Red Nose

A Little Catharsis Never Hurt Anyone

Last weekend I saw quite a bit of Mom, particularly on Sunday when my older sister and I took her to lunch with my two cousins and their husbands. It was a nice lunch. My cousins were sociable and interesting, and Mom seemed to enjoy herself.

On the way home, though, she had another intestinal emergency and we made it to her room just in time. She continued to have problems for the next hour. At one point she looked so tiny and sad, sitting on her bed, that I sat down and put my arm around her shoulders. I thought she might break, but she leaned against me and sighed.

So that was that, or so I thought.

Then on Monday I went to the movies by myself. I chose Young @ Heart, a charming, poignant documentary about the Young @ Heart Chorus, a group of elders who love to sing. Their director, a precious darling boy of 53, selects the songs and leads the rehearsals. Their repertoire includes Coldplay, Sting, James Brown, Sonic Youth, The Rolling Stones... you get the idea.

And I cried and cried and cried and cried.

Oh, I laughed, too; these elders are a force to be reckoned with. I especially loved Fred Knittle, who has a rich baritone and a wicked sense of humor. He says he can sing high, too, depending on how loose his shorts are. Hah!

But I mostly cried, especially when the chorus sang at a prison and totally won over the inmates. Especially when the chorus lost two of its members one week before their show.

And I teared up, even as I laughed, when Dora and Lenny led the chorus in the Godfather of Soul's I Feel Good.

But I lost it, almost sobbed out loud, as I sat in the back row in the dark theater, when Fred sang Coldplay's Fix You.

I guess I needed that.

Mother's Day, Mostly

I had a friend many many years ago who fell in with some sort of odd cult that believed that the increase in earth disasters was a portent of the end of the world. She'd show us charts and graphs and data that proved it.

I wonder what she's thinking now. I mean, what the hell is happening? Cyclones in southeast Asia, earthquakes in China, fires in Florida, tornadoes in the midwest, monsoons in the mid-Atlantic -- Mother Nature is really out of control. My heart goes out to everyone who's been affected. I just had to deal with torrential rain and heavy flooding; I can't imagine being left with nothing, including clean water and food.

So. The dinner on Friday night with my sisters and brother went fine. We talked over everything and decided that we'd consult an elder attorney to see if we have any options other selling Mom's house. We also decided that my brother would be the spokesman because Mom actually listens to him. (Ah, the power of the penis!)

On Saturday we all convened at a restaurant that Mom likes. After eating and chatting, my brother brought it up and told Mom what we had decided. She admitted that selling her house would break her heart, but my brother was masterful. He explained, clearly but gently, that she really couldn't be by herself anymore, she was just too frail. It was our responsibility, he said, to make sure she had good care.

And, miracle of miracles, she agreed. I have a feeling she's still hanging on to the hope that somehow she'll be able to keep the house. We'll see what the lawyer says, but I have my doubts.

Mother's Day was lovely. Joe surprised me with a dozen lovely, pale pink roses -- what a guy! -- and SonnyeBoy checked in later with further tales of fun, including sighting a vanity license plate  that read "MLFHNTR*," which I got immediately. Evidently the little old lady who approves the plates did not.

We spent most of the day with Mom, just Joe and me this time. We borrowed a wheelchair from the nursing home, loaded it (and her) into the car, and tootled off to the mall. We had a very nice lunch. Then we rolled over to LL Bean, where Mom actually shopped from the comfort of the wheelchair. She exclaimed over the high prices while I showed her every pair of white pants in the store. We finally settled on a nice pair of capris, a gorgeous sweater in deep rose, and a pretty pink striped shirt for her Mother's Day present.

We got back to her place, put the new duds away, and bid her farewell. We got home just before the monsoon hit, which brings us back to earth disasters, and my feeling that I am really very, very lucky.

---

*MLFHNTR = MILF** Hunter.

---

**MILF = Mom I'd Like to Fuck. Such a compliment!

I Wish It Were Not This Way

I visited Mom last Saturday. Everything was going great -- lunch at the local Mexican joint, a drive through the local neighborhood so that she could ogle the azaleas and dogwoods, a toenail-painting session when we got back to her place -- and then she made me tell her how much money she had.

It all went downhill from there, especially when I broached the subject of selling her house so that she could stay where she is.

She panicked. And I understand her panic. She was an adult during the Great Depression; she knows about being poor. She doesn't want to give up the home she's lived in for the last 30 years. That small townhouse is independence and life; the assisted living apartment is the slow march toward death. She's already given up so much -- quilting and needlepoint, hosting bridge parties, driving her car, managing her finances. She relies on us or someone else for practically everything.

I tried to get her to see the house as simply an asset, a source of funds to enable her to live comfortably where she is. And she did, a little, but then she'd fly off and try to find a way, any way at all, to leave assisted living and move home. She would live at the beach. She could have one of the "girls" who helped her now move in. I could sell my house and quit my job and move in with her!

All pipe dreams. None of it will work, because regardless of the solution, she has to have the money to pay for it, and the only way to get the money is to sell her house. She doesn't qualify for Medicaid -- which doesn't pay for assisted living in any case -- because she doesn't need skilled nursing care. She can't get a county waivers because that program is full. Rock, meet hard place. Time to sell the house.

My brother and sisters and I are getting together at a local Italian restaurant this weekend to go over the details and make a plan. Then we'll go see Mom and talk to her about it. It's going to a stressful meeting, I fear. It's such an emotional issue, but we really must try to take the emotion out of it, stick to the facts, and get going on preparing the place for sale.

Easy to say. Hard to do. Oh well.

Pass the wine.

Breathing Easier

I stopped by the hospital tonight to check on Mom. She was sitting up in a chair, watching TV. As soon as I walked in and she saw me, she started giving me orders.

So I knew she feeling better.

"Throw that magazine away. It's from December and I don't need to read about damn Christmas."

"Find out where my socks are."

"Help me back into the bed."

Well, I found the socks and tossed the magazine, but I didn't help her back into bed. It was almost time for her supper and I figured it was be easier for her to eat if she was sitting up.

Then she looked up in a panic.

"Where are my clothes?"

They were safely stored in the closet, so I showed her where they were. She confessed to having woken up in the night and fretting about her clothes and how she was going to get back to the home without them.

Ah. So that's where I get the Midnight Frets from.

Left Pleural Effusion

I got the call just after 11:00 this morning from the nurse at Mom's assisted living home. Mom was having trouble breathing; the nurse called the doctor and the doctor sent Mom right to the hospital.

Here's the thing: my older sister called Mom this morning to visit and Mom complained of shortness of breath. So my sister quite understandably told Mom to call the nurse. Naturally, Mom did not, until the aide came up to rub her legs with medicated cream. Then she mentioned that maybe she better see the nurse.

So now she's in the hospital. The chest x-ray showed a left pleural effusion, meaning that her left lung was filling up with fluid. Her right lung was also filling up. No wonder she was having trouble breathing! This is all part and parcel of congestive heart failure.

The ER doc explained that she could give Mom a big old dose of Lasix, to see if the fluid could be flushed out through the kidneys, or she insert a big old needle into Mom's lung and suck the stuff out. The only fly in the ointment with that treatment is that there's a possibility of nicking the heart, which could be a slight problem. Mom also has a pacemaker, so there's all kinds of wires hanging around in there, which could also get in the way of a needle.

We opted for the Lasix, which seemed to work like a charm. Mom started breathing easier after a couple of hours and even had a longish nap. Her personal doc came to visit around 6:00. He's not entirely happy with her breath sounds, so he admitted her. They'll watch over her tonight, continue the Lasix, and do an echocardiogram. The cardiologist will see her tomorrow, and together the docs will review her meds and see what's what. She'll probably head back to her home tomorrow or the next day.

Another crisis averted. Keep your fingers crossed, okay?

Meanwhile, I noticed this in the ER room:

Either this is where they store the search engines, or it's the perfect accessory for the outfit. I know I always wear googles with my isolation gown.

Birthday Love List

Hey! It's my birthday! And it's Friday, and it's a long weekend, and so -- what better reasons for the Meg Fowler Friday Love List?

I love the StoryCorps/NPR interview with Mom. It came out beautifully! If you missed hearing it live, you can go here or here to listen. Let me know what you think!

 

I love that we're going to Ocean City this evening for the weekend! I even love the fact that I told Mom, and she didn't fuss about not going along. Yay!

I love the fact that it's my birthday, and I am old-ish, and I don't care. I am okay with being 56. Really. I am. Honest.

I love good food, and there is lots of it in Ocean City, even in January. Jules, I'm looking at you.

I love looking at the ocean in winter. The beach is deserted, except for the other hardy souls who love looking at the ocean in winter and for the sea birds. The shells are always better in winter.

I love the smell of Joe's favorite cigars.

I love the longer days. I can really tell! In fact, Joe came home the other day and said  "Hey! It's six o'clock and it's not fully dark yet!" and I kissed him because it's true, and soon it will be light and warm at 8:30 pm. And then I will complain about the heat.

Two Minutes of Fame!

I just got word that part of the StoryCorps interview that I did with Mom will be aired tomorrow, January 18, at 6:20 am and 8:20 am. So if you're up and you'd like to listen, tune in to your local NPR station. The snippet will also be on the NPR website, if you don't get a chance to listen "live." (If you want to listen to the whole thing, go here.)

What a great birthday present!!

Snow, Briefly

Rest in peace -- or maybe pieces -- Vampira.

The weather was cold and clear this morning. I went outside to get the paper and breathed deep, just to get some fresh air into my lungs, and admired the sunrise and said hello to Venus, still bright in the southeastern sky.

I was glad to see the day. I had a restless night last night. I fell asleep too early and then woke up, wide awake, at 2:00. After rolling around for awhile, I got up and went into the guest room to watch (or rather, to fall back to sleep to) TV. I found the movie Twins on one of the myriad HBOs, and sure enough! I made it  through the first half-hour or so before descending into sleep.

Unfortunately, I had a nightmare, wherein I was screaming at Mom. In the dream she had decided to move home, and I was terribly, terribly frustrated and angry that she would do that, that she would think that she could live on her own again. I kept trying to make her understand that we couldn't help her if she moved home, but she wouldn't listen.

I was very glad to wake up from that particular instance of hopes and fears, to realize it was only a dream.

By that point, the credits for Twins were rolling, so I turned off the TV and went back to sleep for the remaining two hours before the alarm would end my night.

At lunch, it was snowing like mad! Just a brief squall, mind you, but actually fun to walk through. The flakes stuck to my coat and hair, and I quite enjoyed the block-long walk. By the time I finished eating, the sun was back.

A few hours later, Mother Nature let me know it was time to go home with a lovely sunset over the National Presbyterian Church.

 And now it's time for supper, relaxing, and -- I hope -- a better night.

Looking Back; Looking Ahead

It's not like 2007 was a complete and total bag of shit, because it wasn't. There were lots of wonderful things.

The scrapbook cult marathon last January was lots of fun; I created a lasting record of my volunteer week in New Orleans and Joe rubbed of lots women the right way.

In March, we braved the weather and joined a bunch of wonderful people for 3tacon in Green Bay. Cheese and wine, brats and booyah, a moonlight sleighride and much revelry. What a party!

The jugglers came to town in May! I saw some amazing juggling, as usual, and took a lot of pictures, as usual, and created a video featuring fire. I also juggled a little.

I went to Minneapolis for the STC conference, my 23rd year in a row. I learned a lot, ate a lot, and danced a lot. Pretty good for a business conference!

Three of my bestest pals joined Joe and me in Ocean City for the JMJ Memorial Meat-Up, a long, lazy, wonderful weekend.

We celebrated at two family weddings in June, one of each side of the family.

And then Mom's health took a nosedive, with hospitals, nursing homes, and finally a move to assisted living. The summer was full of tension and emotion, which is only just now smoothing out. But we also participated in the StoryCorps project, and now some of Mom's memories are preserved for all of us to share.

Fall has been better, although I flamed out with NaNoWriMo. The year has closed out well, with Joe's new job, a wonderful Christmas, and a restful holiday.

The year is over now. It does no good to dwell on the bad, so I won't. There was too much good stuff and plenty of fun.

So here's to 2008! May it be joyful and rewarding. Happy New Year to all.

Clinky; drinky!

Vacation Is Exhausting Me

This vacation is doing me in, what with all the family gatherings, movie watching, present admiring, and other stuff. I don't know if I'll make it through another four days!

Today was relatively quiet. Joe went off to work at his usual time this morning. The day stretched out ahead of me. I had three things to accomplish today: get a chest x-ray, have lunch with Mom, and do the grocery shopping.

The x-ray of my chestal area went fine; I just dropped into the imaging center, handed over my copay, and sat until the x-ray tech called me back. She did not look sorrowful and pitying when she came back to let me go, so I'm not anticipating any bad news. Then again, I suppose they practice looking noncommittal, so who knows. Then again, I did not receive an urgent call from my doc this afternoon, so all is probably well.

Lunch with Mom almost went down a very bad road. She was feeling cranky, which means that nothing I said was right and nothing about her living situation was good. I have learned not to follow when she starts down this road, so I just said nothing and let her go. Sure enough, she pulled a quick u-turn and came back. I think the turning point was when I actually found a small fruitcake in the store for her to give to her pal. At one point she said, "I always call it 'the place I live' because I don't want to call it 'the home'." I joked, "Maybe you could call it the sorority house, or the dorm." She actually laughed at that, and then admitted that she had made some friends, that she was getting great care, and that she really had it good. And so it goes, back and forth.

Grocery shopping kicked my ass. My back and knees started pinging away toward the end of the trip, but I got everything on the list and then some. Joe usually does the grocery shopping, so this was a late Christmas present to him. I'm really glad I went -- pasta and Italian sausage sure beats Cheerios for dinner!