Next

Now that I am no longer caring for Mom, the obvious question is, what does this blog become? The title states its original reason for being. I wanted a place to write about and share what I was going through while trying to care for my mother as she was slowly dying of Alzheimer's. Now that she is gone, the answer seems clear--for now, at least. Now this is about grief. This is so much about grief that I thought it was too much, and I didn't post what I wanted to post in September. Let me take care of that now.

Two years ago, around Thanksgiving, one of our three cats suddenly became very, very sick. We first realized it on a Wednesday afternoon. We called the vet's office, described her symptoms, and they said we needed to bring her in right away. But here's the thing. It was our day with our granddaughters; Avri and Kiana were over. They were 2 and 4 at the time. And Mom had just gotten home from day care. There was no way one of us could handle all 3 of them. So we waited until Thursday, and Jeanne took her in while I was at school. They kept her over night, on IV fluids. We almost lost her. But she was a strong cat, our Juno, and she recovered. We had to give her subcutaneous fluids (think of kitty dialysis with an IV bag); I think we started with either every day or every other day. Eventually, we got her down to once a week, but she had kidney failure, so this was a rest-of-her-life thing. And pills, which I think she hated more than getting stuck with a needle and pumped full of fluids until she looked like a camel. But Juno was strong; the vet said she had never seen a cat recover as well as Juno did.

Then this September, she developed pancreatitis. She was throwing up, couldn't eat or drink, and eventually started an almost constant oozing of blood and runny stool. It was a mess. We became regulars at the vet's office, even stopping at her house a few times to pick up meds. But nothing worked, and on September 16, we took her in one last time. The vet took one look at her, and said, "She's ready. She's in pain, and she wants to go." We'd said most of our goodbyes at home, including having the other cats and the dog having one last moment with her. But said our final goodbyes, and the vet administered the shot. Our baby was gone.

I didn't feel I could write about Juno's death when it happened, not because I didn't want to, but because I felt that it was too much. Too much what, I'm not sure. Too much death, not enough balance. I am not a morose person, but sometimes I think this blog is. So why am I writing this now? I'm struggling (more on that in a later post), and I think I've found a new direction for the blog (sort of), and first things first. Juno is gone, euthanized 3 weeks before her 1th birthday. Her sister Selu is meowing at me as I write this, telling me to go to bed so she can go to bed with me. Sounds like a good idea, but first, my little Juno tribute.

The 3 girls in their youth

Juno

Juno and Selu, sisters, in one last photo

Trying to think positively

Mom smiling, 5/29/08 1:30 a.m.

It happened rarely enough even a year ago to make it a picture-worthy occasion.

I feel like this blog, though I seldom write to it, is too often negative. Perhaps I've been inspired by Julie & Julia, but I can't help but wonder why anyone would want to read this. And maybe that's not why I'm writing this--it's not my 'stated' reason--but still . . . . If it didn't matter if no one reads this, I would just be writing in my journal. By the way, I don't write in my journal at all anymore, and haven't for years, so I guess I'm not doing too badly by this blog.

Anyway, I've decided to try to write about the positives of caring for Mom. Unfortunately, at her stage of the disease, those are few and far between. This morning, for example, Mom smiled when we woke her up. She smiles now about once every 3 or 4 months. The neurologist says she has lost the ability to smile. But this morning, she looked just a little like she was smiling, and when I spoke to her with my own big smile, the left corner of her mouth turned up just a little more. Enough to qualify as a real smile. But not enough to see in a picture.

After Mom was diagnosed with Alzheimer's, back in '96 as far as we can tell, she did well for quite a while. Once it became more and more apparent that she couldn't live alone much longer, Jeanne and I asked her to come live with us, not because of obligation, but because we loved her, and enjoyed her company, and we wanted to do this for her. When the time came that she did indeed need to move in with us, it was still sometimes hard to tell how advanced the disease was. We still talked, and laughed; she even voted in the 2004 election via absentee ballot. We asked her if she wanted to, and she said yes, as long as we didn't tell her who to vote for. We watched the Kerry-Bush debates, discussed them, and let her come to her own conclusions. She had definite opinions. Then I helped her fill out the ballot and mailed it in. She didn't like to order her own meals at a restaurant anymore, but she always took voting pretty seriously. That was a decision she still wanted to make.

Her disease has advanced slowly, which allowed for some quality time in those first couple of years living with us. But she no longer has that quality of life. She rarely responds even to our granddaughters or the dog, and they used to be the light of her life. Mom is enduring more than she's really living.

Jeanne and I did, as alluded to earlier, see Julie & Julia earlier this week. It's a wonderful film, and Meryl Streep is an absolute delight as Child. Afterward, I couldn't help but think, "Mom would have liked this movie. Unless, of course, it would have made her feel inadequate about her cooking." Mom was a great cook, but did not try anything remotely Julia Child-ish. Confidence--about anything--was not her strong suit. Her most elaborate dish was Beef Wellington, which my dad insisted she learn how to make after having it at a hospital fundraiser. She made it every year for Christmas until too many of us became vegetarian to make it worthwhile. She may have watched Julia on occasion; she liked her, though her favorite cooking show was "The Galloping Gourmet." Still, I believe she watched these shows for entertainment. She was interested in their cooking at the spectator level, not the aspiring gourmet chef level. At least Mom still likes to eat. And believe me, the quality of the food matters. She's not picky, but if she doesn't like it, she won't eat it. There are some aspects of quality of life that still matter to her.

Writing for Health

Some new evidence that writing is good for your health: http://www.utne.com/Some-Writing-Each-Day-Keeps-the-Doctor-Away.aspx

For this very reason, and because writing once a week seems a bit paltrey, I am going to try to write more often, even if the posts are shorter.

On a related note, I'm a little concerned that my last post sounded like whining. But today, I'm tired. Mom goes into respite after day care today. She'll be in through Tuesday, though on Monday we pick her up, take her to day care, and then take her back to the nursing home after day care. On Tuesday we check her out of the nursing home, take her to day care, and then bring her home afterward. It's not much, but it means we can go out to dinner tonight, we can do whatever we want on Saturday and Sunday, including the Art Crawl on Saturday night and Jeanne's birthday celebration on Sunday. I'm on Spring Break next week, so we'll have the days while Mom is at day care to do what we want. And we get to SLEEP. These are all things we either can't do, or are constrained in doing when Mom is home.

In arranging the respite with Mom's doctor, I was leaving a voice mail and completely blanked on my cell phone number. When she called back, the doctor affirmed that if I can't even remember my cell phone number, I must really need the break that respite provides.

I also realized in thinking about my previous post that I hadn't really said anything about Mom. She is, as one of my stepdaughters said, "a tank." Other than the Alzheimer's and some arthritis, she is completely healthy, and very strong. Yet it is harder and harder for her to walk or stand, even with assistance (she can do neither on her own), because her brain can no longer send the proper signals. She was taken off hospice care after a year of mental degeneration, but no significant physical degeneration. They said there was simply no evidence that she would die in the next 6 months. I think she doesn't know how to let go; I can't believe she still wants to be alive, given her condition. And I don't know what to do to help her.