A Prize in Every Box

I think it was Cracker Jack that promised a prize in every box, and I've come to think of mom's house as one big Cracker Jack box. Every cupboard, every drawer, every closet, under every bed, and not to mention the basement and the attic are as full of prizes as the ones you see here. Some of the prizes have been forced in so hard that the back of the cabinets have come unglued. My challenge is not to look at the big picture, but to focus instead on one "prize box" at a time. I've spent the last couple of weeks doing just that. I started with the immediate living spaces, the bedroom, living room, bathroom (where I threw away at least a dozen bottles of iodine) and sunroom. I'm still working on the kitchen drawers, which are full of old dirty tools and the everyday stuff that had nowhere else to go. It's a good challenge, and I'm able to feel a sense of accomplishment when I get things cleared and cleaned, walls washed and carpets shampooed. I have all winter to continue unearthing prizes and deciding whether they are keepers or destined for the Salvation Army or the Goodwill store.

As for mom, it seems that Tom and I made a very good decision to have her placed at the Crawford County Care Center. She is surrounded by loving. helpful, cheerful, wonderful people every day. Mom has been flirting with all the male nurses and aids, blonde Shane is one of her favorites, and darker Joe knows mom, as she was his guidance counselor in high school. She teases Rose and Lindsee and anyone else who crosses her path. And they all obviously enjoy her sense of humor and they respond in kind with hugs and laughter. Mom thinks of the Center as "her house" and when we go out to the courtyard, she talks about the "help" who mow her lawn and keep the bushes trimmed. The center recently got a new kitty to join their current pet residents (birds, fish, couple or 3 doggies, and at least one other kitty). This one is Charlie, and when you stop to pet him, he rolls over on his back for more. I've met a wonderful woman whose father is a resident there, and she and I often run into one another. We trade emails and she says her dad has sort of taken to looking after mom. What a blessing Jen and her dad are.

Mom's friend Ed and I talk frequently, and he has been to see her often. Yesterday he said he was going to take her out of the center for the first time since she was admitted. I'm looking forward to talking with him to see how that went. I know mom has been wanting to "go for a ride" for some time now. Tuesday I am meeting one of mom's close friends there for lunch.

So, in closing, I have to say that while her physical world has shrunk to a couple of long hallways and a lovely circular courtyard, her social world has opened up so wide that I don't think she notices that she is not in her dark and lonely house anymore. Now she lives in a world of light and laughter and round-the-clock care, and for those things I am so grateful. Thanks to everyone who sends good thoughts our way. I'm sending them right back.

Kathy

A new chapter for us all

I'm compelled to write this morning, though I know that my thoughts have yet to settle enough to be able to express what I'm feeling today.  Yesterday, Tom and I worked tirelessly all day to move forward with mom's placement.  We had some trouble getting her doctor to fax the orders to the care facility, as the doctor's office has notoriously been unhelpful, and even seemed at times to want to punish us for needing help.  In the end, Tom drove to the doctor's office and waited for the orders to be placed in his hands so that we could meet the director of the care center at 3 p.m.

The time before then was spent in a variety of tasks.  I got mommy cleaned up first thing, then again a couple of hours later.  We shared a grilled cheese sandwich for lunch, though my stomach was in knots.  I was afraid of the task in front of me, and Tom shared my concerns.  I took the picture above as we got ready, mom and Tom out back on the bench.  Brother Mike asked not to be included in the day's activities, so we were left to help mom transition ourselves.  I packed a bag for mom, a couple of changes of clothes, Depends, socks, toothbrush, meds.  At 12:30 I gave mom an anti-anxiety pill, and at 1:30 another.  And an hour later, off we went.

The events leading up to the eventual placement were nerve-wracking, mom and I stopped at the local dairy isle and I got her a chocolate cone in a cup, which she relished as she always does.  We needed to give Tom time to go get the orders from the doctor, then meet us at the care facility.  Once there, mom got out of the car calmly enough, refused to sit in a wheelchair, and instead accompanied me inside.  I had told her I was there to see MY doctor, and asked her to come in with me.  We were lead to room 405, and we sat on the bed in a very cheerful room, beautiful pink blanket, birdfeeders right outside the window.  After a few minutes, one of the admissions staff came in with a fuzzy little pomeranian (sp) pup.  While mom's attention was on the pup, the admissions director came in to say my doctor would see me now.  And I left.  I got as far as around the corner with Denette, who is the most compassionate and capable and caring person I've ever met in my life, before I stopped stock-sill and the tears flowed.  I couldn't speak.  Denette took me in hand and urged me to continue down the hall until we reached a conference room.  Tom went outside to get mom's bag, then joined us for about an hour's worth of paperwork.  And that was that.  I went to Tom's afterward and helped him make dinner for the kids, then came home, all in kind of a stupor. 

Butterball and I sat on the front step for a couple of hours just thinking (well, Butter was chasing lightning bugs and eating grass).  At about 9, my across-the-street neighbor Kim came over and handed me a belated birthday present - a book called The Dash.  If you've not read it, you should.  It's about the time between your date of birth and date of death - represented by a dash on your tombstone.  And Kim provided more than birthday wishes, but also a hug and a shoulder and support until I felt like I was ready to head upstairs for a much needed rest.  Butter and I slept like little logs.  This morning has me feeling like my whole life has changed.  I'm far from done with mommy.  In fact, I think now that the biggest struggles are over for us, we'll have a much better relationship.  Mommy is with people now in a social situation.  There are experienced staffers who are free with smiles and hugs for her, and who will see that she transitions well.  I'm going to call later to see how her first night went, and I join with Tom in being optomistic that she will adapt well.

OK, enough for now, but I'll keep you up to date as we progress.  I leave you with mommy and her chocolate ice cream.  Thanks friends for reading and for loving me.

Who's that baby? Or, Poop DeVille.

Do you remember the titles for the Rocky and Bullwinkle shows?  It always amazed me that I got the sarcasm and innuendo of that show even when I was a pretty little kid.  It wasn't really a kid show, if you know what I mean.  Anyway, let the title of the blog speak for itself today.

Mom has lost more ground in the last 10 days of so.  Not only bowel/bladder control, but she has begun speaking to someone who isn't there, both asking and answering questions, sometimes for hours on end.  I can sit and listen to her soliloquy for long periods, even move around the house, do dishes or fix lunch or scrub the commode, and she is transfixed by whomever it is in front of her.  She talks with the person about the little girl or baby who has appeared in her life and won't go home.  This girl somehow has attached herself to mom, and mom doesn't know how to send her away.  The girl is tied to Ed and to the person who gave her up.  I've been trying to figure out if there might be some thread of truth in this fantasy, but have been unable to connect any dots as yet.

I'm still convinced that mom should be placed, and the sooner the better.  I've told the brothers that I am not going to take any more afternoon shifts, as I can't face the sundowning and the crying jags that accompany it.  I'm happy to take any and all morning shifts, as it's a cakewalk compared to evening.  I'd like to write more about what's happening, but have concerns about what's going on in a legal sense.  Let me just say that what's going on now isn't what I want to happen.  Mommy needs 24/7 care, and I'm going to move ahead as quickly as I can to see that she gets it.

Those of you who are still reading, thanks for that.  I hold you all in the light, and I'm hoping you're holding me there too, but in candlelight please, as not much else would flatter the fatigue I'm showing today.  Be well, maybe I'll post some more tomorrow.