JUMP!

We've decided to take a half-blind leap of faith and move my mom into our house to be with Dad. I say half-blind, because we know some things, but not others.

For example, we know what kind of care my mom needs. We've been with her every day, sometimes all night and day, since this ordeal began. We know she can do nothing for herself. Nothing. She is not aware of her own safety. She can feed herself, but only if we cue her to do so. The rest ... total dependence upon others.

The one and only reason she hasn't been in either her own home or ours from the start is cost. Full-time (24-hour) private nursing care is expensive. It's way more than my parents have, we have, or Kim and Vince have. My parents' money won't last long with that kind of care, and then what do you do when it all runs out?

The strategy up until this point has been to assume full-time care for my mother will go on for years, and we have to make last what we have. My parents' long-term care policy has paid for what we've done so far; however, the policy will only pay $82.50 per day for what we are about to do.

That's where some of the blindness comes in. How long can we do this? I don't know. Kim and I are figuring out the finances (because that's her main responsibility, thank God). We have to decide what care to hire and for how long each day. The rest, I will do. The more I can do, the more money we save.

(It would really be awesome if I could successfully write and publish a couple of Great American Novels! (That's a joke.) And maybe I could get several more book editing gigs? And maybe that one book idea already in the proposal stage with the publisher will be successful? (No, it's not a novel; this one is quite practical.))

Aaaanyway ...

How well can I handle this, and for how long? I don't know that, either. That's another blind spot. All I do know is that I can do anything for 24 hours at a time. I also can do anything when I'm letting God drive. (I've certainly learned that lesson the hard way a few times.)

How well will Mom respond to this move? I don't know. (We think it's got to be better in a familiar environment with family and with Chloe.)

How will we get that ramp on the back porch built, in the space that we have? I don't know.

Another week, another crack in my heart

This has been an emotional week. I'm exhausted, but now that I've had my cry-fest, I'm good now.

Lately, my dad has had trouble breathing. By Wednesday, he wasn't willing to drive himself anywhere, and he couldn't walk more than 20 feet without having to sit down.

Thursday, he had a bone marrow biopsy — of which we won't have the results until APRIL 13! He could hardly move the morning of the biopsy, and by the time we got to the hospital, I had to get him a wheelchair. He had a gray pallor. When the nurses checked his oxygen levels, they said there should be no reason he couldn't breathe. His oxygen saturation was fine. Chalk it all up to anxiety.

I did some research last night. Come to find out, dyspnea is common with cancer patients; oxygen saturation levels can also be just fine with this condition. It's a treatable symptom, however. (Strangely enough, opiates help.) So why did they blow this symptom off at the hospital? They knew he has cancer. They knew the reason for his biopsy. Ugh!

This morning, Dad seriously looked like death, and he said he felt like it, too. I felt certain we had reached the end; I wanted to take him to the ER, and Kim planned to head this way.

We called Dr. Patel's office first. Patel is out of town, but his nurse, Jennifer, suggested Dad's newest treatment (Xtandi) could be the culprit — the main potential side effect is exactly what my dad has been experiencing and has increased since he started this medicine.

Because Dad could breathe OK as long as he was doing absolutely nothing and sat propped up, we decided, with Jennifer, to discontinue the Xtandi treatment until Dad could see Patel on Tuesday. By 6 p.m. today (first day without Xtandi), Dad had perked up. He's watching basketball games as I write this post. It looks like Xtandi may, indeed, be the issue at this time.

My dad's increased symptoms have compounded my mother's issues. While the change in her medications has been helpful because she is no longer doped up, and she communicates much better with us — she now knows something is very wrong; however, she isn't aware enough to understand why she has to live where she lives. She wants to be home. YESTERDAY!

10-80-10 Rule: Drop Your Shovel, part 3

Yes, it's true. You did need those lessons. You must have, or they would not have happened. Accepting that, rather than replaying the past again and again ... thinking somehow you can change it ...  is important to letting go of your past regrets and moving forward in the future. (I also happen to firmly believe that God does not waste ANY experience, good or bad ... what may have been meant for bad in this world, God can and will use for the greater good.)

But what about those people harmed by our experiences? What about those regrets? How can it possibly be okay to be okay when other people are not okay because of us? And how is it possible to move forward without forgiveness from the person(s) we have hurt? Seriously, doesn't their forgiveness absolve us? (No ... that's what God does ...)

I kind of think this might be the hardest part of moving on to a life we feel good about; returning to the shame and guilt of regret could send us right back into that hole to start digging again. We need to pay attention to letting go of regrets, for sure. 

So, let's start with some facts about what might be your current state: 

• You hurt someone(s), maybe really badly; maybe even irrevocably. 
• You have accepted God's forgiveness and can forgive yourself now. (It's been difficult, but you've done it.) 
• You've discussed those you've hurt (because you unloaded your dirt, remember?) with your new and wiser support system — you know, those who've "been there, done that." (Those are my favorite people, by the way.)
• You have decided —with those who are oh-so-wiser than you at this time — whom to approach to make amends and how to do it, if at all possible. (Your wiser ones will tell you that trying to approach some will only cause further damage. Be sensitive to and respect that.)

But also understand these important facts about where you are:

• Some people will accept your apology and your desire to make things right. They will welcome you back into their lives with open arms. They will be so thrilled to finally have you on the right track. (Yes! We love those people, and they love us!)
• Some people will accept your apology. They will, however, tell you to stay out of their lives — that they have no desire whatsoever to let you make things right. (Major disappointment.)
• Some people will in no way, shape or form accept your desire to make amends. They might even cuss you up one side and down the other. (That's just plain humiliating, but really, it now becomes their problem.)
• Others won't give you the time of day or the opportunity to make amends. (Period.)

Whatever happens, roll with it, even when it hurts. 

The greatest fact in all this — in my opinion — is that while we might wish everyone to see and believe the new and better us, it's just not going to happen. It's not, no matter how hard we try. In fact, sometimes the harder we try, the worse we make the situation. We must accept this and respect it to move on. 

It can be difficult to accept that you don't have someone's forgiveness; deep down, you wanted absolution, I know. Wasn't making amends supposed to make things and you all fine and good?

Regret: Drop Your Shovel, Part 2

Isn't that an uplifting quote? The amazing, wonderful thing about it is ... Fitzgerald is so right! I have been blessed to see this happen for many people I know, and I'm getting to experience it for myself, as well. 

It's a good thing, too, or life would look and feel pretty bleak.

In Drop Your Shovel, Part 1, I suggested that in spite of being young and dumb ... or even being old and in the middle of a midlife crisis (or, heck, maybe even both) ... and, therefore, making ridiculously bad and oftentimes life-changing decisions, we can stop digging the deep hole of despair and move forward.

Let's look at that ...

You've sought help from those who've been there and done that with their lives, and you've done all the things they've suggested for moving forward in a healthy, fulfilling, productive way.

You're seeing the blessings and experiencing true joy and happiness for the first time in years, it seems.

You are there.

But a nagging problem lingers: Regret.

Regret still sometimes seeks to destroy your newfound feelings of peace. Regret showers you with feelings of shame and guilt — the very feelings that took you deep into that dark hole in the first place.

Somehow, then, you have to make peace with your regrets. I'm sure you've heard and read this quote many times: "There are no regrets in life, only lessons learned."

That's definitely one perspective to take to make peace with regrets. The fact is, we all have done things we wish we had not, or we have done things we wish we had done differently. We are human, after all. Lots of times, we take those experiences, learn from them, and do better next time. Those are regrets that become lessons. We truly, truly need to let those go, especially if we were doing the best we could at the time, with the emotional, social and spiritual resources we had available to us.

Sometimes, however, our past behaviors have so negatively affected others that we truly HURT them. We didn't just hurt ourselves; we harmed someone or someones in some major, life-altering way.

Of grief, peace and comfort

Another note: I still plan to write Part Two of Drop Your Shovel, because, actually, I think it will be the better part. However, life things keep coming up.

* * * *

My family experienced yet another letdown yesterday in this roller coaster journey we've been taking.

We had such high hopes for a more comfortable life after the psychiatrist took Mom off all those medications. Within a day of that happening, she became responsive. We saw some of her personality again, and we experienced moments of lucidity with her. (Some of those moments are heartbreaking, though, because we hear things like, "Why am I like this?" and "I don't want to be weird," and "I don't want ... I don't want ...")

We also pretty quickly reverted to the overly anxious, inconsolable mother who believes bad things are happening to her family, people are dying, and men with guns surround her. She lives in an almost constant state of terror. (These symptoms are common, by the way.)

This behavior led to the original medication overload.

But all we want for my mother —if there is any quality of life left for her at all — is a balance between those two extremes.

I found out yesterday there might not be one. This might be it, for the rest of her life and ours in caring for her.

I had known from the neurologist that nothing can be done for her brain "hardware." He told us the only thing to do at this point is to make her more comfortable by addressing the "software" problems. That's where the psychiatrist has come in.

Mom and Dad update

Note: Parental update before moving on to part two of Drop Your Shovel.

* * * *

Kim came to town this week for an important follow-up to my dad's CT body scan. The scan showed nothing significant, but because Dr. Patel is searching the cause of Dad's inability to produce hemoglobin anymore, he has ordered a bone marrow biopsy. If the cancer is now in his marrow — it's already in his bones — he ... well ... that's not good news. The doctor talked about making "hard decisions."

If the cancer is not in his bone marrow, Patel suspects that the radium treatment Dad had all last summer destroyed his body's ability to make blood.

Transfusions have provided short-term relief, but they are not the answer. If the body can't make blood ... well ... you figure it out.

* * * *

Since my mother had her stroke in October, the number of psych meds to handle the resulting anxiety and depression has accumulated to SEVEN. About three weeks before we left the nursing home, Mom did see a geriatric psychiatrist who comes only to nursing homes. He acknowledged her meds were a problem and devised a plan to taper her off what she didn't need and get her to where she needed to be; this would take months, he said.

But as you know, we left the nursing home, and this doctor doesn't see patients outside of the larger nursing homes; we made an appointment with a different psychiatrist. Because Amarillo has a shortage of psychiatrists (6, I think), the appointment couldn't happen until the first of April. The physician who oversees the new place Mom stays wouldn't touch her meds while she was between the two specialists.

We've painfully watched my mother become a vegetable.

Every week Kim has called the new psychiatrist's office to ask about cancelations. Then I went to the office last week and got the appointment moved up another week. Kim came in this week and shed a few tears ... and Mom got to see the doctor on Wednesday.

I am not exaggerating or kidding when I say this: The doctor looked at her medication list and repeatedly whispered, "Jesus ..."

And he kept saying, "Her meds are all wrong." And then he kept saying, "Tomorrow is a new day."

He grew more agitated and stated that she could have had another stroke on this combination of meds.

He discontinued five of the seven and made adjustments on the others. He said he didn't need to taper those meds. He wants to see her next week when her mind is clear again, and then he could address the anxiety.

So now ... now we get to start over and see what her true abilities will be.  She has restarted occupational therapy, physical therapy and speech therapy ... these things ended at the nursing home. Insurance is paying for them again now. Why had it been such an ordeal at the nursing home?

Drop your shovel ... part one

"Everyone has chapters of their lives they would rather go unpublished." —Downton Abbey

I love that quote, because, oh, how I relate to that quote. Unfortunately.

I have several of those chapters ... Again, unfortunately.

Apparently, I'm a slow learner.

I think I've worked my way from an F to a B, though, so I'll share a few insights I've learned from my own bumpy journey. (Ah ... one of the beauties of aging.)

So sad, but so true.

I have spent sad, pathetic amounts of of time running from certain years of my life. I've ignored that they ever happened. I've buried them. I've even pretended they weren't there while I was in the middle of it all. Geez.

But of course those ingenious coping methods didn't work. They never do for long. Instead, running, hiding and ignoring only made things worse ... which resulted in more running and hiding. At least for me, anyway.

Vicious cycle, it is. (My inner Yoda.)

That vicious cycle inevitably produces feelings of guilt, utter loneliness, shame, fear, hopelessness, helplessness, disgust, anger, deep sadness and grief. Those feelings feel horrendous, especially when combined.

You don't have to wait to feel every single one of those feelings, you know. As my dad has always said, "You don't have to ride the elevator all the way down." (The rebel in me refused to listen to that sage advice.)

Adventures of the New Household

      

Dad and Chloe have lived with us for almost a week now. As you can see from the photos, Chloe has made herself quite comfy. 

If I had known all I had to do was move a parent or parents in to get another cat so easily, I would have done it a long time ago!!

We now have FOUR cats in the house. And four outside. And two dogs.

We officially live in a zoo; it's never dull and rarely clean. But it's home.

The major challenge we face now is mixing Chloe with the other animals. At this time, she's in the Dad Quarters with my dad. None of the other animals can enter her kingdom ... yet.

When we finally get to that point, I truly cannot imagine the Battle of the Queens we will have between Chloe and Allie. 

Allie. This rotten little angel owns me.

I'm sure we will see many showdowns between them.

On the other hand, I can't discount or minimize the impact yet another cat will have on my "little" Boo. He acted butt-hurt for six months after Allie came along. For some reason, Boo and Jasper have loved each other from the start. Jordie says they're gay. They are my little sweethearts.

Best buddies Boo and Jasper.

Chloe has always been an only kitty. My mom said whenever any other kitties came to visit or to stay in their backyard, Chloe acted like a meanie and bullied them. And Chloe has probably never seen a dog in her life, except maybe through a window.

Oh, my! This is going to be interesting, for sure.

As if I did not have enough stress. :-)

* * *

Moving my dad in has been a piece of cake. He seems to be adjusting just fine. We still need to get a few things set up in the "Dad Quarters," like his personal little den. 

However, we're going to have to buy stock in Starbucks coffee and Diet Cokes. This is ABSURD! No, really ... it's insanely ridiculous how we go through those two things. Can you buy Starbucks in bulk?

* * *

So here's something funny about Dad joining us: 

When Dorsey's job was eliminated at the Globe-News 10 years ago, we dumped our newspaper subscription ... of course! We didn't have happy thoughts about that place for a long time, even though we both spent a significant portion of our lives there. And, to tell you the truth, I mostly have fond memories of my time there. 

As I've grown older and stepped away from my immaturity, and as I've learned to see my part in the less-than-pleasant happenings of some of those days, I've softened.