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.