Grandma's Old Dishes: It's Party-time

One day cousin joe decided he didn't want to store the boxes of dishes that his mom had asked him to hold onto after she moved into assisted living. She had told me many years earlier she wanted me to have them -- but she would balk at the price of shipping them to me, 150 miles away. And then she would never allow me to stop by her home and get them, while I was on the road. Then one day they showed up on my doorstep. Three huge boxes too heavy for me to carry by myself.

My grandmother, my father's mother, had died almost a century ago, in the hospital, shortly after childbirth. There was no photo of grandmother passed down to his children or grandchildren (though I spent years doing family research trying to find even just one), no stories about her, what she was like. Just the pain of two young children left motherless. I grew up listening to my dad's pain.

So now I have grandmother's dishes. When I opened the boxes I expected fireworks, a flash in the sky, the rumbling of wind through the trees, or at least some trembling of my hands. None of those occurred. The dishes were a full set but plain. This was in contrast to the decorative hand painted dishes and cups from all over Europe I had received from my maternal grandmother, who had owned a bonafide antique shop. 

I thought "They're plain to me, but they were special to her, to my grandparents, to their family."

We didn't need another set of dishes. We don't need more things to store in our garage. But this is the only physical thing in the world have that connects me to her. Did I just want to put them up on Craig'sList? Try to get a few bucks out of them and ensure that somebody who needs has use out of them? Maybe but not now...

More than a year has passed since the dishes arrived, a year in which they've been in the original three boxes in our garage. Both my dad and my mom has passed on.  Then yesterday we brought up the extra leaf, set it in the dining room table, set out the white table cloth, and set the main dining room table with all the dishes, service for 12. And we had a party. Tuna fish salad, with sliced tomatoes, and pomegranate seeds garnishing on the side. Milk was served in the tea cups.

"To you, Grandma," we toasted. "May your soul be ever joyful in heaven."

I'm not sure what next.

Based on the designer stamp on the back signaling the dishes were Japanese and actually made in Japan, it's possible the dish set was a wedding present to the newlyweds. With barely a scratch, they look barely used! I feel I know even less about my grandma now than I did before. The dishes are beautiful to hold, the cups beautiful to the touch. What did she cook and place in those grand serving dishes? A roast? Did the two children laugh at the dinner table? Did she allow them to laugh, and join in? Did my grandfather, with his dour-looking face, who later gave the children away to an orphanage and foster parents?

Even the delicate sound of that teacup being replaced in its saucer was a connection. My grandmother - for a few years - listened to that sound.

Many people inherit dishes from their grandparents. Some are worth something, some are "worth" nothing. Do you make a crafts project out of them? Or sell them on Craig's List? Do you take out a photo of your grandparents while you sit and eat on those dishes?

My grandparents did not have creamed cheese and jelly on a rice cake, with cherries, and Activia with blueberries. And what's next will probably be more cold lunches like this, til we work our way through each dish and teacup.

But that's okay. And we never really do know "what's next."

REITS: The Truth about Your Elderly Parent's Montlhy Service Fees

Creative Commons License; Brett VA

You know that monthly service fee for the grandiose residents where your senior mom is living? Or how the monthly fee doubles when you or your elderly parent moves from independent living into assisted living - even though his or her bedroom/living room space is half the size? You may think that increase is going to increase services, which your elderly parents increasingly need. Then how come it doesn't? And how come you're so frustrated?

Where do you think the funds that your parents - or you, if you're supporting them - are paying are going to?

My mom lives in senior housing that began as senior housing run by Quakers and that is now one site owned by a national corporation. I used to think her service fee is split between her specific location, and the national corporation, each getting a piece. I thought I was so brilliant for figuring out that not all the money goes to getting her good care, but rather also to "the corporation."

Now even that turns out to be naive.

Have you ever heard of a REIT? You may not have but plenty of investors in it for the long haul have.  It stands for Real Estate Investment Trusts and this category of investment fund was created in 1960 by Congress. One type of REIT is Healthcare. We start with the fact that the land and physical facility on which you or your elderly parent live, or will live, is owned not by the senior services company but by the Real Estate Investment Trust.

Almost immediately after this type of stock portfolio was created, investors loved REITS. 

Read this from Forbes: 3 Recession-Proof REITs With Yields Up To 7.6%

or this from RealMoney:Top Healthcare REITs to Play an Aging Population

One reason why healthcare REITS are in demand is that they are required to distribute at least 90% of their income as shareholder dividends. In a normal company, profits would go back into the company in the form of better services, improved facilities, land maintenance and land improvement. Not so with REITS. 

AT LEAST 90% of their income is going to shareholder dividends!!!

Where my mom lives, the company advertises 74 acres that include 6-hole executive golf course,community garden plots, a greenhouse and hiking trails. But when you go there, the land is decrepit, the golf course overrun and uncared for. Bittersweet has overtaken acres and acres, shrouding out the tall trees that are probably hundreds of years old, squeezing the life out of them, now bare except for a few branches at the tippy top, and the REITS company does not cut the bittersweet down. Their way of dealing with it is to clear cut the trees and where they haven't clear cutted, the bittersweet just continues to overtake.

Once, I brought my golf clubs down. The land was soggy and pockmarked. The boundaries were overrun by bushes and invasive species that narrowed the fairways. To get from one green to the next hole, I had to wind my way through overgrown bamboo and bushes, often unsable to see to the next hole.  


This is not land stewardship. This is doing the least amount possible, to increase profits the most. There is no incentive to steward the land.

Every now and then an infrastructure improvement is made. But think about it: To get a physical structure improvement, the request has to go all the way from this individual facility to the REIT. 

I'll stop here for now, because I have a laundry list of improvements that could be made to the land and to the physical structure where my mom lives, and I have a laundry list of how services could be improved. But just start where it counts: 90% of the income of the assisted living facilities goes straight out to shareholder dividends.

the part of you that wants to sleep

When I called Mom's room at noon, I wasn't surprised that she was still in bed but I was surprised that none of the care aids had been in to get her up for lunch (or, in her case, the first meal of the day). Or at least that's what she said. If that's to be believed, given her current memory. But I said I'd call her back in 15 minutes, thinking that a care person would come in by then.

I was wrong.

I told her, "Mom, press the button on the thing around your neck." Sometimes I don't recall the name "pendant." It's no piece of jewelry, that I can tell you for sure.

Well, today she was able to press it and while it was blinking we had at least lots of time to talk. You know that having conversations with somebody with dementia can be challenging. 

"I'm tired," said she.

"I know," said I. 

"I just want to go back to sleep," said she.  

"Well, you can go back to sleep after lunch. It's not a very busy day. I don't have anything scheduled for you," said I. I know to say this, to promise her she can go back to sleep, which she can. I'd rather she do an activity, or sit outside in the sun, but I know to promise her the thing that will give her comfort. The thing she wants to hear. Then something surprising happened.

"I'm afraid," said she.  Now I start to think maybe I should have the facility psychiatrist come in and talk with her because she's talking about emotions! And she's in touch with them. This can be a good beginning.

"Afraid of what, Mom?"

"I just want to sleep." This is not such a stupid statement. This is a moment of self-awareness. For a person with dementia to be so self aware and to be able to share that, to bring me in to this thinking, is a moment I'm cherishing.  "I'm afraid that I"m going to be like this."

"Like what, Mom?"

"To be like this, and I'm not going to be more active." Suddenly we are in another zone of consciousness.  This word "active" is not a word I've heard her say in a long very long time.

"You me to be more active, and do things? Like what, Mom?" Am I pushing too much? Too fast? How far can I take this? Will I get another chance to have this conversation again?

She doesn't answer. The pendant is still blinking and the care person has not come in. I know that lunch will be over soon but I want this conversation to continue.

"So part of you wants to sleep and part of you wants to be active. Which one would you like to have right now?"

"I want to be active but the one that wants to sleep is stronger."

It is strong. And it's her biology at this moment. And while this moment is intimate, I think that after lunch the part of her that wants to sleep will win.

She may not remember this conversation but it made my day.

 

Today Is Not That Day

If you don't know what a rollator is, you are either not old enough yet or you're probably not a caretaker. I fit into the latter group. Those who are also caretakers understand just what a challenge it is.  In my case, we do it by phone. We live 300 miles apart.

 

I think I've got it down to a science now, even though all science pays big respect to the notion of randomness. And there are lots of things that even science cannot predict.

At least I know to phone my mom between noon and 12:30 every day- sometimes even in the middle of a doctor's appointment - because that's when she's waking up. Not from her nap but from her night's sleep. Getting her up and to eat is a delicate maneuver.

"Why is she sleeping so much?" people ask. The easy answer is "That's her disease." But I"m not sure really what disease she has, other than one symptom is she sleeps an awful lot. Whatever disease she has, this is what it does.

I'm not sure what disease she has because the doctors say it's one thing but none of us believe, even 4 years later, that that's what she really has.  Like Alzheimer's.  They don't really know if you have it until you die and they look at your brain and even the they don't really know because many people with a so-called "Alzheimer's Brain" are perfectly fine. But she does have a disease.

The other phone call is, on most days, between 3:30 and 4pm and that call also is a wake-up call, after she has gone back to sleep after lunch. This call is to get her to get up, stand up, walk down the hall.

"I'm comfortable here in bed," she says. "Why can't I just stay here under the covers?"

Then I have some sort of answer. I've been practicing this answer for a long time. "Well, you need to stand up straight, it's better for your back"

"I'm tired." I've practiced this too. "Then you need to walk some and get your blood circulating and get some oxygen to your brain." 

"But you told me I could sleep until dinner."

"No, Mom, I didn't. Somebody else might have said that but I didn't.  I said, "I'll phone you between three thirty and four and you'll take a walk and you said "okay."" They tell us to go along with people who don't remember things like that. I've found that telling her somebody else may have promised her that she could stay in bed until dinner works.

And back and forth we go.  Doing this for close to a year now, I know to say "Take the walk and then you can go back to sleep until dinner."  The promise of being able to go back to sleep is often enough to get her willing to walk down the hall and back.

Today we had version B of this. As she was getting up and out of bed and reaching for her rollator, she said, "I'd rather be dead than get up and walk down the hall." She wasn't kidding, either. We don't take this lightly. I know life is difficult for her.Wanting to live is difficult for her. But this is no time to focus on this truth.

"Well, Mom, I don't think today's going to be that day." She doesn't bite back.

 "Are you ready? Okay, let's go!" 
 
I've gotten out of that one, for now.

A Place for Mom? What the Pictures (and the Administration) Don't Tell You

The photos of the stately homes-turned-senior living look so nice you want to live there yourself. The lawn is green and plush. The dining room is so plush it looks like it could be in the Waldorf. Or Trump Tower. Or the Titanic.

Your grey-haired mother, or grandmother, is surrounded by and being hugged by care staff, and all are smiling profusely.

Don't fall to the advertising gimmick. Just think how great these photographers make your greasy Chinese food take-out orders look  But this is your mom, or your grandmom, or your dad, or your granddad. This is her life, and in many ways yours too. Or it will become yours.

They may show photos of the Independent Care on the Assisted Living page. 

You look at what's nearby, look at the websites, maybe A Place for Mom, but this is not like Amazon, where the information is readily available. You cannot see the reviews until you register. Worse, you cannot write a review until you register. 

You take a trip there, for the day. Looks nice enough. You may see a golf course. You may see tennis courts. They show you all the beautiful stuff.

Then the application. There's usually a lot of questions about finances, your elderly parent's, and maybe even yours. There's a nonrefundable deposit for the application. There's a Plan A and a Plan B and a Plan C, each one requiring a different amount up front and a different monthly fee. How do you choose? This is new stuff.

Because of the up front deposit, you really cannot be doing too many applications and you don't have time to really go and talk to residents. 

And when you or they have to make that decision, it may need to be rather quick.

I'm going to write a series about what to beware of. Believe me, you won't read this on the senior living websites, and you won't be told this stuff when you go check the places out.

But it's all very deliberate, and once your parents has made the decision, or you for your parent, you're pretty stuck, with the upfront money usually required. This is the rest of their lives.

Never forget that this place is in it for the money. They are in the business of helping senior, but they are in it for a profit and that profit motive will affect every aspect of your or your parents' lives. Smaller corporations become bigger, and pay dividends to shareholders. It's much more complicated than you realize, before you begin this journey to help yourself or your loved one.

Let's visit this. I'm happy to share what I've learned the hard way.

Truth or Mom?

As a college writing teacher, my students were required to write essays that would answer the question: Is it ever okay to lie?

Paper after paper my students would write "Yes" and go on to support their answers. I knew many people who lied regularly. But it was unusual for me to listen to somebody defend their lying.
The situation was often this: The student would have an elderly parent or grandparent who lived far away. Very far away.  Say, for example, the student lived in New York and the elderly grandparent was living in China. The student's father was ill and nobody would tell the elderly grandparent back in the homeland. Their reasoning was this: That it would upset the grandparent so it was better to say nothing. I always just focused on the students' writing, their development of ideas, sentence structure and grammar, but inside I was kind of horrified. How could you not tell a grandparent that their son was sick? Or dying? Or dead?

Recently I've started lying to my mom. It just happens. She's elderly and has dementia. So when my husband came home from a business trip with a broken leg, did I tell her? Absolutely - NOT.
Last month I detected a large lump on the back of my head. To the doctor and hospital I went. Did I tell my mom? Absolutely - NOT. The lump thankfully turned out to be just a fatty deposit.
Sometimes I have to get my mom up and walking. She'll stay in bed all day until dinner unless somebody gets her up and walking. I'll call her around noon or 1pm and tell her it's time to take a walk down the hall. She'll ask, "Can I go back to bed after this?" I answer, "Absolutely!" Then in an hour I'll tell her that her aid is coming. I don't mention that her aid will be getting her onto the exercise bicycle.

Last week her home health aid texted me that my mom didn't want to do a certain activity. She texted me, "I hate to lie to her but sometimes I just have to, to get her there." To the home health aid I wrote, "You're not lying. You are honest when you say, "Yes, you can go back to sleep after this. You're just not telling her that she cannot go back to sleep right after this.""

It's disturbing to not tell the truth, or to withhold the truth. It's a line to be very very careful about. I have to decide in each and every case. But it does feel right to not worry somebody who, as part of her medical condition, lacks initiative and needs a little 'help' to get moving. I know what the consequences would be of my mom laying in bed all morning and afternoon. They would not be good.

With my husband's broken leg, what I don't want to have happen is for my mom to feel that she's burdening me with taking care of her, on top of taking care of my husband. That could really be bad.
Maybe there's somebody around and my mom will ask, "Have I ever met her (or him) before?" There was a time when  - without hesitation - I would say "Yes." But now I hedge. "I don't think so," and she'll feel better. It's hard enough for her - she knows, she really really knows, that her memory is failing. Badly. But I'm not going to rub it in and feel unnecessarily badly about her condition.
Okay, let's not call it a lie. Maybe let's call it less than truth.

The last time I drove home from visiting her, a 7-hour drive mostly in the dark, she wanted me to call her when I got home. It was getting really late. Really late. Like middle of the night late. There was no way I was going to phone her at 3am. I considered lying and telling her I had arrived home, safely. NO I couldn't do that. What if something actually happened to me on the road after I phoned her? Next idea: I might make her angry, but the call went something like this: "Mom, it's getting late and I'm not home yet but I'm only an hour away from home. I'm not going to call you again because it's just getting too late." And she said, "That's fine, dear. Thank you and drive safely."

My religious tradition says one may lie to preserve the cause of peace, not to hurt another person’s feelings, or to provide comfort. One may also lie in a situation where honesty might cause oneself or another person harm.

Honestly, it's not always so easy to tell what that line is. And dealing with aging parents is difficult enough. Maybe some of my students had this right all along.

Presidential Primaries Among the Amyloid Plaques and Tangles of Alzheimer's

 

In the tumult and the excitement of the decades of the '60s and the '70's, my dad insisted that I go to college, and ranted and raved if I indicated any level of disinterest or interest in attending a college that wasn't on his list. Although I would be the first child, and daughter, to attend college, the word "feminism" was never spoken in our home. I was expected to attend college but, ironically, the notion of women's rights was taboo.

My mom knew when to keep quiet so as not to raise her husband's hackles, and quiet she continued to keep for years when he had his temper tantrums -- even for years after he, the self-appointed chief of our family's Thought Police, walked out. It took another 45 years after Dad left home for my parents to be officially divorced, allowing Mom to finally sell the family home and discard as much of the old (emotional as well as physically moldy) baggage as possible, and move into the present. The hallelujah celebration was muted, however. Just a few months earlier, signs of Alzheimer's had appeared. Mom now finally free from one form of oppression, another toxic and unknown form took its place. I wondered about lots of things.

Among all the millions of little details of moving an elderly parent from one home to another, and one year later to yet another, is the change of address for the Bureau of Motor Vehicles. And in that process is yet another question:

If you are a registered voter in PA and are changing your drivers license or photo ID address, would you like us to notify your county voter registration office of this change? Yes or No?

YES! Sometime later, she received her official new voter registration card, which I put in a safe place.

In a political vacuum, Mom and I would talk about whether she was registered as a Republican or as a Democrat. The ghost of the conversation was always about what party her ex-husband, my father, chief of the now former Thought Police, thought was best. Pennsylvania had a long history of being a Republican state. Meanwhile, her memory and cognitive functioning were in declinem as was her ease with walking.

And then came Hillary.

Primary after primary I heard my mom talk about Hillary. Mom wasn't interested in watching the debates on TV. If the content of the debates was lacking in substance or difficult to follow an argument or a position, the brain disease of Alzheimer's made it even more impossible for her to follow the candidates. No matter. My mom knew whom she wanted to vote for. Hillary. She also knew whom she hated. Trump.

"I want to throw things at the TV when I see him."

The Pennsylvania primary was months off but meanwhile we would just have to figure out how to get her to the polls. The senior community would be running buses to the polling site. My biggest fear was that I would determine she had registered as a Republican and would be unable to vote for Hillary in the primaries. When I had time one day, I checked that out... Nope, Democrat. My other fear was that when she got into the voting booth, she would forget whom she wanted to vote for, or wouldn't be able to figure out how to actually vote. Or maybe she just wouldn't want to get up and out of bed on that day.

The Pennsylvania primary was one of the last. THIS POST WAS ORIGINALLY POSTED on youreadermejane.com The afternoon before the primary, I phoned her to check in. "Hi, Mom."

In the most casual voice, she answered: "I'm sitting on the floor. I just fell. I used my cane to pull the phone toward me. My legs are off to one side. "

Okay, I remind myself to not panic. Among all the other thoughts encircling what remained of my brain was: Had she broken a bone? Had she fractured the hip that had been replaced years earlier? Did I need to figure out how to get her to the hospital for evaluation and x-rays?

"Mom, I'm going to call the front desk but they might want you to go to the hospital for x-rays. Would you be willing to go?"

"I'd rather not."

I phoned the front desk, who got security there right away and a nurse from the clinic to her apartment to assist. The nurse determined that it was most likely a groin pull. That was a relief! Still, the nurse asked me to make a judgement call on whether to get her to the hospital for x-rays, just to be certain. I hate making judgement calls like that. Just to be certain.

The rest of the evening, her aid made a special trip in offer assistance, as did my mom's sister, with ice, food, anti-inflammatories, over-the-counter painkillers, and love and comfort. Mom's sister brought the supplies of a democracy: a paper sample ballot for a serious training session. She had my mother practice picking the candidates of her choice. Also of concern was now getting my mom to the bus to the polls the next day. Mom already was walking slower than a sloth even with the assistance of her walker and making more and more stops along the way to catch her breath. How would she ever make it to the Main Building where the bus was picking everybody up?

The following day, my mom's aid showed up, got Mom dressed, and fed, iced her knees, groin area, and hip area, applied Voltaren Gel, and had her take more over-the-counter painkillers and anti-inflammatories. She stayed a little longer, long enough to get my mom into her car and drive her to where the bus would pick her up for the 4pm run to the polls.

At 3:35 I phoned my mom. "I'm sitting outside. The breeze is blowing and it's lovely here. I'd rather be here than inside." So far so good. Her sister would be along shortly and the two would take the bus ride together to the polls. Mom was relaxed and calm. I was not. "This is so exciting, Mom!"

"What's the big deal" my mom asked. "I've voted before."

Later that night I phoned my mom.

Through all the amyloid plaques and the tangles of the Alzheimer's brain, through the loss of memory and what they call cognitive functioning, through her depression and her desires to stop living, feminism - and Mom's voice - had finally broken through. Mom had voted for Hillary.

In the aftermath, I asked her what she liked about Hillary. Said she, after she'd had some rest, "She's a woman. I like the fact that's she's married to a president. I like her policies. Liberal woman. Aggressive. Conservative. I think she'll do what's good for women. Good for the country. Her husband was a good man and they can talk it over. I voted for a Republican candidate once but I can't remember who." 

Then she answered the question that hung in the air, which settled this question, "I wouldn't have voted for a woman if I didn't like her policies."

Nice going, Mom!

Haiku: The Calendar, our Blessing

I call it a weekly ritual, but it's not really.  Really, mom and I do it whenever we can. Ideally, it's every week but sometimes it's every two weeks. And sometimes it's whenever I can, whenever other things haven't intervened to bump this one down the priority list.

It was exceptional when we did it on the first day of January of the new year. Off the wall came the one calendar, and up onto the wall went another. Something we all do, but for an elderly parent who has dementia and isn't sure what day of the week it is, marking a new year carries heft.

My preference is to do the calendar each Sunday. It's the lightest day of the week, and prepares her for the coming week. She finds her pen and marks a big X on the day that just passed. 

It's always interesting to see what she's willing to do if we do the calendar at, say, 9pm and there are only three hours left to that day. She is not willing to X that day.

"I'll just leave it." 

I see that as a good sign. There is still time in that day, time to be lived. "Okay, Mom. That's fine."  In fact, that's great.

The ritual usually begins with "What day is today?" and I'm not willing to tell her. I want her to figure it out. 

"Well, Mom, yesterday was your doctor appointment. What day of the week is your doctor's appointment?" I want her to think this through. I want her little nerve endings to fire away and connect. I'll supply the safety net when the memory fails, which it is inclined to do.

"What day is today?" It could be overwhelming. More than 1, less than 30. Last night when we did the calendar, I suggested she try to find my birthday. She found it, and was surprised when I told her that my birthday was two weeks ago. She X'ed the days and there were a good number of X'es but she ripped right through them and landed properly on Sunday the 25th. 

Last night she also wrote down her 2:45 hair salon appointment for today. While I doubted she'd remember when "tomorrow" came, it was important for her to do, for many more important reasons.

All the more interesting is this process, because we do it by telephone: I'm 300 miles away.

TJ's household weekly haiku website challenges us this week with the household item, a calendar. To me, this has a unique significance. To elderly moms, to elderly dads, I dedicate this haiku:

I summon Mother

to mark this day from others.

Behold! We're still here!

This is the blessing!

Aromatherapy for Seniors, Alzheimer's Patients (and Others)

"There is no cure for Alzheimer's" I read again and again. I've alternated between accepting that claim and refusing to accept it. Scientists promise a cure in the future, but what about now? Even if there is no cure currently, maybe it's possible to stop its progression. This - stopping the progression of Alzheimer's - is in itself a blessing and this is my goal for my elderly mom.

I think I get a wisp of a sense of how difficult it is to remove plaque when I think about my semi-annual teeth cleanings! Ouch! It is so  much easier to not allow the plaque to build up in the first place. Or when I think about my own high cholesterol numbers, which is why I've been on Lipitor for so many years. As I just discussed with my doctor, the plaque in the arteries cannot be removed, but it can be stabilized. Or its buildup can be contained by smart eating. Such would be the plaque in the brain of Alzheimer's sufferers.

When it comes to my elderly mother, my mission is to halt its progression, and to stop this dreaded disease from further debilitating my mom's mind and robbing her of her intellect and memory. When Aricept had to be discontinued due to gastrointestinal side effects, I discovered that the Exelon patch bypassed that issue, as it was transdermal, and she's been on the Exelon patch ever since with minimal side effects.

My most recent protocol is aromatherapy. AROMATHERAPY? I do yoga and all, but I have my limits in this wellness craze. 

Still, need mandated that I venture forth once again into cyberspace, at which time I found a study done by faculty at the Tottori University, Yonago, Japan, which used the essential oil rosemary. Rosmarinus officinalis. The same rosemary that we use for cooking to make food smell yummy? The same herb that I have growing in my garden? The study also used the essential oil of lemon. In this study, the two essential oils, rosemary and lemon, were added to water in a diffuser. Both are presumed to have properties that, by traveling through the nasal cavity, and thus avoiding being broken down in the liver, directly affect the hippocampus or amygdaloid body, which is in charge of discharging neurotransmitters. A compound in rosemary, 1,8-cineole, causes an increase in a neurotransmitter called acetylcholine. It is the breakdown of these neurotransmitters which causes the lapses in memory and cognition.

What did I have to lose? What does my mom have to lose by trying this?

I ordered a diffuser and ordered the essential oils, and we went to work. The morning aid comes in to give my mom her meds and follows the protocol indicated in the study, exactly. She puts just enough water in the diffuser that the oils diffuse in under two hours, while my mom goes back to sleep. She sleeps as close to the diffuser as possible because she loves smelling the sweetness. Pretty interesting from somebody who insisted she had no sense of smell. Is there something in this essential oil is igniting her sense of smell?

If there's any water left over, in the evenings she holds the diffuser close to her nose and just breathes in the vapors. She loves the sweet smell. And as a bonus it may actually be helping to WHAT the neurotransmitters.

Is it affecting, or improving her cognitive functioning and her memory?

I believe so.  I maintain a log of what she does, what she says, and have been keeping this for months now. We also have a week-at-a-glance book that her aids and she fill in daily. In the last 5 weeks I've seen extraordinary improvement. In addition to the Exelon patch (which, by the way, is designed to block the enzymes that break down the neurotransmitters), she is also taking the doses of coconut oil (see next blog post.)

Doubtful? Read the Japanese study for yourself by following the link above. If your parent or spouse is suffering from Alzheimer's, what do you have to lose? What does he or she?

As for the rosemary growing in our garden, I have snipped off some branches and every now and then take a deep whiff. A big inhale... AHHHHH! And while inhaling I think about how much my brain loves this.....

And this is over-the-counter! The same type of naturally-growing plant that pharmaceuticals often try to mimic in their medications.

With this nasty disease, Alzheimer's, which usually results in death, it's best to take an all-inclusive approach. And remember, it takes 20 years for the symptoms of Alzheimer's to appear. So why wait until it's too late? Do some aromatherapy with the sweet-smelling scents of rosemary and lemon.

(See also: BBC: What Does Rosemary Do To Your Brain?)

The Burden Interview: Of Mothers, Caregivers, Sons and Daughters

"You're better at it," wrote my brother in an email after I complained that he wasn't doing anything for our elderly mom while I was doing everything. 

His words still sting like a bumble bee.

Was that really supposed to appease me, or my primary care physician who was becoming extremely concerned as my blood pressure was rising higher and higher and higher and I was becoming pre-diabetic from lack of physical exercise? Or was it supposed to provoke?

Add to that the layer that he, my brother, lived only 20 minutes away from our mother, while I lived 300 miles away. 

A Boston-based 2012 study indicated that daughters, twice as often as sons, become the elderly mother's caretakers. But still, sons comprise up to 30% of those care giving for elderly parents.  In Canada up to 30% of those caring for elderly parents are sons, shows a Canadian study. The "elderly parents" are usually mothers, since women generally outlive men. 

While the men in the Canadian study indicated positives as well as negatives in caretaking, they still assumed that responsibility. Married men generally had the support of their wives, with whom they discussed decisions they were making. 

So how does it get to be the daughter living six hours away becomes the primary caretaker when the son, living 20-25 minutes away, does virtually nothing? And what repercussions does this have on my, the caretaker by default, health, finances, social life and emotional well-being?

After another email months later to my brother in which I outlined everything I'd been doing vis a vis my mom and the toll it was taking on me, his response was "Thanks."

Mine back was was "I don't want your thanks. I want your help."

While I could never anticipate my mother's declining cognitive, and physical, condition, I also could never anticipate that I would get absolutely no help or support from my "bro" or support from my sister-in-law, receiving instead just the meek justification for why it was that he was totally defaulting on the small things, including asking for information about her current health, and the very large and major things and decisions.

The word "burden" is used repeatedly in all studies about adult children as caretakers of elderly and frail parents.  And it completely amazed me that there is something actually called "The Burden Interview," which I discovered on an online search.

This discovery was a true relief, and I gladly read the questions and circled my answer, recognizing so many aspects of what the questions addressed. Twenty of the 22 questions on the Zarit Burden Interview begin "Do you feel....."  or "Do you feel that..." One question begins "Are you afraid about..." and the last and 22nd question begins, "Overall, how burdened to you feel..."  Answers ranged from Never (score of zero) to Nearly Always (score 5).  I wish that the question "Do you feel that your health has suffered because of your involvement with your relative?" should score a 5 and that my doctor's feelings about this should add in a bonus 5 points. Feelings are big in this test.

Test takers have 30 minutes for this test. Mine took much less, let's not say how much less. Then I added up my score. Yup! "Moderate to Severe Burden."

The one question that I'd like to see the questionnaire ask is: "Do you feel angry at other family members who are doing less than you are?" or "Do you feel that other family members should be doing a better job at caring for your relative?"

I do, and I do. I wish the Burden Interview asked these questions because the complete lack of participation in my mother's caregiving by the person geographically closest to her adds a lot of stress too.

When one family member is clearly dis-involved, and wants to dis-involved, there is no communication that is going to get you the understanding, and the help, that you want. There is no way to go but to accept that and let go. To do otherwise would be to increase ones emotional stress, and therefore burden and the consequences of that. 

"Anger deprives the sage of his wisdom, a prophet of his vision," says the Talmud.  More conversations, more attempts to get somebody to see your distress or point of view would end in just more frustration, and disappointment, and a self-destructive cycle of anger.

CARETAKERS of ELDERLY PARENTS: How many others like me are there out there? I would guess I'm not the only one. 

It's often repeated how commonly families break up over money, especially after the death of a parent and the distribution of the estate.

Or, in this case, they functionally and emotionally break up long before. And when that's the case, don't hang on and let it raise your BURDEN SCORE even more!!

There's Always Edible Arrangements for Mother's Day

I don't feel like sending flowers. I don't feel like it, and anyway, flowers just die.

Two weeks ago I arranged the Peapod order to include fresh pineapple single serving cups. My mom has never tried those and it was worth a go. Perfect serving sizes for seniors, easy to open and to dispose of (including to recycle). She loved them. So much so that one week later when I asked her to have one, there were none left. I had the aid look, thinking they had to be somewhere, then the other aid. "She ate the last one."

I guess the pineapple single serving cups were a success. Healthy food, healthy living.

So then what? Peapod has a $60. minimum order. With the $10 delivery charge, that's $70. A lot for just pineapple single serving cups.

So instead of flowers, I ordered her the Edible Arrangements.She'll get her fruit and flowers all in one.

And they come in a handy practical container that can be used anywhere for anything - much better than a glass vase that can break and be dangerous.

And if none of my relatives WHO LIVES LOCALLY, i.e. if none of her other two children show up to to the decent thing, at least she has a beautiful bouquet of edible fruit, that will last her well through the week.

The delivery guy showed up at 10:30 this morning, very early, very nice, for Mother's Day. Beautiful.

Why I Hate Mothers Day: To All the Daughters of Unloving Mothers

Here we go again.

Psychology calls it the "Unloving Mother." Others call it the "Not Good Enough Mother." If you're like me, either term will do. We have the experience: The label tells us that we are not alone.

Mother's Day is coming up.

And another instance when my mother figured out how to obtain money she didn't have for the drug addicted unnamed family member just passed.

For somebody who has to ask what day it is, she has an extraordinary ability to find out which rock to hit to get cash from it. I discovered this latest ruse late last night, when I looked onto her statement.

"I don't recall doing anything with $2000.," I thought to myself. That's because I had not. She had telephoned the bank and had had the maximum funds transferred from her Overdraft Line of Credit into her checking account, and written UFM a check for that amount, which he promptly went to the bank and cashed, and there it was, in "pending" although the check had already been cashed. It was too late to stop payment but I filled out the online stop payment form and clicked, as reason for stopping check, "coercion." I had to wait until the morning to get through to the bank service reps for more information.

Morning. Service rep:

"I'm going to connect you to the fraud line," she says. "You said it was coercion."

"I'm not interested in the fraud line," I tell her. "Are you going to arrest my XX year old mother?"

"No, but it will go into collections, and she'll get telephone calls," Ms. Friendly Banker Representative Supervisor told me.

"Well, she's not making payments on it."

"Then when she dies the executor of her estate will deal with it."

I can't bear the sadness around this relationship. There's a continual yearning to have closeness with ones mother. That never goes away, a fact that I wrestle with. It will take me many many years to heal from this. God give me the strength.

Mother's Day is a few weeks away. I'll be mourning the relationship I never had, and the way I was lied to, over and over again, even as I attempted to take care of her in her old age, in her withering days. But I"ll be trying to have a good day, a day that I can have some control over.

When your mom is mentally ill, or elderly, there's always a question of how much to hold onto that relationship and how much to let go.

Days like Mother's Day have created huge conflicts in the past. This year it will not. Maybe I'll hire her an aid to make sure she's up and alive, but I will not call and I will not be conflicted about it. There's so much reality around this now, - it's impossible to ignore. It's impossible to feel, to know, each time I phone her, that I am not being authentic with her. That when she says, "Why are you tired?" that I'm not painfully aware that the real answer is "Because I"m tired of dealing with you and your lies and your depression and your mismanagement of all your money and that UMF gets literally your last dollar while I try to keep you alive, and still you persist; that you are always thinking about how to get money to UFM, even though you never let on.  That I am being crushed under its weight. That I simply cringe every time you say 'I love you.'"

Maybe the next day she'll say something about my not calling. Maybe I'll say, "Oh it was Mother's Day? I didn't realize!"

This Mother's Day is to all the suffering daughters of mothers who are not good enough, to all the daughters of mothers that Psych Today calls "unloving" mothers, to the daughters of mothers who do NOT put in that call, and do not send that card or buy that box of chocolates, who try to remain authentic to themselves and hold onto reality because our hearts don't just break once... They break again and again and again.

Drug Addiction and Grandparents: The Unfortunate Link

Drug addiction requires two things: Drugs and a User. 

To sustain a drug addiction requires three things: Drugs, a User, and an Enabler.  

Anybody can be an enabler. 

Your grandfather could be an enabler. Your grandmother could be an enabler. Your father could be an enabler. Or your mother. Or your mother to her grandchild. And in fact, a grandparent is often the most likely person to become the enabler.  

Grandparents are likely to become enablers because they may be raising the child of their son or daughter (often because their son or daughter is a drug addict). Grandparents may be lonely and seek the companionship of their grandchild. Grandparents have accumulated financial resources that the grandchild learns how to access.

Dr. Allan Schwartz writes (bold added): "It is a well know fact among drug and alcohol counselors that the worst enemy of the abuser is money. The reason for this is that money becomes the means the addict makes purchases of more drugs to feed the addiction. Because the addict is a person who has learned the fine art of manipulation to get what he wants, he knows how to convince loved ones to provide the money he needs to make more drug purchased. If it means telling lies the addict has no compunctions about doing so. Enabling occurs because loved ones generously provide money to the addict in the naive hope that no lies are being told and in the hope that it will help him recover. It is amazing how family and spouses blind themselves to the facts about what is really happening."

I have lived with this situation for many more years than I can count. It gets me dizzy thinking about how long. I could see the beginnings of the codependency long before the drug use began.

Many of us of the "sandwich" generation are experiencing the pain of watching our parents age, lose their health, their memories, and so on. A subgroup of this generation is also experiencing the pain of watching our parents simultaneously go broke, all due to their role as co-dependents to somebody with a drug addiction.

Treatment centers focus on the addict, on the actual drug addiction. They ask family members to participate in counseling, but it's completely voluntary on the part of the family members, the enabler(s). If the addict can go back to the codependent relationship, and continues to engage in the same behavior as before, denial, help with financial resources, lying, etc., the addiction goes on and on, and the grandparents resources will quickly run dry. 

When you are a family member and you see this happening before your very eyes, what can you do?  Anything?   

What is to guide us through these rip currents and perilous channels?

Wrote the wise King Solomon:

A time for tearing down and a time for building up;
A time for weeping and a time for laughing.
A time for wailing and a time for dancing...
A time for seeking and a time for losing.
A time for keeping and a time for discarding...
A time for silence and a time for speaking;
A time for loving and a time for hating;

Doing Your Elderly Parent's Taxes - Today We're Doing Mom's Income Taxes

Yes, 60 can be the best age, the kids are out of the home, if we are lucky we still have our health, we may or may not have paid off the mortgage. But if you are sixty that means your parents are eighty or eighty five, or even ninety, and that means that your perfect age is now spent toiling over their health and over their wealth. Or the remnants of their wealth.

And that means toiling over their annual income taxes. 

Are you prepared for the day when you will have to prepare, or have prepared, your parents' income taxes? Among other things?

THE OLD DAYS 

My mom used to do her income taxes with a commercial establishment, in her case H&R Block. She worked full-time until she was 85 and would bring all her papers over there and it was easy.

By last year there were several significant changes: she had quit work, she couldn't drive any longer, and I had Power of Attorney. 

I contacted her tax agent, who said that if I could get all my mom's paperwork to her electronically, that she could file for her, as usual.

LAST YEAR 

Last year was an awful year: My mom sold her home, got divorced, and moved again.  I was often focused on those things, by necessity. It was also difficult for me to work my way through her paperwork, given her unique 'filing system'. And I don't know too much about taxes and mortgages or mortgage credits or what would constitute her tax paperwork in the first place. So this in itself involved several trips, airfare included, to go through her paperwork and seize the goods.

Once I had the goods, I had to scan everything, make electronic files out of it, and send everything to her tax preparer.

The fact that it was already April - NO BIG DEAL - I jest, because I enlisted my brother the lawyer to file for a late tax return.  Would I have known how to do that? Would I have had to time to figure out how to do that? Not in your life. 

From there it went rather easily, until it was time to actually file. I forgot to ask the tax returner to have the IRS direct deposit, until I remembered to tell her to have the IRS direct deposit into her checking account. So she had to do something - I don't know what - and get that corrected. DO NOT FORGET TO HAVE THE TAX AGENT DIRECT DEPOSIT.

Federal and state, done.

Another year later, another tax season. What would change? What could change?

Plenty. First of all, another move, another address. Second of all, a brother who has completely disconnected from me and almost entirely from my mother. Any chance of his filing for a late return? Next question. Putting my anger and resentment toward him aside....

NOW

What has also changed from last year is my mother's financial status. And how quickly it does change.

With less money now than ever, with the home sold and the proceeds now distributed between her and her ex-husband, and the monthly fees attached to living in independent living, she can no longer afford the tax filer. And she's no longer driving. That means my husband and I are downloading TurboTax on this windy but sunny Sunday afternoon, and doing and filing her taxes. I also think that it will be faster for me if we just do it ourselves, rather than my scanning everything, emailing everything, and doing through what I went through last year. Last year it was the most convenient thing. Even at that, the tax preparer and I were back and forth and back and forth with emails a zillion times, and it was me thinking through everything, "Is she entitled to medical deductions? Is she entitled to this and that?" This year I think doing it ourselves would be the most expedient thing.

TODAY

 

So today we are doing my mom's taxes. 

 

 And I suppose that this, among everything else associated with taking care of your senior parent, is now the way it will be. 

 

Are you prepared?

Eat your vegetables, Mom.

Mom has to eat. 

But she likes to sleep very late. Very late. This is a problem because she occasionally wakes up slightly hypoglycemic and dehydrated.Then she doesn't have the strength to make it to the refrigerator or the kitchen.

Mom also likes to drink wine. She can get dinner with wine every night. This is nice. She feels great in the evening after dinner. But it is a double-edged sword because with the wine she feels great, but in the morning she wakes up slightly hypoglycemic and dehydrated.

Parenting magazines are encouraging parents to teach their kids to love vegetables and fruit. They're encouraging parents to not try to hide the vegetables and fruits in another dish, say a casserole, but to appreciate the veggies as is. They're encouraging parents to serve fruit for desert, rather than carbs.

Isn't fruit salad what we, when I was a kid, used to eat for desert?  I remember as a kid always having fresh fruit salad for desert. Even in restaurants. Rice pudding was about as sweet a dessert as we ever got. Ready-made cakes weren't as available as they are now. Economic policy and a more urban lifestyle has also made carbs cheaper and more affordable than fresh fruits and vegetables.

Over many years, Mom has become too dependent on sugar and cake: THAT IS, she has become too dependent on carbs for the main meal and carbs for desert. Carbs and simple sugars, which are carbs. 

Is my mom any different from most seniors? Or most of us, who want to hang onto eating what we like?

Now I ask her to tell me what she has in the refrigerator. 

"Cantelope."

"Great. Have that." I hear her chewing away. "What else is there?"

"Pineapple."

"Great. Have that. "I hear her chewing away." What else is there?"

"Spinach."

"Spinach? Great, Mom. Lots of potassium and low carbs, Vitamin A, Vitamin C...  Especially because the doctor doesn't want you eating bananas."

Of course I only know all this because my doctor is also telling me to watch what I eat because I have become pre-diabetic. He's warned me. I've learned the hard way. I'm also beginning to love my vegetables. I've been reading AARP, the magazine that nobody wants to admit they get. Frankly, my mom's not interested in nutrition. But she does listen to me. She is interested in life.

"Great, Mom. Eat your vegetables. What else is there in the refrigerator?"

Caregiver? STRESS ALERT: Take care of your own health.

"One sixty nine over eighty," the nurse at the CVS Minute Clinic said as she unwrapped and removed the inflatable cuff from my arm. "That's high. Do you always have high blood pressure?"

Always? I never had high blood pressure. I'm the one who everybody points to as living a healthy lifestyle and getting plenty of exercise.I'm the one who does yoga. Back home, I put the numbers into the search bar on the internet. 169 over 80. Hypertension. I don't know what those numbers really measure, but I know it's not good.

My annual medical exam was scheduled for the following week. I would get my blood pressure remeasured by my primary care physician, and we would discuss this.

One week later, it was slightly lower but basically the same thing. It was as high as that of some long-time heavy smokers I know. 

THIS is stress. Stress caused by a full year of managing, or dealing with, my elderly mother's issues. Trying to save her from financial devastation and medical destruction. All the while I was trying to write, publish, and promote my book, and other creative and professional endeavors (not to mention time and energy for my husband). I knew that I wasn't getting much exercise, I wasn't sleeping well at night, I knew that my routine was so centered around her, but I never gave a moment's thought to that this might be affecting my own health in some major way. I knew I didn't have as much time for my work and writing and my book as I would have liked, and that created internal - I would call them philosophical but they play out in the real world and in real lives - debates about taking care of others vs taking care of self. I knew I was stressed but you should see the looks on people's faces when I tell them I have hypertension.

"You?"

At my annual medical exam, my doctor asked the usual questions: "Are you getting exercise?" My response was limp. Sometimes riding my bike, but no long distances any more. Sometimes but rarely getting to yoga. Sometimes but rarely running. Playing tennis with my husband, but only on Sundays in the spring and summer.  And my doctor told me to get more exercise and come back in three months and get retested.

This in combination with also being told I was borderline diabetic created some serious talks and evaluations regarding how I manage my own health, diet, life, and also my mother's.

This is what I learned:

• Walgreens is amazing for anybody with high or low blood pressure. They will take your blood pressure for free. When you go, write down the result, and date it. I keep mine on my "notes" on my iPhone. I went monthly. With Walgreen's, there is no excuse for not getting your BP checked. No Walgreens? There is surely some pharmacy nearby. Senior centers often have regular and free BP screening.


• The gym was amazing, especially given this awful winter. Even without the winter, it gave me a routine that I could stick with. I usually went late afternoon or early evening. I made sure I listened to music on my iPod that was relaxing, but kept me moving. For me this meant Neil Young, especially "Harvest Moon." I had a full workout, including 20 minutes running on the indoor track. Once a month I would use the steps machine, which would measure my average and high heart rate. THIS TOO I would write down and keep a record of. Because I don't have enough time to go to the gym and do yoga, I incorporate my yoga breathing and 'asanas' and relaxation techniques into my gym workout.


• Vulnerability. We know we are stressed but it's more difficult to acknowledge how that stress is affecting us physically, and the degree to which it is affecting us physically. While some physical conditions are beyond our control, high blood pressure is often well within our control.  As we age, we become more and more vulnerable to stresses on our system. We are faced with conflict - ourselves vs those we love. And some of us are in the "sandwich generation." There are things I couldn't not do: Help my mother with her divorce, help her move from her home to her apartment, help her move from her apartment to the senior community, and so on. But many things, such as maintaining her car and making sure those bills were paid monthly, were unnecessary and only added stress to my life and my body. oing off for the day or weekend or week with my husband became an big deal, because nobody else in my family was willing to share responsibility for our mother with me. Dealing with the continued blood-letting of my mother's finances in her codependent relationship was another that I ultimately had to take by the horns, be strong, and weather the harsh disapproval that I knew I'd be up against.


• Don't miss your annual medical exam. Schedule it. Put it in the system. Then make it to your appointment. If you're afraid of what the results will say, then face that and ask yourself honestly what you can do differently to make sure that your health is not irreparably damaged and that you haven't given yourself reason to avoid going to the doctor's. Have this discussion with your spouse or significant other, if one is in the picture. My doctor warned me, and I gave myself a goal of three months to get my emotional and physical house in order. Me, the healthy one.


• Do what you need to do to lighten your burden around your elderly parent. That will pit you against your parent but for your life you need to. For me, it meant selling her car, and other difficult actions I write about. We fought. Often the fights were about her desire to have her car, versus my need to reduce my stress level, which was, literally, killing me. The fights were horrible because they pit me and my needs, physical and emotional, against my mother, who couldn't "hear" me, and what she wanted to do. The fights brought up other feelings and long-term issues. But being dead is no picnic, either.

The next time I got my BP taken, just one month ago, it was 142/74. Lower but still hypertension. 

Today was my last visit before my three-month visit to my doctor for a retest. 

This morning I went before I had my morning cup of coffee. The pharmacist came out and took the reading. My BP was 120/79. I phoned my husband and reported the good news, as if I were 14 and had gotten straight A's on my report card. Then I came home, had my coffee, and made an appointment for my 3-month checkup.

And wrote this blog post.