Things Just Ain't So Funny Right Now

Disturbing things go on everyday but I seem blissfully unaffected. I don't know if unaffected is the right word, ambivalent?, depressed?, concerned?. Mom is certainly declining and that seems to make me less passionate about her idiosyncrasies. I still buy more toilet paper than some 3rd world nations, I still have to force feed her medications, I still bleach tea stains out of the sink, I still play volume police with the TV, but I don't seem to be experiencing these things as emotionally these days. I think the inevitability of her moving on is weighing heavily on me.

Ma is sleeping a lot. She is run down and disinterested in living. She goes through the motions of cleaning and dressing every day but lacks any real energy. Her breathing is labored and her night terrors are pronounced. It is hard to get angry when she is in such difficulty. I have found myself contemplating her frustration and sense of inadequacy as she is unable to do anything that is complicated or requires concentration. It can't be pleasant to be that dependent on someone for your simplest needs.

I believe I will come home some day soon and she will have moved on. I check her every day when I come through the door. Is she still breathing? Is there evidence that she has been up and about? Are there new tea stains in the sink? Has the newspaper been read? Ma needs to move on. To escape this frustrating prison which has become her life. Will I really be prepared for the final chapter in my own life when there are no more shanty elders for me to take care of.

ALL'S QUIET ON THE EASTERN FRONT.

It has been pretty quiet lately, well if you don't count the TV volume at 60. Ma is quite quiet lately. She has been sleeping a lot and other than a few arguments over the volume it has been relatively uneventful. Oh, she still uses an ungodly amount of TP and stains the sink with tea daily, but I am used to that.

You Keep A Knockin But You Can't Come In...

I stayed away last evening to take care of a friends home and cat. I laid out all of Ma's meds in clearly marked envelopes with a magic marker. I left his house early in the morning and headed home to shower and go to breakfast with my friends. When I arrived at my apartment I couldn't get in, Ma had put the chain lock on the door. There is a dead bolt and a handset lock that were also locked but I have a key for those. To say I was angry would be an understatement. I banged on the door knowing that Ma couldn't hear it and my angst boiled with every futile knock. I resisted the urge to kick the door in and I was running late for my plans with my friends, so I left. I plotted my course for when I returned. I took a pair of needle nose pliers from my car and was prepared to break in to the apartment. When I reached the door the chain lock had been unlatched and this perplexed me again. There is no rhyme or reason to put that latch on the door. There is a more than adequate dead bolt to keep the crazies out, or in this case to keep the crazies in. I have learned not to expect logic in fantasy land so I didn't bother to question why she though it necessary to put the fragile chain latch on the door in addition to the other locks. The truth is it would be so easy to break that latch with very little force. The only one that it would keep out is a shanty caregiver who would be required to repair any damage to the door if he kicked it in.

Later, I went out and returned to find the door latched again but Ma was right there and opened the door for me. I told her to never use the latch again and took a nap. I slept most of the afternoon and evening as I wasn't feeling well and when I awoke I found the latch attached again. I immediately removed the chain to insure my future access. I now wonder what delusional boogeyman Ma has fabricated to create this paranoid need to latch the door. I need to really remind myself that there is no logic in fantasy land.

Whenever their is an incident like this I become hypersensitive to the other idiosyncrasies which haunt my everyday life. The tea stains in the sink, the TP use, the bowls of cereal milk in the refrigerator covered with another bowl instead of cling wrap, the unused adult diapers, the hand washed underwear in the bathroom, the volume on the TV, the failure to take medicines properly and the nonsensical repetitive discussions about something kind said to her in 1957. I am certainly running out of patience. The life of a shanty caregiver is certainly difficult and is a challenge to grow up and view their elder charge objectively.

Pure Softness!

The logic of elders confuses me. I know that every seeming oddity has some connection to a past reality but I often just don't get it. TP use is just the tip of the iceberg. Ma refuses to use the adult undergarment protectors I purchased, but has no problem using Top's "Pure Softness" fabric softener sheets to blow her nose or take care of some other hygienic necessity. Well it is my own fault as I only brought home 6 rolls of TP and they have a very diminished appearance in a closet usually filled with 30 rolls.

There is so much I don't understand. Why would you cover a dish of uneaten food with a paper towel when plastic wrap is within reach? Why would you save the milk from your morning cereal when there is a gallon of milk on the shelf above it? Why would you hide empty boxes in the coat closet instead of putting them out for me to get rid of? Why do you save cellophane bags in the deepest reaches of the cupboards instead of in the garbage? Why would you wipe your a** with fabric softener sheets when there are 6 rolls of TP in their usual spot?

I fear that Ma is quickly approaching the promised land or the laughing academy. It is a question of if her life force is diminishing faster than my patience. At this point it is a toss up. I wonder what kind of decisions she is making when I am not here to ameliorate the outcomes. I become more concerned with each passing day. She has COPD and it is really getting bad. She won't use the inhalers and insists that she has a cold. She has been telling me for the last month that the first two days of a cold are the toughest and she will be alright tomorrow. I don't believe her. If I can't get her to use the inhalers I believe she will end up in the hospital. It is difficult to get an elder to do what they don't understand or want to do. There is a time when you must be more concerned about their well being than whether they like you or not. I am quickly approaching that decision.

The Busiest Room In The House.

There is a code observed by most civilized societies that closed doors mean stay out. I learned this from my Mother who seems to have forgotten the lessons she gave. This weekend has been a parade of embarrassing encounters around the necessary room. On Saturday Ma entered while I was showering. This started the bathroom invasion. Why Ma has stopped observing the closed door knocking etiquette mystifies me. I have had to start locking the door. There have been one-half dozen incursions while I have been in some embarrassing state of personal vulnerability. The knocks on the locked door have become irritating as my privacy is compromised. One time is a mistake, two times an annoyance, but six times is an invasion. I can understand why Ma feels this is her own private space as she spent enough time in there in the last 10 days to use 28 rolls of TP. 28,000 sheets of single ply comfort is a hard habit to break. I am afraid that if I bought Charmin ultra soft the bathroom would be forever lost to me. The idea of taking Navy baths in the kitchen sink and driving around at night looking for a filling station to take care of my own personal needs leaves me a little cold.

Ma Must Be Dealing TP On The Black Market

If little Johnny buys 30 rolls of TP on Thursday and on following Tuesday there are nine rolls left, how many times has Ma made a trip to the linen closet to retrieve one roll??? Give up? 21 trips, an average of 3 1/2 times a day. She has got to be selling the stuff. There are a lot of seniors in the area and I wonder if she sets up a stand out front when I leave. If she was actually using that much TP she needs to be in a hospital, she would have to be dehydrated. I really suspect she is hiding it in her luggage or giving it to my sister. When she passes I will probably find a stash in some unexpected place.

My Father took care of his Ma as I do mine. When she passed we had to clean out her apartment and it was quite a comedy act. My Father, Brother and I had the same sense of humor. An irreverent interpretation of seemingly tragic events that leaves more civil onlookers aghast. My Brother and I carry on as Dad has taken his act to the "Big Stage". Grandma was a real "Lace Curtain Irish" maven with a tongue as sharp as a razor. She made no excuses for the things that she said. She was the Queen Mother of the backhanded compliment. She made intolerant people seem nice. So cleaning out her personal belongings was particularly insightful into her personality. She had food of all kinds in large glass jars hidden throughout the house. She had a little bit of folding money in every coat and taped to the bottom of drawers. We really never understood her fear of not having enough to eat until then. We found all kinds of treasures hidden from prying eyes in her small apartment and we joked about every discovery.

I would suspect I will find some of Ma's treasures when I clean up after her lift off to the next dimension. I wonder if I will find a cache of TP. I may end up with a lifetime supply of TP. I can hear my late Father's voice in my mind's eye and know he would be cracking on Ma's obsessive hording of TP with his big blue eyes rolling in his head. He would have to ask just how her poor derriere held up to all the friction from that much wiping. Life is certainly too short to take it too seriously. In the words of my Father, "You better laugh, or you'll be the next one on the bus to the laughing academy".

Shopping Day Equals Irish Guilt

Every time I go shopping I feel pangs of guilt because I refuse to take my Mother shopping. It certainly was one of her favorite things and one of my most frustrating experiences. It was extremely difficult to watch her as she aimlessly meandering through the aisles lost and confused with little or nothing in her cart. She heard little and was occasionally frightened by persons blazing through the aisles like a NASCAR event. It was particularly disconcerting to find her communing with the avocados for 45 minutes. She reacted angrily when you questioned or if you tried to move her along. Shopping is a get in, get out deal for me and anything that gets in the way of that is discombobulating. It doesn't change the fact that I feel like I am depriving her of a chance to get out of the house. I just can't/won't do it anymore. The guilt persists.

Today was a major shopping day and I struggle to find things that Ma can prepare in the microwave or eat without preparation. This week I got cereal, individual cups of applesauce, bow tie pasta, sauce, apple juice, broccoli steamers, pizzas, precooked cheeseburgers, tea bags, toilet paper (a 30 roll stash), and the only things she really cares about, ice cream and danish. I put away $200 in groceries with Ma standing in the bathroom oblivious that I had returned. At least she had her clothes on.

I have been struggling with what to do about Ma's incontinence. It embarrasses her and it is frustrating for me to come up with a solution that is not demeaning to her. A friend suggested a pad and when I first spoke to Ma about them she became angry. Today was my Waterloo as I brought home 120 of these accident guards and asked Ma if she new what they were for. I then told her she must start using them, I felt like a parent chiding there child about wetting the bed. I really don't like times like these. Times when our rolls reverse and she becomes child and I become parent. I can't imagine it is any easier for her, probably harder.

I went on a cleaning spree this weekend with the nice weather (60 to 70 degrees). I opened all the windows to get the stale winter smell out, used carpet sanitizer, bleached the tea stains from the sink and rearranged the furniture. Since then Ma has come in the front room at least 20 times to make the same pronouncement that she likes the way things were placed. She uses the same tone like she is seeing it for the first time. I do wish I had a little more patience with these things as I find the endless prattle uncomfortable. I would welcome some private time with an engaging adult to wax philosophic about nothing in particular while solving the problems of the world. The one rule of engagement would be that you can't say the same thing twice and if you err you get your head dunked in the necessary bowl, the one that flushes.