Dear world:
There are a few things i would like to say to you before you continue judging me. (Though admittedly, I'm not entirely certain you are judging me. It could just be my perception.)
Firstly, when I transfer money out of mom's account, despite her "she's stealing my money" act, it is often for good reason. Today for instance, it was to pay for groceries and fuel. I have little shame regarding using her money for items from which she benefits- electricity, heat, food, water. I once had a friend accuse me of caring for her only because I could not pay my bills without her money. This logic is flawed for many reasons, not the least of which is that if three people didn't live here the bills would be much less.
Secondly, i know i look like an ogre. You see me denying my poor (adorable) elderly mother something as simple as a coke, or a candy bar. So you kindly offer to buy it for her. After all, she wants it so why shouldn't she have it? She is begging for it. I am just too cruel to spend money on her.
Now I appreciate your kind gesture, but before you paint me green and imagine me to be three times my size with a nasty growl and menacing grin- consider that you do not know the back story.
For instance today i would not buy my (adorable) elderly mother a Reece's Christmas tree not because i wanted her to suffer, but largely because ten minutes prior i had bought her a Gertrude Hawk caramel bar. Also, i had just bought her a coke.
The thing is any way you slice it sometimes I feel judged, as if the world thinks i'm abusive. This is not mere paranoia- for a while we were frequent Office of the Aging reportees. They never found any abuse of course, and eventually even the case worker told me that the problem was my (well meaning) neighbors' ignorance. Still-
If I take the money for the fuel, i'm financially abusive.
If i don't take the money and don't pay for the fuel, and the house becomes cold i'm physically abusive.
If i refuse to buy the candy i'm emotionally abusive.
If i let her eat so much sugar it's bad for her health, i'm physically abusive.
Do you see how to my (potentially paranoid) brain this appears to be a lose/lose situation?
So please be more considerate next time you go to judge me.
Mom may not fully understand the situation, or remember what she just ate. Or she may do both, and just want to get me for revenge or amusement.
Regardless, have a little understanding please.
Love,
-une
Friday, December 2, 2011
Thursday, October 27, 2011
On October snow and selfish masochism
It's been a bit since my last post. My excuse will be partially paying job related, but even I acknowledge that I could have posted anyway.
Oh well.
Today was the first snow. Don't worry, i'll wait while you check the date of the post. That's right, on October 27th we had the first snow, which actually stuck in places.
I'm so grateful to God for the furnace, which makes the winters here ever so much more enjoyable.
Also, today I signed up for what I like to call my "feat of selfish masochism", nanowrimo. Last year i failed miserably. This year i may fare no better. Neither of those facts are truly consequential.
Sleep is luring me away. It's a post at least, short it may be but it's a post.
Oh well.
Today was the first snow. Don't worry, i'll wait while you check the date of the post. That's right, on October 27th we had the first snow, which actually stuck in places.
I'm so grateful to God for the furnace, which makes the winters here ever so much more enjoyable.
Also, today I signed up for what I like to call my "feat of selfish masochism", nanowrimo. Last year i failed miserably. This year i may fare no better. Neither of those facts are truly consequential.
Sleep is luring me away. It's a post at least, short it may be but it's a post.
Saturday, October 1, 2011
On personal bed hogs.....
On my recent list of "best purchases in recent history", the full-sized futon mattress ranks fairly high. It's a long story of "When i moved out for college my room became a storage room" style proportions, but until fairly recently (within the last two years or so) i was still sleeping on the couch with the disintegrating cushions. Now, there are practical reasons i choose to still sleep in the living room (i use the excuse that it's convenient for me to be downstairs in case mom wanders or needs something to mask my laziness in actually cleaning out said storage room), but the fact remains that sleeping on this wonderful interspring full-size mattress was a huge step up from the couch.
Except that i do not get to fully utilize a full size mattress much lately.
Enter the bed hog, stage left.
Many times lately, i wake up to realize that my legs have been crammed into within approximately a foot of the wall.
Sigh..... if i didn't love him so much.
Except that i do not get to fully utilize a full size mattress much lately.
Enter the bed hog, stage left.
Many times lately, i wake up to realize that my legs have been crammed into within approximately a foot of the wall.
Sigh..... if i didn't love him so much.
Sleep and guilt are my friend.....
So i was supposed to post to this before i fell asleep tonight.
i was also supposed to give mom her medicine before i fell asleep tonight.
i was supposed to turn out the power strip below the computer before i fell asleep tonight.
i was supposed to fix the tv before i fell asleep tonight.
If you look at the time stamp, it's 4:10 a.m.
Dear body: This "fall asleep super early, wake up in the middle of the night" trick is not my favorite.
Could we please reverse that a bit? Could we stay up just an eensy bit later, so that we could get everything done the first time, and then sleep through until morning?
This brings with it massive amounts of guilt. Largely as concerns mom's medicine, which she didn't get (again).
Now it isn't "if she doesn't get this she will die" type medicine, praise the Lord!
However, it is her dementia medicine (and her Tylenol pm.) That's what we're down to.
Still, not getting dementia medicine is not necessarily a good thing.
Hence the massive amounts of guilt, and prayers for forgiveness and lack of repercussion.
Did i ever mention that guilt is one of my chief emotions?
Probably, it ranks shortly below anxiety.
i'm not saying that either is a Christian value, simply that both are.
Occasionally i feel guilty about this, that i feel guilty and worry so much.
Still, if someone questions how someone as religious as i am can have so much anxiety, i like to quip that they should imagine how i would be without God.
My best estimate involves rocking in a corner and padded walls.
Thanks God. Praised be Your Name!
Now to work on not being such a basket case.
Also, we need to work on staying up later.
Come on body, together we can do it.
Alright, back to bed now- night all, God bless!!
i was also supposed to give mom her medicine before i fell asleep tonight.
i was supposed to turn out the power strip below the computer before i fell asleep tonight.
i was supposed to fix the tv before i fell asleep tonight.
If you look at the time stamp, it's 4:10 a.m.
Dear body: This "fall asleep super early, wake up in the middle of the night" trick is not my favorite.
Could we please reverse that a bit? Could we stay up just an eensy bit later, so that we could get everything done the first time, and then sleep through until morning?
This brings with it massive amounts of guilt. Largely as concerns mom's medicine, which she didn't get (again).
Now it isn't "if she doesn't get this she will die" type medicine, praise the Lord!
However, it is her dementia medicine (and her Tylenol pm.) That's what we're down to.
Still, not getting dementia medicine is not necessarily a good thing.
Hence the massive amounts of guilt, and prayers for forgiveness and lack of repercussion.
Did i ever mention that guilt is one of my chief emotions?
Probably, it ranks shortly below anxiety.
i'm not saying that either is a Christian value, simply that both are.
Occasionally i feel guilty about this, that i feel guilty and worry so much.
Still, if someone questions how someone as religious as i am can have so much anxiety, i like to quip that they should imagine how i would be without God.
My best estimate involves rocking in a corner and padded walls.
Thanks God. Praised be Your Name!
Now to work on not being such a basket case.
Also, we need to work on staying up later.
Come on body, together we can do it.
Alright, back to bed now- night all, God bless!!
Friday, September 23, 2011
God will take care of you.....
Last week we took my mom to the neurologist. The trip didn't go poorly, exactly. It seemed a little fruitless- we went on the advice of mom's general practitioner to see if any of her physical ailments of late could be connected with her dementia. In the end he performed a variety of tests, diagnosed her with Alzheimers, and offered us more medicine. It was good that we went, but it wasn't an appointment full of earth-shattering revelations.
Nor was it full of impeccable bedside manner. Most of mom's doctors are bastions of acceptance and caring. It's why they remain her doctors. So perhaps I'm spoiled. This doctor was not unfriendly, but neither was he very amiable.
Even that is not why I find myself toying with firing him, however. That is because of how he ran the appointment. Throughout the appointment, he continued to offer to prescribe medicine, to suggest treatment options, and to recommend therapeutic courses of action- to me.
He offered me anti-psychotics if mom became agitated or confused. He recommended melatonin if she wandered at night.
Throughout the appointment I was left with the distinct impression that he was not searching for ways to improve my mother's life, but to make her more manageable for me.
It is as if he had given up on ever helping her, so his goal was to make her as easy for me to deal with as possible.
It almost seemed like he treated the appointment as if she, instead of having an illness, were an illness.
When I told him we wanted to avoid anti-psychotics, he told everyone did, but if she became too out of control they might make things manageable.
When I told him we planned on avoiding a nursing home for as long as humanly possible, he told me everyone said that. He flat out said that delaying nursing home placement was the end goal of any treatment.
Alzheimers is an incurable disease, I understand that. I am not that naive. My mother however, is not a burden. She is not a disease.
If she had an incurable cancer, would he treat her as a foregone conclusion? Would he try to help her anyway, to try and prolong her health as long as possible, to try and make her comfortable, to allay her fears, or would he tell me that the best he could do is maybe delay the inevitable and then offer to give her pills so I could sleep?
What is it about Alzheimers that dehumanizes our loved ones in the eyes of society? What is it about this disease that makes it alright for them to be controlled not treated?
The appointment was not entirely bad. He did offer some practical assistance and advice, and it is possible I misread him or caught him on a bad day.
He will probably receive one more chance. If this performance repeats however, it will be time to seek out a new neurologist. If you are treating my mother, then your job is to treat my mother. Otherwise, you may be fired.
That is her right. It's my job to ensure that she gets it.
Nor was it full of impeccable bedside manner. Most of mom's doctors are bastions of acceptance and caring. It's why they remain her doctors. So perhaps I'm spoiled. This doctor was not unfriendly, but neither was he very amiable.
Even that is not why I find myself toying with firing him, however. That is because of how he ran the appointment. Throughout the appointment, he continued to offer to prescribe medicine, to suggest treatment options, and to recommend therapeutic courses of action- to me.
He offered me anti-psychotics if mom became agitated or confused. He recommended melatonin if she wandered at night.
Throughout the appointment I was left with the distinct impression that he was not searching for ways to improve my mother's life, but to make her more manageable for me.
It is as if he had given up on ever helping her, so his goal was to make her as easy for me to deal with as possible.
It almost seemed like he treated the appointment as if she, instead of having an illness, were an illness.
When I told him we wanted to avoid anti-psychotics, he told everyone did, but if she became too out of control they might make things manageable.
When I told him we planned on avoiding a nursing home for as long as humanly possible, he told me everyone said that. He flat out said that delaying nursing home placement was the end goal of any treatment.
Alzheimers is an incurable disease, I understand that. I am not that naive. My mother however, is not a burden. She is not a disease.
If she had an incurable cancer, would he treat her as a foregone conclusion? Would he try to help her anyway, to try and prolong her health as long as possible, to try and make her comfortable, to allay her fears, or would he tell me that the best he could do is maybe delay the inevitable and then offer to give her pills so I could sleep?
What is it about Alzheimers that dehumanizes our loved ones in the eyes of society? What is it about this disease that makes it alright for them to be controlled not treated?
The appointment was not entirely bad. He did offer some practical assistance and advice, and it is possible I misread him or caught him on a bad day.
He will probably receive one more chance. If this performance repeats however, it will be time to seek out a new neurologist. If you are treating my mother, then your job is to treat my mother. Otherwise, you may be fired.
That is her right. It's my job to ensure that she gets it.
Just an everyday girl.....
So i just read that a friend read at least one post on here. (Hi Kate!) That's progress. :)
I suppose since it was today, maybe it's time to write that single's conference post I talked about a few weeks ago.
Except that i just realized i don't want to. So let's sum it up thus: i was invited to a church single's conference. It was tempting, for a time to go. To hang out with other singles, and just be young and carefree for a night.
Then i realized how young many people there might be. It may sound strange, but does anyone else see that almost generational gap between your early twenties and your early thirties?
I really saw it one night, when I went out with three girls. One was my age, and the other two were barely into their twenties. When i entered the car, the twenties were giggling. They confessed that they were a little tipsy. They continued to giggle and goof for the duration of the drive to wherever we were going at the time.
It occurred to me at some point that i just wasn't connecting with them. It occurred to me that they just seemed silly, and that i'd actually rather be home, hanging out near mom and either watching real tv with bubs or bad internet tv alone. It wasn't judgment, it wasn't elitism, it was just..... distance, a lack of relation.
So when part of my turning my "maybe" at the single's conference website to a "no" was probably just fear and shyness. Part of it, though, was not really wanting to spend that time hanging out with a bunch of young women who, like me at that age, desperately wanted to find the one.
Would i like a life-mate? Sure.
Have i thought and prayed about it even recently? Sure.
Did i think chatting last night with my best friend about her matchmaking scheme was positively pleasant? Sure.
The last time i went on something that even remotely resembled a date was, well before the last guy i went on something that even remotely resembled a date with moved on (literally and figuratively). It's probably two years or more now.
In truth, i'm still a (quasi) normal female human. That means that if God wanted to bring a husband my way, i would say "thank You".
It's not the driving need it was in my early twenties though. If it never happens, that's God's will. There are so many other things to spend my time on right now. There are so many other ways to direct my heart.
So because of this, and because i went to high school with the husband of the couple leading the conference ("Hey, we're the same age and yet you're throwing a singles conference as a ministry for me- yeah, no."), and because it was a married couple leading the conference ("Hi, i'm happily married but let me minister to you as a single.") and because it seemed disloyal to my plan of waiting on the Lord, i canceled.
Tonight, when i'm (Lord willing) hanging near mom and watching real tv with bubs or bad internet tv alone, i hope i remember to stop and appreciate just where i am.
(Please note that this post is in no way meant to be negative to single's conferences, or early twenty-somethings, or internet tv, or anything. It's just me thinking more on my life's journey.)
Guess that was the post on the single's conference. Maybe i'll get to why i want to dump mom's neurologist later.
I suppose since it was today, maybe it's time to write that single's conference post I talked about a few weeks ago.
Except that i just realized i don't want to. So let's sum it up thus: i was invited to a church single's conference. It was tempting, for a time to go. To hang out with other singles, and just be young and carefree for a night.
Then i realized how young many people there might be. It may sound strange, but does anyone else see that almost generational gap between your early twenties and your early thirties?
I really saw it one night, when I went out with three girls. One was my age, and the other two were barely into their twenties. When i entered the car, the twenties were giggling. They confessed that they were a little tipsy. They continued to giggle and goof for the duration of the drive to wherever we were going at the time.
It occurred to me at some point that i just wasn't connecting with them. It occurred to me that they just seemed silly, and that i'd actually rather be home, hanging out near mom and either watching real tv with bubs or bad internet tv alone. It wasn't judgment, it wasn't elitism, it was just..... distance, a lack of relation.
So when part of my turning my "maybe" at the single's conference website to a "no" was probably just fear and shyness. Part of it, though, was not really wanting to spend that time hanging out with a bunch of young women who, like me at that age, desperately wanted to find the one.
Would i like a life-mate? Sure.
Have i thought and prayed about it even recently? Sure.
Did i think chatting last night with my best friend about her matchmaking scheme was positively pleasant? Sure.
The last time i went on something that even remotely resembled a date was, well before the last guy i went on something that even remotely resembled a date with moved on (literally and figuratively). It's probably two years or more now.
In truth, i'm still a (quasi) normal female human. That means that if God wanted to bring a husband my way, i would say "thank You".
It's not the driving need it was in my early twenties though. If it never happens, that's God's will. There are so many other things to spend my time on right now. There are so many other ways to direct my heart.
So because of this, and because i went to high school with the husband of the couple leading the conference ("Hey, we're the same age and yet you're throwing a singles conference as a ministry for me- yeah, no."), and because it was a married couple leading the conference ("Hi, i'm happily married but let me minister to you as a single.") and because it seemed disloyal to my plan of waiting on the Lord, i canceled.
Tonight, when i'm (Lord willing) hanging near mom and watching real tv with bubs or bad internet tv alone, i hope i remember to stop and appreciate just where i am.
(Please note that this post is in no way meant to be negative to single's conferences, or early twenty-somethings, or internet tv, or anything. It's just me thinking more on my life's journey.)
Guess that was the post on the single's conference. Maybe i'll get to why i want to dump mom's neurologist later.
Sunday, September 11, 2011
Life me up so high that i cannot fall.....
Thinking about what i'm about to write feels pretentious. i know it is not set, and i would be happy were it not to be realized. It's just something i need to think through however, so i'm going to write about it. Catharsis anyone?
i guess the point is that i feel as if my future life is a big muddle. i'm happy to give this to God to straighten out. Sometimes though, at a Good Friday service, and again recently, i feel almost like i get flashes of an idea which may be the plan for my life. There's some confusion in my brain regarding whether this is my imagination, or something i should listen to. And of course even as i process this, i want God's will for my life whatever it may be.
i wish i could explain what i mean by a flash, by that intrusion of a thought that you can't be quite certain isn't just in your brain but feels oddly significant.
Here's the flash though- that i may never get married and should live my life serving others. That i could care for mom and my aunt and any other elderly person who lands on my stoop, and maybe throw a few foster or adopted children into the mix. That i ought to expend my energy in the care of others, like Paul advises in the Bible to certain people, without the distractions of marriage, without the distractions of romance. i just described it to an old friend as like a sort of voluntary Protestant celibacy.
i formulate grand designs as to how this could work itself out. i daydream about spearheading a cognitively stimulating and emotionally supportive nursing home for dementia patients, one devoid of the use of chemical sedatives and room restrictions.
i daydream about bringing an adult day center to my rural area so we don't have to transport our loved ones 45 minutes away to go to work.
Yet i feel very inadequate to this sort of a calling. i'm selfish, i fall asleep early. i like my comfort. i can be downright emotionally unstable at times.
Dog is insistent that my reverie be superseded by his need to go potty. So i'll leave all this in God's capable hand anyway.
i guess the point is that i feel as if my future life is a big muddle. i'm happy to give this to God to straighten out. Sometimes though, at a Good Friday service, and again recently, i feel almost like i get flashes of an idea which may be the plan for my life. There's some confusion in my brain regarding whether this is my imagination, or something i should listen to. And of course even as i process this, i want God's will for my life whatever it may be.
i wish i could explain what i mean by a flash, by that intrusion of a thought that you can't be quite certain isn't just in your brain but feels oddly significant.
Here's the flash though- that i may never get married and should live my life serving others. That i could care for mom and my aunt and any other elderly person who lands on my stoop, and maybe throw a few foster or adopted children into the mix. That i ought to expend my energy in the care of others, like Paul advises in the Bible to certain people, without the distractions of marriage, without the distractions of romance. i just described it to an old friend as like a sort of voluntary Protestant celibacy.
i formulate grand designs as to how this could work itself out. i daydream about spearheading a cognitively stimulating and emotionally supportive nursing home for dementia patients, one devoid of the use of chemical sedatives and room restrictions.
i daydream about bringing an adult day center to my rural area so we don't have to transport our loved ones 45 minutes away to go to work.
Yet i feel very inadequate to this sort of a calling. i'm selfish, i fall asleep early. i like my comfort. i can be downright emotionally unstable at times.
Dog is insistent that my reverie be superseded by his need to go potty. So i'll leave all this in God's capable hand anyway.
yes, it's another grocery store post.....
Today we went to the store. That in and of itself was not out of the ordinary, i go to the grocery store generally once a week. It was slightly out of the ordinary, however, in the use of the pronoun, we. Today we went to the store. Not me alone save God and a handful of coupons. Nope, today bubs was sitting in a trailer recording a music festival- which meant mom went to the store with me.
Now we actually had a good time, at least for much of the trip. The parts that weren't really good were completely my fault as well. The trip, however, painted to me yet once again the ways in which my life is reminiscent of motherhood, but isn't.
There are several differences between shopping alone and shopping with mom. Firstly is the elephant in the room, the time factor. From leaving the house to pulling into the driveway, my shopping trip (in which we hit exactly one store though we did drive around some) took roughly three hours. Roughly three hours to shop at one store approximately fifteen minutes away from home.
Mom likes to look at things. She likes to find deals. She likes to call me back to look at cheap prices. This, of course can be actually kind of fun, as i try to cajole her to come along, and we just enjoy each others' company. However it can make for a quite slow trip through the store. In one aisle a mildly attractive seemingly older man kept smiling at our verbal interplay. It didn't appear to be the pitying or annoyed genre of smile, more like a honestly amused and affectionate consideration of the cute little old lady sort of smile. i fancied that he was the sort of guy who would treat someone like mom really well. The amusing point the the interplay was when mom started intently perusing the coffee. "Mom, you have never drank coffee," i said, or something close to it, trying to move us down the aisle. "Might be a good time to start" the man quipped before we parted ways.
Mom likes to suggest we buy various items. The amusing part of this is that she will generally eventually intersperse such requests with pointed comments about how much i've put into the cart, and questions about whether or not we have the money to purchase it all. There's a lingering awkwardness to this part of the trip. See, if a mother is telling her child she can not buy cookies because the cart already hold too many sweets, the average other shopper would not blink twice, this is commonplace. However, when i have the same conversation with mom i sometimes wonder if my fellow shoppers are judging the horrible ogre who will not allow her mother to choose what she buys and what she eats. They don't know that were i to let her put everything she wanted into the cart we would leave heavily laden and with much less money, after which she might ask why it all was purchased. They only see a grown woman ordering another grown woman around, and dictating her culinary selections.
At the end of the trip, we checked out at a register. Mom chatted up the kindly young woman behind us, who was patiently caring for her child while standing behind my (slightly less than normal but still rather fully) loaded cart and acting rather spacey. By this point i was undergoing some anxiety about my health (though i know i'm fine sometimes the anxiety gets the better of me) and was nearing the end of my patience (which not long before i was commending myself on). i was worried about having enough money (less in my account that i thought) and trying to watch this situation carefully. By the time we were through (with money to spare- woohoo!!) i was ready to leave. Which i did.
Mom however did not.
She didn't want to go, she was enjoying talking to people. She also had a quarter, i discovered when i gave up on her following me out. She wanted to know what to do with it. i tried giving it to the cashier who would not take it. She told me it had to go to the customer service desk- where no one was and a man was already waiting in frustration. For a quarter that we wanted to leave in case anyone else needed it, which in the end i was only doing to get mom to stop fixating and leave the store.
With some semblance of pleading in my voice i commented to mom that i wanted to go home. This is when it happened- the cashier excused herself from the man she was waiting on, took the quarter, and put it on the customer service desk for me, dismissing us. It was just like the kindly cashier you might see taking pity on the young mother with the screaming child.
Except that i. am. not. a. mother. and. my. mom. is. not. a. screaming. child. She was actually in a good mood. Yet the feeling was still there, and it was odd. Just something to note. The action was very much appreciated too.
Next weekend, i hope to have bubs with mom while i shop. Though shopping with mom can be fun, it transforms me form the powerful huntress to the harried mom. i enjoy my weekly powerful huntress delusion. i wonder if that's why you see so many single women in grocery stores. It's a place where we can still be actively serving our homes while still getting alone time and reveling in delusions of grandeur. Or, perhaps i am reading too much into this.
Now we actually had a good time, at least for much of the trip. The parts that weren't really good were completely my fault as well. The trip, however, painted to me yet once again the ways in which my life is reminiscent of motherhood, but isn't.
There are several differences between shopping alone and shopping with mom. Firstly is the elephant in the room, the time factor. From leaving the house to pulling into the driveway, my shopping trip (in which we hit exactly one store though we did drive around some) took roughly three hours. Roughly three hours to shop at one store approximately fifteen minutes away from home.
Mom likes to look at things. She likes to find deals. She likes to call me back to look at cheap prices. This, of course can be actually kind of fun, as i try to cajole her to come along, and we just enjoy each others' company. However it can make for a quite slow trip through the store. In one aisle a mildly attractive seemingly older man kept smiling at our verbal interplay. It didn't appear to be the pitying or annoyed genre of smile, more like a honestly amused and affectionate consideration of the cute little old lady sort of smile. i fancied that he was the sort of guy who would treat someone like mom really well. The amusing point the the interplay was when mom started intently perusing the coffee. "Mom, you have never drank coffee," i said, or something close to it, trying to move us down the aisle. "Might be a good time to start" the man quipped before we parted ways.
Mom likes to suggest we buy various items. The amusing part of this is that she will generally eventually intersperse such requests with pointed comments about how much i've put into the cart, and questions about whether or not we have the money to purchase it all. There's a lingering awkwardness to this part of the trip. See, if a mother is telling her child she can not buy cookies because the cart already hold too many sweets, the average other shopper would not blink twice, this is commonplace. However, when i have the same conversation with mom i sometimes wonder if my fellow shoppers are judging the horrible ogre who will not allow her mother to choose what she buys and what she eats. They don't know that were i to let her put everything she wanted into the cart we would leave heavily laden and with much less money, after which she might ask why it all was purchased. They only see a grown woman ordering another grown woman around, and dictating her culinary selections.
At the end of the trip, we checked out at a register. Mom chatted up the kindly young woman behind us, who was patiently caring for her child while standing behind my (slightly less than normal but still rather fully) loaded cart and acting rather spacey. By this point i was undergoing some anxiety about my health (though i know i'm fine sometimes the anxiety gets the better of me) and was nearing the end of my patience (which not long before i was commending myself on). i was worried about having enough money (less in my account that i thought) and trying to watch this situation carefully. By the time we were through (with money to spare- woohoo!!) i was ready to leave. Which i did.
Mom however did not.
She didn't want to go, she was enjoying talking to people. She also had a quarter, i discovered when i gave up on her following me out. She wanted to know what to do with it. i tried giving it to the cashier who would not take it. She told me it had to go to the customer service desk- where no one was and a man was already waiting in frustration. For a quarter that we wanted to leave in case anyone else needed it, which in the end i was only doing to get mom to stop fixating and leave the store.
With some semblance of pleading in my voice i commented to mom that i wanted to go home. This is when it happened- the cashier excused herself from the man she was waiting on, took the quarter, and put it on the customer service desk for me, dismissing us. It was just like the kindly cashier you might see taking pity on the young mother with the screaming child.
Except that i. am. not. a. mother. and. my. mom. is. not. a. screaming. child. She was actually in a good mood. Yet the feeling was still there, and it was odd. Just something to note. The action was very much appreciated too.
Next weekend, i hope to have bubs with mom while i shop. Though shopping with mom can be fun, it transforms me form the powerful huntress to the harried mom. i enjoy my weekly powerful huntress delusion. i wonder if that's why you see so many single women in grocery stores. It's a place where we can still be actively serving our homes while still getting alone time and reveling in delusions of grandeur. Or, perhaps i am reading too much into this.
Monday, September 5, 2011
who i've become grocery store edition
"No problem, before i was me i wouldn't want to be stuck behind me either."
This (or something very nearly like it) was said to the young apparently college aged man behind me, holding his few items, after he thanked me, after i offered to let him check out before me in the grocery store line.
It's true you know- i have become "that woman" at the grocery store.
Today i felt kind of badly for the people behind me. An elderly gentleman holding nothing but some garlic cloves, a woman who wasn't certain she even had enough in her cart to satisfy the "5 dollars off a 50 dollar purchase" coupon i passed back. i didn't need it- i was already using the "25 dollars off a 150 dollar purchase" coupon.
There was once a time when my hard and fast rule on grocery shopping was this- if i can't carry it home myself then i shouldn't be buying it. This was a fine rule when i was the twenty-something college kid. i might spend $100 every two weeks, with a $20 brush up purchase in-between. Now i celebrate a little if my grocery ticket is in the $180 a week realm. The goal now is not to carry all my purchases alone, but to avoid the dreaded embarrassing double cart push-out.
i am the woman with the full cart, who separates orders and asks that they be bagged separately. i'm the woman who asks to make sure that special really did ring through, because that's the only reason that item was purchased. The one who hands over a pile of coupons with each order, and internally chortles with glee when the young cashier looks in awe at the number of coupons the machine spits out. If you use them they provide them. It's a wonderful system.
i purchase flush-able wet wipes, zip lock bags, childrens' toothpaste, childrens' soap, cleaning supplies, and pain pills. At times i purchase ensure; i've been known to be happy at the sight of a depends coupon. i'm shopping for two elderly women, an adult man, two cats, a dog, and myself.
i love my shopping trips. There's something about combining deals and coupons to provide for your family that makes you feel fulfilled. The store becomes my battlefield. i smile and swerve about the other warriors bringing home their spoils to their families.
i talk to myself, to the products and the coupons, not caring who hears me or what they think. i go in what's comfortable, not minding if i look nice much of the time. After all, i'm not there to flirt, i'm there for battle. Fighting is ugly so why should it matter if i am pretty??
This is the shopper i have become, despite not being a mother or a wife. This is my weekly tradition, and yet another blessing in this life i've come to love.
So yes young man, purchasing beer on the way to a night out. Before i was me i wouldn't have wanted to be behind me. Now, however i'm glad to have become who i am. It may be many years yet before you realize how much fun shopping can be.
This (or something very nearly like it) was said to the young apparently college aged man behind me, holding his few items, after he thanked me, after i offered to let him check out before me in the grocery store line.
It's true you know- i have become "that woman" at the grocery store.
Today i felt kind of badly for the people behind me. An elderly gentleman holding nothing but some garlic cloves, a woman who wasn't certain she even had enough in her cart to satisfy the "5 dollars off a 50 dollar purchase" coupon i passed back. i didn't need it- i was already using the "25 dollars off a 150 dollar purchase" coupon.
There was once a time when my hard and fast rule on grocery shopping was this- if i can't carry it home myself then i shouldn't be buying it. This was a fine rule when i was the twenty-something college kid. i might spend $100 every two weeks, with a $20 brush up purchase in-between. Now i celebrate a little if my grocery ticket is in the $180 a week realm. The goal now is not to carry all my purchases alone, but to avoid the dreaded embarrassing double cart push-out.
i am the woman with the full cart, who separates orders and asks that they be bagged separately. i'm the woman who asks to make sure that special really did ring through, because that's the only reason that item was purchased. The one who hands over a pile of coupons with each order, and internally chortles with glee when the young cashier looks in awe at the number of coupons the machine spits out. If you use them they provide them. It's a wonderful system.
i purchase flush-able wet wipes, zip lock bags, childrens' toothpaste, childrens' soap, cleaning supplies, and pain pills. At times i purchase ensure; i've been known to be happy at the sight of a depends coupon. i'm shopping for two elderly women, an adult man, two cats, a dog, and myself.
i love my shopping trips. There's something about combining deals and coupons to provide for your family that makes you feel fulfilled. The store becomes my battlefield. i smile and swerve about the other warriors bringing home their spoils to their families.
i talk to myself, to the products and the coupons, not caring who hears me or what they think. i go in what's comfortable, not minding if i look nice much of the time. After all, i'm not there to flirt, i'm there for battle. Fighting is ugly so why should it matter if i am pretty??
This is the shopper i have become, despite not being a mother or a wife. This is my weekly tradition, and yet another blessing in this life i've come to love.
So yes young man, purchasing beer on the way to a night out. Before i was me i wouldn't have wanted to be behind me. Now, however i'm glad to have become who i am. It may be many years yet before you realize how much fun shopping can be.
Saturday, September 3, 2011
sorry, so
I toyed with apologizing that it has been so long since I've written..... then remembered that no one reads this blog (yet) anyway.
There is so much that I think to write as I go through my daily life-
like the tail of hurricane Irene (hope that one is still forthcoming).....
like how much I adore my mom's doctor's office (not so much for their medical practice but for the bed-side manner of the nurses and receptionists.....
like how I don't understand why an insurance company would decline a ct scan for an elderly woman with mild dementia, balance issues and an impending neurologist appointment (and the pleasure of hearing one of the aforementioned nurses assure me they would fight for us).....
like how I was invited to a single' retreat, and just tonight officially told them no, as I just can't bring myself to attend a single's retreat led by a married couple with a bunch of twenty-somethings who I may not really relate to.....
like the simple joy that watching mom interact with our vicious dog can bring, who is so adorably devoted to her I've dubbed him dementia dog.....
like my thoughts on fund raising.....
like our adventures in flea treatment.....
Maybe all of these blog ideas will remain blog ideas, maybe they will become blog posts.
For now, however, I'm going to count this a blog post and head toward bed.
Good night.
Friday, August 19, 2011
A little alone time
Haldol and Dementia
This winter, my mom went to the hospital. We live in a rural area, the sort of town where road apple bingo used to be an annual game at the town festival, and both responding emt's knew us personally from years of acquaintance. There are only two hospitals in our 800 square mile plus county, and we had decided long ago that one did not deal with dementia well. Balking at asking the ambulance to drive us half an hour one direction or forty five minutes the other (where mom's primary care physician is), I opted to request that we be taken to the other county hospital. I knew very little about it, only that were her condition serious we could insist she be transferred somewhere bigger.
I breathed a sigh of relief and a prayer of thanks upon discovering that the night er nurse on duty was a trauma nurse- apparently a very rare find in small town life. This man was wonderful, both in medical knowledge and in bedside manner. A patient with even mild dementia can be trying, as evidenced once by a doctor who responded to mom's repeated questions by finally snapping at her in raised tones. (Prompting the change to a geriatrician forty-five minutes away.) This nurse kept his patience and good humor admirably, as did the doctor on call. In fact, our experience at the hospital was overall quite good- except for one glaring blight upon the experience. Without my permission, they gave my mother Haldol.
At check-in, I informed the nurse that if mom became agitated she could call either myself or my sister. When I returned the next morning, I was informed that she had become agitated, but that they had given her something to help her sleep. Naively, I assumed this meant she had been given some form of a mild sedative.
That day was Sunday, and she had to stay until at least Monday for me to talk with the doctor. (Remember, small town hospital with non-emergent condition). Monday morning I was again informed that she had been given something to help her sleep due to agitation.
It wasn't until meeting with the doctor that the "H" word came out. He was telling me that he wanted her in for another day, and I had just queried if he thought she'd be alright. "Sure," he said, "we'll just give her more Haldol."
Cue screeching record player here.
I'm a masters level LSW. That may not mean a lot in practically in my life right now. What I'm grateful it does mean, however, is that I have had a Master's level psychopathology course. Otherwise I may have done what other children of elderly patients with dementia probably due all the time- ignorantly assume that a doctor would not give their loved one something dangerous. As it was, while I couldn't be positively certain, something was tickling my brain- a memory of Haldol being not a mild sedative but an anti-psychotic, and not a particularly nice one at that.
Cue frantic phone call to internet connected sister here.
From a quick web search, she was able to tell me that the NIH website had a box prominently displayed at the top warning that Haldol, or Haloperidol as it is more properly termed, is linked to an increased risk of death in elderly patients with dementia. What is more, the FDA has not approved its use in this population. This was enough for me to go out to the nurses' station and speaking with the doctor.
"Excuse me, I thought you were giving my mom an sleeping pill, not an antipsychotic."
His response basically involved the belief that, while there was a chance that it could make the dementia worse, it was necessary when she was out of control and not responding to the Atavan.
Cue screeching record number two.
Wait just a second- you gave my mother Atavan and Haldol both?
Just to clarify- you gave my mother who, while thank God the dementia is mild, is obviously confused, two psychotropic drugs, one of which is a powerful antipsychotic, and didn't think it was worth notifying her caregiver?
When I came home, I researched the drug more carefully in my alma matter's online database of peer reviewed scholarly articles.
Here's an example of what I found:
However, remember when I told the nurse that she could call me should mom become agitated? They never did that prior to using the drugs. They never did that until I told them not to give her that drug again without calling me first, that I would come and sit with her.
Which is what I did the next night. I came, and slept in a chair next to her bed. She was absolutely fine with me there. As a bonus I was able to receive the indulgent little pleasure of having her doctor informed that she was fine with me around.
I'm not only sharing this story because the telling is cathartic. I'm telling it because I want people to be informed about this subject. One of the nurses informed me, when I left that evening (and prior to my being called back in) that they would not give her Haldol per my wishes but it "was a good drug". With medical professionals who share this view, how often does the use of this drug go under the radar of families and caregivers who do not know about the dangers? Were I not a social worker, I would not have even thought to question it. Certainly, my mom was not capable of fully comprehending the implications of what she was being given. Now the one or two doses she was given did not hurt her in reality. What, however, if she had been in the hospital for a month as an elderly aunt recently was? Even more disturbing is the thought of all the nursing home patients and hospice residents who are given this drug regularly without the full comprehension of caregivers who trust the wisdom of medical professionals.
I've learned through my caregiving experience many valuable lessons. One key lesson is this: question medicine around dementia.
Also, thank God for psychopathology.
This winter, my mom went to the hospital. We live in a rural area, the sort of town where road apple bingo used to be an annual game at the town festival, and both responding emt's knew us personally from years of acquaintance. There are only two hospitals in our 800 square mile plus county, and we had decided long ago that one did not deal with dementia well. Balking at asking the ambulance to drive us half an hour one direction or forty five minutes the other (where mom's primary care physician is), I opted to request that we be taken to the other county hospital. I knew very little about it, only that were her condition serious we could insist she be transferred somewhere bigger.
I breathed a sigh of relief and a prayer of thanks upon discovering that the night er nurse on duty was a trauma nurse- apparently a very rare find in small town life. This man was wonderful, both in medical knowledge and in bedside manner. A patient with even mild dementia can be trying, as evidenced once by a doctor who responded to mom's repeated questions by finally snapping at her in raised tones. (Prompting the change to a geriatrician forty-five minutes away.) This nurse kept his patience and good humor admirably, as did the doctor on call. In fact, our experience at the hospital was overall quite good- except for one glaring blight upon the experience. Without my permission, they gave my mother Haldol.
At check-in, I informed the nurse that if mom became agitated she could call either myself or my sister. When I returned the next morning, I was informed that she had become agitated, but that they had given her something to help her sleep. Naively, I assumed this meant she had been given some form of a mild sedative.
That day was Sunday, and she had to stay until at least Monday for me to talk with the doctor. (Remember, small town hospital with non-emergent condition). Monday morning I was again informed that she had been given something to help her sleep due to agitation.
It wasn't until meeting with the doctor that the "H" word came out. He was telling me that he wanted her in for another day, and I had just queried if he thought she'd be alright. "Sure," he said, "we'll just give her more Haldol."
Cue screeching record player here.
I'm a masters level LSW. That may not mean a lot in practically in my life right now. What I'm grateful it does mean, however, is that I have had a Master's level psychopathology course. Otherwise I may have done what other children of elderly patients with dementia probably due all the time- ignorantly assume that a doctor would not give their loved one something dangerous. As it was, while I couldn't be positively certain, something was tickling my brain- a memory of Haldol being not a mild sedative but an anti-psychotic, and not a particularly nice one at that.
Cue frantic phone call to internet connected sister here.
From a quick web search, she was able to tell me that the NIH website had a box prominently displayed at the top warning that Haldol, or Haloperidol as it is more properly termed, is linked to an increased risk of death in elderly patients with dementia. What is more, the FDA has not approved its use in this population. This was enough for me to go out to the nurses' station and speaking with the doctor.
"Excuse me, I thought you were giving my mom an sleeping pill, not an antipsychotic."
His response basically involved the belief that, while there was a chance that it could make the dementia worse, it was necessary when she was out of control and not responding to the Atavan.
Cue screeching record number two.
Wait just a second- you gave my mother Atavan and Haldol both?
Just to clarify- you gave my mother who, while thank God the dementia is mild, is obviously confused, two psychotropic drugs, one of which is a powerful antipsychotic, and didn't think it was worth notifying her caregiver?
When I came home, I researched the drug more carefully in my alma matter's online database of peer reviewed scholarly articles.
Here's an example of what I found:
- One study found a 26% increased risk of death in nursing home residents with non-Alzheimer's dementia receiving conventional antipsychotics versus those receiving atypical antipsychotics. The increased mortality was evident within 8-10 days and lasted through the 6 months of the study. Among conventional antipsychotics, Haloperidol accounted for 45% of prescriptions. (Liperoti, R., Onder G., Landi, F., et al: J Clin Psychiatry: 2009)
- "Pharmocologic agents are minimally, if at all, effective in managing the neuropsychiatric symptoms of dementia." Of these, the atypical antipsychotics are the most effective, though Haloperidol may be slightly useful for reducing aggression. (Sink, KM, Holden, KF, Yaffe, K., JAMA: 2005)
- ".....despite there being no FDA approved indication for antipsychotics in dementia, and in addition to an FDA-issued black box warning about the risk of mortality, antipsychotic medications are still being used to treat the behavioral disturbances of dementia." Rebecca C. Rossom and colleagues found cohorts taking Risperdal, Zyprexa, and Haloperidol experienced significant increased mortality within the first 30 days of use, though the risk appeared to drop off after thirty days.
- The FDA first issued a black box warning for atypical antipsychotics in 2005; it was expanded in 2008 to conventional antipsychotics. Even low doses, i.e. 1 mg of Haldol did not mitigate a greater risk, though increased doses did increase risk. (Rossom RC, Rector TS, Lederle FA, Dysken MW, J Am Geriatr Soc: 2010)
- "In patients with dementia, Haldol reduces aggression but does not reduce agitation and increases some adverse effects." (Lonergan E, Luxenberg J, Colford J. Haloperidol for agitation in dementia. 2001)
However, remember when I told the nurse that she could call me should mom become agitated? They never did that prior to using the drugs. They never did that until I told them not to give her that drug again without calling me first, that I would come and sit with her.
Which is what I did the next night. I came, and slept in a chair next to her bed. She was absolutely fine with me there. As a bonus I was able to receive the indulgent little pleasure of having her doctor informed that she was fine with me around.
I'm not only sharing this story because the telling is cathartic. I'm telling it because I want people to be informed about this subject. One of the nurses informed me, when I left that evening (and prior to my being called back in) that they would not give her Haldol per my wishes but it "was a good drug". With medical professionals who share this view, how often does the use of this drug go under the radar of families and caregivers who do not know about the dangers? Were I not a social worker, I would not have even thought to question it. Certainly, my mom was not capable of fully comprehending the implications of what she was being given. Now the one or two doses she was given did not hurt her in reality. What, however, if she had been in the hospital for a month as an elderly aunt recently was? Even more disturbing is the thought of all the nursing home patients and hospice residents who are given this drug regularly without the full comprehension of caregivers who trust the wisdom of medical professionals.
I've learned through my caregiving experience many valuable lessons. One key lesson is this: question medicine around dementia.
Also, thank God for psychopathology.
Friday, August 12, 2011
content
There have been various conversations this day in my life regarding contentedness. Which is slightly ironic, as my "one-word" for this year is "content".
The one-word challenge is a product of K-Love. Not originally, of course but that is where i heard it. The concept is to pick one-word as a goal for the next year. It is an area in your life you want to strive toward. After some thought and probably too little prayer, I chose content.
I heard a sermon some time back which spoke about Michael the daughter of Saul. The part of the story i'd never considered in the manner the preacher did, was the fact that Michael's largest problem was that she was not content. That really resonated with me.
Now i'm not going to say i'm perfectly content with my life even now. I remember driving to work one morning, however, and praying (and whining) that i didn't have a man. i wanted a guy in my life to do guy things. Suddenly, it struck me in that manner that truth sometimes does- insistent and clear.
i don't need a human man; i have God. He is all i need.
In addition to that, in His mercy, He gave me my brother, who lives with me currently.
Now this isn't to say that i never want to get married. If it's God's will to bring me someone, then that will be nice. However, i'm coming a long way in being content whether He does or not. God will always give you what you need. i may not have a husband, but i have what i need from God without one.
Tonight i was talking with someone who was telling me that she wanted a husband, and more children and she would be happy. The response i gave her is that she needed to try and become happy as she is. We need to become happy in God, He is the only true source of happiness which will never go away. If we always hang our happiness on "what if", then there is a chance we will not be satisfied. We will not be content.
Again, this is not something i'm perfect at. With God's great grace, however, i'm on the trail, or have at least come down it.
Please be patient with me; God's not finished with me yet.
Thank God He's not!!
Not the momma, Not the momma......
(Please tell me someone else remembers Dinosaurs, and finds that headline funny.)
Obligatory Introduction:
I have tried, at various points in my life, to start blogs- but they tend to develop into personal accounts of my life read only by very few of my closest friends.
Lately however, I've been spending more time focusing on the blog-o-sphere. This has led me to two key discoveries:
1.) I would kind of like to create a blog that people actually read (and maybe, just maybe, turn it into a form of income).
and
2.) There are tons of great "mommy blogs", and some high quality "singles blogs", but I've really been yearning of late for a blog about what I've come to call the "in-betweens." That is, the single, childless thirty something who, for one reason or another, still wants to write about the effectiveness of vinegar in cleaning or the height of baby-wearing fashion.
So I'm going to create one.
I'm a social worker. I'm a grant writer/fundraiser. I'm a certified secondary English instructor. I used to "work" for an adoption agency. Consider yourself warned that I have a keen interest in prenatal and parenting topics, despite my childless status. I'm a caregiver. I'm a science fiction geek. I'm a Christian; I like to classify myself as a liberal conservative Baptist. I'm a caregiver. I'm an aspiring writer (who isn't). I am not a hippie, but I have definite hippie tendencies.
Anything above is fair game, topic wise. A lot of topics not-above are fair game as well. If you decide to join me on the trail through this phase of my life, you're welcome.
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)