March 2, 2016 

My sleep deprivation is off the charts. Sleep is not possible with mom and Valentino. I cannot even add a simple column of numbers. Glad I am not an accountant. That would be a dangerous profession for one in my state.

Still, there are moments of laughter. Take this morning, for example:

Rob, where’s my thing.

What thing?

You know. I left it. I had it.

[I walk into the room]

Sandy, where’s my thing?

What thing mom?

You know. The… she had it.

I don’t know what you’re talking about. Can you describe it?

It’s… I had it.

Well, I have no idea what you’re talking about.

I had it. It’s… oh, you know.

No, I don’t know. Can you describe it? What color is it.

[a moment’s hesitation] It’s beige.

Well, if I see something beige, I will bring it in to you.

OK. 

As Inspector Clouseau would say, “Problem sol-ved!”

 

Monday, February 29, 2016

It’s that time of year again: Mom begins to slide incrementally further down. It’s too and windy cold for walks and mom strength is at an all-time low. Today, her CNA from hospice mentioned giving her oxygen and bringing in a hospital bed. Seems a little premature. Am hoping the spring and walking the neighborhood will revive her, but she is 99 years old. Mom is wearing down.

And naturally, I am remorseful. I scolded her this morning for calling me incessantly. She fugued all morning about it:

“Did I wake you, Rob? Do I call you, Rob? I don’t call you, do I?” (and on and on and on)

“No, mom. You called me every five minutes.”

But tonight, all is quiet, disturbingly so. Mom is asleep in the next room. Val is asleep in my office next to me. And earlier, I was practicing embroidering letters onto her clothing for her trip to respite next weekend. Wasn’t having much luck, but fortunately, I will be taking a class on Wednesday to master the finer points of the Bernina. My last sewing machine was a Kenmore. It went forward, backward, and zigzag, which was as much as I needed back then. The Bernina, Lord help me, requires reading a manual. I have been examining this manual, but it’s not as illustrative as it might be. And the YouTube videos are not very helpful at all. They were designed to meet the needs of a worldwide market and are done entirely without dialogue.

Respite, as it turns out, might be up in the air, and labeling mom’s clothing might be moot. If mom doesn’t rally, I won’t be packing her off anywhere. Right now, my only concern is seeing to mom’s comfort. She is so tired, one might think she had run a marathon. Sleeping more, of course, attends aging, at least at mom’s stage of life. Perhaps today’s winds took their toll, even though she wasn’t out in them. Still, they kick up stuff, and living close to mushroom country doesn’t help.

Let’s see what tomorrow brings. The uncertainty is difficult.

Monday, February 22, 2016 

Mom has taken to falling more frequently, a disastrous turn of events that can spell her demise. Several nights ago, she hit her hand on the wheelchair parked nearby. We have since moved it, so that mom will have a clear field. But there is still the carpeted floor, which although carpeted still proved a problem. Mom now has a small sore on her buttocks. A pressure point, I assume, that also bore the brunt of the fall. I administered Manuka honey wound dressing and added a soft patch, hoping that would do the job. But yesterday, mom complained of pain. She also seemed cranky. Fortunately, I was able to call hospice and seek advice from our very capable nurse.

Within 15 minutes, L arrived at our home and administered to mom. She placed a derma patch on mom to keep the sore protected and dry until we could examine it again today. I think the patch will serve its purpose and allow the wound to heal quickly.

Well, “it’s always something,” especially when dealing with the very old. But we keep finding solutions. Still, I was following the story of Joey Feek, a young country singer who has a heart for the Lord. Joey is beautiful, has a lovely voice, a very happy marriage (she sings with her husband, a guitarist), a delightful 2-year-old child, a fabulous farm, and is dying of cancer. Joey’s mom sang with her in one concert, a song about supper and going home. I cannot imagine how her mom was able to sing without crying. But she managed. One of Joey’s songs was nominated for a Grammy, and she was able to celebrate that piece of happy news with her husband.

Fact is, we are all meted out different dishes. One may wonder why, but there are no answers here on earth. Whether we will ever have the answers is beyond my ken. I doubt the answers will matter. But mom is 99 and hanging on. Joey Feek is being given more and more morphine as the days and her illness progress. The one thing I could not tolerate is having my mom in pain. Fortunately, we are far from having to administer morphine and may never have to administer it. But even small amounts of pain are intolerable. Joey has her husband Cory who will help keep her comfortable. Mom has Rob and me. It’s still a boatload of work.