Monthly Archives: February 2008

a deep sleep

Posted on by
3

It’s six o’clock on Sunday. My mother went to bed around midnight last night, and she’s still sleeping. That’s 18 hours.
We tried to wake her up, but she only mumbled something about her whole body aching. We check her periodically to see if she’s still breathing, the way new parents do with their new baby.
I take a shower and wash my hair and make sure I have all her medical information is ready. In case.
What if she sleeps through tonight. Do we take her to the hospital. Do we just keep an eye on her and wait until she wakes up by herself. If she does. What if she doesn’t.
These are questions, but I write them as statements because no one has the answers. It’s one day, one hour at a time.
I spent hours this morning, while she slept, shredding old bill statements, throwing out things I’ll never use and probably no one else will, packing up more books to take to the library, and filling bags of odds and ends for the Salvation Army.
I am letting go.
Is she, also?
———————————————————————————————————–
She woke up at 8 pm, weak and disoriented. I got her to take her meds, and then I fed her some Jello. And then some homemade turkey soup with pastina. A cup of her fake coffee and a couple of cookies later, she felt better. It’s now after midnight, and she’s still up and weepy again. My brother is watching tv with her. I need to sleep, because I’m sure that, when she’s finally ready for bed, I’m going to have to lie down with her.
What do they do with dementia patients in nursing homes who won’t go to sleep and want to go home?? That’s not a rhetorical question.

I tried, and they’re true

Posted on by
Reply

I guess I don’t have enough distraction in my life because I seem to spend too much time buying and/or trying new products that look interesting.
Recently I was sent some samples of a skin moisturizer called Theraplex. I was particularly interested in the Emollient, which is supposed to help the kind of skin I have on my feet — winter dry and scaly. So, after getting off as much of the callouses and outer dry skin as I could with my new PedEgg (see below), I slathered on the Theraplex emollient and put on a pair of socks for the night. I ran out of the samples after two nights, but by then, my feet were almost as soft as a baby’s butt.
The one complaint I have about the Emollient is that it makes your feet feel a little tacky to the touch. But putting socks on and letting the moisturizer soak in overnight makes that complaint a very minor one.
I also tried the HydroLotion on both me and my mother. While it did a great job as a protective moisturizer, neither of us liked the way it felt on our faces — too sticky.
The ClearLotion, on the other hand, smoothly soaked right in. When I used it on my 91-year-old mother’s face, my brother (who didn’t know I had done that) commented that she must be feeling very relaxed because she seemed to have fewer wrinkles.
So, thumbs up for the Emollient and ClearLotion. The HydroLotion needs a little more work.
What doesn’t need any work at all is the PedEgg, which, as far as I’m concerned, does exactly what the ads say it will do.
And so does the Samurai Shark. For the first time in memory, every pair of scissors and every knife I own is sharp.

the tyranny of her dementia

Posted on by
2

She treats me like a handmaiden, issuing one-word commands that I’m expected to obey immediately. Coffee. Tissue. Shoes. Bathroom. (OK, well I do obey the “bathroom” command immediately.) Sometimes she can’t think of the word, and so she’s developed hand signals to indicate what she wants. She expects me to be with her all of the time. She even wants me to sleep with her. We are back to the boundary-less childhood from which I couldn’t wait to escape.
I took a day off today, drove to Albany for lunch with my former work colleagues, including our boss. We are all female.
My cell phone rang while I was there. My brother had dialed my number for my mother. For ten minutes she wailed and ranted on the phone, mostly gibberish, but also condemnations for leaving her for my “girl friends” and threats to burn the house down and break everything in it. She laid on the guilt, guilt, guilt. “You’ve got to come home right now,” she kept insisting. I told her that I would be home soon, soon.
Five minutes later the phone rang again. It was my brother, chastising me for the glass shelf in the refrigerator being sticky. Clean it yourself, I tell him.
When I finally get home and walk in the door, she just misses hitting me in the face with the handle of her cane. She’s still mad. Hadn’t eaten all day. Wouldn’t take her meds. So much for brother as caregiver.
I think that she would be happier in a good Catholic nursing home, where she would have activities and people around to distract her, daily mass to attend. But my brother won’t allow it. And he has Power of Attorney.
Meanwhile, I am held hostage to her increasing dementia, and I am making plans for my escape.

thissa and thatta

Posted on by
Reply

(Monday is myrln’s day to blog here at Kalilily Time.)
THISSA AND THATTA
Thissa: Moving into a greener world (as the term goes) is an urgent matter. But as we make that move, we ought to be careful about choices and making them fixtures. And speaking of fixtures, one of the green decisions is that which will move us from incandescent light bulbs to screw-in fluorescents to reduce energy consumption. A commendable objective to be sure, but is this a really good way to go?
It’s no secret (or shouldn’t be) that the fluorescents contain mercury, and we can only wonder what happens when — after they burn out — we start dumping millions of them into our landfills. Where do we suppose all that mercury’s going to go as the bulbs get crushed? Into our environment, that’s where. And a recent item in Parade Magazine this week also noted that the fluorescents with their barely noticeable flicker can cause migraines or seizures. They also can aggravate skin rashes for people with lupus, eczema, and other skin conditions. The makers say the new bulbs have been improved so we don’t have to worry. Wanna risk it?
It was also noted what to do if a bulb breaks. Don’t vacuum it up cuz the debris can spread toxic dust into the air. Nope. Leave it where it lies and depart the room for 15 minutes. Then with gloves on, put the “fragments into a plastic bag, seal it and take it to a recycling center.”
This is progress? Sounds more like stupidity. The neon manufacturers must have a good lobby.
***
Thatta: Speaking of a greener world and good lobbies: Exxon Mobil reports a profit this past year of $45.6 BILLION dollars. That’s pure profit. Aren’t you pleased at how much you helped the company by paying their higher prices? Now we have to root for them to get a really good tax rebate from Dumbya and Darth…both of whom have been real good to the industry they have big ties to.
$45.6 BILLION in profit.
Oh, and while we’re on the oil business, some folks buying new cars to improve their gas mileage have found they’re getting much worse mileage than they’re supposed to be getting. Why? Cuz it turns out that E-gas — which includes the corn-based ethanol — doesn’t burn as well as plain gas. But let’s remember, ethanol’s our savior. And will improve the profit line of oil companies as we spend more cuz we burn more.
Be less corn on the cob next summer, too.

that creature of habit

Posted on by
Reply

She has trained me to adapt to her routines, my fat old lady cat. You can train a dog, but your cat trains you.
Each morning, after she eats and comes down the stairs, she goes to the door to the breezeway and waits for me to open it so that she can look out through the patio doors and check the weather. Of course, I comply.
When she decides to go out, she likes to go out the front door, take a stroll around the house, check for new scents, and then sit at the back door expecting to be let in. I have learned her “constitutional” routine, and now I obediently give her enough time for her walk and then obediently open the back door for her.
She likes her tablespoon treat of wet cat food twice a day at mid-morning and mid-afternoon, and if I forget, she comes and finds me and gives me a sharp tap on my leg to let me know that she’s waiting.
I have become a creature of her habits.
The affection that so many of us have for out cats made this poem (one of Jim Culleny’s daily ones) even more poignant.

A Cat in an Empty Apartment
Wistawa Szymborska
Dying–you wouldn’t do that to a cat.
For what is a cat to do
in an empty apartment?
Climb up the walls?
Brush up against the furniture?
Nothing here seems changed,
and yet something has changed.
Nothing has been moved,
and yet there’s more room.
And in the evenings the lamp is not on.
One hears footsteps on the stairs,
but they’re not the same.
Neither is the hand
that puts a fish on the plate.
Something here isn’t starting
at its usual time.
Something here isn’t happening
as it should.
Somebody has been here and has been,
and then has suddenly disappeared
and now is stubbornly absent.
All the closets have been scanned
and all the shelves run through.
Slipping under the carpet and checking came to nothing.
The rule has even been broken and all the papers scattered.
What else is there to do?
Sleep and wait.
Just let him come back,
let him show up.
Then he’ll find out
that you don’t do that to a cat.
Going toward him
faking reluctance,
slowly,
on very offended paws.
And no jumping, purring at first.