Uneasy

Mom was disquietingly unresponsive today, sitting with her head down and to the side, saying almost nothing through church, in the Bistro, upstairs. I bought us coffee and a roll, and she had a sip of the coffee under my urging, but didn't touch the bits of roll I had cut up and soaked in coffee on her plate,  which normally she goes right at. Finally I fed her with my fork, and she ate it and seemed to like it, taking whatever I offered.

We went out to the penalty box, where aides and a few residents were gathered. Joe, over by the TV, was shouting "Hello! Hello! Hello!" which he does almost every time he's at large, and Bev, near us, was in a state, berating the staff and complaining "Why does nobody want to do any work? Doesn't anybody want to do any work?" When sweet old Vickie, sitting next to her, made a mild objection, Bev swatted her with her newspaper. Then Joe piped up, "Hello!" and Bev screamed, "Well hello yourself and who are you?"

An aide tried to take Bev down the hall but she wouldn't have it, so we all moved away.

I took Mom to the lunch table early and we sat there, just waiting, every moment like death. The one cogent thing she said to me all morning was "I want you to stay and have lunch with me," a reasonable enough request, but I'd been there two and a half hours and could not stand another minute.

Here's a story that spoke to me: https://www.theatlantic.com/magazine/archive/2010/04/letting-go-of-my-father/308001/

Keeping up appearances

This is just a little appreciation for the aides, who every day get her dressed, comb her hair, choose and put on earrings, a necklace, doing more than the minimum. She always looks nice -- even dressier, I think, than when she was middle-aged, schlepping kids and keeping the house running.

Church was uneventful, though we didn't stay long, and brought our roll and coffee up to the dining room near her room, where we could bail in a hurry if we had to.

Guilt and more guilt

I bought this bike last week at the Madison bike show during a two-day visit with Ms. V. It cost way too much, and I know that my good friend B will excoriate me for going to carbon fiber, but, as I say, I wanna keep up with my friends. On B's behalf, I have to acknowledge that it does feel a little worryingly like a toy. For the long camping trips, I still have my steel bike, still in fighting trim.

I had anguished about this for years. It's not just the cost, but the morality of it, the guilt that accompanies it. Do I need it? No. Am I happy with what I have? Yes. Am I a spoiled, entitled American with no perspective on what's really important? Yes. But do I want it? Yes. 

I found Mom last night slumping sideways in a gaggle of her colleagues in the penalty box. She was fresh from a hair-washing and was nicely dressed, but, in her face and eyes, she did not look good. I took her down the hall to her room, and we sat looking at pictures and videos on my iPad (guilt guilt guilt). We made a birthday call to young E -- he's 25 -- and she managed to put a few appropriate sentences together, which was encouraging. Then I brought her back to the corner, where Jessie was reading a story, and said I'd be back on Saturday.

Maybe because I'm there so often, mom's place has given my name to a University of Minnesota researcher who is testing a thing called the Residential Care Transition Module. It's for people like me who have a family member in a care setting. If I'm not in the "control" group, I'll get six counseling sessions with a "trained transition coach" over a four-month period, and at the end of it they will study the efficacy of their program. I said yes mainly because they promised me $25 at the end of it.

No, really, I could use a little counseling. I never thought I'd be here, and I'm up for anything.

Here's a full, rather technical explanation: https://clinicaltrials.gov/ct2/show/NCT02915939

The marina

Tough day

Ollie

We are dog-sitting Ollie this weekend, a goldendoodle of Buddha-like calm, and it has brought back Julie's charming babytalk -- I guess somebody has to ask him who's a good boy. He made the scene at Mom's place yesterday and, after a harrowing ride in the elevator, was happy to accept treats from the old folks and was perfectly placid in the face of the many shocking states of frailty he witnessed. (I don't except myself.)

So that was a good visit. Today was a different story. I found Mom in the penalty box, anxious to get going to church. And yet, I'm not sure she knew where we were going. But she was clean and ready, and we started off, and immediately had to reverse course for a bathroom visit. It went badly, requiring an aide, Jo, who just said, "Wow," and spent about a half hour cleaning the bathroom and Mom and getting her dressed in fresh clothes.

We got to church halfway through and it wasn't very long before an unpleasant smell wafted my way. I whispered, "Are you OK? Do you need to go to the bathroom?" She said she was fine, and, well, I shouldn't have left it up to her. We made it through the service and went to the Bistro, another bad idea, and by the time we made it out of there we had left the evidence of our visit on the carpet in front of everybody, quite a bit of it. One of the most embarrassing moments of my life.

A staffer said they'd clean it up and I buzzed Mom back upstairs. We left another mess on the carpet in her room before we reached the relative safety of the bathroom tile. I went and confessed to Jo, the aide, and she said, "Again?" If tipping was allowed, I'd have given her a hundred bucks. She was calm, kind and made no complaint. Through it all, Mom seemed strangely unperturbed.

I went back to the Bistro to find a maintenance man shampooing the rug. I told him I was sorry about the mess, thanked him, and went home, feeling like crap.

Ollie in the penalty box

One more shot of Ollie, and why not?