Thank You

For not letting me lose my temper, even though Mom was being very difficult today. She had a good positive check up yeterday, as well as a great PT session. If I had that type of a day, say one with weight loss and a good Hg1AC, I'd be floating on air. Instead, Mom tried to go on a salt rampage for lunch. I wonder what provoked it?

First, I tried to take a nap, because I woke up twice during the night with low blood sugar. Then, I became aware that somebody was out in the kitchen, dropping metal cans on the floor, with a loud 'clunk'. When I went out to the kitchen ( my bed is in the living room), Mom had just emptied a can of beef gravy into a saucepan, and was trying to open a can of tomato paste. I opened the paste for her, then saw her holding a can of onion soup.

Being diplomatic, I asked 'what is the sodium count' and she replied '120 per serving and 2.5 servings in a can. That seemed unusually low for a can of condensed soup, so I read the label of a second can on the counter. It had 900 milligrams of sodium per 1/2 cup serving--quite a difference for an 84 year old woman who has congestive heart failure.

Instead of yelling, which was my first instinct, I said 'why are you doing this? It's pretty self destructive, and seems a bit unfair to Ginny and me, who are working hard to keep you healthy." Her first excuse was that we did plenty of things that she did not want us to do, and the second was that she was not going to follow a long list of diet rules. I replied 'the difference is that eating a great deal of salt is going to put you in the hospital'.

It's more the timing--just when she's on the verge of success, she wants to pull the plug. oh well,

Orchester Palais de danse - 1912: Turkey Trott (Ragtime)

Yes, this sums up my attitude to the holiday. First of all, I am thankful that the Aged Parent did not hurt herself when she rolled out of bed Monday Morning. She was wrapped in two polar fleece blankets which cushioned the blow. It was a shock to look at the floor and see her sitting up. Anyhow, I guessed she would not agree to a trip to the ER, so we compromised--I was able to call a 'lift up unit". For those of you who don't live in the NYC area, a lift up unit is a NYPD patrol car. The two officers took Mom by the arms, and lifted her back to her chair.

Much of Yesterday and today has been taken up with Thanksgiving preparations. I'm not looking forward to the Holiday, because I'm a bit neurotic about my Sisters. Part of it could be a lingering poor self image. Why should they respect me when I do not fully respect myself? Part of it is reacting against the media Holiday frenzy. I feel that Holiday cheer is being stuffed down my throat. I am being intubated with the Normal Rockwell Thanksgiving, when I'd much rather spend the day looking after Mom and cooking a nice dinner. Well, Ginny and I will cook a nice Thanksgiving meal, and enjoy it as best as possible.

I meant to write more, but I am too damn tired.

" Arise, Go Forth and Conquer"

The other title for this post should be 'Something's Gotta Give" but this morning Mom is definitely the immovable object.  Her arthritis, in the knees, is very bad--she should have had a knee replacement years ago, but due to her cardiac/respiratory issues, the surgery could not be done.  Add her anxiety to her physical problems and Mom makes herself totally unable to get out of her wheelchair.  It is frustrating for both of us.

There is a cynical little voice inside my head that says Mom is playing a mind game.  As long as she cannot move, she has her aide as well as her daughters, standing around her.  Ginny and I will not go out to run errands or walk the dogs.  Mom has us right where she wants us.  I do wish she could find a more positive way of engaging our attention.  This should be a goal of mine.

BTW, I do not want anything to do with Thanksgiving, but Mom ordered a turkey from the butcher, so it looks as though we are stuck with the holiday feast.  Christmas has a spiritual dimension, but Thanksgiving seems more about consumption and 'Black Friday'.

Donald Duck as a Nazi - Der Fuehrer's Face

This is one of Aged Parent's favorite songs--she sang it at the hospital two weeks ago. I'm glad the roomate was out of the room at the time: heaven only knows what she would have made of it.

Anyhow, Aged Parent had a bad day yesterday. She was tired, depressed, and convinced herself that it was impossible to lift herself from the wheelchair. At first, we thought she was nervous, because my Sister, Cathy had stopped by with the dog groomer. Not true--there was no liftoff after the visitors departed. Parent got herself whipped up into a negative frenzy, and was truly the immovable object.

After several hours of pleading, prayer, Ginny and I managed to move the Aged P from the wheelchair to the bed. She needed a good bed bath, but more importantly, she needed a clean adult diaper and a good long nap. Today was somewhat better, but I don't know how she'll be tomorrow.

I am making mushroom stuffing to go with the roast chicken. If the stuffing is a hit, I will make it for Thanksgiving.

Shouting The Battle Cry of Freedom

I like writing in the large font, because any and all typos will jump out at me.  And yes, to refer to the title, caring for the Aged Parent has been quite a struggle.  She has been afraid of falling, and did have a few months of dizziness, which led her to refuse to exercise.  So, Aged Parent is quite out of shape, even after a week of physical therapy.

My Parent will not move her bootie off the chair/bed/ when it is time to lift.  What I find maddening is she gets things right, and decides when she is close to getting up, that she's going to fall.  So, she sits back down.  When I was in high school, we had an elderly Beagle, Freckles, who struggled to get up the stairs.  There were many times when Freckles would get half way up the stairs, get stuck, and solve the problem by turning around, and going to the bottom of the stairs.  That's how Mom approaches her transfers.

Thanks to my therapist, I am able to keep my temper, realize what is happening, and make Aged parent move forward.  It is a battle, though, and I have a fine case of combat fatigue.  I want to eat pastries until I explode, but use diet and exercise to keep my cool.  Que sera, sera.  Momma said there'd be days like this.

"All The Livelong Day"

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9LBKVXyrHcw&NR=1

Thanks to the Aged Parent, I felt like this cat.  When Mom met with the hospital social worker Friday morning, she told her the following:

1.  that Mother knew she was in Vermont;
2.  that she had been in the rehab center since March;
3   that she wanted to go home.

The social worker knew that neither she nor Aged Parent were in Vermont ( they were in Brooklyn, NY) but accepted the second item without checking with the rehab center.  So, the ambulette driver thought he was taking Mom to a rehab facility, and the Visiting Nurse service never opened her case because they'd been told the patient was not going home.

Mom arrived home Friday night.  This morning, I called the agency to find out why her case had not started.  Agency said patient had been sent to rehab, and I told them, 'no, Elizabeth Michaels is at her home".  After phoning the hospital social worker, I managed to untangle this mess, and get her case activated.

It was like being in Alice's Wonderland, where all the absurdities are accepted as truths, and truths become absurdities.  My guess is Mom sounded fully competent when the social worker interviewed her, so she did not question anything Mother told her.  As a professional caseworker, how can you not double check the record of a 84 year old patient, who in the past two weeks, has gone from her home, to the hospital, to a rehab unit, then was sent back to the hospital.?

Oh, don piano

Happily Ever After

Mom came home from the hospital Friday night, and I have been far too busy to keep up with the blog.  I don't have any readers, but if I did, I would apologize to them.  Instead, I should apologize to myself, for neglecting my writing.  Blogging is an essential part of my plan to become a published writer, and I cannot consider myself a writer unless I write on a regular basis.  

Poor Mom was in such terrible shape Tuesday afternoon.  For the first hour or so after her admission to the ER, I thought she was dying.  Her face was swollen, she groaned in pain, and her blood pressure went to 260/140.  Once the attending physician figured out that Mom was having an allergic reaction to Norvasc, as well as pneumonia, and the proper medications were given, Mom started to improve.  It was truly a miracle that she did not have a stroke with such high blood pressure.

My Sisters and I made the decision that Mom would come home, and have her physical therapy at home.  First of all, we would have better control over her diet--when the rehab center is serving the patients chicken pot pie, or mac and cheese, I doubt these are low sodium items.  Secondly, I felt Mom's rehab room was cold.  Last Monday, I checked the controls, and found that her roomate had been blasting the air conditioning.  Granted, the roomie did have Alzheimers, but I can't believe that not one aide or nurse observed the cold temperature in that room.  Maybe they thought it was a haunted room, hence the cold spot.

However, I'd forgotten how much work goes into looking after Mom.  I'm only writing a few paragraphs, because I have to go help her get dressed, and give her all her medications.  Oh, I will greet Visiting Nurse Service with open arms, a red carpet, and I may dance before the home aide, strewing her path with rose petals ( as long as she doesn't steal my digital camera like one of her predecessors did).

Monday

Yesterday, I did something so absent minded that it left me in shock.  Since Mom has gone into the hospital and short term rehab, I've incinerated two teakettles.  Yesterday, at the rehab center, I got off on the wrong floor.  What made me certain I was on the right floor was one of Mom's friends, Paul, was in the rec room.  So, I hand two bags of Halloween candy to a puzzled looking aide, said it was from Elizabeth in Room 415, and went to go find Mom in her room.  When I get a look at the room signs, it dawned on me that I had just given candy to the wrong floor, but it would be unspeakably rude to snatch it back, and say 'oopsy daisy, this isn't for you".

Oh well, it was still a good deed,.

Mom was pretty confused yesterday, which I put down to her fatigue.  She had PT both Saturday and Sunday because it was her first weekend at rehab.  I described it to an aide Friday as being similar to a Sorority initiation, or hazing.  Although I don't think the Cashmere and Pearl set ever made initiates drink until they became violently ill.  It was Mom's usual stuff: she's either in a plane , or in Helen Gorra's basement, where the women are very rude, and do not answer her when she calls her daughter's names.

Anyway, Mom has always loved fatty foods, which has added to her health problems.  Yesterday, out of the blue, she said " I want a real breakfast", so I asked 'what would you like?"  and she replied 'tofu".  I blurted out 'tofu'?  in the same tone that Lady Bracknell said 'a handbag?" .  Mom said 'it's the healthy thing in cartons that your Sister makes".  Oh, eggbeaters"  sez I.

Well, I have to do the dishes, then go visit Mom.