviceable) and a superior down pillow, so her bed comfort is fairly close to mine.
She sighed. "I know," she said, "but you're bed looks like a nest."
I laughed. "It is a nest, Mom, my ultimate nest. I got my love of sleep from you, remember. A bed nest is important to people like us. With an addition here and there, we can make yours into your ultimate nest, too."
She laughed. "Bless you child," she said.
One last curious episode today: Within the year or so (maybe a bit less) I've noticed that when I am gone from the room she's in (while she's awake) and sometimes when I'm out of eye-shot of her she begins to look for me. Thus, I try to cross her line of vision frequently if I'm moving around and if I'm not I make sure I am at least in her peripheral vision within the room she's in.
Tonight, dinner preparations occupied me for almost 45 minutes in the kitchen while Mom watched television in the living room. I tried to pop in and out of the living room frequently but this didn't always work. When I finally slipped our dinner concoction into the oven and headed back into the living room, Mom met me on the steps heading into the kitchen to look for...well, that's the mystery.
As soon as she saw me and registered my physical detail she said, "Where's G..."
I think she stumbled over the "G" because, although it was a little late in coming, she figured out that I was who she was looking for.
Later, though, while we were eating dinner side by side in the living room and discussing that we would probably finish "the book" tonight, she suddenly looked at me squarely and said, "When is..." she couldn't find the name but she gamely continued, "...oh, you know who I mean, when is she getting home?"
On a hunch I said, "You mean Gail?"
Everything about her told me she was going to say, "Yes", but then she paused, looked me in the eye and said, "No, you're Gail."
"You mean MPS?"
"No..."
"MCS?"
"No..."
"MFS?"
"That's not it, either..."
"Dad?"
At this she gave me that "Oh, come on!" look.
"Well, Mom, I give up. You and The Little Girl and I are the only ones who live here."
"I suppose you're right..."
Which means, "I'm sure you're wrong..."
We dropped it, but then I suddenly remembered a bit of conversation from earlier today when we were bathing her. I don't remember what we were talking about but at a certain point I jokingly said to her, "...and you're my mother."
At which she replied, not jokingly but as though she was reciting a long remembered phrase, "...and you're my mother."
I didn't catch it or question it at the time. Didn't even think about it. But, after the two almost-relationship-phasing incidents later today it occurred to me that, perhaps, most of the time now, I am her mother. Not her mother from long ago, but her mother now.
Weird. And cool. I guess sometimes ultra-identification happens within Ancient Ones so smoothly that it goes unrecognized for long periods of time. It won't change anything between us, since my guess is my current identity is an established reality with her, now. It's just nice for me to know. It explains things.
Early, early morning. Time for bed.
Later.
For the last several months I've moved my "bed" (which exists in a variety of disguises depending on which futon I'm using or where I'm sleeping) in front of the back Arcadia door, between it and my bedroom door. This allows me complete hearing access to the hall so that I can hear Mom get up in the middle of the night or, if necessary, hear any unusual sounds in her room. As my mother headed down the hall for her nap, today, she stopped just before her door, gazed into my bedroom and asked, "Your bed looks soooo comfortable! May I take my nap on it this afternoon?"
My bed is as comfortable as it looks. It's probably the most comfortable bed in the universe. It's current base is a single futon. That is covered by a full feather bed. I sleep under a winter-strength down comforter. Above this is a thick, king size Italian wool spread with which one of my sisters gifted me. Over this, for the convenience of The Little Girl and because it is a family heirloom, I've thrown a thin, odd-sized chenille spread that came to us from my father's side of the family in North Carolina. It apparently belonged to my fraternal grandmother and was sent to us as a keepsake some 20 years after she died, when they finally cleaned out her attic and sold her home and land. My head is cradled and my hands are warmed by five down pillows I've collected throughout my life, one of them having been owned by my favorite maternal uncle's wife. Another I've had since Guam. One of the pillow cases I use was one my father used when he was bedridden before his death. The entire production of my bed is deliberate, warm and wraps me in family when I sleep.
My mother knows all this but most of the information she phased out long ago. So, I assured her that my bed is, indeed, the ultimate in comfort. I recited the history of my bedding. Then, although I would have loved to have let her sleep in it, I denied her request.
"Mom," I said, with regret hanging off each syllable of what I said," I'd love to let you sleep there. I won't be using it for a nap. But if you lay down at floor level, even though under duress we've seen that I can pick you up off the floor, that's always been a hard floor. I'm not sure I could do it with you in a prone position and a squishy bed underneath my feet. I certainly wouldn't want to pay paramedics just to get you up after your nap."
I had another concern that I didn't voice: I don't want my bedding soaked with urine that I'd have to try to get out, leaving me without my essential bed this evening. I could protect the feather bed with a plastic sheet (which steal some of it's fundamental comfort from my mother's napping experience) but we haven't the utilities to protect everything else.
I probably should have felt miserly and selfish by refusing her, but I didn't. I did, however, suggest that we purchase a single feather bed for her mattress. I also reminded her that she sleeps with down comforters (which are much defeathered from constant washing but still serviceable) and a superior down pillow, so her bed comfort is fairly close to mine.
She sighed. "I know," she said, "but you're bed looks like a nest."
I laughed. "It is a nest, Mom, my ultimate nest. I got my love of sleep from you, remember. A bed nest is important to people like us. With an addition here and there, we can make yours into your ultimate nest, too."
She laughed. "Bless you child," she said.
One last curious episode today: Within the year or so (maybe a bit less) I've noticed that when I am gone from the room she's in (while she's awake) and sometimes when I'm out of eye-shot of her she begins to look for me. Thus, I try to cross her line of vision frequently if I'm moving around and if I'm not I make sure I am at least in her peripheral vision within the room she's in.
Tonight, dinner preparations occupied me for almost 45 minutes in the kitchen while Mom watched television in the living room. I tried to pop in and out of the living room frequently but this didn't always work. When I finally slipped our dinner concoction into the oven and headed back into the living room, Mom met me on the steps heading into the kitchen to look for...well, that's the mystery.
As soon as she saw me and registered my physical detail she said, "Where's G..."
I think she stumbled over the "G" because, although it was a little late in coming, she figured out that I was who she was looking for.
Later, though, while we were eating dinner side by side in the living room and discussing that we would probably finish "the book" tonight, she suddenly looked at me squarely and said, "When is..." she couldn't find the name but she gamely continued, "...oh, you know who I mean, when is she getting home?"
On a hunch I said, "You mean Gail?"
Everything about her told me she was going to say, "Yes", but then she paused, looked me in the eye and said, "No, you're Gail."
"You mean MPS?"
"No..."
"MCS?"
"No..."
"MFS?"
"That's not it, either..."
"Dad?"
At this she gave me that "Oh, come on!" look.
"Well, Mom, I give up. You and The Little Girl and I are the only ones who live here."
"I suppose you're right..."
Which means, "I'm sure you're wrong..."
We dropped it, but then I suddenly remembered a bit of conversation from earlier today when we were bathing her. I don't remember what we were talking about but at a certain point I jokingly said to her, "...and you're my mother."
At which she replied, not jokingly but as though she was reciting a long remembered phrase, "...and you're my mother."
I didn't catch it or question it at the time. Didn't even think about it. But, after the two almost-relationship-phasing incidents later today it occurred to me that, perhaps, most of the time now, I am her mother. Not her mother from long ago, but her mother now.
Weird. And cool. I guess sometimes ultra-identification happens within Ancient Ones so smoothly that it goes unrecognized for long periods of time. It won't change anything between us, since my guess is my current identity is an established reality with her, now. It's just nice for me to know. It explains things.
Early, early morning. Time for bed.
Later.
Friday, November 18, 2005
"My mother exists in Timelessness, now...
...and since I take care of her, so do I." Funny thing to say about a woman who always wears a watch and checks it several times a day. The desk clerk at the lab, when we went for Mom's blood draw today, noticed this and raised her eyebrows, questioning my explanation of why I was unsure of both the date and time of day (I don't wear a watch).
"That's not a watch," I elaborated, grinning. "That's a Time Transport Bracelet. If she needs to exist in time, all she has to do is look at it and she's instantly back in Time."
The lady laughed. "Well, if you ask me," she said, "living in Timelessness sounds pretty good."
"It is," I agreed. "I'm not looking forward to having to come back to The Timed Universe when she dies."
The lady patted my arm. "She looks good. I don't think you have to worry about that for awhile."
Speaking of time, for my own reference, her blood was drawn at 1335 this afternoon. CBC only. I should be able to pick up the results Monday, although I may check tomorrow, since the lab has Saturday hours, to see if their up.
Mom awoke on her own today at 1100. I think she was anticipating the blood draw. She was surprised that I suggested breakfast before the draw, but the CBC doesn't require that she fast. At the lab they didn't ask if she was fasting, for some peculiar reason. They usually do, whether a test requires it or not.
Mom enjoyed getting out and looking around but complained about "the cold". I probably should have swathed her in her coat but I didn't think of it. The air felt warm to me until we got to the lab. I shuddered a little at her pronouncement that it was cold. If she's noticing "the cold", she's probably considering the possibility of beginning her winter hibernation.
I'm heading over to enter stats.
Later.
"That's not a watch," I elaborated, grinning. "That's a Time Transport Bracelet. If she needs to exist in time, all she has to do is look at it and she's instantly back in Time."
The lady laughed. "Well, if you ask me," she said, "living in Timelessness sounds pretty good."
"It is," I agreed. "I'm not looking forward to having to come back to The Timed Universe when she dies."
The lady patted my arm. "She looks good. I don't think you have to worry about that for awhile."
Speaking of time, for my own reference, her blood was drawn at 1335 this afternoon. CBC only. I should be able to pick up the results Monday, although I may check tomorrow, since the lab has Saturday hours, to see if their up.
Mom awoke on her own today at 1100. I think she was anticipating the blood draw. She was surprised that I suggested breakfast before the draw, but the CBC doesn't require that she fast. At the lab they didn't ask if she was fasting, for some peculiar reason. They usually do, whether a test requires it or not.
Mom enjoyed getting out and looking around but complained about "the cold". I probably should have swathed her in her coat but I didn't think of it. The air felt warm to me until we got to the lab. I shuddered a little at her pronouncement that it was cold. If she's noticing "the cold", she's probably considering the possibility of beginning her winter hibernation.
I'm heading over to enter stats.
Later.
Thursday, November 17, 2005
"If you spring from the bed, tomorrow, like Athena springing from the forehead of Zeus...
...then we'll go have your blood drawn."
We've been going back and forth all evening on whether to have her blood drawn tomorrow. The problem started when I mentioned that I'd be awakening her around 0930, no later than 1000, anyway, so we wouldn't be postponing breakfast until 1600 or so. Mom understood. And she wants to get it over with. But, considering her arising habits of late, well, I'll let her tell it:
"Isn't 0930 still night time?!?"
So, maybe we'll have blood drawn tomorrow and maybe we'll do it Monday. We'll see.
She brought up the subject of her super-prodigious sleeping on her own this afternoon. "I think in a few more days I'll just about have my sleep out and be ready to go, again!"
I was surprised that she brought it up. "Well, that's good to hear, Mom," I said, "especially since we've got plans in the Valley for Thanksgiving and it would be nice if you were up for being up."
"Oh, that's right! We'll work on that."
"Look, if you don't want to go down, it's next Thursday, you know."
"Oh course I want to go down! I wouldn't miss it!"
It's as though she read her body after a week and a half of flurried activity and "go, go, going" and realized it was time to take a break. At least this time I'm not freaking and trying to verbally whip her into moving. It usually doesn't work anyway and if it does we're both still miserable afterwards.
Besides, I'm curious about her results. There won't be a BMP this time and I've been wondering about her sodium level, not because she's collapsing but because her fluid intake has been relatively low but she hasn't appeared to be dehydrated. I've been wondering if she actually is retaining fluid but is drinking so little that it doesn't look like it. Although I won't be receiving a sodium level on her, if anything in her CBC looks seriously out of whack I'll know that something else is going on.
We've just about finished the book by Anne Rice about Jesus. If Mom's not sleeping or eating, she insists that we read. Well, except for this evening. I insisted that we watch a TV showing of the movie Julia tonight. I hadn't seen it since it came out in 1977. Mom was somewhat bored with it until the favor that Hellman did for Julia began. At the end she said, "They should have ended with the child being found."
"Mom," I said, "the child was never found in real life. I'm sure they wanted the movie to remain true."
"Oh, my," she said, "that really happened?"
"Yes. Hellman wrote about it in her biography."
"I should have paid closer attention."
"If you want, Mom, we could check the book out and read it."
She thought for a moment. "No," she finally announced, "I don't think so. That happened a lot back then. I know more than enough about that time."
And, she does, having lived through it.
Time to do evening stats.
Later.
We've been going back and forth all evening on whether to have her blood drawn tomorrow. The problem started when I mentioned that I'd be awakening her around 0930, no later than 1000, anyway, so we wouldn't be postponing breakfast until 1600 or so. Mom understood. And she wants to get it over with. But, considering her arising habits of late, well, I'll let her tell it:
"Isn't 0930 still night time?!?"
So, maybe we'll have blood drawn tomorrow and maybe we'll do it Monday. We'll see.
She brought up the subject of her super-prodigious sleeping on her own this afternoon. "I think in a few more days I'll just about have my sleep out and be ready to go, again!"
I was surprised that she brought it up. "Well, that's good to hear, Mom," I said, "especially since we've got plans in the Valley for Thanksgiving and it would be nice if you were up for being up."
"Oh, that's right! We'll work on that."
"Look, if you don't want to go down, it's next Thursday, you know."
"Oh course I want to go down! I wouldn't miss it!"
It's as though she read her body after a week and a half of flurried activity and "go, go, going" and realized it was time to take a break. At least this time I'm not freaking and trying to verbally whip her into moving. It usually doesn't work anyway and if it does we're both still miserable afterwards.
Besides, I'm curious about her results. There won't be a BMP this time and I've been wondering about her sodium level, not because she's collapsing but because her fluid intake has been relatively low but she hasn't appeared to be dehydrated. I've been wondering if she actually is retaining fluid but is drinking so little that it doesn't look like it. Although I won't be receiving a sodium level on her, if anything in her CBC looks seriously out of whack I'll know that something else is going on.
We've just about finished the book by Anne Rice about Jesus. If Mom's not sleeping or eating, she insists that we read. Well, except for this evening. I insisted that we watch a TV showing of the movie Julia tonight. I hadn't seen it since it came out in 1977. Mom was somewhat bored with it until the favor that Hellman did for Julia began. At the end she said, "They should have ended with the child being found."
"Mom," I said, "the child was never found in real life. I'm sure they wanted the movie to remain true."
"Oh, my," she said, "that really happened?"
"Yes. Hellman wrote about it in her biography."
"I should have paid closer attention."
"If you want, Mom, we could check the book out and read it."
She thought for a moment. "No," she finally announced, "I don't think so. That happened a lot back then. I know more than enough about that time."
And, she does, having lived through it.
Time to do evening stats.
Later.
Today I found myself explaining the dignity of items to my mother.
I'd been talking with the oxygen supply company people outside when she awoke, so she tended to herself, went to the bathroom, refused to acknowledge that she was wet all over and walked into the kitchen in her besotted night shirt and underwear, seated herself on her normal chair and began reading her magazines and soaking the chair cushion with urine. When I returned and noticed that she was up and settled at the table I ushered her into the bathroom as usual for her bath and stripped the chair, put the soaked cushion in the wash and replaced it with a fresh cushion.
As she was settling down for a nap and we had our usual bedtime conversation (we have one before every nap and every night sleep) I was standing in her room reorienting the foam inner section of the cushion to the loose outer cover while it was wet from the wash so that when it dried it would dry in the proper shape.
My mother asked what I was doing and I explained the procedure to her.
"Wouldn't it be easier," she asked, "to just rip the cover open, reset the foam then sew it back up?"
As I continued to reorient the two pieces of the cushion to one another I thought about the tightly bias-tape bound seams, the integrity of the stitches. "Well," I responded, "with this particular cushion it would actually be harder because it's so well made. But, the thing is, Mom, every thing, and I mean every [pronouncing the word obviously separately] thing has it's own dignity. When you take it apart and put it back together you challenge that dignity. In a few cases, if some thing is made badly, you may improve the quality of the thing, then it becomes a better version of itself with an improved dignity. In most cases, though, unless you are deliberately repairing some thing, by taking it apart for your own convenience then putting it back together you compromise the thing's dignity. It becomes a lesser thing, with a less sturdy dignity."
While I explained all this to my mother I was looking only at my working of the cushion. When I finished talking I looked at her in lieu of a final punctuation mark.
She was regarding me with a look which rarely meets me coming from her eyes: As though I was just about the strangest type of child to whom anyone could ever have given birth.
I joked with her, "Didn't you know, Mom, that when you gave birth to me you gave birth to an Uncommon Child of Wonder?"
She smiled. Then laughed softly. "Oh, yes," she said, "and sometimes I still wonder..."
At that I laughed heartily, bid her "Good Nap" and left her room.
The lecture about dignity that I gave my mother, though, has stayed with me and prompted all my thinking since. I've been thinking about how peaceful our home is for both of us now that I'm letting her sleep as she wishes, be as active or inactive as she wants, taking her here and there when I need to but not forcing any miscellaneous trips on her, generally letting her call her own shots; allowing her the dignity of her own decisions about how to lead her own life.
I think I've finally hit on the proper way to be with an Ancient One. I'm sorry it took me so long to figure this out but I'm glad I finally did.
If my mother was depressed or obviously disturbed with her situation or herself in some way I would certainly change things, work on her to do this, do that, perhaps continue to force her to do things she wasn't sure she wanted to do under the guise that she doesn't really know what she wants or what's good for her, anymore. But my mother is happy. She's not at all depressed. She isn't disturbed about herself for any reason. She doesn't wish "things" were better or somehow different. And, finally, she knows what she wants. Her decisions can be trusted, for the most part, on her own behalf.
Despite all we caregivers "do for" our charges, there comes a time when one is caring for An Ancient One when the best we can do is let our charge do what she wants, allow her the liberty not to do what she doesn't want, and simply hang out with her, surround her with love and protection and enjoy the moments we have with her. There is, I remind myself, nothing I can tell her about how to live as An Ancient One. I can only love the fact that she is living through Ancient years and not waste the opportunity to know her as Her Ancient Self.
This is a very good way to live. I think it may also be a very good way to die.
As she was settling down for a nap and we had our usual bedtime conversation (we have one before every nap and every night sleep) I was standing in her room reorienting the foam inner section of the cushion to the loose outer cover while it was wet from the wash so that when it dried it would dry in the proper shape.
My mother asked what I was doing and I explained the procedure to her.
"Wouldn't it be easier," she asked, "to just rip the cover open, reset the foam then sew it back up?"
As I continued to reorient the two pieces of the cushion to one another I thought about the tightly bias-tape bound seams, the integrity of the stitches. "Well," I responded, "with this particular cushion it would actually be harder because it's so well made. But, the thing is, Mom, every thing, and I mean every [pronouncing the word obviously separately] thing has it's own dignity. When you take it apart and put it back together you challenge that dignity. In a few cases, if some thing is made badly, you may improve the quality of the thing, then it becomes a better version of itself with an improved dignity. In most cases, though, unless you are deliberately repairing some thing, by taking it apart for your own convenience then putting it back together you compromise the thing's dignity. It becomes a lesser thing, with a less sturdy dignity."
While I explained all this to my mother I was looking only at my working of the cushion. When I finished talking I looked at her in lieu of a final punctuation mark.
She was regarding me with a look which rarely meets me coming from her eyes: As though I was just about the strangest type of child to whom anyone could ever have given birth.
I joked with her, "Didn't you know, Mom, that when you gave birth to me you gave birth to an Uncommon Child of Wonder?"
She smiled. Then laughed softly. "Oh, yes," she said, "and sometimes I still wonder..."
At that I laughed heartily, bid her "Good Nap" and left her room.
The lecture about dignity that I gave my mother, though, has stayed with me and prompted all my thinking since. I've been thinking about how peaceful our home is for both of us now that I'm letting her sleep as she wishes, be as active or inactive as she wants, taking her here and there when I need to but not forcing any miscellaneous trips on her, generally letting her call her own shots; allowing her the dignity of her own decisions about how to lead her own life.
I think I've finally hit on the proper way to be with an Ancient One. I'm sorry it took me so long to figure this out but I'm glad I finally did.
If my mother was depressed or obviously disturbed with her situation or herself in some way I would certainly change things, work on her to do this, do that, perhaps continue to force her to do things she wasn't sure she wanted to do under the guise that she doesn't really know what she wants or what's good for her, anymore. But my mother is happy. She's not at all depressed. She isn't disturbed about herself for any reason. She doesn't wish "things" were better or somehow different. And, finally, she knows what she wants. Her decisions can be trusted, for the most part, on her own behalf.
Despite all we caregivers "do for" our charges, there comes a time when one is caring for An Ancient One when the best we can do is let our charge do what she wants, allow her the liberty not to do what she doesn't want, and simply hang out with her, surround her with love and protection and enjoy the moments we have with her. There is, I remind myself, nothing I can tell her about how to live as An Ancient One. I can only love the fact that she is living through Ancient years and not waste the opportunity to know her as Her Ancient Self.
This is a very good way to live. I think it may also be a very good way to die.
I want desperately to stay up later than it is, now...
...I want, in fact, to drink a cup of coffee and stay up all night. Not a good idea, though, considering that when I awaken sometime tomorrow it will be because I'll hear Mom shuffling into the bathroom upon arising and I'll have to jump out of bed, shift into high gear, my transmission will shriek, I'll leave tread and I'll be in a fucking hell of a mood all day long.
I miss up-nights that usher in the dawn. It's at the top of my Miss List.
Mom had a better day...awoke an hour earlier and although her knees were bothering her and she took a decent ibuprofen inspired nap, she lost the minor fluid congestion she'd been gathering, felt altogether better, lusted after the book we're reading so we read lots in it, ate well, felt good and stayed up until almost midnight. Warmth makes a difference.
The very first winter we spent here in 1997, although we didn't get much snow, once fall began aging into winter we had day after day of highs in the teens and twenties. Although I can't remember what the summer and early fall was like that year, I'm shuddering at the thought that we're going to have another winter like that. I hope not. True, if there's sun our house is cheery and distinctly not winter-like, regardless of the temperature outside, but I can't even imagine what it might be like to try to coax Mom out when the temperature can't even be coaxed above freezing.
All day long I've been mentally filing stuff I want to mention here. Finally I'm here and all I can think about is, "Shit, it's almost 0130...if I don't get to bed I won't have any time to myself in the morning to settle into the day before Mom awakens."
So, you know, to bed, to bed, to buy a fat pig, or whatever...
...later.
I miss up-nights that usher in the dawn. It's at the top of my Miss List.
Mom had a better day...awoke an hour earlier and although her knees were bothering her and she took a decent ibuprofen inspired nap, she lost the minor fluid congestion she'd been gathering, felt altogether better, lusted after the book we're reading so we read lots in it, ate well, felt good and stayed up until almost midnight. Warmth makes a difference.
The very first winter we spent here in 1997, although we didn't get much snow, once fall began aging into winter we had day after day of highs in the teens and twenties. Although I can't remember what the summer and early fall was like that year, I'm shuddering at the thought that we're going to have another winter like that. I hope not. True, if there's sun our house is cheery and distinctly not winter-like, regardless of the temperature outside, but I can't even imagine what it might be like to try to coax Mom out when the temperature can't even be coaxed above freezing.
All day long I've been mentally filing stuff I want to mention here. Finally I'm here and all I can think about is, "Shit, it's almost 0130...if I don't get to bed I won't have any time to myself in the morning to settle into the day before Mom awakens."
So, you know, to bed, to bed, to buy a fat pig, or whatever...
...later.
Tuesday, November 15, 2005
The weather turned fall-cold today.
Since I've been keeping my bedroom window open I knew it when I awoke but thought it was me. I automatically opened the back Arcadia door so The Little Girl could spy with ears as well as eyes on our regular morning Gambel's Quail Convention and the breakfast scurrying of the ground and grey squirrels. Activity was surprisingly high out there so I didn't believe the whoosh of cold coming through the door. It'll warm up, I decided. I'll leave the door open. Even my after-shower shivering didn't convince me that our unusually warm weather of late was coming to an end.
Finally, around 1000, when I noticed that the baseboard heaters in the living room were continuing to cycle on, I headed down the hall and shivered again. I immediately closed the back Arcadia door and my bedroom window, and, as well, the bathroom window. I sneaked into my mother's bedroom. She was mummy wrapped in her blanket, the first morning she's done that since mid-spring. That should have clued me into a possible late arising but I started gently rousing her every half hour at 1100 and finally stopped at 1300.
The weather cast predicts a full 10 degrees warmer tomorrow, much less wind, still as dry as a bone. The next full week should see temperatures in the mid to upper 60's downtown, low to mid 60's here. But, it's coming; the cold is finally setting in. I know this because this morning the temperature of the cold tap water began leaning toward hurting cold.
I can't say how much of a hibernation winter this will be for my mother. Even in this slow week and a half we've experienced since her active week and a half I've managed to have her do informal chair exercises with a few standing ones almost every day (without weights). She's been up and down a lot when she's awake, too. She just hasn't wanted to go out. We'll be going for a blood draw this Friday. That'll help me gauge how she's going to react to going out this winter.
Reading Begets Reading:
Doing aloud reading with my mother the past couple of days has hiked my interest in reading silently, again. I'm picking the books carefully, mostly by size. Today I rebegan the book Sick to Death and Not Going to Take It Anymore!. Astounding little book about the poor state of healthcare for the elderly in this nation at the moment and specifics on how it can be improved. I highly recommend it to anyone who plans to get old and/or thinks they might at some point be caregiving for an Ancient One. I'll talk more about it later when I've finished it but I wanted to mention it, now, in case anyone finds the description apropos to their situation. If you've ever looked forward to old age with dread, this book is crammed with facts, figures and postulations that will cause you to either dread old age even more or activate toward a better old age for all of us. It is especially timely considering the soon to be instated Medicare Part D.
I'm hoping for a somewhat more normal day tomorrow. Wish me luck.
Later.
Finally, around 1000, when I noticed that the baseboard heaters in the living room were continuing to cycle on, I headed down the hall and shivered again. I immediately closed the back Arcadia door and my bedroom window, and, as well, the bathroom window. I sneaked into my mother's bedroom. She was mummy wrapped in her blanket, the first morning she's done that since mid-spring. That should have clued me into a possible late arising but I started gently rousing her every half hour at 1100 and finally stopped at 1300.
The weather cast predicts a full 10 degrees warmer tomorrow, much less wind, still as dry as a bone. The next full week should see temperatures in the mid to upper 60's downtown, low to mid 60's here. But, it's coming; the cold is finally setting in. I know this because this morning the temperature of the cold tap water began leaning toward hurting cold.
I can't say how much of a hibernation winter this will be for my mother. Even in this slow week and a half we've experienced since her active week and a half I've managed to have her do informal chair exercises with a few standing ones almost every day (without weights). She's been up and down a lot when she's awake, too. She just hasn't wanted to go out. We'll be going for a blood draw this Friday. That'll help me gauge how she's going to react to going out this winter.
Reading Begets Reading:
Doing aloud reading with my mother the past couple of days has hiked my interest in reading silently, again. I'm picking the books carefully, mostly by size. Today I rebegan the book Sick to Death and Not Going to Take It Anymore!. Astounding little book about the poor state of healthcare for the elderly in this nation at the moment and specifics on how it can be improved. I highly recommend it to anyone who plans to get old and/or thinks they might at some point be caregiving for an Ancient One. I'll talk more about it later when I've finished it but I wanted to mention it, now, in case anyone finds the description apropos to their situation. If you've ever looked forward to old age with dread, this book is crammed with facts, figures and postulations that will cause you to either dread old age even more or activate toward a better old age for all of us. It is especially timely considering the soon to be instated Medicare Part D.
I'm hoping for a somewhat more normal day tomorrow. Wish me luck.
Later.
In celebration of the first sign-up day for Medicare Part D...
...a few observations and a few questions.
Observations first:
Later.
Observations first:
- Last night, as usual, Mom and I watched national and local news for 1.5 hours from 1730 to 1900. Mom is The News Girl. I'm not, but I accede to her wishes. Normally this is a time for me to do evening chores, fix or set up fixings for dinner and keep a peripheral watch on the news in case there's something Mom wants to discuss.
Last night's news watch included two national broadcasts: NBC and CBS, which play back to back on their local Arizona affiliates. The former broadcast featured a story set, yet again, at one of those infernal Medicare Part D "Help Sessions". The story included short interviews with a few seniors, one of whom (a woman) was completely confused, the other of whom (a man) was like a six year old who can't wait to hit the "hard books" in a "real school" and learn, learn, learn. After these snippets a man who was either a representative from Medicare or from one of the insurance companies involved in this suspiciously hoaxy program expressed his opinion that the Medicare Part D plan was difficult, yes, but so is filing a tax return; so is registering one's car [Really!?! I don't recall that registering a car is at all difficult. I'll concede the point on tax returns, though, which is why so many people who don't qualify to file EZ returns have H&R Block or a CPA do it.], etc. Yes, he said, "some" seniors are going to need help, but help is available in a variety of areas for seniors, anyway; helping seniors is not new. And, he added, this is good for seniors. They have to "go back to school", insinuating that it's been proven beneficial for seniors to stimulate their minds.
Curiously, as I recall (and I may be wrong about this), CBS did not broadcast a story about Medicare Part D. - Flashback to the November 6, 2005, airing of the "live debate" episode of The West Wing in which the democratic candidate for President mentioned that administrative expenses for Medicare are substantially lower than those for commercial insurance. He cited the figure of "2%". It seems that the Congressional Budget Office cites an even lower number: 1.2%.
- Our illustrious government assures us citizens that the reason for commercial insurance company involvement in Medicare Part D is to control costs (by this I have to assume they mean administrative costs, since insurance companies are going to be on the side of commercial drug companies when it comes to protecting drug profits), to allow the plan to be tailored to the individual in regards to types and costs of product (which Medicare is already doing, by the way) and insure the ever elusive and malignant American Ideal of Choice for the Consumer.
- Why should anyone have to "go back to school" to receive adequate, cost effective health care for themselves and their charges?
- If it is common knowledge that Medicare operates administratively much better than commercial insurance companies, why is the government "trusting" commercial insurance companies to administer Medicare Part D?
- Could it be that the current government is not interested in cost-effectiveness but rather in lining the pockets of powerful commercial lobbies?
- How much money is Medicare spending to explain an exceedingly difficult program which, ultimately, will need to be explained over and over again? Is this part of President Bush's Jobs Creation Plan for his second term? If it is, shouldn't these jobs be stimulated in the private sector and backed with laws and private agreements insuring livable wages and, yes, health care insurance?
- Is this program the beginning of an insinuative insurance that the pristine development of professional Medical Advocates will be imperceptibly overtaken by commercial medical-industrial interests and ultimately not operate on behalf of the patient but on behalf of the medical-industrial complex?
- If "help" for seniors is so readily available from family and outside sources, why do country-wide seminars have to be set up to teach seniors where to get help?
- We all know that no one, I repeat, no one relishes the possibility of declining mentality as one ages. If keeping mentally fit were as easy as going to a Medicare seminar, don't you suppose there would be a lot more seminars and a lot fewer seniors whose "intellectual acuity" (Thank you MFASRF) was in decline? Wouldn't you figure, in fact, that seminars would not be needed, that staying mentally fit would be as easy, as natural and as freely available as expanding intellectual ability in one's growing years?
- Why does President Bush and his administration, why, in fact, do most of our incumbent and prospective political leaders, as well, continue to institute and promote policies and programs which are clearly pro-business and anti-common-citizen?
Later.
Monday, November 14, 2005
"I go now to report your latest bowel movement to the world."
"What!?!" She always forgets exactly what I put into these journals about her and me.
"I keep track of your bowel movements on the web site, so your boweling schedule is available to the entire world."
"Well, I can't imagine that very many people check up on that!"
"You're right. Not many do. But that section gets about 50 visitors a week on average. So, someone out there must be interested!"
With that she delivered a comic sneer and settled into her nap.
Today is one of those days when I feel as though all the gods are walking with us, ahead and behind, smoothing our way, allowing us to feel safe, comfortable and in sync with life. Although it hasn't been a very active day, chores for me, reading silently for Mom, reading aloud for both of us, chatting about this and that, it has the air of the peaks about it. These are the days I live for.
Mom asked me today, while we were putting on her bra, if I remembered how excited I was to wear my first bra.
"Yeah, I do, Mom, do you?"
I meant her excitement about her first bra but she mistook me. "I sure do. You bugged me about getting one for months before it was necessary. When we finally got you one, after you'd worn it once you didn't want to wear it anymore. You didn't like it. A couple of months later you didn't have a choice." That was a few years before women took off their bras.
I was surprised she remembered this about me. She's exactly right. I meant to ask her, again, about her own experience and whether she remembered the rest of her daughters' experiences with their first bras but we got to talking about something else and the moment passed.
Looks like this facility will be down between 2200-0000 tonight my time. Better get over to the movie site and do some of the entry I was planning on doing tonight after Mom retires.
Later.
"I keep track of your bowel movements on the web site, so your boweling schedule is available to the entire world."
"Well, I can't imagine that very many people check up on that!"
"You're right. Not many do. But that section gets about 50 visitors a week on average. So, someone out there must be interested!"
With that she delivered a comic sneer and settled into her nap.
Today is one of those days when I feel as though all the gods are walking with us, ahead and behind, smoothing our way, allowing us to feel safe, comfortable and in sync with life. Although it hasn't been a very active day, chores for me, reading silently for Mom, reading aloud for both of us, chatting about this and that, it has the air of the peaks about it. These are the days I live for.
Mom asked me today, while we were putting on her bra, if I remembered how excited I was to wear my first bra.
"Yeah, I do, Mom, do you?"
I meant her excitement about her first bra but she mistook me. "I sure do. You bugged me about getting one for months before it was necessary. When we finally got you one, after you'd worn it once you didn't want to wear it anymore. You didn't like it. A couple of months later you didn't have a choice." That was a few years before women took off their bras.
I was surprised she remembered this about me. She's exactly right. I meant to ask her, again, about her own experience and whether she remembered the rest of her daughters' experiences with their first bras but we got to talking about something else and the moment passed.
Looks like this facility will be down between 2200-0000 tonight my time. Better get over to the movie site and do some of the entry I was planning on doing tonight after Mom retires.
Later.
Sunday, November 13, 2005
You'll notice...
...under the Special Posts section at the main journal an addition, a link to Mom's Current Medication & Supplement Schedule. This link will be refreshed as significant changes occur to her medication and supplement schedule and will always take you to the most current schedule. Minor daily changes will continue to be covered in the daily posts at Mom's Daily Tests & Meds. I will not post a new schedule and refresh the link to the right unless a significant change takes place. For instance, I'm considering boosting her lisinopril dosage by 100% yet again, but I'm going to take a week or so of observation with her on 5 mg/twice per day to see if I may be jumping the gun. If I decide to take her up to 10 mg/twice per day I will redo the schedule, post it and refresh the link to the right.
I noticed in today's New York Times Online that the lead story is about the mass confusion generated among those eligible for Medicare Part D. Although the article mentions that "only 35%" understand the plan and those that say they understand it are more likely to consider it "beneficial", from what I understand of the plan I'm thinking that those 35% probably understand the plan, which, actually, is fairly easy to understand, but still have problems with the idea of sorting through about "three dozen" possible institutions of the plan in order to determine which would be most beneficial for them. As well, the "extra help" section poses yet more problems and Social Security comes into play in that area, which can always be counted on to 1) create even more confusion, and 2) summarily deny coverage unless a citizen fights for it. The bottom line is, it isn't the plan that's confusing so much as the options. I consider myself extremely lucky that my mother's retired/veteraned military status makes it possible for me to ignore Medicare Part D for her or I surely would have been one of the millions of folks who are lining up for the Medicare Part D seminars everyone and their dog is offering and allowing myself to be even more confused.
As well, although I have yet to receive my email edition of tomorrow's (November 14th's) NYT Online, I took a sneak peak and noticed the headline story is as follows: Big Drug Makers See Sales Decline With Their Image. The blurb for the story reads thus: "The major drug makers remain highly profitable, but at some, sales are stagnant and profits are falling, leading to layoffs and cuts in research budgets."
Isn't it interesting that just as drug companies are beginning to sweat, along comes the federal government with Medicare Part D which should allow drug companies to recoup some of those losses by simple dint of consumers' confusion and inability to pick the plan most financially favorable to them.
And we've got Bush and his (luckily declining) ilk for another three years! To all those who voted for Bush and his cronies, what the fuck were you thinking?!?!
Although Mom's activity quotient has been low lately, we've had several very satisfying days. Today was yet another. I could not convince her to go to Costco with me, which was okay. While there, though, perusing the books, which I only occasionally buy anymore since I rarely have the time to read or the isolation I need to concentrate when I read, I noticed a book about which I'd recently read a review, written by one of my favorite "please, seduce me" authors, Anne Rice, Christ the Lord: Out of Egypt. When I read the review I had a hunch Mom would love us reading this book aloud. I purchased it today and discovered I was right. She was immediately transported. I read aloud to her, checking at the beginning of each chapter to see if she wanted me to continue, for two and a half hours until my voice began to break and she began to hunger for dinner. I have to say, it's a fun and easy book to read aloud. It's much leaner than most of Rice's books. As well, it appears to be extremely well researched (which is typical of Rice's books) and uses a variety of sources. After we covered chapters 1-5 Mom asked if there was any information on her sources. I leafed through the book and discovered the rather long Author's Note at the end which explains, somewhat more lavishly than the text of the story (and more in line with her previous lushly written novels) her entire journey to and through creating this book. Interesting. While I was preparing dinner Mom scavenged the book and wondered aloud whether the author might be writing any more about Jesus. The review I linked to the title of the book seems to indicate that this is the beginning of a series.
"Good reason to start reading in the evening, again," Mom said.
I agree. Although, as you know, Mom's memory can be highly creative, interestingly, she stopped my reading aloud several times to reflect on what she knew of Joshua-bar-Joseph's life and times and what the book mentioned.
I also picked up another book by chance that I know is going to be a Read Aloud Hit: Doris Kearns Goodwin's Team of Rivals. Some years ago we read No Ordinary Time aloud and she (and I) so thoroughly enjoyed that book that, although she doesn't remember the title, she continues to think of it on occasion and refers to it as "that book about Roosevelt". I'm glad that Christ the Lord: Out of Egypt is as short as it is, as we are both lathering to begin Team of Rivals. Which reminds me, speaking of tomes that Mom might enjoy, in the mid-90's I discovered and read what was then an "old" book by Robert Hughes, The Fatal Shore, a meticulous, no holds barred, daunting history of how white Australia came into existence. It was a page turner from beginning to end. Maybe we'll take that one on after Doris Kearns Goodwin's Team of Rivals.
There are still many, many books I'd love to read silently on my own but reading aloud, especially tantalizing books in which both Mom and I have an interest, takes the edge off my missing of my own reading and allows me to incorporate some of it into my caregiving life. I'm glad we're doing this again.
Just a couple of notes about the last few days: Friday and Saturday we watched a couple of movies that thrilled Mom, De-Lovely and The Last Emperor. The first we watched on Friday and Mom sang along to it. The second we watched in two parts, Friday evening and Saturday afternoon. It's one of my favorite "overwhelm me" movies. I know Mom has seen it before because I've rented it many times but she didn't remember any of her previous viewings. The copy we watched this time, though, is ours. I "sold back" some of our movies to get these two. I noticed during this viewing that Mom and I have only occasionally similar reasons for enjoying it. She pays little attention to the political implications and developments in the movie but loves the cultural detail. I remember, many years ago when we lived on Guam, Mom had a collection of Chinese music that she would occasionally play on our phonograph. It was not uncommon for her to play it while doing chores or fooling around with possible school projects at the kitchen table with us kids. Although I enjoyed the music, too, I remember wondering every time she played it about the extent of her fascination with Chinese culture; wondering, as well, if her interest had the same "destined" quality as her interest in Egyptology and Sioux-ology. I haven't yet thought to ask her outright but our recent viewing of this movie reminded me of my curiosity, especially since she noticed that there were differences between what she is used to seeing depicted as Chinese culture, especially in dress, and the distinctly Manchurian detail of much of the movie. MENTAL NOTE: Ask her. I will, of course, record her response here, once I remember to ask her.
Later.
I noticed in today's New York Times Online that the lead story is about the mass confusion generated among those eligible for Medicare Part D. Although the article mentions that "only 35%" understand the plan and those that say they understand it are more likely to consider it "beneficial", from what I understand of the plan I'm thinking that those 35% probably understand the plan, which, actually, is fairly easy to understand, but still have problems with the idea of sorting through about "three dozen" possible institutions of the plan in order to determine which would be most beneficial for them. As well, the "extra help" section poses yet more problems and Social Security comes into play in that area, which can always be counted on to 1) create even more confusion, and 2) summarily deny coverage unless a citizen fights for it. The bottom line is, it isn't the plan that's confusing so much as the options. I consider myself extremely lucky that my mother's retired/veteraned military status makes it possible for me to ignore Medicare Part D for her or I surely would have been one of the millions of folks who are lining up for the Medicare Part D seminars everyone and their dog is offering and allowing myself to be even more confused.
As well, although I have yet to receive my email edition of tomorrow's (November 14th's) NYT Online, I took a sneak peak and noticed the headline story is as follows: Big Drug Makers See Sales Decline With Their Image. The blurb for the story reads thus: "The major drug makers remain highly profitable, but at some, sales are stagnant and profits are falling, leading to layoffs and cuts in research budgets."
Isn't it interesting that just as drug companies are beginning to sweat, along comes the federal government with Medicare Part D which should allow drug companies to recoup some of those losses by simple dint of consumers' confusion and inability to pick the plan most financially favorable to them.
And we've got Bush and his (luckily declining) ilk for another three years! To all those who voted for Bush and his cronies, what the fuck were you thinking?!?!
Although Mom's activity quotient has been low lately, we've had several very satisfying days. Today was yet another. I could not convince her to go to Costco with me, which was okay. While there, though, perusing the books, which I only occasionally buy anymore since I rarely have the time to read or the isolation I need to concentrate when I read, I noticed a book about which I'd recently read a review, written by one of my favorite "please, seduce me" authors, Anne Rice, Christ the Lord: Out of Egypt. When I read the review I had a hunch Mom would love us reading this book aloud. I purchased it today and discovered I was right. She was immediately transported. I read aloud to her, checking at the beginning of each chapter to see if she wanted me to continue, for two and a half hours until my voice began to break and she began to hunger for dinner. I have to say, it's a fun and easy book to read aloud. It's much leaner than most of Rice's books. As well, it appears to be extremely well researched (which is typical of Rice's books) and uses a variety of sources. After we covered chapters 1-5 Mom asked if there was any information on her sources. I leafed through the book and discovered the rather long Author's Note at the end which explains, somewhat more lavishly than the text of the story (and more in line with her previous lushly written novels) her entire journey to and through creating this book. Interesting. While I was preparing dinner Mom scavenged the book and wondered aloud whether the author might be writing any more about Jesus. The review I linked to the title of the book seems to indicate that this is the beginning of a series.
"Good reason to start reading in the evening, again," Mom said.
I agree. Although, as you know, Mom's memory can be highly creative, interestingly, she stopped my reading aloud several times to reflect on what she knew of Joshua-bar-Joseph's life and times and what the book mentioned.
I also picked up another book by chance that I know is going to be a Read Aloud Hit: Doris Kearns Goodwin's Team of Rivals. Some years ago we read No Ordinary Time aloud and she (and I) so thoroughly enjoyed that book that, although she doesn't remember the title, she continues to think of it on occasion and refers to it as "that book about Roosevelt". I'm glad that Christ the Lord: Out of Egypt is as short as it is, as we are both lathering to begin Team of Rivals. Which reminds me, speaking of tomes that Mom might enjoy, in the mid-90's I discovered and read what was then an "old" book by Robert Hughes, The Fatal Shore, a meticulous, no holds barred, daunting history of how white Australia came into existence. It was a page turner from beginning to end. Maybe we'll take that one on after Doris Kearns Goodwin's Team of Rivals.
There are still many, many books I'd love to read silently on my own but reading aloud, especially tantalizing books in which both Mom and I have an interest, takes the edge off my missing of my own reading and allows me to incorporate some of it into my caregiving life. I'm glad we're doing this again.
Just a couple of notes about the last few days: Friday and Saturday we watched a couple of movies that thrilled Mom, De-Lovely and The Last Emperor. The first we watched on Friday and Mom sang along to it. The second we watched in two parts, Friday evening and Saturday afternoon. It's one of my favorite "overwhelm me" movies. I know Mom has seen it before because I've rented it many times but she didn't remember any of her previous viewings. The copy we watched this time, though, is ours. I "sold back" some of our movies to get these two. I noticed during this viewing that Mom and I have only occasionally similar reasons for enjoying it. She pays little attention to the political implications and developments in the movie but loves the cultural detail. I remember, many years ago when we lived on Guam, Mom had a collection of Chinese music that she would occasionally play on our phonograph. It was not uncommon for her to play it while doing chores or fooling around with possible school projects at the kitchen table with us kids. Although I enjoyed the music, too, I remember wondering every time she played it about the extent of her fascination with Chinese culture; wondering, as well, if her interest had the same "destined" quality as her interest in Egyptology and Sioux-ology. I haven't yet thought to ask her outright but our recent viewing of this movie reminded me of my curiosity, especially since she noticed that there were differences between what she is used to seeing depicted as Chinese culture, especially in dress, and the distinctly Manchurian detail of much of the movie. MENTAL NOTE: Ask her. I will, of course, record her response here, once I remember to ask her.
Later.
