Mother told me about Matt's visit and Beverly's gift. I emailed Matt and told him how much his visit meant and he wrote back:
She
exudes class. Not to mention True Grit (Hailey Mills version), which
encompasses bravery and courage, acceptance and gratitude,
self-responsibility and content in her life choices. We had a great
time and I so much enjoy ourselves. She saw updated pics of my kids
and has always taken an interest in them, very sweet. With Polly,
you get the kind of discourse possible with so few people, most of whom
hail from her dwindling generation. Keep me updated on her health,
please.
Saturday, August 25, 2012
The Gift of Hospice
We went to M & D's last night, Friday.
It occurred to me on Thursday that ground beef patty, rice and broccoli might be a good meal for Mom. (On a tray with a bud vase) She agreed but had some green beans that needed to be cooked. So I fixed that for dinner.
Mom came to the table and took her morphine and ate. I was not as successful as you were, Dave. She did not clean her plate. When Dad suggested that she eat more, she quoted the Blue Handbook from Faith Hospice: do not force the patient to eat. I suggested that getting her to eat more was habit and reminded her of the many times we have had to get her to eat in the past year. She agreed. Must be the morphine.
What I want to tell you about, however, is our conversation before dinner.
Just Mom and me sitting in her room.
She used the words: the "gift of hospice". Hospice, of course, indicates end of life and as the word gets out, people are getting in touch with her to say good-bye:
Matt Malouf came over and spent an hour sitting by the bed, talking to her about his kids. He showed her pictures of all of them. It gave her real joy that he shared that time with her. A gift.
Beverly Brown made some grape leaves for her. Beverly only uses fresh grape leaves now. The jarred ones just aren't good enough. Her vine had quit producing good leaves for the summer so she got some from a friend. The dolmas were small because the leaves were small and Beverly had packed them in several bags of 5-6 grape leaves and a lemon wedge. Perfect for a snack or before dinner or lunch. Another gift.
Mom called Rev Kev at church. He told her that he was available to visit if she wanted, a fairly routine response from a minister to a parishioner. Instead she asked him if he had a minute to talk and told him how much his classes have meant to her. That he has really brought their studies to life and thanked him. A gift given.
Karen Malouf wrote her a letter, and on and on.
Mom said that since death is a given in her situation, people don't feel that they have to skirt around it. They don't have to say "get well soon" since both parties know that that isn't in the cards. They can honestly share their feelings and express their love for her in words and deeds. She seems to be surprised and delighted at the number and variety of people who are in touch.
After dinner, she sat on the sofa and visited. Then I helped her to bed. She said she could do it herself but it sure was nice to have some help.
A good evening. (For Dad, too. He was thrilled that when he got home and he didn't have to think about fixing dinner.)
It occurred to me on Thursday that ground beef patty, rice and broccoli might be a good meal for Mom. (On a tray with a bud vase) She agreed but had some green beans that needed to be cooked. So I fixed that for dinner.
Mom came to the table and took her morphine and ate. I was not as successful as you were, Dave. She did not clean her plate. When Dad suggested that she eat more, she quoted the Blue Handbook from Faith Hospice: do not force the patient to eat. I suggested that getting her to eat more was habit and reminded her of the many times we have had to get her to eat in the past year. She agreed. Must be the morphine.
What I want to tell you about, however, is our conversation before dinner.
Just Mom and me sitting in her room.
She used the words: the "gift of hospice". Hospice, of course, indicates end of life and as the word gets out, people are getting in touch with her to say good-bye:
Matt Malouf came over and spent an hour sitting by the bed, talking to her about his kids. He showed her pictures of all of them. It gave her real joy that he shared that time with her. A gift.
Beverly Brown made some grape leaves for her. Beverly only uses fresh grape leaves now. The jarred ones just aren't good enough. Her vine had quit producing good leaves for the summer so she got some from a friend. The dolmas were small because the leaves were small and Beverly had packed them in several bags of 5-6 grape leaves and a lemon wedge. Perfect for a snack or before dinner or lunch. Another gift.
Mom called Rev Kev at church. He told her that he was available to visit if she wanted, a fairly routine response from a minister to a parishioner. Instead she asked him if he had a minute to talk and told him how much his classes have meant to her. That he has really brought their studies to life and thanked him. A gift given.
Karen Malouf wrote her a letter, and on and on.
Mom said that since death is a given in her situation, people don't feel that they have to skirt around it. They don't have to say "get well soon" since both parties know that that isn't in the cards. They can honestly share their feelings and express their love for her in words and deeds. She seems to be surprised and delighted at the number and variety of people who are in touch.
After dinner, she sat on the sofa and visited. Then I helped her to bed. She said she could do it herself but it sure was nice to have some help.
A good evening. (For Dad, too. He was thrilled that when he got home and he didn't have to think about fixing dinner.)
Friday, August 24, 2012
She's on top of it.
Talked to Mother this morning; she said she was very anxious to tell me something:
She's confused.
That's it. She says she is experiencing mental confusion and she knows it and she wants everyone to know she knows it.
She's on top of her mental confusion, she says.
Her hospice caretaker came to bathe her last night, but said she is not supposed to make Mother's bed unless it is a hospital bed.
She has called the agency to try to get Sharah back.
She has also called an agency that says it takes care of caregivers, which might give them the household help Mom and Dad need. I told her we (I) could easily make these phone calls from SLC for her, if it took too much energy for her to do it. Or if she was feeling confused keeping track of it all.
She declined for now.
She's confused.
That's it. She says she is experiencing mental confusion and she knows it and she wants everyone to know she knows it.
She's on top of her mental confusion, she says.
Her hospice caretaker came to bathe her last night, but said she is not supposed to make Mother's bed unless it is a hospital bed.
She has called the agency to try to get Sharah back.
She has also called an agency that says it takes care of caregivers, which might give them the household help Mom and Dad need. I told her we (I) could easily make these phone calls from SLC for her, if it took too much energy for her to do it. Or if she was feeling confused keeping track of it all.
She declined for now.
Tuesday, August 21, 2012
Sunday Dinner
We went by Sunday evening to fix dinner for Mom and Dad.
We found Dad in the living room with the newspaper, no TV and Mom back in her bedroom with her lists. Which is where she spends most of her time these days. She likes to be on top of the covers, in her nightgown and a silk(?) bed jacket that I think she said Marybelle gave her (hey, I could very easily be wrong about that, please don't get upset if it were a gift from you the reader.) But that way Mom doesn't have to think of herself as bedridden. At least that's what she told me last Monday.
(By the way, nearly everything that has anything to do concerning that apartment is parenthetical.)
Susan and I sat down and had a nice visit with Mom. We talked about Susan's visit to the Arboretum with Debbie and her Aunt Teddy, the upcoming school year, goings on with the Rectors. Easy conversation. Dad came in to join us and didn't get jumped on too severely which is what usually happens when he ventures into her lair.
A few minutes later, Helen popped in. Mom had asked her over to discuss staffing. She told Helen she couldn't discuss it with me because she thought that I didn't have a clue as to what was going on. (See earlier post 'The Return of the Mom.') I don't think much business was discussed but conversation was pleasant.
After a while I disengaged and went in to start dinner prep, then Dad came out to join me. Susan stayed in the bedroom and visited with Mom. Before she left, Helen and I brought Dad up to date about plans for the big weekend. Mom knows about Mary and Glen coming, probably expects Travis, but we agreed not to mention Britt or Anna; Michael or Laura. There was some talk of logistics, but it is very doubtful that Mom will want to leave the apartment even to come to one of our houses. Again, we don't know what her condition will be.
The question for the evening was whether she would come out for dinner, but the aroma of sauteed aromatic vegetables and butter poached chicken breasts got the best of her and she joined us at the dining room table. The recipe was from the first remaining (Show #14) episode of the French Chef from The French Chef Cookbook. Supremes de Volaille a l'Ecossaise with Risotto and Buttered Summer Vegetables. As Julia directed I served a "chilled white Burgundy." Someone gave the book to Susan when we got married and it was the first of Julia's recipes that I attempted back in that summer of 1976. Susan and the boys can attest to the fact that I've made it a few times since. This was one of the more successful attempts. The sauce didn't even begin to break.
I insisted that everyone have a glass of wine and that story was the substance of the toast, which also was one of the more successful toasts I've attempted.
It's been a long time since Mom's plate was quite that clean. She said Monday that she and Dad have rarely slept as soundly.
We found Dad in the living room with the newspaper, no TV and Mom back in her bedroom with her lists. Which is where she spends most of her time these days. She likes to be on top of the covers, in her nightgown and a silk(?) bed jacket that I think she said Marybelle gave her (hey, I could very easily be wrong about that, please don't get upset if it were a gift from you the reader.) But that way Mom doesn't have to think of herself as bedridden. At least that's what she told me last Monday.
(By the way, nearly everything that has anything to do concerning that apartment is parenthetical.)
Susan and I sat down and had a nice visit with Mom. We talked about Susan's visit to the Arboretum with Debbie and her Aunt Teddy, the upcoming school year, goings on with the Rectors. Easy conversation. Dad came in to join us and didn't get jumped on too severely which is what usually happens when he ventures into her lair.
A few minutes later, Helen popped in. Mom had asked her over to discuss staffing. She told Helen she couldn't discuss it with me because she thought that I didn't have a clue as to what was going on. (See earlier post 'The Return of the Mom.') I don't think much business was discussed but conversation was pleasant.
After a while I disengaged and went in to start dinner prep, then Dad came out to join me. Susan stayed in the bedroom and visited with Mom. Before she left, Helen and I brought Dad up to date about plans for the big weekend. Mom knows about Mary and Glen coming, probably expects Travis, but we agreed not to mention Britt or Anna; Michael or Laura. There was some talk of logistics, but it is very doubtful that Mom will want to leave the apartment even to come to one of our houses. Again, we don't know what her condition will be.
The question for the evening was whether she would come out for dinner, but the aroma of sauteed aromatic vegetables and butter poached chicken breasts got the best of her and she joined us at the dining room table. The recipe was from the first remaining (Show #14) episode of the French Chef from The French Chef Cookbook. Supremes de Volaille a l'Ecossaise with Risotto and Buttered Summer Vegetables. As Julia directed I served a "chilled white Burgundy." Someone gave the book to Susan when we got married and it was the first of Julia's recipes that I attempted back in that summer of 1976. Susan and the boys can attest to the fact that I've made it a few times since. This was one of the more successful attempts. The sauce didn't even begin to break.
I insisted that everyone have a glass of wine and that story was the substance of the toast, which also was one of the more successful toasts I've attempted.
Monday, August 20, 2012
Monday conversation
A couple of conversations with Mother today, interrupted by work.
This afternoon, she told me that hospice care had prescribed nebulized morphine to ease her respiration. Her caretaker said she may never experience pain, but the morphine obviously would help with that, too.
I read about the use of morphine for breathing problems here: http://www.qualityoflifecare.com/?p=264
I didn't really realize that Mother is spending most of her time in bed. I guess the reunion weekend will just be a parade. Anna gets in at noon on Friday, Britt gets in at 5. We get in Thursday and will rent a car.
This afternoon, she told me that hospice care had prescribed nebulized morphine to ease her respiration. Her caretaker said she may never experience pain, but the morphine obviously would help with that, too.
I read about the use of morphine for breathing problems here: http://www.qualityoflifecare.com/?p=264
I didn't really realize that Mother is spending most of her time in bed. I guess the reunion weekend will just be a parade. Anna gets in at noon on Friday, Britt gets in at 5. We get in Thursday and will rent a car.
Friday, August 17, 2012
More Bits and Bites
I needed to take some things to Mom yesterday, Thursday. I knew that Daddy would be at dance class, so I went into the apartment quietly.
Mom was leaning on the archway from the living room into the kitchen with some towels in her hand. "I found these rags with the dishtowels! Can you imagine putting dishtowels and rags together?" They looked like dish towels to me... She was trying to put the towels in the closet by the front door in the rag bag and was having a hard time getting that far. I put the towels in the bag in the closet and helped her get back in bed.
Then she told me about Sharah and the toilet. I asked her if she needed me to clean the toilet and she had "already done it." No wonder she was tired.
I thought that Sharah was provided by the agency recommended by the hospice. Will and I will be going over there tonight. I will see what I can do about "firing" Sharah. Wouldn't a conversation work better if you like everything else about someone?
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