Sunday in the Nursing Home with Mom

I have three sensational kids who have all grown into three sensational adults. When they were little, they were in daycare. I clearly recall my daily exit routine with them--a quick hug, a kiss on the forehead, "Bye, Bye!"and then, "Now stay out of trouble!"

I've heard it, or read it, that Life is Circular. It's true. Weirdly true.

Sunday afternoon at the nursing home.

Mom's roommate wants to nap so we head to the lobby. There we sit. Mom in her wheelchair. I'm on her left. Dad is on my left. We sit, like the three See No Evil/Speak No Evil/Hear No Evil Chimpanzees staring out the lobby windows, except of course, Dad is really the See/Speak/Hear No Evil chimp in this scenario because he has fallen completely asleep. (Although he did magically wake up when Dixie, the black lab, came strolling into the lobby area......How does he do that????)

Mom was in a particularly spry mood today. I asked her how her day was going and she answered with particularly pointed pride, "Oh well, you know it's the same old thing..........I eat, I pee, I sleep, I get my dope."

(This is where one of those cartoon "boiiiiinnnnng!" sounds would be if this had been a cartoon.)

I whipped around, stunned at Mom's uncharacteristically forthright delivery, especially of the word "dope," and just looked at her with my mouth agape.

She stared right back at me, equally agape!

Then, as if on cue, we both cracked up, out loud, right there in the lobby! It wasn't really that funny. I dunno. It was just the tone Mom had. So matter-of-fact. So resolute. And so completely "ok" with it all. More like something Dad would've said, but very funny coming out of Mom's mouth.

Anyway, we ended up sitting in the lobby for a good hour and a half.

There was a group in the dining hall singing patriotic songs (in honor of Memorial Day I suspect).

The wife of the man who brings Dixie was also in the lobby. She barely moves. Dad, at one point, whispered (sort of) to me, "Is she dead?"

One lady, a resident, came wandering through the lobby clutching a little teddy bear and mumbling to herself and pointing at this door, then another door, "I thought it was here......no there.......no here....." and Mom said, rolling her eyes, "She's been lost all morning."

Two women residents were huddled together in a nearby corner chatting enthusiastically about the Dancing With The Stars finale.

It was a rather pleasant hour and half. Certainly entertaining.But then it was time for us to leave.

I woke up Dad, and we wheeled Mom back to her room, where her roommate was sound asleep. I taped a new family photo up on Mom's wall, made up her bed for her, wheeled her into position in front of her television. Dad kissed Mom goodbye and told her he loved her. I gave Mom a hug, kissed her forehead and said, "bye!" And then, "now stay out of trouble. "

What the Silence Says...other Observations...and Birdhouses

The last few weeks of my life have been, well........interesting. I've found it next to impossible to write. Hard to even THINK about writing for that matter. Mom is still in the nursing home, so Dad and I go over every afternoon and visit her for an hour or so. This is all fine but it tends to tighten up my morning, which is when I workout, work at my "real" job (writing and editing science textbooks), have breakfast, do the morning chores, check email. By the time we get home from visiting Mom (around three), it's time to make "a meal" (as I call it, because the term "dinner" or "lunch" doesn't really fit. For me, it's just "a meal," THE primary meal of the day, and it seems to always end up happening around three or four in the afternoon). The afternoon just seems to disappear.

Anyway........it's been tough to find the time to write, let alone to know what to write about. But.........as we were driving home this afternoon from the nursing home, it suddenly occurred to me that I did have something to write about--the things I've noticed since the Nursing Home chapter has begun. Here they are, in no particular order:

1. I LIKE visiting Mom in the nursing home! Seriously. I genuinely, sincerely look forward to visiting with her. For anybody who knows me, knows my relationship with my mother, this is pretty darned incredible. But I swear to you, it's true--I really enjoy hanging out at the nursing home, listening to what Mom had for breakfast, or lunch, or dinner, what the crazy old lady down the hall did yesterday, which nurse nobody likes, or which of the male aides Mom has a crush on this week. I find it, I dunno, relaxing. I even like the nursing home itself. I can't explain this because the last time Mom was at (the same) nursing home, I resented every time I had to walk into the building--the smell, the people, the staff. It turned my stomach. But this time? I'm like Mary Freakin'Sunshine! I bring in fresh flowers for Mom; I stroll through the front doors and greet whoever is sitting in the lobby (cuz there is ALWAYS at least one resident sitting right there, staring out into foreverland); I even say hello to the crusty old geezers who, honestly, look like sitting corpses, but who always break out into these glorious grins when somebody offers them a simple ,"HI!" Yeah. Go figure. I am lovin' the nursing home.

2. The next thing I've noticed is that on the way to see Mom, Dad always manages to come up with some story I have never heard before. Yesterday, it was about the time when he was working as a lifeguard down in SoCal and he and another lifeguard busted some old guy and his son who ran a bait store. Seems the father-son duo was slitting the gullets of pelicans who kept stealing the bait out of the bait box. Dad was remembering how heartbreaking it was to see the pelicans trying and trying to eat, but couldn't because of the big slits in their gullet. He said he was feeling the same way about the oil-slathered birds and fish that are falling victim to the latest oil spill crisis down in Louisiana.

3. The flip side to the talkity-talkity nature of our drive TO the nursing home is the deafening silence of the trip BACK. Silence. Absolute and total silence. Dad doesn't even comment on the "Poor Ole Horse" in front of the big yellow house. The entire drive home. Nothing. Not just a pregnant pause. This is an entire twenty minutes of profound silence. Pretty unusual for my dad.

Of course, I suppose I could say something but the truth of the matter is, I don't really feel like talking either. What does this silence say? Well.......what the silence tells me is that Dad is processing. In fact, we're both processing. I know that, for me anyway, I spend the drive home problem-solving. Trying to think through the logistics of every possible scenario regarding Mom's return, or failure to return, home. Maybe Dad's doing the same thing. Not sure. I don't ask. If he wants to tell me, he will.

The other thing I've noticed is that my relationship with my father has become amazingly rich and rewarding. I'm more patient with him. I WANT to listen to him more. I WANT to ask him questions about...whatever. And the house is different too. There is a clarity in the air that I can't describe. I'm cooking more. I'm sitting in rooms I rarely used to enter. I hear the birds chirping ALL THE TIME!

It all makes me wonder........maybe the responsibility of caring for Mom was having a bigger effect on me than I thought. (Cue the collective, "Duh!" from the readers.) So......it makes me wonder......Would it make more sense to have Mom stay in the nursing home?........But then, what would the purpose of that be?........To improve MY quality of life? What about Mom's quality of life? Would it be better in a nursing home? Or would the nursing home just prolong her already-very-full life? And how do I harness the positive attitude I have about the house now and somehow nurture and maintain it when/if Mom comes home?

I'll close with Dad's latest project. As you know, it's the growing season. The grass, the flowers, the birds. Every thing's growing and reproducing like crazy. I have to fill the birdfeeders almost daily. So the other day, Dad blurts out in the middle of our drive over to see Mom, "BIRDHOUSES!"

I knew there was more so I simply said, "Okay.....?"

Then he continued, "Let's get some birdhouses for all the birdies (Yes, he really said, birdies.)."

I quickly processed through my mental Rolodex of pros and cons--better than getting a dog, minimum extra work for me, hours and hours of enjoyment for Dad. "OK!" I said.

So we now have two little birdhouses hanging in the maple trees in front of the living room window. Dad watches them like a hawk.

Recap of the last two weeks and........Whistling Dixie

You know how some tv shows give you a thirty second recap of the last ten or so episodes, to catch viewers up on what they've missed, or forgotten? Well get ready. I haven't written for several weeks. There's a reason why. No, correction. There are reasonS, why. Here goes.

April 29: My first grandchild is born to my son and his wife. They live in San Diego.

April 30: I fly to NYC to see my daughter's semester-end showcase at her school. Short weekend trip. Back on Tuesday, May 4.

May 2: Mom falls while I'm in NYC. Again. Dislocates her hip. Again. This is the fourth time for anybody's who's counting. Paramedics take her to the ER, again. Relocate the hip, again. But this time she injured her foot when she fell and consequently can't walk on it. She's admitted to the hospital.

May 4: My daughter and I fly back to Seattle and to Sequim.

May 4-May 10: Daily visits to the hospital with Dad to see Mom. She's medicated pretty heavily. She keeps asking me why her bedroom looks so different and "Who are all those strange people?" She has one of those I'm-so-happy-but-I-don't-know-why-smiles on her face that doesn't go away.

May 5: Mom is transferred to the rehab place in Sequim. Surprisingly, she seems okay with this....or is she still so heavily medicated she doesn't get it yet....?

May 8: She hadn't gotten it yet. The meds wear off and Mom has a full blown anxiety attack. Rehab staff calls me to come over immediately. Dad and I go over. I can hear Mom screaming as I walk through the double glass doors. Kind of surreal really. We get to her room. I'll spare you the details. It wasn't pretty. I talk with the staff about adjusting her meds. They say it will take at least 24 hours for the calming effect of the new med schedule to take effect.

May 9: Strange Mother's Day......cuz........the woman who is my mother was not inhabiting the body I visit at rehab. Dad and I have a short visit with Mom.

May 10: My daughter flies back to NYC. I fly to San Diego to meet my new grandchild and help out my son and his wife with the new baby. The night before I seriously consider not going. But Dad and the caregiver both reassure me that it's actually a very good time for me to go. So I do.

May 10-15: I bond with my grandbaby; cook for my son and his wife; help them pack boxes for moving into their new house; Dad calls to tell me that Mom is back to her old self. Relief.

May 15: Back to Sequim. The one-parent house is strangely serene. Dad and the dogs are in great spirits.

May 16-today: One of the daily visitors to the rehab place brings along his black lab, Dixie. Dad loves Dixie. Seriously. All Dad talks about on the way over to the rehab place is whether or not Dixie will be there. Dixie was there today. Dad gushed all over her. Told the owner that if he ever needed a home for Dixie that Dad would gladly take her in.

On the way home, Dad told me, "It's a sign."

"Huh?" I asked, "What's a sign?"

"Dixie."

"Huh?" I asked again.

"Dixie and I crossed paths at rehab because we're destined to be together some day." Dad's grinning. He seems pretty content and pleased with his new role as soothsayer.

There's a second reason why Dad loves to visit the rehab place. (It's a sad fact that visiting Mom is actually his third reason. Dogs, Food, Mom. Yup, that's pretty much my dad's priority list of life.)

And another reason--mashed potatoes. I may or may not have mentioned that my dad is a human garbage disposal. He eats anything. ANY. THING. He especially loves mashed potatoes. So if Mom happens to be eating when we visit, and there happens to be mashed potatoes on her tray, rest assured it will be gone within minutes of Dad laying eyes on it. A couple of visits ago he devoured Mom's entire lunch tray, mashed potatoes and all. After lunch, I took Mom out for a "stroll" in her wheelchair. When we came back, Dad was sound asleep on Mom's bed. One of the nurses came running into the room, a look of stark concern on her face, "Do you know this man!?"

I glanced at the bed--Dad sawing off the zzz-s, mouth half open, Filson cap pulled down over his eyes. "Yeah, that's my dad." I smiled.

Apparently the staff thought some old man had wandered into the facility and into my mom's room, Goldilocks-style, ate all the food on her lunch tray, then promptly fell asleep in her bed that was clearly "juuuuust right."

Yeah. So that's been the last two weeks, condensed. Not sure where this new chapter is headed. Stay tuned...