Friday, July 25, 2014 

If I myself am not dead at the end of this day, it is likely that I will be imprisoned. I am exhausted. Awoke at 3:45. Then Betty called at 7:00 to walk the pups. I fed them and myself, and then the show began. The chimney repairmen showed up. They are here to preempt the roofers, who will begin tomorrow. The check-writing hand is already quivering. Mom is in the kitchen beating the hell out of her Cheerios. Valentino is licking the growth on Lucia’s back, making it bleed. Poor thing means well, but I have to keep him away from it. Clients from one company have noted that I should be billing to three different sections of the company, depending on the job. Had to re-bill this morning and delete several invoices.

Meanwhile, dust is pouring onto the porch and the upstairs bedroom by the chimney. I draped a cloth over the window A/C to prevent the dust from piling up and moved the night table and lamp and books away from the window. (You see, we have central A/C downstairs, but not upstairs.) I am tired and cranky and I have a job to get out. I also have to drive mom to the hairdresser at 1:00, and then I am off to an optometry appointment.

In the meantime, there is nowhere to go to escape the noise or mom’s incessant questions. 

What time did you get up Rob?

9:30

Who’s that, Rob? (noticing someone in the yard)

They are working on the chimney.

They are repairing it.

I know. (That’s highly unlikely.) I was so shocked when I saw them. (Mom is always shocked!)

What time did you get up Rob?

9:30.

Where’s Sandy?

In her office.

Oh yeah.

Did she have breakfast?

Did Sandy have her breakfast Rob?

 

And so it goes, on and on and on. I am in a stupor. Everything is getting dusty. They’ll do a great job, but the noise and the dust comes at an inopportune time. Then again, when is dust and noise ever opportune? The masons found a brick mighty close to what we already have. The chimney will finally look decent. Was a serious eyesore before. They are taking care not to destry the plants, but then the rain will take care of the dust and some of the plants out front are already showing signs of late summer wear. Is it late summer already? My Quickfire hydrangeas seem to think so! Might have an early fall. All else equal, that alone is depressing. But then, the fall is a nice time of year, too. My only sadness comes from missing the extended daylight.

Are they still up there Rob?

Yes

That’s long.

They will be there for a while.

Did you have your breakfast Rob?
Yes

Where’s Sandy Rob?

In her office.

This should be a very, very long day!

 

 

Thursday, July 23, 2014 

Been getting up very early—around 5:30 or so. It’s not the stormy weather. Maybe it’s just anticipation. Betty will call at 7:00 and the kids are eager to go out.

Mom has been up already of course, but back in bed again. I changed her and have already cleaned the bathroom twice. I am now listening to gurgles coming from the tummy of one of the pups. Getting ready for the pickup brigade as we take our walk in a bit. Poop bags at the ready.

Spent some time with Barb yesterday. Her husband is doing well now. The ablation worked and his afib has stopped. I brought over a bottle of magnesium for him to take and a carton of lemon coconut water—very high in potassium. He needs to balance and charge his cations. Funny thing was, after I told Barb about his need for both elements, she noticed that after the hospital gave him potassium, they also gave IV magnesium. All this trouble for some potassium and magnesium.

All is well here, except that mom has some back pain. Am going to call the chiropractor to see if she is a candidate for treatment. I doubt she will be able to get a regular adjustment, but I can call and discuss it with the doctor.

Nancy is in New Jersey now, at Eric’s side. He was found in his car 3 hours after he stroked. Fortunately, he can talk, but he cannot find the right words and his memory is impaired. We won’t know the extent of the damage, but today, he will undergo an angiography. Also fortunately, her daughters are with her now. This is all quite unbelievable, as Eric was the tennis player, the fisherman. He was always on the run. Always doing something, including traveling back and forth between his home and NJ for his latest job. Unfortunately, it was hypertension got him in the end. Uncontrolled for many years. An intelligent man gave up his independence and health for stubbornness. He had refused to see doctors for many years, and now, he and his family will pay the price.

Mom doesn’t like going to doctors, but at this stage of the game, she has no choice!

 

Tuesday, July 22, 2014

I am back home again. Spent a delightful day down at the Jersey shore and three nights with college friends at a lovely lakeside home. Mom was at Rittenhouse, which she described as “crowded.” I think she was expecting to go to a private home, but I know she received the best care. She said there were no activities—well, at least that she remembers. I called yesterday morning before I left the lake and spoke with her. She said she was at “Rob’s house” and wondered if I would come visit. I said that I would. Mom didn’t remember that I live her, too, and she often forgets who does live here. Sometimes she will ask where “they” are. Rob once asked her who “they” were, and she merely said, “You know—the others.” Not much of a lead.

Anyhow, back to work and chores. Back to my pups and my own bed. No lake view from my bedroom window, but a beautiful welcome home from my Quickfire hydrangeas, which are already turning pink. They bloom early and prolifically all summer in a brilliant white, looking much like a bridal bouquet. They then turn pink to shades of light red in the fall. Quite a show. I am glad to be home and happy to have mom here, too—even though she is beating up her Cheerios in the kitchen. I sometimes tell her to stop playing with her food and eat! (I remember mom telling me that when I was a child. It’s her turn to hear it now.)

 

 

Friday, July 18, 2014

 

Mom has been at Rittenhouse since Wednesday. I wrote her a letter explaining when I would be back to pick her up and listed the days so she could check them off—with the help of the staff. I spent a glorious day and night at the shore with friends and their small children. The little boy is uncanny. So gregarious. He makes friends with strangers on the beach and approaches adults in their garden and admires their herbs (and receives them later as gifts). He’s a little man in a boy suit. His sister is adorable. Absolutely adorable.

While I was there, I took a book off the shelf of the home they rented. It was by Jon Katz about his experiences with his two regal yellow labs and a wily and willful Border Collie. Fabulous story. Couldn’t put the book down, took it home and loaned it to a neighbor, and will return it to the shore house as soon as she has read it. But I wound up feeling guilty. Here I am about to leave yet again. Both pups are unusually subdued. The trips to the basement to do laundry and pack the car, all a clear signal of my business. I can hear them now: She’s leaving us again. She didn’t unpack. Mom is re-packing the car! Of course, daddy and Aunt Betty are at their beck and call. Still, after reading this book, I wonder, did I/do I do everything for them that I possibly can? I attempted to interest Val in agility, but it didn’t work out. He was possibly too old. After an initial show, he stopped—completely. Wanted no part of it; however, he liked the trip there and that it was just the two of us. Oh well.

Am off to northern PA today to visit college friends—our third annual reunion. I have work to do, but I will get to it by Wednesday. Still, the girls are thinking of staying until Monday morning, which would help us miss the awful weekend traffic, but would put me a little behind on work. And the pups and mom. The pups want me back as soon as possible. Mom is expecting me back on Sunday. I will work things out. This is it—vacation-wise. I get to drive 2.5 hours each way (same distance from my house to the shore and to northern PA) and back again.

My friends down the shore asked if I would visit mom today. Heck no. She would only insist upon coming home and become anxious all over again. But it’s nice not having to answer to Sandy! It’s nice not having to bath her and follow her to the toilet. Rob and I joked last night:

Where’s the black dog?

Rob, what time is it? I don’t understand. (She gets confused when the clock is on timer.)

Is that cat still up there? How can he stay up there so long?

Ro-ob! Can you get me something to drink?

As much as she is demanding at this age, we miss her banter—sort of. But we relish the quiet, the solitude. Even the dogs are quiet. I worry that Val is not well. How could he let a motorcycle go by alerting me? He is on my office floor now. I have to go to market to pick up the smoked pork chops I promised to bring, but I don’t want to leave him. Coming back from market will only lead to another let down. I will have to leave again for the weekend. I almost never want to go away. I belong with my pups and they belong with me. I worry that I am losing days, hours, minutes without them. Their lives are too short. But mom is away, and I am going to visit my dear friends. We’ll play Mexican Train and dominos. We’ll boat and swim and drink wine and chat. I’ll bring the laptop, but I might not get to the work. Time with friends is precious, too.

 

 

Monday, July 14, 2014 

As it turns out, mom did not go to the birthday party yesterday. She was still suffering from GI problems. I was changing her each time and showering her every other visit to the bathroom. My guess is that the pneumonia shot she received on Thursday had a devastating effect on her GI tract. At 2:00 am, we gave her Imodium and coconut water, which is high in potassium. Rob had run to Wal-Mart to buy it, and it seemed to do the trick. Mom kept complaining. I have to go, but I just can’t. She applied the Valsalva maneuver so often that I feared for her heart. I tried explaining that she had been “going,” that she had diarrhea, but there was little understanding, too much discomfort, too little rest, some frustration, and plenty of anxiety. By this time, I was thoroughly exhausted myself, having been awakened three times for mom’s bathroom runs—literally.

This morning, I had two jobs to edit. But I first visited with Barbara, who gave me some Gatorade for mom. Rob and I think, however, that the coconut water is the better bet—much higher in potassium and no sugars. Fortunately, I have two cases of it, one of which has lemon, making a very refreshing drink.

Spoke with Kathy at Rittenhouse. She was very reassuring and we made plans for me to visit tomorrow to sign the papers. Mom will be there from Wednesday through Sunday, giving Rob respite while I traipse hither and yon.

We are having a very wet season. Driving down my drive is such a pleasure. Everything is so lush and the lawn is lovely. Plants are thriving, even the hydrangeas, which had to be cut down to the ground because of the frigid winter temperatures. I do have one or two hydrangea flowers on the Endless Summers and Pias, but will have to wait for next year for the show—a minor disappointment, considering how beautifully they are now shaped. My Quickfires are absolutely gorgeous and were among the few that bloomed and prolifically so. My Limelight and my Strawberry Vanilla hydrangeas are also abloom. Mom enjoys seeing them, too. But she mostly worries about the cat on the porch ceiling fan. How can he stay out there in the rain? I assured her the cat that lives in the fan is on an enclosed porch and quite safe. I wonder how she determined the cat was a male! Oh well. Ours not to reason how.

Mom asked if I were hungry. This means she is hungry. If I ask her directly whether she is hungry, she will say No, I was just wondering if you were. So I fixed her some grilled hamburger from Saturday and freshly steamed green beans topped with coconut oil. She loved it, particularly the green beans. Mom despised the canned green beans she got up in NJ from Meals On Wheels. That was truly nutritionally poor food. Glad to have her here, where I can make decent meals for her.

I was quite worried about mom last night, especially when I figured that the problem was the pneumonia shot. I checked possible side effects online. And sure enough, diarrhea was one of the “nonreportable effects.” But I was the one who agreed that she could have the shot, even though I am generally against vaccinations, especially in someone her age. Still, if she came down with pneumonia, I would feel even worse. Therein lies the dilemma.

Mom is in the kitchen, back at her word puzzles and asking Rob endless questions about everything and nothing in general. All’s well that ends well.

Sunday, July 13, 2014 

I awoke thinking of the day my sister-in-law threw the bouquet to me. We had agreed long in advance that she would throw the bouquet to me, and so she did. The beautiful bride poised to throw the bouquet over her head but then turned and threw it directly at me to the dismay of all the other young single women that day. There were cries of protest from some of my cousins, “She cheated.” But we were all having too much fun to do anything about it. The bride threw the bouquet and had delivered as promised. I remember her eyes—always bigger than life. She had a beauty that matched her smile. And now she’s gone. How will I feel when mom is gone?

We had enjoyable company yesterday, my cousin and her dear friend. Mom sat out on the porch with us and ate with us, but was never really part of the conversation. Her hearing and her lack of memory impeded such. We took photos, talked about everything under the sun, and pretty much relaxed. It was very warm to begin with but cooled down considerably. We sat through a blessed rainstorm that did the trick. Fortunately, it didn’t end up being one of those storms that makes you feel as though you’re in a rain forest.

Toward the end of the visit, mom had some problems. A quick shower, a change of “panties,” and she was back out on the porch. But there were more visits to the bathroom and more changes. Our delightful company soon left and mom retreated to her room to partake in her favorite pastime, watching television game shows. We have a birthday party to attend today, where she will see yet more relatives; however, I am debating taking her. She might be better served just sitting at home and relaxing instead of taking the 45-minute drive with me. Besides, I am not sure what her condition will be. I can hardly leave a diaper in my cousin’s bathroom wastebasket. Besides, it looks like rain.

This will be a tough week: Several jobs came in at once. Besides that, I am slated to go down the shore for an overnight on Wednesday. Then back out on Friday for my third annual reunion with college friends who grew up in my hometown. I am bringing the smoke pork chops from the local butcher, and of course, salad greens, which I should have aplenty from the food cooperative.

During this time, mom will be at Rittenhouse, a local assisted-living/nursing home. I know she will be anxious, but I will write a note that she can refer to daily. Am hoping this will alleviate some of her anxiety. I, too, would fear being left somewhere with no way to get back home. There is so little I can do, apart from never going away and never leaving her with someone else. Even yesterday’s visit was a bit much for her. Having company disrupted mom’s normal routine, even though she seems to enjoy the change of pace—at least momentarily. Rob and I, of course, had a wonderful time. He joined us last minute, as is his wont, and was glad he did.

But I think mom fears running out of questions to ask: Where do you live? Do you like it there? How far away is it? How long have you lived there? It’s as though she is working phrases from an English language course, Level I. And indeed she is. I am currently studying Japanese. I know the feeling. You can ask a question, but when the native speaker rambles on about something beyond your ken, the only response you can give is the deer-in-the-headlights look. I feel that way even when I do understand the speaker. When Rob and I arrived in Salzburg years ago, a native asked me in French how long I would be staying. I was so startled that I struggled to answer. I had found myself in a language dilemma. Should I answer in French, German, or English. And I had trouble changing gears. I finally stuttered something in German that was most likely ungrammatical. A sudden change of language for me sometimes results in a misfire, as though I need a change of sparkplugs. I first recognize the language, understand the language, and then have to make a decision to answer in that language or another, especially when the speaker is clearly bi-lingual. But mom never learned another language and her own is failing her miserably.

Valentino did his usual barking at the window. All I have to do is appear, and he stops. But by then, it’s too late. The alarm has sounded.

Sandy!

What mom?

Where do we have to go today?

Nowhere mom. Go back to sleep. It’s only 7 o’clock.

Oh, OK. 

I think mom would be happy to stay home today.

 

 

Friday, July 11, 2014 

One of those days. I spent much of the morning cleaning the porch and the house in preparation for company tomorrow, my cousin and her friend. Mom is now up and in rare form. 

Is your brother married, Rob?

Does he have any children?
Yes. Five of them.

Oh my God.

Well, mom (I said), you came from a family of ten.

I did not. That’s ridiculous.

Then I named her siblings.

Rob then produced the family portrait and asked her to name her family members, which she did with no prompting, except for two youngest siblings.

See, mom, there are ten children.

How many children does your brother have, Rob?

That’s a lot.

Do you ever visit him?

It must be nice there.

Yes, it is, but it’s no better than this.

Is he married?

Where does he live?

In California.

Does he like it there?

Have you ever visited him?

Yes.

Is he older than you?

How many children does he have?

Oh come on. He’s too young.

How old do you think he is, Paula?

I don’t know.

He’s 77.

Oh come on. He’s not that old.

Well, he is.

How old is your brother, Rob?

He looks younger.

Does he have any children? 

And so it goes. Mom only has a few sentence structures left and she uses them as frequently as she can. 

Yesterday, we went to the GP for a checkup. When I told the doctor I hoped to escape dementia because I read, am a musician, and continue to study, he said that was no guarantee. Just this morning after I wrote about this exchange to my uncle, Rob came in to tell me that Dr. Schnetzler, a brilliant scientist for whom he worked, developed Alzheimer’s disease. He was killed by a car while wandering one evening. How horrible. Blew a hole in my theory. 

And you only have one brother? That’s it?

No more?

Did you ever meet his wife?

And your brother lives in California. Where do your parents live?

They are gone.

What did my little sister Marge die of, Rob? I don’t remember.

Heart disease.

Rob, your brother didn’t come with his wife, huh?

And what did my big sister Marge die of, Rob? A heart attack?

Old age.

What what did my father die of?

A heart attack.

Oh. Where did you get this cup, Rob. It’s cute.

 

 

Wednesday, February 9, 2014 

I feel like a miser. When I prepare mom’s lunch or dinner plates, I put so little on her plate that I feel as though I am cheating her of some wonderful food. But she rarely finishes anything, and I wind up throwing so much out. She has not been very hungry lately, something I can understand. It’s summer. My appetite lessens in summer, too. Much too warm to eat heartily. But I joined the Rodale food coop and I am laden with an abundance of wonderful organic vegetables and greens every week. On pickup day, I come home and check out recipes. Then I begin slicing, dicing, steaming, stir frying, puréeing… you name it. Even bought a steel wok for the occasion. Although half the share belongs to a friend, we still have enough to keep our household of three very well fed and satisfied. We have an abundance of soups right now—cucumber, avocado, and yogurt soup; zucchini soup; and swiss chard soup. And yet, mom won’t eat or she eats very little. She just had a cup of zucchini soup and left only a small amount at the bottom.

I am bringing her to Rittenhouse for respite while I am on my reunion weekend. For the last two years, four of us get together for a summer weekend away. This is our third year, and I am preparing mom for a weekend away to give Rob time off, too; although, he still has the pups to contend with. And another friend has been asking me to join his family down at the shore for the past three years. Thus far, I have been unable to go. This year, I am hoping to bring mom to Rittenhouse for another night away to permit me to spend a night down at the Jersey shore. She might enjoy spending time with others, rather than falling asleep in her rocking chair. It’s hard to say what her reaction will be. We shall soon find out.

 

 

Sunday, July 6, 2014

I finally got mom to sit out on the porch again. She refused to take a walk in the garden, feigning a stomachache. So I made her ginger tea and gave her candied ginger. She liked the candy and said she felt better. Mom asked incessantly—as is her wont—where Rob was. As he was mowing the lawn, he passed by the porch several times. She laughed and noticed he was wearing ear protectors. But later, she asked where he was again.

Is Rob sleeping?

No, he’s mowing the lawn.

Oh, I didn’t see him.

Yes, you said you saw him wearing the ear protectors.

Oh, I didn’t recognize him.

She hides her lack of memory cleverly each time. 

In the bathroom, I made her stand several times and then sit again. I thought this would work to help her evacuate her bladder more completely. She protested each time, saying she didn’t have to “go,” but each time, she urinated more. 

In bed at last, she calls again for a “Kleenex.” Mom always uses the brand name, even if it isn’t the brand name we use. She must have a tissue in her hand and protests vehemently when you take away a soiled one. She collects them and stuffs them everywhere as if they were her most valuable possession. Mom collects paper towels, tissues, and toilet paper. She even tore open a pack of cotton squares I use to remove mascara. Paper is her preferred material. She must have it in her hands, under her pillow, in her “panties,” and in every pocket. They must always be within reach. Tissues are her security blanket.