Miss Cathy’s recovery has been a slow and interesting process to watch unfold. The fact that her cognitive and problems solving skills are impaired never seems consistent. She’s confused by some things and re-masters others without a problem. For example, it took her several attempts but she’s mastered the ability to disarm the security system (a new skill set) but she still fumbles with unlocking the front door (something she’s been doing for decades). She no longer confuses how to operate the washer and dryer but recently she broke two can openers (one electric and the other hand-held) because (I’m convinced) she just didn’t know how to use them properly.
She tells me that she’s doing her leg exercises (in her room) but she’s only been outside to walk twice in two months. The doctor’s said that it could take up to six months for her to walk properly after her knee replacement surgery but I see her toddling around four months later, still holding onto the wall, a door or something to help her balance as she moves from place to place as if she just left rehab. But, to be fair, she is on her feet for longer periods of time before she’s exhausted and has to sit down. I don’t know, it just seemed to me she’d be stronger and capable of more by now.
Actually, it’s not that-I thought SHE’D have wanted more for herself by now, that she would have worked harder to be more independent. I mean, hell, Liza Minnelli had a hip replaced and Lord knows she’s had a rougher go of it physically than Miss Cathy and she was on Oprah the other day singing (badly) and moving around the stage trying to kick up her heels like the old days when she was "Liza with a "Z". Granted, Liza claims to be sixty-three which is almost ten years younger than Miss Cathy and Liza’s a rich, pampered entertainer……..but still.
Hey, Miss Cathy’s no slouch, she may not be rich but like others of her generation she’s got great insurance. She was in two top-notch rehab centers for a month each but she was so hell-bent on leaving that she NEVER fully co-operated or took advantage of the physical or occupational therapy. I remember people in the rehab that were older than her that were recovering from knee replacement or WORSE and they didn’t complain half as much. And believe, me nobody cried or complained as much during physical therapy sessions as she did. Something in her (other than the Alzheimer’s, I think) just gave up. My brother wonders if we were seeing her for who she is for the first time and not who she’s always told us she was-I don’t know.
Now, it’s hard to tell what’s dementia and what’s her-maybe it’s all the same?
But, she taking her shower without my aid and she hasn’t had any falls or accidents while I’ve been out of the apartment lately. I started teaching at the School of Art + Design at Montgomery College last Friday so I’m away for four hours during the day and I was concerned at first but now I’ve got my fingers crossed that she’ll be okay alone while I teach.
We’ll just take it day by day, a week at a time and if something does happen I’ll have to make arrangements for someone to be here with her, maybe her girlfriend, Adele can come visit on Fridays.
In other areas she’s great, she’s talking to friends on the phone and several people have come by to visit her. She has her “projects” to keep her busy and she’s usually cooking up a storm. There have been times lately when she’s so much her old self that I wonder if I made a mistake leaving my life to be here. Maybe Dr Granite was right and it’s delirium (a temporary condition) that she suffered from and NOT dementia, which we all know just progresses.
I don’t know, what I do know is that when I ran this theory by my brother,Tony he vehemently disagreed. I’m not sure if he was just trying to reassure me that the situation is real or if he was panicked that he’d saddled with Miss Cathy. Bottom line, no matter how high functioning she appears one day, there’s always tomorrow and the doctor’s all agree that her days of living alone are over.
So, it’s a mixed bag….progress, not perfection.
Tuesday, October 5, 2010
Sunday, October 3, 2010
I don't like that kind
When Miss Cathy was in rehab after she’d been discovered lying on the bathroom floor after three days back in January and then again in May after her knee replacement surgery she lost a lot of weight. It was hard to get her to eat the entire time she was in the hospital and no better the month(s) she was in rehab. She was depressed and so anxious about “going home” that she had little appetite, so the battle to get her to eat continued.
All told, she’s lost about 40 pounds since January. When she came home to stay she weighed 167 pounds and was very weak. For her height and age the weight loss should have been a good thing but she was very lethargic and hadn’t really followed the therapists instructions to exercise so the weight loss was more of a burden than a joy.
Since she’s been home her appetite has improved and the amount of food she’s eating has increased week by week. Where once I had to remind her to eat and coax her to finish she’s now eating with gusto.
We go out grocery shopping together but I will venture out on my own, returning home with things that are reminiscent of my old life and the way I used to live and eat.
She’ll say, “Oh, I don’t like that kind”, to which I usually reply good naturedly, “Good, because I didn’t buy this for you.” It could be something like Edy’s French Silk -low fat ice cream (my personal fav), multi-grain wheat bread, salads and low fat salad dressing, pepperoni pizza or low fat Fig Newton’s-any number of things.
Actually, it doesn’t matter what I bring into the kitchen because she’ll say she doesn’t like it but give her a few days (or hours) and she’s either eaten whatever I haven’t or she’s asking me to share it with her. She’s become very much like a “child” to my “parent” in that regard.
And, like a child I have to remember to not resent her when I open the fridge all ready to eat the last “whatever” I bought so that I can watch way too much television in my room, only to find that she’s eaten it. I remind myself that there were many a day when my brother and I were kids (and we were never “little” -big, brown balls of fat is a better description)………. anyway, there were many a time I’m sure she looked in the fridge or cupboard for a treat and believe you me, we never gave a thought that she might have wanted “one” or “some” so there was “none”.
She’s even commented several times that our roles are reversing, that she’s following me around like I used to follow her when I was a child and that she’s as “worrisome” (her word) as I was then, too. She calls it “payback”.
So now her eating is what I call a “luxury” problem. It’s not that she eats too much, although she’s bordering on it sometimes. Remember, on top of everything else going on she has diabetes, too. She doesn’t always make the wisest food choices for someone with a blood sugar problem. She’ll tell me that she wants to “treat” herself and I’ll find donuts or cinnamon buns in the shopping cart and nothing she buys is ever fat-free, low sugar or has a sugar substitute.
Or, heaven forgive me, if she hasn’t put it in the cart when we’re shopping together she’ll send me out to buy her an apple pie or buttery pound cake. And you know what, I do it because I’m happy to see her eating and enjoying herself. I figure there’s plenty of time to suggest moderation or to just flat out refuse to buy any sugary treats for her.
After all, if she wants another apple pie I can always say, “I don’t like that kind.”
All told, she’s lost about 40 pounds since January. When she came home to stay she weighed 167 pounds and was very weak. For her height and age the weight loss should have been a good thing but she was very lethargic and hadn’t really followed the therapists instructions to exercise so the weight loss was more of a burden than a joy.
Since she’s been home her appetite has improved and the amount of food she’s eating has increased week by week. Where once I had to remind her to eat and coax her to finish she’s now eating with gusto.
We go out grocery shopping together but I will venture out on my own, returning home with things that are reminiscent of my old life and the way I used to live and eat.
She’ll say, “Oh, I don’t like that kind”, to which I usually reply good naturedly, “Good, because I didn’t buy this for you.” It could be something like Edy’s French Silk -low fat ice cream (my personal fav), multi-grain wheat bread, salads and low fat salad dressing, pepperoni pizza or low fat Fig Newton’s-any number of things.
Actually, it doesn’t matter what I bring into the kitchen because she’ll say she doesn’t like it but give her a few days (or hours) and she’s either eaten whatever I haven’t or she’s asking me to share it with her. She’s become very much like a “child” to my “parent” in that regard.
And, like a child I have to remember to not resent her when I open the fridge all ready to eat the last “whatever” I bought so that I can watch way too much television in my room, only to find that she’s eaten it. I remind myself that there were many a day when my brother and I were kids (and we were never “little” -big, brown balls of fat is a better description)………. anyway, there were many a time I’m sure she looked in the fridge or cupboard for a treat and believe you me, we never gave a thought that she might have wanted “one” or “some” so there was “none”.
She’s even commented several times that our roles are reversing, that she’s following me around like I used to follow her when I was a child and that she’s as “worrisome” (her word) as I was then, too. She calls it “payback”.
So now her eating is what I call a “luxury” problem. It’s not that she eats too much, although she’s bordering on it sometimes. Remember, on top of everything else going on she has diabetes, too. She doesn’t always make the wisest food choices for someone with a blood sugar problem. She’ll tell me that she wants to “treat” herself and I’ll find donuts or cinnamon buns in the shopping cart and nothing she buys is ever fat-free, low sugar or has a sugar substitute.
Or, heaven forgive me, if she hasn’t put it in the cart when we’re shopping together she’ll send me out to buy her an apple pie or buttery pound cake. And you know what, I do it because I’m happy to see her eating and enjoying herself. I figure there’s plenty of time to suggest moderation or to just flat out refuse to buy any sugary treats for her.
After all, if she wants another apple pie I can always say, “I don’t like that kind.”
Saturday, October 2, 2010
Crock'd
You never know what you’re going to get when you go shopping with Miss Cathy. It’s never going to be like the old days when I’d come visit for a week or more and we’d go shopping. We’d laugh, buy and talk, talk, talk. No, those days are gone, what used to be “normal” has been replaced by the “new-normal”. But, I need to remind myself that it doesn’t mean that it can’t be fun, that sometimes there are sparks of what it used to be like to go shopping together, it’s just different.
What doesn’t vary is that Miss Cathy is now verrrrry slow; slow to get out of the car, slow to walk into the store, slow to make up her mind about a purchase and to pay for it. Any noise or sudden movement usually causes her to stop dead in her tracks till she can decipher what’s going on around her-then she might proceed. It doesn’t matter if she’s in the doorway or the middle of the aisle, she will stop on the threshold or block the flow of traffic so other shoppers cannot get their carts past her.
After being chastised by her several times I have learned to say nothing when this happens and let her deal with the people around her, more often than not they give her a “poor old thing” look and move to accommodate her. All the while she’s pretty oblivious of inconveniencing anyone lese and will usually blame them if challenged.
Anyway, we went to Macy’s not too long ago because she wanted to activate her store charge card. Years ago I’d suggested she get a few credit cards and make small purchases to establish a better credit rating for herself. She’s from that generation that always paid cash when possible and shied away from credit cards, so she was surprised when she found out that can work against you (in some perverse way) with the credit reporting bureaus.
So, off we went to Macy’s to buy a new crock-pot to replace the one that I either threw away or buried so deep in storage that it may as well be in a trash bin. We get to the store and she asks a saleswoman where the crocks pots are, the lady very nicely and (confidently) tells her that they are “straight ahead”. After I thank the saleswoman and we walk away a little and Miss Cathy says, “I want to know where the crock-pots are, are they right or left?”
We haven’t gone far so I’m dumbfounded as to where this is coming from, it’s not like we’ve wondered around the store for hours, we weren’t that far from where we asked the saleswoman for directions. When I remind her that the saleswoman works here she says, “She doesn’t know, I asked where the crock-pots were and she just said ”straight” ahead.”
“So”, I say as gently as possible for someone who wants to take the nearest dress dummy and hit her over he head with it, “Why don’t you just assume that she knows what’s she’s talking about because she works here and you don’t.”
“Just because she works here doesn’t mean she knows everything.” She states as a matter of logic-her logic.
“Okay, have your way, you always do.” I say and walk “straight ahead” right to the crock-pots display.
What doesn’t vary is that Miss Cathy is now verrrrry slow; slow to get out of the car, slow to walk into the store, slow to make up her mind about a purchase and to pay for it. Any noise or sudden movement usually causes her to stop dead in her tracks till she can decipher what’s going on around her-then she might proceed. It doesn’t matter if she’s in the doorway or the middle of the aisle, she will stop on the threshold or block the flow of traffic so other shoppers cannot get their carts past her.
After being chastised by her several times I have learned to say nothing when this happens and let her deal with the people around her, more often than not they give her a “poor old thing” look and move to accommodate her. All the while she’s pretty oblivious of inconveniencing anyone lese and will usually blame them if challenged.
Anyway, we went to Macy’s not too long ago because she wanted to activate her store charge card. Years ago I’d suggested she get a few credit cards and make small purchases to establish a better credit rating for herself. She’s from that generation that always paid cash when possible and shied away from credit cards, so she was surprised when she found out that can work against you (in some perverse way) with the credit reporting bureaus.
So, off we went to Macy’s to buy a new crock-pot to replace the one that I either threw away or buried so deep in storage that it may as well be in a trash bin. We get to the store and she asks a saleswoman where the crocks pots are, the lady very nicely and (confidently) tells her that they are “straight ahead”. After I thank the saleswoman and we walk away a little and Miss Cathy says, “I want to know where the crock-pots are, are they right or left?”
We haven’t gone far so I’m dumbfounded as to where this is coming from, it’s not like we’ve wondered around the store for hours, we weren’t that far from where we asked the saleswoman for directions. When I remind her that the saleswoman works here she says, “She doesn’t know, I asked where the crock-pots were and she just said ”straight” ahead.”
“So”, I say as gently as possible for someone who wants to take the nearest dress dummy and hit her over he head with it, “Why don’t you just assume that she knows what’s she’s talking about because she works here and you don’t.”
“Just because she works here doesn’t mean she knows everything.” She states as a matter of logic-her logic.
“Okay, have your way, you always do.” I say and walk “straight ahead” right to the crock-pots display.
Wednesday, September 29, 2010
Handi-parking
Tuesday was a good day. Funny, as frustrating as it was two days ago, yesterday was pleasant and enjoyable.
There don’t seem to be any rhyme or reason for the way a day goes, it just rolls along, rocky or smooth. So, I try to wake up with the same sense of optimism that I had when I was “in my life” before all of this happened but sometimes I lay in bed, still wiped out from the events of the day before and pray that this new day will be different.
Yesterday was a beautiful fall day. The sky was blue; the leaves are changing color and rustling in a breeze that’s indicating falls approach. Maybe that had something to do with how smoothly the day went-or not? Maybe it was “just a good day”. Hell, they can’t all be bad, right?
After I finished up the work I had for the day I sat with Miss Cathy on the sofa to hang out for a little while. We got to talking (rather, she talked and I listened) She told me that she wanted to go grocery shopping at a particular store for veggies so she could make “greens”, a very southern and very tasty combination of mustard, collard and turnip greens with onions, jowls (don’t ask) and neck bones for flavor. I said, “Lets go now!” quite spontaneously and we did.
It was a lovely drive to a new part of town for me. I had the windows down. The wind felt good on my face and it helped muffle the sounds of Miss Cathy’s non-stop commentary on everything from the amount of traffic to pointing out where an old family friend used to live. I would just nod my head occasionally and make a sound like, “oh yeah?” or “really?” or “hmm” to keep up my end of the “conversation”.
The grocery store was situated in a large, new strip mall that could have been located anywhere in America. You know, the ones that are so popular now, they’re all full of the big box stores and fast food joints and a large wine warehouse-depending on if you live in the bible belt or not.
The strip mall also has the requisite amount of handicapped parking spaces right in front of all the shops. Have you noticed that there seems to be more and more rows dedicated to handicapped parking these days. I used to wonder-who are all these crippled up Americans? And why do they rate prime parking? Now that I’ve joined the ranks of the hobbled elite I don’t wonder anymore.
You’d think that having a handicapped tag for driving Miss Daisy we’d have it made. But no, but no-now that I have the ability to be part of the handicapped “in crowd” more often than not I find myself on the outside. I’ll drive onto a lot to find that ALL of the spaces are taken.
Wow! How is this possible? Are there really this many people with special needs out shopping? More often than not, whenever we go shopping it seems that the infirm, obese, wheelies and walkers have all gotten there before us. Inevitably, I drop Miss Cathy at the front of the establishment and go find a parking space with rest of the civilians, walking past the handicapped spots looking at them with envy and longing, pretty much like I did when I was teenager and all the cool kids got the best spots in the auditorium for assembly and I’d have to quickly walk past them (for fear of being spotted and made a target of their ridicule) to sit waaaay in the back, off to the side in the “geek gallery”.
But, sometimes I get to roll onto the parking lot and get a prime spot, right in front. I always remember to display my handicapped tag on the rearview mirror and “able-bodied-ly” walk around to hold the car door open for Miss Cathy so we can toddle into the store together.
There don’t seem to be any rhyme or reason for the way a day goes, it just rolls along, rocky or smooth. So, I try to wake up with the same sense of optimism that I had when I was “in my life” before all of this happened but sometimes I lay in bed, still wiped out from the events of the day before and pray that this new day will be different.
Yesterday was a beautiful fall day. The sky was blue; the leaves are changing color and rustling in a breeze that’s indicating falls approach. Maybe that had something to do with how smoothly the day went-or not? Maybe it was “just a good day”. Hell, they can’t all be bad, right?
After I finished up the work I had for the day I sat with Miss Cathy on the sofa to hang out for a little while. We got to talking (rather, she talked and I listened) She told me that she wanted to go grocery shopping at a particular store for veggies so she could make “greens”, a very southern and very tasty combination of mustard, collard and turnip greens with onions, jowls (don’t ask) and neck bones for flavor. I said, “Lets go now!” quite spontaneously and we did.
It was a lovely drive to a new part of town for me. I had the windows down. The wind felt good on my face and it helped muffle the sounds of Miss Cathy’s non-stop commentary on everything from the amount of traffic to pointing out where an old family friend used to live. I would just nod my head occasionally and make a sound like, “oh yeah?” or “really?” or “hmm” to keep up my end of the “conversation”.
The grocery store was situated in a large, new strip mall that could have been located anywhere in America. You know, the ones that are so popular now, they’re all full of the big box stores and fast food joints and a large wine warehouse-depending on if you live in the bible belt or not.
The strip mall also has the requisite amount of handicapped parking spaces right in front of all the shops. Have you noticed that there seems to be more and more rows dedicated to handicapped parking these days. I used to wonder-who are all these crippled up Americans? And why do they rate prime parking? Now that I’ve joined the ranks of the hobbled elite I don’t wonder anymore.
You’d think that having a handicapped tag for driving Miss Daisy we’d have it made. But no, but no-now that I have the ability to be part of the handicapped “in crowd” more often than not I find myself on the outside. I’ll drive onto a lot to find that ALL of the spaces are taken.
Wow! How is this possible? Are there really this many people with special needs out shopping? More often than not, whenever we go shopping it seems that the infirm, obese, wheelies and walkers have all gotten there before us. Inevitably, I drop Miss Cathy at the front of the establishment and go find a parking space with rest of the civilians, walking past the handicapped spots looking at them with envy and longing, pretty much like I did when I was teenager and all the cool kids got the best spots in the auditorium for assembly and I’d have to quickly walk past them (for fear of being spotted and made a target of their ridicule) to sit waaaay in the back, off to the side in the “geek gallery”.
But, sometimes I get to roll onto the parking lot and get a prime spot, right in front. I always remember to display my handicapped tag on the rearview mirror and “able-bodied-ly” walk around to hold the car door open for Miss Cathy so we can toddle into the store together.
Monday, September 27, 2010
Stop rushing me!
“Stop rushing me!” she said.
Miss Cathy has a doctor’s appointment this morning, just checking in with Dr Granite after being off the Adavan for almost a month (personally I think she should have stayed on it, but hey, I'm keeping my opinion to myself lest someone think I'm trying to keep the old lady doped up) She’s usually up and ready to go (anywhere) at the crack of dawn but this morning she was still in bed when I got up a little before 8am. I had to remind her that we had to leave at 8:50am for a 9:15am appointment.
While she was still in her room getting ready I commented that it’s not like her to linger in bed and she said that she didn’t “sleep worth a shit”, that she had dreams all night. “You know what they say about people that dream a lot”, she asked. “No, what do they say?", I asked.
“People that dream a lot are usually depressed.” “Are you depressed?” I asked surprised by the statement.
“I’ve been depressed all my life. My whole life has been depressing, my childhood was depressing.”
Wow! This was news to me. I thought she was “Miss happy-go-lucky, never looks back". I continued to get ready to leave, making a “coffee to go” while she futzed in the living room. She told me that she wanted to go to the bank to get $40.00 so she could stop by the drug store to get the Nasonex that the doctor called in for her weeks ago. I told her that it was probably already sent back because she refused to pick it up originally (too expensive) and they’d already called to say that it would be returned.
“Ahh, they don’t always send it back.” She said. “Oh really”, I muttered under my breath, “I guess you know everything.”
When I came out of he kitchen to go to the car she shouted, “Stop rushing me!”
“What?” I said, startled. “You’re always rushing me, running around!”she said, quite agitated.
In a flash, I was pissed. “I wasn’t talking to you old woman. I’m just getting ready to go outside. All I did was remind you ONCE that you had an appointment; you can sit here all day for all I care. I didn’t say anything else to you about it.” Fed up, I was getting wound up now, “AND I don’t appreciate your talking to me like I’m a four year old AND screaming at me.”
“Oh,” she said sheepishly, “ well, I didn’t mean too, I’m sorry if I screamed at you.”
“I appreciate the apology.” (I didn't really but it was an autotmatic response) And with that I was gone, outside to sit in the car and wonder what the hell just happened.
Update 10:00am: We’re sitting with Dr Granite and she just asked for some free samples of the Nasonex. She told him that she knew the prescription was at the drug store but she wasn’t sure if they sent it back or not. OMG!
Miss Cathy has a doctor’s appointment this morning, just checking in with Dr Granite after being off the Adavan for almost a month (personally I think she should have stayed on it, but hey, I'm keeping my opinion to myself lest someone think I'm trying to keep the old lady doped up) She’s usually up and ready to go (anywhere) at the crack of dawn but this morning she was still in bed when I got up a little before 8am. I had to remind her that we had to leave at 8:50am for a 9:15am appointment.
While she was still in her room getting ready I commented that it’s not like her to linger in bed and she said that she didn’t “sleep worth a shit”, that she had dreams all night. “You know what they say about people that dream a lot”, she asked. “No, what do they say?", I asked.
“People that dream a lot are usually depressed.” “Are you depressed?” I asked surprised by the statement.
“I’ve been depressed all my life. My whole life has been depressing, my childhood was depressing.”
Wow! This was news to me. I thought she was “Miss happy-go-lucky, never looks back". I continued to get ready to leave, making a “coffee to go” while she futzed in the living room. She told me that she wanted to go to the bank to get $40.00 so she could stop by the drug store to get the Nasonex that the doctor called in for her weeks ago. I told her that it was probably already sent back because she refused to pick it up originally (too expensive) and they’d already called to say that it would be returned.
“Ahh, they don’t always send it back.” She said. “Oh really”, I muttered under my breath, “I guess you know everything.”
When I came out of he kitchen to go to the car she shouted, “Stop rushing me!”
“What?” I said, startled. “You’re always rushing me, running around!”she said, quite agitated.
In a flash, I was pissed. “I wasn’t talking to you old woman. I’m just getting ready to go outside. All I did was remind you ONCE that you had an appointment; you can sit here all day for all I care. I didn’t say anything else to you about it.” Fed up, I was getting wound up now, “AND I don’t appreciate your talking to me like I’m a four year old AND screaming at me.”
“Oh,” she said sheepishly, “ well, I didn’t mean too, I’m sorry if I screamed at you.”
“I appreciate the apology.” (I didn't really but it was an autotmatic response) And with that I was gone, outside to sit in the car and wonder what the hell just happened.
Update 10:00am: We’re sitting with Dr Granite and she just asked for some free samples of the Nasonex. She told him that she knew the prescription was at the drug store but she wasn’t sure if they sent it back or not. OMG!
Sunday, September 26, 2010
Joy
“You’ve got to get some joy in your life! I like laughter and to hear some jokes” Miss Cathy said to me this morning. “I like to be happy, you know,” She said.
“I am happy,” I stated with confidence and irritation.” As happy as I know how to be.”
“Well, you walk around here like you’ve died or something.”
Wow! Good morning to you, too. Didn’t we just go through this? Just because I’m not a chatterbox in the morning doesn’t mean “who I am” needs to be questioned on a regular basis. Is this because I don’t feel like exchanging witty repartee at eight am? Or that I don’t think her shtick of hollering, “Here I is!” as she walks through the apartment is funny first thing in the morning. Fuck it, I can’t let comments like that bring me down or mess with my head. Lord knows she’s said worse to me and I’m sure there’s more to come so I’ve got to develop a thicker skin.
Speaking of skin, Miss Cathy follows me around talking until we’re both standing in my little bathroom and she watches as I extract an ingrown hair from my beard.
“One more thing,” she says as she waits for me to finish. “You’re not going to hit me are you” I say (she and my brother have this aggressive way of showing affection by slapping on one another-not my style.) “No, no,” she promises. I flinch a little as she comes toward me. “I love you!” she says as she lifts her little arms up to hug me.
Not the most poignant of moments but I was touched by her show of affection.
Funny, I thought I was being “more” social and trying to interact with her more-especially in the mornings. This is the second or third time my state of “being” has come under question and it’s getting to be a bit much. Last night we had a “moment’ where she asked me how I was “getting along” living here and I told her quite honestly that it’s been an adjustment but I’m doing okay, that I’m happy that I’m comfortable enough to create art which is very important to me and I’m trying to establish some new routines. I asked her how it’s been for her with me here and she said she’s happy that I’m here but she’s used to living alone, too
I was thinking I’d write about our trip to Wal-Mart and Safeway yesterday but now I don’t have the energy or interest.
I don’t know, if somebody keeps telling you that you look like a sad sack, and you have to take the time to dispute it-could you quite possibly be……sad?
“I am happy,” I stated with confidence and irritation.” As happy as I know how to be.”
“Well, you walk around here like you’ve died or something.”
Wow! Good morning to you, too. Didn’t we just go through this? Just because I’m not a chatterbox in the morning doesn’t mean “who I am” needs to be questioned on a regular basis. Is this because I don’t feel like exchanging witty repartee at eight am? Or that I don’t think her shtick of hollering, “Here I is!” as she walks through the apartment is funny first thing in the morning. Fuck it, I can’t let comments like that bring me down or mess with my head. Lord knows she’s said worse to me and I’m sure there’s more to come so I’ve got to develop a thicker skin.
Speaking of skin, Miss Cathy follows me around talking until we’re both standing in my little bathroom and she watches as I extract an ingrown hair from my beard.
“One more thing,” she says as she waits for me to finish. “You’re not going to hit me are you” I say (she and my brother have this aggressive way of showing affection by slapping on one another-not my style.) “No, no,” she promises. I flinch a little as she comes toward me. “I love you!” she says as she lifts her little arms up to hug me.
Not the most poignant of moments but I was touched by her show of affection.
Funny, I thought I was being “more” social and trying to interact with her more-especially in the mornings. This is the second or third time my state of “being” has come under question and it’s getting to be a bit much. Last night we had a “moment’ where she asked me how I was “getting along” living here and I told her quite honestly that it’s been an adjustment but I’m doing okay, that I’m happy that I’m comfortable enough to create art which is very important to me and I’m trying to establish some new routines. I asked her how it’s been for her with me here and she said she’s happy that I’m here but she’s used to living alone, too
I was thinking I’d write about our trip to Wal-Mart and Safeway yesterday but now I don’t have the energy or interest.
I don’t know, if somebody keeps telling you that you look like a sad sack, and you have to take the time to dispute it-could you quite possibly be……sad?
Friday, September 24, 2010
This n' That
I keep a log of some of Miss Cathy’s activities like cooking, showers and walking. I even try to write down some of her behaviors so that I can note her progress (if any). She’s gotten to the place where she feels comfortable enough to take a shower by herself, which makes me very happy. Now, all she needs to feel safe is my presence somewhere nearby, instead of me actually having to be in the bathroom with her in case she falls.
She went out about four days ago for a walk for the first time since she got back here in early August. She didn’t go far, just to the circle drive of the next condo complex but it’s a start. The best part (like showering by herself) is that it was her idea.
I made a promise to myself when I moved here to take care of her that I would leave her alone as much as possible, only making “suggestions” –or just flat out telling her what she had to do, only when necessary. It hasn’t been easy for a control freak like me but this isn’t about me and part of what I’m learning is to be “present” and not a “presence”.
Being “present” to me means being in the moment, realizing what is and isn’t about me, not forcing my agenda or behavior according to how “I” would react if the roles were reversed. Being a “presence” would mean dominating any given situation and trying to control the other person by dictating what “I” judged to be the correct mode of behavior.
She’s doing a lot of cooking since being home, which to me says she’s happy and more her old self. We haven’t had any accidents or fires since last May so that’s definite progress. I did suggest that she be mindful of turning up the heat so high on the stove and showed her the scorched bottom of a skillet that I’d bought that looked like new till she started using it. I’ve found that she can understand something better if I have an example, sometimes even the simplest concepts can throw her so visuals are a very important tool.
She’s even mastered turning off the security system if she happens to get up before me. She struggles with the sequence but she hangs in there till she gets it. Each morning she goes to turn it off is like the first time, so it’s a struggle but she doesn’t give up the way she would have four or five weeks ago-progress, not perfection!
She went out about four days ago for a walk for the first time since she got back here in early August. She didn’t go far, just to the circle drive of the next condo complex but it’s a start. The best part (like showering by herself) is that it was her idea.
I made a promise to myself when I moved here to take care of her that I would leave her alone as much as possible, only making “suggestions” –or just flat out telling her what she had to do, only when necessary. It hasn’t been easy for a control freak like me but this isn’t about me and part of what I’m learning is to be “present” and not a “presence”.
Being “present” to me means being in the moment, realizing what is and isn’t about me, not forcing my agenda or behavior according to how “I” would react if the roles were reversed. Being a “presence” would mean dominating any given situation and trying to control the other person by dictating what “I” judged to be the correct mode of behavior.
She’s doing a lot of cooking since being home, which to me says she’s happy and more her old self. We haven’t had any accidents or fires since last May so that’s definite progress. I did suggest that she be mindful of turning up the heat so high on the stove and showed her the scorched bottom of a skillet that I’d bought that looked like new till she started using it. I’ve found that she can understand something better if I have an example, sometimes even the simplest concepts can throw her so visuals are a very important tool.
She’s even mastered turning off the security system if she happens to get up before me. She struggles with the sequence but she hangs in there till she gets it. Each morning she goes to turn it off is like the first time, so it’s a struggle but she doesn’t give up the way she would have four or five weeks ago-progress, not perfection!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)