Relationship Issues


…and baby makes three!  Actually, it is Mom and two babies.  One raccoon is sort of a novelty.  Three raccoons is two over quota.  The young’uns are not all that well behaved either.  The banging at 3:30am turned out to be one of the babies knocking a ceramic pot holding an asparagus fern off the old wooden box it was sitting on.

After watching them for a while, I decided it was time to get them off the deck before the kids did any more damage.  I turned the deck light on and off a few times to scare them off.  Not one of them even flinched.  Mom and one of the youngsters kept eating what the squirrels had left in the pan of oil type sunflower seeds I provide to keep the squirrels attention away from the bird feeders.  The other youngster, I suspect, is the problem child.  He/she messed around some more and then finally left a while after the other two had headed off and under the deck.

The lights in the waterfall are now in, and as a result nighttime deck therapy is an  option.  Each of the four levels has a light at its base. The light is invisible until the timer turns it on.  Neighbors Tom and Amy and I sat on the deck for a while and talked, just enjoying the sound and sight of it.

What makes sitting on the deck possible is that the little seven inch screen on the A-V monitor keeps Mary Ann in view.  I can see when she starts moving and needs my help.  Without the monitor, I would need to head into the house every few minutes to be sure she didn’t need something.  This way I only have go when she actually needs me.  I have now ordered a second camera so that both the bedroom and living room can be seen by just moving the channel switch from A to B.  Again, the screen and audio-visual monitor is a Summer 2500 available at Babies R Us.

Mary Ann and I headed into Kansas City to spend time this afternoon with friends we have known since the early 1970’s.  The time there is always refreshing.  One couple in our crew, like us, is a caregiver/receiver couple.  Marlene has ALS. Charlie has retired (mostly) and is now a full-time Caregiver.  He is the one who sent me a beautifully written email when I first revealed my decision to retire and spend full time helping Mary Ann with her needs. In the email Charlie told me what an honor it is to be able to have the role of Caregiver.

As always, we enjoyed the time together.  There is no self-consciousness to distract from the relaxed friendship.  Whatever special needs Mary Ann has are just taken for granted.  Charlie and Marlene often have helpful suggestions.  There are ramps into the house and on to their deck.  The arrangement of furniture allows space for wheel chair movement.  Marlene uses a motorized wheelchair.

We returned home, and I have managed a few minutes on the deck with Mary Ann securely in bed.  Having just fallen asleep for a moment at the keyboard, i think it is time to post this draft and get to bed.

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Almost done!  The four level waterfall needs only the one watt light fixtures that produce twenty watts of light at the base of each of the four levels.  They will be installed tomorrow.  

The plants are now all in place.  Brad even brought some from his own yard to put in an area above the lined portion, his gift to us.  His Dad has Parkinson’s and we have come to know his parents at the Parkinson’s Support Group meetings.  Brad has put forth extra effort at every turn.  The end result is more than Mary Ann and I could have hoped for. 

The Mallards are now in duck heaven – our back yard.  They were hanging out there last evening and came today five minutes after Brad and his crew left. 

I also hung out on the deck last evening listening to the waterfall as rain and thunder and lightening came through.   While it was raining I sat on the portion of the deck that is covered with a section of the roof.  The wind cooled the air so that the experience was wonderful. 

Mary Ann and I spent some time this morning on the deck before the day heated up.  I got her out to a lawn chair to sit for a while.  Then she got up and walked to the rail to get a better look at the waterfall.  As she started to faint, I tried to pull a chair over behind her.  It didn’t work.  I let her down to the deck.  As she lay there, I went into the house and got the transfer chair so that I would eventually be able to get her into the house.  During the morning, before, and then out on the deck she had had some small fainting spells.  The one at the rail was a substantial one, one that turns into a sort of siezure.  As usual, there was some intestinal activity that followed.  Some time I intend to ask our Gastroenterologist for an explanation of that phenomenon. 

Last night, the third in a row, Mary Ann had trouble settling down and getting to sleep.  As expected, the hallucinations have been a little more active the past few days.

The reason I titled this post “Caregiver needs Deck Therapy” is that today was a pop up day.  Most of the times I went out to talk with Brad and the crew about something, I very specifically asked Mary Ann to stay seated while I was outside.  Of course I made sure that she had ice water, the television was tuned to something she liked, and that she didn’t need to get to the bathroom.  For the most part she did as I asked during those times. 

Other than that, Mary Ann popped up every few minutes.  When I answered the phone or made a phone call, she was up.  When I went into the kitchen to put things in the dishwasher she popped up.  When I tried to get food ready for her she popped up.  When I went to the bathroom she popped up.  It seemed that pretty much every time I sat down she popped up. 

As I have shared many times, falling is a major issue.  The fact that this was also a fainting day made it even more challenging.  Last I heard, aspirating food and falling are the two most likely events to end the life of someone with Parkinson’s.  People don’t die of Parkinson’s itself.   Mary Ann was falling generally more than once a day until the torn stitches a few weeks ago.  Since then she has fallen very seldom, at least by the pre-stitch-tearing measure. 

I realized today the reason the falls have diminished so much.  I am moving very quickly to be right there whenever she stands up to walk.  I offer my elbow for her to hold, thereby stabilizing herself while walking, or I put my hand gently on the gait belt she always wears so that I can help her regain her equilibrium if she gets off balance.  The A-V monitor helps me anticipate her getting up so that I can be there by the time she is up. 

The challenge is that I can’t keep her in view every moment.  The monitor has to be plugged in and within view for me to use it.  I can’t move it with me every time I walk into the other room, head down the hall just for a moment, or go to the bathroom.  At the first sound of movement, I move as fast as I can, sometimes even managing to get this sixty-six year old body to run, to get where she is before she falls. 

Today, I must have jumped and run thirty or forty times.  That is only a guess; it may have been a thousand times!  While as her Caregiver I should just take that in stride, if every day were like today, I am not sure I could do it.  Not long ago I used the metaphor of a marionette whose strings were being pulled by someone else as a  way to describe the feelings of being a full time Caregiver.  That was the sensation today.  She popped up and my arms and legs moved. 

I needed some time on the deck this evening.  The residual heat from the day made it much less bearable than last evening.  That respite and this post are my way of settling down and allowing the frustration to dissipate.  I understand that Mary Ann’s popping up is not a malicious attempt at making my life difficult.  In her mind it has nothing to do with me.  It is my problem that I come running when she gets up.  I suppose, if that is what she is thinking, she is right.  Nonetheless, the truth is, I need to keep her from falling to the degree it is possible not only to keep her safe but to keep my life from becoming more difficult.  If she hurts herself, it hurts both of us.  And, yes, while in my most rational moments I recognize that the disease is the cause of this annoying behavior, sometimes it feels as if she doesn’t care what impact her actions have on me. 

Today is done.  There have been many good moments along with the frustrating ones.  I celebrate the new retreat center behind our house.  I suspect that there will be need for some Deck Therapy tomorrow.  Then there will be lights!

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Author Sandra Tsing Loh has now declared marriage to be obsolete.  She and her husband of twenty years both had affairs and are divorcing.  She has concluded that marriage is simply obsolete these days.  It was useful in the agrarian culture up until early in the 1900’s, since many hands were needed on the farm.  Marriage is no longer useful.  Studies of primitive humans reveal that the spark in a relationship is programmed to last about four years, long enough to have two babies up and out.

I am tempted to get on a soap box and with great self-righteousness rant against such silliness.  That would be far too easy.  I have counseled couples through some very tough times over the years.  Some worked through their problems and found a new relationship that had more resilience and strength an intimacy than before they struggled through whatever it was.  Some concluded that they needed to divorce and begin new lives.  There were money problems, affairs, trust issues, problems with alcohol misuse, abusive behavior.

I respect those who worked out their relationship, and I respect those who chose to divorce and begin new lives.  Does that sound unpastor-like?  Divorce is among the most painful experiences anyone can have judging from what people shared with me over the years.  It is frightening how many killings are done by estranged spouses.  When I moved to Oklahoma City five months ahead of Mary Ann and our children, who were finishing the school year, I was standing just inside the door of a Skaggs Drug Store returning a faulty alarm clock I had gotten the day before.   As I was standing at the counter, someone ran in and hid behind the counter where I was standing.  When the doors opened, I smelled the gun powder.  Fifty feet away from me, outside the door of the store, an estranged husband shot his ex-wife in the face.  After a time, I went out the door to leave and walked by the paramedics with her.  She died there in that spot.  The ex-husband was found at Lake Overholser about a mile and a half away.  He had taken his own life.

Having seen the level of pain that comes with it, I no longer judge those who have chosen the path of divorce.  Those who have experienced divorce are unlikely to recommend it as something to be sought after.

With that said, most of those who divorce do not then conclude that marriage is obsolete.  Apparently, almost 90% of those who divorce choose to remarry.  It appears that we are wired to marry.  I realize that sounds ridiculously obvious, but apparently it is not obvious to some.

Assuming that in our primitive brain the spark that brings a man and a woman together has a four year shelf life, the conclusion implicit in the author’s contention that marriage is obsolete is that there is no point it staying together once the spark has expired.  In fairness, I think she would say that it is no longer sensible to try to recreate the spark after many years of marriage.

I guess the author’s conclusion might be reasonable if the spark were all there is to marriage.  To use her metaphor, a spark is what gets the fire going.  It would be pretty hard to weather a cold winter if the heating system in the house never had more than a spark.

If we chose to live only by what lay in our primitive brain, the fight or flight impulse would preclude the possibility of living in peace with other human beings, at least other than those in our tribe.  What makes us human is the capacity to use our frontal lobes to reason out a better way to live.

If we chose never to move from the spark to that which the spark ignites, of course marriage would become obsolete. What the spark ignites is relationship.  The spark ignites feelings that grow into actions that produce newly discovered feelings that spark levels of trust and intimacy that could never be experienced if the spark were to remain the only measure of the value of marriage.

The spark needs to be in contact with some sort of combustible material or it will produce absolutely nothing but a tiny burst of light and heat lasting only a fraction of a second.  The combustible material is made up of promises and commitments that are lived out day by day in big ways and little ways.  The combustible material is not romantic gestures (although there is a lot to be said for them).  The combustible material is made up of time spent listening to one another, arguing with one another, forgiving one another, standing up to one another and giving in to one another.

Long marriages provide the possibility of a kind of relationship with a beauty and depth, that is far beyond the spark that brings couples together in the first place.  People who have not chosen to marry or are divorced or widowed, can also find deep and lasting relationships that grow out of the combustible material in their relationships with those who are closest to them.  Marriage, however, is certainly not obsolete as a meaningful and fulfilling way to live for as many years as life allows.

For Mary Ann and me, marriage is hardly obsolete.  It is what allows us survive in difficult circumstances.  We get to experience relationship that is deep enough to weather irritations and frustrations and misunderstandings without any of it stealing the fire from us.

When in the Seminary training to be come a pastor, I was in a choir that sang Bach’s St. John Passion three times over four years.  The third time we sang it was one of the most powerful experiences I have ever had in my life.  I will never forget singing the chorale at the conclusion of the Passion.  The power of that chorale lay in what had gone before.  Each aria and recitative and chorus sung over almost an hour built one on the last until all that had gone before filled the last chorale with overwhelming joy, more deeply moving than there are words to describe.  Without what had gone before, the chorale would have been a beautiful hymn.  With what led up to it, the experience touches me to this day, forty years later.

No, Ms. Sandra Tsing Loh, marriage is not obsolete.  For me, our marriage, now, after forty-three years is the chorale at the end of the something that has been building in strength and power for all these years.  The spark has ignited something enduring and of great beauty.

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Music seems to crack open my mind and heart in ways that most anything else cannot.  It is a good thing when it happens.  Needless to say for those who have read this blog, my mode of operation for handling stressful situations is to think my way through them.  I put words together in my mind that frame whatever it is in an intellectual structure that makes it seem more manageable to me. Music seems to dismantle my neatly formed defensive structures and feeling overcomes thinking for a time.

Tonight I listened to music for about an hour and a half, a couple of CD’s.  One was done by a composer named Marty Haugen.  He writes liturgical music. Much of what he writes has a simplicity and a melodic style that is quite disarming.  In my last couple of decades in the ministry, Marty Haugen’s music often found its way into worship services.  The other CD was one in the Celtic Woman series.  My defenses are of absolutely no use in the face of the crystal clear sweetness of those lovely voices.

In her comment on last night’s post, Sharon touched on the one thing that puts into perspective all that we struggle with as full time Caregivers of our spouses.  The time we have with our spouses is of great value against the backdrop of what is coming.  There is no predicting the future.  I may die before Mary Ann.  For most of us in this stage of caregiving, the likelihood is that we will outlive our chronically Ill spouses.

The music tonight cracked open my heart and mind, and that likelihood surfaced.

I spent almost forty years in the business of helping people through times of grieving someone they loved who had died.  I have done more funerals than I can count.  I have buried people of all ages and circumstances from those who died in the womb to those who lived to within days of a hundred years old.  I have buried people who died accidental deaths and people who suffered a violent death at the hands of a perpetrator.  I have buried people who battled long and hard some form of Cancer before they died.  I have buried one of my best friends.  I preached at the funerals of two of Mary Ann’s brothers who died of Cancer, each at the age of fifty-one.  I preached at the Memorial Service for Mary Ann’s Mother.  I preached at my own Mother’s funeral. I know how to do a funeral and how to counsel people in preparation for the funeral and how to minister to them as they grieve afterward.

Tonight, broken open by the music, my thoughts and feelings went to a place of great pain. Just for a moment, I imagined myself sitting in that front pew feeling the deep sadness there.  Then, I suppose because I did it for my Mother-in-Law and my Mom, I pictured myself doing a Memorial Service in Northern Illinois where we grew up.  Many in the family there would not be able to travel to Kansas.  Mary Ann’s very best friends of more than fifty-five years are there, her Sisters-in-law, nephews and nieces who love her very much, my brothers and sisters and their families, are all there or close enough to get there.  I wondered if I could do the service in a way that would center on Mary Ann’s life and not my grief.  Who else would or could do it?  We have been gone from there for almost fifty years.

For those of you who know me personally, please do not be concerned that I am in some sort of deep emotional struggle.  It was simply a time of encountering a potential future reality.  It is a good thing to be able to go there, grieve, and come back from there.  What I encountered there was painful beyond description.  Yes, I have whined about the struggles of taking care of Mary Ann, the frustrations.  I have shared that I get irritated at her and get grumpy sometimes.  I would not give up a moment of it.  I want it to go on for years to come.  We have been married forty-three and a half years.  I plan on at least celebrating fifty years of marriage with her.

Those of us who are caring full time for a spouse with a chronic disease, to be able to function effectively day after day, have to distance ourselves from some of the harsh realities.  On occasion we also need to catch a glimpse of those realities, so that we can gain perspective on the value of the time we have with the one we love. Tonight I caught that glimpse.  I am celebrating the time we have together.

If you want to write a comment about this or any of the posts on this blog, look to the column on the right side of this page, titled “Recent Posts,”  click on the name of a post and you will find a box at the end of that article in which you can write a comment.  Clicking on the title of the post you are reading will accomplish the same thing.  Comments are appreciated.

I have been writing these posts with a certain bravado about our meeting the challenges and choosing to live with meaning, refusing to let the Parkinson’s rule.  As is often the case, saying it is far easier than doing it.

Every two or three months, I take up the shower mesh from the bathroom floor to scrub it with Lysol Cleaner.  We put the interlocking mesh squares on the bathroom floor to protect Mary Ann from experiencing serious damage from the ceramic tile floor if she falls.  An earlier post includes the gory details of the time she fell on that unprotected floor and ended up in the Emergency Room.

The mesh lets the water through so that what doesn’t run down to the drain dries fairly quickly.  The mesh is made of a pliable plastic material that is impregnated with some sort of mold resistance material.  It remains clean other than in some places having a thin layer of residual soap from multiple showers.  The scrubbing I do just makes me feel better about the cleanliness of that floor.

I was outside for a few minutes checking on the tiles drying in the sun on the driveway, talking with a neighbor.  When I went inside, Mary Ann was on the floor in the dining room. She was not hurt at all.  She could have been hurt, but was not.  In the process she had knocked over some coffee demanding some spot cleaning on the carpet.

With the addition of the video monitor, we have reduced the number of falls dramatically.  This relatively minor matter, the fall, reinforced that being out of sight of Mary Ann either by not being in the room with her or not having the monitor in sight is risky.

I struggle to write about being trapped by the Parkinson’s as a Caregiver when Mary Ann is trapped in her own body.  I have no right to feel sorry for myself when she has fought with her own body for over twenty-two years.  A number of years ago, I remember her saying through tears (she seldom cries) that she wished she could get a new body.

She is trapped in a more comprehensive way than I am.  She cannot get a Volunteer to come and give her a break from her own body.  She is trapped, and to a lesser extent, so am I.  The Parkinson’s has come to live with both of us and has become a constant presence in the lives of our Children and Grandchildren as well.

Speaking only from the vantage point of the Caregiver, at times I find it very frustrating that I cannot simply immerse myself in something that takes me out of visual contact with Mary Ann.

A few days ago, I needed to have a Volunteer with Mary Ann so that I could go out and clean the gutters.  The Volunteer had to leave before I finished.  There was at least one fall while I tried to complete the task.

The solution of having Mary Ann outside with me for anything I need to do is not as workable as it may sound.  Due to the Parkinson’s and medications, she does not handle heat well.  She does not enjoy just sitting outside.

Going outside to feed the birds has to be planned for when she is either early in a nap, when it is less likely she will need to get up, or in the first hour or so when she goes to bed.  After an hour or so there is more vulnerability to her needing to use the commode.  Watering the flowers is equally challenging.

Sometimes I just head out the door and walk up to the corner three houses away and look at the sky for a moment, check for nighthawks if it is dusk, or just enjoy the sunset for a few minutes.  There is sometimes a feeling of being tethered to Mary Ann and her needs.  On occasion as a full time Caregiver to someone who needs help to do most of the things she does, my movements are governed by her needs, almost like a marionette’s movements are controlled by the puppeteer.  She doesn’t want it any more than I do, but nonetheless, that is how it sometimes feels.

Gratefully, there are also lots of times when I feel good about being with Mary Ann, able to be close to her so much of the time after years of being away at work sixty to seventy hours a week.  I hope that Mary Ann feels good about my being here some of the time also.  She is not able to express such feelings, but hopefully, they are there.

With all of that said, Mary Ann and I are living lives of value and meaning with joyful times as well as frustrating times.  We are free to do what we are able to do when we are able to do it..  We are experiencing life fully, taking each day as it comes with the bad and the good — pretty much the same way any of us lives, no matter what our circumstances.

If you want to write a comment about this or any of the posts on this blog, look to the column on the right side of this page, titled “Recent Posts,”  click on the name of a post and you will find a box at the end of that article in which you can write a comment.  Clicking on the title of the post you are reading will accomplish the same thing.  Comments are appreciated.

Her name is Kim.  Everyone should have the chance to know someone like Kim some time in their lives.  Kim is a vivacious mother of two school-aged boys.  The boys are both gifted, caring, thoughtful beyond their years, the sort any parents would be proud to call their own.  She is wife to a good man who cares deeply for her.  I suppose that description suggests that Kim has a picture perfect life.  Oddly, she would probably tell you that is precisely the life she has, picture perfect. 

Kim’s life took a dramatic turn only months ago.  An unexplained pain that turned out to be unrelated to the Cancer led to tests which led ultimately to a diagnosis of Breast Cancer.   As you might guess, that summary hardly contains all the dynamics of the journey from pain to diagnosis. 

Because of family history, Cancer in the lives of Kim’s Mother and Grandmother, Kim realized that she needed an aggressive treatment response to her diagnosis.  She has had the double Mastectomy and will have a hysterectomy.   The good news is that the surgery has gone well, and chemotherapy is not necessary since it would have minimal effect on the statistical risk of recurrence. 

The word Cancer has the power to bring the strongest to their knees.  At first mention of the word, thoughts move immediately to the worst possible outcome.  From the very first word of the diagnosis, Kim has not broken stride as she moved through each step into her and her family’s new perspective on life. 

In almost forty years of ministry, I have watched people travel the path of dealing with a life threatening diagnosis.  No matter how bravely the people receiving the diagnosis respond, those who love them are shaken to the core.  It is cliche to say it, but it is true.  It is often harder for those who love someone going through a devastating illness and the resulting pain, than it is for the person with the pain. 

There is a sense of helplessness for those who watch and care deeply for someone with a life threatening disease.  Those with the disease sometimes come to acceptance before those who love them.  It happened that way so often for those to whom I ministered over the years, that one of the first conversations we had when I visited was the one about just how much they would be called on to help others come to terms with what was happening to them 

Back to Kim.  Kim has a deep faith that provides her with a sense of security and the freedom to face what is happening each step along the way.  As a result, she can talk and reason and process each option without panic or pretense.  She has talked openly with the boys who share her faith.  Nothing is off the table in terms of talking about the facts of her situation and what each in the family is going through.  Kim, her husband and the boys have all through these past few months expanded their capacity to understand life in all its depth and breadth. 

While Kim appreciates fully what has happened in their lives, she is profoundly grateful for the good gifts this problem has given her and her family.  Of all things she feels privileged.  If I remember our conversation correctly, that is precisely the word she used — privileged.   

I can testify, that not all those who have gone through what Kim is going through (or some other problem like it) have felt privileged.  I have watched some become bitter, fall into despair, lash out at God and anyone else within reach, feel so sorry for themselves that the world shrinks to become solely about them and their struggles. 

Kim is not one of them.  In what could have destroyed her and her family she has found gifts of deep and lasting value.   Faith has revealed itself more powerfully, the quality of relationships grown.  She has become for others a bright beacon of reflected light — reflected because the brightness comes from the unconditional love of a God whom she knows well, revealed in the person of Jesus Christ.  While those who read this blog need not share the faith that is the source of strength for Kim and for me, it is nonetheless our understanding of truth.  We cannot describe our experience without  reference to that faith.  If Kim were to agree that her life is picture perfect, it would not be because there is no pain, no fear, no struggling, but because there is a beauty that has become more visible than ever, the beauty of life with meaning, life well-lived, relationships that are real and deep, and hope that cannot be snuffed out. 

Almost five years ago, I did the funeral for a man named Tom.  Tom had a pain in his leg.  Two years later he died of the Cancer that had spread beyond the reach of the treatments available.  While it was hard for his wife to hear him say it, not long before he died he said that the last two years had been the most meaningful time in his life.  He found gifts that opened him to life more fully than ever, life with his wife and children.  Tom touched hundreds of lives as he traveled those last two years.  Tom drew strength from the same faith.

I have written before in the post on this blog some of the gifts that have been given to us in these twenty-two years with Parkinson’s traveling with us.  I would not presume to speak for Mary Ann on this matter.  I have seen pe0ple cluster around and come to know her and respect her and love her as friend — people who came at first to help her, and were ultimately helped by being with her.  She has revealed to all who know her and know of her, great courage and strength and endurance as she has taken so many hits and gotten up again after each.

I have learned more about what it means to love than I suspect I ever would have without the struggles we have encountered.  I cannot know what life would have been without the struggles, but I am grateful for what I have been taught by them.  Our Children and their spouses have revealed to us great strength of character, wisdom, love drawn out by the struggles they have helped us through.  Mary Ann and I have the joy of seeing three Granddaughters reveal a deep love and concern and caring that has been given the chance to be expressed in age appropriate ways. 

Kim would not have chosen the Cancer.   Tom would not have chosen to leave so soon.  Neither Mary Ann nor I would have chosen the Parkinson’s, but all of us have been given gifts of a value too great to be measured.  We have been privileged to find a quality, a meaning in life that cannot be learned from a book or a lecture or a DVD or a blog. 

Problems sometimes give good gifts!  For those of you who are midstream in the struggles, look for the gifts, open them, play with them.  They are more valuable than can be measured.

If you want to write a comment about this or any of the posts on this blog, look to the column on the right side of this page, titled “Recent Posts,”  click on the name of a post and you will find a box at the end of that article in which you can write a comment.  Clicking on the title of the post you are reading will accomplish the same thing.  Comments are appreciated.

The extension ladder is old and not very stable.  The years of very little exercise have stiffened this sixty-six year old body so that moving up and down a ladder is not such an easy task any more. Lifting the ladder off the hooks in the garage tested my wheelchair lifting muscles.  Then there was the matter of moving the ladder every few minutes along the gutter so that I could climb up with my bucket, hook it on a rung and grab handfuls of smelly rotted little seeds from the neighbor’s trees.

I am not much of a ladder person.  Heights are just not my thing.  I suppose I am sort of acrophobic.  I don’t mind riding in an airplane, although recent news events may change my opinion on that.  On Youth trips to a beautiful camp fifty miles northwest of Colorado Springs called Lutheran Valley Retreat, I joined in the climb up Cedar Mountain.  I still remember my first time.  I was terrified.  As a pastor and counsellor on the trip, more than ten years older than the oldest of the Youth, I was too embarrassed to admit it.  The way I got through the climb that first year was to convince myself that if thirteen year old people could climb it, at thirty, I ought to be able to climb it.  I decided that in spite of my insides being less sure of it, I was safe.

Other than the year the lightning almost got us, I felt safe from then on.  After the first year I was a seasoned pro, climbing with bravado.  Still, if I am not completely confident that I am secure, heights are very unsettling to my insides.  I will not walk to the edge of a very tall building to look out windows if they are floor to ceiling.  Vertigo sets in.

As I was climbing up the ladder to clean out the gutters yesterday afternoon, the issue of my safety came to mind.  The ladder sometimes slipped at the top toward one side or the other as I climbed up.  I started thinking about what I would do if it fell, where I would land, what way to jump if it started going.  It was not a particularly scary thought to me, just a matter of fact analysis of the situation.

As I was analyzing the dynamics of falling, it popped into my mind that hurting myself would not just be a matter of getting fixed whatever broke, arm, shoulder, knee, or something worse.   What about Mary Ann.  She needs me to do the most basic daily tasks with her or for her. Hurting myself would hurt her.  She counts on me. If I were to do something stupid, our ability to maintain our little world would be gone, at least for a time.  She would certainly be mightily irritated with me.

The way I responded to that realization was to become very methodical about setting the feet of the ladder, making sure it was flat against the gutters.  I stepped up the ladder more slowly.  I caefully hung the bucket for the sludge.  Thinking about my responsibilty to Mary Ann as Caregiver translated to more care of myself.  

What happens to me is not just about me.  Those of you who have children are likely to have come to the realization that the choices you make do not just affect you.  Riding a bike without a helmet, ignoring the seat belt, driving twenty miles over the speed limit (under ten is okay, right?), smoking like a chimney, whatever puts you at a significant health risk is more than an issue of your freedom to do as you please.  It is no longer just about you. 

There is also a frustrating flip side to the matter of keeping safe for the sake of our care receiver.  What would be fair, if fairness were an option, is for the one for whom we are caring to have the same concern for keeping safe.  It would seem fair for the Care Receiver to avoid taking risks so that their Caregiver would not have an even tougher time trying to deal with the consequences of their risk-taking gone bad. 

I hesitate to bring this one up again, but it is one of the most difficult areas in our relationship as Care partners.  It seems that one of us in this partnership is intent on taking risks no matter how likely the risk is to produce more work for the Caregiver.   The truth is, there is no thoughtful intent to make work for the Caregiver by taking unnecessary risks.  The kind of thinking that would be needed for that intent is no longer available.  The risky actions are just the reflex actions of a mind and body with the simple need for the freedom to move at will and do the same things that have always been done.  There is no fully conscious awareness that the disease process has taken away some freedoms. 

Nonetheless, it is very difficult to watch a Loved One assert that independance without regard for the consequences to herself or her Caregiver.  It is just part of the reality within which we live now that Parkinson’s and Parkinson’s Disease Dementia have joined us in our journey.  Fairness is irrelevant to matter of safety. I need to keep myself safe so that I can continue to care for her.  She is free to do whatever she can no matter the risk. 

Nobody said life is fair.  If it was fair, she wouldn’t have to deal with the ravages of the Parkinson’s in the first place.  It is not fair, it just is.

If you want to write a comment about this or any of the posts on this blog, look to the column on the right side of this page, titled “Recent Posts,”  click on the name of a post and you will find a box at the end of that article in which you can write a comment.  Clicking on the title of the post you are reading will accomplish the same thing.  Comments are appreciated.

Should we go to the Neighborhood Brunch or shouldn’t we?  It took at least three days to get the decision made.  The way I finally figured out whether Mary Ann wanted to go or at least was willing to go, was by jumping up to help her when she got up from her chair and headed out to the kitchen.  She was looking for the recipe for the Blueberry French Toast that has always been a hit at the Brunch and wherever else we have taken it.  She finally signaled her wishes by her actions.  it was 5pm in the afternoon of the day before the Brunch.  We had only a few of the necessary ingredients in the house.

Getting decisions made is an unbelievably difficult challenge in our household.  We have regularly played the “What do you want to do?” game.  We almost always played that game when it was time to go out to eat. It is a miracle that we ever actually got to a restaurant and ate.  The process of deciding where to eat always went the same way unless some external circumstances led both of us to the same idea immediately.  If it was time to eat and we happened to be near Bobo’s Diner, the decision was easy – still is.  The vast majority of times it went this way, I began listing every restaurant that I could think of until I named one that brought to Mary Ann’s mind a particular menu item for which she was in the mood. Sometimes that went on so long I started heading home out of frustration.

Some things have changed as the disease process has taken its toll on Mary Ann.  The Parkinson’s has softened her voice and slowed the mental process, making it difficult to respond to questions.  The Parkinson’s Disease Dementia (a Dementia with Lewy Bodies) has stolen even more decision-making ability.  Sometimes it is almost impossible for Mary Ann to get hold of what she is thinking.

Imagine trying to play the “What do you want to do?” game when the person being asked that question has absolutely no answer, no idea how to answer.  Please understand, that does not mean there has been any change in the wanting of certain things.   It is just next to impossible for them to locate that want, name it, and get the words out of their mouth.

As with most of us who are doing full time caregiving, much of the time I can read Mary Ann like a book.  I may very well have enabled her lack of responsiveness by figuring out what she wants without her having to say anything out loud.  We have been at this relationship for well over four decades.  I can usually figure out what she wants by analyzing the circumstances at a given moment and remembering what she has wanted a thousand other times in those circumstances.

Making a decision on anything other than routine matters where circumstances can easily be read is often a protracted and painful process.  I asked about the Neighborhood Brunch occasionally for a couple of weeks.  There was no reply, nor were there any non-verbals that gave a clue as to her wishes.

I suppose the question could be asked of me, why bother to include Mary Ann in the choosing.  Why not just make the decision and go with it.  For one thing, that is not how I function. Ask those poor folks who worked with me in a Team Ministry.  Being inclusive of everyone in the process of making a decision at work often makes for a better decsion and more likelihood that all the participants will be on board when it comes time to act on the decision.  On the other side of it, I know there were times when we processed things too long and everyone wished as the Senior Pastor, I would just make the decision so that everyone could get on with doing what we were talking about.  As I often admitted, I just wanted to work it out so that I wouldn’t get the blame if the decision turned out to be flawed.

Why include Mary Ann in the decision-making?  She deserves to have something to say about her own life.  Because of the Parkinson’s and the cluster of additional health issues, she has had stolen from her any shred of control of her own life.  She has always been strong-willed, so running roughshod over her wishes would not work.  She would figure out a way to stand up for herself, even if she might take a passive-aggressive approach.

I work very hard at trying to give her the chance to decide what we will do.  I usually try to guess what she wants and then frame the question about what to do by saying “would you like to [insert what I have guessed she wants to do].”  I often have to follow it with “just say yes or no?”

As the Satuday of the Brunch got closer, I became more specific about the options.  If we went to the Brunch it would mean having the hassle of making the Blueberry French Toast, but then we would have the valuable social interaction.  I probably said it in a way that would have revealed to the attentive that I was not much interested in the task of making the BFT.  For the last two days before, I tried the “do you want to go, yes or no?” approach a number of times.  There was no response, nor where there any non-verbals I could read.

By Friday afternoon, I was specific that if we were going to go, we would need to go to the store soon.  The recipe demands that the BFT sit overnight before baking.  Still there was no response.  I don’t remember how long after that attempt at getting a response she got up with that restlessness that indicates there is something she intends to do other than the usual.  It only took me seconds to put two and two together.  She was looking for the recipe.  We were going.

I have to admit that there is a part of me that resents that she had not given any indication sooner and that her decision meant I would need to get us to the store, come home, make the Blueberry French Toast while trying to include Mary Ann in the process of making it (harder than doing it myself).  I dreaded the fact that I would need to get up at least two hours earlier than usual to get myself cleaned up, get the dish out of the fridge to stand for thirty minutes, cook it covered for thirty minutes, uncovered for another thirty minutes, make the blueberry sauce that needed to be cooked just the right length so that it could be poured over the casserole just before serving it.  During that same time Mary Ann needed to be aroused, dressed and fed so that we could make it to the Brunch on time.

When all was said and done, the Brunch went well, the Blueberry French Toast was a hit (the huge pan came home completely empty) and we enjoyed the morning.

Making decisions is terribly difficult to do, but Mary Ann deserves to be a part of them.  As frustrating as the process can be, it is important that Caregivers and Care-receivers make decisions together.

If you want to write a comment about this or any of the posts on this blog, look to the column on the right side of this page, titled “Recent Posts,”  click on the name of a post and you will find a box at the end of that article in which you can write a comment.  Clicking on the title of the post you are reading will accomplish the same thing.  Comments are appreciated.

Added bonus:
BLUEBERRY FRENCH TOAST

12 slices white bread
2 8oz. cream cheese
l c blueberries / 12 eggs /2 c. milk
1/3 c. maple syrup

Sauce: l c. sugar l c. water
2 T cornstarch l c. blueberries
l T butter

Cut bread into l inch pieces. PLACE 1/2 in buttered 13 x 9 baking dish. Cut cream cheese into l inch cubes. Place over bread. Top with berries and rest of bread. Beat eggs. Add milk and syrup. Pour over bread mixture and chill overnight. Remove from fridge 30 minutes before baking. Cover and bake at 350 for 30 minutes.. UNCOVER and
bake for 30 minutes or until set.
SAUCE: in a saucepan combine sugar, butter, and cornstarch add water. BOIL for 3 minutes over med. heat stirring constantly. STIR IN BERRIES and reduce heat. Simmer for 8-10 minutes. Pour over French toast before serving

Mary Ann Tremain
Faith Lutheran Cookbook 6/25/02

I can’t remember the last time I laughed like that.  I just couldn’t control it.  My stomach hurt I was laughing so hard.  Yes, it was at Mary Ann’s expense, but I just couldn’t stop, and she finally started laughing too.

Yesterday, I started adjusting the sheet and bedspread on her bed while she was standing next to me.  Her question was almost matter-of-fact.  Did I find the squirrel foot?

She has had hallucinations often in recent months.  There have been rats and mice in her bed.  Some have bitten her.  She has seen the Thursday people, the man and woman and their two children.  In the past she has seen a cat, other people, a bird sitting on the window, strings and threads almost constantly.  She has tried to pick up things from the carpet, things that were not there.  She has seen bugs in her food and other bits and pieces of foreign matter.

“Did you find the squirrel foot?”  The question didn’t just tickle it, it set it off my funny bone like the fuse on a fire cracker.  I burst into laughter.  At first, Mary Ann did not at all think it was funny.  After a while, she started laughing at me laughing.  Then, even though the hallucination had been real for her, probably the night before, finally, she was laughing together with me at the thought of there being a squirrel foot in the bed.

It was good to laugh.  It was good for both of us.  It is interesting that a sort of relaxed warmth and affection seemed to surface after our bout of laughter.  I really don’t remember the last time we laughed like that.  Laughter doesn’t come so easily these days.

I don’t know if it is just me, or if it is common to other Caregivers.  My sense of humor seems not to be working so well any more.  I have often taken myself too seriously, but I have also enjoyed kidding around with folks.  Since I am, as they say, vertically challenged, I have endured a lot of smart-aleck comments.  My defense mechanism of choice has been to beat people to the punch and make a joke about my height before they had a chance to do it.

In earlier years, it was all great fun.  Now, I find myself moving too quickly to feeling put down or belittled when I am the object of what would have in the past seemed to be just good fun.

When someone is being light-hearted and silly, the weight of twenty-two years of battling Parkinson’s,  the daily struggles that come with that battle, sometimes steal from me the capacity to just let go and laugh.

Often when ministering to someone who had lost a loved one a couple of weeks earlier, I would observe out loud to them how hard it is to deal with people around them just going on with their normal lives, conversing with one another about trivial things as if nothing had happened, while their world was in a shambles.

Full time Caregivers who are completely immersed in the task sometimes find it hard to let go of the struggle and relax, have fun, be silly.  The Caregiving task seems to expand and fill every corner of their world, leaving little room for the trivial.

It is easy to turn into a Grump.  I have come to do grumpy pretty well.  Even so, we have our moments.  Sometimes muscles that seem to have atrophied, the silly muscles, are revived by something unexpected.   At the risk of being indelicate, we have waged war on constipation for decades.  When there is some especially normal and plentiful activity (if you catch my drift), I can’t help but celebrate with a hearty “Good Job!!!”   I laugh, even if Mary Ann doesn’t.  Who would have thought such a thing could bring such joy.  Dr. Oz would be proud!  (By the way, the first person who reveals to my lovely wife that I mentioned this in my blog, will wake up the next morning with a squirrel foot in his/her bed.)

Gratefully, twenty-two years of Parkinson’s and a couple of years of mild and periodic dementia have still not stolen Mary Ann’s wicked sense of humor.  She has a knack for surprising people with an often softly spoken zinger.

I am not really sure why, but recently, the load has seemed a little lighter, even though there has not really been any change in its contents.  It seems a little easier to relax and be sort of normal, at least our version of normal.

Maybe there is still hope for the return of a sense of humor that has seemed to wander off.  Who would have thought that the search for a squirrel foot in Mary Ann’s bed could have such power!

If you want to write a comment about this or any of the posts on this blog, look to the column on the right side of this page, titled “Recent Posts,”  click on the name of a post and you will find a box at the end of that article in which you can write a comment.  Clicking on the title of the post you are reading will accomplish the same thing.  Comments are appreciated.

He was a pleasant fellow, who came to our home and snapped lots and lots of pictures judging from the rapidity of the clicking sound his camera made.  He is a photographer for the Capitol-Journal Newspaper (http://cjonline.com), one of two photographers left.  There were seven when he started.  He is a young man (at least from my sixty-six year old perspective).  It could not have been very many years ago when he began his career there.

While I certainly cannot be sure that it will actually happen, my understanding is that the article should be in this Saturday’s issue.  The article was written by Linda, who has known us and our situation for many years.  Linda works in the office of the church I served for more than a dozen years.  She just graduated from college after a long hiatus to raise a family.  In graduating from college, she has realized a goal that has been with her for much of her adult life.

The article intends to look at the Caregiving role with an eye toward how meaningful it can be for the one doing the caregiving.   The pictures showed us in our normal mode, sitting at the table, then moving to the spot by the television.  Mary Ann looked very nice. Zandra, our bath aid, did a nice job helping her get ready.  One or our Volunteers was here at the time.  Whenever Cynthia comes, the ironing board and iron come out.  What a Gem she is!  It was a busy day.  Kristie, whom we pay to give the place a good cleaning once a month, was here, spreading that wonderful clean smell throughout the house.  Clarene came to stay with Mary Ann for a couple of hours in the afternoon.  Young came over for a while (bringing some Coldstone Creamery mix of chocolate ice cream and pecans).  Young and I worked on planning a special worship service. During that time, Ann came over to visit Mary Ann.  The morning had begun with Paul and Shari to the house for our weekly two hour Spiritual Formation that meets on our back deck.  Attendance was down by two.  Eva came to stay with Mary Ann during the group meeting.

Most days it is just Mary Ann and me.  Today there was a veritable explosion of activity.  It was a great day.  It was a very public day.  What a contrast to the early years, just after Mary Ann was diagnosed with Parkinson’s Disease.

For the first five years after diagnosis, Mary Ann would not permit any mention of the disease to anyone outside of our children.  Neither her Mom nor my parents were told about it.  Her Dad died just two weeks after our wedding.  Mary Ann has always been an extremely private person.  She didn’t want people looking for signs of the disease.  She did not want people relating to her as a sick person, just as a person. She did not want pity, nor did she want others talking about it when she didn’t want to talk about it.  It was her business.

She did allow me to tell a couple of folks so that I would have someone to talk with about what I was going through as we tried to incorporate the disease into our reality.  I was very grateful for that gift.  I process things verbally.  I needed an outlet.  On the contrary, she needed not to talk with others about it.

After five years, the symptoms and side effects of medications made it obvious that something was wrong.  It was about seventeen years ago.  I remember vividly sitting at an outside table at a beer garden in Gruene, Texas.  Mary Ann was resting back at the condominium.  She had given me permission to tell our closest circle of friends (three other couples) with whom we were vacationing.  Of course they knew something was wrong, but they appreciated knowing what it was.

This has never been an easy road, but it was much easier for me when the news was finally out.  It had been so difficult to pretend nothing was wrong when it was such a huge presence in our lives.  Finally I could share it with my parents and siblings and friends and parishioners.  I have little doubt that it was easier also on our children to have it out in the open.

With the information no longer hidden, people could more openly offer their help.  Mary Ann’s co-workers could be more openly supportive of her.  I didn’t have to make excuses any longer when we could not attend activities.  At that point Mary Ann was working full time to help get the kids through college.  She was exhausted at the end of the day and needed weekends to recuperate.

When we moved here, the Parkinson’s was public knowledge.  As the disease progressed and the side effects of the meds increased, help became a necessity.  Without it, I could not have continued to earn a living.  The cost of full time care for Mary Ann while I continued to work would have come to close to my entire salary.  For me to stop working would have eliminated any income on which to live.  It was at that point that members of the congregation came to our rescue.  Margaret set it in motion.  Mary Ann has called them her angels.  If they were her angels, Carol was the archangel.  For at least six years, Carol single-handedly scheduled up to sixty-five different Volunteers, using a spiral bound pad of ruled sheets.  She scheduled evenings and weekends and weekdays, overnights.  There were people who did every imaginable task. The last two years before I retired, three people, our daughter, Lisa, Mary and Edie used the website http://www.lotsahelpinghands.com to manage the Volunteers.  Now that I am retired and doing full time care, Mary is still scheduling a few folks who continue to come so that Mary Ann and I can have periodic breaks from one another.

When the Volunteers come to the door, we might be in a situation that does not allow either of us to come to the door.  They all know, that if we do not come to the door, they should just come on in.

Understand just how dramatic the transformation has been in our household. We have changed from a completely private household with a very private person, both of us keeping a huge secret, to a very public place in which walk-ins are welcomed.

Mary Ann and I have grown in the process.  We have marveled at the generosity that has come our way now that the secret is out.  In spite of the constant stream of news to the contrary from the media, we have been surrounded by very good people, who will do almost anything to help when they see a need.

What used to be secret will, apparently, be in the newspaper this Saturday.  A few months ago, I was invited to do a live hour long interview on the radio by phone with Starr and Bob Calo-oy who do a weekly radio show in San Antonio, Texas.  The show is called Caregiving 101.  I am writing this blog, posting almost daily on the various experiences we are having as we deal with the presence of Parkinson’s in our household, taking a toll on Mary Ann as it progresses.

What was private is now public.  As the Baby-Boomers come along behind us (we are a few years ahead of the bulge), more and more will be impacted by chronic and progressive illnesses.  More and more people will need care and will become Caregivers.  For most of us, it just folds into our lives without invitation.

The public forum allows us to talk and listen and learn so that no one has to do this alone.  The time for secrets is over.  Good people want to help.  Go public.

If you want to write a comment about this or any of the posts on this blog, look to the column on the right side of this page, titled “Recent Posts,”  click on the name of a post and you will find a box at the end of that article in which you can write a comment.  Clicking on the title of the post you are reading will accomplish the same thing.  Comments are appreciated.

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