Health (part 2)

I have not been able to work in my studio this week due to the extreme heat, which is fine since I've been unproductive anyway. On Monday, I went for an hour walk on the riverfront with my friend, Linda, whose 85 yr. old mother has Alzheimer's and is in a memory unit. I told her about Leola always saying she wants to go home, even when she's not sure where that is. Linda said before her mother went into the memory unit, she was living in her own home (which she had lived in for years) and she still packed bags to "go home". She and her siblings decided it was a desire to get back to a childhood home still in the the memory bank. I felt better after hearing this. Every time Leola says she wants to go home I feel guilty like we are keeping her here against her will. Even if she were at home, she would probably be saying those words since the "home" she remembers no longer exists.

Leola is declining fast. I've noticed she is having more difficulty finding words. She asked me for a basket and I asked her if she wanted to wash some clothes. After a few exchanges, I realized she was trying to ask me for a suitcase, but she had forgotten the word for it. When we did laundry, she couldn't recall the word for dryer. These are just a couple of examples of hundreds of words she can't remember. Of course, this doesn't stop her from talking!

She's lost the concept of time. Some days at 4:30 in the afternoon, she will get ready for bed, then laugh at herself whe I point out the time. She is also getting more and more OCD, perseverating on certain subjects and rituals.

Yesterday was a bad day. She didn't feel well and complained of back pain. She's complained of this before and it seems to come and go. For the first time, she said she didn't want to eat at dinnertime. Sitting was painful.

Jon spoke to her doctor and instead of waiting 3 weeks for the oncology appointment, he scheduled a bone scan to see if the cancer is in the bone. That's what the oncologist would have done anyway. He also prescribed a low does of an anti depressant to possibly help with the OCD, especially given her history of mental illness.

This and That

The last few days of excessive triple digit heat has many of us cranky, but Leola is finally warm. Last year, we installed air conditioning, but have hardly ever needed to use it - until now. Air conditioning is a concept Leola does not understand since she is never too hot. It almost seems like a cruel joke on her. Previously, it was too cold for her outside and now it is too cold for her inside. As I write this, she is sitting outside on the deck in 104 degree heat - stockings on, but at least no wool sweater (she has one with her, just in case). We've been forcing her to drink liquids, but does she want a cold drink? No. She wants hot coffee!!

I was looking forward to eating the rest of a juicy, sweet melon from Hermiston, Oregon this morning. These babies are the Lexus of melons as far as I'm concerned. When I looked in the fridge, I couldn't find it, so I asked Jon, "Did you guys eat the rest of that cantalope at lunch yesterday?" He said they had each had some, but there was lots left. He looked at me knowingly and said, "Maybe you should look in the freezer." My beautiful melon was frozen solid. Supervision of meal clean up is now on our list.

Since it is way too hot to be in my studio today (old building, 3rd floor walk up with no AC), I offered to wash her sheets and towels and surprisingly, she agreed they needed it. However, this was one of those tests of my patience because she wanted to do it herself. OK I know I'm supposed to allow her to do as much as she can on her own, but just as with a small child, it is often easier to do it myself. "The Laundry Project" took most of the afternoon since she took the clean sheets out of the dryer and placed them back in the washer with the wet clean towels and rewashed them all. But that was before she put the soap in the dryer.

Day Trip

Leola was born in Ilwaco, Washington at the mouth of the Columbia River, just across from Astoria, Oregon. She grew up in Stevenson, Washington which is right on the Columbia River in the dramatic Columbia Gorge. For a time, her family lived on a houseboat on the river a little east of Stevenson. Her father was a fisherman. For those of you who have never been through the Columbia Gorge, it is a deep gorge through the Cascade Mountains carved out by the Columbia River which runs between Washington and Oregon. Obviously the geology is more complex than that, but you get the idea. She swam in the river as a child and across it as a teenager.

Since she seems to have forgotten most of her life after age 22 or so, she talks a lot about those years spent in and around Stevenson where she graduated from high school. Often when she says she wants to go home, Stevenson is where she means. So Jon had the idea to take her back there yesterday. Since I'm currently working on paintings inspired by the Gorge, to his delight, I decided to come along. Leola was so excited.

While the two of us were in the car waiting for Jon to lock up and join us, she said to me, "Of all the lady's who work here, I like you the best!" OK.

"I'm glad." I reply.

As Jon approached, she stated, "His mother and I were really good friends."

I said, "I guess so because you ARE his mother."

She laughs and then remembers, "Of course I am."

We decide to drive out the Oregon side by way of the Old Cascade Highway which begins in Troutdale. As we cross the Sandy River, Leola stuns us by saying, "There's a restaurant near here. We just ate there about a month ago. We sat by the window and looked at the river."

Our jaws drop. She's referring to Tad's Chicken and Dumplings, the restaurant we took her to on our way to Chris's birthday party. Not only does she remember eating there, she remembered the time frame, about a month ago. During the last 2 months, we haven't heard her recall anything like this. It must be the power of the river.

We stopped at Chanticleer Point, Crown Point (see photo) and briefly at Multnomah Falls (the biggest tourist attraction in the state) and crossed over into Washington over The Bridge of the Gods. She knew where she was and remembered everything about all of these places. All the memories were from her girlhood. She remembered learning to drive on the Old Cascade Highway, how her mother always had to stop at Crown Point and how she climbed to the top of Beacon Rock and "caught heck" for it.

Stevenson is at the Washington side of the bridge and we drove around the town looking for her the site of her old house. Jon and his brother had been to the house when they were kids after it belonged to another relative, so he remembered the general area. Leola did not remember and understandably so. We are talking 75-85 years ago. The town has changed. From Stevenson we drove east on SR 14 to the town of Carson and Cook. She said she went to school for a while in Cook when they lived on the houseboat, but there is nothing in Cook anymore. During all of this, she remembered some places, but mostly not. She went in and out of confusion.

We returned to Stevenson to eat lunch. She fixated on finding the place where they had the houseboat, a place called Sepsican. She has talked about this place repeatedly. It is not on any map and when Jon googled it, nothing came up.

"We should have gone a little further. We didn't go far enough. I'll just have to come back and find it on my own. I'll drive here and find it." she insisted.

To make a long story shorter, Jon and I decided to drive back east on SR 14, all the way to White Salmon and cross the bridge there. This way, we will have covered every mile on the river between Stevenson and White Salmon. If we didn't do it, we would never her the end of it... "if we had just around the next bend, we would have seen it." We never found Sepsican. It doesn't exist any more and there was no sign. She's still convinced we just "didn't go far enough."

The day began to unravel a little. It was 2:30pm and we had left home about 9:00am. Leola was tired, wound up and a little argumentative. During the ride back, she was unpacking Jon's camera bag which was on the seat next to her. Jon aksed her why she was unpacking his camera bag and she said, "This isn't your bag, It's my bag! I brought it from Coos Bay." An argument followed. I have to admit Jon and I didn't do anything to keep the situation from escalating - we were tired, too. It was the first time I heard her tone of voice get nasty. I know I don't want to hear it again.

Health

A couple of weeks ago, the woman who takes Leola swimming told Jon she noticed a mass under Leola's arm that we might want to have checked out. Jon (being the physician he is) checked it out himself and deduced it was cancer. Doctors are the worst at imagining the worst case scenario. About 4 years ago, Leola was diagnosed with breast cancer and had a mastectomy. He assumed it had spread into her lymph node and was probably in other major organs. We took her into the doctor, who ordered some tests including a biopsy and an ultrasound of her internal organs. The biopsy revealed that it is breast cancer, but strangely enough, there was no evidence of it being anywhere else but in the mass. The mass under her arm doesn't bother her and she has never mentioned it. She doesn't have any other symptoms. The next step is to take her to the oncologist and that appointment is three weeks away. What to do? This situation has given us much fodder for discussion. Would she be treated? Should the mass even be removed if it's not bothering her? She's 92 and surgery and hospitalization would being highly disorienting. We can only wait and see what the oncologist says.

Crazy Unleashed

I'm sitting in Sydney's Cafe, a small coffee place near my studio that I frequent when I need to get a visual break from my paintings. Only today, it's 10:30 and I haven't been to the studio yet. I just needed to get out of the house and still be able to write this before it escapes my brain.

Last night, Jon and I went to see Storm Large in "Crazy Enough" - a breathtakingly powerful, one-woman performance and autobiography. Before we left, we locked Leola in and she seemed fine with being home alone. When we returned about 10:15pm she was still awake and cranked. We noticed she had attempted to put away all the dished in the dishwasher, except they were still dirty. This has happened before and not really a big deal. She was holding the TV remote in her had and said she was trying to call her friend, Barbara, but she couldn't make the phone work. Well, I can't figure out how to use the new TV remote either. I learn it and then 3 weeks goes by before I watch anything on TV again. By then I've forgotten how to use it. Needless to say, those things are not intuitive, but at least I know it isn't the phone. Anyway, she asked us the name of the show and how we liked it. We told her. As we put dishes back into the dishwasher, she asked us again.

"How was the show?" What was it called?"

OK, I've been here before. Out of curiosity and a need to find humor in the situation, I decided to count the number of time she asked us these 2 questions. In the space of 8 minutes, she repeated the questions 11 times peppered with comments about how she would have liked to have gone with us. Jon told her "Crazy Enough" had a lot of cussing and loud music, so she probably wouldn't have like it.

Not 3 seconds later she asked us, "Did you like the show? What was the name of it?"

We said we were going to bed and Jon walked downstairs with her. Five minutes later she is upstairs in our room looking for the cat. "Good night, Mom."

This morning, Jon was working and on a phone conference in his office and I was in the kitchen preparing to go grocery shopping. Leola came into the kitchen as was teary saying she wanted to go to "where I live" but couldn't find her car. She was quite confused saying she was stupid because she couldn't find her keys or her wallet and how could she go someplace if she can't even keep track her car. She wasn't making much sense, but I understood what she meant. I can't handle it when she cries, but I attempted to calm her down and get her reoriented. So I went upstairs and interrupted Jon, which I hated to do. He came down and and talked with her while I escaped to the grocery store.

Upon my return, she asked, "Are you going out?"

"No, I just got back. I went grocery shopping. See I bought some ice cream for you."

"I don't know where I put my car. I just don't know what's the matter with me." she said. At least she wasn't teary anymore. I continued to put groceries away while she just kept talking, mostly about the car, her wallet, how stupid she is.

"I guess I'm just crazy. That's why I need to leave. You don't want a crazy person like me here and bothering you, getting in your way." My heart breaks. What do I say to her?

"Leola, you aren't crazy, you just forget things. We love you and want you to be here." I say. And I mean it. Now who is the crazy one?

Help!!!

Jon is making things so much harder than they have to be. Tonight he kept trying to reason with Leola. I could see her anxiety increasing as he was talking to her. She must have asked him to make a call to her house, I didn't hear the conversation exactly. I heard her talking to someone on the phone, presumably he called NW Place, where she lived the last 5 years. I admonished him saying, "Why do you keep doing this? It just makes her worse." Next thing I know he's dressing to get ready for a bike ride. Escaping. Fine. Leave me here with her again.

Upstairs, I returned a phone call to my friend, Debra. Next thing I know she's up in the bedroom standing next to me and looking for something. She realizes I'm on the phone and goes back downstairs, but is right back up again and is heading for my closet. I ask Debra to hold on and ask Leola what she looking for. "My clothes are in here," she replies. "I need to get them to take home with me." I try to get her to go back downstairs, then quickly realize I need to end my phone call and attempt to get her oriented. I show her her room with all her things in it and she says, "Well, this is just some of my stuff. I don't know why it's here, but I'll hire someone to take it home tomorrow. The rest of my stuff is at home." She gets more agitated and argumentative. I give up and tell her I'm going to go read. I sit down with a book and quickly understand I'm in this for the long haul tonight. She wants the phone book and I get it for her. She wants a pencil and I get one. She forgets why she wanted the phone book, but she gets distracted by reading it. Whew. I go grab my laptop and start typing. Now, she is asking me where she should put the pencil because she doesn't need it. She's calming down.

We have had an iron outdoor table and chairs for 20 years. It is a good quality metal table, but in it's old age, it wobbles. For over a year we have had a couple of siding shakes stuck under one of the legs to keep it from wobbling. It works. Tonight during dinner, I noticed the table was wobbling and saw that the shakes were gone. Leola loves to sweep the deck and does a damned good job of it, but now she's done something with the shakes! Where will I find them? They could turn up anywhere. The first place I looked was in the red box. Not there. Jon and I looked around outside thinking she had thrown them off the side, but I thought this unlikely. Looked in the garage, the trash (no, she doesn't know where the trash is), the shed - nothing. Now as I sit in the living room typing away on this blog, I look up and notice a couple of wooden shakes on the table. There they are. At this point she has unwound herself and is reading letters from the red box again. I think I'm better at this than Jon is. But, she's not my mother.

The Red Box continued

Leola placed the red box on our dining room table so "I won't forget it when I leave tomorrow". Last night, before Jon got back, she was having some issue with her pantyhose. It seems they frequently fall down, she being so small and most of the hose being old. She stood up in the living room and took off her skirt (black wool - a sensible choice for a 92 degree day). She was wearing a slip which she hitched up and tugged at her stockings. I noticed once again that she was wearing panties on the outside of her pantyhose, but I soon realized she also had on a second pair of panties. This was news to her. I went back to my book not wanting any part of this display. Shortly later, I noticed she got up and deposited something into the red box. About 20 minutes later, she couldn't find her book, so I looked in the red box thinking that was what she had put in there. What I found were 2 pair of panties as well as her book and 3 magazines she's been reading, along with the old letters. When Whitney was here on Sunday, she said she found underwear of Leola's in a drawer in the guest room - a bra and panties. I wonder where else we'll be finding them? The question is - why?

Something Red

After the stimulation of Maria's kids and Whitney, Leola was pretty wound up this afternoon. I did penance for my morning out by spending all afternoon and evening with her. She was on a manic roll of free association in her thinking and talking. In an attempt to get her focused on something other than talking to me, I asked her where the box of letters/writings she had been reading was. "Where's the red box?" Regrettably I realized I sounded like Whitney when she asks her dog, Dewey, "Where's your stick? Go find your stick!" I found the box on the floor in the coat closet. She had tidily put it away earlier, careful not to clutter anything. She disappeared downstairs for a while and changed into a red sweater. Upon her return she asked me,

"Is this what you meant?"

"Uh, what do you mean?" I asked.

"This is red. Didn't you say you wanted something red?" she asked, trying to please. Realizing she had focused on the "red" in red box, I explained about the red box, her writing and how much she had enjoyed reading it. I had found the red box and it was right outside on the table.
After some absurd discussion, she realized I had been talking about the red box full of letters, not a red sweater. She laughed at her foolishness. We went downstairs while she worked on an insane jigsaw puzzle, while I wrote on this blog. She mentioned going home about 20 times this evening... when I go home tomorrow; I will be gone when Jon gets home tomorrow; it will be fun when you come to stay at my house, etc.

I just smile and nod.

Monday morning, 7/20

Whitney left this afternoon. I always feel a mother's little twinge of fear/anxiety when my child leaves me to go out into the world. I don't feel it when I leave them-only when they leave me. It must have something to do with the driving thing.

Our evening last night was as fine as the earlier hours had been. Whitney put the chicken in the oven to roast while we went for a walk on the trails. She then cooked enchiladas with the chicken, greens I had from our CSA and the produce we bought at the farmer's market. Early in the day she had muddled some fresh basil and mint into vodka in anticipation of a summer martini later. It did not disappoint. We also shared a quick toke from a j she had brought. We were out on my bedroom deck with Leola just below us - silently sneaking it like kids. Wait a minute! She is my kid. Oh well. What can I say... it was really pleasant. The weather once again, was perfect - warm and glorious. Leola needed reminders about our identity, but we shared a meal to remember on the deck. Later, we watched "Bridget Jones Diary". Of course we both had seen it before, more than once, and naturally Leola said, "This is the craziest thing I've ever seen. I can't understand anything they are saying." But she seemed pretty interested in the sex scenes.

This morning was equally gorgeous (have I mentioned I love Portland in the summer?!). Whitney had a couple of business type errands to run so I decide to go with so we could have lunch together before she left for Bend. We have a housekeeper, Maria, who has worked for us for 10 years. She and I have watched our families change over the years - my children teens to adults, hers being born to school age. She usually comes every other Tuesday to clean our house, but in the summer, she often has a change of schedule so she sometimes comes on a different day and brings her children with her. She showed up this morning just as Whitney and I were leaving. I hesitated a little, wondering if I should leave After all, it isn't Maria's job to look after Leola. She has enough to deal with having to clean our house and having her children there with her. Jon had told me that Leola really enjoyed Maria's children last time they were here, so Whitney and I left thinking it would be fine.

About 11:45 I checked my cell phone and found a message from my home phone number. OK. It can't be from Leola. She can't operate the phone, much less know my cell phone number. I listened to the voice mail. It was Maria calling to tell me Leola had tried to leave (to go home) a couple of times. She explained she was calling from our phone because her cell phone had run out of batteries, but she thought I should know. She went on to say she had taken the key out of the front door so Leola was locked in and she had asked her kids to keep any eye on her. I got the message about an hour after Maria had called me since I never can hear my cell phone ring when it's in my purse. So now I'm really feeling guilty about leaving her there with Maria who's job ISN'T to care of an old woman with dementia. I called back not knowing if she would answer our phone, but she did. At that moment, Whitney and I were in line to get a sandwich at Bunk Sandwiches (my new favorite place to eat lunch) and I told Maria I would be back in 20 minutes. She replied that Leola was fine sitting out on the deck, her kids were watching her and she just wanted me to know what happened. Whitney and I ate our luscious sandwiches (I had the most perfect tuna melt with added anchovies) and went home. Leola was reading "If You Give A Moose a Muffin" to 4 yr. old Addy (Adabelle) while 11 yr. old Antonio was supervising the whole scenario. Alright. I feel badly I left with Whitney, but on the other hand, I didn't know Maria was coming today. Now I know I we can't leave her alone while Maria is there. It isn't her job.

A Juicy Slice of Summertime

Whitney is here. I love it when she's here, especially when she comes alone and can relax. So often when she comes to Portland from Bend, she is on a business mission of some sort and has very little time. Today we are having a banner piece of summer. Had breakfast in the sunshine on the deck with Sparrow Bakery's bagels and walnut bread, local blueberries and the New York Times. Leola doesn't quite remember who Whitney is, but enjoys her all the same. Before Whitney came upstairs for breakfast, Leola called her "the new girl" and when I reminded her that she is my daughter and her granddaughter, she marveled at the thought.

This morning at Hillsdale Farmer's Market, we bought pompano chilies, tomatoes, cilantro, purple and red raspberries, a chicken and a cookie for Leola, who didn't want to come with us. Jon left for Wisconsin on an early flight. I took Whitney to my studio for a peek at my new work and then we settled in at home for a relaxing afternoon of reading, dozing, a walk and later, cooking. As I'm writing this, Whitney is asleep on the deck chair in the sun and Leola is reading in another chair. She is re-reading the box of letters and papers she read yesterday - all new to her today. Whoops! Now both of them are asleep. I'm so happy Whitney has this chance to relax. She works her butt off 7 days a week running The Sparrow and has very little time to herself. It gives me joy to see her have some downtime.

Rereading a life

Jon has to leave town for a few days for business, so I will be alone with Leola. Luckily, Whitney agreed to come over from Bend, both to see her grandmother and to help break the tedium for me. She arrives this afternoon and will leave Monday morning. Jon leaves tomorrow morning and comes back very late on Tuesday.

Last night, during dinner, Leola started talking again about going home, but this time she didn't know where home was. She mentioned needing to find her car again, too. She didn't know Jon was her son and got a little testy when he insisted he was. He kept pushing her and the more he did, the more unpleasant she became.

"If I'm your mother, then where did I go to school? Where was I born? See you don't know, so I can't be your mother." she argued.

After 20 minutes or so of this kind conversation, I'd had enough and went to clean up. They were still at it. I went out in front to water plants for a while since it had been a 95 degree day. When I came back to the deck to water out there, they were still having this absurd conversation. Later I asked Jon why he was trying to convince her.

"You know logic and reasoning doesn't work. Why badger her like that? I asked him.

"You didn't go through this with your mother... having your own mother not know you. I can't let her just forget me and our relationship." he said.

He was right of course. I didn't go through this with my parents. My father died when I was 6 yrs. old and my mother - well she watched Jeopardy in her hospital room the night before she died and knew most of the answers, just like Morgan Freeman in the movie, "The Bucket List". Nothing wrong with her brain. Still I thought there had to be another way to keep her remembering that she was his mother. Then Jon had a brilliant idea. You remember all those boxes of letters I was complaining about? He got one out and had her start reading them, which is what she's doing now. She's rereading her life.

Friday, July 17

Jon left with Leola at 7:30 this morning because she is having a couple of medical procedures. For the first time in nearly 2 months I was able to relax alone with a cup of coffee and the newspaper at my kitchen table. Most mornings I find myself hurrying through breakfast then retreating with the NY Times upstairs before Leola comes to breakfast. Or, in another tactic of self defense, I take the paper and coffee outside on the deck where, of course, she won't stay because it's "so cold". Every morning, Jon puts out her breakfast when he eats. A place mat, napkin, a bowl of cereal w/fruit, a small pitcher of milk, sugar and a coffee cup. If he finishes before she's upstairs, he can go to work in his office and not worry about her. She washes all her dishes by hand which gives her something to do in the morning. She keeps her room as neat as a pin, but when I put away some of her laundry, I noticed her drawers and cupboards are jumbled chaos.

Right now, I'm just enjoying the time alone in the house.

Wednesday, July 16

I'm beginning to understand something. Leola had a condition that was years ago called manic-depression. As I mentioned before she had many symptoms of what could be termed "mania" but hardly ever the "depression" part. Even when she was taking lithium for it, she was always hyper and sometimes manic to the point one of us had to cue her to can it (usually Jon). Remember I mentioned she seemed so quiet?... well yesterday I watched her spin into manic mode again. The bazillion questions, not sleeping, free association, anxiety about her whereabouts etc. I'm beginning to understand that we are dealing with more than dementia. It is manic-depression along with dementia. Joshua Goldbloom, if you are out there, please advise!

OK. I'm starting to feel plenty of rancor about some things. I don't mind finding the milk in the freezer or dirty dishes in the cupboard when she had emptied the dishwasher before it had been run. But there are a few other things that are making me bitchy.

I resent that Leola's stuff has filled our guest room downstairs, boxes filled with god-knows-what-kind of shit - old photos she doesn't remember, letters and cards from people she doesn't recall. Yesterday, I told Jon I wanted to move it all to the garage so, just in case, someone - maybe one of our children - decides to visit, he or she will actually have room to walk around in the bedroom. He nixed that idea arguing that he just got the garage back to where we can put the cars in there. He said, "I'm just starting to go through it with her. I'll take care of it, but I don't want it all in the garage. If Whitney or Dan visits, they'll only sleep down there." Well, I'm not willing to wait for months. Never mind we have an entire storage locker filled with her crap that will eventually need sorting through and there's no more room in there either. I'm moving it to the garage. What irritates me about this whole thing is that I have to hear about all this "stuff" that Jon grew up with. When my mother died, I wasn't able to bring all her stuff from Alabama and stack it in the downstairs bedroom with the luxury of going through it at my leisure. My brothers and I had to go through things during the week after her death and make decisions right then. Jon acts like the photos (many of which he'd never even seen before - that's how important they were to Leola - she never looked at them or showed them to him) are the most important fucking thing in the world. After my mother's death, my youngest brother, Patrick, with whom my mom had been living, boxed up all mom's photos and sent them to me. There were several large boxes and I remember it cost about $90 bucks to ship them from Alabama to Oregon. I spent a day or two going through them - alone. Maybe that's what I resent. He's going through them with his mother who never cared about them enough in the past to even show them to him.

I'm losing patience with her being cold all the time. Coming home from the studio on a beautiful summer day to find the house closed up - doors closed, windows shut and Leola huddled under a blanket in the living room is grating on my last nerve. Tonight she was "cold" and asked why we don't build a fire in the fireplace or turn the heat on (It is 75 degrees outside. People in the South and Midwest would think they were in heaven). I said for the 100th time that it is summer and it is warm outside. She said, "My legs are cold." I replied, as I did many times in years gone by that she would be much warmer if she wore pants. Silly me, I thought I could teach an old dog new tricks. She's not going to change now. Yes, I know she's 92 yrs. old, but that knowledge isn't helping right now.

She keeps putting water in Ozzie's food and he won't eat it all soggy like that. Then he meows and she will ask what he wants. At least a dozen times Jon and I have asked her not to put water in his food, but she keeps doing it. We never actually SEE her doing it indicating that she is doing this clandestinely. We moved his food to another location so she didn't see it, but today I discovered a new bowl of water-logged food out on the deck! It annoys me she monopolizes my cat. Believe me, I love the fact that she gets pleasure from Ozzie's presence on her lap - and he loves her wool sweaters and the frequent blanket. He is company for her and he loves a lap that doesn't move too often with a hand that constantly strokes him. But now she thinks he is her cat and she knows him best - hence the water in the food thing - which is just weird. Since we have to lock our bedroom door at night now, Ozzie can't come in and get in bed with me. Jon never liked the cat in bed with us because he didn't sleep as well. However, Ozzie knew this and would creep onto my side of the bed and get under the covers. I miss my cat.

Friday, July 10, 2009

All week Jon was preparing to take the Family Practice board exam he needs to pass to keep his license. Today was the day, so he left at 7:30 AM and returned about 5:00PM (yes, it is an all day exam). Leola was still downstairs when he left and I was reading the paper with my coffee when she came upstairs. She said her good mornings, but very little else, ate her cereal and toast and read one of the same books she has been reading for the last 6 weeks. I asked her if she wanted coffee and she affirmed that she would. I excused myself to go get dressed then left the house for the studio. I put in a good 3 hours, packed up, came home to check on her and see if she wanted her lunch. She didn't. She still spoke little, just, "You've been gone a long time."

We spent the afternoon in peaceful companionship on the deck with our reading in the gorgeous weather. After more than an hour, the only thing she said was, "Isn't it nice to sit out here? It's so peaceful. I like sitting here with you." I agreed. It doesn't get much better than a July day in Portland with nothing else to do but sit outside and read. I realized that the last 5 years she spent at NW Place, she rarely spent time outdoors unless she went for a walk. Here, with our decks with views of trees and clouds, she can spend hours looking at them. Hell, I do the same thing. That's the great thing about our house and Portland summers.

I spent way too much time on the NY Times crossword (it's Friday!) but began to wonder what has changed. She is quiet and content. Did she finally work through the trauma of moving? Not once - all day - did she ask about Jon or his whereabouts nor did she talk about going home or her car. She was fine with me there, but I think she might have been fine with anyone. Actually, she was fine alone. Definitely something has changed. At dinner she needed to be reminded that Jon was her son. This is the hardest part for him. I sense a sadness in her. Maybe resignation, but more likely safety and contentment.

Later, there was a brief and rare thunderstorm (little thunder, some rain). Leola tried to rush to go in before she realized the deck was partially covered and it wasn't cold. She stood on the deck just marveling at the rain and the fact she could be outdoors while it was raining.

When I talk to Whitney and Daniel, they listen to my brief summaries of the last 6 weeks, but they can't really connect, just as I didn't when my grandparents were failing. Both of them have chosen not to read this blog, for their own reasons. They are in their 20's and don't yet recognize the fragility of life, just as I didn't at their age.

July 9, 2009

A shift has occurred and I'm not sure why or even what it is exactly. On Tuesday, we met with a woman who's business it is to place elderly people in care facilities that match their needs. We had this meeting so we could begin a Plan B, knowing Leola will not be able to stay with us forever. We talked about memory units, foster care and residential care - all new information for me, but very helpful. Leola was away swimming while we met which she didn't want to do. Jon forced her to go since she needed bathing.

Everyday since she has been living here, she has, at least once a day if not more often, stated, "I think I'll go home tomorrow (or today)." which usually leads to the questions about her car I've mentioned before. I've now counted 2 entire days that she hasn't said that. However, I've also noticed she has been quieter in general and sleeping more. She declined to go swimming today and Jon didn't press it since she went on Tuesday. I can't help but wonder what is going through her mind. At dinner tonight she couldn't remember Jon and I were married and insisted there was another man here. Jon showed her our wedding pictures from 1975 and all she could comment on was Jon's mustache. "Why did you get married with a mustache? That's terrible. You didn't shave for your wedding?" I said, "Look at all the men. They all have mustaches." She said, "That's somethin'. Getting married with whiskers." It was difficult to get her back to the question at hand. Yes we are married. We've been married for 34 years. There was no other man here. Who knows how difficult this would be if we HAD been married before!

When I taught kids with learning disabilities in Portland Public Schools, I celebrated their progress in spite of many classroom teachers' statements that, "He can't read!" Well, no he can't read at grade level, but he's making progress." Often those kids made more progress percentage-wise in one year than the brightest students did, if all you used to measure progress were the state test scores.

We are making progress here. A week ago my entry was a recording of all Leola's questions during an evening period while Jon was working at Virgina Garcia Clinic. He worked there again tonight (this is volunteer work at a free clinic), which I realize in retrospect, he didn't tell me was happening until this morning.

The evening went great. After a few confused moments when Leola repeatedly asked when we would eat or "Did you eat?"

I asked if she was hungry. She replied "Not especially."

I'm learning. So I knew she wasn't asking out of hunger. "We'll eat in a little while. Right now I want to finish this chapter in my book."

She said "Okay" and went back downstairs".

I finished my pages and faced the music. I heated some soup, cut some bread, set the table and we ate in quiet conversation, mostly talking about grandchildren. Mostly me reminding her of her grand children's names, and where they currently live. I'm learning how to direct the conversation. I fetched my laptop from upstairs and found more recent photos of Trista and Eric than the childhood ones she has in her bedroom. I was careful to choose the ones including her with them. Whitney and Daniel she's more familiar with but she still needs reminders (on a daily basis) of who they are.

I suggested we take a walk, so we walked the short way up our small hill to the neighborhood garden. It was something to do. Our neighbors, Kelly and Bret, were playing with their small boys, ages 2 and 5 and she was fascinated with their white/blond hair - thinking only girls can have hair that color. I picked a few blueberries and we ate them on the way back.

After our return, I prepared myself for a repeat of last Monday - manic questions in rapid fire. But to my surprise, we spent the evening in happy coexistence, both of us reading. We exchanged conversation from time to time. JUST LIKE NORMAL PEOPLE. I got up once to make her some tea and get a glass of wine for myself. At 9:30 I said I was getting tired and she quickly said she wanted to go to bed.

Maybe this can work after all.

July 4, 2009

Jon had the day off yesterday, so we spent most of the day moving a wall in my studio. It was the first time we have left Leola alone (locked in) for most of the day. We came home at 1:00 to give her lunch and she had misplaced her glasses which I easily found in plain view in the living room. Who knows how long she had been looking for them. We didn't return until 5:15. She was fine. We've had weather in the 90's the last few days, but she is still wearing her wool sweaters and skirts unaware of what season it is, what month it is or what day it is. Jon took her on a walk when we got home last night and upon their return she was finally aware of how warm it is. This morning she had on a T-shirt that read "Master's Games - Australia" with a wool skirt. She had a wool cardigan just in case.

We were a little surprised when she did not want to go swimming on Thursday. She dozed in the chair with a blanket over her and Ozzie in her lap. I'm a little concerned about bathing since the swimming days are when she showers. A week between seems to long.

The night before she startled us at 3:30 am by flicking on the light in our bedroom (we had neglected to lock the door). Both of us, naked and shocked awake from deep sleep, sat up and cried out. Jon yelled, "Jesus Christ, Mom - go back to bed." She got teary, apologizing, clearly disoriented. I felt sorry for her - she was so much like a child.

As I'm listening to the riverfront fireworks, Leola asks "What is that noise?" I reply, "That's the fireworks. It's the 4th of July." She said, "The firewood?" Jon said, "No, Mom. It's the FIREWORKS." She said, "The firewood?" As Jon and I exchange glances, we realized she has no memory of fireworks and doesn't know what the word means.

July 1, 2009

I'm feeling better this week. Not drinking, been to the gym each day, working in the studio and more in control of my life in general. Jon and I are a little more on edge with one another, however. Both of us are reaching our limits, but trying to make this work out. He's worried about me and I'm worried about him, but both of us want more from each other in this situation. Tonight I mentioned maybe getting some help from a support group - not exactly Jon's thing, but he didn't dismiss it. I'm not sure it's my thing either, but I realized we need to reach out to many of the resources available in the community. I think I could manage better if I knew how to redirect the conversation/questions. Leola is so pleasant, good-natured and easy to be with, but I don't know how to respond to the constant repetitive questions. It's the hardest part. I can't imagine how difficult it must be for her - not knowing where she is from moment to moment. I can hear the frustration in her voice - frustration that her brain isn't working the way it should, just as she would if it were a physical limitation. I have to remember that.