Tag Archive | board and care

Another year, another holiday party

Today was the annual holiday luncheon at Mom’s care home. Yesterday I took her to get a haircut and roller set, Mom Headshot 12-9-17and the stylist did a really nice job. Mom looked lovely in her new sparkly green Christmas top, and she seemed to be feeling pretty good. She enjoyed the Honeybaked ham and, especially, the assortment of fancy deserts like macarons, ladyfingers and bon bons. And because it was a special occasion, they let her have 2 1/2 cups of coffee with her meal. (We just won’t tell the nephrologist about that.) My niece was late arriving, and it gets hard to make small talk with Mom these days, so I broke out the Scrabble game to keep us entertained.

Again, it was one of those parties where the guests only talk to the residents they came to visit and to the staff. But Jenny did make a point of introducing us to her brother (at least, I think that’s who he was) as he was seeing her to her room before departing. I also overheard another resident’s daughter talking about her 90th birthday next Thursday, the 14th. My dad’s birthday was December 14th. He would have been 92 this year. As I was sharing that with them, I realized that it was 10 years ago this month that he died. It feels like another lifetime. I was a different person back then, and so was Mom.

We both enjoyed catching up with Sarah, who took a break from finals week to come celebrate with her grandma.

Mom and Sarah 12-9-17

I’ve been a little short on holiday spirit this year, but it sure was nice to see Mom feeling festive and enjoying the celebrations. Mostly I’m just thankful that we made it through another year and she’s still kicking… or, as she always used to say, “perking right along!”

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A Day of Appointments

This morning Mom had the first of several follow-up doctor’s appointments, this one with her primary care physician, Dr. G. It was my first time taking her out with the transfer wheelchair and oxygen tank, and what an adventure we had!

When I loaded the portable oxygen tank into the backseat of my car and attached the tube, I noticed that the tank was reading about 1/4 full. In hindsight, I should have asked right then for the spare tank — but not being familiar with oxygen, I naively thought that it would last the two hours until we got back. By the time we got to the doctor’s office (25 minutes later), the meter on the tank was in the red zone and Mom was complaining that her chest felt tight. At about the same time, I discovered that I’d left Mom’s purse (with the handicapped parking placard) back at the board & care. Cue panic. Well, not quite panic, but anxiety tinged with intense frustration. I couldn’t figure out how to get the foot rests back onto the wheelchair (don’t ask me why the caregiver removed them in the first place) and a nice man was patiently holding the office door for us, so we went on without them and Mom just had to hold her feet up. We got inside, I checked her in at the front desk (and asked them to please not let my car get towed because I forgot her placard), and then I texted the owner of the board and care to ask if she could possibly drop off the second oxygen tank.

When the nurse brought us into the back, she tested Mom’s oxygen level and it was 88. Not too bad yet, but they want it to stay above 90 and I was glad that the full tank was on its way. When the caregiver arrived with the new tank, the front office manager was kind enough to show me how to change it, so that next time I can just bring a spare and change it myself if needed. The doctor went over the discharge paperwork from the hospital and SNF, reviewed her medications, and listened to her heart and lungs. He said he didn’t hear any congestion in the lungs, which is a relief. Mom got her flu shot and some blood drawn for labs, and we headed home. Pulling the oxygen tank while pushing a wheelchair is tricky, but again a kind stranger stepped up to hold the door for us.

I dropped Mom off at home and sped to my yoga studio, arriving just in time for Yin Yoga with my favorite instructor. And I don’t know when I’ve needed a yoga class more! I was SO tense from the morning’s stressors, but it melted away over the course of an hour doing gentle stretches and heart opening postures. I walked back to my car with a smile on my face and a spring in my step. But by now it was 2:15 pm and I was starving, so I grabbed a chicken salad to go from a nearby Trader Joe’s and ate it in the car while I drove back to Mom’s place — because the day wasn’t over yet.

Mom had her physical therapy evaluation, and it went well. Steve, the therapist, looks at his clients holistically with the goal of improving their full function as much as possible. He took her medical history from me, getting a complete picture of her living situation and level of function before she went into the hospital, and he made some recommendations. He wants her to only use the walker with four wheels and the seat, rather than using the two-wheel kind around the house, because he says that’s making her more dependant on the walker than she should need to be. The four-wheel style moves more smoothly and she can’t lean on it the way she does the other one, so she’s doing the work of walking and just using the walker for balance.  OK, we’re all on board with that. And he wants me to buy her New Balance athletic shoes to give her ankles more stability. OK, I can do that.

The third recommendation is going to be trickier to implement, but it’s probably the most important one. She has been spending way too much time in bed, and both Steve the Physical Therapist and Dr. G said that this will make her more susceptible to fluid building up in the lungs. Especially while she’s recovering, Steve emphasized that she should never spend more than 9 hours in bed at night and should be out of bed and sitting up (not reclining) as much as possible during the day. I checked in with Maria, the head caregiver, when he left. They’ve been putting Mom to bed at 7:30 or 8:00 pm, and she’s been getting up around 7:00 or 7:30 am — so we’re looking at up to 12 hours in bed each night. She’s simply not going to get up before 7:00 (frankly, it’s a small miracle that she’s been getting up before 9:00), which means they’re going to need to keep her out of bed later in the evening. And this is a problem because the live-in caregivers aren’t “off the clock” until all the residents are in bed, and they have to wake up around 5:30 am to start their care day, so they WANT to get everybody in bed early. I got Maria to agree not to put Mom to bed before 9:00, but I’m not even sure how long that will last. And if she sleeps until 7:30, that’ll still be over 10 hours in bed. But I don’t know what the answer is.

The PT will be back on Friday morning to start working with her. We see the neurologist on Thursday and the cardiologist on Friday afternoon. It’s only Tuesday and I already need a weekend! I don’t know how the hell I’d be managing this if I was still working full-time, and I’m really feeling the timing of this layoff as a blessing right now.

No One

Yesterday was the annual holiday party at my mom’s care home. I stopped at the bank for crisp bills to put in the Christmas cards I was giving to the staff and arrived a few minutes late. Mom was sitting at a card table with two chairs, wearing a festive red top that was her Christmas gift from the owner of the facility. I kissed her hello and took the seat across from her. Looking around, I was happy to see that no one was sitting alone and each of the residents had at least one visitor with them at their table.

It’s a weird sort of party because the visitors never seem to talk to each other, just to the loved one they’ve come to visit and to the staff. But during dessert, a slightly built older woman approached our table while my mom was in the bathroom. “You’re Dorothy’s daughter, aren’t you?” I nodded and we introduced ourselves, shaking hands. “They tell me your mother is very kind to Jenny and talks to her. Thank you.” I shrugged off her thanks, telling her that my mom is very social and is happy to have someone to chat with.

The woman, who I initially guessed might be Jenny’s sister, shook her head sadly. “It’s so hard to see her like this. Jenny was always so well informed, and now…” She trailed off and I nodded sympathetically. It is hard. The woman went on to tell me that Jenny was a librarian for many years and, back in the 1970s, a labor organizer. “I was the head librarian,” she explained. “She worked for me for many years. After she retired, she worked part-time at the senior center until a couple of years ago.” She further explained that Jenny has no family except two brothers, one in Seattle and the other overseas.

I was touched that she had come to visit Jenny, to share the holiday party with her, despite her apparent discomfort with the dementia that has reduced her articulate, well-informed colleague to a state of childlike dependence. I was struck by, as hard as it is to deal with a parent or grandparent with dementia, how much harder must it be to see a PEER in that state. There but for the grace of God, and all that.

Later, as I was getting ready for my next holiday party, I kept thinking about Jenny who has no family around, no one to look out for her best interests. I don’t have kids, or a husband anymore, so this could well be me someday. It’s a sobering thought. I don’t know how Jenny ended up in this board and care, but I’m glad that she did because I know the staff, and I trust that she’s getting the same good care that my mom gets — even without a daughter to check up on her and advocate for her. Still, she must get lonely. When we get back from our holiday travels, I’m going to make a point to check on Jenny whenever I visit.

 

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Mom and me: Don’t we look festive?

 

 

 

Breaks My Heart Every Time

There’s a new resident at my mom’s care home. I’ll call her Jenny. The first couple of times I met her, she seemed so together – introduced herself, remembered on my next visit that I was Dorothy’s daughter and she’d met me before, asking my mom how it went at the doctor when we returned from an appointment – that I almost wondered why she needs to be in board and care. She walks with a walker, but (like my mom) seems to get around really well with it. I was happy that my mom would have someone at the house to chat with besides the caregivers, who are really kind and engaged but too busy to just sit and visit with her.

Then one time when I brought Mom home from an appointment, Jenny said to me “I know you! You live next door to Bert, don’t you?” I shook my head. No, sorry, you’re thinking of someone else. “But I know I’ve seen you there,” she insisted. “I know you!” I told her again, you’re thinking of someone else. I don’t know Bert. Mom spoke up then, saying, “This is my daughter. You’ve met her before.”

Jenny may get confused about who I am, but she always seems happy to see me when I come in. Whoever she thinks I am, I’m glad that person is someone she likes.

This afternoon when I brought Mom home from church, Jenny met us just inside the door. “Will you do me a favor?” she asked me. I was busy helping Mom, who had taken off her sunglasses and was asking for her regular glasses from her purse, so I didn’t respond. Jenny was saying something about someone she hadn’t seen in a long time. Maria, the head caregiver, held up a pill bottle and started talking to me about one of Mom’s medications that needs to be reordered.

Jenny was still talking to me, looking intently at me from a few yards away, but I hadn’t heard a word she’d said. She started to cry, loudly, like a small child. I looked helplessly from one caregiver to the other, hoping one of them would do something, but they were paying Jenny no mind. “I’m sorry to be a crybaby,” she was saying, sniffling. I felt horrible.

I kissed my mom goodbye, told Maria that I would request a refill of that medication, and headed for the door. Jenny was between me and the door. She stopped sniffling and looked at me with hopeful eyes. “Will you drive me to the party?” she asked me. “It’s not far from here, just over on Van Nuys.”

I put my hand on her shoulder and said, as gently as I could, “I’m so sorry that I can’t.”

Jenny began to cry again, almost wailing, “But I haven’t seen them for so long!” I patted her shoulder helplessly and then moved toward the door.

As the door was closing behind me, I was relieved to hear Maria saying “What’s the matter, Jenny?”

If my mom was crying like that, it would break my heart. But she’s my mom and maybe there would be something I could do to make it better. I never know how to respond when it’s another resident. And it breaks my heart just the same.

It’s enough just being in the same space

Tomorrow I leave for my 9-day camping retreat. I wanted to spend some time with Mom before I left, but I’ve had so much to do to get ready for this trip that I haven’t had a spare minute. My compromise was to pick her up after work yesterday and bring her to my apartment to keep me company while I worked.

When I arrived to pick her up, she was reading the new Jan Karon novel that I bought her for her birthday and I suggested she bring it along. On the way over I bought her a chocolate milkshake, since I knew she’d ask for coffee or something sweet and I didn’t have either on hand. She was quite happy sitting and reading on my couch while I cleaned the kitchen. As she put it, “We don’t always have to be talking to enjoy each other’s company. It’s enough just being in the same space.”

After my husband died in 2010, I went to stay with my mom for a few months. I remember what a comfort it was just having another person around, even if we were at opposite ends of the apartment and didn’t talk for hours at a time. I’ve grown to love living alone (with my cat), but Mom never did get used to it after Dad died. I think that’s one of the reason she’s so happy at the board and care, because she is literally never alone there.

We sat on the couch and talked for a little while. Mom reached over to my end table and picked up a framed photo taken on her 79th birthday – the very last picture of me with both of my parents, on my last visit to Arizona before my dad died. “I don’t remember him looking this old,” she said, “with all that gray in his hair. I know he was older when he died, but in my memories he’s young.” We talked about Dad and shared some memories. It felt good to make that connection.

Three of Us 2007

We also talked about my upcoming trip – several times. And every time I mentioned something about it, she would ask me “Where are you going again?” I lost count at the seventh time in less than two hours. She’s been doing better with her memory lately, so that was just a little bit disconcerting.

When I dropped her off back at the board and care, I picked up the notepad she keeps beside her chair and wrote her a note explaining when I was leaving, where I was going and when I would be back. I signed it “I love you, Mom!” I hope that if she starts to wonder why she hasn’t heard from me, she’ll think to look at it. And I hope the next 9 days go by quickly for her…

… though not TOO quickly for me. I want to relish every unplugged minute of freedom to just take care of myself.

Brownies for everyone

Wednesday will be two weeks since I had my gallbladder removed. The outpatient laparoscopic surgery went very well, no complications, but the first week of recovery was pretty rough. I’m still not sleeping well, and it’s only in the last couple of days that I’ve started driving and getting out of the house for more than a walk around the block. Today I made my first visit to Mom in 13 days.

I made a pan of brownies (from a mix) a few nights back when I was bored and craving chocolate and, because I do NOT need to eat an entire pan of brownies by myself, I packed up most of them to take to Mom. I had to stop at Walmart and pick up a prescription for her on the way, so while I was at it I stopped in Starbucks and got her some “fancy coffee” (a vanilla latte) to have with her brownies.

Mom was, as usual, in her recliner in the TV room with the other ladies. Her face lit up when I handed her the coffee and showed her the brownies. She ate one, licked her fingers appreciatively, and then leaned over to her roommate in the chair next to her, tapping her on the arm and gesturing toward the Tupperware container in my hands. “Have one!” I passed the brownies to Yoko, who took one carefully and said, with a big smile, “Thank you.” In all the many times I’ve visited, it’s the first time Yoko has ever spoken to me. Usually she just smiles and nods, and I wasn’t even sure if she understood English.

The three wheelchair-bound residents were all seated around the dining room table, and I saw one of them turn her head to see what I was doing. I smiled and brought the brownies over to the table. Though none of those ladies speak much, and two of them need assistance to eat, their smiles said it all. Chocolate is a universal language.

After I’d handed out brownies all around, I returned to my seat next to Mom. “Thank you,” she said quietly. “I don’t have anything to share around except when you bring something.”

We sat and talked for a little while, about my surgery and about my brother’s recent visit to her, and then I suggested that we play a game of Scrabble. The staff made room for us at the end of the dining room table while I brought the game from Mom’s room. We only play a couple times a month now, so Mom always needs a little prompting at the start about how many tiles to draw and what to do with a blank one… but once she gets going, she still plays as well as ever. We played two games. I won the first by three points, she won the second by two.

She’s always enjoyed Scrabble but I don’t think I’ve ever seen her have so much fun with a game. Her eyes were sparkling and she got enthusiastic about every good play, whether it was hers or mine. After she played a Z on a Triple Letter Score and got a 42-point word, she did a little dance in her seat. It made me so happy to see her like that, I hated to stop at two games… but my surgery area had started to ache and I needed to get home and lie down with an ice pack.

I left the brownies on the little end table by her chair and reminded the staff, who had declined them earlier, that they were for everyone.

Two Scares in Two Weeks = Too Many!

Early Sunday morning, February 8, I got a call from my sister in Colorado. My oldest niece, who is in her first year of college here in California, was in a hospital with a fractured skull following a surfing accident. I called the hospital, who confirmed that she was still in the ER and that I would be allowed to visit, and arranged for a friend to go with me. All that I knew when we left for the hospital was that my niece was lucid and able to talk. I clung to that on the 90-minute drive down, praying that her ability to talk (and even joke) meant no brain injury. When I arrived at her bedside, one of the first things she did was wiggle her fingers and toes for me to show me that she wasn’t paralyzed. Thank God!

She was incredibly fortunate. A hairline fracture at the base of her skull, two fractures in her C1 vertebrae – but no brain injury, no paralysis, no need even for surgery to repair the bones. The neurosurgeon got her fitted for a neck brace, which she’ll wear for about six weeks to allow the bones to heal themselves. I spent most of two days in the hospital with her, until her Mom could get a flight from Denver. Then I went back to work, exhausted but grateful.

Last Wednesday night, I turned my phone on at the end of my evening class to find multiple messages from the owner of my mom’s board and care. Call me as soon as possible. Gulp.

Mom had a nosebleed that wouldn’t stop and the blood was draining down into her throat. The caregivers were worried that she might choke. The owner had taken her to the ER. I jumped in my car and met them there. The nosebleed had mostly stopped by the time I arrived, and I wondered if we were going to waste 4-6 hours at the ER for nothing… but no sooner had they taken her into the back to get her vitals and medical history, she vomited a dark bloody substance into her lap. Twice.

I was horrified at the sight of it. And I saw the alarm in the eyes of the nurses and techs, who rushed her to a bed in the back to get her hooked up to the monitors. Her blood pressure was dangerously low. For the second time in two weeks, I faced the possibility that everything could be coming unraveled in an instant. I didn’t know what vomiting blood might mean, but it didn’t look good. And I was especially worried because I was scheduled for surgery myself in just one week – who would take care of her if we were both in the hospital at the same time?

Thankfully, again, we were lucky. Her labs checked out just fine, her blood pressure returned to her high normal range, and there were no further symptoms during the three or four hours they kept her for observation. The doctor concluded she had simply swallowed blood that was trickling down from her nosebleed, and her stomach rejected it.

It was a long night. We had been taken to a room in the back of the ER, so I didn’t see how much activity was going on up front, but apparently they were very busy. After the labs came back and the doctor paid an initial visit, we were pretty much ignored. Mom complained of a bad taste in her mouth (no wonder!), but when we asked for water or ice chips none were forthcoming. I did manage to track someone down to get her a blanket because she was shivering. The blanket they brought was heated, which helped her get some rest for a while. When she got cold again, I put her corduroy coat over her for some extra warmth. And we waited…

It was 1:30 a.m. by the time we were given the OK to take her home. And the miracle of all of this is that the owner of the facility (AND her husband, who had driven her over to check on Mom and then brought them both to the ER) stayed there with us until the very end – and then they took her home, so that I could go home myself and get some sleep. When this woman says “the residents are my family,” clearly she means it. Once again, I left a hospital feeling completely exhausted but deeply grateful.

Wednesday I go in for laparoscopic gallbladder removal. Mom has been doing fine – no more nose bleeds, more active than usual with my brother visiting – so I’m not worried. I also know now that if there WAS an emergency when I couldn’t get there, I can trust her new “family” to take good care of her.