The shopping trip that should never have been....

oh brother what a disaster. (Warning - this is a long whining venting post about yesterday's shopping trip.)

OK, so she's not taking the new 1BR apartment, so we really didn't need to shop. But, we had talked about it a lot, and I thought, let's have an outing to get her out of there, and why not Nebraska Furniture Mart? Then when she DOES get offered a lakeview apartment, I can just go select her preferences without her having to come. She said she'd really like to go, so off we went.

One other background thing - with her permission, I had ordered and brought over the pink flowery bedspread? She kept saying she just didn't know how it would look, so that's why she didn't want it. I figured, with her eyes maybe she just needs to see it in person. She agreed. So, it arrived and I brought it over for her to look at and think about on Friday.

So we pick her up about 1:30 in the afternoon on Saturday. Drive to NFM.

First we go to the desks. Nothing really seems to make her happy. But not unhappy either. And then she snappily says she does NOT want to get anything today. Period.

OK, so that's decided. OK, well, not decided.

Time to go to look at what beds are available. On our (slow, shuffling) way through the cavernous store, she told me she wanted me to send back the bedspread. "I know I've told you all about the pink cabbage roses, but I like my plain blue blanket. It's simple. It's what I know." (Then later, she says something about how she DOESN'T know if she wants it or not).

Something in me just snapped. Just a bit.

Then we walked around the beds and it was CLEAR, absolutely CLEAR, that there was nothing she was interested in seeing. She didn't want a bedstead with a footboard because it's not what she has always had. She made mocking comments about them. Expensive. Fancy. too light, too dark. or mostly she just walked by them, unseeing. And, I had lost patience inside, though I was trying to stay positive. I just didn't have it in me to alter the mood, and she wasn't about to be altered anyway.

Somewhere while we walked around the beds, it really really snapped. I was ready to walk away and drive home without her. (Please know I never would...)

Anyway... my own internal life-lessons:

1) don't go on a shopping outing unless there is a immediate need. A 'have to'.
2) if we go on a shopping outing, bring water. (She had an "I need water NOW" episode in the middle of the beds.)
3) her room is HER room. If she wants to trash it with heaps of 'used-once' clothes, let her. if she wants a threadbare blanket, let her. etc etc
3a) (but... to #3) But if I WANT to fix up her room, why not? She highly praised these other women's daughters who came in and fixed up their rooms carte blanche. if that's so wonderful for them, why shouldn't I? Maybe she'd end up loving it.
4) if she doesn't want a pretty bed (nice headboard, footboard), why should I care? It's not like we have people lining up to get it when she dies. Full beds aren't big on anyone's wish list.
4a) (but... to #4) But if I WANT to see a nice bedframe, etc, as I care for her, why not? There are loads of nice bedframes on sale that would really make her room look FINISHED. To look like a adult's home instead of a dorm room. Or a 7-year-old's room.

I wonder how much of this attitude of 'oh that's good enough' is actually due to a sense of waiting to die? Why bother getting a bedspread if I'm just waiting to die. On the other hand - maybe that is a normal and even healthy and appropriate phase as one nears death. Acceptance. I don't know anymore. And it doesn't really matter. And maybe it's the comfort of seeing things that are familiar. I think I should bring back the white nubby bedspread, or, the orange/green bedspread when she gets her full bed - that will let her feel comfortable and 'at home'.

Anyway, we got water, we drove homeward in annoyed semi-silence. (She had said something to recognize that she was a pill; I said something that we'll get through it, I just want to help you, blah blah blah). We stopped at the store for some items then brought her home in good time for dinner (5PM).

Good news - she did a lot of walking around and no incontinence incidents. No close calls even. Not even any potty breaks (another source of annoyance to me - we were by a bathroom and she wouldn't go 'just in case', even after her history of diarrhea incidents - sounds like a 3-year-old, eh?). And, I put out her meds yesterday so I don't have to come by today. And, the cable/internet comes by today so she can get better service and simpler email. Another good thing - she said she never gets hungry now, like she used to in BV. She recognized that she used to snack all day long, but here (with real meals) she never thinks about snacking.

Enough already. Will this ever get better?

My brother, the golden boy

So, my brother, when invited to help, says how 'lucky' my sister and I are to live close. I am just a few minutes a way, and my sister is a 3.5 hour drive. Yep, lucky. He lives farther (a 14-hour drive, he says; actually a bit over 12). Or, there are planes (a flight starts at a mere $198).

But ...

There is no wisp of an offer to help. Not even an inquiry as to how the work is going. No recognition that he is one-third of this woman's family. He just says we're 'lucky' and sees himself as off the hook, any hook.

He is in complete receive-mode. "Feed me". I have sent him (and my sister) numerous email to let them know what's happening here. Silence. Sent an aerial photo of the home; he wrote (a very rare email) and said thanks, that it helps him visualize it. It's all about him.

He did just write that he will be in town on a business trip. He will try to make it to dinner and maybe some time the next day before flying out. Nothing about staying any extra time, even a vacation day, to spend some time with her or (gasp) do some work. And, costs him nothing. As long as it all fits conveniently into his schedule of priorities (work, church, his own family), as long as his mother can accommodate his own self-important world, he will spend a bit of time with her. As long as someone else pays - his work pays for the flight, his sisters pay with their sweat and a great, great deal of time.

And the really really REALLY irksome thing is that he will now feel like he's participated, and Mom will rave about seeing her wonderful son. Grrrrrr.

A month ago, I was in the midst of all the effort to move her here, taking my vacation days to sort through her stuff, to pack boxes, to move furniture, etc. She made a snipey comment about how my emails to her were short, as were my brother's. I got right in her face and calmly but very directly reminded her that I called her almost daily, and that I have taken my personal time and expenses to come see her and do all this work for her, and that I had committed to support her for the rest of her years. WHERE IS HE? Oh, yeah, hmm, not here. Nowhere. She apologized, but when does the glow of firstborn golden boy grow a bit dim with lack of any real contribution?

Grr.

woo hoo! A night off!

I took off last night, and may even take off Friday night! WOO HOO!

Learned tonight that AOL does not offer just basic webmail. You have to put up with their mega-advertising and constant popups and multiple windows. So, we'll dump them. Ugh. Too bad all the tech folks I asked earlier in the week, when I spent 2.5 hours struggling with it (and, the folks prior to that, at least another two hours). never got around to telling me that there's no way to avoid their constant stream of AOL-iana.

Yay! A dinner and movie with my dear, patient husband. :)

A corner of the outside, all her own.

She loved her back yard perch from her old place. She would sit on the plastic chair and look out at the courtyard.

I wish the new place had a sitting-outside spot that was her very own. There are chairs that look westward, toward the sunset, but it's not her very own nook.

Still, the new view from her window is a lovely vista, better than the old view. She has admired the sunsets many times.

Food hoarding and cleanliness

So, my mother is fed breakfast, lunch and dinner. She has select snack foods in her apartment. The home offers afternoon snacks.

I wonder how long it takes before she lets go of the habit of hoarding food? Do any of her generation ever lose that?

She is a child of the depression. Still, she keeps curdled milk, bananas that are rotten and spawning gnats, crackers that are completely crumbled.

The good news is that she has not had any of the explosive diarrhea incidents since moving here. I wonder how many of those incidents were related to bad food or unclean surfaces? Maybe she will be much relieved now of that disturbing problem.

I did some dishes last night, including washing a water glass in her bathroom that had come directly from her old apartment. After soaking it in dishsoap, I saw that there was a big layer/clot of ick at the bottom. I wonder how long it had been since washing it? How much of that (and the filth on poorly-washed dishes) also contributed to her 'incidents'. Her macular degeneration and general carelessness contributes to poor cleanliness. Maybe living here will help.

I hope so. We ALL hope so, believe me.

Changing relationships... Part Two-Dot-Five

Well, I apologized to my sister. I let her know she is so valuable, treasured. My relationship with her is actually more important since it is more long-term that with our mother. I thanked her for teaching me how to get through this together and asked her to continue teaching me and communicating.

She replied with an apology too ... that it is her own grieving over a diminishing relationship. Not that I am reducing it, but that Mom's own disappearing ability (to play canasta, to write an email, to even think clearly) is making her less able to connect. (And she said it actually was nice to hear about Mom's day in full sentences and without the illegible errors, so I should continue typing on Mom's behalf if it's convenient.)

Is it Mom's mental laziness? or is old age 'breaking' something in ways that are now irreparable? How much control do we have over our ability fight the ravages of old age?

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Changing relationships... Part Two

Eeks - I blew it.

For years, my sister has been extremely EXTREMELY loyal and regular at having a daily email exchange with Mom. And Mom has written back each day. They both look forward to it - it's a way of connecting them. Something personal, intimate (I realize now). And, with my taking on this new role, it is perhaps even more important for my sister to have this special way to continue to have her own relationship. In fact, for years my sister's support and relationship with our mother was much stronger than mine (or our brother's) , to a large extent tied to these daily emails.

While I was at my mother's today, I tried to set up her computer to do emails more easily. (When she moved here, we signed her up for an email program that has a really confusing interface; I'm trying to simplify it). I noticed that she had started an email but got distracted; I offered to have her dictate it to me to get it sent. Then when I did that, I noticed another one that she'd started and not sent, so I sent it too.

I mentioned that to my sister this afternoon. She was frustrated (is that the word? hurt? annoyed?). Those emails were the direct connection with Mom, the only connection that (as of last week) doesn't have me in the middle. They are special, a gift. And when I type for Mom, I get in the middle. She said that if Mom can't type it, then she should call.

I get it. I'm sad/hurt that I screwed it up for her. She recognized that it was with good intentions. And I won't do that again. I just wouldn't hurt her for the world.

It scares me that somehow my relationship with her may get 'broken' somehow. We talked about this before the big move. She needed to be honest about some of her feelings; I did too. We needed to be sure we didn't step on each other's toes. And she totally assured me that our relationship won't 'break'.

Still, I get afraid. Sad.

Relationships grow, change, teach

I've referred to this change earlier, I think, but the impact of this move - having my mother move near me and my being a nearby caregiver - is more than I'd imagined.

(Let me pause for a moment and acknowledge that when I say "caregiver", I recognize that with my mother in an assisted living facility, the involvement is greatly minimized when compared to those who care for elderly parents in their own home. I can't even imagine that. However, in this context, I'm referring to the care that I'm giving as a nearby family member who plays an active role in her care. So, with that nod to any who do way more than I do, I will continue...)

I've grown even more connected to my sister. I treasure her support. We talk about the past, the feelings of growing up in that often-difficult household. We talk of the present - our own families, kids (joys and trials), and the present circumstances of our mother. And we talk about the future.

We laugh about my own OCD about this. OK, not OCD, but "O". I'm not even willing to admit it's "OD" because my "O" (obsession) serves me quite well, thank you very much! My sister has a friend who is a therapist, who pointed out that the upside of being obsessive is accomplishing a lot! And I do find my brain won't turn off, for now anyway, in thinking about what needs to be done for Mom. Doctor's appointments, bedspread, where are the purses, appt with attorney, lab appointments, make sure she checks her blood sugars in the afternoon. And on and on.

Anyway, it's been interesting to me that my sometimes-obsessive mind is now more fully exposed to my sister, and her observations give me insight. And laughter.

On the other hand, my brother has been virtually silent. After I write both of them (sister, brother) a lengthy newsy email about the boxes, moving in, unpacking, etc, I got one two-line email from him. It read, "Lots of boxes, lots of work you-all have done. Thanks so much for that." That was it. It's been really surprising - especially in view of his many religious activities. You'd think he'd 'get' the whole bit about honoring your parents and carrying your own load. Great source of frustration and annoyance.

So, learning about myself. Changing relationships with siblings and with my mother. learning about myself and others.

Shopping

While I played yesterday, my sister visiting from Iowa spent time with our mother.

They played canasta but my mother lost interest quickly.

So, they went shopping.

The big focus right now is finding a bedspread. When we were preparing her for moving in, we had gone shopping and we chose (fairly quickly, I admit, due to limited time and energy) a duvet cover for her daybed, with lots of bright pink. When she got it home and used it a week, we both admitted it looked sloppy. Mom has talked of loving some linens with 'cabbage roses' in pink that she had years ago. But after exhaustive search in stores and on the internet, we find nothing she's happy with. My sister found nothing either when shopping with her yesterday.

And, talking to her, she is fine with the 50-year-old threadbare blue blanket. (Apparently.) (For now anyway)

I'm not sure how that looks better than a sloppy down comforter.

So - my next internal mental debate is... do I continue to push the bedspread issue for ME, or do I just let her have the dorm-room look (along with clothes on the floor, surfaces piled with junk). Or maybe there is a middle ground. Maybe I do some things for ME - so I enjoy being in that room - and ignore other things.

(Does start sounding like the struggles of a parent of a 7-year-old.) Sigh.

Our first doctor visit here

We go to the doctor today. I have an appointment adjacent to hers.

First, I need to figure out her medical insurance. She has Medicare, but also a supplemental policy. I am so clueless. She is becoming clueless (passive mental laziness or unavoidable age-related confusion? or a bit of both?). I am handling her bills, so I am feeling a bit overwhelmed. (eeks you should see my own pile of papers in my home office...)

Also, there is the whole matter of my sitting in on her doctor's appointment (she welcomes my being there, and I need to tell him about some matters that she may not bring up). But, I frankly don't want her to sit in on mine. The mantle of caregiver is now on my shoulders. And I don't want her to have ammunition to tell me about my weight, my borderline diabetes, my issues. Self-protection.

But you better believe I'll be at hers to make sure she stays healthy.

(I shudder as a re-read that last line. I do feel like, to a large extent, the responsibility for this woman's survival rests on my shoulders. Yikes.)

The secret of fudge

My sister came down tonight. I'm so delighted. It was fun to be with her in Mom's nice, neat apartment. She'll spend time with her tomorrow when I'm off doing something silly with a friend.

We laughed a lot.

We went through a couple boxes of kitchen things that our mother will never use again. (One of the reasons for assisted living was the fires she had in her old senior living apartment - that and the gnats from spoiled food). So, we split up the utensils, the bowls ("oh, I remember making cookies in that!" "I remember dad making fudge in that one!"). Sharing the secret of fudge. It was nice.

There were difficult times in that house, growing up. But there were also those nice times when we were connected. It was this AND that.

I love my sister and I'm so grateful for her support. Caring for Mom is like pushing a boulder down a football field. With my nose. And because of her circumstances my sister can't do as much in person, but I treasure her being a cheerleader on the side (and when she can come down to push that boulder along).

My brother is nowhere to be seen (or heard...). But I won't let that get to me today. I revel in my sister. We'll go get my mother in the morning and have breakfast together. Fun.

PS - She told a story that our grandmother was in a nursing home, seemingly comatose sitting in a chair. She suddenly sat up, became coherent, and asked the aid, "Do you know the secret of making good fudge? Beat it a LOT!". Then slumped down again, silent. My sister told me that story.

"These women had such wonderful daughters..."

At our dinner last night, to make conversation with her table-mates, she remarked how the daughters of these two women both just came in and unpacked them and did all this work for them to get their apartments set up. She was speaking in high praise for the daughters of these virtual strangers.

I could only stare at her. What have I been doing every day for the last two weeks? And before that, coming down to in the old place, sorting through piles of things, moving things to give-away to this charity, another pile to another charity. Trashing broken or un-useful items. Sorting through "move to the new apartment" vs "put in storage". Taking a week of my precious vacation time. The physical strain of moving, the mental strain of juggling her life's needs on top of my own. I was somewhere between crushed, or flabbergasted, or annoyed, or just resigned.

Unlike the first 86 of her years, she has suddenly become grateful, usually. I'm enormously happy about that - there are many older folks that make everyone's life miserable. Of course, it's in her self-interest to express gratitude to ensure continued support. And she has ... mostly. I'm sure it must be difficult to sustain a high level of gratitude when it goes against one's whole life pattern of snarkiness, and, when it reminds one of dependence on others.

Still, would it have killed her to let me look at least as loyal and good and helpful as these women's daughters?

I'm not doing it for the praise. I'm not. But it feels good to be acknowledged, I'll admit it.

Fingernails

I had dinner with her last night at her Assisted Living facility. She made a reservation for me, and I had tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwich and green beans with her. She's been there a week, and has found a couple of regular table-mates.

I'm struggling with how to tell this story... that goes back decades and that is anew today.

My sister tells me that my emails to family are mostly about the facts, the business of moving our mother to this new phase in her life. About boxes and moving and plans for this and that. Not enough about the emotional tolls and her physical losses. Maybe I paint the skeleton but need the meat and flesh to really tell the story. I'll do that here, I guess.

Well, some other time I'll tell about how she was. Just one bit for now: a strong memory, one of my few, is of her sitting at a table painting her fingernails bright red. I was maybe 6 or 7. It was the 1950s. She was going out with my dad somewhere.

Last week, I cut her fingernails which were caked with filth and were so long they were curling. I shaped them and painted them pink. I cut her toenails. I think it was the most I've touched her in decades. What a difference a half-century makes.

Do those two snippets tell the story I intend? That this glamorous woman who took pride in her appearance, who hosted fancy parties in cocktail dresses and drank martinis, who was runner-up for Miss Kansas ... she now would walk unaware in a stained shirt with filth under her fingernails.

And, OK then, what does that mean for me? for my future? am I destined to sit in my filth? who will hold my hand as they care for my unkempt nails?

Mom moves into "The Home"

My mother has been living in senior housing for five years now. She loved moving there. She had been a widow for ten years, living alone in a house a distance from her friends. When she finally moved to a senior apartment in her early 80s, she had a meal provided and friends all around. (Well, I'll talk more on that 'friends' thing later, I'm sure.)

But things started happening. She is now in her late 80's, diabetic, and was irregular in her meds and in other ways (again, I'm sure that theme will come up again). Time for Assisted Living. (We laughingly call it "The Home".)

We got her moved a week ago. I emptied the last box last night.

This blog will be a place where I talk about how this is going, and how it feels. I am mid-50s, and have had a rocky relationship with my parents for years (for good reason). I now find myself the primary caregiver, and I am having a curiously positive response. And all the other predictable responses (tired, annoyed, sad, and so on).

So, more later. I will breathe now.

PS - why pink as the theme color? I really dislike pink. But I set it as pink because she has found herself enamored of anything pink. Again, curious.