As I am approaching 40, and starting to feel old, it's always nice of my relatives to remind me that everything is relative (a shout out to my college buddies who thought the Physics 2 lesson on Einstein's theory of relativity applied to all things in the universe -- including emotions, luck, and 5-year plans).
I just got back from a quick trip to see my family at Christmas. To set the background:
- my dad's mom - Dot - is 96. On Boxing Day she ended up getting admitted to the hospital with pneumonia.
- my mom's mom - Annie - is 88. She fell and broke her arm recently, then during rehab fell and bruised her back, so she's in a downhill snowball of increasing pain right now.
- my niece - Merci - is 6. I love this because there is a 90-year age gap between her and Dot.
My folks have been caring for their moms for the last 6+ years. It's noble. It sounds exhausting to me. There's figuring out how to pay for it all (if health insurance sounds confusing try that combined with medicare, veteran's affairs benefits and retirement benefits). There's the emotions involved - from the "you kids are all trying to get your inheritance before I'm even gone" to the "I wish the Good Lord would take me now" to the "no one ever visits me". My dad stops by his mom's place at least 4 days a week. He may not stay long (Dot goes to bed at 7pm most days, so with long hours at work it's hard to get back from work before she's getting ready for bed), but he picks up and delivers all her groceries and does all the laundry. My mom spends 2 hours most days after work with Annie. This boggles my mind - 9 hours at work (with a lunch break that she usually works through), the 1 work commute, then 2 hours talking and playing cards ... when does she eat or sleep or do the insurance thing? Does she do anything for herself? I hope I can handle it with as much grace as my folks when it gets to be my turn to take care of them.
I didn't get to see Dot too much, sadly. I saw her the first morning, but that afternoon was when she had to go to the hospital. She was feeling well enough the third day to see us for a bit. It's tough to talk to her because she won't wear her hearing aids. By the time she got them, she was so used to silence that background noises like the clicking of the car blinker bothered her. So I have to shout, but even then my voice is too soft and it reminds me of a comedy of errors the conversations we do have.
HOW ARE YOU DOING TODAY?
Yes, lovely.
DID YOU HAVE A NICE LUNCH?
I don't think so.
It almost makes sense, but not quite. As a result, I decided not to let the same thing happen to me. So last year when the doctor said I could maybe use an eyeglass prescription, I decided I should probably get it filled right away. I have to say that I find glasses annoying - and that whole seductive librarian thing I thought would make it fun just isn't all I thought it would be. (sigh)
Moral: Don't wait.
My cousin Les (who is younger than me and in his residency for oncology) flew in to see Annie for a Christmas surprise. Les and I spent most of our days in town with Annie playing cards. One day we showed up and Annie was slumped over in her wheelchair in a dark room. She was in too much pain to move, so she couldn't push the call button to get help. Her oxygen wasn't on - so I'm not really sure why they had the tubes in her nose. I hate to think how long she was sitting there. But I do feel lucky that we walked in at that moment to push the button and get the oxygen back on. And to distract her a bit so she could maybe ignore the pain. So I suppose I don't blame her for saying "I wish the Good Lord would just take me" a half dozen times. On the other days we mostly just played cards or wrote letters for her. I am vaguely wondering what the people who get the letters I wrote for her will think. First there's the handwriting - mine is atrocious and obviously not hers. Then there's the "voice"; if she said "I think I'm going to die in this place" then I wrote "I might be in the rehab unit for a while." Annie has always been a bit of "realist" ("the glass is half empty"). And if she repeated herself (either due to pain meds or the early signs of Alzheimer's, I am not sure which) I wrote something else. If I knew the people, I wrote a note from me to say hi, and if not I wrote about the card games. I wished I'd kept track of how many times she told me to "enjoy being young because getting old isn't all it's cracked up to be". I don't feel like I'm exaggerating to say it was nearing triple digits for the 4 days (probably about 16 hours total) that I was there.
Moral: Enjoy what you have going on right now - tomorrow's going to be a whole different game.
Merci instantly took to Les. She thought it was entirely funny to call him "the doctor in the house": "the doctor in the house will probably knock over the Jenga tower this time!" or "the doctor in the house and I are watching football". This would be followed by peals of giggles. They watched a football game together where he taught her to cheer for the Steelers. She had never seen football but learned how to yell at the TV quickly even if she had no idea what was happening. "You've got to be stronger than those other guys! Go Steelers - Go Steelers - Go Steelers!!!" She still has unending energy - it really is amazing. She gets up at 5:30am and doesn't want to go to bed until 10pm. If only I had that discipline, enthusiasm, and ...well... energy.
Moral: Amuse yourself.
Enthusiasm is contagious. Try it out.
So...thanks to my relatives for the reminder that it's all relative.
Happy 2010 everyone.
