The nest emptied. The parents moved in, then out...then basically became my life. Hilarity, frustration and madness ensued. I went from a stay-at-home mom to a stay-at-home daughter. Honestly, I have no idea what I'm doing.
So, we went on vacation for a week. That was nice. Got away. Felt like old times. Thought about the folks a little, but I'll be honest - not a lot. And still, while we were gone, Hubby was on the phone with a government agency questioning more of Mom and Dad's bills. I could hear the frustration and concern in his voice. The finances never seem to be the easy part. Seriously, people. Start stockpiling money NOW. Being old is a pricey proposition...at best. A financial juggernaut the size and effect of the Hindenberg and the Titanic all rolled up in one.
Yesterday, I knew I had to call Mom and check in. Asked her if everything was going OK. I was stupid enough to let myself imagine that she'd respond "Oh, everything is great!"
Nope.
Instead, I got a litany of mild to moderate complaints. Here, in no particular order are the things that are of concern to Mom:
- Mom and Dad miss their house...a lot.
- The Assisted Living staff is constantly changing. Mom said the nurses are different every day.
- The generic "Depends" I bought her are terrible.
- Mom and Dad want soup and crackers...because dinners aren't good there.
- They probably can't even vote...or don't know where/how to vote.
- Dad has lots of questions about money, etc. We need to talk to him.
- Mom saw another resident's apartment and it has VALANCES. Clearly, that's the secret to making these apartments look like a home. Apparently, their apartment feels like crap in comparison. (Yes, I inserted adjectives in there.)
- There are rumors of two new couples moving in. She said this in a negative tone...as if this will upset their life in some way.
Honestly, it was a very depressing conversation. I tried my best to let Mom vent. After all, who else can she really talk to? If she's afraid to air her grievances with me, she'll just bottle it up and feel guilty. But it made me feel TERRIBLE. I felt like I was holding them prisoner in this gawdawful place.
I reminded her of why they were there and how I wished I could do something...anything to let them live in their home, but it's not possible. She understood, but I could tell that there was this lingering pall over their life.
Really, this shouldn't be a huge surprise to me. At some point, reality was going to hit them and they would have this melancholy stage. I just underestimated how much I would feel it as well.
"This has been a test of the Emergency Elder Care System." It works.
Last night, I was sitting on the couch, watching TV when the caller ID flashed the name of my parents' Assisted Living facility. "Uh oh," I said. It's the call you don't want, but you have to take.
Turns out, Dad was reaching to close the blinds in the apartment, lost his balance and tumbled to the floor. He didn't hurt himself but he couldn't get up....much like had happened many times before when my parents lived alone.
Fortunately, my Mom or Dad pulled the little cord thingy on the wall and somebody came to help him up. They also took his vital signs to make sure he was OK. Then I was called...twice. Once last night and once this morning. It was reassuring to know that everybody was OK and they had survived this incident.
Phew....sort of.
See, the thing is, although I'm totally relieved that Dad fell in a place that is safe and where they were there to pick him up, the problem is that he still fell. And when will he fall and hurt himself? I know it will happen...eventually. No, I'm not being all Negative Nancy, I'm being Realistic Rita. Because here's the cold, hard truth about all of our parents - Eventually, they will fail. I know it. You know it. We all know it. The question really becomes: Who will be there to pick them up and what's the next step?
It's been way too long since I've posted - over a week - and I know what you're thinking: "Out of sight, out of mind." Well, I admit, that's KIND of true. Now that the parents are in the assisted living facility, I do admit to selfishly enjoying every single damn moment of the empty nest. Dang, this is nice. I love everything about it - making plans with Hubby, NOT making dinner, rarely grocery shopping, coming and going when I please. I admit it, I'm one selfish person. But at least I admit it, right?
Back at the assisted facility, Mom and Dad are adjusting nicely. Is it perfect? No. Apparently Mom gets awakened every morning at 6am to get some of her medication. I guess it's a little unnerving that they just walk into the apartment. Then again, they do this so that some time passes between the time she gets her medication and the time that she eats. Her at our house, she'd simply sit around and not eat for a while. They have a schedule. They can't be feeding people at all times of the day. I'm sure my parents don't love that their meal times are rarely if ever changed, but then again, it's something stable and constant which, in elder care, is really important.
Then there's the food. I've basically been avoiding the topic with my parents. Not that I don't care, but because I can't fix it. I can't change it. It is what it is. Yes, I wish that they loved it, but they don't. They don't hate it, but it's not the be-all, end-all. Mom basically says,"It's not bad, but there's just something missing." So instead, I'm trying to sneak them out for some meals at restaurants when I can. Today, for instance, Hubby and I are taking them to dinner at a nice steak place near them. I'm kind of excited and they are too! Mom asked me when I called her about it: "Are you sure you want to come down here today?" Isn't she too sweet? She also said: "That will really be a treat for us!" Man, if I can make somebody's day by taking them to dinner, life is pretty damn good.
On the negative side, we're having some family fireworks. My sister and I are thick as thieves. We stay connected and work together as much as possible. My brother is another story. I don't want to air the family dirty laundry, but we are no way on the same page. We're not even in the same book. He's frustrated and feeling guilty because he can't do as much to contribute to the cause and so he's flipping things around and making my sister and I feel like we did something wrong. It's maddening. I feel angry and frustrated myself. My first instinct is to lash out at him, but I know, deep down, that won't help anything. I have to swallow my pride and fix it. It's what I do. I'm kind of the family fixer. (I'm a Libra - it's a genetic thing.) The problem is, I'm not sure it can be fixed. But here's the thing: What matters more than anything else to my parents is that we kids get along. It's all they care about. Damn, this is hard.
So that's an update. Nothing special. Nothing earth-shattering, but that's actually good. No news is actually good news.
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 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.
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...
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.
