August 5, 2009

Caregiver Walking the Line

Posted by PeterT under Daily Challenges, Family, Meaningful Caregiving, Practical Tools for Coping, Relationship Issues | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , |
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Nine and a half hours each way, took me to the family reunion in Northern Illinois and back — one day driving, one day there, one day driving back.  There have been consequences to so much time driving.  I went by myself.  As the Reunion approached, Mary Ann’s increase in frequency and intensity of fainting spells made it seem pretty foolish to try to make a trip to Northern Illinois for the Reunion, then to Kentucky to spend time with the kids there, then back home to Kansas. 

Recognizing how much I wanted to see the family, Daughter Lisa and her family offered to come here and stay with Mary Ann while I drove to the Reunion.  They had a good time.  Son Micah and family came over to join them all at our house.  They had a mini-reunion of their own.  I missed out on it, but Mary Ann was the center of attention for the weekend — a wonderful treat for her.   

Actually she did very well.  Lisa reported that the nights went well.  The night I returned did not go so well.  When I said something about her behaving better at night for Lisa than for me, she simply observed that she knew me longer than Lisa.  She hasn’t lost her dry sense of humor. 

The time in Northern Illinios was well spent.  I arrived just in time for the Friday evening dinner celebrating two siblings and spouses’ fiftieth wedding anniversaries.  We noted that at this point the five siblings have logged 246 years of marriage between them (56, 50, 50, 4 7 and 43).  Add the years our parents were married (59) and the total grows to 305 years for six couples.  As one of the Sons-in-Law noted, that is a pretty good model for those who follow. 

In an album one sibling’s Daughter put together was a picture from our parent’s fiftieth wedding anniversary many years ago.  They were married in 1926.  I remember when looking at that picture of the whole family the first time I saw it in 1976.  Even though by then I was thirty-three years old (married with two children), it was the first time I realized that I was part of an extended family.  I am the youngest sibling by almost seven years.  I felt like an only child.  When I saw that picture, my whole perspective changed.  I became part of a family. 

We enjoyed our time together exchanging the same old family stories, laughing as if it was the first time we had heard them.   Saturday included another, less formal gathering and meal.  There was lots to be discovered about nieces and nephews, great nieces and nephews, great-grand nieces and nephews. 

Saturday also included time with one of Mary Ann’s Sisters-in-Law, renewing the connection with her family.   I would assess Mary Ann to be favorite Aunt Mary in that clan.  Two of her brothers are deceased and the third is estranged.  She has always felt close to her nieces and nephews. 

Later in the day, I got to spend time with one of Mary Ann’s lifelong friends and her husband.  Mary Ann is part of a foursome who became friends around the time they were in the Fifth Grade.  They have been fast friends since.  I, too, consider them (and spouses) to be friends.  However, when the four of them get-together, I head for the hills.  They immediately become four teen-aged girls, laughing uproariously. 

Everyone missed seeing Mary Ann, and I was disappointed for Mary Ann that she didn’t get to be there.  

When I returned Sunday evening, I was very tired, but basically fine.  As the day wore on yesterday (Monday), the consequence of all that driving emerged.  Apparently, some inflammation in my back was pushed over the edge by my return to the routine of assisting Mary Ann getting up and down. 

The pain is located right at the point that seems to serve as the fulcrum for my leveraging her up and down from a sitting position.  I do that many dozens of times in a day.  The level of pain reached a seven or eight on the ten point scale usually used by those assessing pain. 

The pain is problem enough.  What is more troublesome is the prospect of its not getting better, but rather getting worse, since Mary Ann’s need for my help does not diminish as my ability to help lessens. 

At the moment we are walking the line between being able to manage here and not being able to manage here.  Yesterday afternoon, without an appointment, I finally just stopped by the Chiropractor I go to when bone and joint pains come.  I prefer manipulation that targets the pain, to medications that impact the whole body systemically.  I am not averse to pain medications.  I just recognize their limitations and their side effects. 

Ice packs, Ibuprofen, and a second trip to the Chiropractor has brought the level of the pain down from its peak yesterday and this morning.   I have moved more slowly and carefully when helping Mary Ann  up and down, asking her to do more of the work in the process.  I have toyed with the idea of trying to call the church to see if I could get an older female teen or young adult who has pretty good upper body strength to work here at the house for a few hours each of the next couple of days at maybe $10 per hour, just to do the lifting part of the Caregiving task. 

My goal is to move away from the line we are now walking.  The other side of the that line appears to be far less workable than this side of the line.  In fact, it looks pretty frightening.   At the moment, we are in a precarious position, right on the line between doable and not doable.   

My impression is that the pain is lessening and healing is on its way.  Whether that impression will become a reality remains to be seen.  As always, we take one step at a time. 

I certainly celebrate a very comforting and positive relationship with my Brothers and Sisters and their Progeny.  The relationship with Mary Ann’s Sisters-in-Law and their families is also very meaningful.  The connection with Mary Ann’s “girlfriends” is one that is filled with love and laughter.  It is hard to feel down with so many good people who care and about whom we care.

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.

 

July 30, 2009

What is it like for Her?

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Below is a link that may need to be cut and pasted into your browser to open.  If you are caring for a Loved One with dementia of any sort, I suspect you will find it both poignant and painful — at least I did.

http://d.yimg.com/kq/groups/7465654/785021372/name/What%20is%20That.wmv

One of those on the Lewy Body Dementia spouse Caregivers’ online group reported that her Loved One asked their adult daughter,  “I don’t know what’s wrong with me or what is going on, will I ever get better?”  She wondered what she could say to him. 

Another of the members of the group who is caring for his wife and has the gifts of perception and writing replied to that post.  I asked his permission to share his words in this post before I included them here.   This was his reply:

“[My wife] asked the same question several years ago, with the same answer and result…
 
…Their entire world around them is shattering, but somehow, they see themselves as a calm center in a whirlwind… that is why it is so hard for them to realize it is them that is having the problem and not the world around them…Think about it, what would be your reaction if things you saw, people told you  were not there…people tell you that you are doing things that you don’t remember…people and places from the past appear again..even though you “know” that they cannot be???, but there they are…you just want to get away from it all…people tell you what to do, when to do it and want you to be the same as before, but you can hardly see why…..Oh, I just feel so bad for our LO’s..and I am gradually learning even after +6 yrs of this that …oh hell, I’m just as lost as ever..maybe just foolin’ myself that I know anything about anything…”
Of all people, this Caregiver Spouse, knows very much about caring lovingly and gently in the face of whatever comes.  All of us in the group have great respect for his wisdom and insight.
One of the members of the group struggles with what the doctor suggests is more about control than it is a symptom of the disease.  Her Loved One shuts his eyes sometimes when being urged to move along and cooperate.   Is that a passive-aggressive way to exercise some control in the situation, or is it just an involuntary act triggered by some misfiring neurons due to the disease?
I cannot even imagine that there is a Caregiver out there who has not wondered if some action or inaction, some slowing down of movement, some lack of verbal response is the result of the disease process or a product of a strong will refusing to cooperate. 
Mary Ann lives in a world in which, for the most part, I have control of what she does and doesn’t do and when she does it.  The style of our relationship has always been and continues to be one in which I work very hard at determining what she wants.  I think it is fair to say that I also try to find some way to fulfill that want if it is physically possible to do so.  Now, lest I sound wonderfully accommodating, I often either use far too many words along with some attitude to tell her why it isn’t possible, or I do it begrudgingly and then grump about it.  So much for sainthood!
When I watched that short video that is referenced at the beginning of this post, when I read the online post quoted above, I was reminded of just how difficult it is to be in Mary Ann’s position or that of any of our Loved Ones who have to depend on a  Caregiver.  Mary Ann is a strong-willed, independent person.  Actually, they can be pretty annoying character traits to a spouse.  Since I have at least as many annoying traits, we have actually done very well together.  She has always had a bit of a chip on her shoulder, not about to be pushed around by anyone.  Now she has to be pushed around in a wheel chair by me.  
What must it be like for her to have someone watching her every minute, jumping up and running to accompany her to wherever it is she is intending to go, suffering the indignity of having someone else clean her bottom?  What is it like to have someone telling her that she cannot use the knives and hot stove, that she cannot go down to the basement to look for something?  I can imagine that she just wants to scream, back off and give me some space.  “I’ll tell you if I think I need you.”
Then there is the frustration of not being able to follow every question asked of her and formulate an answer based on what she wants or needs.  The book “Life in the Balance” by Dr. Thomas Graboys was an eye-opener for me as he wrote how hard for him it was to try to interact verbally.  His Parkinson’s and the Dementia were impacting his ability to process information, form thoughts, put them into words in his mind and then, finally, actually get the words out loudly enough to be heard and understood.  By the time he accomplished all that, the conversations would have moved on to the next subject.
For those of us who are Caregivers, especially full time Caregivers, it is often very difficult to differentiate between willful resistance to our attempts to get cooperation and the progression of the disease process in our Loved One.  Whichever it is, putting their shoes on for a moment can help us gain some perspective and understanding.  Maybe by doing so we can lower our frustration level just a bit  and find some more patience as we say for the twenty-first time, “It’s a sparrow.”
 

July 26, 2009

Are we being too cautious?

Posted by PeterT under Daily Challenges, Meaningful Caregiving, Practical Tools for Coping, Sources of Strength, Therapeutic Activities | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , |
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This morning I had a chance to go up to favorite spot I like to visit when there is a Sunday morning Volunteer.  (By the way, those who worry that we might not be getting to church, we attend the evening service on Sundays.)  I relish the chance for a little time to do some meditative reading, have some quiet time, and soak in the scenery and the wildlife, especially the birds.  I walked along the edge of a marsh below the dam, as I often do when I head up to the lake.  There are some Red-Winged Blackbirds that send out alarms and do fly-overs every time I take that path.  I am not sure what they think I am going to do, but they are determined that whatever it is, I don’t do it.

Something I wrote in my post yesterday came to mind as I spent the time away this morning.  Yesterday, I listed some of the things that I am not doing, options I have given up on for the moment, as we are living the life we have at the moment.  As I thought about that, I began to wonder if in the course of letting go of those options, I am also cutting back too much on what Mary Ann and I try to do to add interest to our lives.

While I have posted often with attitude, attitude that left the impression we will tackle anything, the truth is, I am often reluctant to push the envelop of our apparent limitations.

The disincentives that come with going out of the house to do much of anything seem pretty powerful.  I am afraid that sometimes I give those disincentives more power than they deserve.  It is so much easier to just go with the flow and do as little as possible that challenges us than it is to do the work of getting out.  I have to admit to just plain laziness.

Sometimes Mary Ann doesn’t want to tackle going out and needs for me to be more assertive.  Sometimes Mary Ann seems oblivious to the all the challenges and wants to go and do something, but I am the one that thinks of all the reasons not to do it. Sometimes it is just a matter of being tired because we have had a rough night, as in the night before last.

I don’t want Mary Ann to miss out on activities we are still able to do that may no longer be possible for us to do in the not too distant future.  At the same time, we both have to accept that one of the consequences of the Parkinon’s presence in our lives is that I need to do more of the work for both of us when we go out and participate in activities.  We cannot void those consequences and live the life we might have had if the Parkinson’s had not joined us.

Just as I have to accept what I need to do for Mary Ann to have a decent quality of life, Mary Ann has to accept that I have limited stamina and, frankly, have a lazy streak in me.  Not only do we need to live the life we have, not the one we wish we had, but we have to accept the spouse we have, not the one we would like him/her to be.   Otherwise we will always be disappointed with one another.

I won’t presume to speak for Mary Ann, but I have the spouse I want.  I accept and embrace all that comes with our life together.  In spite of the presence of the Parkinson’s in our lives, I want Mary Ann to have the best quality of life she can have.  I need to be careful not to be too cautious so that we do have the most fulfilling life we can given our circumstances.  At the same time, we need to accept each other’s limitations and imperfections, and not spend our time upset about what we are missing.  Our time is too precious to waste on regrets.

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.

 

July 25, 2009

We Can only Live the Life We Have.

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For those following Mary Ann’s battle with fainting, while I had hope that the higher dose of the medicine that raises her blood pressure to reduce the problem was working, it hasn’t done so well yet.  The fainting continued yesterday.  Today, there was very little fainting.   We will take this a day at a time, and hope that the medicine begins to improve the quality of life.

Speaking of life, there have been a number of interactions on the Lewy Body Dementia spouses online group about quality of life issues.  There are so many brave souls there who have been caring for spouses much more challenging than Mary Ann.

In a post on that group’s site, I mentioned that I had re-framed my life so that I now understand my job to be the care of Mary Ann.  I don’t mean that in a way that makes any less of our being husband and wife.  It is a way for me to think about the tasks I do that gives them meaning and purpose, rather than seeing those tasks as an interference with my life.

There were a number of responses from folks that seemed to struggle with that idea.  They also commit themselves to caring for their Loved One.  Some do better with that care by thinking about the life they hope to lead after their Loved One is gone.  That provides hope that gets them through the tough time.

There were some who observed that whatever our reasons for doing what we are doing in caring for those with a Lewy Body Dementia, we will finally in the end, lose.  This journey will end badly.  In that group we all give one another permission to share our frustrations openly without judgment.  We need a place to do that, especially those who are in the most difficult times in the progression of the disease.

With that said, no matter how devastating and hopeless the situation is, it is, finally, the life we have.  What will or will not be so at some unknown future time, while it can provide some sort of light at the end of the tunnel, is not yet the life we are living.  It may or may not come to be so, but it is not so now.  We are left to try to figure out how to do the best we can with what is so right now.

My intention is to use every resource at our disposal, to fill our lives with meaning and satisfaction.  I am not willing to let meaningful living wait until some future time that may or may not come.

Whether it is a good or bad approach to life, there are lots of things I might have liked to do that I have let go of as options.  They may never be options.  I can feel sad about that, mad about that, fight the unfairness of it all.   In fact I may need to give myself permission to have all those feelings.  Finally, for me, there is neither the time nor the energy to give now to things that may or may not come.  The life we have right now needs our full attention.

Most of the things I am not now doing, singing, traveling, going on spiritual formation retreats, going on bird watching outings, doing part time ministry, volunteering, attending music events, all offer lots of possibilities for entertaining, satisfying experiences.  They are not, however, in and of themselves, the means for bringing fulfillment into my life.  The are the context in which meaning can be found.  Meaning is what we do with the life we have, how we view it, what we take from the context.  Obviously some contexts are harder to live through, than others, some have more pain included, some take more effort to find the meaning, but the life we are living is the one we have.  If there will be meaning and purpose, it needs to be found in that life, not the one we wish we had.

In the sense that it is a certainty that sooner or later death will come, yes, the journey will end badly.  In that same sense, it is true for all of us.  Eventually, we will die, so will those we love.  Today I preached at the funeral of a friend who died at the age of 93, after living a life filled with obstacles to overcome, a life filled with wonderful, poignant, entertaining stories.  Life does end in death.  That is just the way it is.

No matter what our circumstances that end is still awaiting.  Either we accept it and live meaningfully in spite of it, or we allow the fear of death to overwhelm us and steal the joy from the moment we are in.

We happen to have a perspective on life that allows that there is something more than meets the eye.  We understand there to be a Someone with whom we are in relationship, a Someone who provides love and security not bound by finite limis.

With that perspective, we can concentrate on living the life we have as it comes day by day without despair if is doesn’t happen to be the life we would have chosen.

We would not have chosen the life we have, but it is our life.  Each day brings with it challenges, joys, sorrows, relationship struggles and satisfactions, and the opportunity for finding meaning in what we are doing.  Again, it may not be the life we would have chosen, but it is the one we have, the one we will live to the fullest.

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.

 

July 23, 2009

Living on the Edge

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There has been almost no fainting today, but at what price? 

It appears that the increase in Midodrine, a medication that raises the baseline blood pressure, has moved Mary Ann back over the threshold to the ability to stand up and walk without fainting due to a sudden drop in her blood pressure. 

Earlier today, our Cardiologist had Mary Ann come in to have a Holter Monitor hooked up to a number of leads that had been put on her.   If I understand correctly, the monitor is a miniature EKG recorder (Electrocardiogram).  The pattern of Mary Ann’s heart activity is recorded for that twenty-four hours.  We have a log on which we are to record the time of and describe any symptoms, in her case any fainting episodes (Syncope).  The Cardiologist will be looking for any irregularities in her heart beat during the symptoms.  Mary Ann has had this test two other times in the last three years.  If I remember correctly what the Doctor said, there were no irregularities those two times. 

One of the results of the timing of the increase in the dosage of the medicine is that it is working well enough to all but remove the episodes that are to be monitored. 

Here is why the title of this post is “Living on the Edge.”  I asked the Tech today if he would check Mary Ann’s blood pressure since the increased dosage of the Midodrine might be raising it too high.   In fact, I asked if he would first take it while she was lying down.  He did so.  It measured 240/110.  He had a look on his face that was mild shock.  I asked him if he would take it with her sitting up.  He did so.  It measured 248/118.  I was a little surprised since I thought it would lower some.  Then I asked him to take it after she had been standing for a few moments.  He did so.  It measured 140/70. 

The Tech was pretty surprised by the rapid change.  He said that in his twenty year career as an EMT and Clinic Tech, he had never seen anything like it before.  We feel so special!! 

Apparently, Mary Ann’s blood pressure needs to be kept far too high to keep it from going far too low.  When I measured two days ago it was 165/85 when she was sitting down, but when she stood up for a few moments, she fainted and was out cold for many minutes. 

The high blood pressure has weakened her heart and diminished her kidney function significantly.  Gratefully we have much more kidney capacity than we need, so she is not yet in serious danger because of the diminished kidney functioning.  As the Nephrologist said, she is likely to die with that problem, not from it. 

I guess for some, living on the edge makes life exciting.  I am here to say that Mary Ann and I would gladly accept a less exciting life!

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.

 

July 20, 2009

Caregiver and Spouse’s Daughter Responds

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I asked our two adult children to respond to some suggested questions to provide their perspective on our situation and to share their feelings about the journey they have been on with us.  Two evenings ago I posted our Son, Micah’s response. 

Tonight’s post includes the response of our daughter, Lisa.  Lisa just turned 40 years old on the Fourth of July.  I remember holding her as the first steps were taken on the moon.  I realized she would never know a time before what seemed to be an event that would change the world for all time.  As it turned out, the change was not so dramatic.  By now I thought there might be regular shuttles to one of the colonies on the moon. 

Lisa is married to Denis (yes, with one “n”).  Their two daughters are Abigail (turning 7 this November) and Ashlyn (turning 5 in August).  About three and a half years ago, Denis suggested to Lisa that they pull up stakes and move from ten hours away to the town in which we live so that they could help us out for the last two years before I could retire.  They did just that.  They have been back in Kentucky for about a year now.  Needless to say, we miss them very much. 

Here is what Lisa wrote:

I had a dream a few nights ago that my Dad was preaching back at our old church in Kansas City. Mom and I were sitting together and some sort of disruption happened outside the sanctuary; I can’t remember exactly what it was. Mom and I rushed to the scene and worked together to solve the crisis. What sticks with me about the dream is that it was Mom before Parkinsons. She and I were together taking care of things, moving quickly, taking charge, making decisions.

It’s been a long time since I have thought about the Mom that could have been. I’ll admit to feeling some envy when my friends talk about their moms who are babysitting grandkids or lunching & shopping together. I do wish we had been able to have those experiences. Even more than that, I wish that my daughters had the opportunity to know the real person inside. Her fun personality and sharp wit are mostly obscured for them, and even for my husband, who has known her 10 years now. That being said, I still have glimpses of her true self from time to time. One visit last fall, Mom & I enjoyed some cinnamon rolls for breakfast. She was pleasant but relatively quiet. After the meal, she needed a bathroom stop. When she reached for the toilet paper, we noticed that I had forgotten to wipe the sticky cinnamon roll from her fingers. We decided it gave a whole new meaning to the phrase “cinnamon buns.” I haven’t laughed that hard in a long time.

 We moved to live near Mom & Dad for 2 years and it was a great experience. It was tiring and sometimes heartbreaking, but also very fulfilling. Being able to help Mom & Dad on a daily basis was invaluable to me because I really felt we were making a significant positive impact in their lives. I liked being available day to day, and in case of emergencies, especially those middle of the night kinds of emergencies. When I could tell Dad was exhausted, I liked being able to come and take care of Mom overnight, so he could get a good night’s sleep; or stay for a few days so he could take a respite trip.

I am glad Dad has been able to retire and be a full-time caregiver. I had a hard time imagining how they would be able to make that work, mostly due to Dad’s need to transition from such a busy work life, to being at home all the time. Although this is nothing like the retirement years I would have wished for them, I think it’s the best it can be given the circumstances. Dad is the best caregiver and advocate for Mom that she could possibly have.

As I read this response from Lisa, I especially appreciated the flashback to Mary Ann’s wicked sense of humor.  I suppose for all of us, losing the person who was without a doubt the center of our household has been the hardest part.  Mary Ann has always been a force to be reckoned with — not in an overbearing way, just by virtue of her personality and her presence.   If it has ever been true about anyone, it is true about Mary Ann — they broke the mold after she was made. 

As I said in the post two evenings ago, we have two remarkable children. Lisa has been a friend to her Mom even through the teen years.  Lisa’s laugh is contagious and Mary Ann could always manage to say or so something that set it off.  She has been a great support to me with her wisdom and her counsel and her concern.

Micah is the sparkle in his Mother’s eyes.  As I mentioned two nights ago, she lights up when he is around.  Micah is the one who was at the hospital when I finally broke down after a week of sleepless nights.  He just held me as I sobbed.  When he was with us during conversations with the doctors, his questions were insightful and probing, getting from the doctors just the information we needed. 

Yes, we have ended up with far better children than we deserved.  By the way, that is my observation only.  Whenever she heard me say that, Mary Ann would claim full responsibility for how well they came out. 

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.

 

July 19, 2009

Blood Pressure Controls seem Broken

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She sat on the bed,  fainted, and just slipped off on to the floor.  She had fainted moments before on the toilet stool.  I got her on to the bed, grateful for the physical strength that remains in this small in stature, 66 year old, pot-bellied frame. 

I finally just laid her down on the bed to nap.  It was her second nap of the day.   The third one came early in the evening.  We did manage to get out for pancakes during the mid-afternoon. 

As is obvious to those who read these posts, this story is getting to be an old one.  It is beginning to suggest that the Autonomic Nervous System is just unable to sustain her blood pressure consistently.  The muscles around her arteries just won’t respond as they should, at least as quickly as they should. 

We have increase the medicine that raises the blood pressure, but have to be cautious about that, since years of high blood pressure have already weakened her heart and kidneys.  The Cardiologist will get another call on Monday. 

The Cardiologist will want to know what her blood pressure has been running.  It is no small task to get a read on her blood pressure.  The battery operated blood pressure monitors are pretty much useless when trying to measure Mary Ann’s blood pressure.  More often than not, there is just an error message.  Either her BP is too high and cannot be measured, or the dyskinetic movements create noises in her body that confuse it. 

I have purchased a stethoscope and pressure band to take her blood pressure myself.  I can get the meter pressure high enough, but the variety of sounds have frustrated my ability to get a good reading.  At times I have been able to do it — not today.  Gratefully we have a parish nurse at our congregation.  She cares very much for Mary Ann and will come and help whenever we need her and it is possible for her to come.

I called Parish Nurse Margaret, who came over to take her blood pressure.  As always, she brought flowers from their flower garden and vegetables from their vegetable garden. 

She arived shortly after Mary Ann had taken her mid-day dose of the blood pressure raising medicine.  Sitting in her chair, her BP was 140/70.  Then we walked into the bedroom to test the effect of standing up and walking.  She sat on the bed and Margaret took it again.  Mary Ann was on the verge of a fainting spell.  Her BP was 108/78.  The lower number was higher than I expected, but she said that when the two numbers are too close to together it can cause the fainting.   

Then Mary Ann laid on the bed while her BP was taken.  That is when it is usually highest, since gravity is not pulling the blood to her feet.  I wanted to measure her BP at what would be likely to be its highest point.  Knowing that measurement would help provide the Cardiologist with the information needed to make a good decision on whether or not it would be safe to increase the medicine that raises her BP to keep her from fainting.  Lying down her BP was 142/100. 

After that Mary Ann moved into her transfer chair, and we moved to the living room.  Margaret took her BP two more times as we talked for a while.  Those readings were 140/80 and 150/8o.  By the way throughout the measurements there were no missed heart beats and her heart rate remained steady at 60 beats per minute. 

With all this information the question remains, is her Autonomic Nervous System’s ability to control her blood pressure simply broken, beyond correction, or can meds provide a return to the quality of life we had a few weeks ago.  A question that follows along beside that one is, will my physical strength be adequate to hold her up with one arm while she is fainting as I pull up clothes with the other hand after using the commode.  When will we pass the limits of my ability to handle her physically?

At the moment, I am still one tough cookie.  I can do it now.  That is all I know.  It is all I need to know.   I’ll deal with tomorrow when it arrives.    I have neither the time nor the energy to waste worrying about what it might bring. 

 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.

 

July 18, 2009

Caregiver and Spouse’s Son Responds

Posted by PeterT under Daily Challenges, Family, Meaningful Caregiving, Relationship Issues | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , |
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A while ago, I asked our Children, their Spouses and our Grandchildren if they would be willing to write something from their perspective on our situation.  What will come in this and other posts in the near future will be their responses to some questions I proposed.  Our Son, Micah will turn thirty-seven years old in a few weeks.  He is married to Rebecca.  Their daughter, more importantl, our Granddaughter, Chloe, is entering the Sixth Grade this fall.  Here are his responses.

How does it feel from your perspective to see your Mom and Dad’s situation?
I think it’s something that sneaks up on you. Since the changes have happened over such a long period, it’s only in the lowest dips of the rollercoaster when it seems most obvious how difficult things can be for you both. As I’ve read your blog and remembered with you the struggles of the past years, I realize how much has changed. But the passing of time seems to mask some of the changes and challenges, constantly (but subtly) shifting what “normal” is for you both. The hardest part for me is my fading memory of mother as an active, vibrant part of my life. A child’s view of their parents comes from that selfish “how does it affect me” perspective, so when I look back and try to remember the person who taught me how to throw, the person with whom I would cook – and joke! – I yearn to remember more of it, and mourn the loss of those disappearing memories. It’s selfish, to be sure, but I (like any child) want to continue to actively share my life, family, and experiences with both my parents, and I hate that the Parkinson’s and Dementia steals many of these opportunities away.

Stepping back a bit, when I see you both grow older, I worry for both your safety and your quality of life. Caregiving can’t be what either of you planned in your retirement dreams. I wish a wider world for both of you, knowing that your circumstances make for a very small world. I’m glad that you continually push the boundaries of travel and mobility, because they are luxuries you won’t always have. I hope you continue to push those boundaries even as they slowly constrict. You both choose to experience life – not just live it – in spite of your challanges. And while I hope for all these things, I worry about the consequences of living on the edge of safety and security. Having rushed out to Arizona when we thought mom was not going to make it, I can still say that I’m glad you both continue to be as active as you can. And I live in terror of the possibility of dad being unable to care for mom, and what the consequences would be for everyone – including mom. And I hope that there are enough people coming by the house often enough that if something bad ever happened, it wouldn’t be long before help was there (that’s kinda morbid, huh?).

How do you see your unique role in relating to it?
I work hard to treat mom as I always have, though I know it has become harder and harder to do so. The occasional caregiving is difficult for me since there is a palpable discomfort for mom and me when things like bathroom duty come up. I don’t know what it’s like for Lisa, but I know that mom apologizes any time I need to help her with personal issues. I don’t mind doing it at all, except for the emotional discomfort it causes. We soldier through it, and it’s a small price to pay for the quality time we get to spend together when I stay with her. So I guess I see my role as trying to treat her the same way I always have, in an effort to retain some normalcy in our relationship. Now that I write it out that way, it sounds like blantant denial. My intention is to maintain the lightheartedness we’ve always shared, in spite of the obviousness of her daily challenges. Asking her how she’s feeling, and cautiously assisting her and anticipating her needs feels like I’m giving more attention to the Parkinson’s than to her. While I know the two are inseparable, I guess there’s still a part of me that needs to treat mom like mom first, and like a Parkinson’s sufferer second. But I can also tell you that after re-reading this paragraph, it sure sounds like I have some issues to deal with 🙂
 

What would you tell other adult children whose parents are dealing with chronic illness?
Judging by my previous answer, I don’t know what I’m one to be giving any advice!

How do you see the situation impacting the Grandchildren?
I believe that the grandchildren are resilient and accepting – they don’t know grandma any other way than she has been. Chloe once drew a picture of the family, and it included grandma in a wheelchair. I was a bit taken back by it at first, but quickly realized that that was the norm for Chloe – it’s not good or bad, that’s just how grandma is to her. I wish all the girls could know her for her wry wit, her quilting, and her cooking. But I’m so glad that Lisa’s girls got the chance to be around her for the time they were in town with you both. They may not remember it well when they are older, but they still will have had the time.

After I read Micah’s response above, I responded to him that the way he relates to Mary Ann is exactly the way he should.  I see her eyes light up when he comes over to talk with her and kid with her.  He relates to Mary Ann, the sharp, engaging, smart-aleck Mom he has grown up with, not to the Parkinson’s.  It brings out the best in her. 
As any who read this blog today and in the days to come will see, we have remarkable Children, Children-in-law, and Grandchildren.  They turned out better than we deserve.  We are just very grateful we get to have them as our family. 
 

July 17, 2009

It ‘s Just an End Table!

Posted by PeterT under Daily Challenges, Meaningful Caregiving, Practical Tools for Coping, Relationship Issues, Therapeutic Activities | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , |
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It was a terrible sounding crash.  I had just gone into the kitchen to take my morning vitamins.  She had had breakfast and pills, was dressed, had been to the bathroom, was watching a television program she likes.  Normally, that is a safe time to walk out of the room for a moment.

Not this time!  It sounded horrible.  I ran out to see what happened.  She was not hurt.  That is the most important thing.  The table lamp was glass, gratefully, it had not shattered when it went flying.  Everything on the end table was spread out on the floor, the phone, a thick ceramic coaster was broken in half, a few other items that had been sitting on it were here and there.  The speaker on the stand next to the table had fallen to the floor.  None of it hurt her.

The end table itself was broken into pieces.  She wasn’t hurt.  That is the important thing.  It is just an end table.  Why did it upset me so??  People are more important than things.

It is odd that some things carry more symbolic significance than the thing or the event itself.  My Dad made the end table.  He was not much of a woodworker, but for at time after he retired he made a number of things out of some beautiful Black Walnut boards. There is a history that is embedded in that table.

My Dad grew up on a farm, but worked in an office his entire career.  Throughout my childhood, we went for rides looking for the perfect piece of property in the country to buy.  When I was eleven years old, he found it, twenty-six acres of woods and creek with a few tillable acres on the other side of the creek included.

One day when Mom and Dad were out there puttering, the weather changed.  They headed into a little seven by ten foot structure made of a few boards and some screens for staying out there on occasion.  When the storm ended, there were at least twenty full sized trees that had blown down, Oak, Ash and Black Walnut.  Three of them had fallen on three sides of that seven by ten, flimsy box they were in during the storm.

Those trees were cut into three-quarter inch thick boards and then dried at a local lumber yard.  The Oak and Ash trees became board and bat siding on the house they built to move into when Dad retired.  The Black Walnut boards provided paneling for the basement and end tables and book cases and lamps and candlesticks, a coffee table, and other items that reside in the homes of their children, the five of us, no longer children since now we range in age from 66 to 80 years old.

It is just an end table.  It’s demise is a reminder that nothing in the house is safe.  The fall itself is another reminder that we are out of control here.  I reacted with loud questions, “why didn’t you push the button?”  It sits right by her hand.  I come and help when that electronic doorbell sounds. She has been fainting numerous times a day in the last couple of weeks.  I have asked again and again and again that she push the button, that she let me help her when she is walking.

Seeing Mary Ann lying on the floor, seeing the broken table, a lamp that could have broken and cut her, carried with it the painful reminder of how close we are to not being able to sustain this here at the house.  I couldn’t stop it from happening.  She wasn’t hurt, the damage was not to her, just to material things.  I won’t tie her in the chair, but short of that, there is no way to stop her from putting herself and our fragile life here at risk multiple times a day.

A Volunteer came over shortly after this happened.  She has taken the table to friend who will look at it to determine if the pieces can be put back together in some form or another.  We will see.  Then I lunched with a friend who has finally had to move his wife to a nursing home because he could no longer do the very things we are trying to do here.  The challenges of sustaining that arrangement at the nursing home are also daunting.  It is difficult to find the boundary between being able to manage at home and needing to move to residential care.  It is analogous to the plight of the frog in the water on the stove, heating up until he boils, never realizing the danger until it is too late.

While I am physically able to care for Mary Ann here, I will do so.  The one dynamic that complicates that detemination to care for her here is the ability emotionally to do it.  I released some frustration by talking loudly about my feelings when I saw what happened.  Talking with a friend with similar circumstances helped.  Sitting for an hour in my beautiful spot on the hill, watching deer(among them twin fawns), listening to music, thinking, praying, all helped.  Thinking about and now writing this post helps.

As always, the hardest part of an event like this morning’s fall is handling the fact that I am not the sweet, thoughtful Caregiver who is always nurturing, helping without a word of complaint, the Caregiver I should be.  I shouldn’t give a rip about an end table.  She didn’t want to do it.  Later in the day she said, “I am sorry I broke the end table.”  It just happened.  I can’t blame her, but, just as she can’t keep from popping up to walk when at some level she knows she can’t do so without putting our current life at risk, I can’t keep from reacting in that first moment with frustration knowing that it didn’t have to happen.  I need not to pretend that I don’t have feelings of frustration and bury them in that pretense. Trying to do that really would make me crazy.

On the positive side, once its over, we just get on with whatever needs to be done.  My loud talking provides an immediate safety valve release of frustration.  We return to a loving relationship.  The glass lamp is now at the other end of the couch in a place she very rarely goes near.  There is a floor lamp taking its original place.  For the moment in place of my Dad’s table there is an end table that I made, a simple one that should be easy to repair if broken.  I will begin a search for something to put there that has no corners into which she could fall, something with room for the phone and a few items to reside.

It is just an end table, but at the same time it is a symbol of much more in our system of survival here, physically and emotionally.  The table is broken, we are not.

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.

 

July 15, 2009

Can Improvements be Stressful too?

Posted by PeterT under Daily Challenges, Meaningful Caregiving, Practical Tools for Coping, Sources of Strength | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , |
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It was disturbing to look directly at her face during a severe episode of fainting.  Her eyes were open but completely blank and empty of any indication of her presence.  She was fighting for air, breathing through her nose, making the ugly sounds that usually come when she goes out completely for a time.  I don’t suppose it was any worse than the worst we have experienced almost daily lately, but this is the first time her head was back so that I could see her face.  Mine was only inches away since I have to use my body to keep her from falling forward.  I guess every other time, her head has been down, so that I only could only see the top of her head or her forehead.  I always thought her eyes were closed during these episodes. 

I guess it was just an encounter with the full reality of what goes on when someone faints.  It is hard to watch her fighting so hard for air.  I am grateful that she never remembers the episodes. 

With that said, actually, today started out better than any in the last couple of weeks.  She had no fainting spells from the time she got up and had pills and breakfast, through getting dressed, and some intestinal activity that has almost always included or ended with fainting.  She did decide to lay down for the usual morning nap, but it was not precipitated by fainting as has been so most of the last days. 

The major fainting spell came after the nap.  There were some other episodes during the day, but not as intense as the first.  Somehow during these last two days  it has seemed as if we are on an upturn from where were heading through last Sunday. 

As you can tell from what I described at the beginning of this post, it is not much of an upturn if it is one.  Especially this morning before the severe episode of fainting, I was feeling as if Mary Ann was rallying.  She may still be doing so.  The thought of her rallying brought to mind something I have gone through with others and have experienced myself. 

As much as any of us who is caring for a Loved One with a chronic degenerative disease or a terminal disease wants our Loved One to improve rather than decline, there is an odd sort of emotional stress that comes with the improvement. 

What happens when there is a decline is that there is a sort of grieving that goes on.  There is a jouney through some or all of the stages of grief.  If the decline is severe and long enough, the Caregiver can make it all the way to acceptance. If the Loved One then rallies, it is sometimes hard to “unaccept” the decline. 

I have been coming to accept that we are in a new stage in the disease process maybe one that is leading closer to the inevitable conclusion sooner rather than later.  Since we have lived on this roller coaster for so many years, I do not simply let go and commit to anything about how permanent a particular change is or how far along we are in the progression of the disease.  It is still hard to let go of the feelings that start to grow in the gut and then realign with a new reality when things improve. 

At the moment, I am not sure how far the decline has taken Mary Ann, whether it is turning around, whether we are at a new normal, whether meds can bring her back to a former level and, if so, for how long. 

The truth is, we don’t actually need to know the answers to those questions.  We both just need to deal with whatever comes each day, making plans, fully aware that we may not be able to work the plans we have  made. 

On this roller coaster, it is scary when we are dropping down a steep decline in the ride, and it is a struggle to adjust when the ride turns us around takes us up out of that decline.    Gratefully on the upswing or downswing we feel secure in the spiritual grounding that sustains us.  It frees us to have all the complex emotions and fears, live with them and through them, without despair.  It is just our life.  The specifics may differ, but it is not unlike the lives of most of us.  There are ups and downs and in betweens.  It is just life. 

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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