I'm Going to Have to Lie

I was raised in the Methodist Church. I was taught right from wrong. One of the things  on the list of "wrongs" was lying. If I told a lie, perhaps embellishing some point that I thought seemed entirely plausable, my mom would say, "Oh, Karen. That's a story." Her emphasis was on the word, "story" and she said it as if it was a bad word. I'd have to say that as an adult, I'm pretty darned honest. It's more habit than belief, I think. But don't tell Mom that.

My mom moved in a few weeks ago now and her routine is to sit on the back deck, communing with nature; the birds, trees, flowers, and veggie garden with her hands wrapped around a cup of coffee. She marvels every single day at all the birds in my yard. Despite her cochlear implant, she can distinguish the sounds of different birds and their various activities quite well.

So, a few days ago, I was sitting on the deck with her and we keep hearing this racket of bird noises. wings thrashing around, leaves falling down from the pergola above us. Mom has Macular Degeneration and can't tell what's happening. So she turns to me. "You can see better than I can. What's happening up there?"

I look up and the birds are mating. They're having sex right above our heads. It's a normal, natural part of nature, right? So, what did I do? I lied. I said they were gathering things for their nest.

That's Lie #1 and I'm sure there will be many more to come as my mom and I figure out how to live with each other, how to be a part of each other's lives in one home again.

Do you have a funny care-giving story to tell? Do tell.

~Karen

A Little Funny

As I write this blog, I realize that already, in my grand adventure into being an at-home family caregiver, there is humor. To me it's like this; food, water, shelter, air, love, humor. It's right up there with "air."

Have you ever been in a situation where you got the giggles when it was very inappropriate? I have. More than once. Here's one time I can remember clearly; I was working full-time as a teacher, raising a young child and pregnant with another. As if that wasn't enough, I was working on my master's degree. I went to class 4 nights a week after work for 5 hours. Luckily, I was young. But youth didn't shield me from exhaustion. I dragged myself to each class, a sack dinner, and a Pepsi in hand - if I'd had time to run home first.

One evening, the instructor introduced a guest speaker. She was a professor from Eastern Washington University. She'd driven three hours to speak that night. I sat at a table of my classmates. The speaker was talking about educational law. It was a subject that was of interest to me and I listened, taking notes. After our second short break, with only an hour left of the lecture, something happened. My classmate, Jenny sat next to me. The instructor said something (I don't remember what) and it was one of those things where there was a double meaning. The meaning she intended slipped past, while the unintended one made Jenny and I look at each other. At the same time, we were thinking the same thing. It was probably raunchy. I giggled a little. Jenny did too. We tried to stop it but each time we looked at each other, it got worse. Our stifled laughter burst. Did I mention that our table was directly in front of the professor?

The next 10 minutes were spent trying our best to be an adult. Trying to stop. Trying to not laugh. Of course, that just made it worse. Jenny passed me a note. "Bathroom?" it said. I looked up at her but she was already heading to the bathroom. I waited a few minutes and then followed her. As I went through the double doors, shutting them behind me, she was standing under the "restroom" sigh with a huge smile on her face. And that was it - we let it out - erupting into a ridiculously loud and over the top laughter. It took us several minutes before we could speak. And then a few minutes walking up and down the hall, before we returned to class.

As we rejoined our class, I tried to keep my eyes down. But when I did look up, I was getting glares from my classmates. I sat down and someone behind me said, "That was so rude!"

I had no excuse. Chalk it up to stress, exhaustion, too little sleep or too much caffeine. Whatever it was, I was not in control of it.

After class, I went directly up to the professor to apologize. She was kind and understanding. Or at least she pretended to be.

In care-giving, there are times that things are a little funny, or uproariously funny. It might seem out of balance, or insensitive, or even inappropriate. But humor gets us through. It's always been a sort of uncontrollable tool for me - a tool for coping with stress, or monotony or whatever. But what it really is is a way to relieve stress, a way to cope.

As I create this space, this blog, I don't want it to be a place that is full of information and devoid of real life. I don't want it to be all serious. Truth is - I can't be a care-giver without humor. So, I'm adding a feature called, "A Little Funny" where I'll post about things that strike me as funny. You can search for funny things (after the blog has been going a while) by clicking on the "A Little Funny" link.

Tune in tomorrow for my first "A Little Funny" post.

Ever laughed at a totally inappropriate time?

Do tell. ~Karen

The Cost of Caring

About four years ago my mother had an episode where she got dizzy and fell. The fall wasn't significant but it was clear something was wrong. She was 85 at the time but had been in excellent health despite her declining vision. In fact, when we'd go shopping; my mom, two sisters, and me - she would outlast us by a longshot. But now her energy was zapped, even at the beginning of the day. That little fall began a year-long search for the answer. It began with checking her ears. Mom has a cochlear implant, so at first, we wondered if something had gone wrong with it. After trips to doctors and multiple tests, the answer was finally found. My mom was in Congestive Heart Failure.

Next began the medications, the lifestyle changes, and trying to reduce the stress in her life. At the time, she was a full time caregiver of my dad who was 8 years older than her; an enormous gap at that age. After months of taking mom to the cardiologist, I had a heart-to-heart with him. I said the following;

This is not easy to talk about and I wouldn't be sharing it if I didn't think it was important. My mom is the eternal optimist. She is positive in negative situations. And when she comes in here, that's really all you know about her is what she shares, and what I do. But that's not the whole story. The truth is, my mom doesn't have an easy life. My dad suffers from PTSD (and dementia I now believe) and he takes everything out on her. He insists that he gets his way. He's belittling her, even making fun of her being blind. This is not my father. This is not who I was raised by. But it is who my mom is with day after day, rarely leaving his side. The level of stress she is under is huge.

I saw a lightbulb go off for Dr. Wong. He said, "I know what this is. I know what caused your mom's heart failure. Your mom has Broken Heart Syndrome or Takotsubo Syndrome." It is caused by ongoing stress that reaches a breaking point. The good news is that the outcome is often much better.  Though the cardiologist insisted that my mother and father be separated for her survival, that wasn't an option.  Thus began a new chapter in my life as a daughter. I now added trying to protect my mother, to keep her alive - while also caring for my father who was increasingly difficult.

Mom

My mom is an amazing person. She is kind, loving, and includes anyone and everyone in her caring. She's went to the same church for more than 60-years. She got up at 4am every morning to pray for the people on her list; friends, family, and people she'd never even met. She and my dad were married in 1950. They raised the three of us girls in the modest home my father built. She was a secretary for a team of engineers her entire working career.

In more recent years, as my father's mental state changed, and he became more limited in his ability to get out and do things, she adjusted. On the most difficult of days, which became closer and closer together, she found solace in her Lord and in her garden. She'd sit out on her small brick patio with a cup of black coffee, surrounded by pots of flowers and refresh and recharge.She slowly became more than my father's companion in life; she became his caregiver. But as this was happening, she was having health issues of her own. And that would change everything in ways we never imagined possible.

What's the longest marriage that has touched your life?

Do tell.

~Lavinia

The Truth Nobody Told Me

My father died in December, 2017. He was 96-years old. His death hit me like a ton of bricks. I know I should have been prepared but how does one prepare for the death of a parent anyway.

But here's what's on my heart; I did not get the Hollywood, Hallmark Channel death experience. Somehow, my rather intelligent brain did not compute that what I'd seen on TV wasn't real. And in fact, I will never get over the death journey my father's body embarked on. Daddy died of old age - something that doesn't happen much anymore. But his doctor saw him a week or so prior and told him, "Murray, I'm not saying that you want to die. But I am saying that's what your body is doing." I was devastated. We all were.

But what I wasn't mentally picturing is what death would really look like. I learned that it's painful. Body functions start shutting down. No longer craving food or water, the joints aren't lubricated anymore and that hurts like hell. The mind isn't clear any more. There's a blankness to the look on his face, occasionally he comes out of it. His last words to me were the day before he died. He said, "Hi, Sweetie," when I came in.

Sad? Of course it is. But it's also reality. My mother moving in with me is also reality. And if what I write can help someone see what the truth is, then I've accomplished what my heart's desire is - to share it all; the good, bad, and the ugly. That's the truth I want to share with you (and me). It's another truth nobody talks about. So, let's bring it out into the light.

What's your truth?

~Lavinia

What will I write about here?

Here, I'll write about the journey. And I solomnly vow to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. No matter how icky, ugly, beautiful, sentimental, confusing, joyful, or depressing it is - I will tell it. It's all we have, right? The truth. But some truths are hidden because they're uncomfortable, or we have a desire to put on a certain armor in front of people. But that doesn't help anyone, does it? It doesn't help the keeper of the truth and it doesn't help the potential hear-er. So, I promise - what I share will be real and yes, will be the truth. It's all about the journey, not the destination - this is so very true of caregiving, don't you think?

Do tell.

~Lavinia

Why I'm Blogging

I'm blogging because I can; because it feels right. I'm writing about this journey because it's like taking a travel journal with you on a trip to write everything down in. That's who I am. Writing is how I learn from my experiences, and how I express myself. It's how I feel what I'm going through. It's good for me. And I like it. This is a grand new adventure. And I want to write about it. That's why I'm blogging.

Do you journal?

Do tell.

~Lavinia