November -- Done!

Hello Friends!  Gosh, I've missed you all!

Made it!  Survived and WON at NaNoWriMo.  I have written over 50,000 words this month, almost all of them about my mom.  And about me and my mom.  And our family.  And, and, and.  It's a lot of words, but it just begins to scratch the surface of what I want to say about her.  Still, it's a start.

What else is going on?

For the last year and a half I have been on my own schedule, stumbling through life.  For the couple of decades before that I had been getting up painfully early to be to work before dawn's early crack.  This let me be home in the afternoon when I was raising the Kid.  Well, when my mom got sick and I started taking care of her in the mornings, I no longer had to set my alarm to get up.  That was nice.  Real nice.  It's now been a year since my darling mumsey left me, but did I go back to my previous early morning schedule?  I did not.  In fact, I forgot how to set my alarm clock!  No kidding.  I had to download instructions online this week.  I had to be to work early one day and I was damned if I could remember how to set the thing.  Ridiculous, I know.  You don't get to toss out the alarm clock until you retire!

One thing I will need the alarm for is to get my lazy ass out of bed and back to the gym.  I stopped going on a regular basis this summer.  We had a big upsurge in busy-ness at work and besides that I was riding my bike to work.  So, I felt ok about not going.  Now, however, the rainy season has set in and I just don't feel like commuting in a downpour, spending all day feeling damp, and then riding home in the pitch black, wet night.  Just doesn't sound like a good time to me.  So, it's back to the gym before work.  Hence the alarm clock and it's mechanical intricacies.

Here's a big thing.  You probably remember from my whining about it that I don't love my job and have made up my mind to explore other options.  I've been giving this topic a lot of thought over the past year or so, and have come to a decision.  I am going to go back to school and get a degree in Engineering.

Let's let that sink in for a minute, shall we?

Engineering.

I can just imagine that stunned look on your faces.

It may sound crazy, and it may indeed be crazy, but I'm going to go for it.  I have some ideas about small scale energy generation and I would like to learn the theory and practice of how to make it work.  Actually, I have some ideas about other projects as well, and I'm really looking forward to taking them beyond the idea phase.  I'm excited about it!

But, engineering requires a whole lot of math.  In my previous scholastic career, I studied plant biology.  There was some math involved in that but I didn't have to go beyond algebra, trigonometry and statistics.  So, I'll have to do calculus.  I AM NOT AFRAID!  She shouted to the Universe...

I'm planning on doing a self-study refresher through the Khan Academy and then I'll take the math placement test at the University.  I am totally cool with repeating the basics because I think it will be important to really understand the nuts and bolts of this stuff.

So, that's what's going on with me in a nutshell.

Just to catch you up on the day to day stuff, here's a little overview of the past month or so.

• The end of October was the one year anniversary of my mom's death.  My daughter came down from Seattle and she and I, my dad and my younger brother got together for a little ... what ... 'acknowledgement' might be the best word for it.  The kid and Pop and I had a lovely tea using all the best china.  Later the kid and Pop and I polished silver together and talked about mumsey.  The last day of her visit was when my brother joined us and we all sat down at the table together.  It wasn't enough for me, but at least it was something.

• Thanksgiving came and went.  We had six at the table and it was generally pleasant.  My dad and brother came, Zoe and her man, and me and T.  I had lots of help in food preparation and everything turned out well.  Sent leftover home with everyone so that we didn't feel obligated to eat all that stuff.

• Speaking of eating, I gained back a couple of pounds over the holiday but overall I am still down 20 pounds since starting Weight Watchers.  Still losing!  Back to the gym should help with that...

• The gf and I are getting along moderately well.  I'll settle for that right now.  We've got that other holiday coming up though and her mom is expecting her to be there.  I don't really feel like going - especially since they don't much like me after my outburst of this summer.  I would stay home, gladly, but T's feelings would be hurt and I don't need to do that.  I am still debating whether or not I can do it.  Undecided.

• New furnace.  Ouch.  The house is nice and toasty warm and we have the latest thing in thermostats (the Nest), but man oh man was that sucker expensive.  Oh the joys of home-ownership.

I think that's it.  The large and small and in between.  I hope you are all doing well.  I've been reading your blogs when I can and when you post... haven't heard from some of you for as long as you haven't heard from me.  I guess it just goes like that sometimes.  

Let's all catch our breath before the next onslaught.  December starts TOMORROW!

A brief sketch of my parents

I wrote this down back in 1992 or 1993.  My daughter and I were living with my parents at the time in a lovely, large house in Portland.  Some friends of the family had just left after a weekend visit.

We are sitting on the front porch, Mum, Dad and me, discussing which friends and relatives of Janet and Al they had met.

Dad: "I'm thinking of that tall Russian or Slavic fellow who cooked."
Mum: "No, no.  That was Michael.  He wasn't really Russian, he just pretended to be."
Dad: "Well, he sure could cook.  I think he was queer."
Mum: "He wasn't queer - just swishy and posing.  He and I had a good hoohaw about French reductionism."

At this point I start laughing.  "What's so funny about that?" asks Mum, tolerantly amused.
"The idea of having a good hoohaw about French reductionism with bogus Russian queers is giving me a good hoohaw.  French reductionism!" says I.

We return to the discussion of other people's relatives.

Thursday

I did, actually, take a shower.  And it felt good, and healthy.  And I'm sure I smell better.

But, I did not make it to work.  I tried to psych myself up for it, but it just wasn't there.  Technically, we are allowed to take three days off for a death in the family, and I can see that being adequate for some distant relative... but I feel like three weeks or even three months might not be enough to come to grips with the loss of my mumsey.

I went over to their house yesterday, to check up on my pop.  We were sitting in the living room talking.  All of a sudden my head snapped up and i looked down the hall.  I heard my mum coming.  It was as strong a sensation- both intuited and felt - as I can swear to.  Of course, I saw nothing.  I felt her presence strongly, but I saw nothing.  My pop was blathering on as though nothing had happened.  (I shouldn't say 'blathering', my pop doesn't blather, maybe he was 'holding forth'... he is a retired college professor, after all.)

I had an email from one of my mum's best friends.  She encouraged me to 'stay strong' as, she said, Kathryn would want, no, demand.  Well, that may be true.  My family is fucking stoic.  While we are quite loving, we do not express ourselves fully or dramatically, or effusively, or even physically.  We hugged my mum.  We give pop a 'hearty handshake'.  That's his comfort level.

I'm going to chat with my therapist tomorrow.  I will probably cry.  I have to believe that I will be in a safe space to do so.  Although, being raised as I was, I tend to repress those emotions (obviously) and when they are expected is the time I feel least likely to display them.  Oh, what a complicated thing is life!

I may just take this whole week off.

What's next

I really should take a shower.  My hair is sticking up like fried bread.  I went to the store like that yesterday because I just don't care.  Of course, it's worse today.

I really should drag my ass to work.  At least for a few hours.  I don't want to be around anyone though.  Maybe I'll go in the afternoon when most people are gone.  Actually, that's a pretty good idea because it will also get me away from the people in my household.

Sigh.  That sounds so grudging and hostile.  T is being great, of course, very solicitous, very caring.  But she is emotionally needy as well.  And is frustrated because she wants to hear all the details and I just don't want to review them.  I mean, I told her plenty about the end already but she just wants more than I feel capable of giving.  She keeps suggesting that I should 'talk about it'... like a '70's after-school special or something.  It's just not my way.

So, if I'm going to try the office today, I'd better not drink quite so much...  that'll be my goal.

The ties that bind

What is it that keeps us tethered to this life?  Family?  Ambition?  The will to live?  The determination not to die? Obviously, I have no answer to that question.

What is it that keeps my mum tethered to this life?  Family?  My pop, me, my brothers, the grandchildren?  A desire to live longer than her siblings have done?  A thumbing of her nose to those she doesn't hold in high regard?  Again, no answers from me.

Whatever those ties that bind (and, other than family, I don't know what they are) they are slipping, loosening, letting go of my mother as she begins her journey to the other side.

I have spent the last three days sitting beside her.  Holding her hand, stroking her brow, petting whatever part of her I could reach.  And, she has responded in kind.  Holding my hand, and squeezing it; directing her gaze up at me; reaching out to touch whatever part of my body she could reach.  Often, there are not words.  Or, at least, words that I can decipher.  Sometimes she is speaking clearly but mostly she is murmuring under her breath.  My pop wrote down all he could of what she said from 2:30 last night until 6:00 this morning.  She is having conversations with people who mattered in her life.  Sorting stuff out.

The hospice nurse came today.  She said that it looks like we have 1 to 3 days left, but certainly not a week.  Now, I know that we had that expectation before, but this time I don't feel confident of a rebound.  For one thing, mum can't stand anymore.  She has no physical strength left.  She is surviving on will and determination alone.  When those go, she won't have anything left.

I'll be spending the next few nights at my parents' house.  I'll keep you updated as i can.
Please send up a prayer for an easy transition for my beloved mother, Kathryn Elizabeth.  I know she'll be ok, I just don't want her to be met on the other side by people she didn't like on this plane... but that's just me...

Peace,
elizabeth

In bed

Mum didn't get up today.

Yesterday she got up and made it all the way to the living room, but did so with a ride on the scooter (the walker, or rollator as they like to be called).  Once she got to the living room she fell asleep in the wing chair.  She stayed there until I left, once my pop was up and about.  I went back over in the evening to help get her to the bathroom and then to bed.  And that all went well.

But, today, she's still in bed.  I'm afraid that may mean that she is staying in bed.  Yesterday she said, a couple of times, "I can't do this anymore."  That sounds like she is loosening her grip.

I spent a big chunk of the morning sitting next to her bed, holding her hand.

Not sure where we go from here.  Or if we go anywhere.

Medication issues

Ok, so, my mum takes a whole lotta pills.  And, until recently, they were doing their job of keeping her comfortable.  Last week however, we mentioned that she is in some pain when she wakes up.  The nurse thought that she should switch to a pain pill that would last through the night so that she would still be comfortable when she awoke.  Good idea.  Wrong pill.

They prescribed morphine tablets, which apparently work for lots of people.  My mum, who takes handfulls of vicodin and flexeril and other stuff every day, is quite susceptible to the effects of morphine.  We found this out the hard way.

My pop gave her the prescribed dose of two blue pills on Friday evening.  Then the prescribed dose of one blue pill on Saturday morning.  She slept 11 1/2 hours on Friday night, and she slept nearly the whole time I was there on Saturday morning and was pretty groggy the rest of the day.  On Saturday night Pop gave her half the recommended dose, just one blue pill.  She slept really well again.  On Sunday morning he broke a pill in half and gave that to her.  At this point I said, let's not give her anymore!  Let's go back to the vicodin.  He spoke with the nurse on Sunday and she said yes, go back to the vicodin, give her some extra haldol to counteract the morphine and increase the steroid.  (Also, it turns out, you shouldn't break those morphine tablets in half.  They just work faster.)

Another consequence of the morphine was the loss of strength in her legs.  She is having a hell of a time standing and walking.  She has needed help getting up for a while now, but since this weekend she is so much weaker.

And, a consequence of the increase in the steroids is that old demon, 'roid rage.  Holy smokes!  My mother has always had a strong will.  When you mix that with steroids and anger at fate, well, you have a pretty potent old lady rage going on.  Since this weekend, I'm going over earlier in the mornings and going back at night to help my pop get her up and into bed.  It has been crazy.

One thing she insists on is spending a very long time on the toilet.  This became a problem when she had been there for 3 hours and refused to get up.  Yes, three hours on the pot.  I arrived at 9am, as usual, and my pop said that she had been there since 6.  He couldn't wrestle her up by himself and every time he tried she told him no.  Well, he's a good husband, and when his wife says no, he listens to her.  I said this is ridiculous and she can't stay on the toilet for three hours. Her feet were like ice!  Cold!  Circulation cut off!  I said we were getting her up and that there would be no arguing about it.  We decided who would lift where and on the count of three up she would come.  This whole time she was saying NO!  I said, Yes!  We started to lift her and she said, "No, stop, put me down!"  And, dammit, my pop started to lower her back down!  I said, Pop, No, we HAVE TO GET HER OUT OF HERE!  Well, we did.  And she was mad.  And this keeps happening.  In fact, yesterday, after we got her to the living room, she looked at me and said, "Don't you have somewhere else to go?"

You gotta laugh.  It's the only choice.  I know it's the drugs talking.  At times, though, all I can think is, good thing her short term memory is gone... she won't remember the next day how mad she was.

This morning we switched her old comfortable leather chair for a firmer, higher wing back chair.  And, tonight when I leave work, I'm headed to the store to buy one of those elevated toilet seat things.  And then I'll go over to their house and put it on and give her 10 minutes on the pot.  Then she's up and out and into bed.  I can be strong willed too...

Not for the faint of heart ... or stomach

***WARNING***  

!GRAPHIC MEDICAL CONTENT!

Thursdays are the hospice nurse days.  We have an amazingly wonderful nurse named Kathleen.  She fits perfectly with us.  She gets us, we get her, we are all alike in some ways and hugely different in others, but we get each other.  That's important.

Today, after commenting on how great mum is doing, and how she will almost certainly be around for Christmas, she brought up the subject of "bleeding out".

Oh.

Oh dear.

You see, the big softball-sized tumor in mum's right lung which has crossed into her left lung, is sitting right next to and now also encircling, her aorta.  The aorta is called 'the great vessel'.  It takes oxygenated blood from the heart and distributes it to the rest of the body.  When a tumor is adjacent to the aorta, it is putting stress on the vessel.  The oh-so-important vessel can grow weak from that stress.  Sometimes it can rupture.  When that happens, all of that oxygenated blood breaks free of the aorta.  It may go into the body cavity or it may go into the lungs.  It is quickly fatal.

If it goes into the lungs, it will likely come up the airway and out of the mouth.  Kathleen recommends having a supply of dark colored towels on hand.

I'm still processing this information.

It was a fairly sobering conversation.  And it reminded me that while we have been enjoying this gently sloping plateau as much as we can, we have grown complacent.  We now expect things to continue as they are indefinitely.  But, really, it could be over at any moment.

And, for crying out loud Mum, don't cough!

Fuck.

Still here...

Yep, we're still here.  All of us.  Including my darling mumsey.

She is on a gently sloping plateau these days.  Getting a little worse but not a lot worse.  Losses in cognition and physical abilities and stamina, but her will is strong and she is not done living.  I am grateful for that.

I am still spending every morning at the parents' house ~ well, actually, right now it's only six days a week because my dad stays awake on Sunday mornings to watch football.

I am extremely grateful to my employers for letting me work whatever hours I can for as long as this lasts.  And to my team of excellent coworkers for covering for me when I am not there.

I have a lot to be grateful for, in spite of this terrible disease.

I just have to remind myself of that from time to time.

Because there are many days when I just want to cry.  And, when I get a minute to myself, I do.  But, then I have to pick myself back up and carry on.  Because that's what we do, right?

There's a beautiful sunset right now, outside my office window.  Might as well be grateful for that too.

And for my friends, both RL and virtual who keep letting me know that I am in their thoughts.  Thank you.

Conflating

Conflate: noun. 1) To bring together; meld or fuse.  2) To combine (two variant texts, for example) into one whole.

Thursday I have to have my dog put to sleep.

It’s time, I know that.  It’s past time, actually.  I’ve been wondering when this day would come, and putting it off.  She is ancient, especially for a biggish dog.  I’ve written about her before.  She has been declining for a while.  Her eyesight and hearing are nearly gone, as is her bladder control.  I’ve been washing rugs for months.  I buy vinegar by the gallon jug.

For the last couple of months (or years), we have had to help her get up off the floor.  We lift up her back end, under her back legs, and hold her steady until she gets her balance and starts walking.  But now, even that isn’t enough help.  She almost can’t keep all four legs under her at the same time.  We stand her up, she falls down.  We hold up her back legs and the front ones go.  T built her a ramp to get from the deck to the back yard and it works just fine as long as you walk beside her, holding her up.

So, yes, it’s time.  I called the house call vet last week to schedule an appointment, and of course he was out of town.  He emailed me back and we set the time for Thursday, 7 July at 4pm.  It’s ok that I had an extra week.  For one thing, she has gotten worse over the course of the week, and it has allowed me to really see that it must be done.  I wanted her to die naturally, in her sleep, but she hasn’t complied with that.  So, yes, on Thursday I must put our elderly family pet to sleep.

Conflate: to combine into one whole.

I can’t help but look at the other elderly dying family member. 

I am not conflating my mom with my dog.  Not really.  But it feels ominous somehow, or disrespectful, or like I’m tempting fate.  I feel like I am taking away what time Cookie has, time that she could be enjoying a treat, or watching the shadows of people pass by from the front porch.  I’m taking away the tail-wagging, tongue-lolling, happy to see me, cheerful individual who has lived in my house for 16 years.  Am I going to cause a shift in the space – time continuum that will cascade on to my mother?  By putting the dog down am I negatively impacting my mother’s survival?

Of course I know that this isn’t true.  My mum and my dog are not psychically connected.  It just feels too close to the bone, too close to the heart, too fragile.  Too something.

My mum still has some time left.  And, she is in much better shape than the dog!  She has good days and bad days, and yesterday was discouraging, but she is still her essential self.  But then, so is Cookie. There isn’t anything I can do, at this point, to lengthen Cookie’s life, and I wouldn’t want to.  She is tired.  She is old.  She is losing the sparkle in her eye.  If I were to keep her alive it would be selfish.  I’m not doing that. 

And I’m not giving up on my mom.  

Pause

I took the day off today.

I worked out this morning.  T and I had our therapy session.  After our appointment, as I was riding my bike to work and I just said "To hell with it!  I'm going home."

So, here I am.  I have a lot on my mind.  I am waiting to hear from my parents after the meeting with the doctors.  I am at loose ends, in limbo, on tenterhooks.  I am no fit company for anyone, and didn't want to spend the day pretending at work.

If you feel like it, email me.  I've got the time to respond.

AND (super important!): Thank you so much for your good thoughts, intentions and prayers for my mom.  I know it helps!

xoxox
e