The Mercy Finder

Tuesday, July 26, 2011

Things to Look Forward To

1. Next week I fly to Sacramento for my niece, CAILEY's, wedding shower. I won't be able to attend the wedding since I'll be in Minnesota helping with the birth of the latest Archibald twins.

2. Spend a few weeks in Woodbury, MN on vacation??? helping Brittany with her new little boys that should be arriving sometime in the next few weeks

3. Chicago Book Group retreat in September.

4. France. Date to be determined by other uncalendared circumstances.

Question: What ties these 4 things together?

Saturday, July 16, 2011

My Tomato Plants Died, My Mom Didn't, A Redheaded Fraulein Should Have--What's Happened to Me?

It’s been an interesting week.

First, my beloved tomato plants that Eli started for me got leaf spot or something. I looked it up on the internet where I read to buy a certain fungicide which I did. Sprayed it on the plant. Nothing happened. I asked my gardener what to do. He said spray the leaves and stem with a combination of dishwashing soap and water and then when the sun comes out it will kill the fungus--plus it's organic. I did. The next day the whole plant died. Guess I sprayed it too much, as in full-on baptism. I mean, if a little soap’s good, a whole lot is better? I used to be able to grow things. Now I plan for their demise. What's happened to me?

Then, last Saturday mom started to collapse and moan and groan. Lei, our caregiver, was with her. She called me but the cell phone didn’t ring through. Then she called the hospice number. Then she called 911. Then she called me again. This time we connected and I came right home. However, because mom’s now under the care of hospice we weren’t supposed to call 911. Actually, it’s more complicated than that but not worth going into. I met 5 young strong paramedics and firemen at the front door and told them that we weren’t supposed to call them but they agreed to come in anyway and assess the situation. Mom was lying on the sofa in some sort of unconscious state. We couldn’t rouse her. Several more minutes passed and she came around enough to moan and groan. The 5 burley guys carried her to her bed where she proceeded to be unrousable again. It was very confusing as we were still waiting for hospice to call back. The 5 calendar boys took her vitals which, although slightly elevated, were still okay. The hospice nurse called and said she’d be at the house in an hour. I sent the 5 rescue men away and Lei and I stood on both sides of mom’s bed watching her. More time passed. And suddenly we heard a very tiny tiny voice. It was hard to make out at first what mom was saying. But then it became distinguishable. Hello! Hello! Helloooo!

Well, hello Mom! Welcome back! Mom lifted her head and asked, “What happened to me?” I told her I didn’t know and had the same question. Then she turned towards Lei and said, “Something’s wrong. Something’s wrong. I see black! I see black!” I looked at Lei and looked at mom and said, “Mom, that’s Lei’s blouse. Her blouse is black”. “Oh,” she replied with wonder. Then promptly sat up, said she was hungry, and asked what did I have for her to eat. She was cheerful, laughing and practically ready to go to a party.

Well, no one had any answers as to what had happened although there were a few guesses. But starting with the next day her agitation increased and for the next few nights she decided not to sleep. When she’s in this state it’s always pretty tough on me because she’s sedated and doped up and wants to keep getting out of bed so no one sleeps, especially me. By the 5^th day of hardly no sleep, the red-headed fraulein entered the picture.

Chelsea and I went to Costco on Friday. I was dragging pretty slowly at this point on 1 or 2 hours of sleep per night. We were in the store for almost an hour and 2 heavily laden carts full later we walked back to my car that I’d parked in handicap w/ my dad’s placard. Let me say right here and now that Eli objects to my using the card without my dad or mom in the car. But I truly felt handicapped and was having a hard time shuffling from point A to point B. At any rate, by the time we got back to the car a withered up ol’ wrinkly wench with flaming dyed red hair was standing behind all the cars parked in handicap locations and was writing down license plate numbers. As we drove away Chelsea said, “Mom, she’s writing down your number, too”. That was the final straw-- don’t mess with an overtired sleep-deprived woman of 61 who deals with the possibility of death on a daily basis.

I roared around the corner and drove back next to the mean nasty harpie. “Why are you writing down my license plate?” I asked her, perhaps with a bit of a sharp tongue. “I am viting down der numbers to see who eez reely hondicapped ,” she spit out nastily in a bad Ahnold imitation (yes, I know he was Austrian, but whatever, both Austrians and Germans dye their hair red) as she continued to keep “viting”. “How dare you! It’s an invasion of my privacy. It’s an invasion of Hippa laws! My daughter is an attorney. I’ll sue your butt off!” (Mind you, I’d also helped Chelsea pack her condo and garage for 4 days in sweltering heat, the weekend before had been especially stressful in other ways and I admit I sort of lost it on her…but it felt good to yell at someone! I’m not proud of this, just admitting my mortality.) You pit two obstinate Germans against each other there's bound to be some fireworks. She jumped in her car and tried to get away. I screeched around the corner again to face her oncoming car and this time I made a big deal of letting her see that I was writing down HER license plate. Oh, did I mention that she, too had parked in a handicapped spot but did not have a special plate or placard? And yes, Chelsea, who lives in a world of drama, was asking ME to calm down. What happened to me?

What have I learned from all this?

1. John Denver had it right about homegrown tomatoes, but I'm sticking with the ones from Albertson's.

2. I'm grateful for the time I still have with Mom even when it's exhausting.

3. Crazy pent-up rage unleashed on interfering Nazis feels great!

Tuesday, July 5, 2011

The 4th of July

We had a great 4th of July. Lazy, slow, balmy, and moderately peaceful. Hamburgers on the grill, potato salad, baked beans, (I later found the uncooked corn on the cob on the counter--oh well, it was that lazy). Lei, our caregiver, wanted to spend the day with us and work, too, so that was super. Most of the flags I've had in the past seem to have disappeared so Sawyer and I took a little trip to the hardware store and bought a big one for the front yard and a small plastic pool to cool off in. Chelsea and I spent a few hours in the afternoon painting pictures of sailboats. I was happy to have a paintbrush in my hand again. She'd still be erasing her original sketch this morning if I hadn't kept reinforcing that this was meant to be fun and the only thing that mattered was loading paint on to the canvas and see what develops.

But the best part of all was to discover that we had a perfect ringside seat to the fireworks right out our family room and my upstairs bedroom window. Bang! Pop! Ooooh! Ahhhh! Who knew?! If I'd been the broker on this house that would have been the first thing in my marketing. The trees in the backyard parted so perfectly for the show down at the regional park. What a thrilling ending to a day worth celebrating, especially since we didn't think we'd get a chance to see them this year.

Feeling more independent than ever (sort of).

Saturday, July 2, 2011

All Roads Lead to Paris

I started this morning at 6:30 to read the scriptures, but first I checked and responded to email, checked Facebook, and ended up in Paris:

Paris Vol. 5 from The Seventh Movement on Vimeo.

Just skip to somewhere around 13 to 18+ minutes for the part that helps me keep breathing.

Two hours later, the Book of Mormon is still not open. Sawyer is awake. And Dad has needed assistance from lying halfway off his mattress as he attempted to arise in some unusual position and didn't have the strength to get back on.

My journey with my parents living with me is now almost 10 months. They have had 2 stays in the hospital, 3 ER visits, countless doctor appointments, and multiple occasional caregivers passing through including Lei, my current all-time favorite. And now hospice for Mom. I've gained 10 lbs, an extra chin and many wrinkles. The antidote? My appointment with "The Perfect Workout" today at noon and my annual fee to www.picnik.com so I can "soften" my photos or press the "look thinner" button.

Lei and Mom

Monday, May 23, 2011

Mindless Thoughts

Here is my thought for the day. It is almost impossible to blog with only 3-4 hours of sleep at night. Mom's behavior is affecting her sleep patterns. She seems to be in a very weird stage of mania that acts up worse at night. I'm exhausted. Mackenna is here for a few days and is currently talking Mom down from the edge. I am sitting in the family room for a few minutes with Sawyer while he watches Chuggington and trying to figure out my new Mac laptop, thus this very elementary exercise of blogging with it. Perhaps, after a little more sleep (less than 1 hr last night and trying to sleep on the hard floor in my folks' room w/ a blanket and a pillow to prevent Mom from wandering all night) I'll be able to report in on all the wonderful help Sandy and Fred and Eli have supplied over the last few weeks. And now with Mackenna and John arrives Sunday, I just want to say "Hooray for the cavalry!"

Sunday, April 10, 2011

The Book

I was indeed flattered when I took my mom to her geriatric psychologist and she offered me a job, told me to write a book, and said she wanted to call me to pick my brain. For a brief moment, I imagined myself winning the Nobel Prize for Dementia and basked in the light of someone thinking I had something valuable to share, even if it is a shrink fascinated by my firsthand knowledge of the world of Alzheimer's.

I told her that I already had a job watching the folks and that if and when I get back into the job market it sure won't be as a caregiver. She assured me that that's not what she had in mind, but reminded me that the vastly unexplored world of dementia needed brave explorers and creative geniuses to make a difference, especially when it comes to the travesty of elder abuse.

So I think I will begin by joining the Walk to Find a Cure for Alzheimer's on May 7th at Doheny Beach and I will also get serious about starting my book, the one titled, "Hi, Mom, I'm Your Daughter, Joyce".
I may have to change my name to protect the less than innocent and very innocent. Perhaps if it's published under a nom de plume I will be more forthright. Then when I'm asked to go on Oprah and tell all, oh wait, she's retiring...oh well, whomever takes her place, I will be interviewed as a shadowy figure behind a curtain with a deep growly disguised electronic voice.

Here is my Prologue:

Any random afternoon---

"Mom, let me help you go to the bathroom."
"Who?"
"You."
"Me?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Because you just said you wanted to go to the bathroom."
"Who did?"
"You did."
"Why?"
"I guess because you needed to go to the bathroom."
"The bathroom?"
"Yes."
"What's the bathroom?"
"I don't know, Mom, just let me help you."
"Help me? I don't even know who you are!"
"I'm your daughter, Joyce, and I'd like to take you to the bathroom."
"Why?"
"Nevermind."
"What?"
"Nevermind.".........
....one minute passes....
"Where's the bathroom?"
and we start the dance again.

Here's part of chapter whatever:

It had been a warm and sunny peaceful Sabbath afternoon. I'd come home from church and our caregiver, Jackie, said that Mom was napping; she was very exhausted, as though the mental energy of trying to figure out her world had taxed all her strength and she'd gone to bed.

Good, I thought. I like coming home from 3 hours of church and being able to read a little and take a nap myself. Especially on Fast Sunday. I said hi to Dad who asked me where I'd been. At church, I told him.
"Church?" he inquired. "On Friday?"
Uh oh. That wasn't a good sign. Dad's supposed to be the 96-year old who still has it altogether.
"Dad, it's Sunday?"
"Really? I guess I missed a few days" he replies somewhat perplexed.
"Well, you're reading the Sunday paper," I responded.
"Hmmmm" he said softly.
Jackie looked at me and said, "That explains it. He's been calling me Anna all day."
Anna is our Friday caregiver who helps for four hours while I run away and get lost in the world of the living.
Jackie left. Dad closed his eyes to sleep in his tan recliner. I went upstairs to read on my bed and feel the warmth of the sun through my bedroom windows.

An hour later Mom wakes up. Coming through the baby monitor I hear, "Yoo hoo! Anyone here?" I rush downstairs.
Mom is indeed a cheerful happy soul suddenly, refreshed from a few hours of sleeping and suggests we all go out to eat hamburgers. I really don't like to eat out on Sundays but this is the third day in a row that she's wanted to go out to eat and she's so smiley and happy I don't want to break her good mood. Dad, always ready for a ride and a change of scenery is all for it. I help Dad with his walker to the car and strap him in the back seat. I walk Mom around to the other side of the car behind the driver's side and strap her in. It's 5 o'clock and sunny with a beautiful clear blue California sky to look at.
"Where do you want to go, Dad?" I ask.
"How 'bout Carl's Jr."
"Okay. Let's go to the one by Doheny Beach and then eat at the harbor.
Off we go, everyone's happy. I'm relaxed and calculating what I can eat since I'm always trying to diet and rarely succeeding.
As we head down Golden Lantern Drive and see the glorious Pacific Ocean in the distance I mention to Dad and Mom to look at the view. Isn't it beautiful I exclaim.
Suddenly, Mom starts getting worried. "I'm getting sick!" she moans. "I'm getting sick!"
Dad ignores her. I look over my shoulder back at her and try to reassure her.
"Mom, we're going out for hamburgers and we're going to eat them by the beach."
I think all she sees is some scary random person in dark sunglasses staring back at her.
"Tony, Tony, we need to get out. They're going to try and drown us in the ocean! Let me out! Let me out!"
Think Meg Ryan at the beginning of the movie, "French Kiss."
I hear a click and the words on my dashboard read LEFT DOOR OPEN.
I quickly pull over, put the car in park, jump out, close Mom's door tightly, jump back in the car and lock all the doors with one switch.
I've got to remember to lock all the doors whenever I'm driving I think to myself and probably say outloud.

But it just gets worse from here.

Dun dun dun.....

Comments or suggestions anyone?

Wednesday, March 16, 2011

Around the Whirlwind in Eighty Days

It's been 80+/- days since I last made an entry to The Mercy Finder. I think I've been too overwhelmed with trying to find mercy, extend mercy, and receive mercy to write. But today, inspired by an article I read in The New Yorker, "Middlemarch and Me," I have committed to at least try to catch up on the last 80 days in a very speedy way--with photos. (However, something's wrong w/ my computer and everything about Blogger is currently goofed up)

Rebecca Mead, the author of the article, stated that the well-known maxim, "It is never too late to be what you might have been," although long-attributed to George Elliot (aka Mary Ann Evans), apparently has no historical bearing with reference to her. Nowhere in her letters or writings can it be documented that she said this. In fact, it seems to be more in keeping with her writings and lifestyle that, if anything, she believed that just being who you are is enough. Unheralded, unspectacular, unnoticed. If you should think of doing something grand, and don't do it, so be it. In her journal entry she wrote, "The difficulty is, to decide how far resolution should set in the direction of activity rather than in the acceptance of a more negative state." Perhaps in my comings and goings, I would much prefer to have this second quote painted up, lacquered, and hanging on my kitchen wall rather than the first.

However, so as not to acknowledge my merciless/merciful state without deep gratitude, I submit the following photos of the last 74+ days.

I flew to TX for the funeral of Krista Ralston Oakes