Several visits in the last week, and mom is definitely more comfortable than she's been for a long time. Hats off to hospice! They pay attention, and their attention pays off in mom's ease and happiness.
Talking with Wende over the holiday (after all 3 of us visited with mom, which delighted and energized her) I saw that I still have to address and transform my impatience with the mom-situation on a daily, sometimes hourly basis. There is no steady-state acceptance of it (the "situation", i.e., the fact that I have the regular visits and the daily/weekly mom-tasks that populate my life). Call me a stinker, but:
1) The visits (approx. 3 hours a week including travel time) with someone who is happy to see me, but cannot converse, are a trial and an unrewarding exertion, and
2) I have a big unpleasant task ahead of me (closing out her finances and belongings) that looms large, could happen at any time, and recurs as an obstacle to planning things like a real vacation or a book contract or other substantial commitment.
My "wants" (I want to be free of this, want to see what's next, want to make plans/decisions about what's next without having to consider my mother) are rarely silent for long. Every time these wants arise I have to do a little 5-step exercise based on the 5 stages of grieving:
Denial - I'm doing the right thing and I don't want to talk about it.
Anger - I want to be free of my mother, and I'm trapped by my own sense of duty.
Bargaining - If I focus on what I CAN control, I can handle the other stuff.
Depression - Just "handling" my life is like putting up with - or ignoring - big parts of my life. That's no way to live, but it's the best I can do.
Acceptance - This is life: we can't always get what we want when we want it. I'm going to keep being present and creative in as many areas of my life as I can.
This exercise can take anywhere from 5 minutes of self-talk to 2 days of journaling, cleaning my office, and doing things that are really interesting (work projects, a video from a really good HBO series, or reading a good book). It still seems silly to me that I can't achieve a steady-state acceptance of this, but it eludes me so I need to keep practicing "getting to acceptance" over and over again.
Monday, November 30, 2009
Saturday, November 21, 2009
God loves you more than turkeys
The memory wing residents were all trooped (wheeled) downstairs (it takes about 20 minutes and 2 elevator trips to get them all down to the 1st floor). A group of 5th graders were there to sing and give everyone handmade cards and a bag of gifts (toothpaste, kleenex, handcream - stuff that would have been more valued by a shelter than a well-off Chute, but oh well).
The school these kids attended was the Tree of Life Christian School. Mom got a card made by Michael that read, "Happy Thanksgiving. God loves you." He drew a picture of a turkey, and then said, "This is a turkey. God gave him to you. He loves you more, and you eat him too."
Best advertisement for vegetarianism I ever saw.
On memory loss: Mom loved the latest card from Wende, looking at it, looking at me and back to the card with a happy expression on her face. Then it rested in her lap for about 5 minutes before I held it up to her again. She looked delighted with it, totally surprised as if she'd never seen it. Then the dogs came in - beautiful animals that are good with people. I took the opportunity to say goodbye, telling her, "Mom, I'm going back to work. I am leaving you to the dogs." She paused, then laughed. She got it - an old play on words and she was amused. Memory is a strange phenomenon.
The school these kids attended was the Tree of Life Christian School. Mom got a card made by Michael that read, "Happy Thanksgiving. God loves you." He drew a picture of a turkey, and then said, "This is a turkey. God gave him to you. He loves you more, and you eat him too."
Best advertisement for vegetarianism I ever saw.
On memory loss: Mom loved the latest card from Wende, looking at it, looking at me and back to the card with a happy expression on her face. Then it rested in her lap for about 5 minutes before I held it up to her again. She looked delighted with it, totally surprised as if she'd never seen it. Then the dogs came in - beautiful animals that are good with people. I took the opportunity to say goodbye, telling her, "Mom, I'm going back to work. I am leaving you to the dogs." She paused, then laughed. She got it - an old play on words and she was amused. Memory is a strange phenomenon.
Thursday, November 19, 2009
Everyone has a Paper Trip
Just wrote a big check for the Chute Employee Appreciation Fund - the money given to employees at the end of the year as a "tip" for their good works all year. It comes to about $2.30/day, which doesn't seem like much until you multiply it by 365. Even so, they deserve every bit of it.
I am behind in my filing of mom's mail/bills/records. I've just been stuffing them into a single basket, so someday soon I'm going to have to go through the paper and put it into the right files in my Mom Bin.
A big part of taking care of someone who cannot take care of themselves is managing their Paper Trip. I haven't solved this problem for myself yet - if I croaked tomorrow, someone would have to go through my paper files, my computer files, my online banking and investment accounts, and a million things. That would be a bummer for them. I am actually looking forward to designing some streamlined arrangement that would put everything in good (and simple) order for easy maintenance and closure.
I hate to think about the maintenance part - the idea that someone would have to do for me what I am doing for my mother is hard to contemplate. My mother raised me to be sensitive to inconveniencing other people. When I was 16, she insisted I get my driver's permit (which I didn't want to do, because it meant I would have to ask them to use the car, meaning it would be withheld if I wasn't doing exactly what they wanted me to do). She said, "You can't expect other people to drive you everywhere - you should be able to drive yourself without putting other people out."
I'll tackle creating the easy-close Paper Trip for myself when mom is gone. Right now, having two PT's to manage is plenty, but after I close her books, it will be time to set mine up before my own Deep Age enshrouds me.
I am behind in my filing of mom's mail/bills/records. I've just been stuffing them into a single basket, so someday soon I'm going to have to go through the paper and put it into the right files in my Mom Bin.
A big part of taking care of someone who cannot take care of themselves is managing their Paper Trip. I haven't solved this problem for myself yet - if I croaked tomorrow, someone would have to go through my paper files, my computer files, my online banking and investment accounts, and a million things. That would be a bummer for them. I am actually looking forward to designing some streamlined arrangement that would put everything in good (and simple) order for easy maintenance and closure.
I hate to think about the maintenance part - the idea that someone would have to do for me what I am doing for my mother is hard to contemplate. My mother raised me to be sensitive to inconveniencing other people. When I was 16, she insisted I get my driver's permit (which I didn't want to do, because it meant I would have to ask them to use the car, meaning it would be withheld if I wasn't doing exactly what they wanted me to do). She said, "You can't expect other people to drive you everywhere - you should be able to drive yourself without putting other people out."
I'll tackle creating the easy-close Paper Trip for myself when mom is gone. Right now, having two PT's to manage is plenty, but after I close her books, it will be time to set mine up before my own Deep Age enshrouds me.
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
Shitpain
Just returned from my 7th cross-country trip this year, glad it's the last until next May. It always takes me 2 days to clean up my desk, calendar, and to-do lists after being away for a week (even though I have a Blackberry to keep up to speed with email and texting).
Mom had a giant boatload of laundry - two pillowcases full - and 2 hospice workers paying attention to her. One is the man who reads to her and she enjoys that. The other is the aide, who excused herself and escorted mom into the bathroom even though the man and I were ready to visit with her.
Alas, I now know entirely too much about my mother's bowels. But at least the aide helped her out of some discomfort (by causing more discomfort in the short term) and is making notes to the Chute staff that mom needs a stool softener and more attention to her elimination. What a great little gal - she did a job I don't even want to imagine doing.
Wende will be here next week and we'll both visit around the Thanksgiving holiday. That will give mom a smile.
Mom had a giant boatload of laundry - two pillowcases full - and 2 hospice workers paying attention to her. One is the man who reads to her and she enjoys that. The other is the aide, who excused herself and escorted mom into the bathroom even though the man and I were ready to visit with her.
Alas, I now know entirely too much about my mother's bowels. But at least the aide helped her out of some discomfort (by causing more discomfort in the short term) and is making notes to the Chute staff that mom needs a stool softener and more attention to her elimination. What a great little gal - she did a job I don't even want to imagine doing.
Wende will be here next week and we'll both visit around the Thanksgiving holiday. That will give mom a smile.
Sunday, November 8, 2009
Return of the 2006 rages
There is a turning-the-corner thing that seems to be happening, as indicated by:
- a new prospective Indonesia project
- ending a 2-year program of almost-monthly trips across country
- mom in hospice
- a long-time consulting gig coming to a ragged close
- a major change in dietary practices
Along with these obvious (and converging) signals of change, I'm noticing a high level of anger again - almost at the levels I experienced in the summer of 2006 when the reality of my Mom Project hit home.
The places I notice the anger are small incidents with heightened response. Yesterday I was in a Pottery Barn, and found the 2 perfect-size bowls then had to wait too long in line while clerks chatted with friends and other customers grew antsy and annoyed. Finally got to a clerk who said, "Oh, you can't get 2 bowls, these are priced only for 4 bowls". I banged the bowls down on the counter, said that was ridiculous, and walked out the door. I heard Jeffrey say, "Thank you" to the clerk, and wondered what he was thanking her for - being unwilling to divide by two? Signal: anger with a clerk transferred quickly to my husband.
These little rages don't dissipate quickly. That one ended a pleasant shopping trip on a bad note, and I carried it with me for too long. Later, when trying to deal with my new version of Quicken to get my financial records up to date, I blew up again, and this time was seriously disabled - I shut down the computer, couldn't think of what to do, and was unable to have a rational conversation.
Today I'm cleaning up old files from a conference I've been chairing for 10 years, and found a 2006 conference email that said, in part: "Sorry no time to talk yesterday - making lunch for mom. I had to rescue her on Tuesday (I did the Advisory Board call at a roadside stop)." Another message in that same chain said, "I'm so thrown out of the park by the Advisory Board call that I'm looking to find a conference chairperson who can do the job." Excessive negative response.
It's time to take a deep breath again. These little rages are costly. I am going to take a bag of cornbread stuffing over to the little lake here at Mill Run and feed the ducks and geese. I want to stop being an impending Terrible Two Temper Tantrum, and perhaps can accomplish this by re-connecting to a greater world. Something with feathers.
- a new prospective Indonesia project
- ending a 2-year program of almost-monthly trips across country
- mom in hospice
- a long-time consulting gig coming to a ragged close
- a major change in dietary practices
Along with these obvious (and converging) signals of change, I'm noticing a high level of anger again - almost at the levels I experienced in the summer of 2006 when the reality of my Mom Project hit home.
The places I notice the anger are small incidents with heightened response. Yesterday I was in a Pottery Barn, and found the 2 perfect-size bowls then had to wait too long in line while clerks chatted with friends and other customers grew antsy and annoyed. Finally got to a clerk who said, "Oh, you can't get 2 bowls, these are priced only for 4 bowls". I banged the bowls down on the counter, said that was ridiculous, and walked out the door. I heard Jeffrey say, "Thank you" to the clerk, and wondered what he was thanking her for - being unwilling to divide by two? Signal: anger with a clerk transferred quickly to my husband.
These little rages don't dissipate quickly. That one ended a pleasant shopping trip on a bad note, and I carried it with me for too long. Later, when trying to deal with my new version of Quicken to get my financial records up to date, I blew up again, and this time was seriously disabled - I shut down the computer, couldn't think of what to do, and was unable to have a rational conversation.
Today I'm cleaning up old files from a conference I've been chairing for 10 years, and found a 2006 conference email that said, in part: "Sorry no time to talk yesterday - making lunch for mom. I had to rescue her on Tuesday (I did the Advisory Board call at a roadside stop)." Another message in that same chain said, "I'm so thrown out of the park by the Advisory Board call that I'm looking to find a conference chairperson who can do the job." Excessive negative response.
It's time to take a deep breath again. These little rages are costly. I am going to take a bag of cornbread stuffing over to the little lake here at Mill Run and feed the ducks and geese. I want to stop being an impending Terrible Two Temper Tantrum, and perhaps can accomplish this by re-connecting to a greater world. Something with feathers.
Tuesday, November 3, 2009
Assisted living
I got out of the pit yesterday in time for a business meeting at 3:30. As I was driving to the meeting, I hoped that the nice man at the coffee shop would be behind the counter. Talking with him always gives me a lift - and he was there! As I placed my coffee-cookie order, he showed me a picture of himself in his Halloween costume (an undershirt and a magnificent cowboy hat) and we laughed at how terrific he looked in such a simple getup.
This little encounter swept away the cobwebs of despond and I was able to be present for the meeting. I don't know this man's name, and he doesn't know mine. We became "friends" when one day I stepped out of our anonymity and commented on his weight loss. He was so happy that his efforts were noticed that we made a nice connection. Now we always share a little something with each other when I come in for a coffee, and our little exchanges create happiness.
The 3:30 meeting went well, but was for the purpose of addressing the dregs of a long-term consulting project - dealing with the dregs, completing details with integrity. The only juice left in it is the bonus of finishing a project well.
Another meeting, this morning - at another coffee shop - was quite a different opening. Different consultants, new commitments, and a fresh opportunity to be part of something wonderful with a lasting benefit to another entire country: Indonesia, a place dear to my heart since I traveled there long ago.
Something is afoot. Something is turning. Perhaps "I" am steering something after all, though not in the familiar ways of planning and implementation. It seems my passion and purpose are creating my future even in unlikely circumstances.
Don't shoot me yet.
This little encounter swept away the cobwebs of despond and I was able to be present for the meeting. I don't know this man's name, and he doesn't know mine. We became "friends" when one day I stepped out of our anonymity and commented on his weight loss. He was so happy that his efforts were noticed that we made a nice connection. Now we always share a little something with each other when I come in for a coffee, and our little exchanges create happiness.
The 3:30 meeting went well, but was for the purpose of addressing the dregs of a long-term consulting project - dealing with the dregs, completing details with integrity. The only juice left in it is the bonus of finishing a project well.
Another meeting, this morning - at another coffee shop - was quite a different opening. Different consultants, new commitments, and a fresh opportunity to be part of something wonderful with a lasting benefit to another entire country: Indonesia, a place dear to my heart since I traveled there long ago.
Something is afoot. Something is turning. Perhaps "I" am steering something after all, though not in the familiar ways of planning and implementation. It seems my passion and purpose are creating my future even in unlikely circumstances.
Don't shoot me yet.
Monday, November 2, 2009
On Being Good
Just returned from another visit. Mom has gained another pound, is eating well, enjoying doing puzzles after lunch, generally cheerful and all the staff love her.
On the way home, I thought I was going to cry. I so want to be free of this responsibility. It takes up so much of my life and there are so many things I want to be free to do. I just want to cry.
What a terrible thing that at the same time, I know I am doing a Good Thing. The Right Thing. And I know that I will not be free until she dies. It has been a full four years since I chose to take on ensuring her end-of-life care. I had no idea it would take such a big bite out of my life. It is an irremediable loss, and I hate facing that. Because I am doing a Good Thing. Screw Good. I want control over my life again, and it seems that is gone forever. All I can do to avoid sinking into a pit of depression.
I never aspired to be a Good Person. Always thought that was a highly overrated position. Now I know I was right about that. Being Good Sucks. Shoot me.
On the way home, I thought I was going to cry. I so want to be free of this responsibility. It takes up so much of my life and there are so many things I want to be free to do. I just want to cry.
What a terrible thing that at the same time, I know I am doing a Good Thing. The Right Thing. And I know that I will not be free until she dies. It has been a full four years since I chose to take on ensuring her end-of-life care. I had no idea it would take such a big bite out of my life. It is an irremediable loss, and I hate facing that. Because I am doing a Good Thing. Screw Good. I want control over my life again, and it seems that is gone forever. All I can do to avoid sinking into a pit of depression.
I never aspired to be a Good Person. Always thought that was a highly overrated position. Now I know I was right about that. Being Good Sucks. Shoot me.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
