The big picture

by JEV

Sister L, midweek:

It’s the end of our second full day and Mom has expanded in my mind into her former self, though a much slowed down version. Visits with her are like forgetting then finding your glasses. At first you can’t see her, just the infirmities, but then you begin to piece together all she can and does do. She puttered in the kitchen this evening, turned down the heat under my bubbling bolognese sauce, tore apart lettuce leaves for the salad and played a decent game of Scrabble. She set the table, carrying full glasses of water. I watched her like I used to watch my kindergartners, proud of her independence, but worried she’d trip and fall. “Maybe one at a time?” I couldn’t help but say as she froze & shook on a pivot turn. 

What I miss most when I visit her at Cranberry is Kitchen Life. It adds so much to life to be able to set your own table and tear your own lettuce with your own hands. Life seems so sterile without this ability, especially for Mom, who spent so much time in a kitchen it’s teeth-brushingly familiar. 

The sky is spectacular here (did you catch Venus & the moon?) and the water is icy cold, but we’ve been in the lake, even Mom, up to her thin, unsteady ankles. C just left with E and J to pick up E’s son, K, who arrives late tonight. Jon arrives tomorrow (Don’t tell him we’re planning cake).

Sister S and I are on constant, distracted duty, but not unpleasantly so, given the weather, quick swims, late evening walks and cake-donut-with-chocolate-icing highs we are on. The Meds must be administered like the Liturgy of the Hours— Matins, Lauds, Prime, Terce, Sext, None, Vespers and Compline. Did I miss any? This is what we constantly ask ourselves & each other, setting our phones or watches & then misplacing them as we steal off for naps, and missing the alarm, but never the meds, not a one. Between the 3 of us we have internalized our the Liturgy of the Meds.

Complex arrangements

At the lake

Sister S (at the beginning):

Hi sibs,

Mom is working up a lot of anxiety, as expected. She had P (the social worker) call me this morning about the rooms, and I assured him that we have reservations through airbnb. He was relieved because, as we already knew, the guestrooms were booked.

Then M called me (nurse) about the medications. She will have them all packed up in bottles with detailed instructions. I told her our flights arrive about 5:30 p.m Friday but we will need to pick up the car so will not arrive until about 6:30 or 7:00 (?) We will pick up the meds from the nurse on duty SATURDAY morning at 9:00. Our ferry leaves Saturday at 12:30. The following Saturday, our ferry sails at 4:45 and lands at 6:15 p.m., so we will have ALL meds except the one taken right before bed. She will also talk to the doctor about a medication to take as needed for anxiety.

Anything else I should look into? I talked to mom between calls, and said she doesn't need to worry, that we have all the arrangements made, and that it will be worth it to spend a whole week at FF. I think it's good to focus on that rather than on any trip details - the beach, the lake, E, etc. Sister K said mom was asking her about "the boat" - who will drive it, how can we do it without a MAN? 

Love you all - wish us luck!

Mom's Last Trip (again)

Mom in a Box

Two or three trips beyond the first time we said, "This is Mom's last trip," she's making another one. It's summer, so the summer home beckons. My sisters are driving this train, and I have recused myself. Mom is all wound up, making calls, asking again and again about plane tickets, ferry rides, bus rides, car rides, and "how will we manage without a man?" -- and for all her questions, she absorbs nothing. '

The trip itself will be awful, and even arriving, she will need constant monitoring. If she wakes from a nap and there's no one within earshot, she will start yelling. And just keeping track of the pills -- times, doses, effects -- is a part-time job.

I called the nurse today, and she said, in her tone, that she wouldn't be doing this if this were her mom. But then, it's not her mom.

I am so glad, so very glad, I have other plans.

Butting in

It looks like a lot of stuff, but it's the least I've taken on a long trip in many years. I've spent every waking moment working on it for a week and a half. I got a water bag the size of a frozen waffle, a backpack the size of a golfball, a "sheet" the size of a bratwurst, and a pillow smaller than a baseball. Thank god for REI. Next week I'll ride from Cheboygan, Michigan, to the ferry in Ludington and home -- about 300 miles in six days, unless I collapse along the way, which is entirely possible.

But enough about me.

Julie and I stopped to pick up Mom this morning for church, and couldn't find her in her room till she surfaced from her bed and looked around groggily. She seemed diminished, small and helpless, her hair flat, and her eyes squinting. She looked like she would not last long. For all my prickliness about my mom, this melts me. Her one existence, and this is what it's come to.

She'd gotten up, showered, dressed for church, and suddenly it was nap time. "I sleep all the time now," she said. Sleep is a prized commodity in the family -- afternoon siestas are a specialty -- but she sleeps more than she's awake, and can't go three hours without hitting the wall.

She hinted at a disastrous bathroom event of the day before, but she seemed recovered and quickly gained traction. "Party in the elevator!" she said when the car came and was nearly full.  Church was a short summer service, more words than music, and Mom's eyes roamed the sanctuary for the quarterback, who was not there. "His wife wrote me a card and I have to meet her!" she said, though, as I have reported, she has met her several times.

Back at her place, ordering brunch, we met up with the family of J, a resident, whose adult daughter is getting married on Friday. We congratulated him and the daughter, and he asked us kindly not to tell his wife, B, about the wedding. She lives in the Alzheimers wing and was not going to be attending. "Too many people," he said. She'd be confused and anxious. A very sad thing.

Mom heard the wedding part, but not the don't tell B part. So she got up and was making her way to their table to, well, talk about the wedding, see how she could help, ask the couple how they'd met, heaven knows what. Julie saw this developing and derailed her and brought her back to our table.

This is the same impulse that had her fretting and fretting over the death of the son of a woman who lives in the place -- a woman she hardly knows. She wondered how she should respond, as if the woman would be keeping track of responses -- my mom's, especially. I had to talk her out of going to the woman's room and knocking on the door -- to say what? What exactly?

Sex is in the air

Mom's room

I went to get her for church this morning and found her in the dining room taking her meds. When she was done, I coaxed her through the tables, the walker making it a puzzle. We passed a worker I hadn't met before, and the woman said, "Is that your son?" We chatted for couple minutes, and then, as we went on, Mom whispered, "She has five kids." She trundled ahead.  "And I asked her, 'How many dads?'"

Jeezus. 

The answer, Mom said, was three, obviously confirming for her some ugly, frightening calculus.  

No sighting of the quarterback at church, but the flypaper quality of the social hour held. She stood at the snack table eating right from the platters, chatting left and right, with her walker clogging all access, till I took control and moved her to a chair.

At brunch, we hardly spoke. Not that there was tension -- we had run out of things to say. I listened to two old guys at a nearby table discussing their sexual histories. One of them I know for a fact is 101, and has outlived at least two wives. He has no obvious frailties, and by his talk, he's still in the game. They mentioned a woman who lives there -- let's call her Betty -- whom they praised for her charm, and/or accessibility, I wasn't sure which. "And she's only 67!" said one.  

Mom had been cogent, if inappropriate, all morning. In her room, she hit the wall, too tired to object to my departure.

Front rack, handlebar bag.
12 days till my weeklong trip.

Guest post

Mom's rearranged room

Sister K was here this week.

Here's her account of a day in the life:

A day at Cranberry

feels like a week!

I arrived at 6pm last night (was it just last night?) and we had a sip of wine at the Bistro and then came upstairs and chatted until 8:30 when they finally brought her night meds. Then I worked until 10 and drove to my airbnb. I slept on a leaky airbed with two cats climbing all over me all night long. I woke at the crack of dawn and snuck away. Breakfast at Cranberry was the usual mix of talk and no talk. After breakfast we waited for 10am meds and then it was naptime. Sister S called and talked me into getting out of my airbnb. I wrote to my host about my bad night and then cancelled and got my third night reimbursed. I requested tonight's reimbursement from the "Resolution Center" and am waiting to see if she complies. If not, bad review for her and her cats, though she was a lovely young woman so I hope it doesn't turn out that way. To be fair I was warned about the cats, but really, I think she could keep them in her bedroom at night.

We had lunch at the Bistro and then went for a quick swim and returned just in time for 2pm  meds. Naptime again and I went to return the airbnb keys - forcing them under her door to avoid having to see her face-to-face. I putzed in CVS and got a snack and some kleenex for Mom. When I got back she was predictably in a panic about  -- "the boat ride" -! There is a lot of anxiety about getting to FF and who will be driving the boat, etc. "How will we manage without a man?" The confusion extends to her whereabouts - "How did they get everything moved into this place from the other place?" I guess this is because some furniture was moved around in her room. She keeps asking me where the others are and whether they'll be eating with us, etc. Starting to sound something like Dad.

More later --

Love,

Sister K

*

Jon again:

Just wanna say she was sprightly yesterday at dinner. When I suggested we go eat, she cried "Vunderbar!" And, after dinner, when we were getting dessert, she got the "green ice cream," mint chip, and when I asked if she wasn't going to get chocolate syrup on it, too, she said, "I would never do such a thing!" Humor, not confusion. Sometimes there are little victories.