JC’s Confessions #4

On The Late Show, Stephen Colbert does a recurring skit, now a best-selling book, called Midnight Confessions, in which he “confesses” to his audience with the disclaimer that he isn’t sure these things are really sins but that he does “feel bad about them.” While Stephen and his writers are famously funny, I am not, so my JC’s Confessions will be somewhat more serious reflections, but they will be things that I feel bad about. Stephen’s audience always forgives him at the end of the segment; I’m not expecting that – and these aren’t really sins – but comments are always welcome.
~ JC

In the months that my mom was in the skilled nursing unit, she had a couple of neighbors who used to shout out “Help me!”over and over to anyone passing by their rooms. There were also a handful of residents who would occasionally wander into her room and mistake my dad for their husband or me for a daughter or a staff member.

It was hard for me not to get annoyed sometimes, even though I knew that these other residents were ailing and exhibiting dementia symptoms.

As I reflected more about this, I realized that my reactions were tied to feeling helpless. I couldn’t help what was happening to these other residents and I couldn’t help what was happening to my mom.

As a caretaker, one is always trying to make things better. It hurts when that isn’t possible.

Advertisements

Nana

I have often written posts about my parents, known here as Nana and Paco. I’m sad to tell you that Nana passed away last week. After months of declining health due to congestive heart failure, she had a few days of rapid decline and died peacefully with my older sister with her and the rest of the family able to gather quickly for some final time together with her.

Over these last few days, my sisters have been staying at Paco’s apartment and taking care of him, while my spouse B and I have been tending to preparations for the funeral, which will take place mid-week.

We are very fortunate that this week is a week off for my son-in-law L, who was able to fly here from London to be with daughter E, granddaughter ABC, and all of us.

I admit that my mind has been richoting from one subject to another. Now that the funeral plans are all in place, I’m hoping I can calm my mind a bit, but it remains to be seen.

With so much happening, I’m not online very much, so I may not be able to keep up with responding to comments. Please know that I appreciate all the thoughts and prayers that you send on behalf of Nana and our family.

In peace,
Joanne

hospice again

After posting every day in January, I haven’t been posting very much since. Unfortunately, my mom, known here as Nana, over the last few weeks has had increasing symptoms from her congestive heart failure. We have been able to ameliorate some of them, but she is sleeping more and eating less, having more trouble walking and getting short of breath more frequently.

Last week, Nana was approved to go back into hospice care. They will become part of her care team at the skilled nursing unit, so she won’t need to move again and so my dad can hop on his scooter and visit her whenever he likes. [Backstory is that Nana was under hospice care for fifteen months and then de-certified in October. She moved into skilled nursing at their continuing care community, as she could not stay at Mercy House, which is only for those in hospice care.]

We are hoping for as much pain-free and alert time as we can get in these coming weeks. Thank you for all the positive thoughts and prayers you have sent. They help us to stay grounded in this difficult time.

SoCS: the reason for yawns this week

I have been yawning more than usual this past week.

Last Saturday night, daughter E was lying beside granddaughter ABC, reading her a bedtime story. ABC was having a drink of water from her covered tumbler and, in her excitement, hit her mom in the eye with the bottom of the tumbler.

E called for me and I rang into the room. Her eye was already swelling, so I got her an ice pack and calmed ABC down and got her to sleep.

E had been hit hard enough to see stars and lose her vision in that eye for a moment, so we weren’t surprised when she had a headache the next day. And the next. But then, she started to feel dizzy a lot and get nauseous. I was afraid she had a concussion, so we went into the doctors’ office. It turns out that the symptoms of concussion are very similar to the symptoms of bleeding in the orbital socket, which has a lot of nerves that are very sensitive.

The treatment is also similar to concussion: rest, quiet, avoiding activity and eye strain and loud noises, taking pain relievers, not lifting heavy things.

None of which is inherently easy with a toddler in the house.

It turned into everyone else in the house taking over as much of ABC’s care as possible.

Which brings us to yawning. I have been taking over the nighttime care, sleeping on the couch on the first floor rather than in my room on the second floor. ABC is a pretty restless sleeper, so I would go into her several times a night to cover her or sing her a song or read her a book to get her back to sleep. When my husband B would come down between 5:00 and 6:00, I would sneak back upstairs for another couple hours of sleep, but I admit that I have been tired and, thus, yawning a fair amount during the day.

Last night, ABC didn’t wake up at all, so I got to sleep for a long stretch myself, which was nice and resulted in much less yawning today.

Let’s hope it is the beginning of a trend.

(By the way, E is improving, so there is some hope that she will be able to be more active soon.)
*****
Linda’s prompt for Stream of Consciousness Saturday this week was to write about the first thing we thought of after reading the word “yawn.” Join us! Find out how here:  https://lindaghill.com/2019/02/15/the-friday-reminder-and-prompt-for-socs-feb-16-19/

Holy Innocents

On December 28th, the Catholic Church commemorates the Holy Innocents, the very young children who were killed by order of King Herod in an attempt to eliminate the threat posed by the birth of Jesus.

Today in the United States, I am mourning the death of two children who fled here with a parent, seeking safety and protection, but who died while detained by Customs and Border Protection.

The government is trying to blame the parents for bringing their children here, but these people were living in desperation and danger in Guatemala. They would not have risked coming to the United States if there had been any safe option in their home country. International and domestic law, as well as human decency, call on us to protect the vulnerable; the current administration has failed miserably and, when challenged in court and among the citizenry, has said that it will fix things, but then declared a new policy that violates those same laws in a slightly different way. (And for those who are grumbling that those seeking asylum need to enter the country through legal ports of entry, both US and international law recognize the right to ask for asylum without regard to means of entry. Also, the current administration has made it nearly impossible to enter through the legal ports of entry, which further endangers the already vulnerable.)

I am also remembering the many thousands of children and teens who have been separated from their families and placed in custody. While I am grateful that some have been reunited with family, others are still in detention. All of these children and young people will have life-long scars from the trauma of separation, sometimes without even having access to someone who speaks their language. Somehow, the US government assumes that all Central and South Americans speak Spanish, but many of the current asylum speakers come from remote areas where they speak an indigenous language, not Spanish. Imagine how terrifying it is to be separated from your family in a strange place where you can’t understand anything that is said to you.

I am grateful for the many volunteers who have come forward to help the migrants, offering material and legal aid, and for the millions who give to organizations that are helping to support these people and battle in court on their behalf.

There are also many people and organizations trying to get legal solutions in place. Several years ago, the Senate passed a comprehensive immigration reform bill; although the House would likely have passed it as well, the Republican leadership would not put it up for a vote. Perhaps, with Democrats set to take over the majority in the House in January, there can be comprehensive immigration reform passed by both houses of Congress. Admittedly, it might have to pass by large margins, in case the president vetoes it, but I’m hoping that at least some reforms can be put in place.

The current situation must be resolved in a caring and positive way. I pray for strength, wisdom, and perseverance in this struggle for human dignity and decency.

 

The wilds of October, so far

My Facebook page of Top of JC’s Mind is helpfully reminding me that I haven’t posted in 13 days, and that post was a so-far-unsuccessful plea to get from 99 to 100 likes. My last actual blog post was on October 6, so – deep breath – here is an attempt to catch up a bit.

My mom, known here as Nana, has been under hospice care since summer of 2017 due to congestive heart failure. There have been quite a few ups and downs over that time – and quite a bit of red tape. Re-certification reviews are every two months, so, one finishes and it is time to start on data collection for the next.

As it happened, Nana’s current certification was due to expire on October 15. I was due to be out of town from the third through the ninth and thought that the re-certification decision had been deferred until the tenth; instead, the medical director decided on the fourth that Nana would no longer be covered by hospice as of the sixth. Hospice would continue to “follow” her until another suitable, safe situation could be arranged, but we were not given a date.

The situation was complicated by the fact that Nana had been in residence at Mercy House, which only houses people under the care of our local hospice, since May and could not return to her former home in an apartment with my dad, known here as Paco, at Good Shepherd Village (GSV) because her care needs were too great. Anticipating the possibility that Nana might be decertified, we had her on the waiting list for the skilled nursing unit at GSV for weeks, but they had no availability.

As soon as I returned home, it became obvious that we wouldn’t be able to wait for a room at GSV. On Wednesday, the 10th, my first day back, we were offered a room at GSV’s sister institution in the rehab unit, which we basically had to take.

I will not vex you with the details of the bureaucratic wrangling I needed to do to get the move accomplished by Friday. I will, however, say that I was disappointed that I was caught in the middle of so much red tape when so many people in the official-dom had been assuring me for weeks that transferring between institutions would be smooth and handled by the professionals rather than family.

Mom had her evaluations and was starting in with physical and occupational therapy, when, on the following Tuesday, we got word that space had opened up for her at GSV. So, we packed up her room and, on Wednesday morning, she moved again to what should be her permanent home.

We have her settled in her new room, which has a beautiful view of the valley. There are favorite art pieces, cards, and photos on display and a new sized-for-her recliner lift chair that we bought. She is making progress with her therapy and can walk short distances with a walker and a companion nearby.

I wish I could say that her heart function is improved, but that is not possible. Our goal remains to keep her as active as possible for as long as possible and to keep her pain-free. She is under palliative care protocol, similar to hospice but without the pesky obligation of trying to guess life expectancy.

The best aspect of her new home is that she and Paco are back under the same roof, albeit in separate wings. Paco can hop on his scooter and, using the turtle (3mph) rather than prohibited rabbit (5mph) setting, navigate the apartment building halls, Village Center, elevator, and Health Center halls, and be with Nana in just a few minutes. They have been married 64 and a half years, so the ease of being together is much appreciated.

We are trying to establish some new schedules and routines for Nana and Paco after so many changes in such a short time. If I am lucky, I will be able to work through my backlog and get back to writing and posting a bit more. I know better than to make promises, though. The last few years have taught me over and over to expect the unexpected and I think I may have finally learned that lesson.

a rainbow at Mercy House

On Wednesday evening, I drove to Mercy House, the hospice residence where my mother lives, during a sun-shower after a heavy downpour. Given the time of day and the moisture in the air, I started to look for a rainbow. When I turned east, a full rainbow appeared before me, one end of it resting on Mercy House.

What I didn’t know at the time was that Phatar, a twelve-year-old who was also in residence at Mercy House, had become unresponsive and would pass away the following day, surrounded by the love of family, friends, and caregivers.

On Friday morning, the door to Phatar’s room was open, his bed made with the quilt pulled up. Near his pillow was a little memorial with a flower, the United States flag that had been on his door, a little poem that had been posted in his room, and his handprint in green paint on white canvas.

This morning at church, Father Clarence told Phatar’s story during the homily, about his cancer diagnosis, about his final months at Mercy House, about his desire to receive Jesus in the Eucharist and his baptism, and the comfort that brought him in his final weeks. There were smiles and tears as we listened.

Our mix of emotions in reacting to death is always complex, but I think most people have a particularly strong sense of sadness at the death of a child. It has also been sad watching Phatar’s mom these last months, suffering through every parent’s nightmare of the illness and death of their child. Still, I am grateful to have met Phatar and to know that he is now at peace.

The next time I see a rainbow, I will think of him.