Mom & Me Five Archive

    Of the three families that are considering coming here to celebrate Mom's 90th birthday, one has declined: Work obligations combined with distance. Oddly, I'm, well, unaffected. I've remained extremely mellow about this get together; what a welcome difference from years past! So, I can handle just about any change, including the extremely remote possibility that we won't have any celebratory company.
    And, I'm finding myself at loose ends, today; a state of mood, not a state of activities clamoring for my attention. I started attempting to rouse Mom at 1300. Although she retired relatively early, around 0030, she was up twice to go to the bathroom, the last time at 0230. At that point, I decided to retire, regardless. Her bedroom light remained on and I heard her rifling through the contents of her bedstand, trying to decide what book to read, probably. I was asleep when her light finally went out. I have no idea how long she was up. Anyway, tried again at 1330, when she said, "Just let me sleep. I'm letting her go until 1430, then I'll probably insist.
    She's already becoming reirritated with that stat-taking routine! I'm finding it funny, really. When it was a surprise to her, she was able to relax sufficiently to have her BP taken. Within a couple of days, though, it's become on irritant. Her irritated BP on the elevated dose of lisinopril, though, isn't worrisome. So, I'll probably schlep back to taking BP every other day, or when it seems likely I'll get a good one. Today, I think, would not be a good day to bother her with stats, at least when she arises.
    Oh, my I hear her reconnaissance cough! Hmmm...well, maybe she's ready.
    Later.

    I must report this bit of news.
    So, after breakfast and a round of Sorry, Mom decided she wanted to "watch something" while I did After Arising Chores, "but not a show," which means, not a serialized television show.
    "How about Mrs. Doubtfire?" I suggested.
    She was enthusiastic. "That's always a good one!" Note that she's indicating, here, that she remembers something about it, the assumption being that she remembers seeing it before.
    So, I set up the movie, she settled into her rocker, I peeked in on my favorite parts of Mrs. Doubtfire as I proceeded through necessary chores.
    About forty-five minutes later, while I was finishing the last chore, I stopped on the dinette landing leading into living room to watch the "Dude Looks Like a Lady" sequence. Just as I was beginning to bounce to the music, Mom turned to me, her face sour around the edge. "Haven't we seen this before?" she pointedly asked.
    It's not uncommon, anymore, for her to ask this about a movie, although with no edge to the question. I always confirm that, yes, she's seen it before, sometimes make a stab at guessing how many times she's seen it, tell her it's one of my favorites (which is almost always true; if it's not, I don't say it), tell her how she's felt about it (in detail, if I can, not in general)...and we agreeably watch the rest of it, usually with Mom delightedly exclaiming, here and there, "Oh, I forgot about that!"
    Today's edgy question was a surprise to me. I went through the same spiel, but she didn't respond in the same way. After explaining to her that I suggested the movie earlier and she had indicated agreement, I asked her how she felt about it, now. "Remind me, next time, that I don't want to watch this movie again."
    Oh. Okay. That's a complicated snare of remembering: When I insist on one thing, remember that I really don't like that thing any longer and spare me from rediscovering this by distracting me toward something I will like, but I think I can handle it. "So, does that mean you don't want to watch repeats anymore?"
    She flashed me an abbreviated glare. "No, that's not what I'm saying."
    Okay.
    "Well, now that I'm done with chores, I'm getting into watching this again. I'd forgotten how good Robin Williams is in this. Do you mind continuing to watch it?"
    A begrudged, "No, I guess not."
    Within a half hour she was ready for a nap.
    So, I don't know, maybe she's ready for ramped up activity and her present desire for novelty (of which she is aware) is connected. I hope so. She's doing fine, but, well, I'd like to see her more active and would like to use little to no force to achieve this, since she usually doesn't enjoy herself if force is used.
    I have noticed lately, though, that even though she has been sleeping somewhat more, she's also been more aware. I think it may be connected to having readjusted her lisinopril for her BP. I know it's making her physically tired, now, more than usual, but her BP is right where it should be. Her BG seems to be running well, too. Yes, I'm heading over the The Dailies to start recording. Not sure what I'll include, this time, but I think we could use some new history. I'm hoping that her cholesterol and triglycerides are settling down, too. We are cruising, in regard to her health, and I am so grateful to all involved gods. Anyway, look for me over there, later.

    Something I wanted to remember to record: The Fed Ex lady's mother "isn't doing well". Her descriptions of what's happening now sound very similar to my maternal grandfather's decline within the six months before his death. "I think she's getting ready to go," Fed Ex lady said. She maintained a philosophical, sad only around the edges, attitude. Several times while she was telling me about the latest developments, she nodded and said, "She's ready to go."
    Her father, on the other hand, a couple years older than her mom and into his very lightly demented and disabled 90's, remains robust, active, with little patience for his wife's prominent slowing and fading.
    "All her family are gone," the Fed Ex lady continued, adding the last of her mother's sisters dying this winter, "all her friends, if they're not gone, they're out of touch, I think she's," she paused, shrugged, it seemed like she would have liked to have used another description but was too rushed to think of one, "given up."
    I confirmed for her how this happened to my grandfather. It was a lot less sad than it sounds.
    She nodded her head vigorously. "Sometimes you just have to realize what's happening and accept it."
    "Is your Mom in good spirits?"
    She grinned. "The best."
    "How about her will?"
    To my surprise she shrugged again as if to say, "She's fallen a lot. She hasn't broken anything but she's afraid to move, now."
    "I wish my mother was afraid to move," I remarked.
    We both smiled.
    "I think she's lost her will."
    "Well, I guess that's to be expected," I realized out loud.
    We both nodded, soberly, then, oddly, laughed.
    "Well, I hope it's easy for her, from here on out."
    The Fed Ex lady nodded. "It already is. She's not worrying like she used to."
    I nodded, although I don't know what this is like. My grandfather was never a worrier. My mother has almost never been a worrier.
    So, ahhh, another Ancient One moves into the passive dying phase. I don't know if such a thing has yet been professionally designated, as has "active dying phase", but it seems to accurately imply exactly what happened to my grandfather. First he broke his knee. Then the rest of his relatives and friends (not many, he was in his mid-90's) dropped away, including his next door neighbor, with whom he shared a birth year, a last name and daily walks to the old antique store on Cortez. His knee took a long time to heal. First he became impatient. Then he became enured. He talked to his wife (I'm sure she found this charming, she said archly) about how everyone who was important to him, "is gone." He was no longer interested in telling the stories of his life. I mentioned this to my cousin, once, saying, "It's like he's ready to be done with creating and telling stories."
    She nodded.

    I wonder if my mother will go through something like this, or if she'll keel over unexpectedly. I'd prefer the latter, for both of us. I know I've asked her and my recollection is not reliable but I think she told me that she has no preference. I remember her telling me once, "I don't want to die in a hospital"," unless it's by accident and unavoidable. Literally and figuratively, I imagine.
    It's hard to say what happened to my maternal grandmother. Alzheimer's had twisted her into an incoherent fetal position in a nursing home before she died. My mother's sister keeled over. Neat and quick. She'd been on the brink of death at least one other time in her life, though, possibly two, so she was an old hand at it. She keeled over walking down the hall of her living facility with her husband. He later spoke, with catching voice, about how he thought it was "sweet", that she went like that. I tend to think he misunderstood and that this was my aunt's final wry act of humor.
    My mother's brother went quickly, but it would be fair to say that he had been disenchanted with life ever since he was an older teen, so, you know, it's hard to say whether disinterest is responsible for killing him at the age of 62 in the form of (yet another) heart attack.
    It looks, though, as though Mom will be around for some time to come. I'm especially encouraged by her BP. I'll know, "even at her age", she'll work into the sense of slowness that's requiring so much sleep of her. If her cholesterol isn't in order, I'm going to quiz her PCP, in September (I'll set him up ahead of time with at least two Health Reviews) about possible light cholesterol meds that don't run roughshod over the kidneys and liver; although, actually, her liver seems to be fine.
    I'm rambling.

    Oh, I wanted to mention, I made a, hmmm...sounds funny but I would class it as a "professional" decision this weekend. I decided to join the American Society on Aging. I know, it's like, "So?"
    ASA defines itself as an organization of professionals working in the field of aging. Many of these professionals inherit membership through those for whom they work. Now, I've always had a problem with the word "professional". I have always insisted that it means one is paid for what one does, room and board notwithstanding. But, when I ran across this organization, suddenly I realized I am ready to consider and identify myself as a "professional" in what I do with and for my mother, as well as a "specialist"; skillful, too, knowledgeable, currently plying my trade and in my prime in that trade. Why shouldn't I join?!? As a caregiver. Maybe not a "professional", but "specialist caregiver".
    I don't intend to continue doing this in any capacity after my mother dies but:

1. You never know, and;
2. Maybe in some capacities that don't require as much, hmmm, well, compassion, I guess; as a mentor, maybe. To care givers. Not care recipients. Just want to make that clear.

    Since I'm doing this now, though, I should make professional connections.
    Then I decided to look up the word "professional" and, apparently, it has fallen into favorable use with the "I don't get paid to do this but I'm a specialist and I deserve recognition, respect and networking privileges" crowd. Although caregivers are not yet generally acknowledged as such, avocational geeks are the spine upon which the internet was developed (and continues to develop) and are fully recognized as avocational professionals.
    I haven't received any membership feedback. I joined an Aging & Spirituality focus group, since this seems closest to my interests. Although I don't remember what I called my job, I know I didn't flinch from identifying myself as an unpaid caregiver. It would be nice, actually, if ASA were to establish a membership fee below "Individual" (which is the highest) for avocational professional caregivers and actively solicit their membership and participation in the community. Aside from the fact that many elder caregivers are aged, caregivers to the elderly do, literally, walk the life of their care recipient...sometimes ambivalently and through a glass darkly, but we have much to say about and on behalf of aging.
    I'm not sure how much participation I'll be able to manage in the community. I'm waaaaay behind with Revolution so, you know, I don't want to make any promises. But I do want to publicly declare myself not only a professional (avocational) but a specialist in my field, which is intimately connected with aging. There is, by the way, a "Caregiver" category somewhere, as you sign up, for something. I think I chose it, but I don't remember in response to what. So, it seems appropriate that I join a professional organization as part of that declaration.
    Let me think...next, Lucy would recommend thought to a shingle...and a rate structure for appointments...

    Grinning. Later.

...shit. There were only a few flats (24 each) left. The bottom couple contained green apricots. The top couple contained bruised apricots. Most of the flats were missing fruit, probably to taste testers. So, I didn't bake a pie, yesterday.
    Just as well. I used the oven enough, yesterday. If it were hot and dry I don't think the house air would be much affected. Our dew point, though, is, today, officially 45%. It's probably been at least that since a couple days ago. The evap is still cooling...some; but not the sharp cool that's usual on very dry days.
    I've decided, if I make an apricot pie, it will be an apricot ginger pie. The filling will be sweetened (partially, if I use fresh fruit; fully, if I use Turkish apricots) with candied ginger. Not sure whether I'm going to add nuts. The almonds in the peach pie are adding only crunch. The almond flavor seems to have enhanced the peaches at its own expense. No wonder this peach pie filling recipe called for 1/4 tsp almond extract.
    I don't think nuts are necessarily an enhancement to pie; unless it's pumpkin, pecan (guess that had better have nuts, huh), mincemeat, or I'm thinking of that Granny Smith apple pie I made last year around this time: Apple slices (peelings on); dried cherries; walnuts. Even I liked that one, and I'm not an apple pie fan. I consider most apple pie akin to white food and, thus, inedible unless heavily disguised.
    So. Not sure what we're going to be doing, today. Mom's light went out at 0130, after a brief reading-silently-in-bed session. Oh, last night, before dinner, I remembered to take stats. I'm hoping to do the same when I awaken her today, probably about 1330. Guess I'd better return to The Dailies. It's been nice, though, not to be following my mother around with my nose up her ass, a contraption on her arm, stabbing her with a needle and quoting specific stats. I figure I'd better get her in for a blood draw one of these days, though.
    As I think about past-intended posts (about which I am always thinking when I'm writing here and have fallen behind), for some reason an old one comes to mind which I think I'll mention here.
    Cutting to the chase, my mother was not a virgin when she married. This may come as a surprise and shock to my sisters. It didn't to me when I learned it in January of this year, but it would have had I learned it earlier in my life. In my teens I may not have believed it.
    Here's how this was revealed: Although I would not have guessed this in the first few years of my mother's and my companionship, she finds programs and movies about sex as fascinating as do I. I've become very comfortable with this. Witness, our shared love for Sex & the City. The History and Discovery channels each also have interesting and lightly titillating series in their archives dubbed things like "The History of Sex". They have a variety of editions of these shows and broadcast at least one of the editions a couple times a year. We always manage to catch whatever edition they're broadcasting. This January one of the two was showing an abbreviated version of their 5 episode (90 minutes per episode...it was fascinating) series. It ran so quickly through the highlights of its parent that it was hard to glimpse a shot of genitalia or the details of a suggestive pose. But, it was a provocative reminder, nonetheless, and provoked conversation, as these programs usually do.
    I can't remember how the conversation got started...I think it was as a result of a short video treatise on Victorian married sexuality. For some reason, I got it into my head that my mother may not have been a virgin (although she wasn't Victorian, she has a very private streak about her that suggests an internal propriety) when she married. I remember (probably almost exactly), the words I used to pose the question: "Mom, I'm wondering; you don't have to answer this if you don't want to, were you a virgin when you married Dad?"
    I remember her turning deliberately toward me (I was sitting on the floor next to her rocker) her face impassive but soft. I think she was deciding whether to joke her way through this one. She decided otherwise, looked back at the TV, which I'd muted, asking the question during a commercial break. She was smiling and almost-not-smile. "No," she said. "May I ask, [long pause] why do you ask?"
    I did not express surprise. "Well," I said, "I'm not sure, but, you know, this will come as a surprise to your daughters. I considered it possible, but I'm still surprised."
    She didn't say anything. Continued staring at the TV, smiling.
    "So," I asked, becoming brave, "was it Donald Stonehink?"
    Again, a steady look at me. "Stone-king. Which one?"
    She was not teasing. "Oh," I said. "Um, how many?"
    I didn't give her a chance to answer. "Were you and dad, uh, intimate, before you married."
    Mom glanced at me and grinned. "Heavens no," she said, "we never saw each other!"
    "Oh!" That surprised me. "So, what about Donald..."
    "No."
    "Did it come up?"
    "Yes."
    "Is that why you didn't marry him?"
    "I don't think it was him I was going to marry."
    "Oh. Okay. So, tell me. Did you expect your daughters to be virgins when they married?"
    She studied the pattern of pyracantha branches shading the window to her left. "I don't think I ever worried about it."
    "Really! I can think of at least one daughter who thought you did!"
    "Well, maybe I did. Not much, though."
    Suddenly, I was flooded with questions:  Considering, for instance, my unfortunate familiarity with my father's very drunk assessment of my mother's sexuality and how that, despite my distaste for it, influences my opinion of my mother's sexuality:

1. What is her view of their sex life?
2. Was she ever angry with Dad for being so completely unavailable to her?
3. Does she think he ever recognized her innate sexuality?
4. Did he ever acknowledge it?
5. Is my intuition that there was a magnetic physical bond between them, even up to the day my father died, accurate?
6. Did she ever have an affair in her marriage? - the possibility has been discussed among us sisters.
7. What, anyway, does she think of blow jobs?

    I asked only #5. She smiled a broad confirmation that this was true.
    "I know Dad was head-over heels for you from the day he met you till the day he died," I ventured.
    She continued grinning. "Yes he was," she said.
    Silence while the commercials ran down. Just before the program returned, I said, "I think you picked the right man. I know you know I think this."
    Her face registered only mild surprise, probably for the compliment, not for the opinion. "Well, thank you! I do, too."
    I am reminded of a junior high school friend of mine when I was in high school, "Jimmy"; he would refer to his parents as "the virgins". We'd all laugh. We never got tired of hearing this.
    Funny thing, though, I was already beyond not being able to imagine my parents having sex. By that time I'd seen them 69-ing on the living room couch, where they were sleeping in our hotel in Hawaii, during a late night stroll from our girls' bedroom to their bathroom, so I was beyond virginizing my parents. By that time, too, I was no longer prone to considering the graphic peculiarities of the actual sex act hilarious.
    I considered telling Mom this (not the part about me seeing them), but didn't. The subject seemed to be covered and closed.
    So, what does this have to do with caregiving? Well, nothing. And everything. I am aware, at least a couple of times a week, how grateful I am that I am in a position to keep my relationship with my mother as a person from becoming stagnant. Neither she nor I are stuck in our fond (or furious, depending on the deed) imaginings of one another. It doesn't necessarily happen that when adult children care for their elders their relationship is enriched. Sometimes the very act of elder care, especially demential elder care, shrivels the relationship, and the questions, as well.
    I have no prescriptions for how or why my relationship with my mother emphasizes our companionship over her and my care status to one another. I'm not sure, in fact, which came first, the chicken or the egg, although I heavily expect the egg. All I can tell you is that when I compare my mundane, intimate relationship with my mother with the relationships between other children and parents I see exhibited, I am even more grateful that we were and are persons, first, to one another, when our odyssey began and have come to fill several roles for one another through the years of our companionship. I believe this has made my dedication to her life worth it, and the added worth to the expansion of my character is a bonus. I can also see, though, how this sort of relationship with one's elder is random, in regards most families, and how the shriveling of a relationship might also be worth it, for all parties involved. Or, perhaps, a better word would be "stagnating"...as in a photograph...to which, and I say this without sarcasm or judgment of any kind, many people are addicted in lieu of the relationships behind the images.

    Hmmm...so, looks like I'd better consider awakening the Mom. Not sure what we'll do, today. Although I know it's gotten progressively warmer outside, our house has gotten progressively cooler, which means the dew point is falling. Hallelujah.

    So. One backed-up post down, several more to go, but I can delete that one.
    Later.