Still Waiting

Kayla and Corey spent Thursday night at the hospital with mom.  And on Friday morning all of her children surrounded her and enjoyed conversation – especially when mom would laugh at just the right moment as though she was laughing at our jokes, but sometimes it just felt like she was really listening to someone outside of our presence.

Corey asked mom if she had a favorite hymn.  She responded that it was a secret. She must have been conversing with someone on the other side.  Perhaps a suggestion had been made: “They are planning your funeral.  Can you believe it?  We should just make your pulse count go higher.  You outlive the two weeks you’ve been given.  We’ll show them”

Mom was laughing. It would make for a great final memory.  Her pulse went up. She spends most of the day just sleeping.  We can get her to drink sometimes but she won’t eat anything.  Hospice designed for making loved ones as comfortable as possible.  She was not comfortable wearing the oxygen tube and so we had it removed. She looks quite peaceful when she’s sleeping. 

Some of our conversation went a bit like this (though mine and Corey’s words are actual, the others are imagined)

Me:       So how long are you staying

Corey:    I can stay indefinitely

Angel:    Did you hear that?

Mom:     Coery is such a good son.

Angel:     He said “indefinitely” Do you want to test him?

Mom (smiling): That would be kind funny.

Her pulse went up and they have moved her back to Alpine Ridge where she will spend her final days. It almost felt like a cruel joke - though a joke she would have never gone along with, as she has never been one to toy with people’s emotions.  It’s highly probably that Joh may have to return to Vegas before mom passes on.

It would not be a very nice thing if Corey stayed for thirty days or so and return to Las Vegas and then return for the funeral. Mom wanted to return to Alpine Ridge before she returns to dad.  I will take Jenna to Alpine Ridge this morning.

Waiting

Before Sunday

Mom was laughing,

she was walking

and dressing herself.

She was singing

on Thursday as Harold

accompanied on guitar.

Sometime between four and six

on Sunday morning

she got out of her chair. 

We don’t know why. 

She may have been headed

toward the bathroom. 

Or perhaps she could feel the

pain of a mild heart attack.

She was checked on at four. 

She was sleeping peacefully

in her chair.  But when

she was checked in on at six,

she was found on the floor. 

Her clothes were wet

with urine and perspiration.

She was loaded into

an ambulance and rushed

to the hospital.  Her legs

were badly swollen. 

She was diagnosed with

rhabdomyolysis  . 

The infection spread into

her legs and

kidneys and heart

probably.

She’d been hooked up

to machines and

needles and

was given cat scans,

an MRI,

a pick line and

an emergency surgery

on her legs. 

Her children felt so

helpless as I imagine

the doctors did too. 

Everybody did his or her job

best to his or her ability. 

We learned that her

kidneys had failed and that

she would need dialysis

and at least one of her legs

would have to be amputated.

On Wednesday two children stayed

the night at the hospital

so that she wouldn’t be alone.

On Thursday

we spent the day waiting –

waiting for the doctors to come,

waiting for Corey to arrive,

waiting to be moved

to a bigger room.

Mom had lots of visitors. 

A Lot. There was

the Relief Society Presidency,

Ross and Fern,

Peggy and George,

the bishop

and Harold.

Hunched over Harold.  

Sharply dressed –

wanting to spend time

with his lady friend.

Sunny and Fern called him

an angel.  And he is. 

Jenna made a card for Harold

who has been beside himself

since he learned

that the ambulance

had taken mom away.

She might never return

to the assisted living

facility.  She may die

at the hospital.

The doctor came and

explained about hospice. 

Mom was moved

to a bigger room. 

Corey arrived

and is spending the night

with her

at the hospital.

Now we are waiting

for dad to escort mom home. 

It’s time already. 

It is somewhat freaky

how quickly it happened. 

A week ago she was active. 

Now she is in bed. 

And we’re still waiting. 

                                                                                     kfralc

Labor Day Weekend Roller Coaster

We had planned on attending the Walden Family Reunion on Labor Day weekend.  Or at least I was.  Soon it was narrowed down to only Biff, Jenna and I as Roland said he would be working and although Randy had made arrangements to get time off from his previous job, he recently started another job which he would be working sometime during Labor Day weekend (though I think he could have gone to part of the reunion but chose not to I guess)

So Friday Jenna gets in the car with this years fundraiser for the school.  $30 for a coupon book – or the idea of a coupon book with an actual card that you will use instead of the coupons?  It looks like a catalog of jumbled ideas thrown together and is actually harder to go through than sorting out the thoughts in my head (and that is saying A LOT!) 

Jenna gets upset about every fundraiser – not for the same reasons that I get upset – never mind that no one we know has any money and that every other school is having a fundraiser as well.  No one should feel a sense of pressure – though Jenna seems to more with every passing year. 

I don’t even know what the incentive is for “selling” the merchandise – usually something not that great – though there was the drawing for an IPod that one year – and she was the winner.  I told her that it is highly doubtful that she will win every year.

And I don’t try to discourage her from going out and selling if that’s truly what she wants to do.  But she needs to take daddy who is a salesman by nature and who can help her understand the rejection.  Our neighborhood is definitely NOT the area to promote fund raisers.  Half the people I know are either on welfare or barely scraping by.  The other half don’t have time to look through a cluttered catalog to see if a $30 investment is really worth the gamble – not to mention just cannot afford each charity associated with the 8-12 schools that the neighborhood children attend.

So then Jenna starts feeling bad because “nobody will buy” even though I have been upfront with her about why they don’t.  But a fund raiser shouldn’t make anyone feel put out, or ornery or guilty or any of that.  A child should not have to feel the frustration or pain of rejection or look at the fund raiser as a serious assignment.  Life is not a contest of earning points for causes that, even though you might believe in them, make the individual who is really trying, feel worthless because he or she doesn’t feel like they’ve been given a fair shake at getting the prizes (wow.  That sounds like an analogy for obedience to commandments and having to stay on the outside of the temple instead of getting to see your loved ones marry due to choices made even at the Lord’s will or age – something that can’t be controlled.  Ah – but let’s save that for another post.  Perhaps Corey may read this and run with it.  I hope so.  I love reading his blog for the most part.  His posts are so eloquently written)

The bishop had gone out of town the two weeks prior, giving Roland the opportunity of playing bishop for the last two Sundays.  He received three phone calls about three different deaths – two would hold funerals in our ward building.

On Friday night Roland and I went to the temple and Parker’s mom and dad watched Jenna.  Turns out Roland did not work on the last day of August as he had anticipated. He conducted the second of the two funerals and I watched Parker and Jenna – apparently not with a close enough eye.

On Saturday morning we met Parker and his dad at the garden. That evening I packed up the two kids and went over to the trailer park to meet some friends for their monthly game of “Bingo”.  Roland went with us once.  For the most part he doesn’t seem to enjoy it.  And he has been quite tired for the most part.  Work and work and no play.  No happy balance.

 Parker’s dad picked him up before we had even started the first game.  Oh, too bad. He was perturbed that he wouldn’t have more time with Jenna.  Gee, I’m sorry Parker.  Usually nine hours is too long between friends of your age group.

There’s always a lot of laughs and fun with the neighbors on Bingo night.  Jenna was the first one to win a prize – a velvet art project for a 3-D castle.  Neither Roger nor Gloria wanted their prizes and pawned them off on me. Jenna and I always have to leave before the sun goes down so that I can see to drive home at night.

Sunday morning I turned my phone on – which is unusual.  I normally don’t have it on during the weekend.  Immediately after I received the signal to let me know that the phone was on and battery ready, Sunny called to see if I had heard about mom.  She’s back in the hospital.  It was on a Sunday at the beginning of this year. 

It was my week to give the lesson is Sunday School but felt inspired to call a substitute at the last minute (and I do last minute – like when Relief Society ended) and took Jenna out of primary and went to the hospital where Patrick was seated in a chair and mom was in bed looking bewildered.  As with the first time in January, she had no idea why she was there or how she arrived.

Jenna and I had been there for almost three hours.  We left after Patrick and Nate gave her a blessing.  Roland had just barely beaten us home. 

We were home for only a couple of hours before we left the house and headed toward where Randy and Carrie live.  They had invited us for dinner.  We were in charge of dessert.  We remembered to take the dessert, but we forgot to eat it.  

Carrie gave us some peach jam.  We forgot to take it home. 

Jenna and I will return to the hospital this morning.  She wants to give mom the velvet castle she made.

Two More Poems

Whenever the Wind Blows

When I fall asleep

I sleep quite hard

Whenever the wind blows

Slumber invites me

Into worlds beyond this one

When I fall asleep

My eyelids become heavy

My thoughts are put on hold

Whenever the wind blows

My husband can’t believe

How quickly I drift off
When I fall asleep

How the trees dance

And leaves often fall

Whenever the wind blows

There’s a calm cool breeze

That surrounds me but I miss it

When I fall asleep

Whenever the wind blows

                       

                                                                   

                                                            kfralc

Assisted Living

Harold

Bent over

Kissing

June

June

Kissing

Bent over

Harold

                                                            kfralc

  

I Know I'm Alive, For There is Much Pain

When we first moved into the ward, our ward had been assigned to clean the building the last four months during the year.  It was finally changed to every third month – which is what I thought should be done all along.  But who am I?

Before we left the house, I took something for my allergies, as I knew we’d be going to the garden, which would probably make my sneezing act out even more. Usually our family is there at least three or four Saturdays to assist.  When we arrived yesterday, I figured it was the Elder’s Quorum that was in charge, as there were doughnuts, juice and chocolate milk to reward the cleaners afterwards. 

Jenna handed me a vacuum cleaner and told me that “we” were going to vacuum. “I” started out with the Relief Society room and then worked my way to the nursery and then the primary room.  I didn’t have to get any of the rooms on the other side of the chapel as I was told somebody else took care of that.

The vacuum cleaner isn’t that heavy.  But I am out of shape. I felt like I was going to die.

After doughnuts, we made our way to the community garden.  The sun was beating down on us – though few seemed to notice.  I don’t understand how they could not notice.

We raked up many of the weeds that had developed over the last two weeks. They were short enough that I could actually tell them apart from the plants.  But after bending down in the hot sun, I felt like I was going to die.

Came home to change so that we could attend a baptism (Roland was conducting) it’s all I could do to stay awake.  When the baptism was over we went home.  I took a three-hour nap.

We still had our own garden.  Waited for the sun and Roland decided to start on another project.  We could have tackled that after I got up.  Still not done with “his” projects.  And I still feel like I’m going to die.

The World will Not End just because I Cannot Taste Cookies Anymore

Michelle can wear white and still look like a rail.  I can wear the darkest black and one can still see every cookie I have tasted throughout my life.

According to my mom (long before her dementia kicked in) my very first word was “Cookie” Even then I knew a good thing –though probably it was not the luscious chocolate chip that I prefer to bite in today – at that time it was probably a biter biscuit or some Gerber product that from an adult’s point of view seems rather flavorless.  And perhaps it was.

I was seven when Sesame Street first aired.  I suppose I still could have been an inpiration for Cookie Monster

During my lifetime I’ve encountered all kinds of cookies that bring pleasure to my pallet.  At first they did not show. I’ll admit I’ve never had the best eating habits.  For years many individuals thought I was anorexic or anemic because I was actually skinny for quite a long time. 

                                              my absolute favorite

ever taste girl scout Samoas?  They are SINFUL

I don’t think I ballooned out until my early to mid thirties.  And than it happened – just like Violet Bowregard  from Willy Wonka – when she put that gum in her mouth and plumped up in seconds (though I have never turned blue – but I’ve experienced being blue – not necessarily from the fat) nor have I been able to restore to my youthful skinny shape as oompa loompas squeezed the juice out of me (rarely have I had cookies with juice in them – in fact the closest I think I’ve gotten is applesauce – but not apple juice)

 The rest of my body doesn’t seem to be near as fond of cookies and other goodies as my pallet – especially with each passing year.

Shortly after I started my blog last year, I created this post about my lack of smell (which I think Jenna must have somehow inherited what I lost as she seems to have an overly sensitive nose) Sadly, I think my taste buds are disappearing as well (could it be all the saline that has leaked from my eyes have been a contributor?)

It hasn’t become so bad that I  no longer enjoy cookies.  But I think I’m headed there.  The sodas that I used to enjoy (which I really have tried to drink sparingly – as I know that soda is not good for any of us) taste rather dull – so really, what’s the point in drinking it now?  And that is a good thing.  

Perhaps not being able to taste anything will be a good thing.  For I will be able to do the diet thing.  I’ll be able to eat lima beans probably and they will be just as tasteless as anything else I put in my mouth.  I won’t force myself to eat so much because it taste so good and I just can’t help myself.  I’ll eat for survival and that’s it.  I’ll probably lose weight.  Perhaps I’ll even look anorexic again. 

Dilemma: Where do I start?

Today’s visit has been quite the interesting and somewhat traumatizing.  No easy way to explain it.  I have made mention of my great Aunt Gertrude in a couple of my posts – but I don’t know that I went into detail about the “great” part.

Aunt Trudy is the youngest of four children.  Three brothers: Harold, Earl and Ted.  My paternal grandfather is Earl.  He fathered three children, my dad, my Uncle Ross and my Aunt Alice.  Each child has four children – many of whom are close to Aunt Trudy and may have more knowledge of the intimate details of her life than I.

Harold had one son who in turn had four children.  It is through this line that Aunt Trudy would like to handle her affairs.  But I don’t know.  She was talking to me through medication – sounding so much more confused than mom ever has.

Uncle Ross and family had invited Aunt Trudy and Uncle Ted to an Easter Brunch.  It was during the Easter festivities when Aunt Trudy fell and was taken to the hospital.  Uncle Ross checked her in and she was treated for a hip injury and now needs rehab.  They need an answer now (well, a couple of hours ago is when the therapist said it was crucial to pick out a facility as they would like to move her there tomorrow.)

Aunt Trudy is in no position to make the decision herself as she is on very strong pain killers that seem to be removing more from her mind than her pain.  Mom, of course, has dementia and can’t even make decisions for herself – let alone somebody else.  And so I look through her list of choices and make a few suggestions but as I don’t know the pros or cons or the financial aspect of things or Aunt Trudy’s medical background  I’m certainly not in a position to make that kind of decision.

I know Uncle Ross’s phone number – but it escapes me as I start to dial the numbers.  I KNOW his number.  What is it?  I dial his daughter, Michelle, as hers is the only number I have programmed into my phone.  And she calls Uncle Ross and says that he and Uncle Ted will be there to visit at 5:00 today.  But that’s too late for the therapist.  She needs to find a rehab right now to make sure there’s space available.  I am at a loss.

As I’m talking to Michelle over the phone, Aunt Trudy is telling me to be sure to contact Harold’s family -   I can try (try being the operative word) to contact them when I get home.  I have to look them up first and see what options I have – perhaps facebook is not the best way, but dex is not bringing up the second cousin by her husband’s name.  I can’t seem to get a hold of her dad.  He may be a better source as he has had to go through all of this with his own mom.  But he is getting up there in years.  I don’t know if he is in the right frame of mind to relay all of the needed information.  But I don’t know that Uncle Ted is either.  But he probably does have a better handle on her health status than anyone.

Anyway, I just found it awkward, interesting, and terrifying at the same time to be a contact.  I added Ross and Michelle to the list and gave them the name of my second cousin whose number I don’t have. 

The therapist gave me the impression that she may be in rehab permanently and may never return to the house where she’s lived practically all of her life (if not all her life) just like mom.  Only her mind will be there when the drugs have worn off.  Wouldn’t it be great if we could move her and mom in together?  Down the road I mean – when rehab isn’t necessary but assisted living is. 

Poor Aunt Trudy.  I feel so bad. 

Getting Old Sucks Big Time

          There are some who age gracefully – some whose minds and bodies appear to be so much younger that many are surprised to learn that they are actually older than they appear.  And then there are those who seemed robbed of their minds and or bodies long before their prime and often give the illusion that they are much older.  And then there are those who don’t appear to be that old but their minds seem younger than their bodies – much younger.  How did Corey put it?  Elderly children.

  Leon Goodman described Alzheimer’s in this way:   Her life is being chomped away from present to past by a voracious PacMan which cannot be stopped. My mom does not have Alzheimer’s, but I think the comparison here is just as accurate.  Only it’s not so much from present to past as it is just a very different time frame.  A time frame real to her but in an imaginary zone from the average view.

          As we age there are many among us who lose strength that perhaps many of us have taken for granted.  For example, having the ability to stand up and move from the bed to the toilet without losing our balance or the cold that seems to last longer with each passing year because somewhere along the line our bodies have slowed down and don’t seem to have the same ability for fighting off infection.

          I’m only 50.  I think I will die young.  Sometimes it feels that way.  Some days when my head is clouded and I’m burdened with physical pain, I would just assume die.  When my body and spirit separate, I won’t have to experience the physical pain anymore.  But I'm told I’ll be taking my emotions with me.  Hope that umberellas are provided.

        On January 31st I wrote this post about my desire to ease into another routine – or attempting to rather.  I posted entirely too soon.  I have not made a routine for myself.  I have not put in any volunteer hours at either the cannery or the school.  I haven’t been to the temple.  Nor have I been out to see my mom.

          I’ve been nursing my cold and now Jenna.  She would rather be in school.  So would I.  I’d like to be able to sleep through the night again.  I would love to feel good again.  I would love for all of my household and other family and friends to all feel better and stay better.  I would love to get back on schedule – like I was when Jenna was in first grade.

          Actually, we are both feeling better.  But I am still in a fog.  Returned to the doctors for an ear flushing.  And there was a lot that came out.  But not all of it.  My hearing is exactly where it was two weeks ago.  I am so sick of being sick!