Saturday, June 23, 2007
For several reasons, I feel sisterly toward the author of...
...Mothering Mother. Her signature handwriting (I used to "do" handwriting analysis) on the cover page of her book is startlingly like that of MFS who sent me the book (she mentioned to me she hadn't read it). Carol O'Dell is also a Gemini. As a skeptical but enchanted astrological observer, Gemini blesses my life in the following ways:
I wrote Ms. O'Dell seeking permission to reproduce small quotes from her book as I write about it. She enthusiastically assented. When I responded to her, I was a little over half my way through her book. I thanked her and said, "...the extremely thoughtful organization and vignette style, with which I remain impressed, and the tight writing: Sort of a Spicy Chicken Soup, no, Stew for the Ironic [Caregiving] Soul. Ah! I like that! I'll probably use that when I do a final write on your book." Good description. Even better, though, is to compare it to a very specific, skeptical, hopeful prayer book, filled with meditations on the experience of caring for an aging parent. The specificity of her experience (and, thus, meditations) are:
Then, I began highlighting here and there as I read. When I finished the book I had written notes in a couple of places. This, I decided, is how I'll organize what I write about the book, since I like it well enough, very well, in fact, to talk about it.
I will denote quotes by Ms. O'Dell in this typeface.
It should be understood that the copyright to all Carol O'Dell's material published here remains in her possession.
Titles for subject blocks will be presented in this typeface and may or may not be direct quotes from Ms. O'Dell. If they are, such will be so noted with "quotation marks".
I will probably publish, then bring back to draft, this post a couple of times before it's done...and I may divide it into more than one post. I have no accurate memory of what, how much or why I highlighted certain passages, nor of the skimpy notes I made. So, this will be a serendipitous journey. I publish, right now, in order to check the positioning of the book's logo and see if the tabling flowed to the left.
Okay. All that above looks the way I want it to look.
If any of you casually (or seriously) collect business cards, Carol O'Dell's is a treasure. It features a reproduction of the book cover, which is eye catchingly bold.
"They can just wait." --2nd to last para, page 25
Frankly, I'm surprised I didn't highlight until this late in the book.
This appears in a passage in which Ms. O'Dell is describing how physically slow her mother has become, especially in regard to parking lot traffic. She doesn't take it well. I imagine most don't, but, funny, I've become an avocational observer of others tending to Ancient Ones in public and haven't noticed any overt embarrassment, but, then, I'm not embarrassed; I actually relish stopping traffic for my mother. This is a quirk of past fate, though. I became enamored, at an early age, of the British and Australian sailors who frequented downtown (then) Agana, now Hagatna, Guam when they docked. They were bold with the indigenous, wild traffic on Marine Drive. Without hesitation, they'd nudge themselves between moving vehicles, hold up their hands and pass themselves or pass others. I can't imagine why I idolized this behavior, but I remember cataloguing it as a personal future accomplishment. Thus, caring for my mother helped me achieve this goal. I make a big splash out of the process...often directing my mother as though I'm holding long-lensed flashlights and directing planes down runways. She always stops and giggles when I do this, primarily because our family shares a private airport joke in which Mom is the pivot. I boldly go where caregivers swarm ahead of me, into the safety zone, catching the eye of every sitting driver, playing The Knightess in Shining Armor. I developed the outlandish behavior in order to communicate with Phoenix metroplex traffic, which is particularly aggressive, especially in the summer and even more especially in parking lots.
Further, I revel in her slowing down. In supermarkets (which she rarely frequents, anymore, but I have hopes) she continues to stubbornly adventure into unremembered aisles and have a great time. She continues to exhibit a lack of concern when she and I get separated. "I don't worry about it," she says. "I just sit down and know you'll find me."
I probably exhibit more anxiety than she does. It's important to note, here, that she carries no purse, no personal belongings of any sort except basic identification, obviously so, thus she is not a target, except for passers-by with whom she invariably strikes up lucid conversations.
She and I, both, retain pleasant memories of "going to the store", although we've had 'our visits', believe me, often involving shit, sometimes involving sudden loss of muscular strength and will. My mother, though, continues to believe that she has been "to the store" "only last week". I like this aspect of her dementia.
"I have this theory:"
Ms. O'Dell expounds, here, on her theory on what happens when people age; and why. I remember highlighting this because it struck me that her theories and mine are different. I wonder if all elder caregivers create whimsical explanations for aging and dying. My feeling is that the professionals who care for care recipients should pay more attention to caregiver reverie about aging and their own parent's aging.
I now understand something: we are what we are; the only way we can add to ourselves is by experiencing something powerful enough to alter our belief system. If Mother were naturally trusting, she would continue to trust. But since fear has become so entwined, it's now a part of her concentrated self and must play itself out to the end. --last paragraph, page 27
In regard to this, I affirm what she says. My mother is naturally trusting, and does, indeed, continue to trust. She is also proactive and this has, happily, played in service of "her end". She realized, long before she needed caregiving, that she needed companionship of a stable variety on which she could count through the rest of her life. This is not uncommon for people to realize. What is uncommon is for someone to reverse her previous positions on elder care and solicit companionship from a family member. This is what my mother did. Her proactivity ensured that her aging would not divorce her world from that of her family. Of course, I could have refused. I considered it. At the time my mother asked me, I had no personal druthers about nursing homes, assisted living facilities, etc., was unconcerned that my mother might utilize these facilities, had vague, gauzy day-dreamettes about what it would be like visiting my mother at her "facility". At the time our journey commenced, my mother was still bounded to the gills with financial protection, should facility care become necessary and desired. I think both of us assumed that at least part of our journey would be distanced by some sort of live-in facility. All that reversed itself later, as our bond developed. My mother has a stoic streak (not martyrdom) and would, in fact, be a good candidate for facility care from this perspective. She can, and will, handle anything thrown her way. She clearly voiced her preferences, though, as time went on. Keeping her at home, her home, as it turns out, which is always, fundamentally, my home, didn't sort itself out as an exacted promise, it developed as a commitment to my mother, my acceptance of my ultimate vulnerability and our shared journey. I approach her final days with anticipation, and wonder what new theories they will provoke.
My father played out his fears in his death; right up to the end, as I understand. I'm sorry I missed his last days, although I have a unique and thorough understanding of his life which has allowed the question of cross-forgiveness to be moot between us.
"I realize that maybe it's Mother--she's losing her social skills." --2nd paragraph, pg 32
I'd noticed my mother's world becoming much cozier over the last several years, but I hadn't thought of it, until now, as "losing...social skills", although this is certainly what happens, rather like muscular atrophy. My mother was superficially social, though, and deeply family oriented. As well, her dementia keeps her occupied with frequent visitors. I don't use this as an excuse, but it comes in handy for someone (me) who isn't company oriented.
"Too bad I can't get her a tiara out of the glove compartment." --5th paragraph, pg 33
I was astonished that someone else had these thoughts about their mother, noticing the queenishness to the point of considering tiaras. I actually bought my mother one and used it for awhile. Her hair won't take it, now, but her attitude remains tiara-ed.
"Mother presses a dollar a whole dollar, into the woman's hand."
My mother, too, has a tipping quirk. She continues to remember her stint waitressing through school, when "a nickel was a good tip". I took over the tipping, along with all cash handling, pretty early on. I also decided to make this into a lesson for her, so I always discuss the issue of tipping. She has, since, become somewhat more generous in her tipping considerations. She was scandalized, in fact, when we received intransigently horrible service at one restaurant so I refused to tip; then had a rather large problem corrected at another restaurant, including "free" dessert, and left a profuse tip. She still has her standards.
To catch them all up here, one of the hilarious frequent interludes is her mother's propensity for handing service people "$25". Toward the end of the book these repetitions had me "laughing", which I noted in the margin.
"As hard as this is, I'm not in a hurry to get to the dying part." --2nd para, pg 38
Neither am I. I seem to, in fact, look for excuses for my mother to have to live a little longer; and I inform her of them, exact pacts from her.
"I'm not sure why I feel embarrassment for what my mother says or does, but I do. Control issues, no doubt." --last sentence, pg 41 - 1st sentence, pg 42
This is one of the highlighted passages that led me to write, earlier, about Ms. O'Dell's control issues in contrast with mine.
"For years she could out-work me, out-walk me and out-talk me. Now she can't even out-eat me." --9th para, pg 42
I highlighted this because I remember being intrigued by the idea of competition with one's mother being a factor in caring for one's mother. I don't remember ever comparing myself to my mother (I'm sure I did sub and unconsciously) or feeling as though I was in competition with her.
"I have to treat her like a two-year-old, not giving in to her fickle emotions, her present-day likes and dislikes, or moods that change on a whim. When I revert back to letting her be the mother, we both regret it." --3rd para, pg 48
This is one of the primary reasons why I am glad I was not a mother before caring for my mother. When my mother appears to exhibit what Ms. O'Dell labels two-year-old behavior, I don't think of it as such. I think of it as my mother's behavior at whatever age she happens to be at that time. I think this allows for flexibility of outlook, although it is also true that, because of lack of experience, I am not inclined to look at my mother's behavior through a mother's eyes.
"She sounds like a scolded little kid. I feel bad about the reprimand, but when she's wrong and she wants to get out of it, she does her little girl thing. I hate to admit it, but this one's in my own bag of manipulative tricks, and Philip hates it." --last sentence, pg 48, through 1st para, pg 49
My mother is particularly non-manipulative. So are her daughters. We have our tricks, but they are more pleasant for everyone involved and we don't flinch or fight back when we're caught. We're smooth. We learned this from my mother. When I read about such interactions, above, I thank all the gods having anything to do with motherhood for my mother.
"Lessons" --pgs 51-52
Interesting muse about how slow is the process of taking out (no pun intended; probably not appropriate) an Ancient One; and what is the value of making the effort to making sure Ancients mix with society.
"High Heels" --pgs 52-54
Contains a consideration of elderly beauty, while constrasting this with elderly physical reality.
"She has the strongest will of anyone I know, and I'm of the belief that will has a substantial say-so when it comes to longevity." --5th para, pg 56
How many times have I heralded my mother's will in these journals? I wonder if will becomes stronger as we age, whether we want it to or not...a "natural" adaptation to extend a life-span, in nature's inimitable "Just for fun, let's see how far we can take this one," way. Ms. O'Dell mentioning this caused me to reflect on all the caregivers for parents who have extolled the sturdiness of an Ancient One's will.
"What would you do if I were your Mother?" --7th para, pg 57
A physician actually told me, unsolicited, what he would do if it were his mother, in the case of an elective bone marrow biopsy; then, later, denied what I had noted.
I have some "software ready for installation", which includes a rebooting. I'm going to check on Mom and see if she has intentions of "sleeping in" today. She was up until almost 0200 this morning, so she may. I may be back in a Part 2 shortly...then again...
- All three of my sisters are Gemini;
- My maternal grandmother is a Gemini;
- and shares her birthday with the-niece-who-I-know-the-best, MPNC.
- My Tropical Campanus midheaven is at 0° Gemini, which "means" that my sisters are intimately involved with the way I involve myself in "the outside world" and with my "reputation" in that world.
- My watery moodiness is a startling compliment to Gemini's airy moodiness;
 | Carol D. O'Dell Author, Mothering Mother Kunati Publishing April 2007 release ISBN-13: 978-1-60164-003-1 http://www.caroldodell.com |
- Caregiver female; Late 30's/early 40's crossover during caregiving time period;
- Mother in late 80's when their living-together-again adventure commences...dies in early 90's;
- Caregiver also full time family caregiver with husband and three (I believe) teenage daughters;
- Mother has Parkinson's;
- Mother has always been a mover and pusher, sometimes thoughtless and hurtful;
- Relationship complicated by daughter being adopted at age of four;
- Moving Mother In requires, as well, a move from one state to another and one house to another;
- Caregiving stint lasts about two years;
- Full time, ever escalating intense needs caregiving is required and applied;
- Mother has a dynamic dementia which worsens previous to death;
- No extended family available to help with caregiving tasks except those in the home, who depend upon caregiver's caregiving to them, as well as to her mother.
Then, I began highlighting here and there as I read. When I finished the book I had written notes in a couple of places. This, I decided, is how I'll organize what I write about the book, since I like it well enough, very well, in fact, to talk about it.
I will denote quotes by Ms. O'Dell in this typeface.
It should be understood that the copyright to all Carol O'Dell's material published here remains in her possession.
Titles for subject blocks will be presented in this typeface and may or may not be direct quotes from Ms. O'Dell. If they are, such will be so noted with "quotation marks".
I will probably publish, then bring back to draft, this post a couple of times before it's done...and I may divide it into more than one post. I have no accurate memory of what, how much or why I highlighted certain passages, nor of the skimpy notes I made. So, this will be a serendipitous journey. I publish, right now, in order to check the positioning of the book's logo and see if the tabling flowed to the left.
Okay. All that above looks the way I want it to look.
If any of you casually (or seriously) collect business cards, Carol O'Dell's is a treasure. It features a reproduction of the book cover, which is eye catchingly bold.
"They can just wait." --2nd to last para, page 25
Frankly, I'm surprised I didn't highlight until this late in the book.
This appears in a passage in which Ms. O'Dell is describing how physically slow her mother has become, especially in regard to parking lot traffic. She doesn't take it well. I imagine most don't, but, funny, I've become an avocational observer of others tending to Ancient Ones in public and haven't noticed any overt embarrassment, but, then, I'm not embarrassed; I actually relish stopping traffic for my mother. This is a quirk of past fate, though. I became enamored, at an early age, of the British and Australian sailors who frequented downtown (then) Agana, now Hagatna, Guam when they docked. They were bold with the indigenous, wild traffic on Marine Drive. Without hesitation, they'd nudge themselves between moving vehicles, hold up their hands and pass themselves or pass others. I can't imagine why I idolized this behavior, but I remember cataloguing it as a personal future accomplishment. Thus, caring for my mother helped me achieve this goal. I make a big splash out of the process...often directing my mother as though I'm holding long-lensed flashlights and directing planes down runways. She always stops and giggles when I do this, primarily because our family shares a private airport joke in which Mom is the pivot. I boldly go where caregivers swarm ahead of me, into the safety zone, catching the eye of every sitting driver, playing The Knightess in Shining Armor. I developed the outlandish behavior in order to communicate with Phoenix metroplex traffic, which is particularly aggressive, especially in the summer and even more especially in parking lots.
Further, I revel in her slowing down. In supermarkets (which she rarely frequents, anymore, but I have hopes) she continues to stubbornly adventure into unremembered aisles and have a great time. She continues to exhibit a lack of concern when she and I get separated. "I don't worry about it," she says. "I just sit down and know you'll find me."
I probably exhibit more anxiety than she does. It's important to note, here, that she carries no purse, no personal belongings of any sort except basic identification, obviously so, thus she is not a target, except for passers-by with whom she invariably strikes up lucid conversations.
She and I, both, retain pleasant memories of "going to the store", although we've had 'our visits', believe me, often involving shit, sometimes involving sudden loss of muscular strength and will. My mother, though, continues to believe that she has been "to the store" "only last week". I like this aspect of her dementia.
"I have this theory:"
Ms. O'Dell expounds, here, on her theory on what happens when people age; and why. I remember highlighting this because it struck me that her theories and mine are different. I wonder if all elder caregivers create whimsical explanations for aging and dying. My feeling is that the professionals who care for care recipients should pay more attention to caregiver reverie about aging and their own parent's aging.
I now understand something: we are what we are; the only way we can add to ourselves is by experiencing something powerful enough to alter our belief system. If Mother were naturally trusting, she would continue to trust. But since fear has become so entwined, it's now a part of her concentrated self and must play itself out to the end. --last paragraph, page 27
In regard to this, I affirm what she says. My mother is naturally trusting, and does, indeed, continue to trust. She is also proactive and this has, happily, played in service of "her end". She realized, long before she needed caregiving, that she needed companionship of a stable variety on which she could count through the rest of her life. This is not uncommon for people to realize. What is uncommon is for someone to reverse her previous positions on elder care and solicit companionship from a family member. This is what my mother did. Her proactivity ensured that her aging would not divorce her world from that of her family. Of course, I could have refused. I considered it. At the time my mother asked me, I had no personal druthers about nursing homes, assisted living facilities, etc., was unconcerned that my mother might utilize these facilities, had vague, gauzy day-dreamettes about what it would be like visiting my mother at her "facility". At the time our journey commenced, my mother was still bounded to the gills with financial protection, should facility care become necessary and desired. I think both of us assumed that at least part of our journey would be distanced by some sort of live-in facility. All that reversed itself later, as our bond developed. My mother has a stoic streak (not martyrdom) and would, in fact, be a good candidate for facility care from this perspective. She can, and will, handle anything thrown her way. She clearly voiced her preferences, though, as time went on. Keeping her at home, her home, as it turns out, which is always, fundamentally, my home, didn't sort itself out as an exacted promise, it developed as a commitment to my mother, my acceptance of my ultimate vulnerability and our shared journey. I approach her final days with anticipation, and wonder what new theories they will provoke.
My father played out his fears in his death; right up to the end, as I understand. I'm sorry I missed his last days, although I have a unique and thorough understanding of his life which has allowed the question of cross-forgiveness to be moot between us.
"I realize that maybe it's Mother--she's losing her social skills." --2nd paragraph, pg 32
I'd noticed my mother's world becoming much cozier over the last several years, but I hadn't thought of it, until now, as "losing...social skills", although this is certainly what happens, rather like muscular atrophy. My mother was superficially social, though, and deeply family oriented. As well, her dementia keeps her occupied with frequent visitors. I don't use this as an excuse, but it comes in handy for someone (me) who isn't company oriented.
"Too bad I can't get her a tiara out of the glove compartment." --5th paragraph, pg 33
I was astonished that someone else had these thoughts about their mother, noticing the queenishness to the point of considering tiaras. I actually bought my mother one and used it for awhile. Her hair won't take it, now, but her attitude remains tiara-ed.
"Mother presses a dollar a whole dollar, into the woman's hand."
My mother, too, has a tipping quirk. She continues to remember her stint waitressing through school, when "a nickel was a good tip". I took over the tipping, along with all cash handling, pretty early on. I also decided to make this into a lesson for her, so I always discuss the issue of tipping. She has, since, become somewhat more generous in her tipping considerations. She was scandalized, in fact, when we received intransigently horrible service at one restaurant so I refused to tip; then had a rather large problem corrected at another restaurant, including "free" dessert, and left a profuse tip. She still has her standards.
To catch them all up here, one of the hilarious frequent interludes is her mother's propensity for handing service people "$25". Toward the end of the book these repetitions had me "laughing", which I noted in the margin.
"As hard as this is, I'm not in a hurry to get to the dying part." --2nd para, pg 38
Neither am I. I seem to, in fact, look for excuses for my mother to have to live a little longer; and I inform her of them, exact pacts from her.
"I'm not sure why I feel embarrassment for what my mother says or does, but I do. Control issues, no doubt." --last sentence, pg 41 - 1st sentence, pg 42
This is one of the highlighted passages that led me to write, earlier, about Ms. O'Dell's control issues in contrast with mine.
"For years she could out-work me, out-walk me and out-talk me. Now she can't even out-eat me." --9th para, pg 42
I highlighted this because I remember being intrigued by the idea of competition with one's mother being a factor in caring for one's mother. I don't remember ever comparing myself to my mother (I'm sure I did sub and unconsciously) or feeling as though I was in competition with her.
"I have to treat her like a two-year-old, not giving in to her fickle emotions, her present-day likes and dislikes, or moods that change on a whim. When I revert back to letting her be the mother, we both regret it." --3rd para, pg 48
This is one of the primary reasons why I am glad I was not a mother before caring for my mother. When my mother appears to exhibit what Ms. O'Dell labels two-year-old behavior, I don't think of it as such. I think of it as my mother's behavior at whatever age she happens to be at that time. I think this allows for flexibility of outlook, although it is also true that, because of lack of experience, I am not inclined to look at my mother's behavior through a mother's eyes.
"She sounds like a scolded little kid. I feel bad about the reprimand, but when she's wrong and she wants to get out of it, she does her little girl thing. I hate to admit it, but this one's in my own bag of manipulative tricks, and Philip hates it." --last sentence, pg 48, through 1st para, pg 49
My mother is particularly non-manipulative. So are her daughters. We have our tricks, but they are more pleasant for everyone involved and we don't flinch or fight back when we're caught. We're smooth. We learned this from my mother. When I read about such interactions, above, I thank all the gods having anything to do with motherhood for my mother.
"Lessons" --pgs 51-52
Interesting muse about how slow is the process of taking out (no pun intended; probably not appropriate) an Ancient One; and what is the value of making the effort to making sure Ancients mix with society.
"High Heels" --pgs 52-54
Contains a consideration of elderly beauty, while constrasting this with elderly physical reality.
"She has the strongest will of anyone I know, and I'm of the belief that will has a substantial say-so when it comes to longevity." --5th para, pg 56
How many times have I heralded my mother's will in these journals? I wonder if will becomes stronger as we age, whether we want it to or not...a "natural" adaptation to extend a life-span, in nature's inimitable "Just for fun, let's see how far we can take this one," way. Ms. O'Dell mentioning this caused me to reflect on all the caregivers for parents who have extolled the sturdiness of an Ancient One's will.
"What would you do if I were your Mother?" --7th para, pg 57
A physician actually told me, unsolicited, what he would do if it were his mother, in the case of an elective bone marrow biopsy; then, later, denied what I had noted.
I have some "software ready for installation", which includes a rebooting. I'm going to check on Mom and see if she has intentions of "sleeping in" today. She was up until almost 0200 this morning, so she may. I may be back in a Part 2 shortly...then again...
