SoCS: blue

Since I was a child, my favorite color has been blue.

The color of my eyes and my mom’s and dad’s and sisters’.

The color of the sky at midday.

The color of some of my favorite clothes, although not jeans, which I never learned to like wearing.

I still like blue. I’m wearing it today.

But today, thinking of blue makes me think of how I’m feeling.

Blue.

Most of my #SoCS posts in recent weeks have been giving updates about my father, who is struggling to recover from falls, broken bones, infections, and we aren’t totally sure what else, while dealing with dementia and the wear and tear of ninety-six years.

I am doing everything I can to keep him as comfortable and content as possible and he is doing much better than he was ten days ago. We finally have the rest of his things in his skilled nursing/rehab room.

His Irish-themed banner and plaque are on his door, which makes it easier for him to find his room in the hall of similar-looking doorways. We finally got a temporary phone number working, although he needs help to answer calls and we aren’t sure if he can re-learn how to dial.

Baby steps.

It’s just hard for me not to feel blue. As much as I understand that this is just the journey we have been given in this last period of his life and that we are doing everything we can for him, I can’t help but feel sad.

All the time.

It’s hardest when I am with him, although I have a really good game face and manage to be cheerful – or seem cheerful – when I am interacting with Paco. He is sleeping quite a bit, which is probably good. Most of the time, he isn’t really aware of how much he has forgotten, so he is not blue, which is a blessing.

I am blue for both of us.
*****
Linda’s prompt for Stream of Consciousness Saturday this week is to use “color/colour” as a noun or verb or choose a color to write about. Join us! Find out more here: https://lindaghill.com/2021/07/23/the-friday-reminder-and-prompt-for-socs-july-24-2021/

Paco update

Linda’s prompt for Stream of Consciousness Saturday last week was to base the post around a word that contained -igh. My thought was to write a post beginning with “Sigh” about my father’s continuing health struggles, following up on two previous SoCS posts.

The day after I wrote the post linked above, Paco’s condition deteriorated and I made the decision to send him to the emergency room. After the initial check-in, I was allowed to be with him. The ER team was very thorough and found that he was dehydrated and had three new fractures in his lumbar vertebrae. After some IV fluids, he went back to the rehab facility by ambulance at 3 AM.

I caught a nap and was very grateful to learn that my older sister had moved up a planned visit and would arrive that afternoon. She spent a lot of time with Paco on compassionate care visits while I worked out a lot of logistics. It turned out that a rehab room opened up within his senior community; the place where he currently was in rehab was a sister facility in a nearby city. Paco was set to move back on Friday and I spent a lot of time packing up things in his assisted living unit, some to send up to his rehab room there and some to bring back to our house as we had decided to give up his place in assisted, as we know he won’t be well enough to return there any time soon – and may never recover to that point.

The plan on Friday had been that our family would finish clearing out his place in assisted and help Paco to get settled into rehab, but we arrived to find that someone in the assisted wing had tested positive for COVID, so it had to go into lockdown. Fortunately, this didn’t affect Paco’s move and he arrived safely via medivan. I signed yet another cache of documents and was allowed a short visit to help him get settled.

Unfortunately, our hard-won rights to expanded compassionate care visits got lost in the bureaucracy with the impending holiday weekend adding another layer of complications with so many staff away on vacation. I was able to get permission for some extra visiting time over the weekend but face another round of changing personnel, location, rules, etc. this coming week.

Meanwhile, Paco is confused and exhausted. The silver lining is that his pain level is generally low.

The big question mark remains how much recovery is possible in regards to daily living functions. I don’t know if the rehab team will be able to make a valid prediction or not.

It may be a situation of wait and watch and work and hope and pray and see where we end up.

SoCS: ups and (mostly) downs

When I saw that Linda’s prompt for Stream of Consciousness Saturday this week was “up/down”, I knew that I needed to write a follow-up to last week’s SoCS in which I talked about my father (Paco) and his recent fall, hospitalization, and move to a rehab facility.

When I wrote last Saturday, it seemed that, though there was a long way to go, things were trending up.

Everything changed on Sunday when new complications arose. For various reasons, I will not even attempt to elaborate.

Let’s just say it has been a very “down” week.

We are working hard at untangling a mass of symptoms and trying to keep him safe and comfortable, but it’s an uphill battle. I know he is 96 and so, very vulnerable and prone to complicating factors but it is still so hard to deal with.

And to watch.

I know intellectually that I am doing all that is possible for me to help him and his care team, but my heart aches because I can’t make it better.

We have no idea what the outcome will be. It’s not just one day at a time, which is Paco’s favorite saying. It’s one hour at a time. One moment. One more early morning phone call telling me that he fell again during the night.

There are up moments here and there. When Paco easily remembers my name. When he gets to enjoy a slice of blueberry pie for dessert at lunch. When he manages to make a little joke with his aides.

I had planned to go to vigil mass today at a friend’s church, but was too tired to make the drive, so I went to a nearby church instead. I was blessed to see Sister A. there. She had been one of the stalwart visitors during my mother’s final illness, a span that stretched over two years. Because of the pandemic and other circumstances, I had not seen her in months. I was able to fill her in on Paco’s condition and she assured me that she has been lifting him up in prayer.

After such a “down” week, that assurance was a much-needed balm.

*****
Join us for Linda’s Stream of Consciousness Saturday! Find out more here: https://lindaghill.com/2021/06/25/the-friday-reminder-and-prompt-for-socs-june-26-2021/

broken

I think I might be broken.

Last week was rough as I wrote about for Stream of Consciousness Saturday yesterday.

Today is Father’s Day in the United States. I was able to speak briefly with my dad this morning, but he was pretty confused about handling the phone and they were about to change one of his dressings. There aren’t visiting hours until Tuesday evening, so there is no chance to see him. We did drop off a card yesterday and he has gifts and cards already from my sisters.

He can’t really remember that it’s Father’s Day anyway…

Meanwhile, it is also Father’s Day for B here at our house but I’m having trouble focusing enough to plan dinner or much of anything else. It’s taking effort just to make my eyes focus to write this.

I did sleep quite a bit last night after very little sleep the night before.

Somewhere in the midst of all of this, we went out to dinner for our 39th wedding anniversary and opened some cards. Originally, we were going to go away for a couple of days. We still might, once I get through the initial care conference for Paco on Tuesday. I need to write notes and questions to prepare for that. Oh, and also get ready to deal with all the insurance folks.

Maybe tomorrow.

Maybe I won’t feel so broken then.

SoCS: and the hits just keep on coming…

No, this is, unfortunately, not going to be a post about what’s on the Top 40.

I have been scarce/non-existent here at Top of JC’s Mind for the last week because my 96-year-old dad, known here as Paco, fell in his assisted living unit last Saturday. B and I had visited him in the 1-1:30 visiting slot, but he fell about 3:00. We think he was in the kitchenette but aren’t sure. Although he hit the floor pretty hard, he managed to get himself up and over to the couch where he called for help.

He has had a few falls before, but he hit much harder this time. His left side took the force of the fall. He was sent by ambulance to the local hospital where the extent of his injuries was revealed and he was admitted with a bump and cut on his head – luckily no concussion – bruises and contusion on his left arm and elbow, deep bruising on his left hip – luckily no break – a cracked left rib, and two wing fractures of back vertebrae.

The fall, pain, unfamiliar surroundings, etc. also worsened his cognitive condition. Paco already is suffering from dementia and this fall completely unmoored him. On Wednesday, he was stable enough to transfer to a rehab unit. We are hoping that his cognition will improve as he heals and gets stronger. It’s a much calmer and more stable environment than being in the hospital.

Tomorrow is Father’s Day in the United States and it’s hard because we won’t be able to see Paco as visiting in the rehab facility is extremely limited.

The other hit that our family is trying to absorb is that we just got word that a member of our extended family has been diagnosed with metastatic cancer. She is only thirty. She is strong and fighting but everyone is devastated.

And the hits just keep on coming…

*****
Linda’s prompt for Stream of Consciousness Saturday this week is “hat/het/hit/hot/hut.” Join us! Find out more here: https://lindaghill.com/2021/06/18/the-friday-reminder-and-prompt-for-socs-june-19-2021/

SoCS: going out for a drive

One of the changes with the rules in New York State and with my father’s assisted living home is that I can now sign him out and take him for a drive. Previously, I could only take him to medical appointments.

My father, who is known here as Paco, loved to drive. He drove quite a bit when he worked for New England Power Company for 43 years and, given that our town was twenty miles from a grocery store, other stores, our grandparents and other relatives, the movie theater, and just about anything else that wasn’t work-related, he drove quite a bit on evenings and weekends, too. (My mom also drove, especially taking us to piano lessons and my sister’s dance lessons, but, if the five of us were going somewhere together, Paco always drove.)

In those days, it wasn’t unusual to “go for a drive” as a form of recreation. Given that we lived in the Massachusetts/Vermont border area, there was beautiful scenery in any direction you chose to drive. And hills. And what to us was normal but in retrospect were narrow, winding, and largely unmarked roads. It didn’t matter. Paco was used to it and was a very good driver with a very good sense of direction.

Paco had said that he would stop driving when he turned 90. That turned out to be not quite true. I think he stopped when he was 92. By then, my mother was entering her final battle with congestive heart failure and Paco was staying with her in their apartment nearly all the time. Their senior community offered transportation for the occasional trip to the grocery store or for medical appointments and I was nearby and there every day and could drive for errands or deliver things to them. They decided to sell their car and Paco replaced his driver’s license with an official state ID.

The IDs have a longer renewal term than driver’s licenses do, so his current ID is good until he is 103. He’s currently 96. He says he doesn’t think he will make it to 100.

We’ll see.

Paco is famous among family for always saying “One day at a time.”

It’s all any of us can do.
*****
Linda’s prompt for Stream of Consciousness Saturday this week is “drive.” Join us! Find out more here: https://lindaghill.com/2021/06/11/the-friday-reminder-and-prompt-for-socs-june-12-2021/

Review: A Secret Love

I grew up in a rural area where television was purely by antenna, although we received NBC, ABC, and CBS, the three major networks at the time, which was a luxury. I’ve never been able to keep up with the increasingly complicated media landscape of cable, premium channels, satellite, and streaming options. I’ve gotten used to reading lists of Emmy nominees of shows I have never seen and to which I don’t have access. I usually can’t even keep track of what show or movie is being offered on which platform.

I do occasionally happen upon a recommendation that I can follow through on viewing. I was reading a list of awards geared for older adults from AARP which included the 2020 documentary A Secret Love. It is available through Netflix, the one streaming service to which we are currently subscribed, so spouse B, daughter T, and I settled in one evening to watch it.

A Secret Love is the story of Pat Henschel and Terry Donohue, two Canadian women who fell in love and made a life together in the United States where Terry had played baseball with the Peoria Redwings of the All-American Girls Professional Baseball League. While family back in Canada knew the two were close friends who shared a home, they did not know that they were life partners for many decades. While the film does give us their remarkable personal history, the documentary concentrates on their later years, as they face Pat’s illness and decisions about where to live.

Having dealt with the issues of serious illness, financial and legal complications, and housing decisions with B and my parents, I found much of what Pat and Terry were facing relatable. The complexity of the family dynamic, the cross-border legal issues, and the fact that, while Pat and Terry had been a couple since 1947, they did not have the protection of marriage when it came to things like hospital visitation added even more poignancy to an already daunting situation.

What comes through most clearly, though, is the depth of their love for one another. I am always moved by couples whose bond is so strong that it weathers decades of life together and Pat and Terry’s story is such a beautiful example of that. I will warn you that if you, like me, are inclined to teariness, you may want to have your handkerchief handy.

I will also say that, while the story is about elders, it also holds meaning for younger adults. T loved the film as much as I.

JC Confessions #18

In the first few seasons of The Late Show, Stephen Colbert did 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

I do not know how to apply make-up.

Other than the fact that I couldn’t teach my daughters how to do it, this has not been a hardship in my life. I’m comfortable with my natural look.

My main experience with make-up dates back to high school, when I was in some musicals. We had to wear make-up so that we didn’t appear washed out by the harsh lights and distance to the audience. This generally meant very heavy eyeliner and some blush, which looked good from far away and comical up close. Once, when I was playing Sister Sophia, one of the older nuns in The Sound of Music, I sported black lines on my face to make me look older. I remember getting comments that I looked good that way, which I chose to take as compliments of how I would look as I aged rather than criticism of how I looked at seventeen.

The thing about not wearing make-up that does bother me sometimes though is the association that many people make that if a woman does not wear make-up, she is “letting herself go.” While it’s true that I don’t wear make-up, I am not unkempt. While I understand that many women will not go out in public or attend video meetings without wearing make-up, it doesn’t mean that those of us who choose to present our natural skin to the world are less competent, committed, or caring than they.

Make-up is also touted as a way to “look younger.” I prefer to look, well, how I look. Admittedly, I am not good at guessing how old people are. I’m now sixty, so this is what 60 looks like for me.

I wonder if my long-ago teen classmates would think that Sister Sophia was sixty and I look like her now…

the meaning of January

Linda’s Just Jot It January is designed that anything one jots down can be transformed into a #JusJoJan post of the day.

Fortunately for all of you, I haven’t been taking this literally.

Otherwise, my January would be filled with texts, emails, and long lists of questions and reminders as I have tried to navigate the complexities of dealing with the care of my father, known here as Paco, in the time of COVID.

As the new year began, Paco was nearing the end of a stay in the rehab/skilled nursing unit in the health care center of his senior community, following five days in the hospital in mid-December. We were trying to finalize his move into the assisted living unit, which also triggered the need to close out his independent living apartment as soon as practicable. There were also issues with his medical and personal care to deal with – and, due to COVID restrictions, it all had to be done by phone or email or picking up and dropping off documents and forms and signed permissions, with only occasional in-person contact, none of which could be with Paco.

It’s been, in turns, confusing and frustrating and harried and bureaucratic – and perpetually exhausting.

It’s also been very difficult to write about.

So, here I am, trying once again to sum up the situation and convey it in words, unsure that I am capable of doing so.

A few days before Paco move to assisted living, we noticed that he was struggling with some everyday kinds of things like using the telephone. I expected that an infection he had had had returned and managed to convince the medical team to test for it. It turned out that I was correct but the test results didn’t come back until Paco had already moved to his new place in assisted. He was started on a new medication, but the combination of the infection, medications, being in a new environment, having to do another 14-day COVID quarantine because he had moved to a new unit within the health care building, and not being able to see family or have them help him set up his new place has made an already daunting situation extremely difficult.

I am doing the best that I can to care for him, but it is not good enough and I can’t manage to fix everything in a timely way. I’ve made some progress but the pace has been slow. While I am not by nature an impatient person, after so many weeks of this, I am frustrated and immeasurably sad.

The comfort I have is that Paco is seemingly unaware of all the complexities of the situation. He doesn’t usually remember the things he used to do before this latest illness, so he isn’t really missing them. While his memory is impaired at this point, he has not had the personality changes that affected other members of his family when they developed dementia, so he is generally in a good mood, although his fatigue level does sometimes put a damper on things.

So, here we are, starting another week. There are more lists of things to do, people to call, tasks to accomplish. One big thing that is (nearly) completed is the closing out of Paco’s old apartment. I turned the keys in last week, but the person I needed to interface with wasn’t there, so I’m not entirely sure we’re finished with the process.

Sometimes, people choose a word or phrase for the new year. Perhaps, for me, this will be the year of “not entirely sure.”

Like last year, 2021 may be a year of uncertainty.

Hair – and a poem – and a prompt

One of the pandemic topics that has gotten a surprising amount of media time here in the United States is what people are doing with their hair without having access to hair salons. Celebrities and politicians face scrutiny if they appear well-coiffed. Did they break the rules and call in a professional? Are they sheltering in place with someone who can manage to trim hair? Did they manage to give themselves a haircut? Are they wearing a stylish headband only to keep their bangs from falling into their eyes?

There are also a lot of stories of hairdressers delivering hair color to clients and giving them instructions on how to apply it – from at least six feet (two meters) away, of course.

Some people, though, are letting their hair grow naturally, revealing their hair color which they themselves may not have seen in decades.

Maybe a few will embrace the natural look. That has always been my choice.

Back in 2016, Silver Birch Press was doing a series called “My Mane Memories” with poets submitting work about their hair. One of the poems they chose was mine: “Crowning Glory” which I will also copy below.

Crowning Glory
by Joanne Corey

“The silver-haired head is a crown of glory…” Proverbs 16:31*

Friends recognize me
in a crowded theater
down the street
across the restaurant
among the congregation

Strangers comment
how beautiful
how they wish
theirs looked the same

I smile
remember the first silver
that appeared
among the brown
before I was in high school
multiplied after my daughters were born
until at fifty just a bit
of brown was left

Then I let it grow
past my shoulders
down my back
in silver waves
finally

*Scripture taken from the New King James Version®. Copyright © 1982 by Thomas Nelson. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

By the way, Silver Birch Press is offering a free kindle version of their May poetry anthology from May first through fifth. Details here:  https://silverbirchpress.wordpress.com/2020/05/01/free-kindle-version-of-may-poetry-anthology-5-1-5-5-2020/

In this time of pandemic, they have also revived their themed series on their blog. Right now, they are soliciting poems/short prose on wearing a mask:  https://silverbirchpress.wordpress.com/2020/05/01/call-for-submissions-wearing-a-mask-poetry-prose-series/

Welcome back, Silver Birch Press!