Tuesday, April 8, 2014

Well, I never did get back to my diary yesterday. But I finally did get back to the gym. I figure if I am in good physical shape, I will be able to continue to tackle mom and the pups and this house. Taking your vengeance out on a machine can work wonders, and it did.

Valentino was a bit too rambunctious this morning—as usual. He followed Lucy into mom’s room, gave his “speech” to Lucy and woke mom. Val just doesn’t bark. He gives orders and he answers back. Oh yes. He definitely answers back. Always has to have the last word. He will sulk off into the living room after I chastise him and let out a few soft harrumphs. Anyhow, mom woke up and asked,

What did he say?
Nothing, mom. It was Valentino.
Oh, I thought he said something.
He did, mom, but it’s not important. Go back to sleep. 

Mom went back to sleep. A reprieve in the day’s continuing occupation.

Years ago, my best friend in college, M, was seriously upset with her grandmother. I barely knew the woman. She didn’t speak English, but Lithuanian. And by the time I met her, she was demented—something I didn’t know or understand at the time. Anyhow, one day my friend fretted for hours about her grandmother had used depilatory on her face, thinking it was cold cream. I myself thought it must have been an innocent mistake and was really quite funny. How much harm could it do, apart from wasting what was probably my friend’s stash for her legs. The vision of M’s grandmother loading depilatory onto her face revisited me many times over the years. I often wondered why M was so upset. I think now it was probably affirmation of another loss. Her grandmother’s mind was truly going. We were young and lovely, full of ambition and dreams, but living with proof of life at the other end of the spectrum—almost a how-dare-you-take-the-joy-out-of-this-time-of-my-life! I don’t know. Have not been able to find M since the early 70s. I know she loved her grandmother and often remarked about her influence. M looked a lot like Lauren Bacall. She was at times a bit dramatic—not overtly the way I can be, but, well, in a more mysterious Lauren Bacall way. Quietly, keeping things to herself, never revealing more than necessary, and wondering if you had picked up the cues, maybe with a glance over her shoulder and a soft smile to show off her dimples. Being M’s friend was like playing Scrabble. You worked with the letters you got and did what you could to fit it all together. But maybe I have worked out why she was so upset with her grandmother. Any diversion from the norm can be upsetting. And because we were relishing our youth and independence, it was tough to witness someone at the other end of the spectrum: diminishing and dependent.

This could account for where I am now with my own mother. I actually don’t have much independence, having two pups and an elderly mother living with me. If it weren’t for Rob, I would be entirely housebound. But I am ever mindful of how much time I might have left. Of course, part of this is a result of my sister-in-law’s untimely death last summer. Many years ago, I remarked to my husband that we should enjoy our Christmas decorations as much as possible and keep them on the tree longer. “After all, we might have only 25 more chances to see them.” It’s been more than 25 years, of course, but can I really say that I have 25 more years? Can I say that I will have 25 more years with Rob? Probably not. Every minute should be precious. Even with my mother, who brushes her teeth for 5 minutes and then asks if she has brushed her teeth yet.

Oh blessed life! We just lost Powie, a wonderful dog in the neighborhood. I often say that when I get to heaven, I will tell God Almighty that He takes our precious pets away too soon. But, oh, how short life is for all of us. Just Sunday, I spoke about how all of us are children of God over at Hearthstone, a local assisted-living facility. (I provide a sermon and prayer and play hymns for the elderly there on the first Sunday of the month.) Yes, even my mother at 97 is like a little child to the Lord, and becoming more so as time goes by.

Later—

Mom asked Rob for the third time this morning if his brother were coming to visit: 

Does he hate you, Rob?
No. I have told you many times, said Rob, that my brother is 76 years old and lives in California. He does not travel often.
Who? Who’s that you’re talking about? I forget.

Meanwhile, I went upstairs to put the phone back in its cradle. I noticed vomit on the carpet, went downstairs to get the cleaner and a rag, then checked one of the three dog beds up there. Sure enough, Lucy left a small gift, too. The phone rang; someone looking for money for a politician. Wrong time. Never really a good time for such calls. But this was the wrong time indeed! I screamed a “NO!” into the received and hung up. I am sure this is nothing new to the caller, but never call me while I am cleaning up vomit and poop and wondering how I wound up in the The Rabbit Hole!

Later—

Went off to the Giant for some groceries. While walking down one corridor, I saw a man sitting on the lawn furniture for sale. He was slumped over. So I asked if he were OK. He said yes, but that his blood sugar was low. His own fault, he owned. His wife was in Berksheim (a local nursing home and a last stop), so he does not eat meals regularly. I chastised him nicely and asked if he needed juice or cookies, but he was making his way through some chocolates. I was so sorry for him, living alone, unable to take good care of himself, or maybe just not caring much any more. How blessed I am to be able to give my mother good care. How blessed that we are all together. Having no children (I know they are not a guarantee of care), but I try not to think how it will be when I am old. I shall stick with poodles!

Went off next to see my friend Richard. He had just purchased a set of rare coins and wanted me to see them. Like the man I met at the Giant, Richard is a diabetic, but managed better. He had been talking with some Latter Day Saints when I arrived. Nice young men, as always. Richard looked sad when I left him. I think being alone can be tough, especially when you know this is the way it will probably always be. Richard has many friends though and all of them stay in touch with frequent visits and phone calls. All good people. But he also knows a few women who call him or visit when they need money. Recently, one actually paid him half of what she owed him. It was three years later, but she paid, much to the surprise of his step-sons and friends. Richard is a good man. He will continue to give in one way or another.

Back Home—

I made mom some lunch and made sure to give her a sweet. Bought some Dagoba cocoa at the Giant. So I offered her hot chocolate. Mom asked,

What’s that?
Hot chocolate? You’ve had hot chocolate before.
No I haven’t. What is it?

So everything is new to mom: ice cream, hot chocolate, chicken Francese (her favorite), you name it. Life is starting all over again. Does language disappear? Is there a point at which vocabulary diminishes in dementia? Mom still reads words and does word search puzzles. But I wonder how far her decline will go. I suspect it depends on how long she lives. She smiles and laughs at many things. I recall some elderly patients I used to visit back in New Jersey. All they did was laugh. If my mother lives long enough, she might only be able to laugh, evoking that period at which a mother delights in seeing her baby laugh and giggle long before language skills are achieved. We really are going backwards.

 

 

Monday, April 6, 2014 

H. called last night. H. is a colleague who calls with problems he needs solved. He is often ill and unable to complete the assignments he has been given and at the 11th hour, I often get a call to pull him out of the water. This would not have been so bad if another client asked me to write up some questions and fit them into a complicated Excel file (I don’t do Excel!). Unfortunately, she could not explain the process to me because she had laryngitis. Oh my! 

But this morning, I figured out how to help H without killing myself and him in the process. Downloaded a bunch of abstracts and will make them fit his template and needs. Concentrating, writing, concentrating writing… Racing to get work done and keeping the dogs quite before… 

Sandy! 

Too late. Fix that last sentence. Add a place marker. Supervise mom in the bathroom, get mom in the shower, make her breakfast, sit her down, make tea for myself (was too busy trying to squeeze work in), don’t answer the darned phone, keep the dogs at bay (they have already been walked and fed), resume work. Be back in a bit… maybe!  

 

April 5, 2014 

I am so tired today. Lots of wind exacerbating my allergies. Kids are tired too. Mom is still in the kitchen eating chips and horehound drops. I think I will make her a cup of tea. 

Frances, my dear friend from Ireland/England wrote. Sent me a lovely photo of her and her daughter Kerry and this photo of her primroses. The photo in back is that of her wonderful husband who died a few years back. John was special. Very kind, very talented. He proposed to Frances three times before she accepted. I am glad she did. I met the two of them when I took Laura to England before she died of Huntington’s disease. They shared their home with us, thanks to Father Willing, then vicar on the QEII for his 13th world tour, when John and Frances were also sailing. Frances took care of John for many years. She was an excellent caregiver, but even then needed and took respite time. I need to take a few pages from her experienced book. Oh how I wish I were back in Cornwall, having a bite of her roast lamb and a glass of wine, and sharing such sweet company with her and John. 

Am wearing my rubber gloves as I type. Mom is in the bathroom. Am taking my leave to give her privacy. 

Later—

Mom was hungry. She never says she’s hungry, but asks if you are hungry. Another lifelong habit. So I gave her a plate of organic broccoli with butter and lemon and some chicken Francese, which she likes. But she eats so little, I had to put some of the chicken back in the refrigerator. Mom will only eat a quarter piece of anything—bread, chicken, whatever. I should give her a large plate so that it will look empty. I often feel bad about giving her so little to eat. But small frequent meals a day should do the trick; however, the frequent part is tough. She eats so little. 

Mom is eating in the kitchen as I write. She complains that I should not leave the kitchen light on. Costs too much money. Her concern is sweet, but not well founded. 

Excuse me. A hungry poodle is staring at my plate. Time to feed the pups! We will all be eating to Mozart’s Divertimento, K563, in Eb Major. Rob and I agree that if we can only listen to one composer’s works for the rest of our lives, it would be Mozart, but we would miss Beethoven.

 

Friday, April 4, 2014

I returned to market yesterday. Martha was ill. So I was called in to help out. I was so looking forward to being back. Had to get up and out of the house extra early, leaving Rob to walk and feed the pups and give Lucy her meds and get mom up and feed her breakfast and at least make sure she had washed her hands. But things didn’t go as planned. 

Pups were still asleep and quiet. I decided to make a cup of tea. I got my clothing ready the night before. All I needed to do was shower and go. Market isn’t far, and I had to be there by 7:00 am. Then, she called… 

Sandy!

Oh no, mom is awake.

Sandy!
What is it, mom?
I’m so dry.
I’ll get you water. (Putter, putter putter)
Here it is, mom.
Oh thank you so much.
Now go back to sleep. You’ll be fine. 

I made my tea, then prepared to get into the shower. Turned on the shower…

Sandy!
What is it, mom?
I’m still so dry, and I have to go to the bathroom.
OK, mom. You go to the bathroom, and I will give you something to help. (Putter, putter, putter. I prepared some Biotene for her to gargle.)
Here mom. Gargle with this, but don’t swallow it. Just spit it out.

Mom went back to bed, and I hopped into the shower.

Sandy!
I quickly wrapped a towel around me and went to her side.
What, mom! I have to go work and I need to take a shower. Are you OK?
Oh, where are you going?
Nowhere. I’ll be here.
OK.
Good. Now you stay in bed and go back to sleep. It’s early. (Mom usually stays in bed until 10:00 am or so.) 

When she’s awake, she doesn’t want to be alone. Hers is a lonely life. Mom called several times more while I showered. I hurried, hoping that Rob remained undisturbed. But he wasn’t. I ran off to market and the rest of the day with mom and the pups was left to him. 

At Market—

Was great to be back at the butcher shop, but my foot soon reminded me that it wasn’t prepared for a full day of standing. There were many small, heartening changes at the stand. R had resigned as meat cutter and Melissa was now doing the bulk of the work with the help of her brother. Both doing an excellent job! The schnitzel was perfectly cut, the cases were neat. Melissa’s husband had been purchasing intelligently for the shop: a flexible table, metal storage shelves, new counter tops. They got rid of the ratty wooden tables and stools that had probably harbored every bacteria known to man. The atmosphere was different too. More relaxed. Less rushed. There was even more space, or so it seemed. We were all able to move around more freely. 

Melissa is a brilliant woman to begin with, and one would wonder how she managed to become the proprietor of a small meat stand at market. It’s not a vocation one would have associated with her. I could see her working more as a research scientist than as the proprietor of a meat stand, but there she is. You never know where life will take you. It took R’s leaving to move her to take ownership of the place. 

I love market—mostly because I love people. I so enjoy talking with them, even if it’s only a small insignificant exchange about food or weather or cars or the best pizza places in town. I love also visiting the other stands and knowing the other proprietors and having them know me. I belong. I love belonging. 

As a freelance writer and editor, I don’t belong to any one company—which for my money is a plus. I would rather not put up with the daily stresses of office life. I love instead being with my puppies and Rob and mom and in my own home, where I can have a cup of tea or make some soup whenever the mood strikes me. My hours are my own. All I have to do is deliver a job on time and do an excellent job. (Excellent is the key word. A freelancer does not have the luxury of “getting through the day,” the way many workers do. Government workers come to mind… Hmmm…) 

It all works out for me: At home, I belong to my family. At market, I belong to a bigger family. Yes, it all works out. 

Mom is up and calling again. Valentino and Lucia are in my office. Door is closed. Valentino is restless once again. Trucks, school buses, motorcycles, other dogs… I cannot change this pup. He is the house alarm, and he needs to be. It’s part of his perceived value. 

Look mommy, I am chasing those [insert vehicle, person, or dog] away from our house!
Great job, Val. But come into mommy’s office and rest a bit. Save your strength for when the school bus returns the urchins to the neighborhood. 

Val and Lucia are sleeping once again. So is mom. This quiet will not last. But ah sweet silence!

My friend Mary just called from LA to give me tips on singing. She’s taking lessons again and this time, from a really good teacher. Mary put my name in Ardas again, as she does many, many times. I am so grateful for her. We practiced the singing tips, and I will pass them on later to Mike. I know he’ll be excited, too.

 

Mom is up now. She washed her face, looked in the mirror and asked if she had to wash her face. I assured her she had done just that. I asked her to sit on the toilet, but she insisted she did not have to. I insisted further and won. She did need to. The spoon symphony is now in progress as she moves each piece of Cheerios into place. It’s as annoying as ever, but she enjoys her cereal and would eat it all day long if we allowed her to. 

Going to practice singing Putting On the Ritz with my tongue over my lower right teeth. Catch you later!