The matriarch went to my Mom's, made Chili Sauce, and returned home with 8 bottles. My mother thought it could be used in the making of Chili Con Carne.
"No, no, no," I told her, "It is a kind of relish or chutney."
"What do I want that for?" My mother asked.
I looked at her; what did she think my problem was? Worse yet, the matriarch knew her Chili Sauce wasn't the same; my husband knew it wasn't the same. My mother-in-law is 99 and eats sugar all the time; of course, it couldn't possibly taste the same as it used to; the matriarch no longer tastes food in the same way. So, there are 8 jars of Chili Sauce in my cupboard which no one will eat--including my mother-in-law because she doesn't like it. Such is life.
My oldest, also a pickler, made Salsa and the matriarch ate some.
"That's quite spicy," she said, eating another spoonful. We usually eat Salsa with Tortillas but the matriarch cannot chew the hard chips and, instead, just ate the stuff out of a bowl. I was surprised at how much she ate. Her eyes watered a bit and I thought she would have stopped, but the woman really enjoyed it. She cannot taste her own sauce but thinks my child's is just wonderful and wonders how it will go on mashed potatoes. I shake my head and wonder if my oldest will have to make another 24, 48 or 72 jars; God knows, the matriarch can eat and eat more when she likes something in particular.
Monday, September 27, 2010
Sunday, September 19, 2010
Death, Chili Sauce and Rotting Fruit
Recently, a person gave the opinion to me that very old people should not be using the health care system to stay alive; for example, they should not be on blood thinners or other medication to make their lives last longer. Obviously, they aren't; the medical system keeps you in good health, it's aim is not immortality. But, seniors are, rightly, entitled to have a quality of life for the duration; blood thinners prevent stroke in my mother-in-law's case. That means, she could survive a stroke if she wasn't on them; it's a quality of life of issue not quantity. I know I judge the matriarch all the time. There is this constant battle in my head: is she bugging me on purpose or is she just being old? But, as much as I let loose on this blog, the reality is I wouldn't change her right to choose her way to live for all the tea in China; I wish it didn't cause me so much hassle, but it is her life to live the way she wants. Under no case, do I believe or would I ever believe in someone's or some institution's right to determine when another individual has lived long enough. It's a slippery slope that could extend to the handicapped, the chronically in pain, the chronically ill, the mentally ill and the mentally challenged. It doesn't take much in a world governed by financial concerns rather than moral ones.
Anyhow, enough of that.
My mother has offered to have the matriarch over to make Chili Sauce. Seeing as my husband has to return to full hours at work, and his company has been extremely generous with reduced hours for a long time, it makes life a whole lot easier. And, there is the bonus blessing of not having the stuff here; my poor mother does not know what she is in for with the matriarch. My mother offered today to have the matriarch over to make Chili sauce--to make it at some point, soon. The matriarch got me to pull down all her pots necessary to make the sauce and they are in her room; I have got one case of jars ready, including washed, for the matriarch to bring to my mother's. The bowls are ready although I don't know why the matriarch wants to bring them--my mother lives in a house, has her own stuff, has raised a family, too. But I digress. The matriarch wanted to go tomorrow; I explained my mother had plans plus she had to buy the ingredients. The matriarch wanted to go with her to help buy what is necessary....
And, then the tragedy of the day happened.
I looked at the matriarch's bowl of fruit in her room; it is always full of peaches and plums. But when I looked at it, today, I realized underneath the ripening fruit was mold. The matriarch likes to keep her room warm; with the blood thinners, she tends to feel the cold and is no longer opening her windows. And, so, the fruit is going bad. Unfortunately, that wasn't the problem. When I told the matriarch and went to take the bowl away, the fruit had to go and the bowl to be washed, she went to stop me. The poor woman thought the fruit was still ripening and told me she wanted to keep it. I told her it was bad and had to go, but, again, she stopped me and told me she was letting it go to get softer. She can't chew it when it is so hard. I began to cry because I suspect she has been eating rotten fruit--with all the bloody sugar to cover the odd taste. I told her you can't eat this fruit, it is rotting and took the bowl away. Yes, I had to pull it out of her hands. But, then the matriarch said to me, "I can't see when the fruit is bad."
I don't know if this is what happens when blindness suddenly hits; I don't know if the matriarch can't see. She refused to eat most of her dinner because she wasn't feeling well and I think she is so upset. We knew the blindness was coming; it was one of the reasons the doctor encouraged the matriarch to give up her house. But she has refused to say she can no longer see and I don't know if I am supposed to pretend everything is okay, following her direction, or make a big deal and take her to the doctor's. The opthamologist had already warned me this could happen--last year. Why is it people anticipate the likelihood of the matriarch dying before the eventuality of blindness? She obviously isn't dead and, now, cannot see when the fruit is rotting beneath her hands. I feel so sorry for her. I feel so terribly sorry for her.
Anyhow, enough of that.
My mother has offered to have the matriarch over to make Chili Sauce. Seeing as my husband has to return to full hours at work, and his company has been extremely generous with reduced hours for a long time, it makes life a whole lot easier. And, there is the bonus blessing of not having the stuff here; my poor mother does not know what she is in for with the matriarch. My mother offered today to have the matriarch over to make Chili sauce--to make it at some point, soon. The matriarch got me to pull down all her pots necessary to make the sauce and they are in her room; I have got one case of jars ready, including washed, for the matriarch to bring to my mother's. The bowls are ready although I don't know why the matriarch wants to bring them--my mother lives in a house, has her own stuff, has raised a family, too. But I digress. The matriarch wanted to go tomorrow; I explained my mother had plans plus she had to buy the ingredients. The matriarch wanted to go with her to help buy what is necessary....
And, then the tragedy of the day happened.
I looked at the matriarch's bowl of fruit in her room; it is always full of peaches and plums. But when I looked at it, today, I realized underneath the ripening fruit was mold. The matriarch likes to keep her room warm; with the blood thinners, she tends to feel the cold and is no longer opening her windows. And, so, the fruit is going bad. Unfortunately, that wasn't the problem. When I told the matriarch and went to take the bowl away, the fruit had to go and the bowl to be washed, she went to stop me. The poor woman thought the fruit was still ripening and told me she wanted to keep it. I told her it was bad and had to go, but, again, she stopped me and told me she was letting it go to get softer. She can't chew it when it is so hard. I began to cry because I suspect she has been eating rotten fruit--with all the bloody sugar to cover the odd taste. I told her you can't eat this fruit, it is rotting and took the bowl away. Yes, I had to pull it out of her hands. But, then the matriarch said to me, "I can't see when the fruit is bad."
I don't know if this is what happens when blindness suddenly hits; I don't know if the matriarch can't see. She refused to eat most of her dinner because she wasn't feeling well and I think she is so upset. We knew the blindness was coming; it was one of the reasons the doctor encouraged the matriarch to give up her house. But she has refused to say she can no longer see and I don't know if I am supposed to pretend everything is okay, following her direction, or make a big deal and take her to the doctor's. The opthamologist had already warned me this could happen--last year. Why is it people anticipate the likelihood of the matriarch dying before the eventuality of blindness? She obviously isn't dead and, now, cannot see when the fruit is rotting beneath her hands. I feel so sorry for her. I feel so terribly sorry for her.
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
Fruit and Sugar and Sugar and Fruit
"Why are we always out of sugar in this house?"
I turn to look at my husband. You have got to be kidding me, I think to myself.
He is looking in the cupboard at empty sugar bowls; there is no sugar in the pantry, there is no sugar in the bulk container under the counter. I believe, yet again, we have run out of sugar. There is no white sugar. There is no brown sugar. There is no icing sugar. There is no Demara sugar I usually have around for Christmas.
"Do you not listen to me?" I respond sweetly. "We have no sugar. I have told you your Mother is going through bowls and bowls of it. Haha, it is all so funny until you realize we are going through pounds of sugar in days."
"But the kids bake."
"Yes, they do. And, your mother eats that stuff, too"
I plunge into the argument with the force of someone absolutely sure of herself.
"Shall we talk about the fruit, too? 'Cause your mother eats fruit like it is going out of style."
"Why are you so worried about what a 99 year old woman eats? Why does it matter?"
I know it doesn't matter; telling my husband I think that my 99 year old mother-in-law is playing mind games on me sounds paranoid. I can't believe she is eating all this sugar either. I have visions of cleaning her room after her death and finding mountains of the stuff hidden in her drawers. It scares me to think of where it might be hiding. When I look at the matriarch, she appears to be shrinking--becoming almost granular.
"It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter." I repeat the phrase under my breath over and over again as though saying it, somehow, makes it true. Of course, it matters. It is driving me crazy to no end to wonder where it all goes.
This week's fruit and sugar purchases (bought Thursday of last week):
2 lbs white sugar
2 lbs brown sugar
18 apples
6 oranges
7 litre box of peaches
7 litre box of nectarines
2 boxes of plums (about 24-30 prune plums)
We have 6 apples left and some oranges; the children don't eat oranges and my mother-in-law has no teeth, so she doesn't eat apples. It is Tuesday night. I think it matters--yes, I know, there is nothing I can do but it still matters.
Mind games. I know that is what she is doing. I am sinking under the sugary coating of paranoia.
I turn to look at my husband. You have got to be kidding me, I think to myself.
He is looking in the cupboard at empty sugar bowls; there is no sugar in the pantry, there is no sugar in the bulk container under the counter. I believe, yet again, we have run out of sugar. There is no white sugar. There is no brown sugar. There is no icing sugar. There is no Demara sugar I usually have around for Christmas.
"Do you not listen to me?" I respond sweetly. "We have no sugar. I have told you your Mother is going through bowls and bowls of it. Haha, it is all so funny until you realize we are going through pounds of sugar in days."
"But the kids bake."
"Yes, they do. And, your mother eats that stuff, too"
I plunge into the argument with the force of someone absolutely sure of herself.
"Shall we talk about the fruit, too? 'Cause your mother eats fruit like it is going out of style."
"Why are you so worried about what a 99 year old woman eats? Why does it matter?"
I know it doesn't matter; telling my husband I think that my 99 year old mother-in-law is playing mind games on me sounds paranoid. I can't believe she is eating all this sugar either. I have visions of cleaning her room after her death and finding mountains of the stuff hidden in her drawers. It scares me to think of where it might be hiding. When I look at the matriarch, she appears to be shrinking--becoming almost granular.
"It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter." I repeat the phrase under my breath over and over again as though saying it, somehow, makes it true. Of course, it matters. It is driving me crazy to no end to wonder where it all goes.
This week's fruit and sugar purchases (bought Thursday of last week):
2 lbs white sugar
2 lbs brown sugar
18 apples
6 oranges
7 litre box of peaches
7 litre box of nectarines
2 boxes of plums (about 24-30 prune plums)
We have 6 apples left and some oranges; the children don't eat oranges and my mother-in-law has no teeth, so she doesn't eat apples. It is Tuesday night. I think it matters--yes, I know, there is nothing I can do but it still matters.
Mind games. I know that is what she is doing. I am sinking under the sugary coating of paranoia.
Saturday, September 11, 2010
Missing Seniors and Pensions
In Japan, 230 000 seniors are missing:
http://www.independent.ie/breaking-news/world-news/230000-japan-centenarians-missing-2333479.html
It was noticed a man, supposedly celebrating his 111th birthday, was actually a mummy when government officials popped around to celebrate the big day. Estimates were the man had been dead for 30 years. The whole time, his pension had been deposited into his account and someone had accessed it. I wonder if this means the state should look in on people as they age because family, obviously, may not be doing it. I wonder about those obligations. I wonder how I would feel if the state periodically checked up on my care of the matriarch, if I would feel weird about it.
I probably wouldn't mind if people came to see if the matriarch was still alive--she'd, at least, have visitors. One of things of having a senior living with you is the reality of neighbourhood participation; my neighbours all know she is here and look out for her when I take her out, the children next door kind of stare when she steps down the porch steps, the people across the street wave at her in the car. These are good things, I think. I probably wouldn't get a way with keeping her here as a mummy. But that event does bring home the idea that seniors do much better with community. I wish they weren't hidden away so much. I am really beginning to feel that push to do something because what I do do as a mother and caretaker is so under-valued and can be so easily replaced by institutional care. It seems society prefers that method. It strikes me as undervaluing the individual in the name of group management. Or, maybe, it is being able to hold people to a financial reckoning because we live in a world where accounting is more important than personal care. I don't know.
For one, I have no power attorney over the matriarch's funds; her money is her money. Secondly, whatever the matriarch has saved will be used to bury her; if there is anything leftover, she has left it to the children. Thirdly, if I was in this for the money, I wouldn't be in it. Japanese seniors, in the country that is supposed to set the standard for senior care, are missing; it doesn't say much for accounting or for individual care.
http://www.independent.ie/breaking-news/world-news/230000-japan-centenarians-missing-2333479.html
It was noticed a man, supposedly celebrating his 111th birthday, was actually a mummy when government officials popped around to celebrate the big day. Estimates were the man had been dead for 30 years. The whole time, his pension had been deposited into his account and someone had accessed it. I wonder if this means the state should look in on people as they age because family, obviously, may not be doing it. I wonder about those obligations. I wonder how I would feel if the state periodically checked up on my care of the matriarch, if I would feel weird about it.
I probably wouldn't mind if people came to see if the matriarch was still alive--she'd, at least, have visitors. One of things of having a senior living with you is the reality of neighbourhood participation; my neighbours all know she is here and look out for her when I take her out, the children next door kind of stare when she steps down the porch steps, the people across the street wave at her in the car. These are good things, I think. I probably wouldn't get a way with keeping her here as a mummy. But that event does bring home the idea that seniors do much better with community. I wish they weren't hidden away so much. I am really beginning to feel that push to do something because what I do do as a mother and caretaker is so under-valued and can be so easily replaced by institutional care. It seems society prefers that method. It strikes me as undervaluing the individual in the name of group management. Or, maybe, it is being able to hold people to a financial reckoning because we live in a world where accounting is more important than personal care. I don't know.
For one, I have no power attorney over the matriarch's funds; her money is her money. Secondly, whatever the matriarch has saved will be used to bury her; if there is anything leftover, she has left it to the children. Thirdly, if I was in this for the money, I wouldn't be in it. Japanese seniors, in the country that is supposed to set the standard for senior care, are missing; it doesn't say much for accounting or for individual care.
Friday, September 10, 2010
Grandparents
An interesting article from the Globe and Mail:
http://www.theglobeandmail.com/news/world/americas/number-of-us-grandparents-raising-their-grandkids-rises-sharply/article1701865/
I don't know what to make of grandparents raising their grandchildren. It doesn't say much about their parents--excusing the sick or the dead; I can't decide if economics is a justifiable reason to not raise one's children, survival is one thing, a mortage quite another.
http://www.theglobeandmail.com/news/world/americas/number-of-us-grandparents-raising-their-grandkids-rises-sharply/article1701865/
I don't know what to make of grandparents raising their grandchildren. It doesn't say much about their parents--excusing the sick or the dead; I can't decide if economics is a justifiable reason to not raise one's children, survival is one thing, a mortage quite another.
Thursday, September 9, 2010
Hazel McCallion verses Lunch
Hazel McCallion, the current mayor of Mississauga, west of Toronto, has decided to run for mayor for another term. She has been mayor for over 36 years and Mississauga has never been in debt for the entire period. Pretty impressive when you think of it--both Ms McCallion's longevity as a politician and her track record. She is 89. Is she too old? Or does her record stand for itself and, thus, she can be elected again based on it? Or does her longevity, in a way, keep younger and, possibly, different or better politicians out of the running? Or, further, she is of an age when she could just die and should that reality preclude her? Mind, anyone, age indiscriminate, could just die, too; car accidents happen.
It is hard to know what to think.
I look at the matriarch who almost ran out the door today in anticipation of lunch with my husband. So much of her behaviour is excused by age and I look at Ms McCallion and wonder if anyone excuses her behaviour because of her age. Of course not. Everyone agrees she is, obviously, behaving in the best interests of Mississauga and, most likely, she is not called a "selfish, old lady" behind her back. But is she being selfish by running for election again? Sometimes I think the matriarch behaves the way she does because she always has; she has always gotten up in the morning and so she always will until she doesn't. Ms McCallion has always been mayor and, probably, always will be until she isn't. It is a strange kind of parallel and my perspective is biased by my age; I live in the shadow of 2 baby booms, the generation after the war who won't give up their youth and the generation of the Eighties who won't assume their adulthood. My generation just seems to be stuck in the middle. I mean, on the face of it, when an 89 year old woman is the best choice in an election, it doesn't say much for any of the alternatives. However, being honest, I don't think anyone is running against Ms McCallion.
The matriarch will eat peanut butter and jam for dinner today; she will have a filling lunch with my husband, she will drink her hot chocolate with whipped cream and have a pleasant time. She will not spit out any of her fish and chips and she will be quite content. I wonder if Ms McCallion has similar uncomfortable habits?
It is hard to know what to think.
I look at the matriarch who almost ran out the door today in anticipation of lunch with my husband. So much of her behaviour is excused by age and I look at Ms McCallion and wonder if anyone excuses her behaviour because of her age. Of course not. Everyone agrees she is, obviously, behaving in the best interests of Mississauga and, most likely, she is not called a "selfish, old lady" behind her back. But is she being selfish by running for election again? Sometimes I think the matriarch behaves the way she does because she always has; she has always gotten up in the morning and so she always will until she doesn't. Ms McCallion has always been mayor and, probably, always will be until she isn't. It is a strange kind of parallel and my perspective is biased by my age; I live in the shadow of 2 baby booms, the generation after the war who won't give up their youth and the generation of the Eighties who won't assume their adulthood. My generation just seems to be stuck in the middle. I mean, on the face of it, when an 89 year old woman is the best choice in an election, it doesn't say much for any of the alternatives. However, being honest, I don't think anyone is running against Ms McCallion.
The matriarch will eat peanut butter and jam for dinner today; she will have a filling lunch with my husband, she will drink her hot chocolate with whipped cream and have a pleasant time. She will not spit out any of her fish and chips and she will be quite content. I wonder if Ms McCallion has similar uncomfortable habits?
Wednesday, September 8, 2010
Okay, Sometimes it is hard but...
Yesterday, I heard a story on CBC about the death of 2 brothers: 1 died of natural causes at the age of 59, the other starved to death because he was a 46 year old man with Downs Syndrome who could not survive one his own. No one, no neighbours, no family checked on the two of them for 2 weeks and the 46 year old fellow died after his brother's heart attack left him alone and incapable of fending for himself. The older brother took on care of his sibling when his mother died. I couldn't find the story in today's papers and missed the link from yesterday's radio news. But what a tragic story.
In light of that, here is a link to a situation in British Columbia:
http://www.cbc.ca/canada/british-columbia/story/2010/09/06/bc-rightsremoved.html
An elderly woman was not maintained properly in a hospital facility and her husband's legal power of attorney was stripped from him when he refused to pay the bills because of the lack of care. Obviously, there are elements to the story to which I am ignorant but the problem, again, seems to be a loneliness to the life of the old.
I don't know how to remedy these situations. Institutional care will not work on long term basis; people mean the best, I have to think that, but care becomes a function in a job when it becomes routine; try as much as we want, society cannot pay for the feeling of care, that sense of obligation towards another human being. I know some people are born with that intuition, some are not; our institutions are governed by other principles that don't involve care but are based on money. It is sad but true. It used to be religious institutions could be relied on to provide care for the elderly but, after the revealing horrors of institutional schools, I doubt many would choose to let their elderly live there. The other option, of course, is family care; but, then, as numerous of my posts have demonstrated that is not easy either.
I think about those 2 brothers and wonder if their neighbourhood was as silent as mine is during the day. Everything seems to be going towards institutional care as though, despite evidence to the contrary, it is somehow ideal. In Ontario, kindergarten is now an all-day affair as though a 4 year old spending all day in school is somehow better than being at home. Have families become so awful that it is better for society to interfere than let them have any influence at all? I wonder.
It seems, to me anyhow, that institutions have become the norm for the care of the elderly, the infirm (including mental defect), and the young. I cannot but wonder how those 2 brothers would have done had they been able to be out and about in the neighbourhood; how the old lady would have done had she been allowed to return to her home and die with her husband; how children would be if they could run outside for a while. Of course, I write as though my family is rich and it costs us nothing for me to be home with my children and my mother-in-law; it is so much easier to think that way than to acknowledge the actual costs involved with raising one's children, caring for one's elderly family. I am a bit down. It seems everywhere I turn what I do as a person is diminished in society because it no longer values the care a home offers, the need a secure environment fulfills. I know all my neighbours by name; my children play outside; my mother-in-law drives me crazy--I am a dying breed.
In light of that, here is a link to a situation in British Columbia:
http://www.cbc.ca/canada/british-columbia/story/2010/09/06/bc-rightsremoved.html
An elderly woman was not maintained properly in a hospital facility and her husband's legal power of attorney was stripped from him when he refused to pay the bills because of the lack of care. Obviously, there are elements to the story to which I am ignorant but the problem, again, seems to be a loneliness to the life of the old.
I don't know how to remedy these situations. Institutional care will not work on long term basis; people mean the best, I have to think that, but care becomes a function in a job when it becomes routine; try as much as we want, society cannot pay for the feeling of care, that sense of obligation towards another human being. I know some people are born with that intuition, some are not; our institutions are governed by other principles that don't involve care but are based on money. It is sad but true. It used to be religious institutions could be relied on to provide care for the elderly but, after the revealing horrors of institutional schools, I doubt many would choose to let their elderly live there. The other option, of course, is family care; but, then, as numerous of my posts have demonstrated that is not easy either.
I think about those 2 brothers and wonder if their neighbourhood was as silent as mine is during the day. Everything seems to be going towards institutional care as though, despite evidence to the contrary, it is somehow ideal. In Ontario, kindergarten is now an all-day affair as though a 4 year old spending all day in school is somehow better than being at home. Have families become so awful that it is better for society to interfere than let them have any influence at all? I wonder.
It seems, to me anyhow, that institutions have become the norm for the care of the elderly, the infirm (including mental defect), and the young. I cannot but wonder how those 2 brothers would have done had they been able to be out and about in the neighbourhood; how the old lady would have done had she been allowed to return to her home and die with her husband; how children would be if they could run outside for a while. Of course, I write as though my family is rich and it costs us nothing for me to be home with my children and my mother-in-law; it is so much easier to think that way than to acknowledge the actual costs involved with raising one's children, caring for one's elderly family. I am a bit down. It seems everywhere I turn what I do as a person is diminished in society because it no longer values the care a home offers, the need a secure environment fulfills. I know all my neighbours by name; my children play outside; my mother-in-law drives me crazy--I am a dying breed.
Monday, September 6, 2010
The Four Walls of My Freedom
An interesting book review, I look forward to reading the book:
http://www.theglobeandmail.com/life/family-and-relationships/disability-writer-donna-thomsons-clear-eyed-look-at-the-value-of-a-life/article1696913/
http://www.theglobeandmail.com/life/family-and-relationships/disability-writer-donna-thomsons-clear-eyed-look-at-the-value-of-a-life/article1696913/
Thursday, September 2, 2010
The Blood Clinic
The matriarch and I hate going to the new blood clinic. It is like a medicalized factory--numbers are called, people go in, get poked and come out. While the technicians, no longer nurses, are nice they do not have time to be social or empathetic, some don't even have the wherewithal to be considerate. One of the ladies from the matriarch's previous clinic was moved to this one and she has made an effort on our previous two visits to be the one to do the blood test for the matriarch. And, she has been extremely nice to my 99 year old mother-in-law. One would think the doctor could be the same.
After this last visit, where, yet again, the matriarch bruised after the poke, I phoned to ask if the cumidin dosage was too high or if, maybe, we could stop going to the blood clinic. I don't want my mother-in-law to die--despite it all--and I believe quality of life should be the most important idea to be considered but, really, going for weekly blood tests for blood thinners is problematic. Especially with the change to this new clinic. My mother-in-law is 99, she is not going to live forever. If she picks up a cold at this clinic, it is going to be a huge discomfort. The weekly blood tests are not an inconvenience--well, not to her--but she cannot socialize at this new place and she dreads going to it. And, I don't understand why the doctor keeps her on cumidin; it is to prevent a stroke, he tells me, but what is that? What else could possibly kill her? At 99, it is not so wrong to die nor so unexpected.
None of us wants to die, but I think, sometimes, we get tired of living. My mother-in-law still wants to live--as long as she eats on her own, it is not a worry. But the blood thinners, I think, are prolonging her life. It is a weird situation to be in to say you don't want someone to die and, at the same time, be against things prolonging someone's life. The doctor has said we can now go to the clinic every two weeks; the matriarch's blood tests are stable. But she is bruising, so I doubt it very much, and I suspect the doctor is watching the matriarch. But I don't know for what...at 99, she could die anyhow. So why keep up this pretense of preventing her death? Is that healthcare?
The matriarch lives a life where she wants to go out for lunch all the time. There is only so much money to enable her to do so...we get her out twice a week to a restaurant and I still take her for daily drives and there are the visits to the clinic, to the nail salon, and to the hair dressers. Who am I to judge this type of existence? I am not supposed to be judging it. But, then, how do these acts define my existence? I don't think it is selfish to be questioning these acts as the sum of existence. I mean it amounts to my husband and me, catering to my mother-in-law's whims and is that we are supposed to be like when we get old? Living on our whims? My mother-in-law could live on for years like this or she could die tomorrow--neither situation would be unexpected. But, I begin to think it is wrong for an existence to be reliant on blood tests and stroke prevention. Or, maybe, it is not. I don't know. I go to a funeral today for a man I respected who was in his forties. He wanted to live to see his son grow-up. Should I be comparing his life to the matriarch's?
After this last visit, where, yet again, the matriarch bruised after the poke, I phoned to ask if the cumidin dosage was too high or if, maybe, we could stop going to the blood clinic. I don't want my mother-in-law to die--despite it all--and I believe quality of life should be the most important idea to be considered but, really, going for weekly blood tests for blood thinners is problematic. Especially with the change to this new clinic. My mother-in-law is 99, she is not going to live forever. If she picks up a cold at this clinic, it is going to be a huge discomfort. The weekly blood tests are not an inconvenience--well, not to her--but she cannot socialize at this new place and she dreads going to it. And, I don't understand why the doctor keeps her on cumidin; it is to prevent a stroke, he tells me, but what is that? What else could possibly kill her? At 99, it is not so wrong to die nor so unexpected.
None of us wants to die, but I think, sometimes, we get tired of living. My mother-in-law still wants to live--as long as she eats on her own, it is not a worry. But the blood thinners, I think, are prolonging her life. It is a weird situation to be in to say you don't want someone to die and, at the same time, be against things prolonging someone's life. The doctor has said we can now go to the clinic every two weeks; the matriarch's blood tests are stable. But she is bruising, so I doubt it very much, and I suspect the doctor is watching the matriarch. But I don't know for what...at 99, she could die anyhow. So why keep up this pretense of preventing her death? Is that healthcare?
The matriarch lives a life where she wants to go out for lunch all the time. There is only so much money to enable her to do so...we get her out twice a week to a restaurant and I still take her for daily drives and there are the visits to the clinic, to the nail salon, and to the hair dressers. Who am I to judge this type of existence? I am not supposed to be judging it. But, then, how do these acts define my existence? I don't think it is selfish to be questioning these acts as the sum of existence. I mean it amounts to my husband and me, catering to my mother-in-law's whims and is that we are supposed to be like when we get old? Living on our whims? My mother-in-law could live on for years like this or she could die tomorrow--neither situation would be unexpected. But, I begin to think it is wrong for an existence to be reliant on blood tests and stroke prevention. Or, maybe, it is not. I don't know. I go to a funeral today for a man I respected who was in his forties. He wanted to live to see his son grow-up. Should I be comparing his life to the matriarch's?
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