LifePundit

A Great Gift Idea for an Elderly Person

There's a new digital picture frame out that can receive photos directly from cell phones. That would be fun for nearly anyone -- I'd love such a thing at my desk, assuming anyone would send me photos. But think how wonderful that would be for an elderly person stuck at home or in a nursing home.

Your children, grandchildren, friends, etc. could send you photos of their vacations and of their daily lives. You don't have to know how to use a computer. Poof! and the photo of your newest grandbaby is there.

Really cool idea. Hope it works. Read the review here.

The Vacation is Over

I'm back -- and kind of sorry about it.

The switch on our water pump had a problem so we had no water. Now it's back -- and I'm back to doing laundry. A working well and water pump is one of the world's greatest inventions.

The lightning that gave me technical problems before vacation did something to my computer and my speakers and printer quit working. The lights were on but nobody was home. Finally, late last night, I got it working again. Had to uninstall a bunch of stuff and re-install, plus had to use different USB ports. I think the lightning got some of my USB ports. Now I have wires going everywhere and am beginning to feel like Medusa.

And then nobody remembered how to hook the TV back up to all the wires and boxes (since we unplugged everything before we left). I've about had it with wires and boxes.

The vet is coming to see the horses this afternoon. One injured an ankle while we were gone and the other caught a cough. Ah me.

And my father fell, but he's okay.

I'll post pictures and write up a little about our trip to St. Maarten/St. Martin. It's a beautiful place, no hotter than here, and I didn't have any wires or livestock to concern myself with.

And to think we could have stayed two weeks!

Go Work Out While Working Out Still Works

When you're two months away from your 96th birthday, chances are that the people who sit with you at your table in assisted living will be younger than you. Chances are that the people everywhere you go are younger than you. Maybe not as full of life or determined to live, but younger.

Such is the case with my father. I think that is probably one of the rough edges of life in assisted living. You sit with the same people for every meal (the staff tries to put people of similar life experiences together) and they come.... then they go. They go to the hospital and don't return. They go to the Alzheimer's unit and don't return. They go to the nursing center and don't return, though my father sees them staring vacantly into space while parked in the dayroom in their wheelchairs when he goes to the nursing center to visit my mother.

He's enjoyed the company of a younger, more vigorous (though still old as dirt) man at his table for the past few months. All was well until the other night when my father was in the shower and this man walked in. The man asked, "Where do you get water for the dogs?"

My father said, "There aren't any dogs." And the man walked out.

The man is now missing -- he's been moved somewhere where he can't wander off. The staff doesn't talk much about what happens to people when they suddenly disappear, leaving their friends to wonder if they're dead or just elsewhere. Probably with the HIPA (if I used the right initials) regulations, the staff shouldn't talk at all. But these people are living together. They need to know what happened to their companions. My father misses his friend.

The list of his dinner companions has turned over many times. It's depressing. Not only does he miss his companions, but he has to wonder if he's next.

My father has developed some kind of lung infection within the last few days. Nobody has used the pneumonia word, or any word for that matter. He's on antibiotics and two other kinds of medications (in addition to the usual bowl of pills). He sounds terrible, says he feels terrible. But he tells me that if only he would take the time away from the garden to work out and get in better condition, then he would be all right. He says he's been too busy to work out and he's gotten in terrible shape. Working out would fix it all. (This is of course not true, as he has congestive heart failure and aortic stenosis. He's on oxygen and falls all the time.)

I got him to agree not to work out (he has free weights in his room) until after his lungs are clear.  I don't know how worried to be about this illness. If it can be shaken off, he will shake it. The will to live is a powerful thing.

In the meantime, those of us who are not 96 have no excuse. Go work out -- while working out still works.

Mama is 96 Today

Here's a photo of my parents before Mama got Alzheimer's and before my father turned into a skinny but determined old fellow. Today is Mama's 96th birthday. My father had it all planned out. I would drive up there, we would load her into my car and take her on a joy ride. Since she's bedridden, can't walk and they need to use an automatic lift of some sort to move her from bed to chair and back, this whole fantasy required a good bit of imagination.

He sort of sucked me into the whole idea. Poor Mama stuck in a nursing home. For her 96th birthday, we'll take her out for a drive. Never mind he can't stand upright without falling over and is a hazard to take places. Never mind that Mama doesn't know who we are or where she is most of the time. Never mind that when she was mobile and could go places, she so objected to having to go back to the Alzheimer's unit that we had to put lorazepam gel on her wrists to get her calmed down enough to return.

Saintly Brother pointed out the many ways I had lost my mind with this scheme. That's what Saintly Brothers are for. I am gracefully bowing out but not engaging my father in discussion about the why.

I may not even see her on her birthday, which makes me sad. Then again, I can see her on another day and we can declare THAT day her birthday, and pick any number we choose. We can celebrate her 50th birthday or whatever sounds good to her, since she doesn't know what year it is anyway. I doubt she'd believe me if I told her she was 96. I'm sure she wouldn't. I hardly believe it myself.

Here's a photo of us celebrating our birthdays in 2005. That's my non-teenage daughter, Lily, in the middle.

Kindness Can Look Like a Tomato Plant

My father's room in assisted living has a window that looks out into an area with bird feeders and raised flower beds. The staff there knows of my father's love for gardening, and last week when they were planting summer flowers in their gazillion raised flower beds they did something different for the one my father can see from his room. They planted it with tomato plants.

One of the staff came to him and said, "Mr. C., do you see what they're doing?"

"What?"

"Look out of your window. Do you see what they're planting?"

He looked. "Tomatoes," he said. Then he went outside, dragging his oxygen with him. He watched for a minute, then asked the lady planting the tomatoes, "Where's your lime?" he said.

She looked at him strangely. "I don't have any. What do I need lime for?"

"Blossom end rot," he said.

I wish he had said things such as, "pretty plants," "good job," "thank you." But no. It was "Where's your lime?" You're doing it wrong. Oh well. He is who is he. The lady managed to change the subject to her divorce problems. From here on I'm pretty fuzzy about what happened. My parents have been married for 72 years and a stranger confessing things about her divorce was more surprising to him than planting the tomatoes without lime.

Honestly, I think it was hard for him to perceive the kindness behind this act of planting tomatoes where he could watch them from his room. Or maybe he did perceive the kindness, and was lost on how to respond. Plus, he just planted 150 tomato plants in his garden in the country (with much help and all the right ingredients). What does a man who get three meals a day in assisted living need with a giant garden? Gives him something to do. A place to go. Life bursting with life.

He planted 150 tomato plants and he doesn't even like tomatoes. Seriously. Won't eat them.

I am touched that the people who care for my parents are that insightful and kind. Lime or no lime, I think it is beautiful.

How to Take An Old Person to Lunch

My father likes for me to "come get him out of there" and take him to lunch. The more limited he becomes, the more difficult this is. Here's a list of suggestions to myself for the next outing:

1. Bring a patient grandchild along. Bribery can inspire patience. Bribery cannot inspire cheerfulness but cheerfulness can be faked. Demand it.
2. Don't have anything scheduled for the rest of the day.
3. If you plan to pick your old person up at 11:00 a.m. for lunch, be aware that they will be sitting there waiting for you at 8:00 a.m. and will be mad when you show up on time that you weren't there earlier. Getting there earlier won't help, unless you get there at 7:59 a.m.
4. Make sure you have room in the car for the walker.
5. BRING AN EXTRA OXYGEN TANK NO MATTER WHAT THEY TELL YOU.
6. Ask often if they need to go to the bathroom. Those heart meds bring frequent and urgent needs and are  most likely to occur when there is no bathroom. Like a toddler, they will resist going to the bathroom when the needs isn't urgent (yet) because the effort to get to the bathroom and tend to their business requires so very much work that it's physically exhausting. However, so is cleaning the urine smell out of your car. My father wants to bring his portable urinal with him, but he's not a good aim. This is TMI for you -- and for me. Believe me. We are deeply into TMI in the elimination department. It must be just awful.
7. The average maitre d' will try to stick you into the back because elderly people with freshly spotted pants and oxygen tanks do not look good in the front of the restaurant. This is their problem. Insist that you be seated in a convenient, quiet table with padded seats that isn't far from the entrance or the bathroom.
8. Try to pick a place that isn't loud. Pick a place with incredible desserts because the sweet taste buds are the last to go.
9. Think in advance of subjects to talk about so you'll have topics other than elimination.
10. Bring a (waterproof) pillow in case the chairs are hard. When an old man has lost 50 lbs., he's got no butt or back padding. I may get a pillow just for this purpose. Maybe an outdoor cushion with a back and bottom in it. Just hope it doesn't slip and slide and throw him on the floor!
11. If the meal they choose comes with pasta, ask for bowties or other shapes that are easier to handle than long noodles that need twirling.
12. Order something extremely healthy for yourself. You might get old and you want to be healthy and in good condition. If you need reminding, look across the table.
13. Expect to hear that the food doesn't taste right. It probably doesn't because elderly taste buds are shot. Be sympathetic and not argumentative. Offer to get something else. Some foods do still taste good, though it seems to be a random thing and I can't tell you what they are. It's not a fun outing for somebody to find out that one more thing is wrong with them.
14. Bring Shout or some other brand of wipes to help clean up afterwards, if they don't mind. Nobody likes to wear their lunch but sometimes it's better not to acknowledge it.
15. Don't forget to stop at the bathroom before leaving.
16. Leave a good tip.
17. Ask if you can run errands on the way home.

Usually we get lousy service from people who want to stick us in the back and find us high maintenance. Yesterday Lily and I took my father to the Macaroni Grill. The maitre d' immediately found us a table where my father didn't have to walk far (without my requesting it) and brought extra napkins for my father to sit on so the chair would be softer. The waiter wanted to chat with my father about his life, since they'd both graduated from the same school. It was too loud, but my father was okay after taking his hearing aids out. The loaf of bread (loaves I should say) was a big hit. Great service from kind, thinking people. And not one word about elimination.

Women's Color Knowledge is the Last to Go

My father was visiting with my mother, who has Alzheimer's, and she was ignoring him, which is sometimes a good idea. Or perhaps it was one of her non-responsive days. Either way, he wasn't getting a thing out of her, so he was talking to her about things he hoped she would find interesting. He noticed a basket of silk flowers in the day room where they were sitting and, not expecting an answer, he said, "Aren't those pretty blue flowers?"

My mother quickly responded, "They're purple."

She didn't say another thing that day.

My Mother's Smile

My mother hasn't known me for months. Yesterday, when I went to the retirement community to pick up my father to take him to the very sad funeral (yesterday's post), I stopped by to see my mother.

When I walked into the room she broke into a smile all over and announced, "That's my daughter!" We talked, more or less, and she beamed with delight the whole time. (Usually she just naps and looks at me with glazed eyes.) I asked her how she was doing. She said, "I'm doing well because you're doing well."

And when the attendant was fixing the lift machine to get my mother from the bed to the Gerry Chair (geriatric chair), my mother looked at me and said, "Now I'm going to show you some tricks."

I couldn't believe it.

When we were saying goodbye she said, "I love you." And I said the same.

What a gift! To have her present and alert for just a few minutes. And though everything has changed, none of the big things have. I can't wait to get all of her back in heaven.

If your mother knows you, go give her a hug. Then hug her again. Keep hugging her until she tells you to go away. Then don't go.

Heart Failure, Alzheimer's and Acne

I feel like getting under the bed. This morning I took my father to his doctor who was amazed that my father has rebounded and stabilized -- not currently in heart failure. Of course my father was surprised to hear that he'd ever been in heart failure. I think he thought heart failure equals a heart attack. The doctor made the remark that attitude and will have a lot to do with survival for old people and people with cancer. My father has even gained five pounds and his bloodwork, etc. was great. So that was good, though my father complained that he's too tired to work out and that he didn't think what he was doing for strength training was working.

The last time I went to visit my father I found him doing laps with his walker in the parking lot. He was about to keel over, but he was doing laps.

My father complained to the doctor that he couldn't walk very far anymore. The doctor said, "You should be grateful for whatever distance you can walk." That doesn't compute with my father. The doctor said, "You look great. There's no change."

My father said, "That's terrible. I want to get better." He doesn't know that the doctor predicted over a year ago that my father wouldn't live until 7/07. He still believes he can get better and that the power is in his hands, if only he would work out more. I wish I had those genes, or those delusions.

My father insisted that we go to the hospice meeting early so I could practice being early (enough already!). We sat in the car and drank Cokes and talked. The meeting turned out to be very important. Those hospice people (a Lutheran group) are really wonderful. My father, the activist, had decided that since my mother's teeth hurt (they are falling apart -- I understand that sometimes happens at her age -- I mean, you go there one day and the tooth that was there the day before has broken off. It's quite shocking.) My mother is on painkillers for it as the goal right now is for her to be at peace and not hurting. Anyway, my father has decided that my mother needs all kinds of dental work. He's been agitating about it so much that he found a dentist to come in to do it. Hospice informed us of the risks and probable lack of benefits. They brought in their doctor to talk to us about it. Saintly Brother and I put the brakes on this scheduled tooth pulling (Non-Saintly Brother wasn't there, though I saw him in traffic later). We'll meet with the dentist and the social worker next week to see if Mama is (1) in pain that needs different treatment and (2) what on earth is the plan here?

Then I had to rush to take Lily to the dermatologist. For acne.

Whiplash here in the sandwich generation. But all are getting good care and sometimes that's the best you could possibly wish for.

How Many Places Should I Set for Dinner?

I don't often write about my mother because, though she is still here, Alzheimer's took her from us years ago. Which is not to say that somewhere in there isn't a bit of my mother left. I can see her when she smiles, or squeezes my hand, or says some automatic phrase even though she might not remember who I am.

My mother was raised on a farm in Kershaw County, S.C., during the Depression. She never learned to swim or ride a bike, but she could ring a chicken's neck one-handed (fortunately I never saw this) and cook, can or preserve any food you could grow. She skipped a grade in school but she wasn't able to go to college. She was unfailingly kind and you'd have to get her in a corner to get her to say anything bad about anyone, even if they deserved it.

She never got a traffic ticket, and in contrast to my father, didn't do crazy, reckless things. It really bothered her when he did. She was a worrier. He gave her a lot to worry about. (By the way, she never once signed a release form for my riding lessons. That left me to do a lot of dancing around and somehow the instructors let me keep riding.)

One day when we were at Holden Beach Non-Saintly Brother, who was an adult living with them, brought a Laser sailboat, which is one of those small sailboats where you get wet. My father hadn't sailed since WWII and Non-Saintly Brother wanted to take him out for a sail. My father wouldn't do it.

So, when no one was looking, my father snuck off in the sailboat. (He hadn't wanted to go with Non-Saintly Brother because he didn't want anyone to tell him what to do.) He sailed off into the ocean. I don't even think he had a life jacket. He got pretty far out and while we watched, capsized. He tried and tried to right the boat. But in the decades since he'd sailed in WWII and that day, a new kind of fastener had been developed for the ropes, and my father didn't know how to get it un-done. The sail stayed taut so that every time my father stood on the rudder to right the boat, the sail countered by scooping up half the Atlantic Ocean. Finally, he gave up. We saw him sitting on the hull of the boat, floating in the ocean. I don't have a photo, but imagine this one. Without the rescue boat. In deep water, a mere speck in the distance. The summer that the "Jaws" movie came out.

So now it was time for Non-Saintly Brother and my then-boyfriend, who was also a sailor, to swim out through all kinds of imaginary great white sharks to save my father.

My boyfriend was scared off by the little fishes jumping around him. "I could only figure that something was after them, and I was afraid it would come after me." (Note: Old boyfriend is now well-known environmentalist.) So he swam back. Non-Saintly Brother continued his swim out into the ocean.

It was lunchtime. My mother had cooked everything and was setting the table. My father was pretty far out. Non-Saintly Brother was not an athlete, yet he was swimming farther into the ocean. There were no lifeguards on anything on this beach and not many people around. It was a tense moment.

Mama turned to me and said, "How many places do you think I need to set for dinner?"