The visit to the doctor's went as expected but for one thing: the matriarch's sight hasn't changed. Either we really haven't noticed her blindness or the doctor is no longer measuring it because she is almost blind; I don't know. He is now looking for cataracts on her "good" eye because there is pressure there and it needs to be monitored. My husband imagines the doctor couldn't believe he still had the matriarch as a patient; we have another appointment in a few months. Either way, the matriarch wasn't happy but she was prepared for her depression; the doctor is not a nice man and I had reminded her not to take him too personally. You would think they would teach compassion somehow in Medical schools.
On Saturday, my youngest child made an absolutely lovely meal which concluded with homemade Cinnamon Rolls; the matriarch couldn't eat them. But she tried. And she spat the dough out. And it was gross. And, I refuse to believe her behaviour is age related; she was more like a petulant child than a senior and, as far as I'm concerned, there was no excuse for it. Once she had tried the bun, bit it and realized she couldn't chew it, the matriarch didn't need to keep eating. I always have sweets around; there were alternatives. But she tried to eat half the bun before she gave up. Two thoughts, obviously resulted: 1) the Cinnamon Buns were really good (which they were) and 2) the matriarch does not go down without a fight. I just wish I wasn't always the one to have to clean it up.
The whole eating thing is getting worse and I wish, for my own sanity, the woman would give up on harder, solid foods. The matriarch can eat toast and well-cooked meats; vegetables have to be boiled to mush and fruit made into a syrupy mass; she loves her soups. Why then does she continue to want more solid food? We all know she cannot eat it and, if she does manage to get it down, the result is always incredible indigestion. I have heard the woman belch an opera. I know she gets angry when she notices the children, in particular, are eating something I have not offered her and I know if she does not chew, she will lose the capability of her jaw and gums. But I also know her stomach cannot accept unchewed food. What a mess. The matriarch does not want a constant soup or stew diet. The doctor really does not know what to suggest; she has a good diet, despite her preferences for sugar on everything, and she should try to chew food. Arguing it's the not-chewing that is irritating me is irrelevant. Basically, I have to suck (metaphorically speaking) it up, or rather clean it up.
Sunday, April 18, 2010
Friday, April 16, 2010
Haiku for the Old
Snow
In the twilight
Of a winter day
Anger rushes in
Rain
It happens to all
Drenching the souls
Petals blow
In the twilight
Of a winter day
Anger rushes in
Rain
It happens to all
Drenching the souls
Petals blow
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
How the Aged Become Demanding
My parents suggest all seniors become demanding as they age; I disagree. The matriarch is demanding and her views are hardly unique, however, I prefer to think there are seniors different from her, who enjoy life and still see the world and share it. I would like to think the matriarch could choose not to continue to live this way. She could be happier.
In two days, we go to see the eye specialist and he is not a very nice man; he does not have a way with people, let alone very old seniors. The eye looks good to me; it doesn't weep, the matriarch gets her drops, and whenever we drive with the window down a bit, she puts on sun glasses. I doubt very much he'll tell us good news. I know the matriarch's sight has further declined and we now play a game of guessing what she can see and pretending when she cannot. I cut up her food most nights and she has her own set of salt and pepper shakers so she always knows where they are. The table is always set the same way so she can manoeuvre her setting pieces and know where things are. Although, despite my habits, I also suspect the mother-in-law of having an autonomic memory; even my husband finds it hard to believe she can find her way around the house, the grocery store and the doctor's office with her sight. She must remember every place to which she has been. I think we are both dreading Thursday's visit. When the doctor confirms the reality of blindness, the truth is going to be hard to swallow.
In two days, we go to see the eye specialist and he is not a very nice man; he does not have a way with people, let alone very old seniors. The eye looks good to me; it doesn't weep, the matriarch gets her drops, and whenever we drive with the window down a bit, she puts on sun glasses. I doubt very much he'll tell us good news. I know the matriarch's sight has further declined and we now play a game of guessing what she can see and pretending when she cannot. I cut up her food most nights and she has her own set of salt and pepper shakers so she always knows where they are. The table is always set the same way so she can manoeuvre her setting pieces and know where things are. Although, despite my habits, I also suspect the mother-in-law of having an autonomic memory; even my husband finds it hard to believe she can find her way around the house, the grocery store and the doctor's office with her sight. She must remember every place to which she has been. I think we are both dreading Thursday's visit. When the doctor confirms the reality of blindness, the truth is going to be hard to swallow.
Saturday, April 10, 2010
When not to Cook Steak
The matriarch couldn't eat the steak this evening; actually, I didn't even offer it to her and she knew and was unimpressed. She has no teeth. She cannot chew. For the past few Saturdays, I have made her a shepherd's pie for dinner; today, I did not. But I made her mashed potatoes, vegetables and a gravy; she spat nothing out and I thought everything was fine. But, the matriarch watched the children and my husband as they enjoyed their meat and became unhappy. I don't think she could actually see them; but, she listened. We go to see the eye specialist this week and I imagine he is going to confirm what I already know. She is almost completely blind. Anyhow, I served pie after dinner hoping to appease her. She ate the pie but didn't want a late night snack; I get the feeling the matriarch is disappointed. I don't know what to do for her. Steak is steak and needs to be chewed and I forgot to pick up ground beef. That's a lie. I accidentally put it in the freezer and remembered too late. But I cannot serve her food anymore that she cannot chew; the matriarch gets terrible indigestion and I think she enjoys her food more when she doesn't have to spit it out. She enjoys her breakfasts of moist cereals and always chooses soup for lunch; I honestly think she prefers a softer meal at dinner. Gosh, it feels wrong whatever I try to do for her. Tomorrow we go to Swiss Chalet.
Thursday, April 8, 2010
Inspired by Actual Events
Blood clinic today except the sink in the bathroom is plugged; my turn to take the matriarch. Along the drive, my mother-in-law mentions, four times no less, how nice lunch was at the fish and chip restaurant with my husband yesterday. I nod. We go to the blood clinic, her blood is drawn and we drive home whereupon the matriarch again mentions the fish and chip shop.
"I can't take you for fish and chips, I'm making fish for supper."
The matriarch is a little perturbed, but we get home and I discover the sink in the bathroom is no longer plugged, but the bath and shower drain is. My husband is working on it in conjunction with a 3-D puzzle he has spread out on the dining room table. I am now a little perturbed.
The matriarch runs up to her room to wait for me to make her lunch and my attitude inspires my husband to go back upstairs to the washroom and take another look at the plumbing. The children are painting their Latin projects on my kitchen table. I make the children lunch, which they eat while avoiding paint and tell my husband I will take the children to piano and that I hope to return to a functioning shower. My mother-in-law comes down for lunch and reveals quite the concern for the non-functioning bath and shower drain. I leave with the children for piano only to return 3 hours later to discover my husband is now working on his mother's drains. Apparently, her drain is mildly plugged as well and my husband and I discover she has been stuffing something down her drain. Neither one of us wants to know what but my husband gets it cleaned out and tells the matriarch nothing goes down the drain but water. Only water. He means it.
With my non-functioning shower still on my mind, I give up on my husband and go out and get liquid plumber. Thankfully, my husband, who is obviously not a plumber, is a cook and the fish and, now apparently, chips are on for supper. He has gotten my oldest child to make home made coleslaw and a beautiful dinner is in preparation. Only when the shower drain is plugged,my youngest child's piano recital on in the morning (did I mention that commitment?) and Latin projects are due, would my husband choose to make a labour intensive meal. And, the matriarch comes down the stairs looking for someone to turn her television set on because on foggy days like this she cannot see--as opposed to those sunny days when she closes her blinds and can see. The liquid plumber does not work.
At 9 o'clock, I go out to get something else to try and unplug the drain, annoyance with my husband increasing by the second. He does the dishes with Johnson's baby shampoo because along with 2 bottles of liquid plumber not being in the house, we also have no dish washing liquid. He neglects to inform me of this before I go out the second time. The matriarch begins to pace because the fact we have no functioning shower and she does could mean intrusion into her private space. I return home to Latin projects in my dining room, a completed three dimensional puzzle of the Canadian House of Commons, dishes a bit weird and the matriarch saying we can use her shower in the morning. And, she goes to bed. No good nights for fear of showers, I think.
"I can't take you for fish and chips, I'm making fish for supper."
The matriarch is a little perturbed, but we get home and I discover the sink in the bathroom is no longer plugged, but the bath and shower drain is. My husband is working on it in conjunction with a 3-D puzzle he has spread out on the dining room table. I am now a little perturbed.
The matriarch runs up to her room to wait for me to make her lunch and my attitude inspires my husband to go back upstairs to the washroom and take another look at the plumbing. The children are painting their Latin projects on my kitchen table. I make the children lunch, which they eat while avoiding paint and tell my husband I will take the children to piano and that I hope to return to a functioning shower. My mother-in-law comes down for lunch and reveals quite the concern for the non-functioning bath and shower drain. I leave with the children for piano only to return 3 hours later to discover my husband is now working on his mother's drains. Apparently, her drain is mildly plugged as well and my husband and I discover she has been stuffing something down her drain. Neither one of us wants to know what but my husband gets it cleaned out and tells the matriarch nothing goes down the drain but water. Only water. He means it.
With my non-functioning shower still on my mind, I give up on my husband and go out and get liquid plumber. Thankfully, my husband, who is obviously not a plumber, is a cook and the fish and, now apparently, chips are on for supper. He has gotten my oldest child to make home made coleslaw and a beautiful dinner is in preparation. Only when the shower drain is plugged,my youngest child's piano recital on in the morning (did I mention that commitment?) and Latin projects are due, would my husband choose to make a labour intensive meal. And, the matriarch comes down the stairs looking for someone to turn her television set on because on foggy days like this she cannot see--as opposed to those sunny days when she closes her blinds and can see. The liquid plumber does not work.
At 9 o'clock, I go out to get something else to try and unplug the drain, annoyance with my husband increasing by the second. He does the dishes with Johnson's baby shampoo because along with 2 bottles of liquid plumber not being in the house, we also have no dish washing liquid. He neglects to inform me of this before I go out the second time. The matriarch begins to pace because the fact we have no functioning shower and she does could mean intrusion into her private space. I return home to Latin projects in my dining room, a completed three dimensional puzzle of the Canadian House of Commons, dishes a bit weird and the matriarch saying we can use her shower in the morning. And, she goes to bed. No good nights for fear of showers, I think.
Saturday, April 3, 2010
I Don't Live With Morrie
Somewhere in this house is the literary gem, "Tuesdays with Morrie." My mother gave it to me, I think, to help me cope with my mother-in-law. The matriarch is not the problem; I am the problem because most seniors, especially those lived with, are not Morrie. I never read the book but I believe the writer was a former student of Morrie's and they spent afternoons in intellectual and enlightening discussion. It wasn't always "Let's do lunch."
It has really begun to dawn on me, and let's face it, lately, I am not the sharpest tool in the shed, that women, especially female caregivers, really have a rotten deal. Of course, my husband values what I am doing and, I imagine, my children do; however, I think people really don't understand when one says "No respite care," one means it. I don't think, other than fellow caregivers, most people understand that not leaving a senior alone for an extended time means I am on a time leash. It's not personal, it is just my responsibility for this woman does not end. Ever. Until she does. Sometimes, I don't realize how draining it can be on me until I have hit a wall and knock myself into despair.
Sometimes I wish I could appreciate my mother-in-law more. I wish I could like her more. Some days are easier than others; she is not a Morrie character--not even close. My friend's husband died unexpectedly this week; another friend's mother-in-law also passed away. The matriarch wanted to go to both funerals. I have this feeling Morrie wasn't the kind of guy who wanted to socialize at funerals. The matriarch probably isn't either; however, she either wanted to go for the food or to prove she is still alive. It is like a banner she wants to display: I'm still here (and you aren't). I don't know what she was thinking but my husband had to step in and explain she couldn't go. One of my children asked why grandma wasn't invited to the funeral. It's like a select group, only, gets to go to funerals and children and grannies aren't in it. Can you believe we actually had this discussion?
It has really begun to dawn on me, and let's face it, lately, I am not the sharpest tool in the shed, that women, especially female caregivers, really have a rotten deal. Of course, my husband values what I am doing and, I imagine, my children do; however, I think people really don't understand when one says "No respite care," one means it. I don't think, other than fellow caregivers, most people understand that not leaving a senior alone for an extended time means I am on a time leash. It's not personal, it is just my responsibility for this woman does not end. Ever. Until she does. Sometimes, I don't realize how draining it can be on me until I have hit a wall and knock myself into despair.
Sometimes I wish I could appreciate my mother-in-law more. I wish I could like her more. Some days are easier than others; she is not a Morrie character--not even close. My friend's husband died unexpectedly this week; another friend's mother-in-law also passed away. The matriarch wanted to go to both funerals. I have this feeling Morrie wasn't the kind of guy who wanted to socialize at funerals. The matriarch probably isn't either; however, she either wanted to go for the food or to prove she is still alive. It is like a banner she wants to display: I'm still here (and you aren't). I don't know what she was thinking but my husband had to step in and explain she couldn't go. One of my children asked why grandma wasn't invited to the funeral. It's like a select group, only, gets to go to funerals and children and grannies aren't in it. Can you believe we actually had this discussion?
Friday, April 2, 2010
Fish and Chips and Chasing a Hearst
As it is Good Friday, I took the matriarch out to get fish and chips; it was take-out and we brought it home to eat and the matriarch didn't eat it. My husband thought nothing of this; I, on the other hand, suggested it was a bit odd.
My husband shook his head; he figures the matriarch ate the food she bought at the supermarket yesterday. I took her shopping and bought her chips and bananas, 11 bananas. Trying to buy bananas with a half blind 98 year old is an adventure in shopping few should experience. I don't know what the thing is about the bananas; but I am dreading the mother-in-law could get constipated. The only thing worse than a fluid system is a backed up one. Here's the thing: I know what causes the matriarch discomfort. I figure, as a grown adult, she knows, too. This begs the question: why does she do this to herself?
Now, the matriarch knows I do not keep her plate's leftovers--even if she asks me to keep them; she spits food out, nothing is kept. Ever. We've actually had to discuss this. It's been extremely warm, here, lately, but the matriarch still wants to wear her fur coat. She's still on the Cumidin so I know she feels the cold; however, my husband is worrying the matriarch is deliberately over-heating herself. The point I want to make is the woman is very old but she is an adult and capable of making her own decisions. The decisions can drive us crazy but she is allowed to make them; I want to figure out how to make her recognize the consequences. I have already reminded her that bananas cause her discomfort; my husband has asked her to wear her spring coat and she has chosen to ignore us both. When do old people start withdrawing from their maturity? It's not like it happens overnight or with advance warning; to some people, it never happens at all. The matriarch is almost 99, I guess it was bound to happen.
The hearst story will have to wait.
My husband shook his head; he figures the matriarch ate the food she bought at the supermarket yesterday. I took her shopping and bought her chips and bananas, 11 bananas. Trying to buy bananas with a half blind 98 year old is an adventure in shopping few should experience. I don't know what the thing is about the bananas; but I am dreading the mother-in-law could get constipated. The only thing worse than a fluid system is a backed up one. Here's the thing: I know what causes the matriarch discomfort. I figure, as a grown adult, she knows, too. This begs the question: why does she do this to herself?
Now, the matriarch knows I do not keep her plate's leftovers--even if she asks me to keep them; she spits food out, nothing is kept. Ever. We've actually had to discuss this. It's been extremely warm, here, lately, but the matriarch still wants to wear her fur coat. She's still on the Cumidin so I know she feels the cold; however, my husband is worrying the matriarch is deliberately over-heating herself. The point I want to make is the woman is very old but she is an adult and capable of making her own decisions. The decisions can drive us crazy but she is allowed to make them; I want to figure out how to make her recognize the consequences. I have already reminded her that bananas cause her discomfort; my husband has asked her to wear her spring coat and she has chosen to ignore us both. When do old people start withdrawing from their maturity? It's not like it happens overnight or with advance warning; to some people, it never happens at all. The matriarch is almost 99, I guess it was bound to happen.
The hearst story will have to wait.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)