Mom & Me Two Archive

As of May 1, 2010...

gailraehudson@themomandmejournalsdotnet.net (Gail Rae) — Fri, 30 Apr 2010 05:20:00 +0000

...Blogger will no longer allow FTP publishing. Updates to this blog, which will probably be few to none, since this section of The Mom & Me Journals dot Net is, essentially, closed by time, can be found at http://momandmetwoarchive.blogspot.com. This section of the journal will also remain at in it's domain directory, so accessing links should not present a problem.

Everything.

gailraehudson@themomandmejournalsdotnet.net (Gail Rae) — Fri, 31 Dec 2004 18:25:00 +0000

Tell everything.

Night before last I was so tired and so overwhelmed I was afraid I would die in my sleep.

gailraehudson@themomandmejournalsdotnet.net (Gail Rae) — Fri, 31 Dec 2004 18:22:00 +0000

    "Afraid" is the wrong word. I was hoping I'd die in my sleep. Die out of this situation. Die out of my mistakes and my successes; my fears and the constant, gnawing need to be fierce; die of out having to negotiate the world on not only my behalf but my mother's; die out of having to deal with business and simultaneously hating it; die out of always having to guard against my mother being taken advantage of; die out of everything and let someone else clean up whatever mess I'd left, knowing that whomever took over wouldn't consider it a mess but a challenge. Die out of all these stupid, ridiculous, stay-alive "growth challenges".
    Autopsy conclusion: Cessation of Inspiration, Undetermined Origin.
    I "thought" about it for a long time after retiring, considering what affect this would have on my mother's circumstances; how her life would be upended and overhauled by the arrangements my death would make necessary. Initially, under the assumption that she'd discover me dead in bed and call 911 and then one or more of my sisters, she'd be alone and floundering in the house for a good 24 hours, maybe more, probably soaked to the gills with urine, her blood sugar out of control, assuming that she figured out or "remembered" how to prepare food; chances are she'd eat condiments, pickles, olives, cheese and left over cheesecake out of the refrigerator. She'd probably "nap" on the sofa, soaking it with her urine. She wouldn't bathe, she wouldn't take her meds, she wouldn't change her clothes, she might attempt to get the mail and fall, crawling her way back to the house if she didn't accidentally lock herself out, she may not hear the phone to answer it, she probably wouldn't even realize she had to feed and water The Little Girl. Once discovered and secured, she'd move in with one (or more, perhaps in shifts) of my sisters. Soon thereafter, as her medical and life management became overwhelming for one or more of them, she'd probably go to a nursing home. Everything I imagined strifed and stung as the possible scenarios flooded me, but, oh, I was so, so tired, so incredibly tired, I decided I didn't care, everything would turn out "fine" because it is my mother I'd be leaving and everything always turns out fine for her in her mind. And, anyway, I'd be dead, unable to do anything, so one way or another, whether death is our annihilation or our introduction into some other of an infinite number of systems, I wouldn't worry and I could rest.
    By the time I reached the "rest" phase of my imaginings I decided I'd better arise and make sure phone numbers were handy for her at her usual sitting place when she awakens. As it happened, she, after having drunk a lot of tea that evening before retiring, was arising to go to the bathroom. Taking advantage of the opportunity, I lightly cleaned her, checked her bed (which was still dry), changed out her underwear and settled her back in bed. Then I figured I'd better prepare her, just in case.
    "Mom," I said, "I've been thinking about it and we need to review what you need to do if you should ever awaken and I died in bed during the night."
    Curiously, she wasn't startled. "I know what to do."
    "Well, just in case, let's go over everything. Who do you call first if you discover I'm dead?"
    "911".
    "Good. I'm going to make a habit of leaving the list of [her other daughters'] numbers out at your chair at the table where you usually go first to sit. You know to dial one before the numbers, right?"
    "Oh, yes."
    "Okay. Well, I'm going to redo the list tonight with the numbers written out exactly as you need to dial them."
    "Good."
    "And, you must keep trying, number after number, until you get someone. Okay?"
    "Of course."
    "And, when the police show up, tell them you cannot be left alone. Tell them to copy the list of numbers and keep trying everyone until someone responds and promises to get here promptly. Okay?"
    "Yes."
    "I'll leave a note on the list stating that you can't be left alone for long."
    "That's not necessary. I'll tell them."
    "Well, no, you won't. I know you well enough to know that you'll tell everyone that you're fine on your own because you think you are."
    "Well, yes, I suppose you're right."
    "I'm afraid even [her other daughters] would believe you, because you believe this and sound so convincing."
    "I know."
    "Okay."
    "We'll talk more about this tomorrow."
    Suddenly there was a lump in my throat. "Well, Mom, I hope that happens (although I actually was hoping the opposite, but I figured this lie would be forgiven) but I might not make it through tonight." I fought to remain calm and objective so she wouldn't worry. "I mean, you never know."
    "Goodness, girl! You're not going to die tonight!"
    I started to cry. "Mom, I don't know. I might. I just want to make sure that if it happens you'll be safe very shortly after I die."
    She peered at me as though I had just spoken Mandarin. "What makes you think you're going to die tonight?!?" She wasn't expressing belief, just investigating this peculiar and ridiculous suggestion.
    By this time I was sobbing. "I'm so, so, tired, Mom. I'm just so tired. I think I might stop breathing tonight and I'll be so tired I won't want to start back up, again, my body won't even do it automatically. I'm sorry, I'm just so tired."
    "Go back to bed, child! You need to sleep. You didn't set your alarm, did you?"
    "Uh, well, no."
    "Good. Get some sleep. You're fine. I'll see you in the morning."
    "Well, I hope so."
    "Oh, stop that! You're over dramatizing! Kiss me goodnight! Don't stay up rewriting that list! You need to sleep!"
    That's what happened, although, I drifted into sleep assuming I wouldn't be awakening.
    Happily, I suppose, the dwelling in my doldrums worked through the depths of sleep. I feel, now, well, not yet ready to die. Sometimes I become so tired from the vigilance of being my mother's sole keeper in the world, of knowing from unexpected but soberly absorbed experience how draining it is to have to keep a wary eye on those with whom I do medical and financial business on my mother's behalf...sometimes I get so tired of being one of this human species in whom the business of life overwhelms any remembrance of joy and I just don't want to do it anymore; don't want to try to negotiate the scams, don't want to try to negotiate anything, don't even want to be where negotiation is necessary. Doesn't matter that I'm taking care of someone. She never doesn't like life so she'll be fine I think. Leave life to those who accept the desperation and consider it invigorating.
    Sometimes I think if you don't really like what you see going on, person after person, day after day, it's best, for you and for those who depend on you, that you not stay around. Sometimes I just get so tired that I can't help but think this.
    So far I've been able to sleep my way out of this fatigue. Maybe I will for years to come. But now I'm settled about what will happen to my mother if I don't. This, at least, is a blessing.

The Sorry Post - A Tribute to My Mother

gailraehudson@themomandmejournalsdotnet.net (Gail Rae) — Fri, 31 Dec 2004 17:25:00 +0000

The day before yesterday, feeling strange and hyper and trying to do my mother's day through a very uncomfortable mask, I suggested we play Sorry, which we haven't done for some days. I thought it would calm me down and, anyway, we always have good conversations while playing.
As I was setting up the board I spit a rapid string of "rules" across the table at my mother:

Roll up your house coat sleeves. I don't want you knocking off our men while we're playing.
And, lift your arm. Same reason. If you knock any of your men off they automatically go back to Start. Any of my men, they get put back on the board where ever I think they were.
Remember, out on a one or two. And, no, you can't move an extra space when you start a man on a two. And get your men out or you won't have a chance. A one or two wasted on a man over here [pointing to the side opposite her home] when you could get someone out is a stupid move.
Read the cards and think about what they say. I don't want to spend the entire game coaching you on what the cards say and what they mean.
Try to remember that when you're approaching home you'll be moving your men up that way. I haven't decided yet if I'm going to just let you go around and around the board in endless circles.
And pay attention to drinking your cranberry juice. You're a little dehydrated. It'll irritate me if I have to remind you constantly to pick up your glass and drink.

    My mother's response? "Seems like you're already pretty irritated. Are you sure you want to play this game?"
    Whoa. I stopped in my tracks. I looked at her and thought. Almost a minute. Then I laughed. "You know what? You're right. I am irritated I don't think I want to play. I don't know why I suggested it."
    "Well, I think we should do something where we don't bother each other." "Don't bother each other" is my mother's code phrase for, "Jesus! What is your problem?!? Settle down and leave me alone!"
    "Yeah. Thanks for saving us, and me. Got any suggestions? I'm afraid all mine would be excuses to snip away at you."
    She laughed. "Welllll....we could watch Deep Space 9. We both like that, we don't have to talk to each other, and it might settle you down."
    We did and I did. That's the day we snugged in after I duct taped our house problem (which I've since discovered isn't as major as I thought), did laundry and broke well into the second season of Deep Space 9.
    Footnote. Yesterday we played Sorry, too, at my mother's suggestion. Just before we settled in to the first game I said, "Ummm, do you suppose it's warm enough for you to play without your house coat on?"
    Her eyes twinkled. "My thoughts exactly." She wriggled out of the sleeves and let her house coat fall over the back of her chair. Amazingly during the game the only coaching she needed was to be reminded to "go home" when she was on the critical side. She read the cards. She thought about her moves. She strategized bringing her men out. We each won an equal number of games.
    Being a caregiver isn't an "at the recipient" activity. From the outside I know it often looks like it is. I suspect, though, that even when the recipient is deeply stowed in the furthest reaches of old age and its mysterious quirks, caregiving is a constantly adjusting relationship between two people, both of whom are active participants. Sometimes it isn't the caregiver who needs to force an adjustment, it's the recipient.
    Bless my mother for having no qualms about being the enforcer.

Damn! That last post was so good...

gailraehudson@themomandmejournalsdotnet.net (Gail Rae) — Thu, 30 Dec 2004 21:46:00 +0000

...I decided to formally turn it into an essay, named Don't Wait for Heaven to Help Us, so it wouldn't get lost in the journaling shuffle. Its title now occupies a distinguished place in the essay round-up to the right, in case you ever want to remind yourself about the value of heaven to caregivers, saintly and curmudgeonly alike.

Interesting article in this week's edition of...

gailraehudson@themomandmejournalsdotnet.net (Gail Rae) — Thu, 30 Dec 2004 17:30:00 +0000

...Caregiver.com. The link will take you directly to the article. It is one woman's story of taking care of her Intense Caregiving Needs grandmother for a week. I would say that it should be required reading for all people who have an Intense Caregiving Needs Caregiver in their family and/or community but, the truth is, I clearly remember being a non-caregiver and if I had read this article then, well, it's not that I wouldn't have believed it, it's that it would have had no effect on me other than some sort of mumbled, witless response like that of the last sentence in the article.
I can't tell you how many times people, both strangers and not so strange-rs (although not, thank the gods, relatives) have told me that there is a special place in heaven for me because of what I'm doing with my mother. The first time it was offered to me I accepted it graciously and, not being a believer in heaven (or hell, for that matter), chalked it up as the best compliment a dedicated born-again Christian thought she could offer me. I continued to let it go without reaction (silent or verbal) a few more times. Then one day after hearing it I was catalyzed into thinking about it while I was wheeling my mother around the old Walmart looking for plastic sheets for her bed. These are those thoughts, not necessarily in deductive or inductive order:

I wonder if there is also a "special place" for all those who know an Intense Needs Caregiver and often think they shoulda-woulda-coulda except that, well, they've got their lives and you know how important one's life is...even caregivers are scolded about the importance of "the lives" we supposedly "give up" to take care of our Ancients and our Infirm.
I don't want a "special place in heaven". I suspect, if there is a heaven drawn to the specifics that many Christians believe, the last place I'd want to be is in the Intense Needs Caregivers Section. Something tells me that they are cordoned together in case someone in heaven needs intense, special care. Believe me, I'm not interested in doing what I'm doing now once I leave this system. If we are cordoned off for special recognition, well, we all know how limiting a life of special recognition is...put me where everyone else is, please. I'm experiencing more than enough separation from others, now, as it is. Don't "honor" me with the same separation after I die!
I don't want any rewards after the fact, I want relief during the fact.
If there is a "heaven" wouldn't it be nice if we were all there because we all "took care" of each other, sometimes in groups if the care of one individual was intense; we designed our entire lives around the reality that we are a decidedly social species and we all need some kind of care all the time, even and especially if that care means being relieved for some alone time from the rigors of intense caregiving?
Please don't leave my "reward" up to a questionably existent "father-god" so that you don't have to worry about it. I'm not in heaven, I'm right here. As an Intense Needs Caregiver I'm in the thick of it. If all you can do is tell me you hope that some benevolent god will reward me in the after-life for what I'm doing, please don't say anything to me. I can accept peaceably co-existing with others in a society that isn't geared toward mutual caregiving. Being reminded of this, as though it's a compliment, by being told that I'll get mine in the sweet by and by, though, is only an irritation.
If we really believe that there is A Special Place In Heaven for caregivers like me I can't help but note that there are an awful lot of people who aren't interested in vying for That Special Place. Kind of brings into question the specifics of That Special Place, doesn't it?!?

    This particular issue of Caregiver.com's newsletter states in the editorial that 54 million of us in this country alone are Intense Needs Caregivers. You'd think, considering our number, that I would not be one of only a few with these troublesome, not-very-caring thoughts. You'd think that I would not be one of only a few who, along with recognizing the extraordinary rewards of the kind of care I give, also recognize the extraordinary burdens engendered by giving Intense Needs Care in a society such as ours.
    Finally, you'd think I wouldn't be one of only a few (and, mind you, I have yet to find those few; I'm sure they're out there, I just don't know where to look) who is impolite enough to say, "Whadaya mean, 'take care of myself'?!? Jesus! You may as well tell my mother to take care of herself!"
    Look. I know we aren't going to "get it" as a society until long after my caregiving stint is finished. Can we at least start questioning Caregiver Wisdom in this country so that the next time some non- or ordinary caregiver gets the urge to tell one of us Intense Caregivers that Someone is Preparing A Special Place for Us for After We Die, they think twice and say something else, like, "Here, let me do that for you..." And, as an Intense Needs Caregiver we know, because life is, finally, "like that", that the offerer knows exactly what needs to be done and we have no qualms about letting them do it for us or our beloved Care Recipient?
    "Oh dear," as my mother would say. The Curmudgeonly Caregiver strikes again. Don't listen to her, she doesn't mean it. Just give her a wide berth. She'll be fine. And, think of The Special Place she's earning in Heaven...would that all of us...
    Yes, exactly. Would that all of us. All. Of. Us. Now.

Today was another late rising for my mother...

gailraehudson@themomandmejournalsdotnet.net (Gail Rae) — Thu, 30 Dec 2004 06:16:00 +0000

...this time nobody's fault. It rained really hard with lots of strong wind all last night and most of today. Around 1000 I noticed a new house problem engendered by this particularly strong storm but for which the conditions have no doubt been developing beneath the covers for sometime: Leaking windows. This particular straw of a storm was the back breaker. I secured us with duct tape. Although I'll call insurance about it, I used to be an insurance adjuster and I know there won't be coverage for it. There was also no way to know what was developing beneath the surface on this one. It clearly comes under the "Jesus Fucking Christ What's Next" category. I feel so defeated by this problem that I don't even want to talk about it. I didn't mention it to MFASRF when I finally caught back up with him today after a month and after I'd secured the problem at least through the rest of the storm. I usually mention everything like this to him. He gets a kick out of house trials. I just didn't have the heart to think about it enough to write about it.
    Otherwise, I guess we had a good day. Once I awoke her, Mom was up most of the day until just a few minutes ago and took only a short nap. She wanted to break into the second season of Deep Space 9 today, which we did, all day long, well, except for the fact that I did laundry all day long in the aftermath of our house problem. And, I mean, allllldaaaayloooong...the last load of drying came out and was folded just before Mom went to bed.
    God damn, god damn, god damn, doing this alone without someone here with whom I can talk out my frustrations, someone here to at least hold me up while I'm shouldering the burden, someone here who gets it because they've been here for awhile, it's really getting to me now. Really.
    Oh well. Almost time to call it a day.

A late arising again...

gailraehudson@themomandmejournalsdotnet.net (Gail Rae) — Tue, 28 Dec 2004 23:21:00 +0000

...this time my mother's request. I had to make a Costco supply run. I did it very early, arriving back at 1045, at which time I slipped into my mother's bedroom. She was sprawled and sleeping hard. I awoke her, knowing that I had a lot to do today as we're having company tomorrow. Yes, I know, I said no visitors but these are the people who grab me by the scruff of the neck and pull me out of my doldrums, the people who keep as close and practiced an eye on my mother as I do, the people who tell me to grab a nap while they're here, they'll keep an eye on "Mom". When MCF heard my phone message she insisted on a visit and something in her voice told me it would be a good idea if I didn't refuse her and those of her family (also friends) who could make it.
    Mom begged to be allowed to sleep in until noon. I okayed this, knowing that I could probably get a good start on the necessary cleaning during that hour and 15 minutes. But wait! There's more. The first thing I did was call MCF to let her know rain is setting in and the worst of it is expected tomorrow, with a flash flood watch which will affect her drive. She hates to drive in bad weather. As it turns out, she's sick with something, sounded like warmed over shit and begged off until next week, since we're expecting snow on the weekend and she's like Mom is about snow...been there, done that, never again.
    So, company for tomorrow's been cancelled and I'm over being under the weather, although I suppose, considering how exhilarated rain causes me to feel, one could probably say I am ecstatically under the weather. Mom is flat under the weather.
    At Costco I picked up the second part of the final season of Sex and the City and we've been rewatching that until just a bit ago when Mom decided on a nap. I expect we'll polish it off this evening, take a peak at the alternate endings and see how they compare with our druthers.
    On my way back from Costco this morning it suddenly hit me with some unpleasantness that for the last three months my mother has been homebound, due to me, not to anything inherent in her 'condition'. She hasn't, I don't think, been unhappy nor do I think anything about her has suffered but I need to get her out again for her sake. As I realized this I was also overwhelmed with the memory of how much work it is to get her out:

how long it takes to work her up to it, which includes both mood and body preparation;
how long any outing takes when she's along;
how concentrated I must be on her even while I'm accomplishing the purpose of the outing;
how every trip involves the Emergency Bag which is used about 50% of the time;
how long it takes to 'debrief' her after outings;
how it is that, when I bring her along in our outside life I automatically lose time alone;
how this factor, in large part, has led to the last three months of her homeboundedness...

...and how I want to figure out a way to do all this without losing myself. One way or another, I guess, I'll figure it out because I must. It'll be interesting to see what I come up with. It will most likely consist of three parts attitude change and one part routine change. But it's time. It's definitely time.
Later, probably.

"'Night, 'night...

gailraehudson@themomandmejournalsdotnet.net (Gail Rae) — Tue, 28 Dec 2004 18:57:00 +0000

...sleep good."
    We kiss goodnight.
    "You too."
    "I'll see you in the morning."
    "Yes, you will, and I'll see you in the morning."
    That's my mother having the last word in our 'Night 'Night ritual.
    Tonight, on my way out of her bedroom, I realized that it is this ritual that insures that my mother will awaken the next morning. We pledge to see each other the next day. We both know we're not only looking forward to that mutual morning greeting, we rely on it. It gives us both a reason to get through the night.
    Some of the important guarantees of this seemingly insignificant ritual are:

That it will be the same person greeting her every morning, regardless of what mood that person, or she, is in;
That it will be someone with whom she is so familiar and who is so familiar with her that small talk will immediately begin upon arising, even if the small talk is along the lines of, "Why should I get up?!?"
That she knows the person greeting her in the morning is as dependent on her awakening as she is on being awakened by that person;
That it will happen within a household that contains the implements of not only her life but the life of the one who awakens her and that her presence in this household is as significant as the presence of the one who awakens her.

I think this bodes well for my mother awakening for many, many mornings to come.
'Night 'night.

Despite my earlier post of today...

gailraehudson@themomandmejournalsdotnet.net (Gail Rae) — Tue, 28 Dec 2004 06:26:00 +0000

...I was up early paying bills and looking through boxes of papers in an attempt to determine what our final estimated tax bill is so I can get it out before the end of the year. Although it's due in January, if it gets in before December 31st it's posted to this year. I think it will help us if it's posted for this year, although the "help" will be in the form of cutting our April tax bill only a little.
    All other bills except medical bills were figured and paid. This is why Mom's arising was put off so long today. I decided to awaken her at 1100 since she stayed up late last night, almost to midnight. At 1045 I attacked my last bill, full of about $90.00 in over charges (that's right folks, a phone company bill) and, as it turns out, an additional $28.00 in overcharges last month. Since I had it all figured out I didn't think it would take long to address the problem.
    If you read the daily meal stats you'll notice that I took her 'breakfast' blood sugar at 1210. I was still on the phone with the phone company. They were, of course, trying to figure out the same thing I already figured out. I think it was about 1220 when everything was figured out to their satisfaction and mine and we parted, me with a much decreased bill, them with profuse apologies for their "oversights". God, I hate the business world...but unless I absolutely have to get nasty I am always polite and patient when negotiating these "oversights". Seems to work better.
    The medical people can all cool their heels. This is what always happens when my mother goes into the hospital: I provide all her insurance information (she's Medicare/TriCare for Life) to the hospital. The hospital processes it all and presumably sends it on to all the visiting providers (consulting physicians and radiologists) who bill separately. I know, absolutely, that the hospital sends all my mother's information to the providers...I've asked them about this several times when going through provider bills. But, amazingly, the providers' billing departments never get it right. They always 'forget' to bill TriCare and tell me the hospital neglects to include this information. I learned after my mother's first hospital visit that this is a widespread, and apparently approved, medical scam to garner two payments on one bill. The first time she was in the hospital in 2002 we got a bill from a consulting physician. I was not nearly as savvy about medical billing procedures as I am now. Because I misread the "documentation" and since the bill was only $36.00 I paid it. A month later I received notification from TriCare that they were billed and paid the final $36.00 on the account. It took me three more months of calls which degenerated into extreme cynicism on my part to wrest that $36.00 out of the provider's office. Now, I let them spend about six months' worth of paper and computer time and employee time repeatedly billing us until I feel like contacting them and calling them on their "error" in insurance billing.
    If you go to Today's Dinner Stats post, you'll notice that my mother's blood pressure is almost back to normal. It's so normal I'm considering dropping her lisinopril back, but not quite yet. I'm a little worried since it's not yet, I'm sure, a result of regular exercise. We haven't been doing her exercises regularly and she hasn't been very mobile. Dropping blood pressure in her can also signal severely anemic bouts and/or dehydration so I'm being very careful this time. I'll probably take a couple more blood pressures throughout tomorrow, wait it out for a few days then take her in for the long overdue 'monthly' CBC and see where we stand. Overall, though, she's feeling good and doing good.
    We were both way under the weather today. I ended up taking a very hard three hour nap, so hard that I had to remind myself how to walk when I arose. That hasn't happened to me in years. Mom also wasn't up much today and retired early. We're both in good moods, though, despite my business slow-down reported in my earlier post today, which turned out not to be as slow as I would have liked.
    Before I laid down I was not in the best of moods although I wasn't advertising it. Suffice it to say that I lulled myself to sleep with fantasies of dying in some sort of freak accident so that I wouldn't have to continue this rugged, intense section of caregiving that's going on right now, all the more rugged and intense because I so desperately need a break. I guess the sleep must have cleared my system of some 'need-a-break' detritus because I'm feeling better this evening, a bit more optimistic about the days and months ahead and very optimistic about my mother's life.

I awoke this morning...

gailraehudson@themomandmejournalsdotnet.net (Gail Rae) — Mon, 27 Dec 2004 18:05:00 +0000

...with the need to ask the world to magnanimously forgive my tardiness in rejoining the superficial business of living and indulge me one more day. I haven't yet found the strength to pull myself back into Life As We Consciously Know It.
Maybe tomorrow. I'm working on tomorrow.
Later.

"I was dreaming about cheesecake,"

gailraehudson@themomandmejournalsdotnet.net (Gail Rae) — Sun, 26 Dec 2004 22:36:00 +0000

my mother said when I greeted her in the bathroom this morning. She awoke of her own accord...I was alerted when I heard her heading into the bathroom.
    "Would that have been pumpkin cheesecake? With raspberry maple sauce?" I teased.
    "I don't remember what kind it was but it was the cheesecake we're going to have tonight."
    "Ahhh...then it was the pumpkin cheese cake with raspberry maple sauce!"
    "Oh, good! I've been hoping we'd have some more before you freeze it!"
    "We'll do the same thing we did yesterday. We'll have a hearty lunch [I'm making the tomato sausage biscuit pie today] then we'll have a Just Desserts dinner."
    She would have applauded if she was the type. "You know," she continued, "that cheesecake didn't taste like pumpkin."
    Over the four years we've purchased Costco's pumpkin cheesecakes I've noticed that each year they contain less pumpkin. Both the flavor and color have been affected. This year the cheesecake had a just-off-white nutmeg yellow color and no pumpkin flavor. It had much less graham cracker crust, as well, which was an improvement. Not that it wasn't a decent cheesecake, just no longer pumpkin cheesecake. I was surprised my mother noticed this. In years past, as a confirmed smoker, she hasn't noticed the taste subtleties of pumpkin versus less pumpkin. This year she not only noticed she remembered the next day. "Were you disappointed?"
    "Goodness no! That raspberry sauce made the cheesecake. Didn't matter whether it was pumpkin or not."
    Funny she would mention this. When I purchased the cheesecake this year,it's color was so similar to a regular cheesecake that the idea for making the raspberry maple sauce came to me.

    This morning I discovered what's causing the excess water in our backyard. It isn't our house plumbing. The moisture is occurring along the drain that diverts our wash under the backyard through to it's natural bed along the west side of our house. The drain pipe is not straight. Somewhere under our yard it obviously takes an obtuse turn. The leak suggests to me that instead of using bent pipe to construct the diversion, welded pipe was probably used. The joint is probably where it's leaking. As well, our wash still has gently flowing water in it so water is flowing through the pipe. Although I'll check our water bill when it arrives I think the leak is in the wash diversion drain. I don't know if we'll fix it immediately. It's possible the wash drain has been cracked for awhile but we were gone a lot in winter over the last several years (and summer during some of those years) so we wouldn't have noticed. No wonder our back yard has been so prolific! No wonder we had a bumper crop of apples this year despite that they were shrunken and less than hardy from malnourishment.
    It's a good, easy day for Mom. We're watching Tracy-Hepburn movies, I'm doing the tomato pie prep, she's sneaking grape tomatoes, bits of chopped green onion and finger dips of the pesto I made to spice the pie. I like that she's been up a lot lately. We're down to no more than 12 hours of sleep.
    Good numbers all the way around.
    Later.

My mother's bladder control was excellent, today.

gailraehudson@themomandmejournalsdotnet.net (Gail Rae) — Sun, 26 Dec 2004 06:55:00 +0000

    Gee, I wonder why.
    She trotted to the bathroom on her own (by which I mean without being reminded) more than a few times and I changed her underwear about half-way through her "up" time not because they were wet (every time I checked them, which amounts to every time she goes to the bathroom, they were dry as new) but because it seemed the precautionarily hygienic thing to do.
    For all of you who are horrified at what you may consider the abusiveness of my outburst about her accidentally-on-purpose incontinence yesterday, trust me when I tell you, although my reaction was a bit over-the-top it was not abusive. Although I'm not happy that I resorted to such sharpness and continue to vow to look for other in-your-face methods that aren't quite as pointed, it worked. As well, it did not leave her trembling with fear about the possibility of being incontinent today nor did it raise her internal stress level.
    Let me explain something about my mother. She is a natural Buddhist. She consistently sees life from the broad perspective and reacts to it out of an internal serenity that is rarely disturbed. When it is disturbed she retreats into deep, often sub- or unconscious consideration of the disturbance, settles herself with it and reemerges unscathed. She is rarely startled or tricked into loud (meant in several ways) reaction. This has been true all her life. It has been a much indulged in habit of my sisters and mine to imagine my mother harboring deep grievances and burdens. The truth is, I don't think she's had many. The only two of which I know, one involving her inability to forgive someone for a long ago committed act, the other involving regret over an episode of what she considers to be insensitivity toward one of her students when she was teaching before joining the Navy, are not hidden from view out of shame but modesty.
    My mother does not consider life a stage for display but rather, simply, well, life. She does it but she has no taste for advertising her doing of it, although she clearly enjoys those who do. This lifelong tranquility is enhanced through her Ancienthood (as, I guess, everything becomes "enhanced"). Thus, making a point with my mother, which has always been difficult (she came with her own set of rules, very few of which were imparted to her through her environmental raising), now requires a certain amount of dramatics. Sometimes even those don't work. It surprises me that my dramatics of yesterday worked. It could be because they were uncalculated and provoked by and focused on what she considers to be a private matter: Bodily functions. It could be because my outburst was aimed only peripherally at her urination. My intended aim was her lack of consideration of how her decision to happily sit back and ignore her urge to pee affected me. She prefers to be considerate of others, will go out of her way to be so. This quality can successfully be brought to task when she is thoughtless.
    At any rate, today I discovered that she has the ability to be aware of and control her bladder much better than I thought. I've reestablished what her current bladder baseline is. It's much higher than I suspected. This is good news for both of us.
    We both, by the way, discovered that we can stand only one Capra movie at a time. Half way through the second of TCM's Christmas Capra fest we looked at each other and said simultaneously, "How about some Deep Space 9?"
    Later.

Late start to the day.

gailraehudson@themomandmejournalsdotnet.net (Gail Rae) — Sat, 25 Dec 2004 23:16:00 +0000

    I slept restlessly. My final awakening was at 1100 this morning. I considered awakening Mom but needed coffee.
    At noon Mom awoke of her own accord. I heard her and we went through our wake-up routine in silence except for my directions to her. Not that I was in a bad mood, just internalized, insular. She didn't react.
    By 1400 we were done with breakfast and I was done with my usual morning chores. I decided to empty the compost bucket into the bin out back and turn the pile. As I walked through our back yard I noticed, in the middle of it, a spot about two feet in diameter that is spongy moist. I suppose it's a broken underground pipe. I'm not sure whether it's connected to our house. Considering the layout of the properties around here and the fact that the last quarter of our backyard is the beginning of forest land, I can't imagine from where a water pipe in our backyard would come and/or to where it would be going. I guess I'll call the City of Prescott on Monday and find out if it's ours or theirs or if the water is coming from some other source. It's just inside the edge of our backyard winter shade. It could be collected moisture from very slow melting snow, considering that it's been so cold lately.
    We've lately been hosting a lot of deer in both the front and back of our yard so I collected lots of excellent deer dung for the compost bin.
    Mom watched as much as she could stand of The Greatest Story Every Told. About an hour ago she announced, "I like the other one better."
    "Can you tell me which one?" I was thinking maybe we have a copy of it.
    She thought for a minute.
    I tried to help her out. "Is it the one we got recently? The one that focuses on his death?" I was referring to The Passion of the Christ. If you're an aficionado of Jesus and Judeo-Christian Bible movies as my mother is, this one is at least as interesting as any of the rest.
    "No, no. That's the dark one, isn't it? No, it's the one where Jesus dreams while he's on the cross."
    "Oh, yeah. I like that one, too. The Last Temptation of Christ."
    "Do we have it? After I take a nap, I'd like to watch it."
    "No. But I'll see if anyone is showing it on TV and I'll put it on my list of videos to buy. I can't imagine how I missed picking that one up."
    "Good. It's a good one."
    She's napping now. No one is showing The Last Temptation of Christ today. I'm monitoring the wash and am going to read the collection of essays published in NYT today; one of them is about the breakup of families in China. I'm assuming it's different than the one I read a few days ago, since the essays are from sources other than NYT.
    Mr. Deeds Goes to Town is on at 1800 our time, tonight. I've never seen it so I'm planning on watching it regardless of what else happens. I'm a hopeless Capra and "Capraesque" fanatic. I'm assuming Mom will enjoy it, too.
    It doesn't look good for the tomato pie although I might change my mind later. If we don't have it today I'll probably make it tomorrow. We need to use the tomatoes. We've got some good left-overs. Lunch is going to be late so maybe we'll have a hearty lunch and cheesecake for dinner. The maple/raspberry sauce I'm planning for the cheesecake is easy and quick.
    Nothing has been mentioned about today being Christmas. That's fine with me and it seems to be fine with my mother. If it wasn't, I'd hear about it.
    Later.

Merry Christmas Christ Almighty

gailraehudson@themomandmejournalsdotnet.net (Gail Rae) — Sat, 25 Dec 2004 08:32:00 +0000

    Today's been a good day right up to the end. Then it turned sour. I swear, it looks like I'm going to have to start making sure Mom doesn't enjoy herself too much, as she did today.
    After lunch we watched a Christmas movie, her choice, Love Actually. She couldn't remember seeing it but remembered the other two we have, the old standards: Miracle on 34th Street and It's a Wonderful Life. She really enjoyed that movie, as though she'd never seen it, so I was satisfied. A couple of times, as I usually do, I paused the movie to ask her if she had to go to the bathroom. Nope, she didn't. I didn't think anything of it. She's been controlling her bladder pretty well during the day for quite awhile.
    It's a long movie. When it was over I decided that we should check her underwear just in case it needed changing. Not only did it need changing, Mom had peed through it and through the fairly sturdy cushion right the seat of her rocking chair. Not a big deal, though. This happens occasionally, especially if she's drinking lots of liquids on her own, which she did today: Coffee sipping and good times go together for her. I also racked the leakage up to her bout of CHF and decided that maybe her body just decided to release a lot of fluid all at once, which is good. This means that this bout is winding down or maybe it's over. Good time to get her moving, again.
    She remained in the mood for Christmas movies but wanted to watch "something different", so I switched to television. TCM was hosting a back-to-back run of Christmas classics, all of which are right up Mom's alley, so I tuned in and let Robert Osborne handle Mom while I got some chores out of the way and fixed dinner. This time, though, instead of leaving urination to chance, I asked her repeatedly if she had to go to the bathroom; to, I guess, the point of her distraction. I also suggested between two movies that we check her underwear just in case.
    She snapped, "I don't have to go to the bathroom! When I need to go, I'll go!"
    I understood and honored her annoyance (how would I like to be harrassed about my urinary habits, I thought, especially during a particularly enjoyable day) but continued my strategy, just a bit more subtly. I didn't force her, though. Considering how much fluid she lost during the first movie I figured that even if she is putting off going to the bathroom to pee, there's no way she's going to leak as much as she did earlier.
    Wrong again. At 2330 we both decided to turn in; unusual for me but I've been dragging this evening, mainly, I think, because I've been going to bed very late for the last couple of nights and setting the alarm in order to start my day in time to make it to the pharmacy first thing. Yesterday the meds I was to pick up "hadn't made it in on the truck" the evening before so I had to repeat the pharmacy trip this morning. I herded her into the bathroom to begin our "getting ready for bed" ritual, closing up the house, turning off lights and turning on the dishwasher on my way. As we undressed her I noticed that, once again, her second-pair-of-the-day flannel pants were wet: She'd leaked through again. This concerned me, especially since I'd been so meticulous after the first accident about quizzing her about her need to urinate and she'd been adamantly denying any need.
    I checked the substitute cushion and, sure enough, it and the chair seat were soaked. Well, I decided, I guess I'm not going to bed as early as I thought. If I want to keep my work load to a low roar tomorrow I'd better wash this cushion tonight, too, which means waiting for the first cushion to dry enough so I can put the second cushion in the dryer before I go to bed. I was weary and a touch disappointed but not upset, although genuinely worried about what could be causing this sudden, copious, day leakage. Such is the life of a caregiver to an Ancient One, I figured.
    When I returned to the bathroom I said, "I don't know, Mom. I think either this bout of CHF is settling in for the long haul or you're developing another UTI. You really let go this evening and since you didn't feel as though you had to pee, something is obviously not quite right."
    "Oh," she said, a little indignant, "I knew I had to pee."
    It took me a few seconds to digest this. "You mean, every time I asked you if you had to go to the bathroom you actually did but you said no?"
    "Not every time," she huffed.
    I exploded. "Well, obviously not every time! You peed in your pants between urges! Why did you allow yourself to do that?!? I must have asked you if you had to go a million times!"
    "I was enjoying the movies," she righteously defended. "I didn't want to miss anything."
    "Well, thank you very much, Mrs. Hudson! Now, I get to stay up well past the time I actually wanted to go to bed because you were enjoying the evening too damned much to go to the bathroom! Unacceptable! I am not here so you can pee on cushions all day long at your leisure! I don't care how irritated you get when I ask you repeatedly if you have to pee! I only do this when it's necessary and I don't do it just for your convenience, I do it for mine, too! I'm tired, tonight! I am not interested in staying up any longer, but, guess what. Because you couldn't be bothered with going to the bathroom tonight I pay the price!"
    "You don't have to do the laundry tonight. Nothing's stopping you from going to bed."
    "Oh, great idea! Leave this wash till tomorrow so I can do an extra wash and add that to all my regular chores and making the Christmas dinner we'd planned! Yeah, that's exactly what I want to do! You know what, I don't care. I'm soooo tired tonight. And I'm disgusted that I can't go to bed when I want because you didn't want to be bothered with going to the bathroom this evening. It doesn't matter when I do that cushion, I'm thinking I'm not interested in doing Christmas dinner tomorrow. It looks like I've already got a schedule that involves keeping a really close eye on you so I don't have to wash more cushions tomorrow; or I suppose I can just give up and wash cushions. Either choice adds more than enough chores to my regular schedule. I can't see any reason to pile what it takes to make a tomato sausage biscuit pie onto that."
    She didn't have anything to say after this.
    I super-cleaned her groin area for the third time today, silent and simmering.
    When I steered her into her bedroom I was upset with myself, not for scolding her but for having exploded while I was doing it. I made a sincere but guarded apology. I didn't want her going to bed hurt because I'd overreacted out of tiredness and annoyance but I also didn't want her to think that she could forget about the evening and pull the peeing stunt again. I hate these kinds of apologies. It's always easier when I'm clearly in the wrong.
    I have no idea what tomorrow is going to be like. I don't know if I'm even going to bother to acknowledge Christmas. I'm beginning to feel as though I shouldn't have softened a week or so ago...I should have stuck to my original No Holiday Holiday plan. Well, I'll keep that in mind for next year, I guess. What a fucking hell of a year. I'm glad it's almost over.
    Thank god, I just heard the dryer stop from the first cushion. I can load the second one, which is now washed, and go to bed.
    Merry Christmas my (dragging) ass.

I'm letting the phone ring audibly today and tomorrow...

gailraehudson@themomandmejournalsdotnet.net (Gail Rae) — Fri, 24 Dec 2004 22:11:00 +0000

...in case anyone should decide to wish the Holiday Grinch and Her Mother a Merry Christmas, etc. Much to my and my mother's delight, we've already received a call from her eldest grandson, one of the few nieces and nephews with whom we both have an extended and much appreciated history. Aside from being an all around amazing man, we had a good, delighted laugh. After my mother spoke to him and handed the phone to me, at one point in my conversation with him I called him by name.
    "Oh!" my mother exclaimed, that's [First Grandson]?!?
    He heard her in the background and chuckled.
    So did I. "Yeah," I said, "now she really enjoys having talked to you!"
    My mother caught the joke and took it in humorous stride. I think this is one of the aspects I appreciate most about my mother's old age; she is completely relaxed with her Ancient One Quirks. As I was reminded by the behavior of her roommate at the skilled nursing facility, it is heartbreaking when An Ancient One is distressed about their own display of The Vagaries of the Ancients.
    I dialed the phone so my mother could thank MCS and MCBIL for the lovely flower centerpiece and MCS and I had an excellent conversation. Much to my delight, she was to my immediate side in the Flower Shop Debacle so I guess we all inherited the desire to enhance the Holiday Season with a touch of pepper. Talking to her gave us a chance to "celebrate" our ambivalent disappointment that the flower shop came through with flying colors.
    Mom's down again for a nap after a decent (3 hour) "up" interval. Although her day began lively enough, she was awfully stiff, complained of a "hitch in her giddy-up" (meaning her hips and knees), was so not-there when we played Sorry that I snapped at her for moving the pieces with her arm and not breathing through her nose. I finally upped her oxygen to 3/lpm which will trigger puffs with mouth breathing. At one point I blurted, "I get so tired of having to monitor my body and yours, too," and then immediately burst into tears, told her that this didn't mean I didn't want her around and asked her to forgive me.
    She looked at me as though to say, "Forgive you for what? You come by your ass naturally, it's your father's you know; I just ignore it."
    I burst out laughing.
    Firebug that she is, Mom wanted to immediately light the candles upon seeing the arrangement but I convinced her that it would be much more atmospheric if we waited until after sunset, turned on the tree, lit the candles and watched Christmas movies in a provocative holiday atmosphere.
    I haven't decided whether to try an informal exercise session today. Today might be one of those days when it's best to let her do what she wants instead of trying to make her want to do what's best for her.

    Night before last we caught the movie Marvin's Room. You'll notice, in the IMDb link, it mentions nothing about the movie being about a caregiver to an elderly relative. Aside from being a superb ensemble piece with no false performances, it is, indeed, about caregiving to the elderly within a family. I was blown away at how appropriate everything in the movie is to the typical "lot" of caregivers to elderly relatives. The caregiving sister hadn't planned to be caring for her father and her aunt for twenty years. It just happened. Despite all the Good Advisors' blah-blah about "plans", etc., I suspect, since this was the scenario in the movie, this is typical of caregiver situations. As well, several other aspects of the story rang true:

The unintended tension between the caregiving sister and the sister who pursued her "own" life, specifically in regards to the "other" sister not understanding that the caregiving sister also had her own life including friends and lovers, of which her sister was unaware.
The fact that some of this tension involves the perception that The One Cared For and the caregiver would be better off if The One Requiring Care were cared for by professionals.
The unintended tension that arises when the caregiver is too busy and too exhausted to send cards, letters, special day acknowledgments, etc, either on her own behalf or on behalf of The One Cared For.
The "on display" atmosphere surrounding visits of other relatives to the caregiver and The One Cared For.
The sometimes hard to accept fact that an outsider sometimes notices something about The One Cared For that the caregiver, in her daily ministrations, misses.
The fact that visitors often feel rebuffed by the supremely and necessarily well regulated 'trifles' of the life of the household in which The One Cared For resides, and find it hard to accept, or take seriously, such regulation.
The fact that the caregiving child is also, for whatever reason [and, there are many roads to this destination, some of which would surprise those who pursued marriage(s)] the "remained single" child.
Lastly and most stunningly, this specific caregiver's admission that she has "known such love," which the other sister interprets as meaning the love the caregiver has received. The caregiver corrects: No, she says, she means the love she's been privileged to give.

The last point blew me away. A few years ago, after my mother's care took an upward, decidedly intense turn, one day in the midst of doing some curious, intimate chore for her while she was recovering from something (I can't remember what) I realized that I am not only my mother's final companion but most probably the best lover she's ever had. I know her physically better than anyone else has and will and probably better than she knows herself. As a result of all the years of:

leg rubs, back massages, doing her hair (from which she receives intense pleasure);
making it my business to know exactly what she likes including the temperature of her coffee and that she prefers other liquids at room temperature;
knowing when I can push her taste buds into an adventure and when I'd better not;
keeping up with her reading preferences;
understanding that her staring into space is sometimes a not-to-be-disturbed reverie;
having time to not only contemplate but acknowledge with her a variety of small but significant shared genetic traits;
seeing to her comfort and desires in a way no one ever has since she was an infant;
observing her so closely that I move with her, talk with her, sometimes even breathe with her in ways that are soothingly complementary;
learning about her history by being mistaken for people within her history, which imparts an intimacy with that history that is available in no other way...

...through all these activities and more I have become the ultimate lover of her life.
    I know that since I've never been and never will be a mother there is an aspect and knowledge of my mother's life of which I will never know, in which I will never share. It is an aspect all three of my sisters share with my mother through a deep, moving bond that I cannot imagine. It isn't a part of my nature to participate in this particular mother-daughter bond. It is, though, well within my nature to be here, now, with her, as I am and to hold her in exactly the way she needs and wants to be held as she polishes off her very unique life. Because I'm doing this I've realized over the last several years, just as did Diane Keaton's character in the above mentioned movie, that I am among the ranks of the luckiest children.
    I intended to use the above discussion as a reminder to write that essay that's been moving about my thoughts for the last several years which I entitled, at the time I realized it should be 'essayed', I Am My Mother's Lover. I think, though, I just wrote it, so I'm adding it to the essay list as is, where it is.
    Later.

The flowers just arrived...

gailraehudson@themomandmejournalsdotnet.net (Gail Rae) — Fri, 24 Dec 2004 16:56:00 +0000

...in time for my mother's wake-up call, which will be a thrill for her and push her out of bed more quickly than usual.
    The guy said that some of the flowers had been "replaced" in order to insure that the arrangement "lasts for awhile".
    My mean little internal elf is not disappointed. She's an ingenious demon. She'll find another way to celebrate the holiday this year. In the meantime, my mother and the rest of me will enjoy the sparkling arrangement, complete with candles, one of my mother's favorite things (she hosts a firebug demon, which some of you long time readers and relatives already know).
    Interesting, thoughtful holidays to all my readers and, especially, everyone who's too busy taking care of people to spend time on the internet reading caregiver blogs.
    Time to wake up The Mom.

The flower shop just called.

gailraehudson@themomandmejournalsdotnet.net (Gail Rae) — Fri, 24 Dec 2004 16:30:00 +0000

    "Someone", it seems, "forgot to mark the flowers for redelivery" and "didn't note that [I'd] called", let alone 15 minutes after the initial attempted delivery. Interestingly, it was this man's voice who left word on our voice mail and heard my message. I told him that we'd waited all day yesterday for delivery based on what the woman I spoke to on Wednesday said.
    "Hmmm..." he said. "Well, we'll get those out today, sometime before one." No apology. To his credit, no excuses, either. At least the sun will be up to allow me to clearly see whether the flowers are in a condition to be accepted.
    My mean little internal elf is dancing with anticipated holiday joy.
    Shame on you, Gail Rae! For shame!

Typical researcher/writer that I am...

gailraehudson@themomandmejournalsdotnet.net (Gail Rae) — Fri, 24 Dec 2004 07:55:00 +0000

...I've been blithely keeping double copies of everything here as daily posts and archives. It finally caught up with me and I had to copy over four months of daily posts to my hard drive and delete them off my ISP's server in order to continue publishing. I'll probably delete the entire past year's dailies shortly. As it turns out, though, I've got my search engine set to search the dailies and not the archives. I need to change that. I didn't think about it when I began using Atomz. I just wanted to make sure duplicate searching didn't happen. However, it makes more sense to exclude the dailies and include the archives from a page count perspective. Thus, until I find a few hours to do this, the first four months of 2004 won't be available for search. Not that it matters. Very few people search my site. But I thought I'd mention it just in case you're one of those few.

    This evening we talked a little about congestive heart failure. She doesn't have chronic CHF but when she's extremely sedentary, which she's been for the last couple of months (in part my doing, although, she loves being sedentary and doesn't fight me when I allow her to be) she begins to develop slight swelling in her feet at night and a bit of a dry hack, both signs of fluid retention pressuring a heart working harder than it likes. In addition, over the last week or so I've had her on oxygen almost constantly during the day when she's up even though she's mostly been sitting. Combined with her elevated (for her) blood pressure, she's obviously experiencing a bout of CHF-lite. None of the symptoms are yet worrisome. If you didn't look at my mother's feet as often as and with the attention that I do you wouldn't consider them swollen. You definitely wouldn't notice the dry hack or you'd dismiss it as the effects of the extremely dry winter air; the humidity today, for instance, hovered around 6%. The spate of elevated blood pressure? All the physicians she's had are so thrilled with her diastolic that they don't consider her systolic a problem, especially at her age. Despite what could be considered the minor state of her symptoms, I've been considering that I need to get her moving again. As you know if you've been keeping up with us, I started this some days ago, with varied success. Tonight, though, I decided, now that we're initiating earlier wake-ups perhaps it's time to approach increased movement from a different angle.
    While we were in the bathroom readying her for bed I pointed out the slight swelling of her feet and her more aggressive use of oxygen. I explained everything in the above paragraph then added, "You don't have chronic congestive heart failure, Mom, but anyone can develop it and one of the best ways to go about this is to be as sedentary as we've allowed you to be for an extended period. Otherwise, you're doing fine, I'm sure your hemoglobin is good, no colds, few allergies, excellent appetite, excellent everything else, so, you know, it's time to move, again."
    The funny thing is, today (which has been a fairly well motivated day for her and positively busy for me) maybe an hour after lunch I started setting up the chair and foot platform for exercises. I told her as I worked that we were going to do a short session again.
    "No!" Loud, clear, startled and determined.
    I laughed. "Come on, Mom. Only a half hour, maybe a little less, no standing ones, just the sitting ones. You can do it."
    "Absolutely not!"
    I laughed again. "Why not, Mom?"
    "I did those yesterday! I think I deserve a rest, today!"
    "Well, no, I think our last session was a couple of days ago."
    "It may as well have been yesterday!"
    Funny, funny woman.
    I lost this one. That's why I decided tonight to take a different approach. I think the approach worked, too. She was very attentive.
    "You know, Mom, CHF can take out just about anyone if they let it. It's especially good at taking out people who are suffering from something else. But, you know, you're not severely anemic, you're not having problems with sodium, we seemed to have licked the UTI problem, you're in very good health so it's silly to allow CHF to develop and take you out now. Let's wait for a really good reason."
    She understood and agreed. Of course she was also on her way to bed. It's easy to agree with just about any kind of plan for "tomorrow" when one is on one's way to bed. We'll see how it goes.

    Something else I wanted to mention. I think my phone message has offended someone to the point of causing us a problem. Yesterday while I was at Costco (gone maybe an hour and a half in the afternoon) one of the local flower shops attempted to deliver an arrangement to my mother from one of my sisters. I knew it was coming, waited a while but couldn't keep Mom up any longer. When she laid down I headed out. Naturally, the florist arrived 15 minutes before I got home, Mom was asleep and didn't hear the doorbell and the shop left a note asking me to call for an alternate delivery time. I did. I noticed, though, as I picked up the phone that the shop had also called to leave a message on voice mail which means they heard my message.
    Although the employee to whom I spoke wasn't the same employee who left a message (different gender), once I mentioned my name and address her delivery was curt and demanding. I faltered but didn't connect her attitude with my voice mail message. I figured it's been a long day for them, she's probably up to her ass in flowers and about ready to sit on a few arrangements. I took her attitude well and promised her we'd be home all day today except for a short sprint to pick up an Rx between 0800 and 0830. You'd think a florist's shop would attempt redelivery of an arrangement early the next day so the flowers remain fresh. This has been my experience. It has also been my experience that, on heavy business days, florist delivery trucks are on the road early-to-late. No delivery attempt was made today. I thought about calling but my internal, mean little holiday elf decided, nah, let's see how long it takes them to deliver, on purpose, an arrangement of wilted flowers, which I, of course, will refuse; let's see what excuse they invent for taking direct offense at us because of my voice mail message.
    My mother and I spent a fair amount of time today discussing "The Undelivered Flowers". She agreed that I not call. "They know what they're supposed to be doing," she said. "If they don't do it we don't accept the flowers and they don't get paid. What's the name of that shop? Your message [she's heard it; I insisted the day it was recorded that she listen to it] isn't that bad. If they can't deliver flowers in a timely fashion they shouldn't be in the business."
    It's great to have a mother who's always up for some decent trouble.
    I may be wrong, someone may have died, but despite this, if the arrangement is not as fresh as it should be I don't care what excuse they come up with, the arrangement will be refused and I'll immediately call MCS to report the problem, have her contact her florist and get her money back. Nothing like the possibility of some holiday fireworks to get me going! Apparently the same is true for my mother.

We talked about "wake up times in the morning" tonight.

gailraehudson@themomandmejournalsdotnet.net (Gail Rae) — Thu, 23 Dec 2004 07:22:00 +0000

    It finally came to my attention that this discussion was necessary. She not only awoke late today (I allowed her this), but she slogged through day (about which I can do very little; if she's going to slog, she's going to slog). The problem today, though, is that her late awakening time combined with her long nap and her generally slow attitude pushed her meals and meds so far out of whack that we were just lucky that we still had "Just Desserts" around. I'd made plans for three well spaced, nutritious, delicious meals, which would also appropriately space her meds. As well, I haven't been worried about her "under the weather" days. But, I did help to create this monster in October by accident and then in November on purpose, so, I decided, it's time to modify the monster so I don't have to scurry by habit in order to make sure she is well fed, well med-ed and gets in some quality "up" time.
    I opened the subject by expressing exactly what I wrote in the paragraph above. Not only can I not see any reason not to be truthful and to take responsibility for my part in her life but it seems disrespectful to me to either order her around without reason and discussion and/or have "pretend" conversations that are created out of undignified assumptions about what she can and can't understand or remember.
    After my opening I suggested that we try a 1000 wake up time for the next several days to see how it goes. Despite reminding her that she awoke at 1018 of her own accord the day before yesterday, she was shocked by and not completely happy with my suggestion. She understood the necessity of it, both from my point of view and from the perspective that it might do her some good to be up a bit more than she's lately been. I thought about reminding her of the couple of days when we did "informal" exercising and how she either delayed or forgot about napping on those days but decided, no, unnecessary information.
    She's agreed to "give it a try". We start tomorrow. I'm looking forward to this.

    I've been thinking today, as well, about the mechanics of my mother's memory in connection with her short term memory's inability to hold information. What I've noticed is that the information isn't dumped. It's as though any current information is immediately whisked out of her short term memory (perhaps doesn't stop there) but is stored in her medium and long term memory for retrieval when necessary. Two incidents today caused me to consider this. The first I can't remember (Oops...do you suppose it's catching?!?) but the second I doubt I'll ever forget. When I returned from Costco, awoke her and announced that I'd managed to gather everything we needed for the Christmas dinner we agreed upon yesterday she said, "I thought you decided you didn't want to celebrate Christmas this year."
    This came as a surprise. I didn't think she'd remembered this. "Well, yeah," I said. "But, you know, we talked about it a couple of days ago and decided a special dinner would be nice. Then, after changing my mind a couple times, we decided on the tomato sausage biscuit pie."
    "Yes, I remember," she said. My mother's sense of personal dignity is not tied to her memory so she would not have said this if she didn't remember. "But, I figured you'd abandon the tomato pie just like you abandoned the pork roast."
    Whoa! She remembered the pork roast! "Are you disappointed?"
    "Not at all. You just seemed to need to do Christmas the way you used to, this year."
    I was flattered she remembered and pleased that she was accepting of my No Holidays This Year decision. "Well, I still feel like that's what I'm doing. Even when I lived alone I'd occasionally do something special on the holiday, like go see one of the movies that started on the holiday or fix myself something special to eat, maybe something I'd never tried. So, this isn't that much different. Except I'm doing it with you. Which is very nice, by the way."
    "Good," she said. "You did say you got the cheesecake, didn't you?" Some things obviously brand one's memory.
    "Are you disappointed about not seeing relatives this year?"
    "No. Not at all. We can see them any time and the holidays are so rush-rush. We don't really get a chance to sit and talk."
    This isn't completely true but she knows it isn't and we both know what she means. On almost any holiday there's the clatter of "special, special day" in the background, drowning out any possibility of sitting back and chatting over coffee.
    I've noticed this before, that information isn't lost to her, it's just shuffled around so fast she can't keep up with it in the short term. But, given some time it all comes back and settles into its appropriate places in the puzzle.
    Later.

We are now sufficiently...

gailraehudson@themomandmejournalsdotnet.net (Gail Rae) — Thu, 23 Dec 2004 00:35:00 +0000

...tomatoed and Parmesaned and green onioned and pumpkin cheesecaked and even frozen raspberried (it occurred to me that raspberry sauce would be wonderful on the cheesecake) for Christmas. Costco had replenished their supply of pork loin roasts (although there were no small ones) but as I passed the refrigerated compartment I glanced at them and thought, "Nah, what we're having is much better and personal, just the two of us eating stuff we love. No obligatory meat slabs this year."
    When I finally awoke Mom she ushered me into yet another of her "Why get up?" days. Because the living room was so sunny this morning despite the cold outside, I set her up there for breakfast. She took a loooong time, to get to the bathroom and lingered over bathing by trying hard not to bathe. I think despite calling her at noon straight up she actually ate breakfast around 1330. Could have been 1345. She lingered through that, too. Couldn't even get a Sorry game out of her. She read a lot, though. After her cranberry juice and herding her into the bathroom to brush her teeth she decided it was nap time. Although I asked her outright if she was bored, to which she answered, "No! I'm tired!", I decided not to snip. She looks rosy enough. Her circulation is excellent, no unusual aches or pains, no constipation as far as I know. I guess she's just feeling old. And, maybe, a little bored, although it's personally enforced boredom. It's not like I haven't tried. Maybe I should pull a few days of nothing but writing and keeping a cursory eye on her, "leave her alone, and she'll come home, wagging her tail behind her."
    Sometimes I wonder what she is getting out of life now, especially during times like these. I guess that's one of those Ancient Secrets that can't be passed on, it has to be lived.
    I decided to drop back to taking her blood pressure once a day when she's settled in her rocker just before dinner. If it seems steady enough over a week or so I won't bother irritating her three times a day with the wrist cuff and the instructions unless I notice worrisome changes.
    I've been checking on her every twenty minutes or so. She's sleeping deeply. I remember when I lived alone, maybe every six months or so I'd take out a day, sometimes a whole weekend and spend most of it with Morpheus, lolling in and out of my sub- and unconscious. I believe I got that from her.
    And, maybe tonight will be a really late night for her. Those are always fun.
    Later.

Even as I've been writing...

gailraehudson@themomandmejournalsdotnet.net (Gail Rae) — Wed, 22 Dec 2004 18:56:00 +0000

...all these years, the rural Chinese family is being exploded by global economics, and faring the worse for it. The story was published by The New York Times yesterday:
Rural Exodus for Work Fractures Chinese Families by Jim Yardley.
The story is accompanied by a multi-media presentation.
    What does this have to do with caregiving? You might think that I've hidden my head in a hole from international developments since my mother's intense care commenced some years ago. Not so. The situation about which the above story was written has been taking place throughout the developing world for a good decade, if not longer. It's an old story, one that's played out over and over in civilization's history. As we see in this developed country of ours, even under the best of circumstances the details of this story contribute to the marginalization of both familial and community support networks in favor of the highly symbolic and ultimately unreliable and inadequate need for, you've got it, money.
    The birth pangs of a Brave New World? I don't think so. This type of splintering of caregiver networks has been going on since the dawn of civilization (meaning, since the invention of agriculture). Considering our own world in light of this millennial movement, we should be firmly ensconced in the Brave New World, now. How about it, people, do you consider this world of ours brave, or new?
    A couple of nights ago my mother and I watched the Inside the Actor's Studio broadcast of a 2004 interview with George Carlin. His take is that humanity appears to have proven itself pretty much a doomed species but being so is certainly an interesting pasttime in which to participate. I have to agree with him. I've never believed that the death means failure. How can it, since mortality is programmed into everything we perceive, including our planet? I think, though, that as our species continues we are listing ourselves among the first ranks of catastrophic conditions that wreak violent (in terms of the entire life of our planet, and, for that matter, the universe) changes upon its host. I'm not sure how I feel about being one of this species. It is simultaneously exhilarating and terrifying. What I do think is that as a species we may not completely die out but we've certainly proven that we're capable of extraordinary, ultimately thoughtless catalysis and we'll probably take out most of ourselves, as well as quite a few other species and planetary conditions, before we begin our next chapter in The Great Adventure of Existence.
    Science teaches us that something will occur in place of us. On an individual level it seems to be a directive of our fate to be aware, in arrears, of our power. Yet by another fateful directive we are unable to grasp this well enough to understand the consequences of what we do with our power until we are meeting those consequences head on. Do you think that developing, and, for that matter, developed nations of humans want, or even expect, to fracture their familial and community bedrock? Of course not. But we do it anyway, all the while thinking we've got a bead on the best way to survive.
    In the end, it is those few in touch with the nirvana of existence who prosper, so to speak. They see the humor and ecstasy in it all and choose to continue willingly. The rest of us scramble for the next hand or foothold, even as the rocks of our family and community become dislodged and fall away beneath us, making it harder to find the next hold.
    I'm letting The Mom sleep in this morning, trying to avoid a repeat of yesterday, but it's time to begin rousing her.
    Later.

A collage of a day...

gailraehudson@themomandmejournalsdotnet.net (Gail Rae) — Wed, 22 Dec 2004 07:44:00 +0000

...and that's the only way it makes any sense.
    I awoke from a dismemberment dream. It wasn't scary, wasn't a bad dream. Although I have no idea what dismemberment dreams classically mean, I think I know how this one came about. The dream featured me looking for and finally locating someone to lop off my left hand. Somehow in my sleep I'd managed to assault my "compassion crick" left thumb (which hasn't shown any signs of healing), painfully locking it. I awoke from the dream as I, equally painfully, straightened the offending knuckle out of the lock. Immediately upon awaking, remembering the dream, it occurred to me that, considering how intense the pain is when this happens, it's possible that the discomfort of a phantom hand would be more easily endured than this.
    Despite this things went well for awhile. I awoke early, visited the natural foods store where I purchase Mom's 100% aloe vera gel and one of Mom's iron supplements, had a crazy conversation with a guy about talking the automatic door open, which added a touch of whimsy to the day, and headed home determined to get Mom up and out. It was, by the way, a cloudy morning, which always buoys my spirit. I also tend to forget that the opposite happens for Mom; at least until I awaken her and notice she's dragging. Today, it seems, was going to be another "Why get up?" day for her. Disappointment eluded me, though. Today was Pick up a Pork Roast at Costco Day, whether or not she accompanied me.
    I'm not sure what happened between the time I set Mom up with several episodes on Animal Planet of That's My Baby and the time I set foot on the pavement at Costco. I had even remembered to take my iPod and set it on a playlist loaded with upbeat, soaring music. Before I showed my card at the door I was being shadowed by dread. They had their pumpkin cheesecakes on display and my normal reaction is to stow one in my cart. Although my mother doesn't like pumpkin pie, she loves their pumpkin cheesecake. So do I. Couldn't work up the enthusiasm. Then I noticed I was going around the outside perimeter in order to avoid the sampling kiosks specifically so I wouldn't have to participate in conversation. When I discovered that Costco was out of the small pork roasts they had a few days ago I noticed a mean little elf inside me dancing a gleeful jig. That's it, I decided, I obviously am not interested in preparing Christmas dinner. In fact, I couldn't remember why I became momentarily enthused about it in the first place. Must have been guilt, I decided. Well, to hell with that. I'm not going to try to fool myself into thinking I'm interested in putting on a Christmas Show for anyone.
    When I arrived home I announced to Mom that I'd changed my mind about Christmas dinner. I knew what I wanted this year in the way of celebration. Nothing. That's the way I was going to play it out.
    Mom didn't seem disappointed although she asked, "Not even dessert?!?"
    "We've got those muffins, Mom, we'll continue to have those, off and on, until they're gone."
    "Well," she said, "I was thinking about that cheesecake, you don't have to make that..."
    I tell you, the woman is uncanny. This happens often between us: One of us will be thinking of something relatively obscure and the other one will announce it. "I don't know," I said. "That would mean another trip to Costco, and Christmas is Saturday, and it's Tuesday, now...I don't know..."
    "I can make Christmas dinner," she offered.
    I couldn't help myself. It may sound unkind but I burst into laughter. "Mom," I said, "the last time you attempted to cook anything was four or five years ago, it was a pumpkin pie for a family Thanksgiving dinner and you couldn't concentrate long enough to follow the recipe on the can label!"
    "Well," she said slyly, "I wasn't planning on using recipes."
    My laughter ratcheted up a notch. "Yeow, Mom! That scares me even more!"
    She laughed. Knowingly.
    "Mom, I think I'm going to end up doing Christmas as though it was a regular day. I know you'll probably mind, but, damn, I just don't have it in me to do someone else's idea of Christmas, this year."
    "No, I suppose not," she conceded. "Well, anything you fix will be good. It always is."
    That's when it occurred to me. "Mom, I wouldn't mind making that tomato sausage biscuit pie. You like that, right?"
    "Absolutely. Sounds good!"
    "And it's red and green, it looks like Christmas."
    "You're right, it does."
    "O.K. I think I'm up for that. I'll have to go back to Costco and get one of those two pound containers of grape tomatoes. Those are the only good ones around right now. And Parmesan. We've been out of the shredded kind for awhile."
    "Would you mind picking up one of those cheesecakes, then?"
    Cagey woman. The discussion ended there. Nap time.
    The tomato biscuit pie is labor intensive but it's more my style than a slab of meat. It smells so good while it's baking, all that basil. I'd been thinking lately about springing one on my mother again, anyway. May as well do it on Christmas. Yes, if I can manage to sneak to Costco while that mean little elf is preoccupied maybe I'll pick up a cheesecake.
    I suppose, too, I'll remind my mother on Saturday that it's Christmas.
    I could use some snow...the weather report is predicting sunshine and temperatures in the mid 50's. No rain or snow until the following Monday and Tuesday. Maybe I can call that storm here earlier. I hope so. That would make my day.

Pride Goeth Before the Chicken Stock Pot Falls

gailraehudson@themomandmejournalsdotnet.net (Gail Rae) — Tue, 21 Dec 2004 01:03:00 +0000

    I awoke through unsettling thoughts this morning despite being in an even-keeled mood. I'm not sure whether the thoughts were provoked by a dream of which I have no memory or unrecognized guilt over deciding to Have [The Holidays] My Way, but I woke up considering that a relative or two, or more, might get their noses so far out of joint regarding me going into Holiday Hibernation and taking my mother with me (who could be said to have no choice about the matter) that we end up with government agents on our doorstep attempting to surprise me in the act(s) of abusing my mother; and/or we are treated to a surprise visit by relatives who figure I must be slacking in my responsibilities to my mother, otherwise I'd be all over the holiday season and the possibility of taking my mother out for show and tell like a bad suit (even though they know me better than this).
    Truthfully, I don't think I have any relatives who would do either. So I must be feeling a little autonomic guilt over my decisions regarding how the holidays are going to (not) be celebrated around here this year. But the super-egocentric prod by which I awoke got me to thinking that: As more and more people are indentured into caregiving for older relatives, as more and more government agencies are "mandated" with oversight of both formal and informal caregiving circumstances and as our culture begins to come to grips with our cultural ambiance being not anywhere near a satisfactory ambiance for the care of children, let alone elderly adults, I wonder how often it will begin to happen that relatives not directly involved in the care of their family's elderly will resent decisions the caregivers make which, while not harming the care recipient, clearly favor caregiver over those relatives who are not involved in caring for the relative. I have a feeling that we're going to see some pretty surprising and ugly law suits filed against family caregivers as we become more numerous and make more decisions based on our needs as caregivers rather than our familys' needs as onlookers. Family members not directly involved in the care of the family's elderly tend to look on elderly relatives as a "family treasures" which come with an obligation to be displayed whenever those not directly involved in elder care have a moment to spare to view the treasure. The family members directly involved in the elder relative's care, though, look on the elder relative as, well, family...a member of the household...someone with whom they interact every day and with whom they cannot help but have a close, detailed personal, social and business relationship.
    While these two considerations of elderly relatives need not necessarily be mutually exclusive, they can become so during periods when the direct caregiver heaves a tired sigh and decides, "You know what? I need to work a little time into my schedule for me, even if I have no way to safely hand off my relative. I need to do this particular season my way because I've been doing it in an unnatural way for 12 years and I think my desires deserve to be honored..." ad infinitum.
    Consider the type of cases that began hitting the courts as a result of stressed parents dropping their kids off at grandma's and grandpa's and leaving them there. It'll be interesting to see what litigious changes take place in the courts as the ranks of the caregiver encompass more, and more types, of people.

    Mom awoke on her own today, 1018, to be exact, which thrilled me. Breakfast took place at 1145 rather than 1345. I was very happy and got a shot of energy from this. I decided, after feeding Mom breakfast, that I'd attack the lower food cupboards (the worst ones) then make chicken stock from the carcass of the roast chicken we've been slowly demoralizing then make home made chicken noodle soup. This is one of my favorites to make, as it fills the house with such tempting aromas, and, anyway, home made chicken soup is one of my specialties and one of Mom's favorites. I spent a good 2 hours tending the simmering of the carcass with a wonderful blend of herbs and spices, fishing out and stripping the bones of every morsel of meat, skin and organs, putting it all back in the pot and readying the refrigerator to hold the stock for about a half hour in order to allow the fat to rise so I could skim it off, all the while celebrating. Just as I was carefully sliding the stock onto the cleared refrigerator shelf, my mother shuffled around up the steps from the living room to the dinette, around the corner into the kitchen, glasses and oxygen off, to announce that she was ready to take a nap. She accidentally bumped into the refrigerator door, I received a jolt which caused me to release the pot, which was less than halfway secure on the shelf. The pot dropped and meaty, herb and spice ridden chicken stock spilled all over the kitchen floor and part way into the dinette. Both of us were stunned, heartbroken and covered with chicken stock.
    In case you're wondering, first I cleaned The Mom then I ordered Mom into the living room, telling her napping would have to wait until I took care of the chicken stock so that it didn't run any further than it already had. Then I cleaned the kitchen and dinette floors then put Mom to bed. Then I cleaned the refrigerator, mopped the floor again and took a shower.
    As it turns out, I caught the pot and uprighted it before it hit the floor so we still have some meaty stock left and I'm still going to make chicken soup tonight. While Mom was napping I hit the grocery and bought a can of chicken broth to expand what we've got to two servings. Curiously, when I reentered the house from the trip I noticed that the house smelled like old chicken soup. Apparently it takes a bit more mopping to remove chicken fat from ceramic tile than I figured, so it's undergone it's third cleaning in a day.
    Amazingly, I'm still in a good, though slightly touchy, mood. I decided, both this morning and this afternoon not to take Mom's blood pressure because I'm so focused I've been afraid I'd snip at her while taking her blood pressure. She is a hard take because she can't remember, even though I tell her every single time I take her blood pressure, to keep her arm limp, not talk, not move, not scratch...
    But things are going well today. I've got to catch up on stats...I went to bed early last night, same time Mom did, so I didn't go on the computer. I woke up nicely early this morning and decided again to avoid the computer and spend time sorting through mail, looking for income tax stuff for next year.
    I discovered yesterday during a call from Mom to MCS that Mom thinks Christmas is past. While thanking MCS for the original calendar, pictures and pickles, she asked MCS how their Christmas was. No, I'm not taking advantage of this. I reminded Mom, after the call, that Christmas was yet to come and, yes, we'll have a Christmas dinner. I've just about decided on pork roast. The pressure is definitely off, though.
    I continue to feel content, even though I still smell, in the odd breeze, like chicken stock.

Wrote another essay over the last 24 hours.

gailraehudson@themomandmejournalsdotnet.net (Gail Rae) — Sun, 19 Dec 2004 07:16:00 +0000

    It's listed over there in the links for Essaying the Situation or you can access it by clicking through the first word in this sentence. The style is a bit dense. I wrote it quickly. The idea came to me yesterday. I've been working on it mentally almost constantly but didn't have time yesterday or today to write it. I'll probably edit it when I have a moment. Some of the sentences are so long and convoluted they are close to rivaling Ayn Rand's sentences. It has its moments and I'm pleased to notice, as I mentioned to a friend earlier today, that within the collection of essays it could establish me as the Andy Rooney of caregivers. It's readable at this point and flows pretty well but it needs some technical work. The content, though, will remain as it is.
    Mom took a loooong nap, today; started early and slept late. She may have been overwhelmed with the array of plans with which I excitedly presented her when I awoke her: Fixing her hair, making cards to send to family, expecting her supervision while I clean out the lower food cupboards (we did the upper spice cupboards yesterday evening), a short exercise session...ultimately, none of these were pursued except fixing her hair. I have to watch my displays of energy around her and their timing; sometimes they overwhelm her right to bed. Her nap, though, gave me a chance to work on and finish my essay. Although sleep probably isn't the best thing for her right now, today I took advantage of her desire for it.
    Contentment is still relaxing me. I'm feeling unusually good for long periods of time. No, I'm not considering changing my approach (rather, I suppose, my non-approach) to the holidays. I think the primary reason I'm feeling so good is because of my approach. Feels good to take a little more care of myself than I usually do, for a change.
    Later.