Sunday, March 18, 2007
Luxurious day, yesterday.
When I entered Mom's bedroom at 1000 to awaken her for her blood draw, she was raised on her right elbow and rubbing the sleep out of her eyes.
"I didn't sleep very well last night," she announced, even though she looked bright eyed to me. "I kept waking up."
"Were your dreams unsually vivid?" I asked.
"No, I don't remember dreaming."
"Aha!" I announced. "I'll bet you were remembering that I'd be getting you up earlier than usual today."
"Why in the world were you planning to do that!?!"
Not quite the dissolution of my theory, expressed in the immediately previous post. If her subconscious remembers the reason, that doesn't necessarily mean that an oblique trigger is going to shoot it into her conscious mind. "It's blood draw day, today."
"Oh," she acknowledged, unenthusiastically. "That's right."
"And Blood Draw Breakfast Day."
"Oh! That's Right!" Huge grin. "Sweet Rolls! That must be the reason!"
I grinned back, gleefully satisfied that at least one of my memory tricks works.
Although I'm far from a sun worshipper, I like spring, here (yes, despite the calendar it's already spring and, yes, I know, it's due to global warming). The sun has already retreated halfway out of our living room, which means I don't have to close the upper window blinds in order to see my computer screen. Don't have to wear sunglasses to read the Sunday newspaper. The sweltering not-even-spring-yet temperatures, this year, in the Phoenix metroplex (Tempe registered 100° yesterday) translated to 86 in downtown Prescott and the low 70's up here; sensuous breeze; all windows and doors open well into the evening; brilliant blue sky. As we were maneuvering Mom into the car she noted, "What a beautiful day! You just can't beat these Iowa summers!"
I didn't bother to correct her. Iowa or Prescott, Arizona, it's true that, where ever we were, yesterday, the weather couldn't be beat.
Mom moved well and easily during the blood draw portion of our morning. We arrived at 1119 and were outta there by 1130. Saturday, it appears, is a great day to have blood drawn.
She wasn't interested in a nap until 1430, then arose around 1600 and remained up of her own accord until midnight. Her back bothered her a bit, which is typical of a day in which she walkers, especially if I haven't been able to get her moving for awhile, but she refused analgesics and her nap took care of the ache. For dinner I made the best tomato biscuit pie I've yet pulled out of the oven. She asked for a second "sliver" of a slice. "I don't really need it," she admitted, "but it just tastes so good!"
Additionally, I had occasion, yesterday afternoon, to review This Isn't Your Mother's Caregiving. I was nudged to take special note of the bullet that mentions that, typically, when one is caring for a demented Ancient One, gratitude from the care recipient, either during caregiving or once it's done, isn't one of the hallmarks of this type nurturing. When I wrote that, I wasn't postulating, I was writing from experience. Yesterday morning, though, during Mom's bathing, lost in our own thoughts while I was scrubbing, rubbing and lubricating her back, Mom said, "I'll bet there's no one in this city that has better care taken of them than me."
I laughed. "I'd bet on that one, too."
When she turned to face me, just before we began dressing her lower body, she continued, "Thank you. You don't know what this means to me."
I was astonished. "You're right," I said, "I usually don't. I guess I do now, though."
You just never know about demented awareness. Sometimes, despite all appearances to the contrary, it'll snap to and embrace you at the most unexpected moments.
Off to replenish supplies.
Later.
"I didn't sleep very well last night," she announced, even though she looked bright eyed to me. "I kept waking up."
"Were your dreams unsually vivid?" I asked.
"No, I don't remember dreaming."
"Aha!" I announced. "I'll bet you were remembering that I'd be getting you up earlier than usual today."
"Why in the world were you planning to do that!?!"
Not quite the dissolution of my theory, expressed in the immediately previous post. If her subconscious remembers the reason, that doesn't necessarily mean that an oblique trigger is going to shoot it into her conscious mind. "It's blood draw day, today."
"Oh," she acknowledged, unenthusiastically. "That's right."
"And Blood Draw Breakfast Day."
"Oh! That's Right!" Huge grin. "Sweet Rolls! That must be the reason!"
I grinned back, gleefully satisfied that at least one of my memory tricks works.
Although I'm far from a sun worshipper, I like spring, here (yes, despite the calendar it's already spring and, yes, I know, it's due to global warming). The sun has already retreated halfway out of our living room, which means I don't have to close the upper window blinds in order to see my computer screen. Don't have to wear sunglasses to read the Sunday newspaper. The sweltering not-even-spring-yet temperatures, this year, in the Phoenix metroplex (Tempe registered 100° yesterday) translated to 86 in downtown Prescott and the low 70's up here; sensuous breeze; all windows and doors open well into the evening; brilliant blue sky. As we were maneuvering Mom into the car she noted, "What a beautiful day! You just can't beat these Iowa summers!"
I didn't bother to correct her. Iowa or Prescott, Arizona, it's true that, where ever we were, yesterday, the weather couldn't be beat.
Mom moved well and easily during the blood draw portion of our morning. We arrived at 1119 and were outta there by 1130. Saturday, it appears, is a great day to have blood drawn.
She wasn't interested in a nap until 1430, then arose around 1600 and remained up of her own accord until midnight. Her back bothered her a bit, which is typical of a day in which she walkers, especially if I haven't been able to get her moving for awhile, but she refused analgesics and her nap took care of the ache. For dinner I made the best tomato biscuit pie I've yet pulled out of the oven. She asked for a second "sliver" of a slice. "I don't really need it," she admitted, "but it just tastes so good!"
Additionally, I had occasion, yesterday afternoon, to review This Isn't Your Mother's Caregiving. I was nudged to take special note of the bullet that mentions that, typically, when one is caring for a demented Ancient One, gratitude from the care recipient, either during caregiving or once it's done, isn't one of the hallmarks of this type nurturing. When I wrote that, I wasn't postulating, I was writing from experience. Yesterday morning, though, during Mom's bathing, lost in our own thoughts while I was scrubbing, rubbing and lubricating her back, Mom said, "I'll bet there's no one in this city that has better care taken of them than me."
I laughed. "I'd bet on that one, too."
When she turned to face me, just before we began dressing her lower body, she continued, "Thank you. You don't know what this means to me."
I was astonished. "You're right," I said, "I usually don't. I guess I do now, though."
You just never know about demented awareness. Sometimes, despite all appearances to the contrary, it'll snap to and embrace you at the most unexpected moments.
Off to replenish supplies.
Later.
Comments:
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Originally posted by Karma: Mon Mar 19, 11:59:00 AM 2007
Its nice that your mom had that moment of appreciation to share with you. I'm lucky that my mom is always overly appreciative, although she probably doesn't even realize all that goes into taking care of her now. Plus, she'll never know all of the smoke and mirrors that are done for her benefit - that things are magically there when she needs them and go away when she doesn't, etc.
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Its nice that your mom had that moment of appreciation to share with you. I'm lucky that my mom is always overly appreciative, although she probably doesn't even realize all that goes into taking care of her now. Plus, she'll never know all of the smoke and mirrors that are done for her benefit - that things are magically there when she needs them and go away when she doesn't, etc.
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