Blowing Bubbles

When I was young, a long long time ago, everyone thought I'd be a writer. My teachers did, my family did, I'm pretty sure my friends did. Certainly I did. I'm not saying the idea that I'd be a good writer was universal, just the writerly expectation was. I must have kept exuding this whole English major vibe for while because once an "educational expert" working for the 2 most pompous neurologists we ever saw (and that is a very competitive category) told me she was sure I could teach my son all about "Shakespeare and books" but we should let the "professionals" take care of the math.
 Guess who taught him math? OK, his father did, but that was only because of a patience issue I had...
As for wiring my novel, I had this idea that I would save up my words for when I was older and had more life experience. (You see I always wanted evidence.)  At that point they would pour forth like diamonds etc etc. So now I have the "life experience" (can I quote myself?), only the diamonds are missing. Everything I thought I knew seemed to float away. And far from diamonds, words that I was sure would cut through anything, I have bubbles that drift, and burst and shine in the sun and blow away in the wind. The stories I wanted to tell when I was younger no longer interest me very much. Mostly I don't believe them.
 We found a letter the other day dated 1916 written by my mother's mother. That was 2 years before Grandma's birth and 3 years before her mother's death from the last of the Spanish influenza epidemic. It was a letter written to Grandma's grandmother. And it had my mother's turns of phrase in it. In fact the kinds of phrases I would have used, my mother would have used... "I had but just found him again..." she says of her fiance (Grandma's father, you are keeping this straight?). Is there a gene for that?
   My mother's family also expected her to be a writer. She said it was because her father pushed her she didn't do it. She never pushed me. That's why I didn't. Only I don't think that's true anymore than I believe her excuse. I believe it's genetic.
Now Grandma is at the house her father built in 1938. And now it doesn't seem to me 1938 was that long after her mother died. What's 19 years? I can see why her step-mother still didn't quite fit in. My (underemployed) daughter is with Grandma. Everyone has always known math is that girl's strong point. I wonder if she'll find the diamonds?

Screens

..can't live with 'em, can't live etc etc. Or more accurately I can't sleep with them (electronic) or see through them clearly (any).
 Tomorrow Grandma should be back. My offspring are mostly unemployed and at least 2 people are very possibly ignoring my Facebook friend request...while I am only ignoring one. I find I use one sort of screen for what I say  blogging and another on Facebook. Not so much a different size mesh as a different sort all together. Sort, get it?

And universities are less and less interested in adjuncts, at least the universities that pay well are less interested, at least mine. (Note the irony that I think of them as "mine" but they don't really think of me as "theirs" at all).
Also glue guns are a fast but inferior method for putting on all those badges you have to transfer to the Webelo uniform.
And my true age still baffles me. And even reading glasses don't help to see out the window. You can remove the screen of course but the bugs are pretty bad. (Oh, that was terrible... bugs!).
Metaphors are really only slightly removed from puns if you think about it.

Happiness is the truth

... is probably the dumbest line in a song I've ever found myself singing any way.

 So instead of learning about responsibility and the harsh realities of the real world my daughter got a job interview within 24 hours of irresponsibly ending her job and it is exactly what she (thinks) she wants to be doing. Teaching math to high-schoolers... you forgive me for the snarky "think" now don't you? And she has a half way decent chance of getting it since apparently they are desperate (referring to their willingness to hire someone with no class room experience not my child per se).

Meanwhile I was in full fretting mode so I forgot to check on the seizure med status after the Hey-mom-I'm-having -a-seizure-at 2AM guy called in the refill only to find it was time for a yearly renewal and the neurologist's office hadn't yet responded according to the hated mail order pharmacy (Express Scripts -I may hide my childrens' names but these guys I want you to know) who told me erroneously they no longer do expedited shipping but it arrived 6 hours prior to none left  and before having to call the neurologists (them I like) again.  Take a breath here.

 Numbers wise: Grandma is back in 6 days and counting and I've watched the Taylor Swift video "Shake it Off" 4 times in the last 3 days, which is a little weird.  And "Anaconda" 1 time, which I deeply deeply regret. Don't do it.  Being culturally informed is not worth it.

 So today I worked on clearing and organizing the basement and figuring out the secret to a happy marriage. I got the latter. Being happy -of course both of you have to be happy at the same time at least occasionally.
Still that's pretty much it as far as the secret goes. This is easy with a sailboat. And at least some money. And nothing to make you unhappy.

 A good marriage is another thing entirely.

Shopping...photos

So, here's a family update I might not put on Facebook (which I swear I'm going to sign up for (on?)): {is this too much punctuation?}
  The 24 year old girl QUIT her job. For all excellent reasons... to her. OK, so the parents aren't happy about it. You know that program where they have high school girls walk around with baby dolls to find out about how much babies change your life? I want some version where you have to pretend you are all the way grown up (like I do every day)  and, after your years of hard experience, the baby does NOT LISTEN to you... but (here's the kicker) you KNOW THEY SHOULD. You think the hard part is over but...listen closely - it NEVER really is. That would scare off those teen pregnancies!

I have practice typing in all caps from all the texting the day she told us she'd ALREADY quit.
Clearly ALL caps is very effective.

The picture is just days before she took her leap- don't you love a good photo metaphor? And it is photo-shopped since my diet is not working out well due to not doing it. We are holding hands.

Now I will have to tell Grandma the good news -she can stay at her house longer than just a weekend when she comes back to us next week, and I will have to tell her the bad news that it is because her ONLY grand-daughter is UNEMPLOYED. And Grandma is going to be UPSET and lose sleep trying to figure out if it is her fault since I am HER baby. It is probably because she had to QUIT breast feeding me when her milk dried up. Or that she was too old to have me -a two-for since I am even older with MY youngest.

I was going to blog about just meeting the eldest son's new neurosurgeon since the old (in pretty much every sense) neurosurgeon flaked out on us (after 29 years, to be fair) and left the country. About how this new guy pretty much just said, "Nice to meet you. Send me his shunt scans. Pick up my card on the way out." I kept pulling him back to give information that seemed pertinent. Like I'm just doing the talking because of the stammer but your new patient does have an associate's degree, and he has grand mal seizures, and he can go south very quickly from shunt failures and even your nurses here have missed that when he was in your flippin'  ICU but they weren't watching and thought drooling/incoherence was his norm... that might be helpful to know. On the way out I heard the doctor dictating "I just had the pleasure of meeting...."  On the plus side we had time for a nice Mexican restaurant on the way home. I forgot surgeons aren't interested in anything non-surgical. Just our beloved-but-flaky-leaving-the-country one WAS.

i am all done with caps now.

If I get on Facebook will you be my friend? And other age inappropriate questions.

Is  it OK if I post my son's girlfriends's selfie if it is upside down and 2 of my own children are in the frame (and my back)?
If my mother says she doesn't want any more blood transfusions but then I hear she is going to have another one should I ask her if she really meant it?

When my 4th grader admits on the way out the door that yes he is wearing the same shirt he wore the 1st day of school, and the 2nd, and that he slept in it both nights and this is the third day of school should I have made him change it?

Is it acceptable to spray Downy Wrinkle Release (insert trademark thingy) directly on clothes being worn by persons also about to leave the house? If they are all over 18 and consent can be assumed because they are bigger than I am and could have stopped me if they really wanted to?

If my mother doesn't make it another 2 months will it still be alright to go to Disney World for my birthday?

When I trim my oldest son's beard (he can shave himself but when you can't stand unassisted and can't see worth a darn it's kinda awkward so he let's it grow) whose job is it to clean the bathroom?

Should I worry about my new smart phone being hacked since I took a selfie in a sarong skirt and bikini top?

How many hours on Candy Crush is really too much?

If we put a small refridgerator by my mom's bed when she comes back in 2 weeks from my sister's to make keeping her drinks cold can we use the extra space for beer?

Please send replies in with a small processing fee. Or post them on Facebook when you friend me....

Ageless Wisdom

The question is how smart was I to get this picture? I put the camera in a repetitive shooting mode and then I waded through the hundreds of images to find the 2 that caught a strike. I was standing on the dock. The thunder was thundery, the wind was bowing -towards me as I'm taking these pictures but a little towards the far end of the dock. It doesn't sound very smart. Kinda risky. But when I was a kid my mom and I would stand in the "backyard" which was the river side and watch the storm approach, dashing in only when we were already about soaked. She would get us in off the water when the storms got too near... or at least try to. I remember more than one time in our little rowboat (with an outboard) that we "ran before" the storm and I'd huddle under the bow. My mom always did think I was pretty wimpy to really be her daughter. In any case she would have stayed on the dock longer than I did.

 That;s probably why she's 96 and I'm not.

If you are interested here's an interesting article
http://www.nytimes.com/2014/08/31/sunday-review/the-boomers-biggest-challenge.html?action=click&contentCollection=Technology&module=MostEmailed&version=Full&region=Marginalia&src=me&pgtype=article

That is it's interesting for baby-boomers or for those studying them. Turns out time is a completely unexpected phenomenon. I will tell my mom how much easier aging is for her since she knew about time passing and not being young forever (the poor boomers had this hidden from them, possibly by the government). Aging will also be easier for everyone else from now on because we (I mean them, since I might be in the we that's the boomers) can learn from them (I mean us).

 Sometimes it strikes closer to home...

OK, Who Stole August?

This guy?

Let's see in August the oldest went kayaking for several hours -that means for several hours he was not in the basement on his computer or doing his exercises -which he is very faithful about. If only I could convince him to put that OCDness into working on some kinda future of his own. But, hey, no seizures and other than one long visit to the ER to find the chest pains were from the exercise and not the shunt I just let it all go...

 The 9 year old learned to ride a bike. Yes, I know he's 9. But he had convinced himself that he never would be able to do it so really it was very exciting.

 I have no idea what the situation is with Grandma's blood. She may need more. We can only hope it's from a young person because if she was a rat this would apparently make her younger -or at least it made the rats look younger. I'm not entirely clear on how that worked.

 So in fact all that was really missing was your typical August weather so if this guy did steal that we'd all say thanks.

And the summer hasn't even really rushed by - and neither has my 3 month break from elder care - because I still have a WHOLE month of left. Whoo hoo.

I know there is something wrong with my raccoon like delight in getting every last seed from this feeder. Life is funny. All the years I thought I couldn't bear to lose my mom and now, well. I'd forgotten what it was like to just be able to make plans that were barely plans at all... and I am going to enjoy it while it lasts. It doesn't seem often that NOBODY has medical crisis in this family.

 And I'm STILL going to DisneyWorld. Am I tempting fate? I am aren't I? Good thing that's one thing I never believed in.

Selfies for the ages

I was told that, on average, people take 5 selfies a day (by people I am assuming female, American, smartphone owning and young). This is so narcissistic. You should either get it right the first time or have someone else take the picture (self portrait by proxy).

This is me -shocked to find I am enjoying a moscato. My daughter's moscato. I should confess to her that at my wedding (her father's too, although I think he'd deny this part) we drank our toast with Asti Spumante - just as sweet with the added bonus of being bubbly.

 This is also me on the bow of a sailboat in my cover-up, over my skirted but hot pink bathing suit. I am sporting a pony-tailed baseball (type) hat to keep my hair out of my eyes and as extra protection for my already shaded eyes. Also I just used the word "sporting".

Plus here I am with my 9 year old who still wants to cuddle whenever he is tired. Also on the boat was a friend who's a little younger than I am and his son and daughter-in-law. At least no grand children.

 This past weekend we took other friends to my mother's home (and home of the boat) whose son is the best friend of the life jacketed one here. Plus their 3 younger children. My husband and I are completely oblivious to the age difference we know exists until we're reaching for the ibuprofen and/or remark on some song we remember from high school but is clearly in the category of historical artifact. Still, we share a lot of the same musical tastes  (thank-you awesome 70's music) -far more than we ever did with anyone close to 20 years our seniors (it was just amusing on Happy Days).

It is confusing. I am the age of the ladies at church when I first joined who were known as "the older ladies" in the bible studies. Granted our church was a new "plant" and skewed young but this recollection still makes me wince. I liked and admired many of these women but I don't think I ever thought of any of them as exactly friends. They were in my mind almost a different species. In a vague sort of way I knew I was headed to the same place in life but not really. And apparently I was right because they were, well you know, kinda old, but hey, if I don't have someone there to do it for me I still take selfies and everything.

I'm goin' to Disney World again and stuff I never thought I'd do

Never was I going to be one of those Disney vacationers. Never.

I'd never change my hair color

I'd never post a picture of myself in a questionable ... bathing suit.

Never ignore my youngest because he was being whiney, never be desperate for a break from my own mother, never buy a smart phone, never forget (and barely be bothered about it) a medical appointment for the eldest, never look forward to an empty nest, never find chocolate more irresistible than my husband.

Never thought I'd dislike my own children (of course I don't mean you dear, the other ones) even for just a day or two.

Never thought I'd be one of those pushy moms (although I'm not saying I should be surprised).

Never thought that in my 50's I'd still worry about who likes me enough to respond right away to emails or texts. And never thought I'd be texting -even after all the teenagers were doing it I didn't think I would.

 Never thought I'd still want to be popular (because if they don't respond what does that mean?). 

I didn't think my yard would ever get this overgrown or my basement this cluttered...again.

I didn't think my mother would live this long at that some of my friends would not.

... maybe I just didn't think... think so.

Peace out

I don't think the gray on the beard is so noticeable in this shot. Until now that I've said it. Now you are thinking, oh, that's not blond or lighting. You probably still haven't noticed the chest hair is gray too... until now. Still the unfairness of it all is he really doesn't have gray hair on the top of his head. Neither of them do.
 A few years ago at a preschool event (so, it was a few more than a few) my mother-in-law suddenly reached over and tapped my head and demanded, "What is this?" It was the gray roots growing out (right in the center of my forehead*).  Mean while, there I was suddenly yanked from the life of all the other moms (young) back to reality (old).
 The words make you notice. We are just one month into our 3 month turn of not being grandma-caretakers but every few days a friend will ask, often with a little hesitation, "How's your mom?" (I tend to assume the hesitation translates, "Is she still alive?") The answer is, other than, "She's still alive," that I'm not sure and I'm trying to keep it that way. But thank you for reminding me. The thing is, I tend to have kind friends. And while I prefer them to the sort who don't care about one's life I'm trying to pretend right now my mom is not my life. For 24 years I have had the same feeling about, the "How's your son?" query. If you have a child with those oh so special needs you begin to notice the special inflection on the "how". If you want advice on how as a friend to show your concern ...I have none because if no one asked, or acknowledged this wasn't just your usual, "hey, how're the kids?" I'd be offended too.
 In case you did the math, I'm not including 5 of the eldest's 29 years. That's because since around the last set of shunt revisions everyone knew that either things were stable or I'd be emailing everybody. With the 96 year old they don't assume stability (smart friends).
 In conclusion: I can touch-up my gray hair , I can even use a side part to hide it nicely (my own comb-over) but there is no escaping that it's there. Just don't point it out on the sailboat -and don't tell my mother-in-law I told that story on her.

*if asked for a bed time story my mother was notorious for replying, "There was a little girl who had a little curl, right in the center of her forehead. And when she was good she was very very good and when she was bad she was horrid." I was convinced this was written just for me. And now I think it caused the gray...

time travels

When I wrote my "about me" it was all about the "phase" (women love this word) I was passing through. Except I think I forgot I was only passing through it. We do that. We think it's who rather than where we are. Mind you the crutches and the wheelchairs are still here, and on occasion we've added oxygen tanks and syringes and things too fierce to mention. On the other hand the car-seat seems long gone and (for now) there are no more teenagers. In fact even when I wrote that "about me" there wasn't much left of teenagers.

 Now I surely know this is a phase. This one is flying by as surely as the airshow they were watching. Already my little guy left the  teddy bear he had carefully dressed in an aviator costume in the van. But I knew it was there.

 And I know where the handle bars are for the toilet when/if my mom comes back in September. The way I have always known summer will end, That at least hasn't changed.

 Now I have to get busy calling around for a new neurosurgeon because the one we saw for 29 years (that only sounds like a long time) has moved to Germany. I was going to ask the neurologist today but the little guy woke us up at 5am and then went back to sleep and the subject of the appointment can't actually get ready to get out the door in less than 30 minutes* so I had to beg for a new appointment after we all slept in.  Oh, ....maybe it isn't a phase.

* if you think this is because he is slow try getting dressed and leg braces on sometime when you have to do it all on the floor because you can't stand on 2 legs much less one and OK you are also a little bit obsessive about folding everything perfectly. I personally seem to approach this as a new revelation everyday.

All in a row in the medical time zone

 Why do we want all our ducks in a row?

 So last week we had 2 medical false alarms. One more false than the other and one genuine alarm but slightly removed. Followed immediately by an offspring's breaking up with his girlfriend. This also may have been a false alarm but I'm not entirely sure yet- all I know is that while I really don't care for getting older I have no desire to be young again. Once was enough thank-you.

That and our friends spending their week in a hospital reminded me of all the time zone changes involved in crises. There is a special time zone for ERs and hospitals. And a special time flow- but  "flow" makes it sound somewhat linear and it definitely is not. It's not just that the people who work in a hospital mean something else entirely by words like "soon" and "8AM rounds" or "lunchtime" or "morning" than people do outside the hospital. It's that crisis mode changes time itself for the patient and immediate family (defined as the ones who are immediately at the hospital with them). Days of the week cease to exist, mealtime had no meaning, the calendar hanging on the refrigerator loses all functionality. It feels odd when people not in crisis mode remind you of some event in their time zone.On the plus side my to do lists dissolve and I kinda like that mealtimes are no longer the order of the day. In crisis/medical mode I no longer worry about who will eat what when - my usual mom (and daughter) pre-occupation. On the negative side I gained 10 pounds last time my son's shunt caused a prolonged medical adventure. Still, it was nice not to think about house work for a while - until the crisis was over and the calendar glared at me and the  pile of laundry pushed through to my consciousness again.

 I ponder all this because we were only almost in crisis mode. So I had no good excuse for wanting to throw out the lists, and the cooking, and the laundry, and the work schedule last week. It was only a feeling that since my friends, and my sister and mother, and for a little while a son or two, were there I must be in crisis-time too. Isn't that what I'm supposed to do? How can I be sitting around the pool, or drinking wine or thinking about grading or (more likely) doing absolutely nothing, when people I love are not?  I wasn't sure how all week. But I'm working on it.

Also these are geese, not ducks at all.

It's not all about me... except in my blog

....maybe not even then. So we have all our own craziness but our friends all have normal, not crazy lives. We tell them about our crazy medical adventures while they sail and kayak with us. They have a nice normal dog and their children are all smart and good looking. That is the way it is supposed to be. I am not supposed to be waiting to hear how their emergency triple by pass went. And I most definitely am not supposed to be thinking I'm glad we didn't know about the 99% blockage last weekend while we were floating around the creek. That would have made it hard to relax.
   But this is my blog after all. I have tried to pray unselfish prayers but in the end I have to justify my totally selfish fear of losing someone who we depend on to come and play with us at my mother's river side relic and never complain about the bugs or heat or sketchy plumbing (in fact helps to fix said plumbing) with the knowledge that if he is still around for us he will conveniently still be around for like his wife (aka the supplier of books and cross-stitching support for our kids) and his kids. So I'm not being totally selfish. Not totally. Also my husband can't sleep waiting for recovery news so I'm thinking of him too. I wonder how their dog is doing? She can't be happy either. See? I don't just think of me.

arrgh... but we're all fine now.

 Look, if you straighten out the horizon in this picture it only gets tiltier. Like my life...  Grandma went to the other daughter last Wednesday - still without the injections she needed, but it wasn't my fight. Not wanting to do without a fight I called Robert's Oxygen to pick up the auxillary tank (big, heavy, ugly and dangerous) and they said, "No." -they preferred to leave it here. I said, "No." They said, finally, they could pick it up - but if they did they wouldn't redeliver another tank later. I questioned their ethics and asked for the policy in writing. They said they'd pick it up. They changed their mind(s). I called to say I would leave it on the road with a large sign saying Roberts won't pick this up, followed by letters about their ethics. I was bluffing. They hung up on me. I called another number. They said they'd pick it up in a few days. I said you'll find it on the front porch. OK. I know...but I'll be dang-gummed if I will be Roberts' unpaid storage facility. Plus everytime I see it I wonder if my mom will make it back and I think of all the ERs and ICU's and hospital rooms with all their oxygen and all of my life spent maintaining medical stuff and I become extremely self-pitying. Can you imagine? Me? Self pitying? Sad, but true.

  Speaking of which when we returned from the sailing trip the eldest child (that term is so inappropriate) informed us of chest pains that had been constant and worsening all weekend. The neurosurgeon did not call back. Our friendly neighborhood (well, at least same county) nurse came and listened to his chest to rule out something respiratory so at close enough to midnight my exhausted husband headed to the ER. Given that the shunt drains into the heart this was not an over-reaction. The ER ruled out the shunt with xrays, then found bloodwork evidence of a possible pulmonary embolism - ruled that out with a CT scan, then admitted for a cardiac stress test. Meanwhile the good dad slept 3 hours in the car and then stayed all day waiting for the cardiac test which was done promptly the moment he left the hospital to get some lunch. Everything was ruled out but muscle sprain and home again with naproxen.
   Now if there was no shunt this would have been our first guess and there would have been no ER trip, but as, recently reminded, shunts can kill when malfunctioning so you do what you have to do. I supported the effort by texting people and feeling sorry for myself pretty much all day. It was exhausting.

Oh, and the neurosurgeon, who has been the neurosurgeon for almost 30 years now, called back at 8;30 am and said it "shouldn't" be the shunt and glad we got to talk because he wanted to tell us that this happened to be his last day practicing medicine in the U.S. because he was flying to Germany (today) to start a new job. He'd send us the medical records. He had no real suggestion for another doctor until pressed. So long and thanks for all the fish.

Proof

http://www.boston.com/health/2014/06/25/study-women-who-give-birth-later-live-longer/Cv8BbewIVA6Cmi4DZ4KfWI/story.html

Trying to see the big picture

 We had a great time, mostly, with my mom  at her house. There are the walls behind her that her father built (well supervisedly) in 1938 and there is the river that she loves. And there is the oxygen that keeps her "tethered" as she says. She was comforting herself that while she was unsure of the day she still knew the date for the battle of Hastings.
 The gift of the short term memory was when the weather was lovely the day we left she forgot she had been miserable and melting between a window AC unit and a fan several days before. Also my cooking constantly is new and wonderful to her and completely innovative. She has at times even complimented me on thinking of something "she never would have thought of" -even though I learned it from her. Admittedly she hasn't forgotten all her cooking and still identifies many tricks I got from her. Just not all of them.
  And I didn't share with her our week long struggle with Caremark -a division of CVS (and I hope they find this) because after having told me to expect her medicine for the anemia by Thursday -Friday at the latest on Monday (last Monday) I find Friday, after doctor hours that , oh, they probably should have told me but they didn't have the paperwork after all. There's no point in recounting the many hours since then on hold, talking to the doctor, the phamaceutical company, Sylvia, Mark, Heather, Sylvia, Tamara and many other "friendly CareMark representatives." And darned if they weren't friendly. Every last one of them. And so many of them! Because although they tell you a name they can NEVER reconnect you to the same one so I get to repeat everything (generally more loudly just in case that helps) over and over and over and... you get the picture. It was almost funny when then they added to all their missing paper work the "expired" Rx -they said it expired the 21st - that would be the Saturday after we were supposed to have already recieved the medication. Meanwhile my mother's bloodcount continues to drop -the best they can hope for is to get it by next week so meanwhile she will have to have another blood transfusion and I just keep getting louder and louder...
  Except in just a few hours my sister will be here to pick her up because my turn is over (actually it ended Monday but my sister cleverly got the my-husband-has-kidney-stones extension.
We go back to the river this weekend.  I will miss my mom... and I will not...and then I'll feel bad about that.

On the outside looking in

There is a great song called On the outside looking in by Tim O'Brien. Only it is about how bad it is to be on the outside looking in . But sometimes it is better. Or at least it is different.                                   I thought we would have Grandma until Monday and then the other daughter would get her. But medical crises come in 3's, or 4's or I don't know, but alot around here and the brother-in-law has a kidney stone (I'm assuming no one reading this knows him - or they already know this or they will not notice it so there are no PRIVACY issues). This stone just won't go. So they have to schedule "procedures" and they all turn out to be less pleasant than one might imagine. And they don't mesh well with picking up one's mother-in-law (and her walker, and her wheelchair, and her oxygen) and installing her downstairs for a few months. They only anticipate a delay of a few days - a few days from the one week I had summer plans for the 9 year old (cubscout daycamp!) and not too many for me (other than preparing for an online summer course I am "course directoring" which actually means much less than one would imagine). 

So, out of the goodness of my heart and purity or motive I am asking anyone reading this to please pray that stone rolls away (too irreverent sounding) passes (too graphic) exits quietly.

Because somethings are far more interesting from the outside looking in. From here it looks endearing. Picturesque even. It's why I blog. To step away and look at this life, these lives... from the outside. Preferably far enough away to not see the window needs repairing, and the glazing needs paint. But I was outside looking for the large, bouncy, ball that blew away in a summer storm




So I only had to turn around...

 ( this, by the way, is quite truly the view looking out of that window... I wish grandma could still truly see it)

tree requiem

This is Grandma's house. Except for the tree in the foreground. It is gone as of today. It had pulled up the sidewalk long ago and every engineer type foundation fixing contractor whatever would look at it and shudder and say, "It has to go!" Grandma said, "No!"... until suddenly and without us bringing it up she announced about a month or so ago, "It has to go!". So here we are on the river (other side of the house, this is the creek side) to let her have a week in her home since the little guy is out of school, the tree guy says he's in the area and BOOM. Literally. And I cried and cried. Then Grandma cried. And the little guy and... you can only imagine how much my husband was enjoying all this.

 And Grandma keeps taking her oxygen off and I forgot her shot and was a day late again and I spent an hour on the phone straightening out refills and it's hot (does this look like a house with air conditioning?) and...

Yesterday we saw dolphins on the river (and that's pretty rare on this river) and then a hummingbird on the bee balm (not rare, but feels rare) and we lay on a float off the dock and pretty much knew we were the happiest people on earth. Or at least I knew it until I remembered I'd forgotten the shot and the tree was coming down today. I have so many pictures (some printed, some in my mind) of my mom leaning on this particular tree waving goodbye to us. Never again. But it already was never again. And the tree guy said there was a big rotted hole in the trunk. It was time. I know.

extra credit

 There was this AMC series called Turn. As crazy as the last few weeks have been we still watched it. My mom couldn't see it well but she enjoyed hearing us whoop and holler. Which we did for reasons that had nothing to do with the plot. I personally have no idea what the plot was since I spent the show running in and out of the room with the 9 year old to avoid the violent parts. It's a war story so ...  we just ran back when everyone started yelling because sometimes the guy in the CENTER of this shot was all we really cared about. And it was even focused on him. It's like being famous but with out all the fuss (or money).

  These extras don't  get credited. They just stand around adding VERY IMPORTANT background scenery. But this one is pretty awesome. You can just tell he's thinking, "My mom is so great. ...But her life is so hard"

 And here he is ready to defend his mom no matter how guilty she may feel for letting Grandma go with her sister the redcoats  in a week. But really his mom needs a break. And grandma will be happy still, or at least not any more unhappy, probably. And besides school is out for the summer and his little brother needs mom time too. His mom should NOT feel guilty. He knows that. You can just tell they all know it's time.

This is a prisoner exchange. Only some of the prisoners were released (one being a major character of course) but you can see this extra is still exhausted and gaunt from his time on the prison ship, and probably feeling guilty because not all the prisoners were so lucky. Also I think he has to look serious or they might put him back in chains. He is probably thinking of his mom again. Think how happy he'll be when he gets home and finds his mom recovered from her gardening war injury. Although there must have been a camera issue because I'm pretty sure they should have been focusing on the extra.
Do I need permission to post a screen capture? Or is this free advertising? Or freedom of the press? Or just a basic mother's prerogative? I'm pretty sure I shouldn't feel guilty for this too.

I'm fine, you're fine....probably

Has anyone else noticed the new conversational tic is to say, "You're fine." And it is, at least here in the semi-south, said with great confidence and sympathy. Every time I start to say, "I'm sorry." or make my excuses now I hear, "You're fine" and for extra emphasis they might add "You are fi -ine." And I always believed them. They were so confident I was fine. Nurses at the hospital said it, the Dominoe's guy said it. Then I started noticing that sometimes people said it before I'd even had a chance to be sorry -or when I wasn't actually going to be sorry. Students (students!) have said it to me when I really had no need of re-assurance at all. On the other hand I've also heard it when I was pretty sure I was NOT fine. Look I think, I'm really mad, do not tell me I'm fine. I don't know if other people have this happen to them but I imagine I could be threatening violence and some one would pat me on the back and say, "No, really. You're fine."
 I personally rarely say, "You're fine." because I don't have the confidence. I'd say something like, "I think you are probably fine. At least I'm sure you seem fine to other hippopotami."
 Now if we were all in Kauai and all our drinks came with those little umbrellas (slash hair decor) we'd be fine. I could both give and receive a confident, "You're fine." Fine.

playing pretend

Maybe I should start a new blog: Guide to one handed care-giving.  Or maybe Typing in a splint.  Of course I'm not even really quite just one handed. My right thumb and pinky are free, and the other 3 fingers' tips extend over the top of the splint and emerge from the wrapping. But they aren't real useful. For instance there's no way I can put my hair in a ponytail, cut anything, drive stick shift, push (or in our case, pull given the broken front wheel) a wheelchair, clean fingernails (mine or anyone else's), or give shots. Some things I can do but it takes way longer, like buttering toast, cut pills in half, dispense pills, change sheets, clean up after a nosebleed, and don't even ask about helping with colostomy care (not that anyone ever does ask). Some things I asked for help with at first but discovered I can do myself. For instance snapping my jeans because even after 30+ years of marriage I did not need to hear my husband ask- "Are you sure they fit you?" What I find is hardest to be UNable to do is keep my running list of what to do next. I was pretty well paralyzed for a day or 2 without my list. And the camera -no focus control as you can see.
Mostly, truthfully, it is somewhat entertaining to figure out how to use only the left hand with just a little help from the mummy hand. I can, after all, take the darn thing off once a day (for bathing) and I know it's not forever. It probably isn't even for many more days Plus I do get a little sympathy- although naturally not at home. It's like pretend.

True story: When our eldest was 11 an orthopedic surgeon became convinced that the CP was twisting his legs such that unless she did a (follow me closely here) double derotational osteotomy - that would be cutting both femurs and "derotating" them before they were put back together -he would lose all ability to walk even with crutches. The surgery would be every bit as awful as it sounds and require 6 months in a wheel chair with casts and another 6 months "intense" physical therapy (he already had therapy twice a week and we did work with him most days). We went for other opinions. Dorsal rhizotomy anyone (randomly* snipping nerves in the spine)? And one day in the midst of this we walked into our (old, but not because of this) church and there were 3 boys, our son's age and younger, goofing off in the lobby in wheelchairs. It was part of a disability "awareness" program. They were "learning" what it was like to be handicapped. They were doing wheelies. My son had not been asked to participate or told about it -he said, "It's not right".  We went out for a Sunday brunch. Later we were sent a letter of apology -they were very sorry we didn't understand how truly sensitive they all were - and next time we should be sure to address our concerns to the appropriate committee because we had made that committee feel very unappreciated when we went to the pastor and told him how we felt. We knew whoever planned this meant well. We just thought they'd like to know how the only actual physically handicapped member of the church felt.  Silly us.

 We have nothing against pretending. The wisteria may have covered the castle but it's still there, you just have to push the branches aside to peer out.



* it's not done randomly now -but it was then.

Fenced in

So... Grandma was discharged after 2 units of blood. The 2nd one appeared to be my idea. I kinda think at that point they were a little wary of me so when the "hospitalist" said OK, they'd give her one more unit and then we could take her home I said, "Deal!" This is the way medical care works right? Meanwhile the alliteratively named hand doctor was splinting my right hand such that it is now completely useless and I can't even shift the automatic transmission vehicle with it. Our youngest's soccer coach has a lovely alliterative name also and with a bit of a Godfatherish sound to it so I suggested if the hand doc gives up medicine, and the soccer coach gives up whatever he does besides try to get a bunch of pretty non-athletic kids to stay alert out there they'd make a great professional wrestling team.
 Oh where was I? By Friday we decided to run away. Grandma was home, the weekend safely arrived, no bad weather and a willing daughter -as long as we were home in time for her to get to the ball. We called for a room at our favorite escape for people who don't want any modern excitement - they had a room. By 10pm we were enjoying authentic

 Colonial music and food. For breakfast we buffeted with the folks from the really expensive part of town, and pretended we were too. Then we went home. Before the van turned orange (pumpkin like, get it?)
The poor daughter found the ball was too far away and grandmas's nose bled until it was to late to get to church and..

Still I shouldn't complain. I remember what's on the other side of that fence.

Last week was a long long time ago...

So.. continuing on from my last blog but more slowly sine now I have this cast thing-y on my hand. The doctor said I'd still be able to type but there is really only one usable finger on the right hand -so basically my usual typing skills. Any way I foolishly thought what with the Lyme's disease and shots and injuries I'd just laugh at the next thing. Ha ha ha. Then the phone rang. Grandma's blood was at the recharge level and since the doctor for that is in my sister's state he wasn't at all sure where we would get blood. She actually kept saying that until I had to bite my tongue not to explain to her that here in my county and state we just pick up some at Walmart - but only if Sheetz's is all out. So finally they say, aha -call her primary care where you are so I think hey I have this covered. Only it turns out he doesn't do blood... or hospitals so call back the out of state doctor who says just go to an ER and they'll handle it from there. I should have laughed some more. I did wait for someone (my poor daughter) to make come with me since the O2 etc etc was proving difficult to drag behind the wheel chair all with one hand. The wait time at the ER was only about 10 minutes just as they advertised. And then of course we waited 3 hours for anyone to do anything. And what they did was to admit her as soon as I left for a nap at a friends house. The "ED" wanted her to see a GI doc because of some blood -present right where you would expect it to be present if one had been swallowing blood from several nights of nosebleeds. Also her blood numbers looked higher she was dehydrated so that was misleading. I was pretty mad but the mischief was done and since I didn't trust the hemoglobin number an overnight seemed reasonable.
 Next day the first doctor who calls says she is looking much better from her transfusion. What transfusion I say. Oh, wait he misread the chart - she needs a transfusion because the numbers are now the same as what sent us in to begin with. Next doctor calls and suggests perhaps she has MDS - yes indeed I say just as I told everyone last night as you can confirm from the number of her hematologist I gave them. Basically he then goes on to get her entire history from me just as I had given the first doctor just as I gave in the ER and just as I gave at 1am in the floor room. The 3rd doctor (you did see this coming right?) calls when I was driving home from my evening visit with her. He's there for a GI consult and seems bemused because he has been told there was a 96 year old, anemic, possible intestinal bleeding and a history of "multiple colonoscopies" - that took me a minute, it really did. "Perhaps you mean she has a co-lost-omy?" I ask politely. The next pause was all worth it. I gave him her history but more loudly than before and with a few comments regarding the ED thrown in. Gratifyingly he was in complete agreement. He told me he'd kept his surgical team on hand when he got the report of this in extremis 96 year old only to come in and find her "chowing down" (the nurse told me this morning he used that actual phrase even in his notes on her chart). The nurse also told me this morning the "family" would be bringing in her thyroid but I (the family) told her no one had mentioned that to us. So now she (grandma, not the nurse) is on her way home and I am on my way to bed. I looked for a picture for this post and find the above from just a little over a week ago I wonder why I can hardly remember May at all.

Ifs

If this hadn't been so boring maybe he wouldn't have switched to the ball and bat set. And if I had played with him instead of working on the yard I wouldn't have picked up all those ticks. And if I hadn't collected  quite so many ticks maybe I wouldn't have missed one. If I hadn't overlooked that one maybe I  wouldn't have gotten the rash and mildly flu-like symptoms that sent me to a walk-in clinic on a lovely Saturday and missed out on being outside -in which case I might not have gone out at dusk to weed my own garden and not have accidentally pulled the  rose branch that sprang back and clobbered my knuckle with its iron like thorns. If that hadn't happened I wouldn't have gone into a different walk-in clinic Sunday to have my very swollen hand x-rayed and my growing tick rash admired and the antibiotic the first clinic prescribed changed to the far more appropriate (and nauseating) doxycycline, my finger taped to a splint and a TDaP shot in my now swollen left arm. And if my charming husband had not had to drive me in for the required follow-up with the real doctor on a Monday afternoon and if we hadn't run into a friend after seeing the doctor and if we hadn't accepted their invitation to hang out with them (and some interesting beers) and if our sweet daughter hadn't agreed to take care of the homefront with the added enticement that she was going to have to give Grandma her shot anyway (my hand, remember?) and if Grandma hadn't had nose bleeds all night because of the oxygen and she had to ring her bell for help and if I hadn't been told not to use my possibly broken hand THEN he wouldn't have only had 2 hours of sleep and really be bit grumpy today.

the picture tells the story

... but mostly it's staged. Yes, he hit a plastic ball with a plastic bat into a very old window. But the look on my face is from trying not to laugh and he was simply being a ham posing there and looking remorseful. I mean he was sorry -kinda. But mostly he was living the drama. Probably if this had been either of his brothers 18 or 20 years ago I'd have been truly upset. Also, this being Grandma's house she would have been in on it too along with any aunts or uncles who heard about it. There would have been no need of acting skills. But this isn't 18 or 20 years ago and although it is Grandma's house she knew we'd be the ones replacing the pane and she only knew about the break because we told her -she needs something exciting. And this being 18 or 20 years later I've pretty well used up any outrage over the things little boys do (I don't mean in general of course -that would be sexist. I just mean as far as my boys and girls were concerned). Broken windows are easy now. They are fixable. It's not cold  so no warmth can escape and since there's no "central cooling" more ventilation is fine.
  What isn't fixable is being 96. I can't slow time down and I can't... . The thing about taking care of a very old and ill person is the only way my job will get easier is if... or if... Do I need to say I don't want my mother to die? Of course I don't! Except when I do. I am pretty sure I am not supposed to say that. If someone would tell me what else she has to look forward to here on earth (besides a nice dinner and a glass of wine) please do. The thing is I never want her to die now. Not too long from now, but never now. When she was so weak she couldn't make it to the table yesterday I tenderly fed her. (Grilled salmon and asparagus, OK?) She felt better after that. Back to normal today. And by normal I mean tired and in pain and grumpily making it to the table and asking for her coffee to be hotter and I find my tenderness all for myself. I may even feed myself... but very tenderly.
  So the good news is I don't sweat the windows because this job has an end I can freely look forward to. He's going to grow up and have to take care of me.

waiting (rolling and waiting)

Here "we" are at a Children's hospital. The parking lot security asked if we were there for a meeting and I had to wave the crutches at him and say, "No, appointment." Actually the car was too small to actually wave the crutches at him so I more sort of just shook them. Garmin had directed us via the most densely populated city streets possible to get there but some how we were still on time. Even after waiting in line to check in. We waited in line with all the small children and and a few teenagers. I felt very sorry for myself. Then I'd see the children in the special strollers with the head supports and with various tubes strapped here and there and then my self-pity vanished. Not really. Then it became guilty self pity.
At least my boy here said he rather enjoyed the Disney Princess show on the waiting room tv. He thought it was really amusingly odd.
 We got home in time for me to give Grandma her shot and to pick up the boy in 3rd grade and his best friend for a play date. And I made dinner (and did the laundry). I'm not sure my self-pity was guilty at that point. I mean it probably should have been but I was on a roll.

Far far away

 It wasn't that long ago though. But I have noticed the last few years that every time I run away when I get back I can't quite remember what it was like anywhere else. This is why I have 5,000 pictures of Kauia on my computer -and that's after editing out the un-necessary ones.
My sweet sweet husband told me the other day that I am not good with the elderly or the handicapped.  It's true. I seem nice on the outside. I look very perky at the hospital and doctor's offices. I cheerfully give shots, and pack wounds and smile and nod when the surgeon explains how easy it will be to just gently push my mom's ... whatever you call the lump escaping through the hernia - back where it belongs. I stay at the table and smile and nod. But then I am afraid it must show that I really need to get to the other room to do some meaningful work -which turns out to be another round of spider solitaire.
 And lately I have made the discovery that while emotional outbursts are exhausting it is almost more exhausting to constantly push down the emotional outbursts and not run screaming out of the room saying , "No, no, no more." The people (and by this I mostly mean my mom) who have told me all my life how much easier it would be to stay calm aren't people who actually have to STAY calm -they simply are calm. One of my mother's biggest complaints (after the coffee being too cold and the water too warm) is that after years of calmness she find herself ready to cry often -and I say, "Welcome to my world."  It turns out that there is a price to pay for all this self control, all the saying, "yes, yes, the more the merrier." I'm not saying it isn't worth it. I'm just saying it's not as cheap as I thought. And every now and then it just seems to burst out anyway...

Crashing

I am trying to blog as a way to let off steam and then I realized the kettle has burned dry. So maybe I am like the double minded man crashing helpless on the shore only to roll back into the endless sea of despair and regret. Other than this being an excellent description of motherhood it only barely fits in with my Kauai rainbow picture. But I will make it work.

Nobody getting much work done here between taking one for ears to be cleaned and one for bloodwork -always a hunt for her tiny little veins. Neither patient was the kitten by the by.

Fairly well

 .. but not fair THEE well.
  Today's topic is fairness. Or  How fairness almost ruined my life.

Once upon a time a boy was born too soon, too small, too weak, too blue. Then time went by too fast. Trying to find a pre-school meant running the gauntlet of administrators who worried if it would be "fair to the teachers,"  "fair to the other students," and probably, most of all, fair to the liability lawyers (they are so busy!). Time kept going by far too fast and many more things happened. It became more and more difficult to calculate the fairness factor. Grandma came and didn't feel it was "fair" to ask the young man to help her. It was hard to decide who had the unfair part. The mother (daughter) became confused and tired. Help came in packets of what was "fair". The statistician part of the narrator tried to regress the entire function. It didn't look good. The kitten scratched her hand, tried to eat her hair...

    Oh, that's what I meant to blog about: We got a girl-kitten. Grandma loves it. So does the 9 year old, the daughter with her first job saving up for her first (non-college) apartment and the here and there son and girlfriend. The husband and the eldest (the once upon a time boy) aren't so sure. I'm still nursing my hand (when I'm not dangling it temptingly over her). Grandma turned 96 last month. I'll tell you about the hernia later.

Envy

My mother turned 96, 2 days ago. My baby turned 9, 2 weeks ago. My first born turned 29, 2  months ago.
(As a a professor I feel compelled to point out I'm rounding to make for better symmetry) (If you are anything like my students you wish I wouldn't).  This isn't getting easier.

My mother says almost every time she sees me doing anything that she is envious of  my ability to do -anything. She is envious of my "young legs". She is envious that my husband is still alive. She is envious that I'm a "doctor". I try to point out that at my age she was very active too. In fact probably more so -and she hadn't been on blodd pressure medication for more than 10 years already -and that is when she moves on the degree and the husband because I can't say she had those things. So I win. Only it doesn't feel like it.
 I am just weary. The last year I keep telling myself I will at least write things down again but I can't remember why and I can't seem to figure out how to get a laugh out of much of it.
 I try to tell her it would be nice if she was proud of me rather than envious - I don't go on to even try to explain how guilty and ...confused it makes me feel when it sounds as if she would be happer if I weren't still walking, or married, or terminally degreed. Or as if I should be sure not to flaunt any of these things in front of her - although I'm not sure what constitutes flaunting. It's not as if anyone ever treats her as anything but the wise grandma who, as my children say "knows everything". Even if she doesn't always remember it anymore.
  So if you have wandered back here and followed along, and to give myself that sense of narrative purpose here's a liitle catching up since January: Grandma was with her other daughter (the one who reads to her more) from January through March 22. Grandma has a hernia and oxygen now to go with all else, and shots 3xs a week for blood boosting and bloodwork 1x week to check on that and a local doctor who wants to recheck and redo everythings done while she was in Maryland.
  The 29 year old had a cyst that had to drained on his back after it became infected and then an open wound that had to be "packed" and dressed everyday (middle of back, handicap or know you'd have to have someone else do this for you). Turns out I can do shots, colostomy care, clean stitiches, clean in general - but not clean open wounds and push gauze under cut flaps of skin. Unh unh. Can't do it. Fortunately that husband I'm so lucky to still have can.
   The college graduate girl has gotten a job -much faster than we anticipated, and a kitten so my free help and child care is now more of another boarder. Don't get me wrong -I am thrilled the job is close, and want her to stay until she can save for a place of her own (and hoping that takes awhile) but I definitely could have used her unemployed until the end of the semester.
 Speaking of which as adjuncts are used less I took on more since I doubt it will be offered again (teaching next year? who knows!) - that has meant commuting 3xs a week and juggling 3 lectures a week and 100 plus students.
 Then there was the weather. Well, no need to fill anyone in on that. 
Also I went to Hawaii TWO TIMES since January. Envy that.

still under water

So really Kauia was amazing and this has to be the best family vacation picture ever. The snorkeling company we were with (they take you out in a zodiac) had a photographer along because they were working on a new website. So here we all are, mom, dad and the 2 youngest - one of whom just graduated from college on the 5 and 1/2 year plan and one missing a week of 3rd grade. "Dad" (or "hey dad...as he is known in the family) is going down for a better shot. The 8 year old's right next to mom because he still wasn't too sure about snorkeling and was being bribed to keep his head down (he did have to put his head :up to shout, "this is awesome"- which sounds kinda funny underwater. Maybe that is why the turtle is diving away. Still it all was pretty awesome. Right before this we'd been watching a humpback and calf repeatedly breeching and splashing back into the sea. Just close enough to be amazing but not scary. We pretty well ran out of adjectives while we were there. We knew real life was continuing on the "mainland" as we islanders like to call every where else, but we ignored it. The occasional text updating us that Grandma was in the hospital again just floated on by. I left the messages in the bottle. I felt so young there...
 ... which is about when the bursitis kicked in. Three weeks later and Grandma is back with her other daughter and I am still on "break" except for teaching 2 classes and trying not to confuse them. One is twice a week undergrad, the other once a week grad students but meeting in the same room which makes it hard to remember where I am lecture wise at moments (bad moments, moments I am again glad no one else hears the voices in my head). It's like that for my mom I guess. Only much worse. She knows she is forgetting what she just said. But it's up and down so sometimes it seems like she is just the same mom she has been for so very, very long. And then I see that a little bit of her is not quite here. And I am the same girl too I was and then some doctor has to tell me they can see I have spinal arthritis but of course it's just what they see at my age. My daughter told us (mom and dad) that we still look like teenagers - just old ones. Underwater this might be true. Especially since American teens today weigh more than they used to. Anyway I can't sleep worrying the college grad won't get a job - and neither will I after this semester.
  And we got the eldest new orthotics, still at the local Children's hospital since no one else really does CP. I actually haven't seen them yet since the only time I saw him this week was when he was on his way to the Y for swimming and the "boots" don't float (and neither will the bill -ha ha, a medical cost joke). I am looking forward to going back to the islands...