Any time you are dealing with a person who has dementia and can't remember, relates wrong information, can't hear and is generally lost, and another person who is mentally fine but physically a wreck and has a bad attitude, you should use much patience and love. Well, I have the love down, but the patience - not so much. My mother drove me to the brink this morning when I had to take her to the doctor. She told me to go to "the place where the young man parks your car," and I asked at the hospital and she said yes. So I proceeded to go to the hospital. "No, no she said - where are you going?" I said, "I was going to the hospital, just like you said." "Well, the clinic is owned by the hospital (blah, blah, blah), but we have to go this way." It started to escalate at this point. I said, "Mom, I asked you if it's by the nursing home and you said no," and so on and so forth. "Oh honey, I get so turned around and a little confused." Come to find out it is by the nursing home, so I had to make a u-turn and go the opposite direction.
In the doctor's office, she couldn't hear what the nurse was saying and gave weird answers to their questions that I had to keep correcting. I felt sorry for her in there - she was completely lost. So the doctor determined that she has to be on the antibiotic for 2 weeks, and so from there we schlepped up to the hospital because they can't administer the medicine in his office. On the way, she kept telling me when to turn, where to go and when to stop. Finally, I just told her she was a terrible back street driver and she stopped, after doing it once more. Kind of like one of my kids who always had to get the last word in.
She, in fact, is acting almost childish. I guess that's the dementia in part - and partly, I think she's really enjoying the attention. Which is fine, because I don't think she got a lot as a child. Being the older sister, she always had to look after my aunt because my grandmother had to work - her husband died when my mom and aunt were young. My great-grandmother lived in the apartment too, however, she didn't speak any English. My mother always knew what she was saying though, because she spoke Yiddish and used a lot of hand gestures. Jews use a lot of hand gestures. She sounds like she was a cute, little old lady. Her fragile, little gold earrings were handed down to me and I will eventually give them to my daughter.
I think my mom has been a very depressed woman for a long time and I have never seen her laugh a real, hearty laugh. She laughs quietly or silently or chuckles. My brothers and I get our laugh-out-loud laughs from my father. He has always had hearty, belly laughs and we inherited that from him. I love to laugh - a real belly laugh. It makes me feel great and it's an incredible stress reliever. That's what I need right now -- a big, belly laugh. I think I'm just tired, because I've been kind of ornery all day. The atmosphere around here has changed since my mom came home and I just have to get used to it. Spending more time in the pool will help, as well as this little vacation I am about to embark on. And I really, really need to ignore my mom's passive-aggressive comments so I don't blurt something out in anger. In any case, tomorrow is always a new day and one where we can change what we didn't like about today. Thank God.
I saw the following in the newspaper today and thought it was funny. It doesn't take much to entertain me....
New Texting Codes
For late life texters, these are some new texting codes you might need:
ATD: at the doctor
BFF: best friend fell
BTW: bring the wheelchair
BYOT: bring your own teeth
FWIW: forgot where I was
GGPML: gotta go, pacemaker low
GHA: got heartburn again
IHO: is my hearing aid on?
LMDO: laughing my dentures out
OMMR: on my massage recliner
ROFLACGU: rolling on floor laughing and can't get up (my personal favorite)
TTYL: talk to you louder
Tuesday, July 26, 2011
Monday, July 25, 2011
Mishigos!
Well, yesterday was a "mishigos" (Yiddish for crazy or all mixed up) day. My mom was discharged first thing in the morning from the nursing home and was driven home by a friend. When she came in the house, I noticed there was blood on her shorts on her side, so I had her lay down and I pulled her shorts down and saw that the incision where they did the hip replacement, was oozing pus and blood. I sat there and didn't know what to do at first - it was a weird moment for me. So I called the Home Health nurse that was supposed to come to the house the next day and she told me that my mom had to be seen right away. We just got her home, and now I had to schlep her to the ER!
So we get to the ER and of course it's slower than molasses. Finally the doctor sees her, pokes the incision with a long q-tip and took a culture. He squeezed the incision and puss and blood came drooling out - it was pretty disgusting. The q-tip went in pretty far which is not good - she has an infection, and probably the same infection she had before - Mersa. They keep telling me that it's hard to get rid of. They put her on an antibiotic that took an hour and a half to administer, so I left and took my dad home. He fell asleep in the waiting room with his legs jacked up on top of his walker - a tad-bit embarrassing, so I thought it best for him to stretch out at home rather than the waiting room of a hospital.
I went back later to get my mom and now they are telling us that she has to be on this medicine for several days, possibly weeks, and she has to go to the hospital every day to have it administered there. Otherwise Medicare won't pay for it. Tomorrow, we have an appointment with the infectious disease doctor to find out if it is truly Mersa or another type of infection. She will find out tomorrow how long she has to be on this antibiotic. Hopefully it won't be long because it causes diarrhea and we've already had, um, an episode. I guess I will just have to treat it like Kita (my dog) forgetting and going poopoo in the house. Of course, I can't scold my mother. My dad "came upon it" first and yelled, "Sharon, come in here!" Notice he didn't say "Sis" or "Sweety." This time he meant business and yelled it like, "Get in here now and clean this up!" although that wasn't what he said. He just couldn't handle doing it, and frankly I'm not crazy about it either but then who would that leave?
So the Home Health lady came today and changed the dressing and took mom's vitals and all that stuff. They are arranging to have someone come in and bathe her and someone to do physical therapy. Medicare pays for it for awhile, then I guess I'm on my own. The shower scares me because there is a step but hopefully by the time they're gone, I can at least help her into the shower. Man, it really sucks to get old like this. It's also kind of funny too though. My dad hobbles around with a walker, my mom scoots around in a wheelchair and I waddle around with a cane. We keep bumping into one another and they keep calling for me, so I am up and down and up and down. But that's okay. That's why I'm here (I keep reminding myself). I'm just glad mom is no longer in the nursing home. Those places, no matter how nice they appear, are depressing. For most of the people in there are just waiting to die.
Well, we survived yesterday and today - so far, so good. I've got to pack and do laundry and get everything in order for them because I leave for Madison on Wednesday. This is not good timing, but there is plenty of food in the fridge, their clothes will be clean and they will have Home Health coming over every day. Plus they have all their friends and relatives calling them and stopping by, so I think a week away will be just fine.
Besides.... I need a vacation!!
So we get to the ER and of course it's slower than molasses. Finally the doctor sees her, pokes the incision with a long q-tip and took a culture. He squeezed the incision and puss and blood came drooling out - it was pretty disgusting. The q-tip went in pretty far which is not good - she has an infection, and probably the same infection she had before - Mersa. They keep telling me that it's hard to get rid of. They put her on an antibiotic that took an hour and a half to administer, so I left and took my dad home. He fell asleep in the waiting room with his legs jacked up on top of his walker - a tad-bit embarrassing, so I thought it best for him to stretch out at home rather than the waiting room of a hospital.
I went back later to get my mom and now they are telling us that she has to be on this medicine for several days, possibly weeks, and she has to go to the hospital every day to have it administered there. Otherwise Medicare won't pay for it. Tomorrow, we have an appointment with the infectious disease doctor to find out if it is truly Mersa or another type of infection. She will find out tomorrow how long she has to be on this antibiotic. Hopefully it won't be long because it causes diarrhea and we've already had, um, an episode. I guess I will just have to treat it like Kita (my dog) forgetting and going poopoo in the house. Of course, I can't scold my mother. My dad "came upon it" first and yelled, "Sharon, come in here!" Notice he didn't say "Sis" or "Sweety." This time he meant business and yelled it like, "Get in here now and clean this up!" although that wasn't what he said. He just couldn't handle doing it, and frankly I'm not crazy about it either but then who would that leave?
So the Home Health lady came today and changed the dressing and took mom's vitals and all that stuff. They are arranging to have someone come in and bathe her and someone to do physical therapy. Medicare pays for it for awhile, then I guess I'm on my own. The shower scares me because there is a step but hopefully by the time they're gone, I can at least help her into the shower. Man, it really sucks to get old like this. It's also kind of funny too though. My dad hobbles around with a walker, my mom scoots around in a wheelchair and I waddle around with a cane. We keep bumping into one another and they keep calling for me, so I am up and down and up and down. But that's okay. That's why I'm here (I keep reminding myself). I'm just glad mom is no longer in the nursing home. Those places, no matter how nice they appear, are depressing. For most of the people in there are just waiting to die.
Well, we survived yesterday and today - so far, so good. I've got to pack and do laundry and get everything in order for them because I leave for Madison on Wednesday. This is not good timing, but there is plenty of food in the fridge, their clothes will be clean and they will have Home Health coming over every day. Plus they have all their friends and relatives calling them and stopping by, so I think a week away will be just fine.
Besides.... I need a vacation!!
Saturday, July 23, 2011
Truly Blessed
So, I said something to my mom tonight when we were at the nursing home. My dad left to bring her stuff to the car (because she's coming home tomorrow) and it seemed the right time. I said, "Mom, you have to stop being so mean to him. He's really trying and I know he gets on your nerves, but you're being really mean to him." She almost started crying and admitted that she knows she is and that she's trying. I said, "You chose to stay with him, so you need to deal with this now." She kept agreeing with me and then I didn't say anymore. It was uncomfortable for me to say that, and maybe I should have left the second part out, but sometimes it gets on my nerves when she acts like a martyr, as she could have left him if she had wanted to a long time ago. The thing is, I think they really do love each other, but have a lousy way of showing or not showing it. She said that my dad doesn't even get along with his own kids, and I said I'm getting along with him just fine. She agreed and I bit my tongue. I wanted to say that my brothers don't get along with him, because she's always ragging about him to them. I just left it alone at that point and changed the subject. Sometimes, less is more, if you know what I mean.
We were watching the news and they were showing the terrible drought in Africa, videos of little children starving to death. I couldn't watch it - it makes me crazy to see people starving to death - especially children - and there's not a thing I can do to change it. And there was no where for these people to go, to sleep, to eat - they had to resort to sleeping out in the open. I can't wrap my mind around that. I have been blessed beyond measure because I've always had food to eat and a place to stay - always. Even when I lived in dumps, and I have lived in dumps - at least it was a roof over my head. My old apartments would probably look like palaces to those people. And the free government cheese I got didn't melt, but it was food and it filled our bellies.
When I was pregnant with Jason, the apartment I lived in was roach-infested and the neighborhood was very dangerous. One day, while I was walking my dog down the street, it was about dusk and I happened to turn and look across the street right at the time someone had apparently jumped out the window, killing himself. I wasn’t sure what I saw and heard, because it was getting dark, but the sound his body made when it hit the pavement was a crushing, weird sound and it stopped me in my tracks. The next thing I knew, a woman came running out the door of the same building, screaming and looking around, asking me if I had seen what happened. I couldn’t really see it, but I certainly heard it and saw a dark form falling to the ground. The ambulance came soon after that, but I never got the details on it, as I didn’t want to know.
My apartment in this neighborhood, and in fact the whole building, was roach-infested. One night, I thought I would out-smart those roaches and I decided to spray all the kitchen cupboards and cracks before I went to sleep and would see them all conveniently dead in corners by morning. Well, my bed was basically in the same area as the kitchen, and the crib sat next to my bed, as it was a very small, studio apartment. After spraying, I turned the lights off and laid down on the bed. It was a garden apartment, and so the lights from the street would come in through the windows and cast a glow in my apartment. As I was lying on my back, I started noticing dark lines creeping across the ceiling and I couldn’t make out what they were. I flicked the lights on and to my great dismay, armies of roaches were crawling out from the cupboards, up the walls and across the ceiling and falling onto my bed and the crib! I totally freaked out. I took the Raid can and sprayed and sprayed and cried as I sprayed as it was a very gross scene indeed. I never did get rid of the roaches because they would just travel from one apartment to the next.
One night, some very stoned guy came banging on my door in the middle of the night trying to get me to let him in. I was petrified, as he almost broke the door down. I called the police, but they took so long to get there that he had already left by the time they came. The Chicago Police have a very nasty reputation, and they generally live up to that reputation. One night, driving home from my boyfriend's mother’s home, the police stopped me on the highway to interrogate me, because they wanted to know why “a white girl was in a black neighborhood.” They made me get out of my car in pouring rain, off an exit in the middle of nowhere, and they sat in their car, leafing through my wallet, looking at the pictures I had in it and mocking me. I was too young and naive to know at that time, and it took me years later to realize that they could have easily hurt me without anyone finding out.
Needless to say, I moved out of that neighborhood as soon as I could, especially after Jason was born because I couldn't stand the thought of a roach crawling into his crib. But even a situation like that, can't compare with what those people in Africa have to deal with. My heart simply goes out to them. Just when we think we have so many problems or life hasn't been fair or somehow we've gotten a raw deal -- there is always someone worse off than you or I. Always. It's just another reminder to be thankful every day, because the bottom line is that we all are, truly blessed.
We were watching the news and they were showing the terrible drought in Africa, videos of little children starving to death. I couldn't watch it - it makes me crazy to see people starving to death - especially children - and there's not a thing I can do to change it. And there was no where for these people to go, to sleep, to eat - they had to resort to sleeping out in the open. I can't wrap my mind around that. I have been blessed beyond measure because I've always had food to eat and a place to stay - always. Even when I lived in dumps, and I have lived in dumps - at least it was a roof over my head. My old apartments would probably look like palaces to those people. And the free government cheese I got didn't melt, but it was food and it filled our bellies.
When I was pregnant with Jason, the apartment I lived in was roach-infested and the neighborhood was very dangerous. One day, while I was walking my dog down the street, it was about dusk and I happened to turn and look across the street right at the time someone had apparently jumped out the window, killing himself. I wasn’t sure what I saw and heard, because it was getting dark, but the sound his body made when it hit the pavement was a crushing, weird sound and it stopped me in my tracks. The next thing I knew, a woman came running out the door of the same building, screaming and looking around, asking me if I had seen what happened. I couldn’t really see it, but I certainly heard it and saw a dark form falling to the ground. The ambulance came soon after that, but I never got the details on it, as I didn’t want to know.
My apartment in this neighborhood, and in fact the whole building, was roach-infested. One night, I thought I would out-smart those roaches and I decided to spray all the kitchen cupboards and cracks before I went to sleep and would see them all conveniently dead in corners by morning. Well, my bed was basically in the same area as the kitchen, and the crib sat next to my bed, as it was a very small, studio apartment. After spraying, I turned the lights off and laid down on the bed. It was a garden apartment, and so the lights from the street would come in through the windows and cast a glow in my apartment. As I was lying on my back, I started noticing dark lines creeping across the ceiling and I couldn’t make out what they were. I flicked the lights on and to my great dismay, armies of roaches were crawling out from the cupboards, up the walls and across the ceiling and falling onto my bed and the crib! I totally freaked out. I took the Raid can and sprayed and sprayed and cried as I sprayed as it was a very gross scene indeed. I never did get rid of the roaches because they would just travel from one apartment to the next.
One night, some very stoned guy came banging on my door in the middle of the night trying to get me to let him in. I was petrified, as he almost broke the door down. I called the police, but they took so long to get there that he had already left by the time they came. The Chicago Police have a very nasty reputation, and they generally live up to that reputation. One night, driving home from my boyfriend's mother’s home, the police stopped me on the highway to interrogate me, because they wanted to know why “a white girl was in a black neighborhood.” They made me get out of my car in pouring rain, off an exit in the middle of nowhere, and they sat in their car, leafing through my wallet, looking at the pictures I had in it and mocking me. I was too young and naive to know at that time, and it took me years later to realize that they could have easily hurt me without anyone finding out.
Needless to say, I moved out of that neighborhood as soon as I could, especially after Jason was born because I couldn't stand the thought of a roach crawling into his crib. But even a situation like that, can't compare with what those people in Africa have to deal with. My heart simply goes out to them. Just when we think we have so many problems or life hasn't been fair or somehow we've gotten a raw deal -- there is always someone worse off than you or I. Always. It's just another reminder to be thankful every day, because the bottom line is that we all are, truly blessed.
Friday, July 22, 2011
Sunday's Comin'
Well, things have changed and my mom is coming home this Sunday - two days away. That gives my dad and I a very short period of time to get rid of all the "fattening" and "you-don't-need-those" goodies we have lying around, out of the house - either in the garbage or in our bellies. That also means that I have to clean up a bit, do the laundry and sheets and get her bedroom in order before then. I wanted her to come home after I got back from Madison, but their insurance won't cover her stay any longer.
Last night, my mom and dad got into an ugly argument at the nursing home. It was kind of bizarre and both of them appeared wrong, as well as childish, in my opinion. It's clear she doesn't want to come home and it's also clear the dementia is kicking in. Danny thinks that when she gets home, that will get better since she'll be in familiar surroundings. I'm not so sure. She doesn't want to come home because she doesn't want to deal with my dad without me being there. I told her, "Well, you can't just live here." She has to come home and deal with everything, whatever that means for her. I'm just worried about what will happen when I'm in Madison. I can see them both getting into it in an ugly way. I just don't want each of them hurting themselves by either falling or my dad's blood pressure shooting up. I didn't know their communication, or lack of, was this bad. My dad tries to help her, she doesn't want his help and gets mad and snaps at him, and he backs off in anger. All I could do was sit there and watch this, as there were other people in the room and I didn't know what to say. Too bad lightening didn't strike the building right at that moment like it did last Monday.
We were sitting in the lobby of the nursing home when a storm rolled in and lightening directly struck the building, right where we were sitting. We all jumped, the phone was knocked out for a bit, the lights went off and on, some warning siren went on and wouldn't go off and the fire alarm was activated and went on and off. It was crazy. I guess Florida is known as "Lightening Alley," per my dad. I didn't know that, so now when I'm in the pool and it starts thundering, I'm outta the water real fast. The weird thing about Florida weather is that one half of the sky can be cloudy, thundering, lightening and raining and the other side is a clear blue sky with the sun shining. The weather is very schizophrenic here. If you wait a few minutes, it always changes.
Speaking of the oddities of Florida, I got an instant message on Facebook the other day from a friend, telling me that she saw on the news that a lady in Tampa found a 4 foot alligator in her swimming pool. Good grief! I told my kids that that was possible! Albeit, it was only 4 feet long, and the ones I've seen in the canal are much bigger than that, it still leaves me uncomfortable swimming in the evening or night when it seems more likely they come out of their hiding places because it's dark. I know they're God's creatures, but they are terribly disgusting. I usually don't keep my back to the canal when I'm in the pool - just in case. I've pictured one running in back of me and grabbing my head in his giant mouth, dragging me back down to the water. It's my over-active imagination again, I know. But still...
To be honest, what worries me about my mom is the dementia. I really don't know how to deal with that. I've heard that you talk and treat the patient at the "age level" they're acting, but that's gotta be very weird. I mean, here is my mom who gave birth to and raised me and now in most ways, our relationship has reversed and I am the caretaker and she is the child. Well, not really, but you know what I mean. That's very uncomfortable for me. Especially since my relationship with her hasn't been the greatest all these years. I know it's time now for me to mend it, and I have been in the process of doing just that -- but I would much rather have her still be the mom and me just be the kid - no matter how old we are. And I suppose everyone in the world who's ever experienced this has wished the same thing. It makes me really sad, truthfully. It means an era is slowly coming to an end.
So when my parents pass away, that means my brothers and I must step up to the plate and we become "next." We become the elderly, frail and perhaps sick people my parents are now. And when we pass away, then our kids step up to the plate and they become "next." It's just the natural progression of life. And I know that logically; it just makes me sad emotionally...
Last night, my mom and dad got into an ugly argument at the nursing home. It was kind of bizarre and both of them appeared wrong, as well as childish, in my opinion. It's clear she doesn't want to come home and it's also clear the dementia is kicking in. Danny thinks that when she gets home, that will get better since she'll be in familiar surroundings. I'm not so sure. She doesn't want to come home because she doesn't want to deal with my dad without me being there. I told her, "Well, you can't just live here." She has to come home and deal with everything, whatever that means for her. I'm just worried about what will happen when I'm in Madison. I can see them both getting into it in an ugly way. I just don't want each of them hurting themselves by either falling or my dad's blood pressure shooting up. I didn't know their communication, or lack of, was this bad. My dad tries to help her, she doesn't want his help and gets mad and snaps at him, and he backs off in anger. All I could do was sit there and watch this, as there were other people in the room and I didn't know what to say. Too bad lightening didn't strike the building right at that moment like it did last Monday.
We were sitting in the lobby of the nursing home when a storm rolled in and lightening directly struck the building, right where we were sitting. We all jumped, the phone was knocked out for a bit, the lights went off and on, some warning siren went on and wouldn't go off and the fire alarm was activated and went on and off. It was crazy. I guess Florida is known as "Lightening Alley," per my dad. I didn't know that, so now when I'm in the pool and it starts thundering, I'm outta the water real fast. The weird thing about Florida weather is that one half of the sky can be cloudy, thundering, lightening and raining and the other side is a clear blue sky with the sun shining. The weather is very schizophrenic here. If you wait a few minutes, it always changes.
Speaking of the oddities of Florida, I got an instant message on Facebook the other day from a friend, telling me that she saw on the news that a lady in Tampa found a 4 foot alligator in her swimming pool. Good grief! I told my kids that that was possible! Albeit, it was only 4 feet long, and the ones I've seen in the canal are much bigger than that, it still leaves me uncomfortable swimming in the evening or night when it seems more likely they come out of their hiding places because it's dark. I know they're God's creatures, but they are terribly disgusting. I usually don't keep my back to the canal when I'm in the pool - just in case. I've pictured one running in back of me and grabbing my head in his giant mouth, dragging me back down to the water. It's my over-active imagination again, I know. But still...
To be honest, what worries me about my mom is the dementia. I really don't know how to deal with that. I've heard that you talk and treat the patient at the "age level" they're acting, but that's gotta be very weird. I mean, here is my mom who gave birth to and raised me and now in most ways, our relationship has reversed and I am the caretaker and she is the child. Well, not really, but you know what I mean. That's very uncomfortable for me. Especially since my relationship with her hasn't been the greatest all these years. I know it's time now for me to mend it, and I have been in the process of doing just that -- but I would much rather have her still be the mom and me just be the kid - no matter how old we are. And I suppose everyone in the world who's ever experienced this has wished the same thing. It makes me really sad, truthfully. It means an era is slowly coming to an end.
So when my parents pass away, that means my brothers and I must step up to the plate and we become "next." We become the elderly, frail and perhaps sick people my parents are now. And when we pass away, then our kids step up to the plate and they become "next." It's just the natural progression of life. And I know that logically; it just makes me sad emotionally...
Thursday, July 21, 2011
A Day in the Life
So I was thinking I should write what I normally do in a day, for anyone who is interested. Maybe no one is, but for posterity, allow me to entertain myself. It changes day to day, as all life does, but this is generally my daily schedule.
When I wake up, which is around 10:00, I take my morning pills and proceed to the den. Now before anyone gasps at the thought of waking up so late, please keep in mind that not only do I go to bed late, I also have fibromyalsia and one of the many side effects of this disorder is fatigue. I am always tired, no matter what time I go to bed or what time I wake up. It's just the nature of the disorder, which my fellow-fibro friends will attest to. In any event, now that I am not working, it helps incredibly to get more sleep and is actually very therapeutic.
Ok, now that I have defended myself, the next thing I do is go into the den where my dad is sleeping in his chair. Actually, we do almost everything in the den. We eat, watch tv and dad sleeps in his chair and has been for over 20 years, in the den. I usually wake him up by saying, "Hi Dad." He then wakes up and says, "Hi Sis." I ask him if he has had breakfast yet and he usually tells me he hasn't. So I prepare his breakfast of a toasted bagel or English muffin, juice and a slice of honeydew melon. He always eats this. If he gets hungry before I get up, he'll nosh (Yiddish for snack on) on cookies or donuts or whatever we have in the house. Usually the stuff my mom thoroughly disapproves of, and the stuff we have to get out of the house before she gets home. My dad has had his fun and now it's almost over. I have a bagel and coffee with my dad and he turns on the Military Channel as we eat. This morning we learned about the 10 most powerful weapons. Whatever.
After breakfast, I get on my laptop and dad kicks back in his chair and continues watching TV. "In the Heat of the Night" comes on the Chicago station WGN around noon and he always watches that. I never watched it when it was actually on TV, but now I'm drawn back to the 80's when he has it on. He will usually fall asleep again during this time and when I'm done on my laptop, I go in the pool. I usually stay in for an hour and a half or so. I pray and think about what in the world I'm going to make for supper. I hate having to think that up every day. It's torture for someone who hasn't really cooked for years. When I'm done swimming, or floating really, I come in and get dressed. Dad is now either still sleeping or in his office on the computer. If I have time, I get back on my computer - if not, I get ready to go see my mom.
We try to go see mom around 4:00 and usually stay until around 5:30 or 6. It's usually pretty boring just sitting there looking at each other. Neither of them can hear very well, so I am usually shouting, even though there's not a lot to talk about. It's a good thing my mom's roommate is almost deaf. We talk about the weather, the mail, the grandkids, the long walk to her room; every day it's the same thing. Everything my dad says, she gets annoyed at, so I try to do most of the talking. I haven't talked to her yet about her attitude, but I intend to. Probably when she gets home. My dad will say, "Sis, we'll leave at 5:30," (when it's 5:15) just to warn everyone in advance, I guess. My mom looks almost relieved when we leave. It's an awkward position to be in to having to be forced to talk to one another. It's not like a natural conversation you would have at home -- you know it's only for a certain time and so you feel forced to come up with something to say. I usually rack my brain trying to figure out what else to say, and if that doesn't work, I resort to playing a game on my phone.
After our visit, we go home and I make dinner (lunch is usually skipped and provided by noshing in the afternoon). Last night I made chicken pot pie which my dad really liked. I was able to cut the rest of it into 4 big pieces and put them in containers and freeze them for my dad when I go to Madison. I'll be gone a week and I want him to be able to just pop the container into the microwave for his meal. Whatever it is that I make, we then sit down to dinner with the news and stock market reports on the Public Broadcasting station. Everyone on this station talks in a monotone voice and so it is very boring to listen to. During dinner, everything I say or ask my dad, I usually have to say twice, so I try to shout it out loud the first time.
After dinner, I do the dishes and clean up the kitchen. When everything is done, I sit down with my laptop and try to work on it with the TV blaring. I keep asking my dad to turn it down, but he's getting so hard of hearing that he has to keep it up loud. I usually wait until he turns the TV off and goes into his office to work on my laptop, because then I have peace and quiet. But then it usually gets pretty late before I go to bed, waiting for him to leave. Last night, he slept the whole time the TV was on after dinner and if I would have turned it off, he would have woke up immediately. I did change the channel to the History Channel and watched something about the Third Reich. I have a weird fascination with Nazi Germany and even though I cringe while I watch it, I just can never understand how people could be so cruel. After awhile, I went to bed and left the TV on because he was still sleeping.
After praying and reading my Bible, I play Words with Friends on my phone until I can't keep my eyes open any longer. Last night, I took some muscle relaxers with my regular drugs because my whole body was in so much pain - another effect from Fibromyalsia - I just couldn't get comfortable. I dreamt last night/this morning that I was hugging my grandkids and I had a big smile on my face. The biggest sacrifice I made by coming here is that I am so far from my grandchildren. But I know this is God's will, and I know He will make up the difference.
So there you have it. My life in a nutshell, for now. When my mom comes home, it will be stepped up a few notches. Dad and I won't be able to enjoy our sweets and treats, and I figure that would be a good time to go on, yes, another diet. I will be helping her in and out of the bed, getting dressed, things like that. Hopefully there will be a home health nurse coming in and bathing her. Just sayin'. Oh, and I will probably have to straighten out all the cupboards because I hate putting pots and pans away and they're all just shoved in there. That will not be acceptable to her.
But until then, I have ice cream bars in the freezer and M&M's on the table that we both munch on. The "food police" will be home soon enough and I'll have to resort back to stashing candy in my room somewhere. I'll have to hide it well, because I'm sure Eunice will slowly creep into my room just to see "what's going on in there." Kind of reminds me of when I would hide weed in my underwear drawer when I was younger. I just won't hide chocolate - that would melt and be a real mess...
When I wake up, which is around 10:00, I take my morning pills and proceed to the den. Now before anyone gasps at the thought of waking up so late, please keep in mind that not only do I go to bed late, I also have fibromyalsia and one of the many side effects of this disorder is fatigue. I am always tired, no matter what time I go to bed or what time I wake up. It's just the nature of the disorder, which my fellow-fibro friends will attest to. In any event, now that I am not working, it helps incredibly to get more sleep and is actually very therapeutic.
Ok, now that I have defended myself, the next thing I do is go into the den where my dad is sleeping in his chair. Actually, we do almost everything in the den. We eat, watch tv and dad sleeps in his chair and has been for over 20 years, in the den. I usually wake him up by saying, "Hi Dad." He then wakes up and says, "Hi Sis." I ask him if he has had breakfast yet and he usually tells me he hasn't. So I prepare his breakfast of a toasted bagel or English muffin, juice and a slice of honeydew melon. He always eats this. If he gets hungry before I get up, he'll nosh (Yiddish for snack on) on cookies or donuts or whatever we have in the house. Usually the stuff my mom thoroughly disapproves of, and the stuff we have to get out of the house before she gets home. My dad has had his fun and now it's almost over. I have a bagel and coffee with my dad and he turns on the Military Channel as we eat. This morning we learned about the 10 most powerful weapons. Whatever.
After breakfast, I get on my laptop and dad kicks back in his chair and continues watching TV. "In the Heat of the Night" comes on the Chicago station WGN around noon and he always watches that. I never watched it when it was actually on TV, but now I'm drawn back to the 80's when he has it on. He will usually fall asleep again during this time and when I'm done on my laptop, I go in the pool. I usually stay in for an hour and a half or so. I pray and think about what in the world I'm going to make for supper. I hate having to think that up every day. It's torture for someone who hasn't really cooked for years. When I'm done swimming, or floating really, I come in and get dressed. Dad is now either still sleeping or in his office on the computer. If I have time, I get back on my computer - if not, I get ready to go see my mom.
We try to go see mom around 4:00 and usually stay until around 5:30 or 6. It's usually pretty boring just sitting there looking at each other. Neither of them can hear very well, so I am usually shouting, even though there's not a lot to talk about. It's a good thing my mom's roommate is almost deaf. We talk about the weather, the mail, the grandkids, the long walk to her room; every day it's the same thing. Everything my dad says, she gets annoyed at, so I try to do most of the talking. I haven't talked to her yet about her attitude, but I intend to. Probably when she gets home. My dad will say, "Sis, we'll leave at 5:30," (when it's 5:15) just to warn everyone in advance, I guess. My mom looks almost relieved when we leave. It's an awkward position to be in to having to be forced to talk to one another. It's not like a natural conversation you would have at home -- you know it's only for a certain time and so you feel forced to come up with something to say. I usually rack my brain trying to figure out what else to say, and if that doesn't work, I resort to playing a game on my phone.
After our visit, we go home and I make dinner (lunch is usually skipped and provided by noshing in the afternoon). Last night I made chicken pot pie which my dad really liked. I was able to cut the rest of it into 4 big pieces and put them in containers and freeze them for my dad when I go to Madison. I'll be gone a week and I want him to be able to just pop the container into the microwave for his meal. Whatever it is that I make, we then sit down to dinner with the news and stock market reports on the Public Broadcasting station. Everyone on this station talks in a monotone voice and so it is very boring to listen to. During dinner, everything I say or ask my dad, I usually have to say twice, so I try to shout it out loud the first time.
After dinner, I do the dishes and clean up the kitchen. When everything is done, I sit down with my laptop and try to work on it with the TV blaring. I keep asking my dad to turn it down, but he's getting so hard of hearing that he has to keep it up loud. I usually wait until he turns the TV off and goes into his office to work on my laptop, because then I have peace and quiet. But then it usually gets pretty late before I go to bed, waiting for him to leave. Last night, he slept the whole time the TV was on after dinner and if I would have turned it off, he would have woke up immediately. I did change the channel to the History Channel and watched something about the Third Reich. I have a weird fascination with Nazi Germany and even though I cringe while I watch it, I just can never understand how people could be so cruel. After awhile, I went to bed and left the TV on because he was still sleeping.
After praying and reading my Bible, I play Words with Friends on my phone until I can't keep my eyes open any longer. Last night, I took some muscle relaxers with my regular drugs because my whole body was in so much pain - another effect from Fibromyalsia - I just couldn't get comfortable. I dreamt last night/this morning that I was hugging my grandkids and I had a big smile on my face. The biggest sacrifice I made by coming here is that I am so far from my grandchildren. But I know this is God's will, and I know He will make up the difference.
So there you have it. My life in a nutshell, for now. When my mom comes home, it will be stepped up a few notches. Dad and I won't be able to enjoy our sweets and treats, and I figure that would be a good time to go on, yes, another diet. I will be helping her in and out of the bed, getting dressed, things like that. Hopefully there will be a home health nurse coming in and bathing her. Just sayin'. Oh, and I will probably have to straighten out all the cupboards because I hate putting pots and pans away and they're all just shoved in there. That will not be acceptable to her.
But until then, I have ice cream bars in the freezer and M&M's on the table that we both munch on. The "food police" will be home soon enough and I'll have to resort back to stashing candy in my room somewhere. I'll have to hide it well, because I'm sure Eunice will slowly creep into my room just to see "what's going on in there." Kind of reminds me of when I would hide weed in my underwear drawer when I was younger. I just won't hide chocolate - that would melt and be a real mess...
Wednesday, July 20, 2011
Forgiveness
There was a person once who hurt me very much, for a long time, and I became very bitter toward him, and eventually that turned into hate. I had so much hate toward him, that I probably could have killed him if he hurt me any more. I knew my feelings were detrimental to my self and my soul, and I prayed and asked God to help me forgive this person over and over again for years. I still remember the day I finally forgave him. There was no fanfare, no shouting, just the quiet, still voice of God leading me and I suddenly realized that I no longer hated him. I realized that all the hate and bitterness finally left and it felt like a million pounds was lifted off of me. Years later, the forgiveness actually turned into love and that was even more of a miracle. I believe true forgiveness is a miracle - it's not something we have the ability to do on our own. We need God's spirit to help us, and that, to me, is a miracle.
Aside from Jesus dying on the cross for us and forgiving our sins, which is truly the ultimate act of forgiveness, I experienced a much more personal experience first-hand, of what love and forgiveness was truly about. I knew a woman who experienced sexual abuse as a child, from her father. When I first met her, I remember her asking me why God would allow this to happen to her. The only answer I could think of to come up with was that God gives us all free will to choose to do right or wrong and unfortunately, her father chose something that was horribly wrong that affected her. I know it wasn't the answer she was looking for, but we formed a friendship out of our many conversations. When this happened to her, she had no one to turn to for comfort and no one came to her side. I guess the few people that did know what happened to her, just didn't know what to say and so they avoided her entirely. While that is a really stupid response, I understand their fear. We just need to force ourselves to leave our comfort zones at times to "minister" to others. In some cases, it's a matter of life or death.
This woman grew up to be a beautiful woman, inside and out. She taught me many things about love and relationships, and most of all, forgiveness. When her father layed dying, she went to his side and stayed with him until he passed away. I was there too. I saw how she stroked his hair and his arm, singing to him songs about Jesus and telling him it was ok, that he could let go and that God would be there to meet him. She cried and sang and stroked the hair of a man who hurt her beyond words can describe. My eyes well up now, after all these years, because I still can't believe what I saw and I will never forget it. Here was the epitomy of forgiveness - God's forgiveness.
Forgiveness crosses churches, religions, faiths and cultures. It's even essential for people who are athiests - it affects us all. I would say that if you ever meet an old person who is mean or bitter, if you look into their past, there is someone or something along the way whom they chose not to forgive. Because unforgiveness leads to bitterness. And bitterness leads to hate. And hate can lead to all things negative and evil. But it doesn't only affect old people. Young people can experience this as well. That's why it's so important to guard ourselves from unforgiveness - that is, if we want to lead fulfilling and satisfying lives.
Why should I forgive others? It doesn't condone what the person has done. But what it does is free ME from holding onto grudges, bitterness and attitude toward the person who offended me. Why should I hold onto something that they probably haven't thought twice about? So really then, forgiving others helps me in so many ways. It's really pretty simple, but decidedly hard to do.
So, the bottom line for me is that I try not to be offended by others in the first place. You know, the older you get, the less you care what others think about you anyway. And if someone does actually offend me, I try to "talk myself down" or ask God to help me with this and before I know it, I don't even remember what happened. Getting old really is a blessing! I can definitely keep a secret - my memory is so short I don't remember what you told me this morning...
Aside from Jesus dying on the cross for us and forgiving our sins, which is truly the ultimate act of forgiveness, I experienced a much more personal experience first-hand, of what love and forgiveness was truly about. I knew a woman who experienced sexual abuse as a child, from her father. When I first met her, I remember her asking me why God would allow this to happen to her. The only answer I could think of to come up with was that God gives us all free will to choose to do right or wrong and unfortunately, her father chose something that was horribly wrong that affected her. I know it wasn't the answer she was looking for, but we formed a friendship out of our many conversations. When this happened to her, she had no one to turn to for comfort and no one came to her side. I guess the few people that did know what happened to her, just didn't know what to say and so they avoided her entirely. While that is a really stupid response, I understand their fear. We just need to force ourselves to leave our comfort zones at times to "minister" to others. In some cases, it's a matter of life or death.
This woman grew up to be a beautiful woman, inside and out. She taught me many things about love and relationships, and most of all, forgiveness. When her father layed dying, she went to his side and stayed with him until he passed away. I was there too. I saw how she stroked his hair and his arm, singing to him songs about Jesus and telling him it was ok, that he could let go and that God would be there to meet him. She cried and sang and stroked the hair of a man who hurt her beyond words can describe. My eyes well up now, after all these years, because I still can't believe what I saw and I will never forget it. Here was the epitomy of forgiveness - God's forgiveness.
Forgiveness crosses churches, religions, faiths and cultures. It's even essential for people who are athiests - it affects us all. I would say that if you ever meet an old person who is mean or bitter, if you look into their past, there is someone or something along the way whom they chose not to forgive. Because unforgiveness leads to bitterness. And bitterness leads to hate. And hate can lead to all things negative and evil. But it doesn't only affect old people. Young people can experience this as well. That's why it's so important to guard ourselves from unforgiveness - that is, if we want to lead fulfilling and satisfying lives.
Why should I forgive others? It doesn't condone what the person has done. But what it does is free ME from holding onto grudges, bitterness and attitude toward the person who offended me. Why should I hold onto something that they probably haven't thought twice about? So really then, forgiving others helps me in so many ways. It's really pretty simple, but decidedly hard to do.
So, the bottom line for me is that I try not to be offended by others in the first place. You know, the older you get, the less you care what others think about you anyway. And if someone does actually offend me, I try to "talk myself down" or ask God to help me with this and before I know it, I don't even remember what happened. Getting old really is a blessing! I can definitely keep a secret - my memory is so short I don't remember what you told me this morning...
Tuesday, July 19, 2011
Gotta Love Her
Oh, Eunice, you gotta love her.
Tonight at the nursing home, an aide was telling us that she has traveled around the world with her husband and talked about their recent trip to China. At the end of her description, my mother asked her if her husband came home with slanted eyes (from China). I just gasped and said, "Mom..." but she had no clue that what she said was not kosher. The aide, who is from Jamaica, just smiled and continued on her way. She wasn't offended, which I was thankful for. We tend to hold our breath before my mom says anything out loud, because you never know what it's gonna be.
It's really interesting, though, watching her at the nursing home. She talks to the aides and nurses like she's a little girl or pretending to be mad at them or just plain silly. They all seem to like her - it's probably a nice break from the mean, mentally ill ones - but I don't know what to make of it. I know she loves the attention she's getting because she talks to everyone who comes in her room, whether they came in to see her or not (she has a roommate). She knows all their names and all their backgrounds and if I didn't know any better, I would say that she's so comfortable there that she doesn't want to leave. She kept telling my dad and I tonight that her physical therapists don't think she should leave yet because they don't think she's ready. So instead of July 24, we decided for her to come home after I return from Madison, about August 4 or 5. That way she won't be alone with my dad, which is hard enough as it is, without not feeling well.
I know that my mom was "secretly" diagnosed with the beginning of dementia - "secretly" because we haven't told her - so I take what she says with a grain of salt. I don't want her to know this because I think it will make her very depressed and my dad and brothers agree. Her mother, my Nana, died from complications of Alzeimher's Disease, so I don't want to put fear or sadness into my mother's psyche. I just don't think it's necessary.
But my mom has always said things that were inappropriate or weird. I had a boyfriend once that came over to dinner and my mom happened to be there as well and he had a cool, bright-colored shirt on, that I actually gave to him. The first thing that came out of my mother's mouth after meeting him was, "My, your shirt is quite loud." I, of course, cringed and changed the conversation, but she had no clue what she said could be interpreted as offensive. I actually tried to warn my boyfriend before he met her that sometimes she says inappropriate things, but it was still embarrassing to me when she said it.
Once when I was young, probably around 11 or 12, an extremely heavy woman crossed the street in front of our stopped car and my mother looked at me and said, "Now, you need to stop eating so much; you don't want to look like her, do you?" I was too young to talk back to her then, but it embarrassed me nonetheless. SHE was the one who said, "Sticks and stones can break your bones, but names will never hurt you." She really had no clue all the times she hurt me by criticizing me about my weight. But then most parents don't know how they've hurt their children until it's way too late, looking back in retrospect. I know her mother hurt her, she hurt me and I'm sure I've hurt my kids in one way or the other.
Forgiveness is the key. It's what mends relationships and heals hearts. If I can't forgive others, then how can God forgive me? I need His forgiveness every day, and so I try to repent and forgive every day. After all, who am I to hold a grudge against someone who has offended me, when I have also offended others? It's such a simple concept, really. So simple that lots of folks haven't grasped it yet. And the very cool thing about it, is that when I forgive, I unload a lot of pure junk which I carried as a burden on my shoulders, sometimes for years, that feels wonderful when it's lifted. It's like the weightless feeling of floating in the pool. And you know, I really dig that.
Tonight at the nursing home, an aide was telling us that she has traveled around the world with her husband and talked about their recent trip to China. At the end of her description, my mother asked her if her husband came home with slanted eyes (from China). I just gasped and said, "Mom..." but she had no clue that what she said was not kosher. The aide, who is from Jamaica, just smiled and continued on her way. She wasn't offended, which I was thankful for. We tend to hold our breath before my mom says anything out loud, because you never know what it's gonna be.
It's really interesting, though, watching her at the nursing home. She talks to the aides and nurses like she's a little girl or pretending to be mad at them or just plain silly. They all seem to like her - it's probably a nice break from the mean, mentally ill ones - but I don't know what to make of it. I know she loves the attention she's getting because she talks to everyone who comes in her room, whether they came in to see her or not (she has a roommate). She knows all their names and all their backgrounds and if I didn't know any better, I would say that she's so comfortable there that she doesn't want to leave. She kept telling my dad and I tonight that her physical therapists don't think she should leave yet because they don't think she's ready. So instead of July 24, we decided for her to come home after I return from Madison, about August 4 or 5. That way she won't be alone with my dad, which is hard enough as it is, without not feeling well.
I know that my mom was "secretly" diagnosed with the beginning of dementia - "secretly" because we haven't told her - so I take what she says with a grain of salt. I don't want her to know this because I think it will make her very depressed and my dad and brothers agree. Her mother, my Nana, died from complications of Alzeimher's Disease, so I don't want to put fear or sadness into my mother's psyche. I just don't think it's necessary.
But my mom has always said things that were inappropriate or weird. I had a boyfriend once that came over to dinner and my mom happened to be there as well and he had a cool, bright-colored shirt on, that I actually gave to him. The first thing that came out of my mother's mouth after meeting him was, "My, your shirt is quite loud." I, of course, cringed and changed the conversation, but she had no clue what she said could be interpreted as offensive. I actually tried to warn my boyfriend before he met her that sometimes she says inappropriate things, but it was still embarrassing to me when she said it.
Once when I was young, probably around 11 or 12, an extremely heavy woman crossed the street in front of our stopped car and my mother looked at me and said, "Now, you need to stop eating so much; you don't want to look like her, do you?" I was too young to talk back to her then, but it embarrassed me nonetheless. SHE was the one who said, "Sticks and stones can break your bones, but names will never hurt you." She really had no clue all the times she hurt me by criticizing me about my weight. But then most parents don't know how they've hurt their children until it's way too late, looking back in retrospect. I know her mother hurt her, she hurt me and I'm sure I've hurt my kids in one way or the other.
Forgiveness is the key. It's what mends relationships and heals hearts. If I can't forgive others, then how can God forgive me? I need His forgiveness every day, and so I try to repent and forgive every day. After all, who am I to hold a grudge against someone who has offended me, when I have also offended others? It's such a simple concept, really. So simple that lots of folks haven't grasped it yet. And the very cool thing about it, is that when I forgive, I unload a lot of pure junk which I carried as a burden on my shoulders, sometimes for years, that feels wonderful when it's lifted. It's like the weightless feeling of floating in the pool. And you know, I really dig that.
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