This morning as I swapped parent sitting with my sister, Dad was all gussied up with a hair net on, IV's hooked up, and warm blankets piled on top of him. He was in a good mood and eager to get a sausage biscuit from Hardee's. This procedure wasn't complicated, really, just stretching the esophagus --- something he'd had done several times before. Lately he'd gotten to where he couldn't swallow the smallest of pills and everything he was able to eat would come back up just minutes later. So it's time again to get his esophagus stretched so that the lumps of food can make it past the hiatal hernia and into his tummy. The procedure was uneventful. I saw in the waiting room trying to read a statistics book and wheeling his O2 container with me as I moved about.
When I was called back, the doctor was kind and told me that dad should have a liquid today and a soft diet "from now on." Hmmm, a soft diet from now on? Good luck getting Pop to comply but the "from now on" part hung in the air. Was it an euphemism for "until he expires"? I didn't ask. He went on to show me pictures of yeast infection spots in his throat. The beasts were likely a consequence of exposure to a long-term ventilator and feeding tube. Just a few pills ought to clear it up. I remembered thinking if Dad is in his good mind it will be funny to tease him about how he got a yeast infection in his throat. But those good mind fun days aren't very predictable. The nurse did volunteer that dad could have sausage gravy run through a blender and then strained to remove lumps if he absolutely had to have it. So this was my mission for the Hardee's drive through.
When we arrived, I began to order when this little frail man next to me in a hoarse voice shouted "sausage biscuit and ...." There was no stopping him. He got the 2 biscuits ordered and I took him home. Mom was there with her sitter as one would expect. Going about their daily hygiene routine. The physical reminders now of their predicament and how perilessly close to the edge they perch is almost too much for me to handle. The O2 condensor's rhythmic noise. The 2 walkers. The O2 cord snaking from one room to the next. The rosary beads. The potty chair.
Would someone just tell me about the good ole days. And would someone just freeze time for a minute so I can breathe. Sleep would be good too. And maybe some perspective.
It's hard to be kind and helpful when you are beat to a pulp. It's hard to be tender when the personality residing in the brain isn't the one that I like or know very well. I'm so sorry that life goes this route and that independence is lost. This death sentence so to speak isn't one bestowed upon the dying. Rather it's a sentence for all those caring for the dying as well. The relief valve is one that we look to for release yet we don't really want it to do that either. Maybe just a flare at the top to burn off the excess energy so that we can all settle back down... yes, a pole with a flare to burn off the ugly so that it could be pleasant again. That's my wish for today.
Friday, October 29, 2010
Wednesday, October 27, 2010
Hiding
I feel ashamed. I am hiding at home tonight rather than going to see my parents. I am exhausted from 26 days of gainful employment wedged in between caring for parents and running them to one place or another. I am behind in my own work. My house is a wreck and bills have gone unpaid. Did I mention I'm taking 2 classes myself? The hardest of the two hasn't seen my eyes since October 1. What I had learned up to that point I can no longer remember. I'm exhausted. I feel guilty -- after all, the fourth commandment is Honor They Mother and Thy Father. And the 7 corporal works of mercy command me to care for the sick, visit the shut-ins, feed the hungry. But I didn't see the part that said it's ok to stop and breathe once in a while. But I know that I have to.
Milestones today? None really. My sister relented and gave Dad his keys. Though the doctor said he couldn't drive, the incessant demands from both parents for the keys to be returned finally wore my sister down. She lives with them and couldn't stand the inquisition any longer. My mother has manipulated a doctor into seeing her on Friday. None of us can take her to an eye doctor this week as I already took her to her cardiologist and we're splitting time tomorrow taking Dad to get his esophagus stretched. The sitter we hired seems to be of little use though she came highly recommended. I suspect it's because they tell her not to do things and the like. But she was hired to help Mom with her daily hygiene and to take meds. She's also supposed to vacuum on Tuesdays, tidy the kitchen each day, and change the bedsheets on Thursday. Though she's there from 9 - 2 there is no midday meal being provided. I'm confused about why they think this is acceptable. But I'm too tired to argue over it.
A strange thing happened at work today. A lady asked if she could pray for me. I told her of course she could. There in front of about 70 people she laid her hands on me and prayed aloud. It wasn't uncomfortable. Every few seconds I'd feel warm like the eternal force was reaching me but then the chill of exhaustion would push the warm aside.
I spoke at a conference today. I saw an old friend of my parents. I thanked her for visiting my Dad in the hospital and taking him Holy Communion. She was touched that he thought enough of her visit to mention it to me. I'm glad it made her feel good. Those kind of people -- the ones who help those of us who suffer feel a little better about out plight -- those kind of people are special. And rare.
Today I called about getting Mom's chair retrofitted to be assistant driven. We'd tried that before but I guess the company from whom the chair was purchased didn't quite understand what we were trying to do. For the life of me, I don't know why they didn't. But several hundred dollars later, the modification that first company made doesn't work. We could have used that money to fire up the grill for burgers as far as the expense is concerned. Perhaps this other company will have the right answer.
Today I am angry. And sad. But mostly very tired.
Milestones today? None really. My sister relented and gave Dad his keys. Though the doctor said he couldn't drive, the incessant demands from both parents for the keys to be returned finally wore my sister down. She lives with them and couldn't stand the inquisition any longer. My mother has manipulated a doctor into seeing her on Friday. None of us can take her to an eye doctor this week as I already took her to her cardiologist and we're splitting time tomorrow taking Dad to get his esophagus stretched. The sitter we hired seems to be of little use though she came highly recommended. I suspect it's because they tell her not to do things and the like. But she was hired to help Mom with her daily hygiene and to take meds. She's also supposed to vacuum on Tuesdays, tidy the kitchen each day, and change the bedsheets on Thursday. Though she's there from 9 - 2 there is no midday meal being provided. I'm confused about why they think this is acceptable. But I'm too tired to argue over it.
A strange thing happened at work today. A lady asked if she could pray for me. I told her of course she could. There in front of about 70 people she laid her hands on me and prayed aloud. It wasn't uncomfortable. Every few seconds I'd feel warm like the eternal force was reaching me but then the chill of exhaustion would push the warm aside.
I spoke at a conference today. I saw an old friend of my parents. I thanked her for visiting my Dad in the hospital and taking him Holy Communion. She was touched that he thought enough of her visit to mention it to me. I'm glad it made her feel good. Those kind of people -- the ones who help those of us who suffer feel a little better about out plight -- those kind of people are special. And rare.
Today I called about getting Mom's chair retrofitted to be assistant driven. We'd tried that before but I guess the company from whom the chair was purchased didn't quite understand what we were trying to do. For the life of me, I don't know why they didn't. But several hundred dollars later, the modification that first company made doesn't work. We could have used that money to fire up the grill for burgers as far as the expense is concerned. Perhaps this other company will have the right answer.
Today I am angry. And sad. But mostly very tired.
Tuesday, October 26, 2010
Monday, Monday
How does a child reconcile with a parent when the parent is elderly and the child is now in the driver's seat? Literally? My dad lost his car keys on Friday. He'd been pleasant enough about it until I arrived to tote him to a coffee shop and mom to her visit for a pro-time test. For some reason, I was the evil one. Hell hath no fury as that of a many whose keys have been taken away! My dad snapped at me about the way I fastened my mother's wheelchair into place and then said "can I not take care of my wife." It was clear then the issue was loss of control. He decided to stay home and sulk. Try as I might, I had not choice but to leave him and get my mom to her appointment.
That was another story. She claims to have a cracked brain which causes her forgetfulness. Her legal blindness confuses me because is worse some days than others. But why oh why is that a selective forgetfulness? How many times do I have to tell her she has power of attorney? How many times do I have to ask her not to pick her nose in public and not hear the answer of a little kid whose eyes are closed: "I can't see them." She got mad at me for the way I treated my dad arguing that he could drive well. I wondered how in the sam helen she knew that when she couldn't see that he'd parked in the bushes just a day or two ago. There was no arguing but I was tired and I was mad. So I told her if she thought she could do it without me then wheel herself into the exam room. She struggled and banged walls and doorways. I let her do it all the way back down to the lower level when we left. Finally she was exhausted. I told her if she wanted me to help, she just had to ask. So she asked.
I hate what my life is becoming.. I hate the thoughts that death would be a blessing to them since they are miserable. I hate the thoughts about what will it be like when they are gone -- will we still think it was exhausting caring for them for these last few years? Mostly I am get angry at people who pretend to have suffering when in fact they are bilking the system. Disability income is for the disabled not the lazy. And I see plenty of the lazy. And they enjoy a good life. Why do I have to worry about my parents and see their little fortune burned up chasing one medical demon after another.
God, I sure hope you really are up there. I hope that you are truly kind and not an egomaniac. I hope that you are thinking that poor family needs a break. I hope that you decide tomorrow to give my mom back her sight. I hope that when death does come, it arrives while sleeping. Please don't make it be a gut-wrenching experience like we had on October 1. Death isn't easy but death can be harder than it has to be. So please, God, send a miracle our way so that death when it comes is a gentle transition into the after life.
That was another story. She claims to have a cracked brain which causes her forgetfulness. Her legal blindness confuses me because is worse some days than others. But why oh why is that a selective forgetfulness? How many times do I have to tell her she has power of attorney? How many times do I have to ask her not to pick her nose in public and not hear the answer of a little kid whose eyes are closed: "I can't see them." She got mad at me for the way I treated my dad arguing that he could drive well. I wondered how in the sam helen she knew that when she couldn't see that he'd parked in the bushes just a day or two ago. There was no arguing but I was tired and I was mad. So I told her if she thought she could do it without me then wheel herself into the exam room. She struggled and banged walls and doorways. I let her do it all the way back down to the lower level when we left. Finally she was exhausted. I told her if she wanted me to help, she just had to ask. So she asked.
I hate what my life is becoming.. I hate the thoughts that death would be a blessing to them since they are miserable. I hate the thoughts about what will it be like when they are gone -- will we still think it was exhausting caring for them for these last few years? Mostly I am get angry at people who pretend to have suffering when in fact they are bilking the system. Disability income is for the disabled not the lazy. And I see plenty of the lazy. And they enjoy a good life. Why do I have to worry about my parents and see their little fortune burned up chasing one medical demon after another.
God, I sure hope you really are up there. I hope that you are truly kind and not an egomaniac. I hope that you are thinking that poor family needs a break. I hope that you decide tomorrow to give my mom back her sight. I hope that when death does come, it arrives while sleeping. Please don't make it be a gut-wrenching experience like we had on October 1. Death isn't easy but death can be harder than it has to be. So please, God, send a miracle our way so that death when it comes is a gentle transition into the after life.
Friday, October 22, 2010
What a tumultuous month this has been. One month ago, we were burglarized while we slept. Today they finally dusted the window and lifted a print.
Today my sister took our father to see his doctor. My dad was discharged 4 days ago after nearing dying on October 1. He spent 17 days on a ventilator and other life support systems. This morning while shaving, he fell and struck his head. Shaving wasn't really shaving, however. He was in the office not the bathroom and using an electric toothbruth not a razor. Heck, he doesn't even have an electric razor.
Today my mother looked lovely and was lucid. She seems to be enjoying her "care giving" role reversal. Though she can't really see, she thinks she's helping to care for dad now. We'll humor her with that one.
Today I looked at the gun I had slipped out from between my parents' mattresses last night so that I would sleep better knowing my mentally diminished father wouldn't have a delusion and need to use a gun. The gun belonged to my great uncle. He came about it when being housed by the French Underground after escaping from a POW train headed to a camp after D-Day. He and other U.S. soldiers were hidden in a farm family's attic when they saw an SS member slip into the barn where the old grandparent had gone to milk the cow. This uncle slipped into the same barn and killed the soldier before he could kill the old man. I wondered while holding the gun if it had been used to kill any of Jewish people, homosexuals, resistors or Allied troops.
Today I procrastinated about the work I needed to do as part of my doctoral studies. I wondered if it really matters whether or not I complete the program. I wondered how I would pay bills with the paycheck I draw from my now underemployed role in society. Lest you be confused, I am not under worked but rather under compensated. I don't like working for the government where a person isn't rewarded on merit but on some arbitrary system.
Life is sloppy. It's confusing. Whether it is divine providence or the luck of the draw, today I wondered why some people clearly have an easy path while others encounter obstacle after obstacle. Postive affect is how I describe my family. Regardless of what is thrown our way, we remain upbeat and plow ahead. Why is it that those who have it so much better or easier than we do... why is it they lament or squander their situations?
Today I will go to my parents to visit them as is the routine these days. I will answer the same questions I've answered dozens of times. I will follow my blind, crippled mother to and from the restroom and help her with the tasks she must accomplish along that short journey. I will help my dad remember how to change channels on his remote control. I will pilfer the mail and throw out solicitations for donations. I will ask myself again is it time to move them to a nursing facility. Today I will put my parents to bed. I will remove my mothers brace and tuck it beneath the bedside commode. I will hand her the electric toothbrush and a spit-tray. I will tuck my parents in and kiss them and bless them. Then I will cry all the way home.
Today. At least I have today.
Life is sloppy.
Today my sister took our father to see his doctor. My dad was discharged 4 days ago after nearing dying on October 1. He spent 17 days on a ventilator and other life support systems. This morning while shaving, he fell and struck his head. Shaving wasn't really shaving, however. He was in the office not the bathroom and using an electric toothbruth not a razor. Heck, he doesn't even have an electric razor.
Today my mother looked lovely and was lucid. She seems to be enjoying her "care giving" role reversal. Though she can't really see, she thinks she's helping to care for dad now. We'll humor her with that one.
Today I looked at the gun I had slipped out from between my parents' mattresses last night so that I would sleep better knowing my mentally diminished father wouldn't have a delusion and need to use a gun. The gun belonged to my great uncle. He came about it when being housed by the French Underground after escaping from a POW train headed to a camp after D-Day. He and other U.S. soldiers were hidden in a farm family's attic when they saw an SS member slip into the barn where the old grandparent had gone to milk the cow. This uncle slipped into the same barn and killed the soldier before he could kill the old man. I wondered while holding the gun if it had been used to kill any of Jewish people, homosexuals, resistors or Allied troops.
Today I procrastinated about the work I needed to do as part of my doctoral studies. I wondered if it really matters whether or not I complete the program. I wondered how I would pay bills with the paycheck I draw from my now underemployed role in society. Lest you be confused, I am not under worked but rather under compensated. I don't like working for the government where a person isn't rewarded on merit but on some arbitrary system.
Life is sloppy. It's confusing. Whether it is divine providence or the luck of the draw, today I wondered why some people clearly have an easy path while others encounter obstacle after obstacle. Postive affect is how I describe my family. Regardless of what is thrown our way, we remain upbeat and plow ahead. Why is it that those who have it so much better or easier than we do... why is it they lament or squander their situations?
Today I will go to my parents to visit them as is the routine these days. I will answer the same questions I've answered dozens of times. I will follow my blind, crippled mother to and from the restroom and help her with the tasks she must accomplish along that short journey. I will help my dad remember how to change channels on his remote control. I will pilfer the mail and throw out solicitations for donations. I will ask myself again is it time to move them to a nursing facility. Today I will put my parents to bed. I will remove my mothers brace and tuck it beneath the bedside commode. I will hand her the electric toothbrush and a spit-tray. I will tuck my parents in and kiss them and bless them. Then I will cry all the way home.
Today. At least I have today.
Life is sloppy.
Friday, October 8, 2010
Sloppy Joes?
When I thought about journaling, it was because I wanted to remember what I was experiencing. It occurred to me that others might be on the same journey -- that is a journey where have a working life and a marriage with aging parents on one side and children (any age really) on the other. It's quite a tightrope we walk where we're waving our arms to the side for balance when one or the other, work or family, tugs at us. And if we're not very deliberate with our step, we'll fall off that high wire. Sometimes a net may catch us. But often it doesn't.
Dallying around with this blog spot, I thought of sloppy joes. I love those things. I don't like the Manwich kind. I'd rather have the kind where you add tomato paste to a packet of seasoning and then have it spilling out of a bun. That's really how life for the sandwich generation looks. It's rather enjoyable though it can be quite messy. Hence, I am no longer a member of the sandwich generation but instead a member of the sloppy joes.
Dallying around with this blog spot, I thought of sloppy joes. I love those things. I don't like the Manwich kind. I'd rather have the kind where you add tomato paste to a packet of seasoning and then have it spilling out of a bun. That's really how life for the sandwich generation looks. It's rather enjoyable though it can be quite messy. Hence, I am no longer a member of the sandwich generation but instead a member of the sloppy joes.
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