Spring! Snow? Happy Easter!

Hello, my friends. Didn’t mean to worry everyone. Just been very busy taking care of a few things around both houses. The last three Fridays we had fish dinners from our local fire hall. Two Feather sat with Mom while I went and picked up the dinners the first two Fridays and on Good Friday Angel and Tim bought dinners for all of us and brought them to the house to eat dinner with us. Good Friday marked the tenth anniversary of my dad's death.

My doctor has put me through a battery of tests and I’m still waiting on the results from those. He’s not happy with my weight loss and it’s time for my annual tests anyway. We’ll see what comes from that. I’m not really worried. Whatever comes, comes. I’ll handle it.

I’ve been up to the nursing home to visit my Uncle Joe twice since I posted last. He had the flu but seems to be doing better now. His dementia is progressing and his lack of concentration was very evident this past week.

Mom’s appetite is getting better and she’s abandoned using her walker. She’s getting around pretty good and her legs seem to be getting stronger as long as the walking distance isn’t more than ten feet. The time change confused her for nearly a week and she’s back to getting up and down during the night. Seems lately her Alzheimer’s is taking a few steps back instead of progressing. That’s a good thing, it’s just you never know from one moment or day to the next which way it’s going. Memories are coming from nowhere at times and conversations are forgotten within minutes or seconds. I hate this disease and its back and forth, ups and downs and plateauing.

Happy Spring and Happy Easter to all who celebrate. Though I’m not sure spring has sprung with 20 degree temperatures here and another inch of snow. :( The sun has melted all the snow finally.

I’ve missed reading what’s going on with everyone. I’ll try to get caught up on my blog reading this week. Hope all are well. Have a great week everyone!

The Rash Is Gone

Not much new here lately. Mom’s rash is gone. The antihistamine and the anti-itch cream must have done the job. It's been gone since Friday. The dermatologist couldn’t fit her in until this week and they said to cancel the appointment if the rash was gone by then. So I guess we’ll never know what it was. I’m just glad it’s gone and the itching is over with.

We're seeing more robins and the woodpeckers are starting their drumming on the trees. The daffodils are poking out of the ground at Mom's house. It's starting to look like spring here. My place sits in the woods and doesn't get much sun, so there's still four inches of snow on the ground and it still looks like winter up there.

Angel, Tim, and Katie visited on Sunday. Other than that, it’s been quiet around here and I don’t have much to say.

Just wanted to let everyone know we’re doing okay here.

The Water Gets Deeper

My apologies in advance for the lengthy post.

The week before Mom’s dilemma was filled with sad events.

On Wednesday the 13th, my close friend’s father died. On Thursday, Angel’s husband’s grandmother died. On Friday Two Feather’s uncle died, and we were told Two’s dad would be going in for heart surgery this past Friday. All of which we should have been there to show our respect and none of which we could be there for. All this while I was dealing with Mom scratching herself raw, it snowed and iced again and I couldn’t get off Mom’s hill. So excuse me if the later part of my post shows my intolerance of unthinking people and my post is a week later due to all that’s been going on. My rant is marked, so you may skip over that and get onto the other reading without hurting your eyes.

Well…just like I thought—it was not scabies!

When I got Mom up that Friday morning, the bumps were still there and Mom was still just as itchy as she had been. The Permethrin did nothing to take either the itch or bumps away. So we know for sure it wasn’t scabies. I got Mom in the shower, washed her thoroughly, and dowsed her and myself with the cream a second time, just to be on the safe side. One treatment is supposed to treat and eliminate the itching and bumps for scabies. Two treatments couldn’t hurt. I called the day care to talk with the nurse to make sure the note from the doctor was satisfactory for Mom to return on Monday, and she said yes because Mom was treated. She apologized for the inconvenience and said they had to be precautious. I told her I understood that. They did what they had to do and so did I. All worked out well.

I was sitting in the living room talking with Mom and noticed that she was moving her legs back and forth, unaware that she was moving them. I didn’t think much about it at the moment and chalked it off to yet another strange little habit Mom picked up—like the one where she runs her tongue across her teeth and it looks like she has something in her mouth. She and I sat and talked most of the day, mostly her asking what day it was and why she wasn’t at day care. By late afternoon Mom was still scratching, only now she was telling me, “I’m itchy all over. This itching is driving me crazy.”

That Saturday morning Mom woke up at 6:00 AM and I told her it was the weekend and she could go back to sleep for a while. She snuggled back under the covers and fell back to sleep almost instantly. When I turned to glance in her room before going back upstairs, I noticed the bed shaking. I walked closer and watched for a minute thinking she was just moving to get comfortable. The motion continued as she snored. Her legs were jerking back and forth under the covers. It was the same jerking movement of her legs that I noticed Friday while we were sitting in the living room.

As I watched Mom’s legs twitch under the covers, I thought about what might be causing her itch and rash.

The pharmacy always gives me an information sheet about new drugs Mom is prescribed. I read every one of them to make sure I know what to keep an eye out for when it comes to side effects or warnings. After watching Mom’s leg twitch while she was sleeping, I ran upstairs and grabbed the information sheet on Seroquel. I remembered reading that the doctor should be called immediately for certain side effects and one was if there is any unusual or uncontrolled movements of the face, lips, mouth, tongue, arms or legs. I reread the information and immediately realized Mom’s leg twitch was new since she began taking Seroquel. I continued to read the side effects and found that symptoms of a serious allergic reaction to Seroquel may include: rash, itching, etc., etc.

I immediately picked up the phone and called the pharmacy and explained about the day care sending her home, about her itching and rash, the treatment for scabies, and that the treatment did not help. I asked if Mom’s itching and rash could be an allergic reaction to the Seroquel and they said it could and to call the doctor to have him prescribe something.

Mom was back up by 8:00 and when I took her pajamas off to get her dressed I noticed the bumps by her clavicle were more pronounced and she was scratching just as much, if not more than she had been the day before treatment.

The next call was to the doctor’s answering service. He called back within 10 minutes. He said to take her off the Seroquel immediately and he was calling in an antihistamine for the itching and that I should use the same anti-itch Sarna cream I used when she had dermatitis.

I called my brother and asked him if he could pick up the prescription for me. He did. I appreciated it, and I thanked him. In conversation he mentioned a number of things that I know his wife read on my blog and I said, “if your wife is so interested in knowing what’s going on with Mom, maybe she and you should visit rather than read my blog to get information and see how she’s doing.” He responded with, “Yes, she reads it but she’s never commented on it.” Instant defense about a rude comment on my blog that I never mentioned to him. You know what they say about people who defend themselves before defense is needed. Immediately, he followed with bashing Two Feather—the person who does all the work around Mom’s house even though he’s “not accepted into this family” according to my brother. After that, the conversation went sour. There is no talking to him. He knows it all, he’s always right, and I’m always wrong.

Now I’m sorry I bothered asking him for anything.

The only reason I continue this blog is because it is my only outlet and there is a wonderful group of people here who know what dealing with Alzheimer’s is like. That group of caring people, who don’t know me from Adam, come here nearly every day to read, comment, show support, and treat me as if I were part of their family. One of the group had even offered warmth and shelter in her home during the furnace episode and offered to sit with Mom anytime I may need a break. Thank you, Betsy. You’re like the sister I never had. I appreciate you all so much, yet, I am sad to say that I have to admit that you understand and care more about my mom and me than some of our own family members. It’s sad that you can accept me for who I am and what I say; yet people who are supposed to be that support system, do nothing but lie and put me down.

**RANT

Since they want to read. Let them read the truth!

My brother told me, “all you have to do is ask if you need anything.” Yeah right! When I asked for him to watch my mom for one day so I could get my uncle moved from his apartment and into a nursing home in April 2006, I didn’t get help. I was asked where my cousins were? Why can’t they move his stuff? Why? Because they have about as much to do with my uncle as my brother does—little to nothing.

Mom has stayed at his house twice in three years. Once in July 2006, when I asked for a weekend, and I was held up from leaving on time for the weekend because my brother didn’t pay enough attention when I showed him how to take Mom’s blood glucose test and I had to go up to his house and show him again just as we were pulling out of the driveway ready to leave. The second time was when Mom asked him to keep her for a night on November 2, 2006 because Two Feather had surgery and she felt I should be at my house with him. Three times since then, when I asked for him to take Mom for a weekend, I got told, “I can’t. I’m going away.” I quit asking. Oh yeah, that’s right, some people can take several vacations a year—every year.

Here I sit knowing that his wife has been reading my blog all this time, and she knew about the power being out, the furnace being broke, me being sick recently, and all the other things I’ve written about here—where was their phone call of concern or offer of help? There wasn’t any. Oh, that’s right, I’m supposed to ask.

Since my sister-in-law has been so “accepted into this family” as my brother says—if she’s so interested in sticking her nose in Mom’s business and mine and wanting to know what’s going on, maybe she should visit! She hasn’t been here since Easter last year. Sticking her nose here is one thing—nosing into other blog links from my site and doing a Google search on Two Feather just makes her that much more pathetic. What exactly is the purpose of either? Just to instigate more problems?

All I have to do is ask?

Taking Mom for Sunday dinner is out because when I asked them to move dinner up an hour so she can still be in bed at her normal time I was told, “Oh no, that’s too early.” God forbid I ask for a little flexibility or for someone to go out of the way just a tad to spend time with Mom.

And of course they can’t take Mom for a week because they "work for a living" and "don’t have time," yet when my sister-in-law’s mom got sick it was okay for her to stay at their house. What’s good for one mom should also be good for the other.

How about picking up Mom’s garbage at 4:30 on Wednesdays and taking it down to the bottom of the hill.

How about calling to make sure we can get off the hill when it snows six inches.

Or, how hard would it be to bring dinner a few times a week, even once a week, for both of us? It’s called “thinking” of little ways to help out. It should be really easy right now since the fish fries are taking place on Fridays for lent. All that would need done would be to pick them up and drop them off. No cooking involved.

I guess all this upsets me so much because they are not willing to bend their schedule to help out, and everything is expected at their convenience instead of working around Mom’s schedule. Why should I go out of my way when they can’t be the least bit flexible?

All I’m asking for is respect to be shown to Mom. This is about her—not me!

**END RANT

The last week of February wasn’t much better. On to more important people and things--my daughter Angel, her husband and Katie came over for nearly two hours last Sunday before they went to Tim’s grandmother’s viewing. Angel brought lunch for all of us. Thank you, honey. I really appreciate you bringing lunch and visiting at the same time.

Mom did go back to day care last Monday with no problem. She still had the rash and we set up another appointment with the doctor for Wednesday afternoon. We had another snowstorm with ice rain overnight on Monday and we stayed in on Tuesday. Tuesday night we got more snow and we stayed in again on Wednesday. I had to call to have Mom’s driveway plowed and salted so I could get her out for the doctor’s appointment. We were back to Mom being up and down all night long after four nights without meds.

The doc said the rash didn’t look like an allergic reaction to meds but to keep her off the Seroquel just in case. He referred her to a dermatologist. She’s back on a light dose of Risperdal before bed.

Thursday and Friday she went back to day care. Friday after I dropped her off I went straight home. The weather report said we were expected to get another 2-4 inches of snow starting in late afternoon. The lower half of Mom’s driveway was solid ice, so I called for someone to spread anti-skid to give us traction. Between that and the new snow expected, I figured we’d be able to get up and down.

When I did get home, Two told me there was water coming in the basement. We couldn’t figure out at first how or why since there hasn’t been any melting with the low temperatures. He was shoveling the sidewalk and called me outside because he heard running water. I walked over to the side of our deck where the sound was coming from and found water flowing out of the top of our well. I called the well-drilling outfit to have him come and check it. In the meantime the water was getting deeper and the 30-year-old retaining wall beneath our deck collapsed and is blocking our basement door.

Two’s dad went in for heart surgery Friday and we sat at home waiting to hear how the surgery went since we couldn’t make the trip to be there. The snow was coming down harder, like a whiteout, and by 3:00 we had 4 inches. Two Feather rode with me to pick up Mom early knowing the roads would be bad. As we pulled up to the day care, I received the call back from the well guy. He told me to have Two call him when he got home and he’d tell him how to shut the well off until he got there on Saturday morning.

Had Mom at home by 4:00, Two walked back up to our house, called the well guy, and had the well shut off by 4:30. Two got a call at 11:00 PM telling him his dad made it through surgery okay. That’s a big load off our minds.

Saturday morning the well was fixed and Two Feather had all the water cleaned up in the basement and the dehumidifier was starting to dry it out. He walked down to visit after.
Stacey called and we talked for a while. Since Two was here she got to talk to him too. It’s always good talking to her. I miss being able to talk to her and Angel like I used to. Saturday was also my son-in-law’s birthday. Happy Birthday, Tim! Hope you got your card and had a great birthday.

Sunday was a quiet day. The lady from church came to give Mom communion. Two visited for a while. Angel called to say she was helping Tim’s family move his grandmother’s things so she didn’t think she’d be able to visit.

Mom and I spent the afternoon talking. Two saw a robin in the front yard. Maybe that’s a sign that better things are coming. I sure hope so, cause I’m sick and tired of being sick and tired.

When It Rains, It Pours

This post was held in queue.

Thursday, February 21

As I said in prior postings, Mom’s doctor took her off trazodone because the increased dosage resulted in her getting one of the side effects of the drug or an allergic reaction—itching. She scratched and scratched until she scratched her skin sore, and in places broke the skin. She had a bout with dermatitis last year, so her doctor recommended I apply lotion a few times a day. I’ve been applying lotion on her entire body everyday ever since, but with this itching, I’ve been applying it more often. The few places she had scratched raw were healing nicely and she had very few spots compared to what she’d had before. The spots were on her forearms, between and just below the clavicle bone, and on the back of her hand, and a few on her cheek.

I told the day care facility more than a week ago that Mom had the itching side effect or allergic reaction from meds.. Symptoms of an allergic reaction include: rash, itching, etc. She started with an itch here and there once in a while and then it stopped until he increased the dosage. The itching came back and a rash started. That’s when her doctor took her off trazodone and put her on seroquel. The seroquel is working wonders for Mom’s sleep and mine, but the itching and slight rash is taking its good old time subsiding.

Thursday I got a call from the day care asking me to pick Mom up. Mom was scratching her hand and the nurse noticed she had a spot / bump / rash on the top of her hand and supposedly on her belly that she suspected might be scabies. I told the nurse (who was standing in for the regular nurse and was aware of Mom’s med reaction) that Mom had been itchy from a reaction to meds and she said I had to pick up Mom and have her tested for scabies. Naturally, I called Mom’s doctor and asked that he fit her into his schedule that day to have her checked. The appointment was scheduled even before I picked up Mom from day care at 11:00 in the morning.

When I arrived at the day care, I said I had an appointment at 3:15 and they were shocked I was able to get her in so quickly. They told me they called the health department and I had to have Mom get a skin test and she wasn’t allowed to return until they had proof of the skin test from the doctor. Then I asked if anyone else was sent home with this same thing, and was told “yes, one other person.” Okay, no problem. I at least knew to tell Mom’s doctor that two people were sent home due to a “rash” and to be extra cautious with a diagnosis.

From my extensive reading over the years, I did know a few things about scabies. Yes, it does show in the form of a rash; it is an infestation of the skin caused by mites; it is contagious; and it is usually spread by personal close skin-to-skin contact between people in child-care facilities, nursing homes, and by sharing the same bed or clothes. I also knew that scabies normally appears in creases of the skin, between fingers, genital areas—none of the areas where Mom’s bumps are—with the exception of the small bump on the back of her hand between the knuckles of her ring and little finger.

I had nearly four hours to waste before Mom’s appointment, so being the conscientious person I am, I took her home, and sat her in the living room. First, I went upstairs and grabbed my magnifying glass and went back downstairs. Mom probably thought I was nuts when I took off her sweatshirt and began examining her forearms with the magnifying glass. I asked her to turn her head this way and that and checked the “bumps” on her cheeks, then got in close and looked at the “spots” on her hand. After inspecting Mom from head to foot, finding nothing that looked like these pesky little mites or tunnel-looking areas on her skin, I figured I’d take precautions anyway and ripped the sheets off her bed, threw them in the washer with the hottest water setting, added detergent and Clorox and disinfected her bed. Then, I went straight to the computer to research this nasty little parasitic monster that might have found its way into my mom’s skin.

The website for the PA Department of Health states that scabies is “pimple-like irritations, burrows or rash of the skin, especially the webbing between the fingers; the skin folds on the wrist, elbow, or knee; the penis, the breast, or shoulder blades.”

Other sources also mention scabies can be found “on the sides of fingers, armpits, inner thighs and around the waist (belt line).”

According to all the websites I checked (nearly a dozen), all the information I read and pictures I found, I felt confident that whatever it is making Mom itchy and causing her to scratch—it is not scabies. None of Mom’s bumps are in any of these areas and none of her rash-like bumps looked anything like the pictures on the websites.

Off to the doctor we went anyway armed with all the information I never really wanted to know about this little parasitic infectious skin irritation.

Mom’s appointment went well. I told her doctor that the day care said they wanted a skin test and she couldn’t return until they received written documentation of the test and he cleared her to return. He looked at the small bumps on her forearms and shook his head “no”. He said, “it’s highly unlikely that she has scabies and it doesn’t form on the face.” He looked at her clavicle area and said it looked like the dermatitis she had last year. Then, he said, “I’m not going to test her for scabies. It takes longer to get the test results than it does to treat it. So I’m just going to treat her for it.”

“So we don’t know if she has it or not?” I asked.

He said, “She’s had this itching and bumps for a while. As close as you are with your mom, if she had scabies, you’d have it by now, too. You’re not showing any signs of itching or rash.”

“No,” I said. “I don’t have a mark on me, and I wasn’t itchy until we started talking about this. I already washed her bedding before I came here.”

He laughed and I did, too.

“You realize scabies doesn’t mean a person or their surroundings are dirty, right?”

I said, “Yes, I know that. It’s just the old-fashioned ideas of scabies bother me, and I’m not real thrilled with having to be treated for something I know I don’t have.”

“Yes, I understand,” he said. “Everyone acts like it’s a big epidemic and gets so alarmed by the word, but it’s really quite a common thing.” Then, he said, “It’s very evident that you take very good care of your mother, Joanne. Knowing you, and seeing the report from the social worker who went to your mom’s house when you wouldn’t place her in rehab several months ago, you wouldn’t need to worry about it anyway. They noted that you kept your mom’s house spotless.”

He added, “If it hadn’t been that you said another person was sent home with a rash, I wouldn’t treat her, but we’ll treat this as if it were scabies just to protect your mom and you. I’ll write a prescription enough for both of you. You treat yourself as well. As long as it’s treated, she’s not contagious and if the day care were open on weekends, she could return by Saturday.”

I reminded him that the day care wouldn’t allow her return without the test. Mom’s doctor is well known in our area for working with nursing home residents. He said, “When there’s one person diagnosed with scabies in our facilities we treat that person and everyone on the floor just as a precaution, including the staff. The day care can’t stop your mom from returning if she’s been treated. A person who has been treated is non-infectious to others on the day after treatment.” He added, “I’ll write a note that she’s been treated and is non-contagious. If that’s not good enough for them, you tell them call me directly.”

He wrote a prescription for Permethrin, enough for two people, and wrote a note on his prescription pad that Mom was treated for scabies, was non-contagious, and he wrote on his prescription note that the day care should alert their clients and suggested they and the day care workers in contact with Mom be treated as well.

He handed me the prescription and said, “If this is scabies, this will stop the itching in a day or so. If the itching doesn’t go away, call me and we’ll get your mom set up with a dermatologist.”

I thanked him for fitting Mom in between patients. I stopped at the day care and gave them the note from the doctor and said Mom would be back on Monday. I was told that the doctor’s note on the prescription might be a problem. They said, “We were told to tell you that she had to have the test, we have to have proof of the test, and she can’t return until then.”

I said, “Mom’s doctor said it takes less time to treat the supposed problem than it does to get the test. By Monday she’ll have been treated and non-contagious. If treatment and his note aren’t sufficient for your nurse, she can call him directly. We’ll see you Monday.”

Mom and I stopped at the pharmacy to pick up the medication and went home to dowse ourselves in Permethrin.

Oh joy! Are we having fun yet?

New Medication Working Good So Far

I kept Mom home from day care on Wednesday again because the driveway was solid ice after the storm. Had the driveway plowed and salted and by afternoon the sun had melted some of the ice.

By Thursday, we were on the road again and Mom went back to day care. When I picked Mom up I was told there was an incident at day care. Evidently, Mom was sitting with Mr. N. and one of the workers walked up to her and said, “You don’t belong here. You need to move to another table.” I was told she grabbed Mom by the shoulders and nudged her toward the other side of the room. Mom complained to the supervisor about the woman’s action and supposedly the worker was reprimanded and made to apologize to my mom. I was glad they told me about it, but I wasn’t happy with what happened. I felt more than a bit let down because I know the woman and I never expected her to act or treat Mom in this fashion. It must have bothered Mom because she remembered it and told me about it on the way home. She said she was glad the lady apologized and she was going to forget it for now. But if it ever happened again, she wasn’t going back. I picked up Mom’s new medication, Seroquel, on the way home and she took it for the first time Thursday evening. It's a low dose before bed. The doctor prescribed 25mg tablets and Mom's only suppose to take a half tablet at bedtime. She slept sound. YAY!! So did I. DOUBLE YAY!! I can’t remember the last time I had two good night’s sleep in a row, but it felt wonderful! That was a Valentine’s gift all in itself. :)

Two and I went grocery shopping on Thursday and spent the rest of the afternoon watching Saw IV. All four of these movies were good. Of course, I’m a horror and thriller fan, so naturally I’m going to say I loved them. That was our Valentine’s Day together. Watching a horror flick.

Today, when I took Mom to day care, the lady who was gruff with her on Thursday pulled up in front of the day care at the same time. She was very pleasant and held the door for Mom to walk in. She said “good morning” to Mom and Mom answered as if nothing had happened. I did say good morning and talked with her, but I didn’t bother mentioning the incident. I figured the supervisor reprimanded her and I didn’t need to make a big deal about it. I’m sure she knows me well enough that if anything like that happens again that I won’t be as courteous the next time. She probably felt lucky that I didn’t say anything this time. I can be very nasty when it comes to protecting my mom.

Today was a do nothing day. Even though I slept well the past two nights, I still feel run down so Two and I just talked all day. Mom had a good day at club and I was happy there were no reports of any kind.

Mom was extremely tired while she ate dinner. She didn’t eat much again tonight. Her appetite has diminished so much. All she wanted to do was finish eating and go to bed. By 5:30 she was snoring.

Angel, (not my daughter) an old friend called my house and Two called to tell me she called. Angel and I used to pal around together in the 80s. We kept in touch for a long time and drifted apart due to life changes. I ran into her at a local store just before I moved in with Mom. She knew Mom had Alzheimer’s but we hadn’t seen each other or talked since so she didn’t know I’d moved in with Mom three years ago. It was really good talking to her after all this time. We were best buddies back then and it didn’t take but a few minutes on the phone to realize how much we’d missed talking to each other. Anyway, if you read this, Angel, thanks for calling. It was wonderful talking to you again.

I’m signing off for now. This new medication is really working wonders so I’m going to take advantage of the fact that Mom is resting peacefully. See you all soon. Joanne does a happy dance as she signs off for the night. :D

A Whole Bunch of Rambling

I haven’t blogged much lately because…quite frankly—I’m exhausted! After reading Robyn’s post about her mom getting up several times a night, I figured I’d finally talk about what I’ve been going through.

You all know about Mr. N. and how he and Mom have become such “great” friends. Well, this friendship and talking has turned to him holding her hand and kissing her on the cheek. The day care workers thought it was all cute and innocent and nothing indecent. Maybe not indecent, but still, he is a married man, Mom is vulnerable, and I told them I thought they should deter these kinds of actions because I didn’t want my mom to get hurt. I wasn’t only worried about Mom getting her feelings hurt when Mr. N. may put his attention elsewhere, but also I was worried that Mrs. N. may walk in and see this and maybe not be so understanding. I still don’t know if she knows about it.

It’s nice that Mom is enjoying the day care socially, but I spoke with the day care workers several times months ago asking them to discourage the hand holding and kissing. They all told me how Mom and Mr. N. would make plans to go out and how they thought it was so cute. Deep down I knew it was a catastrophe waiting to happen. I know my mom.

Now, another lady is paying attention to Mr. N. and Mom is not happy! For the past two months, Mom has been getting up nearly a dozen times a night talking to Mr. N. in her sleep, getting out of bed, thinking he’s in the living room, thinking this lady is here stealing him. Good grief. I’ve told the day care workers that he is on her mind constantly when she is at home and reminded them once again that they should have discouraged this type of affection between them.

The beginning of last week Mom became aggressive at day care toward the lady who is showing Mr. N. affection. Mom told her to move (in not so nice words) and when the lady argued with her, Mom told her to shut up! At the end of last week Mom became angry again when she saw this woman sitting by him. She clenched her fists and said she was going to go over there and punch the woman (also not in such nice language). The day care workers told me how she’s reacting and said something needs to be done. I said, “I’ve been telling you that for months. Oh, it wasn’t a problem until the snake came out and bit you in the face. I’ve been dealing with her up all night for a few months because of this situation. You are the one’s who thought it was so cute, so you deal with it here without being mean to my mother.”

I suggested that when Mr. N. reaches for Mom’s hand or kisses her on the cheek he be reminded that he is married, and suggested that Mom be reminded that he is married and these type things shouldn’t go on. If Mom didn't have Alzheimer's she wouldn't allow such a thing. She would be horrified if she were in her right mind and knew she was allowing a married man to show her affection. Dancing and talking is one thing, but she wouldn’t allow this. For crying out loud, my dad’s best friend who had been a widower for more than 20 years asked her out and kissed her on the cheek six years after Dad died and she told him off. Poor guy. That relationship would have been nice, but she didn’t want anything to do with it because he had been my dad’s best friend.

So…here I am, up nearly a dozen times every night with her cussing and yelling at Mr. N. and this woman because he’s cavorting with someone else. He’s still mainly interested in Mom but since the day care workers have been trying to change the situation (a little too late) Mom is becoming more and more angry.

Her anger wouldn’t change now even if they let them sit together because Mom would still carry on about the “other” woman. When something really matters to Mom, she doesn’t forget it. I told the day care workers they have to deal with it since they let it go on so long.

Angel came over on Saturday to sit with Mom from 1-4:00 so Two and I could visit a friend of his in Ohio. Nearly two hours driving and an hour visit. We were home by 3:30. It was good for Two to get out and see someone he hasn’t seen since November. The driving wasn’t much fun, but it was good for me to get out into different surroundings for a few hours. I realized how much my social skills are deteriorating. I barely talked and when I did, I stumbled over everything I said. Good grief, I need to get out and talk to people before I lose the ability to speak other than repeating myself all day long.

Sunday we had atrocious winds. The lady from church came and gave Mom communion at 1:00. When she came in the house, she said a tree had fallen over Mom’s driveway and was leaning on the power lines. The lines had been ripped off my neighbor’s house. My brother came at 1:15 and said the same thing. He parked his truck and walked up the drive because he didn’t think he could get under it with his truck. He told me I should call the power company. I said, “Of course, just one more thing for me to do because no one else does anything.” He was going into the hall to pick up the phone (which hasn’t been there for three years) and call the power company and said, “What’s the address here?” “You don’t even know your own mother’s addresss?” I asked. “Nevermind, I’ll call the power company.” He stayed until 3:15. I made Mom dinner and we chatted until 4:30. She was tired and wanted to go to bed. It was probably a good thing that she went to bed a tad earlier because the power went out at 5:00 and didn’t come back on until 7:00. Thank goodness the power came back on in such a short time. I was bored stiff for the two hours it was off trying to read a book with a flashlight. LOL Mom was up ten times during the night. This time she was whispering and telling Mr. N. she hopes he’s happy and then yelling at someone to get the hell away from her. I have no idea who she was talking to then.

Monday morning I had Mom in the car and down the driveway and had to back up all the way to the house. The power company cut the end of the tree off the power lines, tightened the lines, and called me at 1:00 in the morning to find out if our power was back on, but they left the tree on the driveway. I didn't know about the tree until I tried to leave in the morning. I called Two Feather to come down and cut up and move the tree so I could take Mom to day care. I called my brother too, figuring he should do something for a change and help Two, but he didn’t answer his phone. I didn’t bother leaving a message on his answering machine. He was home.

Mom’s medication needs changed because she’s getting the itching side effects from trazadone. The doctor took her off respiradol several months ago and I asked him if he would put her back on it but instead he said to try the trazadone. Mom's moods are worse and she's getting up at night more and more. Now, he’s going to order seroquel. They were suppose to call it in on Monday but the pharmacy said they didn’t. The office was closed by the time the pharmacy called to see what the doctor was going to order. The doctor’s office was closed today probably due to the snow, so I’ll have to call them tomorrow and find out when they will call it in.

I kept Mom home from day care today because it snowed overnight and she (and I) were up all night with her dreams, hallucinations, cussing, and wandering. She was a gem all day. She sat and colored while I went through stacks of receipts and got everything together for her taxes. Next, is getting my Uncle Joe’s paperwork ready and then I can finally get the taxes done. That will be a burden off my mind.

We got about six inches of snow today. Then it turned to freezing rain. I’m not sure what it’s doing out there now, but I can say that I’m truly looking forward to summer. Yes, I said summer. The heck with spring. Let’s just move onto the 70 and 80 degree days. I need a vacation!

Happy Birthday, Angel!

I love you! Even if you are making me older by turning the BIG 30 today. :D

Daughter Without a Name, Ice Storms, & Wishing for Spring

Last weekend was a bit crazy and the week that followed wasn’t much better. I posted book reviews instead of talking about the goings on here at Mom’s. Last Sunday when the lady from church was here, she and Mom were talking about family. Mom told her that she had a sister and two brothers and her two brothers were still alive and work together. Alrighty then. Truth is, Mom had one brother and he’s been deceased for more than thirty years. Sunday, I also realized that Mom does know that I’m her daughter, but she had forgotten my name. Every day when I pick her up at day care and she sees me, she says, “There’s my daughter.” Sunday, after the lady from church left, Mom and I were talking. I figured I’d do the little memory quiz that I used to do once every couple weeks. I haven’t quizzed Mom for about two months. At least once a month I would joke with her and ask if she knows who I am and she always said, "You're my daughter." Never thought to ask her if she knew my name. I asked her birthday, address, phone number, all of which she didn’t know the answer. She did remember she was born in October, just not the day and year. I asked her how many kids she has. She did say three. That’s correct.

“What are they?” I asked.
“I think I have three boys,” she said.
I giggled and said, “If you have three boys, who am I?”
“You’re my daughter,” she said.
“Okay. So you can’t have three boys if you have a daughter, Mom.”
“I guess you’re right.”
“What are your kid’s names?”
“I think they are Bob and Ray.”
“What’s my name, Mom?”
She looked at me with such shockingly sad eyes and said, “I don’t know. What is your name?”
“Joanne. My name is Joanne, Mom.”

I knew one day Mom wouldn’t know who I am and I prepared myself for it. I guess it just shocked me that she knows I’m her daughter, but has forgotten my name. I tried to think back to when and how long it’s been since she’s called out to me by name, and I pinpointed it to mid-October when Mom was up and down half the night looking for Mr. N. She would call out to me by name back then, yelling up the steps, “Joanne, are you up there?” She hasn’t called me by name since. Mostly, I’m “her daughter” when she talks about me, and when she talks to me, I’m “honey” or I’m not addressed at all before asking something or looking for me. Wow! It very well could be that she hasn’t known my name for more than three months. We've gone through a few moments at times when she wasn't sure who I am. I've already mentioned those times. Strange, but I think I accepted the fact that she would someday not know me at all more than I accepted her not remembering my name. The two just seem to go together, but I never imagined she’d remember who I am and forget my name. Then again, she can’t understand how my daughter is her granddaughter, so I don’t think I want to ask if she understands what a daughter is. LOL

After realizing Mom didn’t know my name, the whole darn following week just kept getting worse. It was all sort of depressing, actually. I did log in long enough to post a “Happy Birthday” to my dad. That was part of the depressing week. The other part was that I felt lousy. I’m not running a fever and I don’t have a cold. I just felt tired and worn out. My muscles ached more than usual and my legs and knees are killing me. Mom may have Alzheimer’s, but she can certainly pick up on my emotions no matter how hard I try to hide them. She knew I wasn’t feeling well and she kept asking me if there was anything she could do for me. I didn’t have the heart to tell her that if she would sleep all night long it would make a world of difference in my longevity.

By the end of the week, I still wasn’t feeling any better. Thursday I just curled up on the couch and slept after taking Mom to day care. Two and I watched a movie and I trudged through the day as if I were a zombie. The weather report showed an ice storm coming through and we were supposed to get hit after midnight. Two and I prepared for not having the day together on Friday.

Friday morning I got up at the usual time. I went downstairs, let Mom’s dog out and he slid off the porch and onto the sidewalk. The porch and sidewalk were solid ice. I got the salt out and sprinkled it over the porch and sidewalk and tested the gravel drive with my foot. It was like an ice rink. These pictures don't show the ice as well as I would have liked. The bushes, power lines, absolutely everything was iced over. Nothing like you guys had in the northwest and central part of the states last month, but still scary on this hill just the same.




I called the day care and they said they were open but I had to tell them that Mom wouldn’t be coming in because we couldn’t get off our hill.

I’ll drive in a foot of snow on Mom’s driveway, but there is no way I’ll drive on ice. You’ve seen pictures of my Mom’s driveway. It’s steep and winding. It’s a beautiful site when the leaves are changing colors and the sun is shining through the clouds, but there’s no way to stop on ice, unless of course you want to slide over the 50+-foot embankment and crash to the bottom. Nope. Not me. When it’s ice, I stay home—and so does Mom.

The ice didn’t thaw from the porch, the sidewalk, the drive, the power lines, and the trees until 4:00 Friday afternoon. Then everything that thawed on Friday froze overnight and left an icy mess this morning, too. I think we may get out of here on Monday morning as long as it doesn’t rain and freeze again.

Am I wishing for spring? You’re darn right I am!

Back to reading and writing my book reviews.

Happy Birthday, Dad

Today would have been my dad's 88th birthday. I still miss him terribly. I love you, Dad. Happy Birthday.

Blogcritic of the Day

Well, I have no clue how this came about, but I just noticed I am listed as Blogcritic of the Day at BlogCritics. That was a nice surprise.

Also noticed that my recent review of An Uncertain Inheritance was picked up by LexisNexis News Publishers.

Another nice surprise.

BOOK REVIEW: An Uncertain Inheritance: Writer’s on Caring for Family edited by Nell Casey

An Uncertain Inheritance: Writer’s on Caring for Family
Edited By Nell Casey
William Morrow/Harper Collins(November 13, 2007)
304 pp Hardcover
Nonfiction: Parenting/Families/Aging/Caregiving
ISBN-10: 0060875305
ISBN-13: 978-0060875305
Amazon Price: $16.47

As a writer and sole caregiver for my 84-year-old mother who has Alzheimer’s, An Uncertain Inheritance: Writer’s on Caring for Family, edited by Nell Casey piqued my interest.

Writers produced the 19 essays gathered for this book, but more importantly, these essays were written by caregivers and those being cared for themselves with a no-holds-barred brutal honesty.

Under my currant circumstances, I thought this book might bring me to tears with each story, but I was wrong. It’s the powerful honesty, written eloquently in all its vulnerability, that will grab your heart, reduce you to tears, cause you to chuckle, and in some cases infuriate you, as it did me.

These stories weren’t fiction fantasies or pretty pictures of caregivers being selfless martyrs, as some may think, and the patients weren’t patiently waiting to die; these were true accounts of people — parents, children, spouses, friends, and siblings — who while living life, being all they could be, were stricken with illness or injury and needed help.

Caregiving for the chronically or critically ill is not a pretty subject. These writers opened their homes, hearts, and minds and let out every ounce of love, fear, frustration, and anger and shared the trials and tribulations they felt during their caregiving journey.

Each essay had its own merits, story, and sense of need.
Helen Schuman in her essay, My Father the Garbage Head, writes with poignant, heartwarming honesty of her father’s heart attack and strokes which led to his death.

Sam Lipsyte, in The Gift speaks openly and humorously about his drug abuse, how it wrecked his life, and while he “cleaned up his act” his mother let him move back in. Shortly after, his mother tells him and his sister that her breast cancer had recurred. He handled the news with a matter-of-fact acceptance that he would be her caregiver.

I was sort of relieved when I realized it was going to be me. Why knock yourself out trying to resuscitate your life when you can cling to somebody else’s. (12)

Ann Harleman’s My Other Husband describes her husband’s illness and the grueling bleakness and burden of MS.

MS is something that goes on happening—growing, changing, worsening—measurable not in weeks, months, or even years, but in decades. Something huge and black that descends slowly and inexorably and surrounds you. (21)

Her heartfelt love showed in each of the slices of their life she describes before MS took over. Her friend told her, “With chronic illness, a lot of times the caregiver ends up dying first. Out of stress and exhaustion. I’ve seen it.” (28) After years, frustrated and worn, she finally decided to place him in a nursing home “for his sake and hers.”

Eleanor Cooney’s essay Death in Slow Motion was formed from a former Harper’s Magazine article and later became a book under the same name. The eloquently written story is about her mother, writer Mary Draper, and her decline with Alzheimer’s Disease.

Cooney shoots from the hip with her openness of dealing with Alzheimer’s and the dilemmas and life interruptions her and her mate dealt with after moving her mother into an apartment close to their home. After just a few short months of her mother’s arrival, Cooney finds herself in an argument with her mate, who bolts out of the house to clear the air, and she stands in the dark with her “heart pounding with fury, sorrow, anguish.” (120)

She speaks of her mother’s lack of memory, repetitive conversations, questions, and how people with dementia “become unappetizing.”

They don’t bathe unless you make them…You will begin to find a person you love…odious. And you will hate yourself for feeling it. (126)

Susan Lehman, in Don’t Worry. It’s Not An Emergency tells a grim, yet capturing story of her nearly 300-pound mother, who spoke with a “thunder” voice, or “blast,” sat and ate sorbet, doughnuts, huge amounts of candy, and smoked cigarettes all day. Lehman moved her mother from her home in Ohio to live on the 8th floor of her apartment building so she could keep a closer watch on her. Her three children adored their grandmother and visit her daily.

The story of her mother’s illness is not the least bit funny, but Lehman manages to spin the tale with utmost charm and humor.

Did I mention that my mother had no teeth? And that as a result, her mouth flapped back and forth, like bird wings, over her face? Did I mention that my children called her Doodles? (167)

In the Land of Little Girls Ann Hood’s 36 hour experience with her 5-year-old’s illness and quick death was appalling in many ways. Hood describes not only the illness and death, but also her devastation at Gracie’s death and the horrible treatment she and her family were subjected to in the hospital.

An Uncertain Inheritance may never become a best seller due to the subject matter, but it should be a book that each and every human being should read and realize the reality it speaks about; they too may face the need to be cared for, or need to care for someone else. I only hope the readers have families like these who take that responsibility seriously regardless of time-consuming needs, the love, the fear, the frustration, the anger, and the rejection that may be a result from it.

Click HERE to purchase An Uncertain Inheritance: Writer’s on Caring for Family.

BOOK REVIEW: the People’s Republic of Desire by Annie Wang

the People’s Republic of Desire
By Annie Wang
Harper Paperbacks
464 pp Paperback
Fiction
ISBN-10: 0060782773
ISBN-13: 978-0060782771
Amazon Price: $11.16

Those who know little to nothing about Chinese culture will receive an eye-opening experience of how China was and how China is now through Annie Wang’s novel the People’s Republic of Desire.

Wang takes readers on a journey with four cosmopolitan women learning to live life in the new China. Niuniu, the book’s narrator is a Chinese American woman, who spent seven years living in the States obtaining her degree in journalism. In the book, Niuniu is now considered a “returnee” when goes back to China to get over a broken heart. What she meets upon return to her homeland is not the traditional Confucian values she left, but a new modern China where Western culture seems to have taken over—by extreme.

Niuniu, the narrator of the book, is called a “Jia Yangguiz” which means a “fake foreign devil” because of her Westernized values. Her friend Beibei is the owner of her own entertainment company and is married to a man who cheats, so Beibei deals with his infidelity by finding her own young lovers. Lulu is a fashion magazine editor who has been having a long-term affair with a married man, and thinks nothing of having several abortions to show her devotion to him. CC, also a returnee, struggles with her identity between Chinese and English.

In the People’s Republic of Desire the days of the 1989 idealism and the Tiananamen Sqaure protests seem forgotten to this new world and making a fast yuan, looking younger, more beautiful, and acting important seems to be of the most concern to this generation.

Wang uses these four woman to make humorous and sometimes sarcastic observations of the new China and accurately describes how Western culture has not only infiltrated China, but is taken to extreme by those who have experienced a world outside the Confucian values. What was once a China consumed with political passions, nepotism, unspoken occurrences, and taboos is now a world filled with all those things once discouraged—sex, divorce, pornography, and desire for material goods. It’s taken the phrase “keeping up with the Joneses” to an all-time high.

Wang offers a glimpse of modern day Beijing and what it would take for any woman—returnee or otherwise—to move forward and conquer dilemmas in the fast-moving Chinese culture. The characters joke that “nowadays, the world is for bad girls” and all the values of their youth have been lost to this new modern generation of faking their identity, origin, and accent. It seems that such a cultural shock would be displeasing to those who knew the old China, but instead these young women seem to be enjoying the newfound liberties.

If you’re looking for a quick read with a plot, you won’t find one. Each of the 101 chapters reads like individual short stories. Separate stories about friends, family, and other individuals who Niuniu is acquainted with or meets and through which Wang weaves a humorous and often sarcastic trip into Beijing, China.

The book is filled with topics of family, friends, Internet dating, infidelity, rich, poor, and many of the same ideals most cultures worry themselves about. Many of the chapters end with popular phrases that give the reader an insight into Chinese culture and language. Wang does seem to use Niuniu’s journalistic background to intertwine the other characters and come to a somewhat significant conclusion.
As the press release stated, “Wang paints an arresting portrait of a generation suffocating in desire. For love. For success. For security. For self actualization. And for the most elusive aspiration of all: happiness.”

With the People’s Republic of Desire, Wang does just that. She speaks not only of the new culture but also of the old ways and how China used to be. She may have educated readers about the new China with her knowledge of the Western and Chinese culture, but she also hit the nail on the head when it comes to showing most people’s needs. After all, aren’t most human beings striving for many of these same elusive dreams?

Click HERE to purchase the People’s Republic of Desire.

Oatmeal and Dogs Don’t Mix

Or at least they shouldn’t!

I’ve had my hands full this past week going through files getting everything ready to prepare taxes. I should have known better than to try to do anything remotely time consuming while Mom was still up and awake. It just goes to prove that even though you “think” you know all there is to know about the sounds of the house, walker, Mom, and the dog, there is always a sound you don’t hear or one you haven’t heard before.

I was upstairs sitting on the floor in the midst of a pile of paperwork when I heard Mom’s walker rolling along the carpet. No problem. She was heading to the kitchen most likely to get a drink of water. Correct. I heard the water running. Then, I heard her say, “I’ll let you out in a minute.” Heard the door open next and her cussing because she was having a hard time getting the dog hooked to the chain on the porch. Less than a minute later, the dog’s tags on his collar are tingling, the door closes, and he starts barking, so I know he’s back inside. The reason I know this is because her dog only barks when someone comes in the door and he barks at the door after it’s closed. Strange, I know, but he’s done this for as long as I can remember.

Next I heard this strange sound I hadn’t heard through the monitor before. I had no idea what it was so I figured I’d better go check out what was going on.

Mom was in the dining room and headed for the living room by the time I got up off the floor and made it down the steps. I asked her if she needed anything and she said no and was very proud of herself for letting the dog out to do its business.

Two Feather was on his way down to get the mail, so I headed for the bathroom before he had a chance to come back up the hill.

You’re going to love this one.

When I went into the kitchen to let Two Feather in, I noticed a powdery substance in the dog’s dish. I looked closer and realized it was oatmeal. I turned around and saw an empty package of instant oatmeal on the kitchen counter. Once again I was brought to tears from laughing. I realized the sound I’d heard earlier was Mom laying the dog’s dish on the counter and back onto the floor. She hasn’t fed her dog for the past three years so naturally it wasn’t a sound I’d heard in a long while. With Alzheimer’s we can never be certain what is on our loved one’s mind. I’m not sure if she was thinking she was feeding him or giving him a “good boy” treat for going potty, but either way, he got oatmeal. ROFL

Guess I don’t need to tell you what else I hand my hands full with for the next two days. :)

Hint: Don’t give dogs oatmeal for dinner or a treat. It cleans them out as well as it does we humans. LOL

Anyway, in between getting paperwork sorted, and cleaning up dog doo-doo, I’ve been working on getting my “to be read” pile of books down to a more reasonable level. I’ve become so far behind. I send my apologies to the authors. I may be a bit behind, but I am reading in the order received and will complete them and give each book the attention it deserves.

So, anyone who’s not interested in books, you may want to skip the next few posts. Yes, I’m at it again—book reviews!

Thanks For Making Me Laugh

It seems like weeks since I’ve posted and it’s only been five days. Good grief, where do I begin. Friday I still wasn’t feeling well so the day dragged on. I called Stacey’s cell phone and found out that she hadn’t called after the tornado scare because Trinity had spilled orange juice on her cell phone. She was able to retrieve messages but she couldn't make calls and calls wouldn’t go through. Thank you all for your concern for her and her family. As you already know from her post, they are all fine.

Late Friday evening my mom’s neighbor, Mrs. Y. called to let us know Mrs. E. (her mother) passed away. After I hung up, I cried. Mrs. E. was one of the sweetest ladies I’ve ever known. I never heard her say a bad word about anyone in the 55 years I knew her. She was able to enjoy many of her family members coming in to visit and celebrate her 102nd birthday the Saturday before her death. I’ll miss seeing Mrs. E. outside in the yard and waiving to her and her son, Billy, as we drive up the driveway past their house to Mom’s. She always said, “the good lord lets me live to take care of Billy.” I imagine Billy will move in with Mrs. Y. so she can care for him now. I have the utmost respect for her entire family. Daughter, grandchildren, and great grandchildren pitched in to help in the care of Mrs. E. There was an abundance of selfless people who gave of their time and love to show this 102-year-old woman the respect she deserved. I’m sure she left this earth knowing that she had a wonderful family.

Saturday morning I woke up Mom, got her washed and dressed, and made her breakfast. After she ate and was settled in her chair in the living room, I broke the news to her about Mrs. E. I didn’t think it would be easy, but I certainly didn’t expect what took place. First I had to explain who called. She didn’t recognize her neighbor’s name. After explaining that Mrs. Y. called and who Mrs. Y is, I proceeded to tell her that Mrs. Y’s mother died, and had to remind her that Mrs. E. was the other neighbor on our driveway. I felt like I was in the Twilight Zone trying to explain who her neighbors were, just to let her know one of them had passed away. If Mom didn’t have Alzheimer’s she would have been in tears about Mrs. E’s death—after all, she had been neighbors with her for 50 years—but this disease steals so much memory and emotion from our loved ones, it’s difficult to tell how they will react. Her reaction was far from what I’d expected. She merely said, “That’s a shame. She was old, wasn’t she?” A few minutes later she said, “That’s strange. You don’t think about death until it’s next door.” That was it! No emotion. No tears. No memory.

Sunday morning the lady from Mom’s church came to give her communion. Angel, Tim, and Katie came to visit around 11:15 as the lady was leaving. They stayed until 12:30. At 1:30 my brother, Ray, came to visit.

As I walked upstairs after getting a cup of coffee from the kitchen, I heard Mom tell Ray about a lady who visited yesterday (it was actually that morning) and how nice this lady was. She said something about her talking a lot and trying to sell her something (Avon maybe) but she just listened and didn’t buy anything. Later I heard her say that the lady comes every six months or so, then it was every couple weeks, and she buys all sorts of nice things from her.

I stay upstairs in my room while my brother visits, but when I come down to get something to drink or use the bathroom, I caught bits and pieces of her conversation, and Ray talks loud so it’s difficult not to hear some of what he says.

After about 45 minutes, I went downstairs to get Mom a cup of tea and was invited to sit with them in the living room.

I had to laugh at a few things I heard, though. Ray asked Mom if she had candy in her mouth. She said, “No, I got a new plate and it’s bothering me.” She told him she got it from someone other than her regular dentist about three weeks ago.

Ray doesn't come around Mom often enough to know she’s picked up a few new odd habits. One is running her tongue across the top of her plate and the back of her teeth. She does it all the time. Her mouth moves as she does this and she does look like she has something in her mouth. Her other little odd habit is her making a “humph” sound all the time. When she’d mumbled “humph” before Alzheimer’s, there was something on her mind that she was about to say, and I could expect an explanation for the sound she’d made. Normally, it was just something she thought of and wanted to tell me. Now, she just says, “humph” and nothing follows except another “humph.”

I don’t consider this a habit, but it is something I find quite fascinating about Mom having Alzheimer’s. When Mom can’t search her brain and find a reasonable and true answer to a question she’s asked, she’ll make up an answer. :D

So with that in mind, no, Mom didn’t go to a different dentist and she didn’t get a new plate, the nice lady who came Sunday morning was from the church to give her communion and she doesn’t sell Avon, Mom doesn’t read anymore because she’s not comprehending what she reads, she doesn’t crochet, she doesn’t watch TV at 6:00 PM because she's normally asleep by 5:30, and the dogs she says she sees in the yard are really deer.

There was very little of what Mom said that was real. She did remember that Mrs. E. had died and point blank said, “Oh, she’s dead,” when Ray asked how Mrs. E. was doing. That, and the fact that Mom likes to color, is about the only thing that came out of Mom’s mouth that was reality.

The funniest part about the entire day was when Mom and I were talking about the day before she went to bed. As I dress her for bed, I always talk about what we did all day to help remind her of what went on. Not that it does any good anymore, but it gives us something to talk about and she enjoys hearing how her day went.

I told her that the lady from the church doesn’t sell Avon, and the deer in the yard aren’t dogs. She laughed when I told her that is what she told Ray. What was truly hilarious was when I told her that she did tell Ray a few things that really happened. She asked me what she said. I said, “You remembered that Mrs. E. died and you told him you love to color.” She looked at me with this surprised look and said, “I like to color? Really?”

I couldn’t keep from laughing. Once again Mom went to bed after a hardy laugh about how this crazy disease gives us a little humor. I bent down to give her a kiss and tuck her in and she said, “Thanks for making me laugh.”

Hey Watching You, pass the word on to Ray. Just want to make sure everyone knows the reality of Alzheimer's. You can't always believe what our loved ones say is real.

Tornadoes in Alabama--Worried Mom Here

Day care was open today and routines were back to normal. Stacey called me in the early afternoon. She's such a stinker. She sounded like she was pretending to sniffle (you know those sounds I mentioned I heard on the phone that always told me something was wrong) and proceeded to tell me that there were 20 tornadoes headed her way in Alabama. She may really have been crying, but she hides her emotions very well from me lately. The schools closed and she had to leave work and pick up the kids. She said she'd call me back in an hour or so and let me know if everything was OK.

While talking to her, I told her she should have stayed in PA instead of moving back to Alabama. I remember how she used to call me just before every threat of a tornado. We bought her a crank generated weather band radio for Christmas last year, so she'd always be able to hear a weather report if the power went out. She was always a nervous wreck; asking me what she should do if she spotted one. There are no basements to hide in, so I always said she should grab a mattress, get everyone in the bathtub, and hold the mattress over them. If that wasn't possible, I joked that she should stand between the most sturdy doorframe, bend over, and kiss her butt goodbye. She always got a chuckle out of that. It's not so funny, when you actually think about it, though. There is nowhere to hide from a tornado down there.

You'd think the Army base would have underground bunkers, or something in place for the safety of their employees.

No call came in. I tried calling her cell phone after I got Mom settled and the call didn't go through. It disconnected after a single ring. I watched the weather report and couldn't tell if her area was hit or not.

I'll try again in the morning and see if I can get through. I hate not knowing. Guess I'm going to have to get a better communication system with her in cases like these.

Stacey, if you went back to work today, let me know you weren't bent over between the doorframe and how things went. You worry the pants off your mother and Two. :D

Power Outage and No Day Care

When I pulled up to the day care this morning, there were no lights on inside. Evidently, high winds intermittently knocked down trees and power lines and the day care was within that power outage. They were on the phone calling to find out how soon power would be restored when we walked in. Their battery emergency power unit kicked in so there was heat and emergency lighting. I had second thoughts of leaving her, but figured Duquesne Light would have them up and running in no time being that they are a care facility. Well, that time didn’t come. I received a call at 9:00 requesting me to pick up Mom because Duquesne Light told them they probably wouldn’t have the power back on until 6:00 PM. The day care’s battery power died after two hours and they had no way to make breakfast or lunch and the building went dark when the emergency lights went out, so they called everyone and requested them to pick up their loved ones.

I wasn’t feeling well when I got up this morning and was looking forward to getting a few hours sleep. If I felt better, I was going to suggest that Two and I go out and do something—bowling, movie, anything to get out of the house and do something different. After I received the call to pick up Mom, I burst into tears—not because I had to pick her up, but because I realized how much I cherish my time with Two and because I realized how totally exhausted I’ve become. The way I was feeling, the last thing I wanted and needed to do was jump back into the car and drive. I needed rest—even if that rest was only to lie on the couch and relax.

It was strange walking into the building when I picked up Mom. There wasn’t the normal hum of conversation, chairs moving, and faces glancing toward the door to see who was being picked up first. The room was dark and quiet. I was filled with an uncomfortable and eerie feeling seeing only the silhouettes of all the clients huddled at the one large table in the front of the room waiting for their loved one’s to show up. The usual smiles were replaced with worried lines and wonder. I could hear one of the caregivers reassure a client that their loved one would be there soon and s/he wouldn’t be stuck there in the dark. I could only imagine how strange and frightening the stillness and darkness felt to them.

Naturally any change in our loved one’s routine muddles their thoughts, so when Mom walked in the house she wasn’t sure where she was; yet she headed straight for the bedroom to change clothes because that is normally what she does. I guided her away from the bedroom and into the living room to sit in her chair explaining that it was only 10:00 AM and we had the whole day ahead of us.

And indeed we did! My head was throbbing, my stomach and chest felt as if someone had beaten me with a baseball bat, my legs felt like rubber, and Mom was all ready to go to day care. She didn’t remember that she had been there and sent home because the electric was out, so we went through the “what day is this?” and “do I go to club tomorrow?” questions all day. Each time, I explained that she was at club for a few hours, but the power was out, so they sent everyone home, and she would go back tomorrow.

Mom knew I wasn’t feeling well, so after lunch she sat in her chair in the living room and colored while I stretched out on the couch where she could see that I was resting and knew I was OK.

After she was in bed for the evening and I knew she was sleeping, I went upstairs and fell asleep across the bed and hence a later post. Three hours rest and I’m going back for more. Night all...

Tiny Tests of Integrity

Sometimes I think that we are all being tested during our time here on earth. Are we tested for our strength? Not our physical strength, but our inner strength. Our strength to endure things that we never thought we could endure. Are we tested for our love? Not our physical love, but our love of others, love of nature, love of all the blessings that have been bestowed upon us. Are we tested for our blessings? Not the blessings we receive, but the blessings we can bestow upon others. Are we tested for our knowledge? Not knowledge in the sense of how smart we are, but knowledge in the sense of whether or not we realize how many wonderful gifts we’ve been given: gifts of strength, endurance, love, and all the blessings that come with them.

Are we tested for our honor and integrity? I think we are. Throughout life, I’ve seen myself go through many tiny tests of integrity. It’s the simple little things that many people wouldn’t think were tests at all that I believe are tiny pieces of our big picture. It’s those simple little things we go through each day in our life and the choices we make that mold us into who we are and state whether or not our integrity is still in tact.

I went to the bank yesterday to make a deposit for my uncle and cash a few checks I received in the mail last week. I had the total of the checks, $105, stuffed back in a corner of my brain behind the list of errands I wanted to complete. As I waited for the teller to punch the keys of the keyboard on her computer, my brain was overflowing—thinking of the next thing on my errand list. I glanced around at the people in the bank, nearly a dozen, and casually watched them converse with other bank employees. When the teller came back to my window, she handed me my deposit receipt and counted out the money from the cashed checks. My mind swung back to my errand list as she put the money in an envelope and handed it to me. Normally, I count the cash again, right at the window in front of the teller, but I was anxious to get my errands completed, and I stuffed the envelope into my purse.

I walked out of the bank, opened the car door, and Two Feather asked me what was wrong. “I don’t know, maybe nothing,” I said. Something didn’t seem right to me as I walked out of the bank, but I couldn’t pinpoint what it was. I guess the expression on my face showed I was unsure of something. I put my purse on the seat and pulled out the bank envelope. “I think the teller counted wrong,” I said. “I was in a hurry and wasn’t paying much attention, but I think she gave me too much money.”

“You didn’t count it before you left the window? You always count the cash before you leave the window,” he said.

“No, I didn’t. I don’t know why. I was thinking of everything we had to do today.”

I pulled the cash out of the envelope and counted it. There was $145 in my hand. I put the money back in the envelope, went back into the bank, and called the teller over to the side. I told her I had three checks that totaled $105. She went to her station to pull out the checks and said, “Yes, it was $105.” I told her she had given me too much money. She looked at the checks again and said, “I thought I’d missed a check. I must have ran it through twice.” I handed her $40 back. She thanked me as she looked at the checks and her copy of the receipt and shook her head. She thanked me again before I walked out the door and I heard her telling the employee next to her, “You don’t see that type of honesty too often.” I turned, smiled, and said, “Happy New Year.”

I was still smiling when I got in the car with Two Feather. With the way the world is today, I wondered how many others would have returned the money once they realized the teller’s mistake. It felt good to know that my integrity is still in tact.

BOOK REVIEW: The Writer Behind the Words by Dara Girard

The Writer Behind the Words
By Dara Girard
Ilori Press
September 30, 2007
131 pp Paperback
Writing/Education
ISBN: 0977019152
Amazon Price: $10.46


There are shelves of good books about how to become a better writer; this book isn’t one of them. Disappointed and discouraged? Good—In that case, The Writer Behind the Words by Dara Girard can be just the book you are looking for.

Girard won’t tell you how to write a perfect query letter or which editors to query, but she will tell you how to identify the obstacles in your writing career and suggest ways to overcome them.

Drawing on her personal experience, disappointments, discouragements, and doubts in her writing career, Gerard has written an honest, straightforward, humorous book to help beginning writers survive the downfalls of the publishing world.

Don’t look for sugarcoated words with all the keys to success and all the right answers to all your writing needs. Girard didn’t sugarcoat anything. In fact, her book is loaded with scenarios gone wrong that could give you reason to put your pen down and quit writing. But following those downward spirals are plenty of suggestions and encouragement to keep writing and working on your craft.

Truth is, Girard hits on many of the pitfalls of a writing career. She tells you how to spot bad editors and agents and tells writers they can be their own dream killers by making excuses for not writing. There are even tips on how to tackle your own excuses.

The Writer Behind the Words is divided into three parts.

Part One: Assessing Yourself explains how beginning writers are looking for the secrets and steps to publication. Rather than tell you what success is, Girard tells you to “define success for yourself” and explains the differences between goals and missions. She reveals the reality of the six hard truths of publishing and the seven traits of successful writers.

Part Two: Surviving the Battlefield is a step-by-step instruction on how to overcome disappointment, discouragement, doubt and depression. Girard explains how rejections influence your writing career and offers tips on how to recover from rejection and move forward.

This reviewer even found humor in Girard’s thoughts about book reviewers:

Somebody with the intelligence of a pimple, somewhere is going to criticize your work; not constructively, mind you, but with the sole intent of demolishing your work and making themselves feel witty. …They are writers with hidden agendas. Some are kind; some are cruel. But they don’t count; readers do. (51-52)

While in some cases reviewers are as described; some are not, and they do count because they are readers. Girard offered humorous tips on what to do with a bad review as well. She suggests to “flush it down the toilet” or “get your dog to pee on it” or “find out what the reviewer disliked and then do that some more—That is what will make your work unique. (53)

Part Three: Four Steps to Resilience is where Girard tells beginning writers to get support, relax, know your limitations, and get a strategy.

She ends the books with seven pages of recommended resources and writer’s organizations.

In The Writer Behind the Words Girard put her heart, soul, and her disappointments and discouragements into words that could help beginning writers see the disappointments they may face before they find out the hard way as Girard did.

In the preface to her book Girard writes:

I wrote this book as a gift to other writers who are discouraged, feel hopeless or useless in a world that can make us—the artist—feel insignificant and invisible. …Isolation is deadly to the spirit, yet, as a writer, a necessary requirement at times. So let this little book be a friend that whispers to you: “You are important and your words are needed.”

This reviewer would recommend The Writer Behind the Words to beginning writers. They could benefit from Girard’s experience and find the encouragement and tips they need to overcome the pitfalls in their own writing career.

Click HERE to purchase The Writer Behind the Words.

Just Another AD Sunday

It’s Sunday! Just another AD Sunday on our little mountain. Though I repeated that today is Sunday numerous times, as I knew I would, and was able to tell Mom that she goes to “club” tomorrow, she wasn’t anything like she was yesterday. Today, she talked all day about her mom and dad and my dad. She told me stories that I’d heard years ago and I sat listening to her tell them as if it were the first time I’d heard them.

The last time I heard her tell those types of stories was five or six years ago. I was amazed at how she was able to recall the detail from those stories. If I didn’t know she had Alzheimer’s I certainly wouldn’t suspect it from her recall today. Her trip down memory lane was as spot on as the first time I’d heard the tales when I was a child.

I’m always amazed at how Alzheimer’s plays with our loved one’s mind. One day or moment it allows shards of light from the past, and another day or moment it steals every memory they have. It’s truly a mind-boggling puzzle to we caregivers never knowing what may or may not be in or on their minds. It’s scary. I can only imagine how it must feel for them.

The more I thought about it, the more I wondered if I may have short circuited those plaques and tangles in her brain with the short stories I read to her yesterday. She may not have recalled anything of what I was reading, but I wondered if it triggered her to remember her childhood and earlier years. I think it did because she hasn’t talked about her mom and dad in several years.

It was good feeling that I may have triggered some fond memories for her from her past in a round about way. I never knew her mom; she died before I was even thought of, but I’d always felt like I knew her from the stories my mom told me about her. Mom talked about when she first started dating Dad, and I had to button my lip to keep from finishing the story. I knew exactly what she’d told me before; I knew the story by heart, and today the story came out exactly as she once told it. Today, as she used to before, Mom spoke of her mother with such admiration. She started to tear up as she spoke of her and said, “She was such a lady.”

Mom said she wished I would have had the chance to know her mother and I said I wished I had, too. Then I said, “Mom, if she was half the lady you are, then I guess I know her through you.” Mom smiled and then laughed a long, hard belly laugh and said, “I’m not near the lady she was. I don’t hold a candle to her.”

“That’s funny,” I said. “I feel the same way. I’m not near the lady you are and I’ll never hold a candle to you.”

Mom got up out of her chair, pushed her walker over to me, hugged me, and kissed me on the cheek.

“You are my candle,” she said.

How do you respond to a compliment like that other than to say, “Thank you, Mom! I love you.”



*** I would have ended this post with that wonderful ending, but…

This little candle’s flame is nearly flickering out with all the imaginary visits from Mr. N. lately. Four times since 7:00 I’ve had to go downstairs and guide Mom back to bed after her thinking Mr. N. was in the living room. I asked Mom what she would do if Mr. N. were here? This is the part where I think I needed the walker to hold me up and keep my balance. She said, “I’d bring him back here in my room and take him to bed with me.”

Oh boy! Am I going to have fun tonight! ROFL This is getting to be a bit awkward.

As I explained to her that Mr. N. was not in the house and she should get some sleep, she looked at me strangely. Before I had the covers pulled up and tucked her in, she asked, “Who’s this Mr. N. guy you’re talking about?”

I burst out laughing and she laughed, too, as I said, “We’ll talk about it tomorrow, Mom. Let’s get some sleep.”



Here’s hoping. :D


PS. Oh, yes, I can't go without mentioning my mom's and my neighbor turned 102 today!
Happy Birthday Mrs. E.

Whatevers, Whatchamacallits, Dohickies, and What Day Is It?

From the moment Mom woke up this morning I knew she wasn’t going to have a good day. It always throws her off a bit on Saturday morning when she doesn’t go to day care, but this morning she was a bit more off than usual. She couldn’t figure out what clothes were what or how to put them on. This is normal lately, but today she couldn’t pull up the words for pants, shirt, socks, or shoes. They were all “whatevers,” “whatchamacallits, and “dohickies.”

After I got her dressed, I walked with her to her dresser and told her to comb her hair. I went into the kitchen to get her pills, juice, and breakfast together. When I went back into her bedroom, she still hadn’t combed her hair. She was standing in front of the dresser just staring at the things on top of it. I finally got her to comb her hair, and then she had to go to the bathroom. She was wandering around the house as if she was lost—couldn’t find the bathroom, and couldn’t remember how to get from the bathroom back to the kitchen. After breakfast, (she ate very little) I got her settled in her chair in the living room and put her coloring book and crayons on her table in front of her. She just stared at them for a moment, not interested in them, and leaned back in her chair.

Since she was having a particularly bad morning, I gathered all the bills, stamps, envelopes, and checkbooks and took them downstairs to the living room and set them on the table in front of my chair so I could write out checks for bills and keep her company at the same time. Big mistake. I wasn’t able to concentrate on the bills and repeat answers to questions at the same time. If I’m not looking directly at her while I’m talking, she gets angry and thinks I’m not paying attention. This is why I normally do all the paperwork upstairs in my room, but because she was having an off day, I thought I should be close to her. I ended up taking all the paperwork back upstairs to do later after she was in bed and I brought down the book for which I was reading to write a book review. She wasn’t in the mood to color or talk much, so I figured I’d read the book to her. She didn’t look like she had an inkling as to what I was reading, but she smiled as I read to her and asked if it was a book I wrote and wondered if she had a copy. I said, “I wish, Mom, my books haven’t even been submitted yet. But someday I’d do that.”

This is where she blew my mind. She asked me to stop reading the book I was reading and asked me to get one of my books and read it to her. She was never a horror fan, so those weren’t appropriate. Three of my six novels are horror, so they were out. Two of the six weren’t appropriate because of subject matter and that left me with only two other choices: read the romance novel that I co-authored with my friend, or read the humorous short stories I wrote about living on the farm with her and dad. I chose the short stories.

It’s been years since I wrote those stories and quite frankly I’d forgotten what I’d written. She didn’t associate that the stories were written about Dad, her, and me. She didn’t realize that those stories were true. They didn’t bring back one single memory for her. They were just stories about some little girl who helped her father and mother on the farm. As I read, she did laugh at all the right places, though. That made up for her not really knowing they were true stories about us. I’d written them as children’s stories for a series of children’s books. The way I see it, Alzheimer’s takes our loved ones back to being childlike. Since she found humor where the humor was meant, then I’d say I might have a pretty darn good chance of getting these little stories published as children’s books one day. There’s a bit of food for thought. I think, when the mood strikes, I’ll start sketching the illustrations for them as well. Maybe I’ll put that on my list of things to do for 2008. While I’m at it, I may as well work on my final edit of my novels, and try to put together a book proposal for each one.

But first…I’ll finish my book reviews. A few will be posted shortly.

By the way, Betsy, I haven’t missed an evening writing in my journal. (I do have a running journal of the three years I’ve been here with Mom.) This one, though, is just for me. ;)

The rest of the day and early evening wasn’t much better than the morning. Mom was confused all day. She ate very little lunch and dinner and couldn’t wait to go to bed to get up in the morning to go to club. I felt so bad for her that she couldn’t remember that today is Saturday. She probably asked me more than 40 times today “is tomorrow Monday?” or “what day is it?” and each time she was disappointed when I showed her the calendar and told her tomorrow is Sunday. Even marking the days off on the calendar doesn’t help anymore.

It was a strange day all the way around. She kept telling me she felt warm. Mom never “feels” warm! She always says she’s cold and when I touch her she feels warm to me. She used to always ask everyone if they were cold, too. When my dad would hear her say she was cold, he’d always say to me, “Joanne, go get your sweater on, your mother’s cold.” It was a standing joke in the house.

Tonight, when I kissed her before I turned her light out, her cheeks and forehead felt cool, yet she was still telling me how toasty warm she felt. Odd. Just odd.

Well, tomorrow is Sunday and I’m prepared to answer the same questions over and over. Good thing is…tomorrow I can tell her tomorrow is Monday. :D