Red Nose

A Hard Day; A Good Night

It's been a tough day, but it hasn't been all bad.

I finished a big project today. I've been working on it for months, and at last it is done. It was fraught with potholes, all of them seeming to come toward the very end. But with a little help from my saint of a coworker, everything worked out.

Then I went to a physical therapy evaluation for my sore as shit shoulder and got a regimen of exercises to do to stretch out the muscle and unkink the joint. That was good, especially the ice and electrical stimulation at the end.

Just as I was leaving the PT office, my cell phone rang.

Mom has had a setback. Her blood oxygen was low; she was weak and lethargic. At lunch she gagged up some dark, tarry stuff. Could I come out? I said I had to get back to work, but would come as soon as I could. My older sister was already there on her regular visit, so Mom was not alone. I got on the subway and headed back to work.

My phone rang again. Mom's blood pressure was dropping; her vital signs were weakening. She had signs of internal bleeding. I really should come.

Well, of course I did. I got off the train at the next stop and caught the next train heading the other way. I called a coworker and had her shut down and lock up my computer. I called my older sister and she picked me up at the metro station.

Well, of course I did. We all did.

And, as she has so many times, Mom felt better. She's still weak, to be sure, and still on oxygen, but her color improved while we were there, she talked a little bit, and she seemed to be breathing easy.

So once again, we gather and once again we scatter. My sister dropped me off at metro and I went to the Caps game. Joe joined me there later, and I was able to forget my tough day and cheer my boys to victory over the Carolina Hurricanes.

Thanks, guys, I needed that.

Ten Things About Thanksgiving

Happy Day After Thanksgiving! Here are ten things about our holiday.

1. The holiday got off to a fine start Wednesday night as my Caps beat the Sabres 2-0. Ovie and Fehrsie scored and Varly stopped every shot he faced. Way to go, boys!

2. We spent much of the day in our pajamas.

3. We broke with tradition. Rather than watching Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade, we watched the Fred and Ginger marathon on TCM. You can't go wrong with Fred and Ginger! Flying Down to Rio is pretty saucy for its time, what with half-nekkid girls perched on airplane wings getting their tops blown hither and yon. 

4. I cooked nothing. No, I tell a lie. I heated up some soup and made some Bisquick biscuits for lunch.

5. I visited Mom for a little while. When I arrived she was struggling to drink some ice tea -- she didn't have a straw, so most of the tea was on her bib and the bed. I helped her out with that and alerted the staff, who cleaned her up. She was pretty sleepy the whole time, but we had a good visit.

6. Joe and I went to Annapolis to my cousin's place for dinner, and boy what a dinner it was! My cousin's wife is a fabulous cook. Roast turkey, dressing, mashed potatoes, sweet and sour carrots, sauerkraut, roasted brussels sprouts, rolls and butter, gravy, cranberry relish, pumpkin pie, wine, and coffee. I'm probably forgetting something, but it was a stellar feast for sure.

7. Roasted brussels sprouts are delicious! Normally I am not a brussels sprouts kind of gal, but these were good -- roasted with cloves of garlic, an asian-y sauce, and a bit of olive oil. I will have to get the recipe. (Of course, having the recipe is no guarantee that I will fix them.)

8. SonnyeBoy had dinner with his girlfriend's family. She is a lovely girl, so I am okay with this. Besides, I'll see him this weekend.

9. By the time we got home, the Fred and Ginger marathon was over, but the Pawn Stars marathon was on. Woo!

10. It's been cloudy and cold and misty for several days, including Thanksgiving, but somehow that didn't put a damper (sorry) on the day. 

Now I'm getting ready to head to the beach with my sister and brother-in-law, where we will winterize and close up the house. I'm looking forward to $2.00 electric bills!

The Days Pass

It is over 70 degrees here, and sunny -- it's almost like Mother Nature is apologizing for drenching us last week. As soon as I finish this post I'm going to sit outside and enjoy it.

I went to visit Mom yesterday. I haven't written much about her lately because there hasn't been much to write. Everyone has been so kind to all of us, especially when we thought she was leaving us in September.

But once again, she fooled us all.

She is still extremely weak, as fragile as a brown fall leaf, yet she hangs in and hangs on. She gets dreams and reality increasingly confused, and now a new wrinkle has appeared.

She didn't know me at first.

Then again, I woke her up. It was mid-morning when I arrived and she was dressed, propped in a wheelchair in the hallway near the dining room. She looked at me and said, "Where's your mom?"

I said, "You're my mom!"

She looked puzzled; my heart sank. I sat down in front of her and asked if she knew who I was.

She thought a moment, then said, "Yes, you're... Mary."

I breathed again, but then she asked, "Where's Ruth?"

Ruth is her sister, who died in May of 2005.

I quickly said, "In heaven" and changed the subject. She was cold, so I put my jacket around her shoulders. She wondered where the front door was (probably planning an escape), so I wheeled her downstairs and showed her. We visited with the cat ("Ugly thing," opined Mom) and headed back upstairs to her room.

"I'm just waiting for Ruth," she said again.

I couldn't let it go this time. I held her hands and looked into her eyes.

"Mom, Ruth died four years ago, remember?"

And she remembered, and she looked so sad. So I picked up a Traditional Home magazine and we looked at the beautiful designer rooms and she perked up and the sadness dissipated.

In her dreams, my Aunt Ruth visits. So does my Pop. She spends the night in other homes, not in the nursing home on the air bed designed to prevent bed sores. Then she wakes up, they dress her and feed her and change her and sit her up in the wheelchair.

I am going to sit outside now, and talk to the cats, and then I might try to make some butterscotch. The recipe in the Joy of Cooking doesn't look too daunting. And then I must pack, because I fly to Dallas in the morning -- a business trip.

And the days pass.

What's Happening?

Hi!

I know, I know; it's been a while. Let's get caught up, shall we?

Mom

Mom continues to hold her own. This woman is amazing. She can sit in a wheelchair for a couple hours a day and carry on a conversation, but just when you think she might beat back death once again, the conversation takes a turn. I visited her yesterday and she told me she wanted to host Thanksgiving this year.

Yeah.

I decided to play along, not wanting to upset her by pointing out that it might be difficult to have eight people over for a big turkey dinner when you're pretty much bedridden. Instead, we planned out the meal. She had a blast, so I think I did the right thing there.

Hockey

My Capitals finally snapped their four-game losing streak by beating the San Jose Sharks 4-1! Then they beat the Nashville Predators in the shootout 3-2! My adopted son Alex Ovechkin is leading the league in goals and points. He's a beast, I tell you, a beast. And cute, in a Russian kind of way.

 

(Okay, I cheated. This shot is from the HD Jumbotron. Still!)

Lunch

I love a good Italian joint, so when the lovely and talented Deb suggested a nice place near both of us, I jumped at the chance. It had been way too long between lunch dates for Deb and me, so we really made the most of it. Good food, good friend, good visit!

Stuff on eBay

I'm cleaning out my jewelry box! If you're in the market for some nice pieces, check out my eBay auctions. I'll be putting more things up as the days go by and I dig deeper through my unused and lonely baubles, so check back often.

Three Hours In The Stationhouse

I visited Mom tonight. At one point she said, "Did I tell you what happened to me?"

I allowed as how no, she hadn't; what happened?

"They came and got me and put me on a stretcher, and they took me to the stationhouse. I was there for three solid hours! I didn't know what to do; I was afraid to complain! Finally they came and got me and took me back to that place where I was."

Oh my.

"Mom, do you think it might have been a dream?"

"No, it wasn't a dream. It was real. I was there for three hours, from six o'clock to nine o'clock!"

Wow.

"Well, what do you mean, a stationhouse? Like a railroad station?"

"Sort of. It was a round room. And there were other people there."

Hmm.

"Was it a roundhouse? Like where they turn the train engines around?"

"Yes! Three hours! They just left me there!"

Gentle, be gentle, be gentle.

"Were you scared? It sounds scary."

"I was terribly scared! I didn't know what to do."

Hold her hand.

"Shall I talk to the staff? I can tell them not to take you anywhere else if you want me to."

"Oh no, don't do that. I don't want to make them mad."

Breathe, breathe.

"Did you know the other people?"

"I knew some of them. They were from that other place. I tried to call everybody! I called Annamarie, but she wasn't home."

Smooth her hair. Touch her face.

"You know, dreams can seem very real sometimes. I think you might have been dreaming."

"Well... But three solid hours!"

I may have convinced her it was a dream. Then again, who knows? Dreams are part of her reality now. Stephen King writes about places where reality is thin; where the difference between dreams and not-dreams fades. Who's to say that she wasn't in the stationhouse, waiting from six 'til nine? It was as real to her as the bed she lies in.

I guess it's all part of the journey.

Roller Coaster

The emotional roller coaster continues to operate at high speed.

Wednesday was bad. I met with the social worker at the nursing home and signed the DNR orders for Mom. Did you know that there are two main types of Do Not Resusitate orders? The first, DNR-A, specifies maximum effort to prevent cardiac arrest, but no CPR should arrest occur. The second, DNR-B, specifies minimal effort to prevent cardiac arrest, and no CPR should arrest occur.

I chose B. I also specified comfort care, no antibiotics, no intravenous nutrition, no respiratory intervention. I felt like a one-woman death panel.

Thursday was awful, although it actually started Wednesday night when we found out, quite by chance, that our checking account was overdrawn by $2400. Yes, twenty-four hundred dollars. It turns out that a check I had deposited several days ago bounced! So on Thursday I had to deal with that, and I couldn't deal with until after a 90-minute meeting first thing in the morning.

I was, to put it mildly, a little stressed. It evidently showed, because at least four people asked me if I was all right. The last person to ask if I was all right was in the meeting, just as it was getting started. When she asked, I said, "No!" and promptly starting tearing up, so I left the conference room and found my way to a relatively private nook and pulled myself together. I went back in and made it through the rest of the meeting, then called the business that had written the rubber check.

They were shocked -- shocked! -- to find that the check had bounced and promised to take care of it right away. I started feeling a little bit better.

And then my older sister called to tell me that it looked like Mom was fading fast. So I grabbed everything, called Joe, and beat feet out to the nursing home. When we got there Mom was actually awake. She even talked, although it was more like repeating what we said. She ate a few bites of soup. Mostly, though, she slept.

I took Friday off -- I really didn't want to chance a repeat of the Thursday tear-fest. We got out to the nursing home shortly after lunch. Amazingly, Mom seemed more with it. She talked more (though it wasn't really conversation). She smiled. She called me a dumbass and said I didn't know my ass from a hole in the ground. (Gee, thanks Ma!) She had quite a few visitors. She ate a whole bowl of soup and drank some milk.

The bank account situation got resolved too, so that was a huge load off my mind.

In the evening a bunch of us went over to the assisted living home and moved out more of Mom's furniture. Joe and I took the sofa. We ate a late dinner, all together, and talked a lot. It always feels so much better when we all talk. We get each other; we can say what we're really feeling and it's okay. Somehow we always manage to laugh.

Saturday Joe and I went to the Capitals Convention and had a ball. I put all my worries on hold and just had fun. I got some great autographs, went to a couple of interesting panels, and ran into some old pals. In the middle of this, my older sister called to report that Mom was really much better! She had been out of bed, in the wheelchair, talking coherently, and ate some lunch in the dining room. A miracle!

Today we went to the Caps game, a preseason tussle with the Rangers. The game was great -- the Caps won 4-3. Then Joe took me on my own private tour of the new Sant Ocean Hall at the Smithsonian Museum of Natural History. (He's working in the hall as a docent.) Then we checked out the dinosaurs and the gems and minerals (Hello, Hope Diamond!).

Tired but happy, we got on the subway. Halfway home, my younger sister called. Mom may have been great yesterday, but today she took a real turn for the worse. She spiked a fever, she was terribly lethargic, and she didn't eat or drink. Off we went to the nursing home. She was sleeping, but it was a deep, deep sleep. We couldn't wake her. After standing around for awhile, we all agreed to head home.

So we have fun. We keep life going. And we wait.

Her Sense of Humor

I went through Mom's address book today to gather phone numbers of people we need to call, and I found a slip of paper with three quotes written on it in Mom's handwriting. The writing is pretty strong, so she must have done it some time ago. Mom always kept little things like this tucked away in her purse or address book or notepad; she had "Dave Berry" jotted in the upper-right corner, so I'm assuming that Dave Barry originated them.

Men are like a fine wine. They start out as grapes and its up to women to stomp the crap out of them until they turn into something acceptable to have dinner with!

Never be afraid to try something new. Remember a lone amateur built the Ark. A large group of professionals built the Titanic!

There is a very fine line between "hobby" and "mental illness."

Thanks for the laugh, Momma.

So It Goes

I am very tired. It has been a whirlwind couple of days.

Mom is slipping. The antibiotic has not stopped the renal failure; the Procrit has not helped her blood count. Both have been discontinued.

We have moved her to the nursing home unit of the nursing home; we are meeting with the hospice nurse on Sunday. It happened so suddenly! Two days ago she was a little better; yesterday she fell off the cliff. She was convinced that the black and blue bruises on her shins and wrists were from beatings and torture by the nurses, who were trying to force feed her. She fought back, trying to scratch and hit those poor women, those good souls who only want to care for her.

So the doctor was called, the room was saved, she was moved, paperwork was completed. By the time we left, she was in bed, drifting in and out, occasionally asking why she was there. I couldn't bring myself to say "You've started dying", so I just said she was ill and needed more care. I'm not convinced that she believed me. I think, deep down in her heart, she knows everything.

This weekend we'll clear out her room at the Assisted Living home, bring her some more clothes, and surround her with pictures and a few little treasures.

At one point, while the Admissions Director was talking to her, Mom said, "A 98-year old woman has no business prancing around downtown!"

Aw heck, Mom, you go right ahead and prance.

Let Us Move On To Happier Things

Mom is better. Not great, but better. She is still very weak, unable to take a step without help, unable to hold a fork or a spoon without wobbling. We are wrestling with the next steps.

But she is better, and I thank you all for your kind words. I hold you in my heart.

I have had enough of worry for now. Let us move on to happier things. 

Like hockey! 

The preseason begins in less than two weeks; the home opener shortly after that. For those of you who do not know the rules, here is a brief explanation of some of the common penalties from the great hockey movie of the 70s, Slapshot.

Who Knows Where The Spirit Goes?

My Mom's been sick with a UTI since Wednesday. Her blood count is very low and her BUN and Creatinine are elevated. Everything points to the beginning of renal failure. When really old people get UTIs, the infection can knock them for a loop. In addition to being very weak physically, Mom's also been foggy and confused.

Joe and I went to her assisted living home yesterday afternoon; she was in bed and passed out when I got there. It was 3:30. I woke her up to tell her I was there. She recognized me, but she was really out of it and somewhat confused. The aide came in and told me that the nurse wanted to talk to me.

That's a bad sign right there, isn't it?

The upshot of the conversation was that she was now on an antibiotic for the UTI and had received a Procrit treatment for the low blood count. (Procrit is insanely expensive: $1000 per shot. Yes, that's one thousand dollars. I am amazed her insurance approved it.) The doctor said that if she didn't improve a lot, and improve a lot quickly, that perhaps it would be time to consider hospice.

I ended up spending the night, sleeping on the sofa, because... well, because. The nurse suggested that perhaps we should hire a private duty nurse, but there is no money for private duty nurses. My unspoken thought was "I'm sorry, but is this not your job?" I knew I didn't have to stay, but... well, if something had happened and I had gotten The Phone Call, I would have... had to go into therapy.

Anyway.

The night was weird. I did sleep, but fitfully, because Mom chattered away in her sleep all night long. At first, it was just soft gibberish. Then, very clearly, she said, "Look at this apartment! So many rooms!"

Interesting.

Then she started calling for my uncle and my gramma, both of whom have been dead for years.

"Charles! Charles! Mother? Charles! Charles! Charles! Charles!" clear as a bell. Then she drifted off again.

Later -- I have no idea how much later -- she started hollering for my sister, then my brother. She called and called, loudly, sometimes forcefully, sometimes angrily. She called them as if she were calling them from playing, with a singsong tone. She called them as if she were going to scold them, demanding they show up right now.

Each episode lasted about 15 minutes, or so it seemed to me, as I lay on the sofa in the darkest part of the night, when there is no time, just darkness, just calling. My gramma, my uncle, my sister, my brother.

She seemed a little better this morning, slightly stronger, a little more with it. She ate an egg and a couple pieces of bacon. The aide gave her a sponge bath and dressed her in clean clothes and sat her in the chair. She slept away the day, though, only rousing for lunch or when the nurse came in to give her pill or take her blood pressure.

Then, just before I left, she asked me, "How does that place we were last night correspond to the building?"

I said, "Mom, we were right here all night. You were in bed by 6:30."

"Oh no, we weren't. What was that place where we were?"

What indeed? What is that place that your spirit goes, when you're on the edge of life? Is it just brain chemicals and BUN and low blood count, or is it something else, something you don't see or hear or know until you experience it for yourself? An apartment with so many rooms, where you see your mother and your brother and you call for them -- and then you call for your children, your living children, because it's not quite time to go there.

It's not quite time.