I'm still taking stuff out of mom's place, 1 bag at a time. This time I found lots of letters and photos in a bureau drawer. The letters are recent, from her last 4 years in the Chute. Some of the photos are very old - I don't know who they are, so I might scan them and email them to family to get some ideas.
I'm having an AV person put some of my own old photos on a CD, because they are beginning to fade. I backpacked around the world for 9 months about a million years ago, and it's great to see that those pictures can be saved (me on a Tahiti beach - a good memory on a cold day in Ohio). This is just one of several of the 'cleanup' projects I've undertaken since my December decision to stop waiting. This weekend I tackle 2 of the remaining 10 boxes of my "Career Capper" project. Somewhere in those boxes is the answer to the question, "What books and/or articles should I write before I retire from management consulting completely?"
Mom was playful yesterday, with a little chimpanzee doll on her lap. She spent as much time talking with it (his name is Bogey, or at least that's what is printed on his shirt) as she spent with me. She found him very interesting, and, without taking her eyes off him, reported what he was thinking and feeling. Her sentences are a mix of complete phrases ("he thinks I should") and gobbledygook ("wark met shoo"). It was good to see her happy with something outside herself, and not worrying about her own sensations and discomforts. Joy is good.
Thursday, February 4, 2010
Friday, January 29, 2010
Joy is good
It was a 2-visit week this week, because mom was asleep when I got there on Wednesday. I did the usual laundry-exchange, plus filled a bag of miscellaneous stuff in drawers to take home and sort/toss/distribute. But she didn't know I was there.
So I went today, earlier so I could catch her when still at the lunch table. We spent some good time together, and she shared her feeling that she was "going down", which she expressed in words plus a gesture where she dropped her hand quickly off the table. I think she is talking about dying, in the only way she can now.
"Is that OK with you?" I asked her.
"It will be terrible," she said.
"No, it doesn't need to be terrible," I told her.
"Yes, terrible."
"That's not what I read," I said.
"What did you read?"
"I read that it can be quite easy, and comfortable."
I'm trying to put more positive ideas into her head. Her fear of dying is huge, and always has been. Death is an awful mistake for her, an outcome to be avoided. I worry that this kind of thinking will have her hang on when she is in pain or too exhausted to get any joy in her life.
Before I left, she saw the dog lady and her adorable animal playing with a ball. Mom's face lit up. She responds so well to animals, real or in photos. They give her joy.
Virginia died Tuesday. She was always the last lady at the dining table, feeding herself and asking for more. She was over 100 years old, and when she drifted off at the table, her head touched the plate. She looked awful, of course, and anybody seeing her would think she had a terrible quality of life, not being able to take care of herself. But she enjoyed eating, right up to the last 2 weeks of her life.
So I went today, earlier so I could catch her when still at the lunch table. We spent some good time together, and she shared her feeling that she was "going down", which she expressed in words plus a gesture where she dropped her hand quickly off the table. I think she is talking about dying, in the only way she can now.
"Is that OK with you?" I asked her.
"It will be terrible," she said.
"No, it doesn't need to be terrible," I told her.
"Yes, terrible."
"That's not what I read," I said.
"What did you read?"
"I read that it can be quite easy, and comfortable."
I'm trying to put more positive ideas into her head. Her fear of dying is huge, and always has been. Death is an awful mistake for her, an outcome to be avoided. I worry that this kind of thinking will have her hang on when she is in pain or too exhausted to get any joy in her life.
Before I left, she saw the dog lady and her adorable animal playing with a ball. Mom's face lit up. She responds so well to animals, real or in photos. They give her joy.
Virginia died Tuesday. She was always the last lady at the dining table, feeding herself and asking for more. She was over 100 years old, and when she drifted off at the table, her head touched the plate. She looked awful, of course, and anybody seeing her would think she had a terrible quality of life, not being able to take care of herself. But she enjoyed eating, right up to the last 2 weeks of her life.
Friday, January 22, 2010
Rabbit Medicine Comfort
Got a call from the Chute nurse yesterday to tell me mom had fallen (they have to notify me about that), and reassured me that she just lost her balance when not using the walker and landed sitting on the floor. She's fine, sitting in the circle, the nurse told me.
She also mentioned that mom had been agitated, awake at 2 AM - very unusual for her - and restless all day. Hospice has prescribed Ativan, which she's taken before, and they gave her a first dose yesterday afternoon. So far so good.
Before we got off the phone, I asked about the rabbit. The nurse knew which rabbit I meant - the little plush one that mom's been keeping on her lap but was missing when I visited. She was going to look for it - maybe in mom's room or in an activities cabinet someplace. We agreed it seemed to give her some comfort.
So I'm glad the MIA rabbit situation is solved before we leave town. We'll be gone until early next week (NYC for a book award ceremony). I'm sure they'll find that little plushie, which with the Ativan should make her world a little better.
PS - My uncertainty about how long this will go on has been resolved. I just received notice that mom's subscription to Time runs out in June...
She also mentioned that mom had been agitated, awake at 2 AM - very unusual for her - and restless all day. Hospice has prescribed Ativan, which she's taken before, and they gave her a first dose yesterday afternoon. So far so good.
Before we got off the phone, I asked about the rabbit. The nurse knew which rabbit I meant - the little plush one that mom's been keeping on her lap but was missing when I visited. She was going to look for it - maybe in mom's room or in an activities cabinet someplace. We agreed it seemed to give her some comfort.
So I'm glad the MIA rabbit situation is solved before we leave town. We'll be gone until early next week (NYC for a book award ceremony). I'm sure they'll find that little plushie, which with the Ativan should make her world a little better.
PS - My uncertainty about how long this will go on has been resolved. I just received notice that mom's subscription to Time runs out in June...
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
Trying to Create a Game for Deep Agers
The abstractions on death are in a completely different world than the realities. Now that I see mom only once a week, I am more aware of her fading. She seems to be getting fainter and fainter, like Tinkerbell when nobody believed in her. Small, pale, but sitting up in a chair in the activity circle, watching with some interest, and some confusion.
The game was to toss a ball onto a mat that had velcro patches on it. The ball would stick to the velcro, and depending on the color and location of the patch, the ladies would get points for each of their allotted three ball-tosses. It took 2 Activity Ladies to supervise this. One worked with each lady in her turn, handing her one ball at a time, repeating the instructions, and encouraging them to move their arm and throw the ball. The other wrote the score on a big paper with everyone's name on it. Naomi would get 150 points, Katie 200, depending on whether they could get the ball on the center patch or just hanging off the outside patches. The ladies never noticed the scorekeeper or the scoreboard even though she was right in front of them.
After each lady had "performed" once, and the Activity Lady was starting a second round, mom turned to face me. Her look said, "What the hell is the point of this?" I was thinking the same thing. Bless the Activities Ladies for working with fading people. It's like nursery school, but without the future.
We talked a little. She was bundled up in blankets to stay warm, and seemed a little tired. On the way home I realized she didn't have her rabbit. I'll have to look in her room for it when I go back.
The game was to toss a ball onto a mat that had velcro patches on it. The ball would stick to the velcro, and depending on the color and location of the patch, the ladies would get points for each of their allotted three ball-tosses. It took 2 Activity Ladies to supervise this. One worked with each lady in her turn, handing her one ball at a time, repeating the instructions, and encouraging them to move their arm and throw the ball. The other wrote the score on a big paper with everyone's name on it. Naomi would get 150 points, Katie 200, depending on whether they could get the ball on the center patch or just hanging off the outside patches. The ladies never noticed the scorekeeper or the scoreboard even though she was right in front of them.
After each lady had "performed" once, and the Activity Lady was starting a second round, mom turned to face me. Her look said, "What the hell is the point of this?" I was thinking the same thing. Bless the Activities Ladies for working with fading people. It's like nursery school, but without the future.
We talked a little. She was bundled up in blankets to stay warm, and seemed a little tired. On the way home I realized she didn't have her rabbit. I'll have to look in her room for it when I go back.
Sunday, January 17, 2010
Dying for Partial Redemption
Reading The Economist this morning on the coming election (probably in May) in Great Britain. The Labor party is expected to lose the election, and the party is divided and confused, with its leaders in Parliament posturing for self-promotion (politics is a blood sport everywhere). The article ended by saying:
"Dying is an art. For governments, as for people, the end can offer a partial redemption, helping to define their reputations. It is almost inevitable that Labor will lose the coming election, but it could have gone down to an orderly and disciplined defeat. Instead, the end of its time in office is set to be as fractious and chaotic as the past few years. That is how it will be remembered."
I have a Buddhist saying taped inside my bathroom door: "Of all meditations, that on death is supreme." It gives me permission to think - and talk - about death. I've read the Tibetan Book of the Dead, also a meditation on death and the art of dying. But I hadn't thought of death an an opportunity for partial redemption of one's reputation. How admirable to consider, even to work toward, dying in an orderly and disciplined manner.
One of my 11 boxes is now gone, as intended. Next: two boxes, taken together. I am looking for what wants to be said as a product of my consulting career. I think it's in those boxes.
"Dying is an art. For governments, as for people, the end can offer a partial redemption, helping to define their reputations. It is almost inevitable that Labor will lose the coming election, but it could have gone down to an orderly and disciplined defeat. Instead, the end of its time in office is set to be as fractious and chaotic as the past few years. That is how it will be remembered."
I have a Buddhist saying taped inside my bathroom door: "Of all meditations, that on death is supreme." It gives me permission to think - and talk - about death. I've read the Tibetan Book of the Dead, also a meditation on death and the art of dying. But I hadn't thought of death an an opportunity for partial redemption of one's reputation. How admirable to consider, even to work toward, dying in an orderly and disciplined manner.
One of my 11 boxes is now gone, as intended. Next: two boxes, taken together. I am looking for what wants to be said as a product of my consulting career. I think it's in those boxes.
Thursday, January 14, 2010
All is Well
Mom (and her plush rabbit) were in the activity circle when I got there yesterday. I spent some time in her suite exchanging clean-dirty laundry, then emptying another cabinet to bring home a bag of stuff for sorting (trash, Goodwill, keepsake). Then we chatted a little, and I walked her downstairs to see the piano player.
She seems so normal now - just a little old lady who keeps a close eye on her rabbit and wants to join everyone in the music room.
She seems so normal now - just a little old lady who keeps a close eye on her rabbit and wants to join everyone in the music room.
Friday, January 8, 2010
The Cost of Deep Age
Just got the year-end statement from the Chute:
Monthly Service Fee, 2009 total: $69,360.00
Memory Loss Daily Fee, 2009 total: $1582.30
Nursing Supplies, 2009 total: $854.84
Consider this a reminder to beef up your IRA for those post-retirement years when you'll be playing with your rabbit.
Monthly Service Fee, 2009 total: $69,360.00
Memory Loss Daily Fee, 2009 total: $1582.30
Nursing Supplies, 2009 total: $854.84
Consider this a reminder to beef up your IRA for those post-retirement years when you'll be playing with your rabbit.
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