weight

I've mentioned that Mom isn't eating, but I haven't blogged how much weight she has lost. She is at 143 right now, (that's a 50 pound loss plus a little.) I originally thought this was the beginning of the end because if she refuses food, that's just the way it is. Then yesterday when I saw her she downed a Jr. Whopper, an egg, a piece of sausage, a biscuit, a glass of milk, a few handfuls of animal crackers, and a container of pudding, so who knows? Maybe she's changed her mind about the not eating thing. ?? She hasn't lost any weight for the past two weeks.

Eric stayed with her on Wednesday while Dad was working in the field. He fed Mom pudding, washed the dishes, and generally hung out. He didn't have long to watch Mom, however, because a sudden rain storm chased Dad out of the field after only a couple of hours.

I'll blog if something changes and Mom starts losing weight again. I have started going down there nearly every day because it is hay season and Dad needs the help. For people who are used to seeing Mom's usual "buxom" self, it's rather a shock. She looks very old and so much thinner these days. But, what can you expect, really? She still gives nice hugs. Too bad she can't see how much weight she has lost---she's been wanting to lose weight for years!

I will say that Christine, my daughter who stays with Mom and Dad, and who is on a one month hiatus in Costa Rica, has gained weight and color and is looking great! I'm glad she is getting a break, (she and her sister), and is having a good time. Care-giving is hard work!

shiner

Yeah, Mom has one. Dad called me when I got back from Chicago to tell the tale. He said he was on the baler and expected Mom so sit in the truck. (Insert sigh here.) She evidently decided to take a walk up the driveway and when he found her she had fallen and hit her face and bent her glasses. Evidently, she could not stand up on her own, but sat up on her knees, seemingly unphased, and waited for him to come by and set her back on her feet. He said that Conna, the neighbor, had "doped her up" with some antibiotic ointment and she was fine.

Two things worried me about this call. First, if she had fallen and not received any marks, he probably wouldn't have told me. Secondly, if he took her to the neighbor to get "doped up" as he said, he must not have known exactly what to do. So, ASAP, I went down there to check the situation out myself.

Upon entering the house I said, "Ok, Mom....let's see what you did," and turned her face to me. There she was with an eye as black and blue as the ocean at midnight. She smiled and her eyes twinkled as she ran her finger across her blackened cheek bone. Obviously, she was impressed with herself. She then ran her fingers down to her knees to show me she had also lost a little skin there. Her glasses were scratched and all caddy-wampus (is this a word?) I said, "You and Dad have been into it again, I guess." She chuckled and again, appeared pleased with her wounds.

If Mom was the type of grandma who sat on her porch swing and did needlework, I might have gasped or exclaimed something. But we all know she's not. My mind went back to her telling me everytime we got the sewing machine out, "You know, one time I sewed right through my finger, nail and all!" She seemed to joy in the "cringe factor." And 1,000 other times I've seen her tell people, "Yeah, that steer came right after me and right before he got there, I put my hands on his head and pushed away. Look at my finger!" She would hold up the finger she broke in the process, all healed wrong, curved and permanently deformed. It was a small bone, she figured, so she just popped it back in place herself and continued to load cows. Another story went, "This cow was coming after me and hooked one horn under my rib cage and lifted. Look at this bruise!" She'd lift her shirt to reveal a bruise that covered 50% of her body. (She did have to see a doctor for that one.)

To my mom, getting work done faster and better than anyone else was where the glory was. The tougher the job, the better that "wonderful sense of accomplishment" was supposed to feel, (so she told me.) But when a person could do this same difficult job while sustaining a substantial injury, that was just icing on the cake! And so, I looked at her eye, and I looked at her smile, and I saw a twinkle of pride in her eyes, and I said, "Yeah, Mom....it looks good. You're a tough old bird, but next time, I think you'd better work on that landing." So we chuckled together and I was just about as happy for her, as she was for herself.

Not eating

We had a graduation dinner today at Shoney's in Neosho with three graduates together at once. Christine graduated from MSSU, I from Pitt State with my Master's, and Jessica Behrens, (my cousin), received her pharmaceutical degree in Omaha this week. The easiest way to manage was for me to sit with Mom, constantly making her sit, while Christine grabbed a plate for her at the buffet. When she returned, Mom ate so little. Her appetite has been quite good up until this time. She has eaten everything she sees and we've had to watch that she didn't eat so much so as to get a stomach ache. Lately, Dad has mentioned several times how he can't get her to eat, though. Today, I saw what he meant. If I were being generous, I'd say that she might have eaten 100 calories....about a dozen bites in all, and that took me working with her and sometimes feeding her myself. She has lost a whole lot of weight just since I had last seen her, (which was two weeks as I had been out of town last weekend.) Christine also had a look of worry. She said, "Is it our fault that we're not making her sit down and eat? I even bought her pudding and she wouldn't eat it." Poor thing. I assured her that it was not her fault at all and she could not make Mom eat if she didn't want to do so. I said, not meaning to be cold, but I don't know how else to put it, "Her body will decide when she wants to stop eating, and then she will stop drinking, and then that will be all there is to it. You cannot do anything about it. This is the disease and this is how it works. This is 'normal', Christine, and it's ok." She gave me a "What do you mean it's ok, are you crazy?" look. Poor baby. She's so sweet, and so determined not to let this happen, and there's just no way. She's fighting a losing battle and is not at the point where she can accept it. It makes me want to cry that she is trying so hard not to let it happen. Youth. She graduated from college this week, she has succeeded at everything she's put her hand to, she is full of energy and enthusiasm and optimism and a belief that she can "take care of" any problem that comes her way. But this is that hard life lesson where she must be made to realize that we are, indeed, mere mortals, and in the end, death wins. I learned this at age 14 when my brother died. It's a horrible secret, that I wish I could keep from her forever.

I believe in life after death. I have faith in God. I believe He knows all things, sees all things, and is always just and fair. I believe that my Mom is in His hands and I can have peace knowing that He will "take care of it" although we cannot. How could I carry on in this world without believing this? How does my dad manage?

Easter

I took an Easter basket down to the home place, filled with the usual holiday goodies, thinking that Mom, Dad, and Christine could share them. One look from Mom told me that wasn't going to happen. She took the basket and headed for the truck where she shut the door and started munching on her favorite, the Peeps. Because the day was fairly warm and we were concerned about her getting hot in the truck, Eric opened the door so she could get some air. She promptly closed it. He started playing with her, opening the door and she reacted by looking him in the eye and shutting it again. It was a losing idea, so we decided the obvious compromise was just to just roll down the window. She was so funny, with her deadpan look; she stared us all in the face and slowly began rolling the window up, watching us the whole time with obvious disinterest. When this was accomplished, she turned and faced forward and started digging through the Easter grass for the malted eggs. It doesn't sound funny now maybe, but it really was at the time. Dad, Eric, and I all laughed at her determination to be left alone with "her" basket. She surely would have had a sugar overdose, except that her hands are unable to unwrap chocolate bars. I think Chris and Dad may have gotten a couple of those, but Mom knew who the basket was "really" for, and she took it. :)

My mom always enjoyed giving us things at Easter, no matter how old we got. And now I'm carrying on the tradition and she will get her Easter basket, no matter how old she gets! I am pretty sure the world would be a better place if everybody gave an Easter basket to someone each spring and received one in return. :) I love you, Mom! Thank you for always remembering us at Easter!

"Sometimes Grandma Scares Me"

Those were the words of my son, who is 15. I know what he means. Mom rarely laughs or smiles or shows any type of expression. And sometimes she looks right through you with her eyebrows slightly bent and her mouth firmly set, and no kidding, it is scary. I've noticed it, but not said anything, but Eric has begun to get bothered by this look. The same week, Dad said the same thing. "I don't know whether she's goin' to kill me or what. I don't think she'd really do anything, but the way she looks sometimes, it scares the hell out of me!" I do know. And last time I took her photo, she was giving that, "I'm going to kill you," look when I clicked the button. I decided not to post it. As Dad says, "It gives me the 'heebee jeebies."

So, I told them both the same thing. I said, "You know Grandma, (or Mom), left a long time ago. We are taking care of her body, as kind of a memorial to honor her, but she's not there anymore. You are looking at flesh and blood only." I told them that people weren't meant to walk around in their bodies without their minds working. "We're not used to seeing that, and that is what makes it scary," I said, "Different is sometimes scary."

I continued to tell Eric, "You know.....someday.....something is going to happen to Grandma's body and it won't be good. I'm not sure what will happen, but it will. And when it does, it's not going to be that terrible of a thing. We have lost Grandma already, and we grieve. But this body that walks around like a ghost and sometimes makes very scary faces....it's not her.....and it's ok.

Long Time, No Blog

Well, what's to write? Days turn into weeks, that turn into months, and we just keep paddling and waiting. What we're waiting for nobody wants to know, but we wait and time passes.

I did take Mom to see the dress rehearsal of "Fiddler on the Roof" that Devri performed in this March. Mom has passed the point that she can sit still through an entire show, so we went to rehearsal, instead. When Devri was on stage Mom was very attentive. When she exited, each time, Mom decided to leave. So, in those small intervals when Devri was not performing, we walked. We walked around the auditorium. We walked back and forth in the foyer, again and again and again and again. We walked every row of chairs starting at the top and zig-zagging all the way down to the bottom and made the return trip from bottom to top. When Devri came back on stage we sat and watched, and when she danced with the Rabbi, Mom even laughed. Otherwise, though, she timed her exits to perfect synchronization with Devri's.

The following Friday, Christine took Dad up to watch the performance and I stayed with Mom. When I first mentioned the idea of Dad going without Mom, he was stunned that I would suggest it and then very depressed saying, "Don't you think Doris would want to go?" I told him I'd take her during rehearsal, but to think about it. "Mom might be ok, but you'll be a nervous wreck," I said. He responded with an "I guess that's so." So, he went with Christine and told Mom "goodbye" but I noticed he did not tell her he was going to watch Devri perform. He said, "I'm leaving for a while and I'll be right back." When he returned, he looked rejuvenated and like a very proud grandpa. It will be hard for him to learn to do things without Mom, but it must eventually happen. He cannot stop living because of this disease. But sometimes I think he wants to.

the good and the bad of it

The good side of Alzheimer's I have yet to see, but I am seeing plenty of the bad side. Mom no longer has any bowel control, and I don't say that as an insult because it's the Alzheimer's not Mom. She can't help it, of course. I think, "Maybe somebody reading this will have to go through this whole Alzheimer's experience, and they may as well know what they're in for. I'm not going to sugar-coat it." So, anyway....it's a bad deal, sure enough, and we're all doing things we have never done before and never really thought we could. It's kind of strange how you suddenly "can" do what you "must" do. It makes a person feel like they are stronger than they thought they ever were, somehow. Anyway, I was dealing with the issue last week and thinking, "Oh, Lord, this is SO bad! I really may die right here and now!!" Then I got to thinking. If Mom was in a nursing center and this happened, there would be no way that a nurse could possibly leave the attention of 20 other people and attend just to her. She would just be there needing help, and have to wait until no telling how long for someone to care for her. And suddenly I was so thankful. Mom needed care immediately and she got it immediately, no problem. That is just such a blessing to be able to care for my Mom in any way, at the very moment she needs me.

Right in the middle of this mess I'm so thankful and happy I could cry! So, maybe that's the "good" of it---not what the disease is doing to Mom, but what it is doing to all of us.