Obviously I was aware that it’s a common problem. How else would I recognize that old lady smell that now pervades our guest room? But the question remains: what do they have against being clean?

Mom hasn’t been shampooed in over a month. She scratches her scalp constantly. Any minute I expect a family of spiders or worse to come crawling out. And it smells. She should’ve been to the shop before she came up here, but she just didn’t feel like it. It doesn’t bother her. She doesn’t care about it.

In the last post, I mentioned the radiation treatments on her leg. Today was also the day she got stitches taken out of a cancer spot on her neck; this one removed by the Mohs procedure. The nurse assured us there was not the slightest reason she couldn’t lean her head back in a salon sink.

She protested immediately. Couldn’t we just get that dry shampoo for her? Why should she have to wash her hair? Egad. How can she stand it??

Both her doctors emphasized her wounds should be washed with mild soap during her regular (are you kidding?) showers.  Everything is in place for safe bathing, but she doesn’t want to. She’ll just wash at the sink. Why should she have to take a shower? Being dirty and smelly doesn’t bother her in the least.

We’ve let it slide since she’s having to adjust to many things right now. We’ve just had her sit in the kitchen while we wash, dry, and dress her treatment sites.  But it’s reaching a point where, so help us God, she is going to bathe.

And she has a hair appointment tomorrow. I haven’t told her yet. It’s a surprise.

Today was one of those sandwich days.

It started rather suddenly when my daughter-in-law called in a panic. She had slept past the alarm and didn’t have time to take the boys to their distant daycare before going to work. Since we live fairly close, I was the obvious solution. I was happy to do it. Haven’t seen these grandsons since my mother-in-law moved in with us.

It was close, though. We’re down to one car at the moment, so it behooved me to get back in time to take my 93-year-old Mom-in-law for the daily radiation on her leg.  Fortunately my husband had her ready, and he’s the one who drives her to the oncology center.

So I caught my breath, whipped through some housework, and checked my email. That’s when I discovered that my uncle, my father’s youngest brother, had just gone into palliative care. His daughters (my cousins) had faced and made that decision last night. That left me pretty numb. Out of that family of eight kids, we will soon be down to just two from that generation.  An era is swiftly closing.  The rest of the day is another post.

Remember when I mentioned that things happen suddenly with Old People? Now the bed was suddenly too high for her get into by herself.  I called Anderson Furniture where I’d bought it to ask if they had a lower frame. No, but they could replace the wheel casters with skids, which would set it down at least three inches. According to the Manor, that would be enough.

Well, Anderson Furniture is way the heck on the south side of town. What was this gonna cost?

“Oh, we’ve always got a truck headed up there. We can stop by and take care of it by Friday. No charge.”

That’s why I mentioned their name, folks. I love them.  

Less than a month later the Manor said she needed a grab-bar on the side of the bed. Anderson couldn’t help me with that. I didn’t even know what it was or how to describe it. Fortunately Wells Yeager Best, the medical supply place, knew all about such things. I arranged for it to be delivered and installed.

 Two weeks later the Manor called again. Now, understand some poor clerk at the nursing station has to call every time there’s a fall, a medication adjustment, a Tylenol administered, or a Band-Aid installed. You’re called a lot when your folks are in care, not just when action is required as I’m reporting here. In this case, of course, action was required. Mom, despite heroic determination, now regularly needed more help they could give on Assisted Living.

She had to move again.

This was worse than Intermediate. She had to be dressed, bathed and toileted. She needed Comprehensive. There was a very rare opening at the moment and they were proceeding.  The bed I’d worked so hard on had to go. Only hospital-type beds were used on Comprehensive.

I called Verizon.

 It was two weeks before I could get everything in order for the two-day drive from Friendswood, Texas to West Lafayette, Indiana.

I had never seen Comp before. It was depressing as hell. None of the warm colors or gracious décor was possible back there – no carpeting or elegantly corniced and swagged draperies. It was plain tile and linoleum as far as the eye could see. It was more Spartan than a hospital.

That’s the way it has to be for residents requiring that level of care. They have to be wheeled everywhere, and homey personal effects are pre-empted by medical equipment and supplies.

Mom was in the only bed available, next to a turnip named Catherine. The only furniture that would fit in Mom’s half of the room was her lift chair, dresser, and chest of drawers.

 Mother, bless her heart, was making the best of it. She had the window bed, thank goodness. One of Dad’s co-workers from the Wild Bird Shop had set up a birdfeeder for her to watch.

The unit managed to scrounge up two other ladies who could feed themselves and make more or less lucid conversation to share her table at meals. She was still getting her daily newspaper and the front desk was also transferring her political newsletters.

While the Comp nurses and aides loved having an alert and responsive patient, they were much too overworked to chat. The saving grace here was students doing their geriatric tour. Mom is such a pleasant and encouraging person they wanted to spend as much time with her as they could. Still, it was rough being cut off from her sister, my Aunt Lucille, and other relatives and friends.

 I called Verizon again.

 I arranged for maintenance to move and install her TV and the window valance from her old room. Next I brought over as many pictures as possible to make pleasing arrangements without looking cluttered.

 And I kept after Verizon.

 The dispatcher reported techs had been out there but for some reason they couldn’t do anything. Why not? I had seen the stupid jack myself! After many frustrating conversations, it was finally determined that, yes, there was a jack on the wall. But it was just a construction formality. It had never actually been wired. Why would anyone in Comp need a phone?

Finally they agreed to call Indianapolis and get someone up there who knew how to rig a jack. But it would be awhile. And it would cost way more than the usual $57.18.

 The next week was spent weeding out the Assisted Living room. How could the remnants of Mother’s long, fruitful life be reduced even more than it already had?

Taking a break from ridding out one time, I trekked to Comp to discover that Verizon had been there. Joy! I ran all the way back to her old unit and grabbed the phone. Eagerly I plugged it in and lifted the receiver. Nothing. Oh, yeah. It needed 16 hours to charge back up. I would have to leave before then but the nursing station promised to keep an ear out for my call.

 Several days later it still wasn’t working. I called the nursing station. Yes, it was all set. The light was on. Just no dial tone.

 I called Verizon.

 Yes, they could put her number on that jack. $57.18, please.

Obviously, for everything I did, there were nurses, aides, and clerks doing twice as much. They were especially helpful in my ongoing battles with Verizon.  I can never adequately express my appreciation for those folks.

“Yeah. So?” Having just lost half his infantry, he wasn’t too concerned.

“It hit your sister!”

His chair scraped away from the table and he scrambled for his cell phone whose raucous ring he had elected to ignore. While he absorbed the message, I quickly (well, as quickly as a non-teen can), texted back: “OMG! The news said 61^st st. R U OK?” Kathy lives on 31^st. She should’ve been safe.  That’s why I’d retired with no further fretting.  (A waterspout, BTW, is a tornado over water. If it makes landfall, it’s just a regular tornado.)

Unfortunately, Kathy isn’t our only relative on Galveston Island. There’s my mother-in-law, several blocks away on 37^th, and Aunt Vivian, now living with Kathy. Last July, amidst general community hoopla, she celebrated her 101^st birthday. Egad! Her bedroom faced the nearest neighbor. So…which neighbor was missing a roof? Where was she during the cataclysm?

By this time, my husband was on the phone with Kathy. I hovered like a vulture trying to grasp the details. Yes, it was the neighbor next to Aunt Vivian’s room.  The freight-train roar, the wrenching rip of a roof being detached, and the horrific crash of it’s landing, had been practically in her ear.  “How is Aunt Vivian?” I cried out in frustration.

A sibilant “Sh-h-h” came from Husband’s cell. He punched the speaker. “She’s still asleep,” said Kathy.

OMG.

The media had already been there. The next morning it was on the front page of the Galveston Daily News, complete with a picture of Kathy inspecting the incredible sight by flashlight. But Aunt Vivian, still mobile and alert – though missing many marbles – remains unfazed.

Whew! Back when I first commented on it it seemed intriguing, even if a bit Out There.  Then it hit the fan big time and I looked a little harder.  Yep, just politicos grasping at straws.

“The controversy,”  explains Ceci Connolly of the Washington Post, “stems from a proposal to pay physicians who counsel elderly or terminally ill patients about what medical interventions they would prefer near the end of life and how to prepare instructions such as living wills.”  Apparently it was this counseling provision that offered a straw for hysteria mongers to grasp. The article concludes with a quote from Tia Powell, Director of the Montefiore-Einstein Center for Bioethics:  “If you get people in an environment of their own choosing, where there is support and good pain control, it is very likely to extend their lives.”

Nuff said?  After all, this site is more venting than political discussion. Which isn’t to say caregivers aren’t directly affected by health care trends. My mother-in-law, for instance, is constantly in upheavel over providers. She is covered by military dependent insurance rather than Medicare and it seems fewer and fewer doctors and facilities are accepting it. At first it was convenient enough, as long as one doc or another in Galveston would take it. But one by one they either stopped, died, or moved their offices. It wasn’t too bad when there were still a few just over the Causeway on the mainland.  At this writing, however, it’s a 30-mile drive if the PCP wants her to see a specialist.  Quite an investment of time, money, and wear-and-tear for a caregiver!

You are absolutely dependent on things being where they’re supposed to be, on routine, on sameness.

Now enters the well-intentioned caregiver.

I didn’t know Dad always used the 4-oz. blue-bottomed tumbler for his morning orange juice.

I didn’t know Mother always used the butterfly mug for her tea.

I didn’t know cereal could only be served in the small desert saucers. Anything larger is gluttony.

And I certainly didn’t know that they only used one tea bag between them and that afterwards it was put into a quart jar to make iced tea for the rest of the day.

These patterns are so ingrained that when I happened to use a strange fork (must’ve been a mix-up at a church supper) at Dad’s place, he hastily switched it with Mom’s. Fortunately, she’s more adaptable.

Breakfast must be ready by 7:00 AM when the morning news comes on. But that’s only true if they’re fixing it. The morning I had everything set up as specified, I couldn’t find either of them. Dad was putting out suet for the birds; Mother was just sitting there thinking at her dressing table. When I finally got them seated, Mother tasted my artfully layered omelet and said: “Isn’t this supposed to be warm?”

My ultimate solution was to simply leave them alone for breakfast. Mother is capable of basic preparation with her walker, and Dad can carry stuff to the table. They have a meal just the way they want it without the upset of a daughter tearing her hair out.

There is a new move to remove our elders from our lives by virtue of something that is being promoted as Universal “Health Care” and “death with dignity”. I am not usually one to post about politics and situations which are politically motivated, but I feel I must step forward at this point in time.

All US citizens over the age of 50 may want to take time to read Section 1233 of H.R. 3200. In this bill, congress is basically telling our parents, grandparents and dearly beloved elders to sacrifice their own lives for the betterment of the country by Dropping Dead…

Erick Erikson says: I think, given that the members of Congress who drafted H.R. 3200 read and take seriously people like Klien, Yglesias, and Singer, we should be very troubled by Section 1233 of H.R. 3200. The section, titled “Advanced Care Planning Consultation” requires senior citizens to meet at least every 5 years with a doctor or nurse practitioner to discuss dying with dignity.

The section requires that they talk to their doctor, not a lawyer, about living wills, durable healthcare powers of attorney, hospice, etc. Given the progressive intelligentsia already being on the record in favor of euthanizing the elderly, it is no small leap to see where (this is) headed…

Legally forcing senior citizens to have “death with dignity schedules every few years is just another way to say the government wants to make sure seniors know it is time … to save the system money.

If you value the contributions which our elders make to the enrichment of our lives and our country, I urge you to contact your local AARP chapter and your congressional representatives today!

(Natalie Neal Whitefield is a writer and journalist who admires all those who have given of their wisdom and courage so that the next generation can have a better life. She believes it is the duty and privilege of those who have received such great gifts, to love, honor and care for the elders of our nation and provide them with the comfort and respect they deserve.)

OK – it’s me again. After the initial shock, I got to thinking. I’ve spent enough time in nursing homes seeing inmates staring mindlessly at nothing day after week after year, at a cost of at least $5000 a month, to make me wonder: is this the “life” they would’ve chosen – had they been given a choice back when they could think? Not me! I have no desire for my broken down, artificially functioning body to lie around burning up outrageous sums of money long after reason has left it.

Anyway, just some thoughts to throw out there…

And off in our comfortable and/or highly involved lives hundreds, even thousands of miles away, we understand that the parents who nurtured us and sacrificed for us (oh, lets face it. We gave ‘em hell) deserve our help.

But taking care of Old People has never been part of our training and experience. The nuclear family isolated us from the elderly except for occasional holidays. What do we know of the 20s, 30s and 40s? The wars, the Depression? Keeping track of 13 different medications? Each.

And who’s going to teach us? Where’s the Dr. Spock, Dr. Dobson, Mister Rogers, or Sesame Street of the senior set? There is some good reading on your parent’s lives and times from Tom Brokaw: The Greatest Generation and The Greatest Generation Speaks. If nothing else, it’ll teach you some respect…

I’m identifying here with all of you for whom nursing homes, home health aides, assisted living, etc. are not – or not yet – viable options for whatever reasons. It wasn’t in my folks’ case. I am also not dealing with Alzheimer’s here because, at this point at least, it is not part of my care giving experience.

All I’m offering here are the observations of a clueless caregiver.

Linda K:
A sequel to write might be – “How I will do it different when I’m old”, ha! You sure pinned some reasons why they do what they do and from the backgrounds of which we live in that shape us – mostly too rigidly! But NO! We don’t have to age this way!!! Let’s stick together on that one!

Me:
Amen, Linda! Do we have a pact, people? Okay. Let’s get back to venting.

Kathleen F:
I took Aunt Vivian to get her hair set yesterday and, of course, she wanted to go out to eat afterward. I wasn’t going to do it at first, but decided if she wanted a hamburger I would take her to Whataburger as I was short on cash. I went through and got a burger and she got a salad. Sunday will make 4 days we ate out this week. She’d better enjoy it because it is going to start to dwindle down to nothing. I don’t like eating out that often; it should be an occasion to eat out, something special, and going every day isn’t special. I think there is something wrong with a person who wants to eat out every day! She’s sitting in the livingroom in front of the TV which is off. If she wants it on, she can ask (I’m getting like Mom). I just need some piece and quiet.

Kathy again (This lady really has her hands full!)
Mom called me Monday morning and left a message that she was very dizzy and felt bad and could I come over. I got Aunt Vivian her breakfast and I ate and was getting dressed when Mom called again and said she felt terrible, could I come over right now? I said yes and went over and asked her what was wrong and she said “I think I’m dying”. I asked her if she had a terrible headache that came on suddenly, numbness in her shoulders or arms or pain in her chest and she replied no to all of them. She was very dizzy and her ears were ringing, but no real pain. I said “Mom, you aren’t dying”. She started taking her new anxiety medicine Saturday and Sunday mornings and I’m sure she was dizzy from it, as it usually takes a couple of weeks to get used to new psychiatric medicine. Unfortunately, it is in capsule form so I can’t cut it in half. I’ll look it up and see if it comes in smaller doses.
She said she didn’t want to be alone so I called a home health agency and met with the owner at 4 pm and arranged for a sitter to come over at 7 pm to 7 am at a cost of $15 an hour. I had an eye appointment this morning in Texas City and then went shopping and didn’t get home until 3:30 and there was a message from Mom – “I thought you would have called!” and “will you take me to the beauty shop tomorrow because I don’t want to drive and a taxi will cost $12-14 each way”.
Aunt Vivian hadn’t eaten lunch while I was gone, even though I put everything in one place in the refrigerator for her, so I asked her to fix her sandwich and she got the “fixins” out. I went to the bedroom to change clothes and I came back and she was opening a Boost and her plate was on the dining table. I said where is your sandwich? She replied “I forgot to make it”.