My own personal summer

It's as if God said to me: "Whoa, whoa, WHOA. Don't get TOO comfortable over there!"

Yes, in a stroke of cosmic timing, the hot flashes started last week. When I finally get the parents into Assisted Living and my daughter back to school and really empty out the nest, nature decides to throw me a curve ball and push me into menopause. Sigh.

I know, I know. I'm damn well old enough. Many of my friends started years ago, but I thought I might escape it, somehow. As if I got a pass from the ickiness of old age and I'd quietly descend into my sunset years without incident. Nope. Not gonna happen.

Actually, they're not really hot flashes. A friend wisely called them "surges" and that's exactly how they feel. It's like drinking a pot of hot coffee on a really warm day. Suddenly, you just have this overwhelming urge to remove a layer of clothing...quickly. It's tolerable, just really weird. So that's what's new with me....

So I haven't been posting in a while. Life has generally settled down, except for most Tuesdays and Thursdays when I do the marathon trip to the Assisted Living Facility, pick up Dad, take him to one or two PT appointments, drive him home and then drive me back home. Here are the only two bad things about this whole scene: 1) Dad isn't much of a talker. The car rides are kind of long and awkward. 2) Sciatica. Doesn't hurt unless I'm sitting down...which I am for 2 hours during this commute.

Other than that, it's been pretty good. Except for the fact that I feel like Dad and I are completely wasting our time doing this PT. He does his exercises...sort of. But his shoulder isn't really better and his gait isn't really better. And yet, despite that, he decided to head down to the dining hall without his walker the other day. Even the nurse saw him and offered to go up to their apartment and get it, but he insisted that he didn't need it. I feel like that's not a good thing, but perhaps it might improve his strength?

Here's a nugget from a recent doctor appointment:

Nurse: So, do you have any big plans for the weekend?
Dad: Not really...except for sky diving.

He's a trip, isn't he? And Mom is just eating up the Assisted Living lifestyle. She's gone to Bingo, Dice, Church, manicures, Exercise Your Brain Classes, Yoga...she's doing it all. I'm SO proud of her. It's like she was imprisoned and she's been set free. She says she's overwhelmed by the choices and the activities, but I can see that she's come alive. And she says that Dad seems to like it when she leaves him so he can have his peace and quiet. Is he safe there alone? Who knows.

Oh but there was a bit of a drama there the other day. Mom said they had a meeting during which all the residents could bring up any complaints. One woman, who Mom said is heavy and Dad said "told us that nobody likes her," apparently monopolized the meeting. Mom said everyone was getting upset with her. And to make matters worse, Mom said this woman sits at their table during meals and "your Father HATES her." Oh boy. But as Mom was telling me this story, One Eyed Marilyn, their other tablemate, came up and told Mom that she'd complained and the disliked woman wouldn't be sitting with them anymore. Like a friend said, it's like Middle School Lunch all over again! I'm glad for Mom and Dad (and Marilyn) but feel kind of bad for that woman. How awful it must feel to be old and unliked!

But all seems good, knock on wood. We're settling into a routine, Mom and Dad seem content and I feel like maybe that's the best I can ask for.

Meanwhile, I'm having a load of fun (insert sarcasm font) with the healthcare system. Holy crap. I'm not awesome, but I can't help but wonder, how do old people who don't have a child or someone to help them, deal with medical appointments and healthcare red tape? It absolutely makes me lose my sh*t. I can't help but feel absolutely daunted by the idea of adding more appointments to my parents' calendar. And yet strangely, that calendar also seems to be the one thing that give my Dad's days purpose. Funny how that works. I guess it's a small price to pay.

I'll leave you with a charming video starring old people. I love this.

This is my mind on worry.

This morning, as I was still in bed at 4:50 am, my mind was going 8,000 mph. Here's what I was thinking:

- What if Dad isn't sitting properly?
- What if his pressure sores are coming back?
- What if he's not drinking enough water?
- What if he's not doing his PT exercises?
- What if the nurse at the assisted living facility never responds to my request to watch him do his exercises?
- What if the nurse isn't very good?
- What if they're screwing around with their meds?
- What if it's a creeper nurse who is mean to old people?
- What if Mom doesn't stay relatively healthy?
- What if Mom and Dad grow to hate where they live?
- What if I can't get between PT appointments today AND feed Dad lunch in between?
- Should I move the car in between PT appointments?
- What if I never have time to exercise again?
- What if we do all this PT and then Dad just continues to decline?
- What do I do when Mom has an appointment and Dad doesn't?
- Is Dad safe to leave on his own?
- What am I, crazy?!
- What if the funding doesn't come through and they can no longer afford to stay in their apartment?
- If they have to come back here, will I lose my mind?
- What if we run out of money and our kids have no money and we are old and need care?
- What if I don't have time to do everything this week?
- What if I never have time to do anything ever again?
- If I lose my mind, who will take care of Mom and Dad?
- What if the dog's incision doesn't heal properly?
- What if the vet says I can't board her while we're gone this weekend?
- What happens if Dad declines quickly and they are no longer fit to be cared for at this "level" in the assisted living?
- Am I losing my mind?

I'm certain there were more questions, but I think you get it. And yes, you can see a trend - it's all about the future and "what if?" I exhaust myself with all of this. Some days, I have to just go with one hour at a time.

It's daunting, I tell you. Daunting.

Oooh, oooh, that smell...

So we're doing the triple-switch move here in our family. No, this is not an Olympic event. It's what happens when you move your parents into Assisted Living, move your sister into your parents' house and then move your daughter into her college apartment. Basically, it's a lot of moving...and lifting...and sorting. It's awful. It makes you say to yourself: "Why did I ever buy ANYTHING?" It makes you want to become a reverse hoarder....or a monk.

I feel the worst for my sister. When Mom and Dad moved in with us, we got them and a bunch of their stuff. Yeah, it was challenging, but we managed to keep it to a minimum. My sister ended up with the remnants of 60 years of marriage. Fortunately, my parents had only lived in that house for about 14 years, but don't underestimate the amount of crap that can be collected in that time.

And along with that crap comes the issues of dealing with a house inhabited by old people...and their poor judgments. For instance, a few years ago, Mom and Dad recarpeted the living room. In that living room, they had a large armoire. Well, they must have hired the least reputable carpet company in the Chicagoland area. Here's what my sister found when the carpet cleaners moved the armoire:

That's right, THE FREAKING CARPET COMPANY LAID CARPET AROUND THE ARMOIRE. I still can't believe it. Who does that? Just for fun, I asked my Dad about this. His response was: "No, I don't remember that, but of course you'd carpet around it." I told my sister that we found out when the dementia began.

But honestly, that's not the most daunting thing. The worst, for my sister is the smell. We've been trying to figure out what it is, but it's definitely unique. And apparently very real. (Click here to read about it.) In any case, that's what Sis has been doing - trying to rid the house of the smell so that she and her family can move into a house that doesn't make them feel like 80 year olds are sitting next to them. She's done a great job thus far and I'm certain that once she and her family are in there, everything will freshen up nicely.

In the meantime, I'm making mental plans to start cleaning out my basement...

Too close and too far from home.

Well, life is cruising along....literally. My typical week consists of no less than 4 visits to Mom and Dad at the Assisted Living Facility. That's fine and I'm glad to see them and check in, but I have to say, the drive is a bit overwhelming. The thing is, Dad has a whole bunch of PT appointments set up - with two separate PTs. This week, there are 4 appointments plus a visit from the Family Care nurse. So every time he has to see the PT, I drive 30 minutes to pick him up, 30 minutes back to the appointment, 30 minutes back to the Assisted Living facility and then 30 minutes back home to my house. 120 miles, 4 times a week. I'm gonna need an oil change...and a drink.

But it's OK. It really is. I keep reminding myself of these facts:

- It's a short-term problem. PT won't last forever - just a few weeks.
- The PT gives Dad a bit of a workout.
- It gets Dad out of their apartment and away from the TV.
- It gives me an opportunity to nag him about moving/drinking water/interacting with people while I'm driving and he's passively passengering along.
- It's just driving. It's not moving furniture. On the list of things that are hard to do, driving is pretty far down. (Although the sciatica MUST be fixed - ouch!!)
- Dad and I have the oddest and most interesting conversations:

Me: So how's it going Dad?
Dad: OK.
Me: Have you done any more of the "Exercise Your Brain" classes?
Dad: No. They're lame.
Me: But Dad, it's important that you interact with people. It's good for you.
Dad: Basically, they're a bunch of old farts. They're all in their 80s.
Me: You mean like you?
Dad: I mean LATE 80s.

He's a piece of work, isn't he? This conversation confirms what my sister and I believed: Dad doesn't think he's old. Every day, he wakes up and he's surprised that nothing works the way it used to. Maybe it's better that way. Maybe, if you had instant perspective on how old you are and how crushed your body is, you'd just give up. The other day, I had this conversation with Mom:

Me: So how does it work when you get to lunch?
Mom: Well, we sit at the same place every time.
Me: Do you sit with anyone interesting?
Mom: Well, there's this woman, Marilyn. She's pretty sharp. But the poor thing. She only has one eye.

Here's where my Mom is AWESOME. Mom has macular degeneration. She literally can't even see her own face when she looks in the mirror. Marilyn probably has at least one good eye and yet Mom feels bad for her! Priceless.

This week, life was, once again, put in sad perspective. The shooting at the Sikh Temple outside Milwaukee was less than a mile from Mom and Dad's new home. In fact, Dad and I drove past the temple yesterday and will do so every time I pick him up. The families of the victims would give anything to have 30 minutes with their loved ones. I have to remind myself of that every time I complain about my daily commute.

Waiting for the other shoe to drop

Shhh...do you hear that? The click-clack of a walker? The dull sound of the Today show from a closed-door room? The shuffling of aged feet on a hardwood floor? The slamming of doors by arms that are too old/achy to do it quietly?

I don't hear it either and that makes me smile. It's BLISSFULLY quiet here and I'm enjoying every second.

Remember this line from the song "Big Yellow Taxi?":

Don't it always seem to go
That you don't know what you've got
Till it's gone  

I sort of feel the opposite. Mom and Dad have been gone 4 days. I know what I've got and I'm soaking up the quiet, the clean, the lack of pill-sorting, the not cooking or preparing food...the normalcy. It's absolute HEAVEN. How did I not appreciate this in the past?

But let's get back to them. Life seems to be settling in for them. I say "seems" because, honestly, I won't quit with the worry. I was talking to my sister-in-law (who blessedly was checking in because she didn't see a post here for days) and we talked about our friends who also have elderly parents who seem to be "waiting for the other shoe to drop." The parents have dementia or bad hips or legs or arms or something and there's been a small incident or two but they're hoping that nothing will happen. But we all know, unfortunately, that something will, and they're/we're just waiting for the next event that will upset the apple cart of life and send them/us into a new phase.

Although Mom and Dad are safely and, seemingly, well-adjusted to the assisted living facility (the photo is a peek at their apartment,) I still have worries. Mom is doing a great job navigating the facility, despite her significant vision challenges. Most importantly, she's figured out who to contact if she needs help or answers. That's huge. It means they're independent again, albeit in a different way. I'm so proud of her for taking in some of the activities there, whether it's the "Exercise Your Brain" class or a game of dice. She chuckles when you ask her about it because I'm sure she was as nervous as a freshman at lunch on the first day of school and yet she just threw herself out there. I never realized she had that moxie. God, I pray I do at her age.

Dad is being...well, Dad. He follows behind her to meals and has made his first request for cereal and milk in their apartment. Mom has wisely discouraged that, knowing that he can get that food in the dining room and if they start that, he won't want to leave the apartment. Again, she's a sage...and my new idol.

They're not crazy about the food, but I'm steering clear of that conversation, mostly because I can't fix or change it. It is what it is. It's probably better than what they made for themselves at their house, but less tasty/interesting than what we served here. (Who would have guessed that anyone would think that about MY cooking?)

Yesterday, they were visited by a podiatrist who took care of "regular maintenance," something that I did here very badly and reluctantly. Hoping the dentist will follow soon as Mom is terribly concerned about that.

The best part is that Mom feels free to leave Dad in the apartment and go and participate in activities. She was so trapped in their house, so this is a new freedom for her. This is where the worry hides: How long will Dad be safe to be left alone? She's in the same building, just downstairs. And yet, it's hanging there, in the back of my mind - likely in the back of hers too.

Dad seems good. I think he's grateful to not feel beholden to someone, living in their home. He's confused how he's able to afford this new life. (Frankly, I am too, but Hubby is the finance guy.) He asks few questions and seems happy sitting in his new chair, channel surfing and staring at the TV. (Which works GREAT, by the way. No remote control issues at all - AMEN.) I'd worry about him more if I could see him, which I, thankfully, don't. Maybe that's best. Is he drinking enough water and moving around enough? Probably not and yet he seems pretty good every time I've checked in on him.

So that's where we are. Living a "new normal." I'm spending a lot of time commuting in my car, but it's worth every second if it means that Mom and Dad can have a new safer, happier, independent life.

Fingers crossed that this will last for a while....