A charming 112 year old from Manitoba dies:
http://www.theglobeandmail.com/news/national/prairies/woman-believed-to-be-oldest-in-canada-dies/article1882322/
And assistance...
There is a great government program available to assist with the caretaking of fragile seniors...it will help with housework, keep seniors company, do hygienic care...
They don't do lunch.
And, so the matriarch has absolutely no interest. When I talked to her about maybe going for a bit of a break, she asks why? She doesn't need one.
Wednesday, January 26, 2011
Thursday, January 20, 2011
Of Children and Old Women
The matriarch broke wind at the blood clinic, today, continuously, and I cringed and the nurse pretended not to hear. The whole time the blood was being drawn, the matriarch made her presence known. But, she did not seem to know what was happening--it was as though she could not hear it happening. I had promised to take her to the bank with me but, once settled in the van after the clinic, I said to her
I think you need to go home.
Why?
It was an embarrassing pause. And, of course, I could not tell her.
It's too cold out and my husband wants me to do some running around. You need to go home.
Suffice it to say, I got her knickers in knot and she was not happy with me. But, once I did deposit her at home, she rushed up the stairs as only a 99 year old who has to go the bathroom can. I hate monitoring other people's bodily functions. So, I went to the bank and when I returned home, the children had made lunch--including toast and honey for grandma and cookies.
The point about the cookies is the fact they were marshmallow, chocolate covered ones. And, as I write this, I begin to suspect we, too, may have a problem with sugar but I digress. The children being children, of course, lunch was lively, exuberant. Then, I started doing the dishes and they started eating the cookies, making sure Grandma had her share. And, I am standing there at the sink, watching them, the eating area being on the other side of the counter, when the first cookie goes flying at my middle child's head, chocolate and marshmallow eviscerated from the bottom but this biscuit somehow landing on the table. As I contemplate the reality of this, and the reaction that my children (!!!!) could possibly be having a food fight in my kitchen (!!!), the second cookie, really more a slightly, chocolate-covered miniature flying saucer goes flying across the room...and lands in the matriarch's tea. This, of course, brings silence to the table as the children all look to their grandma and see what she will do. I have mentioned we pretend she isn't blind and not deaf and I have two minds as to whether or not she is completely oblivious but even I was wondering if she noticed the cookie having dropped into her tea. It did splash before it sank--I mean there was some tea on the table around the cup.
But, I couldn't let her drink it and spewing dagger eyes at my children, I said to her:
Here, let me get you a fresh cup.
Why? I don't need another cup.
And, she breaks wind again. And, my oldest child is trying not to laugh and my younger two are snickering and their grandma begins eating another cookie. So, I take the cup hoping to get a fresh cup and tea poured before she notices and, of course, I fail; I see her hand stretching out for the cup which is not there; the hand gropes around the table and my youngest pushes the cookie plate before her, so my mother-in-law takes another cookie as though she has forgotten the tea. But she hasn't; she reaches for my child's milk glass and says
This isn't my mug.
I have poured the tea into another cup and say, handing it to her,
No, here it is.
And, she breaks wind again and the children erupt into laughter and, for the sake of this blog, I will say I discipline them. But, really, we are all headed this way...tooting and eating cookies and pretending we are still familiar with our very old bodies.
I think you need to go home.
Why?
It was an embarrassing pause. And, of course, I could not tell her.
It's too cold out and my husband wants me to do some running around. You need to go home.
Suffice it to say, I got her knickers in knot and she was not happy with me. But, once I did deposit her at home, she rushed up the stairs as only a 99 year old who has to go the bathroom can. I hate monitoring other people's bodily functions. So, I went to the bank and when I returned home, the children had made lunch--including toast and honey for grandma and cookies.
The point about the cookies is the fact they were marshmallow, chocolate covered ones. And, as I write this, I begin to suspect we, too, may have a problem with sugar but I digress. The children being children, of course, lunch was lively, exuberant. Then, I started doing the dishes and they started eating the cookies, making sure Grandma had her share. And, I am standing there at the sink, watching them, the eating area being on the other side of the counter, when the first cookie goes flying at my middle child's head, chocolate and marshmallow eviscerated from the bottom but this biscuit somehow landing on the table. As I contemplate the reality of this, and the reaction that my children (!!!!) could possibly be having a food fight in my kitchen (!!!), the second cookie, really more a slightly, chocolate-covered miniature flying saucer goes flying across the room...and lands in the matriarch's tea. This, of course, brings silence to the table as the children all look to their grandma and see what she will do. I have mentioned we pretend she isn't blind and not deaf and I have two minds as to whether or not she is completely oblivious but even I was wondering if she noticed the cookie having dropped into her tea. It did splash before it sank--I mean there was some tea on the table around the cup.
But, I couldn't let her drink it and spewing dagger eyes at my children, I said to her:
Here, let me get you a fresh cup.
Why? I don't need another cup.
And, she breaks wind again. And, my oldest child is trying not to laugh and my younger two are snickering and their grandma begins eating another cookie. So, I take the cup hoping to get a fresh cup and tea poured before she notices and, of course, I fail; I see her hand stretching out for the cup which is not there; the hand gropes around the table and my youngest pushes the cookie plate before her, so my mother-in-law takes another cookie as though she has forgotten the tea. But she hasn't; she reaches for my child's milk glass and says
This isn't my mug.
I have poured the tea into another cup and say, handing it to her,
No, here it is.
And, she breaks wind again and the children erupt into laughter and, for the sake of this blog, I will say I discipline them. But, really, we are all headed this way...tooting and eating cookies and pretending we are still familiar with our very old bodies.
Monday, January 17, 2011
The things we do...
After meals, the matriarch likes to go upstairs to her room; if it is after eight, the television is off and she sits in the dark till bedtime at nine. If it is after lunch, the matriarch retires to her room, sleeps a bit and then begins the daily quest of asking me or one of my children what the time is. At six, she turns on the news--no correct that, one of us goes up and turns on the television so the matriarch can watch the news, 'Wheel of Fortune,' and 'Jeopardy.' If it is after breakfast, usually, the matriarch just goes to her room and sleeps till lunch.
I don't know why it bothers ME so much that the matriarch spends so much time in her room, alone, but it does. So...
Dessert is now served after every meal. Yes, I know this means a weight problem for the rest of my life, but it is an incentive to keep the matriarch in our company for a longer period of time. Call it the advantage of her liking sugar so much--there is no way she will pass up a sweet...even if it means she has to spend more time in our company. And, she eats so slowly, the children can sort of practice piano in her presence. They are in a different room but can be heard.
My children experiment with their cooking on their grandmother--seeing which of their baking she will eat: pudding, yes; scones, no; rhubarb and custard, yes; chocolate chip cookies, no. The woman doesn't really say anything to their efforts; she does indicate there are things they bake she cannot chew. The only drawback, of course, is the one my husband has discovered: no matter how much his mother eats at dinner--including dessert, she still wants her fruit and sugar at night. But she stays in the room with us and for that she must be applauded--I think.
And, yes, I know I don't have to eat dessert after every meal; but, it is a way of avoiding the chocolate chips with which I still stress out on in rampaging fits; it seems if I am well and truly full, they are avoided. Or, at least, delayed.
I don't know why it bothers ME so much that the matriarch spends so much time in her room, alone, but it does. So...
Dessert is now served after every meal. Yes, I know this means a weight problem for the rest of my life, but it is an incentive to keep the matriarch in our company for a longer period of time. Call it the advantage of her liking sugar so much--there is no way she will pass up a sweet...even if it means she has to spend more time in our company. And, she eats so slowly, the children can sort of practice piano in her presence. They are in a different room but can be heard.
My children experiment with their cooking on their grandmother--seeing which of their baking she will eat: pudding, yes; scones, no; rhubarb and custard, yes; chocolate chip cookies, no. The woman doesn't really say anything to their efforts; she does indicate there are things they bake she cannot chew. The only drawback, of course, is the one my husband has discovered: no matter how much his mother eats at dinner--including dessert, she still wants her fruit and sugar at night. But she stays in the room with us and for that she must be applauded--I think.
And, yes, I know I don't have to eat dessert after every meal; but, it is a way of avoiding the chocolate chips with which I still stress out on in rampaging fits; it seems if I am well and truly full, they are avoided. Or, at least, delayed.
Monday, January 10, 2011
Sneaking Out for Lunch with Don Delillo
There is a great scene in Don Delillo's book, "Whitenoise:" there are passengers on a crashing plane and the pilot is vividly describing what is happening, a blow by blow account: the intensity of the flames, the fact most of the passengers are saying or praying their last words, when, all of a sudden, he says, "Lance, I love you" and the plane becomes a fiery ball of flame. The point of the scene is that, at the last moment of their lives, the passengers are not thinking of their loved ones or saying their prayers, but they all are wondering who this Lance is. It is hilarious. I think it is the best comedic scene in literature I have ever read. It illustrates that no matter how devout we think we are, no matter how atheistic, curiousity, really, governs humanity. This brings me to the point of today's post: lunch out with my children--sans grandma.
It should not be a big deal to have a hamburger. But, if one is a regular reader, one knows the matriarch's preference is Swiss Chalet; the food is great. However, it is chicken. And, while I know the restaurant is connected to Harvey's, an hamburger joint, also great food, going there means we have to take the matriarch who will want chicken, wonder why we aren't eating in the proper restaurant--as opposed to the fast food joint--probably spit out half her lunch and want hot chocolate. I have children. Now and again, it shouldn't be so unfair to have lunch with them at a burger joint without the inconveniences of taking a really elderly senior, who cannot eat hamburgers, out. My husband understands; his solution is to not tell his mother. But I still have to give her lunch.
Am I the only one eating?
The children ate breakfast late and are not hungry.
Well, I could have waited. I'm not that hungry myself.
The soup is made anyhow.
I don't really like tomato. What are the children having?
I don't know yet. They are going to come shopping with me and we'll have lunch when we come back, I guess. (lie, lie,lie)
Do you want me to come? I want my chips.
No, I think it is too snowy for you now. (lie, lie, lie)
Will you pick up my chips?
Of course, I'll pick up my mother-in-law's chips; every week, I now buy her two packages of Lays' Supersized chips. She's 99. I'll get her the chips, I always do. I should not feel guilty for wanting to be with my children. It is almost as though the matriarch knows what we are going to do. I swear sometimes, she is psychic. Often when my husband comes home from work in the mornings and we are about to enjoy a cup of tea together, the two of us, she comes down the stairs, china dishes in hand (from her previous evening's strawberries and tea), clinking away.
My husband says it is one way to know she is still alive. I think it a terrible thing to say; the woman is his mother. But we are rarely ever alone. Ever. And, I think the matriarch always wants to be with her son--which is understandable, but highly, highly annoying. Sometimes, I'd like to talk to him with no one listening. Do all seniors get like this?
Where are you going shopping?
I don't know. The children want to get a DVD; I have to go to the bank. (I hate this.)
The matriarch knows she cannot come with us and is in her own fiery ball of flame of not being able to go out and wanting to know where we are going and why we will not take her with us. Her curiousity is silent, but, she is not being taken out and she wants to know why I am being mean. Hamburgers with my children should not be so costly. Lance, what would you think of this?
It should not be a big deal to have a hamburger. But, if one is a regular reader, one knows the matriarch's preference is Swiss Chalet; the food is great. However, it is chicken. And, while I know the restaurant is connected to Harvey's, an hamburger joint, also great food, going there means we have to take the matriarch who will want chicken, wonder why we aren't eating in the proper restaurant--as opposed to the fast food joint--probably spit out half her lunch and want hot chocolate. I have children. Now and again, it shouldn't be so unfair to have lunch with them at a burger joint without the inconveniences of taking a really elderly senior, who cannot eat hamburgers, out. My husband understands; his solution is to not tell his mother. But I still have to give her lunch.
Am I the only one eating?
The children ate breakfast late and are not hungry.
Well, I could have waited. I'm not that hungry myself.
The soup is made anyhow.
I don't really like tomato. What are the children having?
I don't know yet. They are going to come shopping with me and we'll have lunch when we come back, I guess. (lie, lie,lie)
Do you want me to come? I want my chips.
No, I think it is too snowy for you now. (lie, lie, lie)
Will you pick up my chips?
Of course, I'll pick up my mother-in-law's chips; every week, I now buy her two packages of Lays' Supersized chips. She's 99. I'll get her the chips, I always do. I should not feel guilty for wanting to be with my children. It is almost as though the matriarch knows what we are going to do. I swear sometimes, she is psychic. Often when my husband comes home from work in the mornings and we are about to enjoy a cup of tea together, the two of us, she comes down the stairs, china dishes in hand (from her previous evening's strawberries and tea), clinking away.
My husband says it is one way to know she is still alive. I think it a terrible thing to say; the woman is his mother. But we are rarely ever alone. Ever. And, I think the matriarch always wants to be with her son--which is understandable, but highly, highly annoying. Sometimes, I'd like to talk to him with no one listening. Do all seniors get like this?
Where are you going shopping?
I don't know. The children want to get a DVD; I have to go to the bank. (I hate this.)
The matriarch knows she cannot come with us and is in her own fiery ball of flame of not being able to go out and wanting to know where we are going and why we will not take her with us. Her curiousity is silent, but, she is not being taken out and she wants to know why I am being mean. Hamburgers with my children should not be so costly. Lance, what would you think of this?
Thursday, January 6, 2011
No.
Would you like to sit downstairs with us? No.
Would you like to watch the "Price is Right"? No.
Would you like some company? No.
What do you do for someone who only wants to go out for lunch and they cannot go out because it is snowing--heavily? I thought the matriarch was upset over the news about her friend. Today, she told me the woman deserved her illness because she was a complainer anyhow.
If there is one thing I am learning, it is the silence of keeping my mouth shut and the patience of letting the matriarch make her own decisions.
Would you like to watch the "Price is Right"? No.
Would you like some company? No.
What do you do for someone who only wants to go out for lunch and they cannot go out because it is snowing--heavily? I thought the matriarch was upset over the news about her friend. Today, she told me the woman deserved her illness because she was a complainer anyhow.
If there is one thing I am learning, it is the silence of keeping my mouth shut and the patience of letting the matriarch make her own decisions.
Tuesday, January 4, 2011
Life Among the Old
First off, a brilliant essay by Susan Jacoby that illustrates my biggest problems with aging:
http://www.nytimes.com/2010/12/31/opinion/31jacoby.html?_r=1&scp=1&sq=real%20life%20old&st=cse
Aging is fine, doing it well and gracefully is brilliant; to fight the reality is to not deal with the inevitable and, as Ms Jacoby quotes the first neuroscientist of aging, "the problem is not making 90 the new 50 but 90 a better 90." Age cannot be escaped but aging better, which baby boomers seem to refuse to accept as a possibility, is the ideal.
Anyhow...
This entry is about my 99 year old mother-in-law and the consequence of still being alive; her friend from the old neighbourhood is dying. The neighbour has had severe diabetes for years, she's in her 80s, and her body is breaking down. It is not unusual to be dying, she has lived a long life but my mother-in-law is, yet again, outliving someone for whom she cares. The neighbour has told her husband to not come to the hospital because all she does is sleep and she has refused to let the matriarch visit her. It is terribly sad. And, I think, the matriarch realizes life must end for us all--even her.
Do I wonder about my mother-in-law's death too much? It is a fixation of mine, isn't it? However, just this morning, my mother-in-law told me she would live for a while as long as she stayed away from hospitals. I felt, all of a sudden, she feared death. It has never occurred to me before now.
Perhaps we are all afraid of death; I like to think I am not but then I am not dying nor am I old--yet. Perhaps my thoughts will change as I get closer to the inevitable. Rumi has this great passage in his poems where he describes all movement as a connection to God and I believe that; it makes sense to me. But the matriarch does not pray, at least, not openly. The children, my husband and I say grace before meals and we do the Rosary (kind of weird to quote a Moslem poet alongside Catholic prayers; I could get Rabbi Hillel in too if pushed!) but we do not go to Church anymore; I will not be that kind of hypocrite. I like to think there is comfort of a sort in prayer; but, for the matriarch, I am not so sure. Maybe she does pray when she is alone.
Her friend is dying and that has upset my mother-in-law and when I go into her room with the candies by her bedside and the chips on the table, I want to offer her some sort of comfort. She asks me how I think her friend's husband is doing. I say my child has just made cookies and will bring one up to her.
http://www.nytimes.com/2010/12/31/opinion/31jacoby.html?_r=1&scp=1&sq=real%20life%20old&st=cse
Aging is fine, doing it well and gracefully is brilliant; to fight the reality is to not deal with the inevitable and, as Ms Jacoby quotes the first neuroscientist of aging, "the problem is not making 90 the new 50 but 90 a better 90." Age cannot be escaped but aging better, which baby boomers seem to refuse to accept as a possibility, is the ideal.
Anyhow...
This entry is about my 99 year old mother-in-law and the consequence of still being alive; her friend from the old neighbourhood is dying. The neighbour has had severe diabetes for years, she's in her 80s, and her body is breaking down. It is not unusual to be dying, she has lived a long life but my mother-in-law is, yet again, outliving someone for whom she cares. The neighbour has told her husband to not come to the hospital because all she does is sleep and she has refused to let the matriarch visit her. It is terribly sad. And, I think, the matriarch realizes life must end for us all--even her.
Do I wonder about my mother-in-law's death too much? It is a fixation of mine, isn't it? However, just this morning, my mother-in-law told me she would live for a while as long as she stayed away from hospitals. I felt, all of a sudden, she feared death. It has never occurred to me before now.
Perhaps we are all afraid of death; I like to think I am not but then I am not dying nor am I old--yet. Perhaps my thoughts will change as I get closer to the inevitable. Rumi has this great passage in his poems where he describes all movement as a connection to God and I believe that; it makes sense to me. But the matriarch does not pray, at least, not openly. The children, my husband and I say grace before meals and we do the Rosary (kind of weird to quote a Moslem poet alongside Catholic prayers; I could get Rabbi Hillel in too if pushed!) but we do not go to Church anymore; I will not be that kind of hypocrite. I like to think there is comfort of a sort in prayer; but, for the matriarch, I am not so sure. Maybe she does pray when she is alone.
Her friend is dying and that has upset my mother-in-law and when I go into her room with the candies by her bedside and the chips on the table, I want to offer her some sort of comfort. She asks me how I think her friend's husband is doing. I say my child has just made cookies and will bring one up to her.
Monday, January 3, 2011
Geriatric Rides in the Car
Can't use the car, only the van, because the matriarch can no longer lift her foot as high nor for as long as she used to be able in order to get in the CRV.
My mother-in-law hasn't been able to put on her own seat belt for years; sometime before I met her, she gave up doing it up and expected the driver to do it. Now, she cannot put on her own seat belt.
Automatic locks confound her and she waits for the door to be opened for her; she also prefers someone else to close it. Usually, the person who has fastened her seat belt.
If there is ice or snow on the drive way, the matriarch must be guided to her seat because she is afraid of slipping.
If there is ice in the parking lot of the doctor's clinic or the blood clinic, the matriarch must be left at the front door by herself--usually the children don't come to the clinics--and asked not to move. The driver of the car must help her out, ask her to wait and then go and park the car. Otherwise, the matriarch will wander around looking at things and she could slip and fall.
Every single trip the matriarch makes in winter is a horrendous adventure.
We have to go the blood clinic weekly.
My mother-in-law hasn't been able to put on her own seat belt for years; sometime before I met her, she gave up doing it up and expected the driver to do it. Now, she cannot put on her own seat belt.
Automatic locks confound her and she waits for the door to be opened for her; she also prefers someone else to close it. Usually, the person who has fastened her seat belt.
If there is ice or snow on the drive way, the matriarch must be guided to her seat because she is afraid of slipping.
If there is ice in the parking lot of the doctor's clinic or the blood clinic, the matriarch must be left at the front door by herself--usually the children don't come to the clinics--and asked not to move. The driver of the car must help her out, ask her to wait and then go and park the car. Otherwise, the matriarch will wander around looking at things and she could slip and fall.
Every single trip the matriarch makes in winter is a horrendous adventure.
We have to go the blood clinic weekly.
Saturday, January 1, 2011
A Different Type of Care
An absolutely brilliant article about an Alzheimer Home in Arizona:
http://www.nytimes.com/2011/01/01/health/01care.html?_r=1&hp
I very rarely ever agree with institutional care but this home seems much more humane when dealing with Alzheimer Patients than most of the places I have read about. It sort of explains why the matriarch likes eating so many sweets. It is also ironic as the first of the Baby Boom Generation turns 65 this year and this could be the ideal care set-up, enabling more people to stay at home longer and not lose their independence as they face their coming seniority.
A small note: one of the reasons Beatitudes seems ideal is that it does not encourage group activities like Bingo or crafts; if a person did not participate in such activities in their adulthood, what would make a seniors' centre think they would want to participate in their dotage?
http://www.nytimes.com/2011/01/01/health/01care.html?_r=1&hp
I very rarely ever agree with institutional care but this home seems much more humane when dealing with Alzheimer Patients than most of the places I have read about. It sort of explains why the matriarch likes eating so many sweets. It is also ironic as the first of the Baby Boom Generation turns 65 this year and this could be the ideal care set-up, enabling more people to stay at home longer and not lose their independence as they face their coming seniority.
A small note: one of the reasons Beatitudes seems ideal is that it does not encourage group activities like Bingo or crafts; if a person did not participate in such activities in their adulthood, what would make a seniors' centre think they would want to participate in their dotage?
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