denese's Open Salon Blog

My Life's Lesson

Fri, 17 Feb 2012 16:02:36 -0500

My life's lesson should be etched on my brain because I keep forgetting it, and that simple act of "forgetting" triggers some cosmic event involving one of my children, to which I respond improperly, which provokes parental-child angst, which forces me to remember "my lesson" all over again. This weekend it was an event with my son J that eventually whacked me back into alignment. The thromping always hurts, and not less each time, like you might suppose would happen, considering that I have plenty of practice righting myself while apologizing. It hurts more because I replay the memory of each last mistake while living in the new one.

This one started on Friday night. The whole family went to a dinner in honor of one of LSU's best alumni fundraisers-- a dear friend of ours and the children's surrogate grandfather. I was proud of all of us for showing up, despite having to meet a report deadline that night, in R's case; despite no babysitter and little grandchildren in attendance, in D & B's case; and despite it taking up a chunk of a Friday night, in J's case.

So, there I was basking in the glow of my priorities-in-alignment-family when J and I began to hyperfocus on each other. He thought I was moving too fast, and talking too loud, and I thought he seemed a little too pulled apart, at loose ends; discombobulated. I'm like Pavlov's Dog. Once I see what I think are signs of a lack of focus, I start drilling him on his life. How's school? Is he going to class? Is he studying? How are his grades? Should he be going to that outdoor concert, on Spring Break, or out later, for that matter? This despite him getting great grades last semester, and "Acing" all of his tests last week.

This makes him talk louder, move quicker and back away. The last text I received from him before bed that night was, "there is always some sort of miscommunication between us."

Now that hurts.

But even if these recent academic accomplishments were lacking, I mean, really, is it my nagging that is going to steer him on the right course?

Of course not.

So, what is my life's lesson? My life's lesson is to love by letting go.

My lesson comes from the pain I inflict on myself and my loved ones when I try to control them. It's not like I want to keep J -- or anyone else for that matter -- from having fun. Really. It's just that I don't want him to do anything that would make him experience something bad. So: go to class everyday; do your homework; get enough sleep; don't overdo it; find a nice girl; and then you won't: get bad grades; drop your classes; flunk out of school; lose your scholarship; be arrested; get hurt-- all of which have happened by the way.

I used to think that my behavior was normal for a mother. And maybe it is. But? I realize -- over and over again, unfortunately -- that if he doesn't experience these "bad" things, or others like them for himself, he won't be able to learn the life skills to be able to achieve the very things I want for him. And what I want for him is to be able to manage his own life and be happy.

It's not when will he ever learn?

It's when will I ever learn?

It's not the things I want for him.

It's the things he wants for himself.

Why I Keep My Mother at Home

Fri, 6 May 2011 10:05:10 -0400

My 89 year old mother has mid-stage probable Alzheimer's Disease or some related dementia and as my friend Susan says has become toxic. This week she is suspicious of and furious with me because of the form we need to fill out for her Long Term Care (LTC) Insurer. It requires her caregiver to mark the amount of time she spends on each task listed at the bottom of the form. Toileting, transferring, bathing and other Activities of Daily Living (ADL) are arrayed in the little box at the end of the page. So are "constant supervision due to cognitive limitations" and "medication supervision," as well as "cuing" for other ADLs, all of which apply. The major task in taking care of my mother is to be present, as she shouldn't be home alone anymore for the whole day. And when one of mom's three insidious chronic diseases present themselves, she needs ferrying to the doctor's office sometimes multiple times a day. Plus, someone should be there to make sure she eats, is safe getting in and out of the shower and dressing.

The problem comes because my mother doesn't think anything is wrong with her so she wants her caregiver to mark down only that she does "housekeeping," which is clearly not just unreimbursable but is likely to get the LTC policy discontinued. This weekend she accused me of making her caregiver commit fraud by lying on the insurance form.

And then today she tried to sell a Currier and Ives print from my childhood without telling me. She asked both of my children if they wanted it, but not me. I think she is trying to hurt me. My eldest says I'm making more of it than it is. My husband agrees with me. And here you see the beginning of a feud in my own home.

Therein lies much of the problem.

I have these forms spread out on my kitchen table, trying to fill out the ones that need tending so that mom gets reimbursed. Mom showed up in our bedroom today where I was hiding out, and wanted to see every form before I mail it, which means I have to confront her with the truth, which means that mom will be furious and life will be very nasty for a long, long time, or at least every week when I have to deal with LTC housekeeping. I did not sleep last night.

I really think that subterfuge and lying are the way to go here. Agree with her to her face, and send in the forms like crazy behind her back.

Our family therapist, mom's physician and a friend all tell me that maybe it's time for mom to be moved to a more appropriate environment, if only to save my sanity, marriage and possibly my relationship with my mother. However, sending her away seems like breaking a sacred trust. Just as I wouldn't send my husband away in similar circumstances, or my children, I wouldn't send my mother away. So, other than that, why do I keep my mother here in my house?

I think while writing, so I thought that writing the reasons mom should be at home would help me to better consider my alternative courses of action. So, here we go...

My mother lives in an addition on our house because:

She took care of me for the first 18 years of my life, sometimes when I was not so loveable and I owe her the gift of living where she wants to live.
She has helped us tremendously as a married couple with emotional support (when she was able) and financial support (when she was cognitively intact) and we owe her this much.
She paid for the beautiful addition on our house where she lives; we committed to caring for her and shouldn't renege on that promise unless we can come up with the money the addition is worth to set her up in another living arrangement. The sky will fall before that happens.
I'm a gerontologist and I know what happens to elders who are moved without their consent; they die.
She shouldn't be moved unless she wants to move.
She paid for a LTC policy and has the money to bring in a caregiver to take care of many of her needs during the day, which lightens the burden on us.
Paying for a nursing home or other extended care arrangement would be like throwing away money because her LTC policy wouldn't be needed or used; what a waste.
She is a part of our family; our children, grandchildren, grand nieces and nephews love having her here; so do we, but less and less often these days.
Her garden improves our quality of life; if she wasn't here it would be a weed bed or filled with stones and ugly red bark dust.
What would I do without my mother's love, because surely I would lose it if I moved her?
I could never forgive myself.
And finally: Some things you just do.

I knew that there was never another course of action but to keep mom at home, but writing it out helps me see the many reasons why that's so. At this point, if I could just get her to stop barging into our house to use our washing machine (she has a beautiful one in her own place) I think that half of the battle would be won.

The Nuclear Energy Issue and Other Ill-Fated Policies

Sun, 13 Mar 2011 19:03:25 -0400

The probable meltdowns that are now occurring at two (now the press says three) nuclear power plants in Japan started me thinking, again about the issue of nuclear power. You would think that as an intelligent people, we've had sufficient warnings of the risks involved in using nuclear power. I remember the Chernobyl meltdown and the Three Mile Island disaster, and know of people that have probably been exposed to nuclear radiation as a result of each.

This situation with nuclear power reminds me of another ill-fated energy issue: the recent recent BP disaster on one of their deep water drilling rigs in the Gulf of Mexico that spread 205 gallons of crude oil along 280 or so miles of the Louisiana coastline just last year. Not enough redundant safety systems, and those that they had were probably never going to be sufficient.

Where there's money involved, we will apparently find it impossible to err on the side of safety or sanity.

Despite how unlikely an event is judged to be, if the worst case scenario is an unremediable disaster that we can't figure out how to prevent, then it seems to me we shouldn't do it. Economic benefit/cost analyses be damned, particularly where the economists involved have an economic interest in the venture, whether they rely on employment in the oil company or the governmental agency regulating it.

The value they place on things like clean air and water are just made up numbers anyway. Sort of like the valuation of life years involved in the Pinto (Ford) debacle. The "fix" to their fuel system would have cost them $11 per car, but the cost/benefit analysis came out on the side of not fixing the design flaw ($50 million dollars' value placed on deaths versus the $137 million dollars it would have cost them to fix their cars). At least jurors had the right idea, awarding $128 million dollars in damages in the first court case, which was trimmed back by $125 million by the appellate judge, as a "matter of law."

If I had to bet on endeavors of the human race versus acts of nature (or chaos) I'd go with nature/chaos every time.

But I digress:

In pondering, writing, speaking to friends and researching the effects of nuclear radiation, I came across information that led me to believe that my mother, a cancer survivor might be eligible for compensation for living near nuclear testing sites. Apparently if you lived in certain counties in Nevada from 1951 to 1958 for 2 years and you got cancer (from bladder to brain to breast-- there's a list) you're called a "downwinder" and there's a trust set up for you by the US government to compensate you for being exposed to their 200 some nuclear tests --and, bonus, you get $50,000. My mother-- who had breast breast cancer twice, lived in Reno, NV in the county of Washoe in the early 1950s. Alas, too far to the west.

Here is the website for the Radiation Exposure Compensation Fund:
http://www.justice.gov/civil/torts/const/reca/about.htm

The "downwinders compensation fund" was only established via an amendment to a federal statute for miners and military employees, in the year 2000.

Here is my family Atlas. The yellow areas are those where the "downwinders" can receive compensation for radiation exposure from nuclear testing

Another friend just suggested that mom might have been exposed to radiation from nuclear waste from the Hanford Plant that has seeped into the water tables in Oregon and Washington. My mother was raised in Grays River, WA and lived in Portland, OR for most of her life. And it is true that all of our proximate neighbors on 23rd Street in Portland had cancers, mostly breast cancers that weren't fatal. However, our neighbors to the rear of us were stricken with breast cancer (the mom) and a lymphoma (the son, my age) that caused both of their deaths.

Post Script:

Now the Japanese press is saying that the wind is blowing toward the ocean and not toward the populace in the vicitinities involved. That's supposed to be good news. What a consolation.

What about my people on the West Coast?

To Plan or not to Plan: That is the Question

Sun, 12 Sep 2010 18:09:28 -0400

Image thanks to Christie Abshire Butcher's Students at the University of Texas, Austin

A friend, known as Artfish on Open Salon, posted the following on her facebook page:

"One day Alice came to a fork in the road and saw a Cheshire cat in a tree. Which road do I take?" she asked. "Where do you want to go?" was his response. "I don't know," Alice answered. Then," said the cat, "it doesn't matter."

To which I shot back:

"That's where the cat and I differ-- I don't think it matters where you want to go, there is always a right road to take."

My response touched off a conversation about "mistakes" that led into a discussion about the role of "planning," which now that I think about it, was probably a conversation about the role of "self determination" in living a "successful life."

Okay so I think too much, but that quote touched a nerve.

I think it struck me because for the first 40 years of my life I lived via the extreme planning method that was advocated to all of us (educated people) in fact, through the education process, whether in high school or college or graduate school, which, in short, was, "if you don't have a plan in life, you'll never get there." Never mind where "there" was. But, you'd never get "there." So, be afraid, be very afraid; and I was very afraid that I would never amount to anything.

Let me elaborate on what this method "meant:" You made a plan, generally in writing, for the next year (short-term), and the next five years and ten years (long-term) and then planned, generally in writing, how to set about trying to accomplish it. This process was reevaluated every year, preferably near the New Year, as far as I knew, though I'm not sure why, and life was assured to consist of some ordered (and successful) trajectory.

Living life by this method was a better guarantee of "success" than the "other method," which I assumed was "just drifting through life." I guessed that drifting through life meant that you didn't get an education, lived in a trailer park, had children by various fathers and never married.... or some kind of life as equally "unsuccessful sounding" as *that.*

Okay I had anxieties.

The first little crack in this philosophy appeared as I graduated from college in 1982 in one of the worst recessions in years and couldn't find but a secretarial job. This was not what I was led to believe should happen. I deserved some recognition of some sort. And I didn't get it. I was special, damn it. Plus, I planned.

To recover from this unpleasant and unplanned scenario, I just planned some more. I set my sights set on law school, which was supposed to solve all career snafus as I would be on a bona fide career track. Undergraduate degrees, obviously, no longer trained you for anything, so an advanced career track, like law school would fit the bill. Getting into law school was a chore and I don't want to belabor that time in my life. But, if you think that getting into law school was a chore, practicing it, with children, then with a possible move to Vancouver BC (which I bucked) then with a move to Louisiana (which I accepted, naively) was impossible. I struggled for years, mainly because I was so focused on my "law school" career, which I had written down, that I couldn't see beyond it or outside it, and I was miserable.

My husband can attest to years of misery.

At some point during these years of unmet goals, I had a breakdown and went to see a therapist, who fortunately was a spiritual person. Thank goodness for someone that believed in life, rather than the plans of small human beings.

I learned to plan but to be open to the possibilities that "life" (or God, if you are so inclined) throws at you. My first great opportunity was to take advantage of the time I had "off" to pursue involvement with a lifelong passion-- the Sarvodaya Shramadana Movement, a development organization in Sri Lanka that I fell in love with when I was 19 years old.

The second was to "study" gerontology, another passion. No goals. No nothing. These two passions intersected for me and I have years of volunteer and consultant, development and aging work to show for it, including another MS and a PhD. None of it planned.

I also "happened upon" a Duke post-doc, not planned, and went for that. When I got back, I "happened upon" a position of directing numerous evaluations of state social programs. And after that, I "stumbled upon" a job with private industry as their director of chronic care research, a gerontologist position that has been more than I ever could have imagined.

So, after the last 12 years of a fabulous life, I have to say that I am an advocate for being open to the Big Picture. You can plan, but be guided by your passion and by opportunities that present themselves to you, whether in "your field" and "within your plans" or not. Trust your gut. If you can help it, don't make "lists" (which I also used to do -- you know, listing the "pros" and the "cons" of a scenario).

Do what drives you. Be in love with your life. Follow the possibilities.

In that way, I truly believe, there will never be a "wrong road." All roads presented to you will be or will lead to the "right ones," divinely inspired, if you are so inclined.

My Time Isn't Ever Going to Come

Tue, 17 Aug 2010 19:08:05 -0400

Caption: I'd rather be living at the beach

I WENT OVER to mom's house this morning to see how she was feeling. She lives in my backyard, so it's just a short walk.

She has had a bladder infection that just won't go away, despite being put on a low dose of antibiotics for months, and despite being prescribed another type of antibiotic in a stronger dose last week. She was allergic to the second antibiotic, which caused spasms in her bladder. The pain made her panic, which very nearly meant an ER visit, but we managed to get her into see her doctor on short notice. So, now she's on a third antibiotic that I hope is ridding her body of this latest nasty UTI, and some sort of pain medication that seems to be easing the symptoms a bit. Of all of the physical problems she has, these urinary tract infections are the worst.

Yadayadayada. I know. Now you're bored. I'm bored in the telling.

So:

I arrived at her house when she was in mid-conversation with her caregiving company. I could tell that it was them because her conversation was peppered with "4 hours" and "she didn't tell me she couldn't come on Wednesdays" and "how much do you pay her?" When I arrive in the middle of these things I feel like I maybe shouldn't listen, even though I am the "responsible party" (how I'm hating that). They were trying to explain something to her, and she was trying to come to some decision, but she wound herself into such a whirl of frustration that she became visibly upset, and physically aphasic, and finally spit out, "never mind then!" and hung up the phone.

I think I physically cringed when she finally looked at me because I was scared and because I knew how the visit was going to go, which was not well. And it didn't. Go well. After an uncomfortable conversation, with me trying to brace myself against her anger, my visit with my mother ended with her parting shots: "You should have thought of that when you took my car away," and, "You are making my life miserable."

I turned around and walked home and called her caregiving company to complain about things that were making her upset, even though I know nothing is going to make her happy, at least not anything I've had a hand in creating. And boy was I was involved in getting her a caregiver-- pretty much to the exclusion of everyone else because I thought (and think) she needs it. I also thought she'd get used to it. Now, however, I don't think she will ever get used to it. It's been nearly 3 months and she seems just as mad as she was in the beginning, maybe madder.

After awhile, she called to apologize, sort of, and then launched into a begging chant, "Can't I just drive the car to the store, please, please?

I said something weak back to her, like, "you know I can't let you do that," or something equally lame.

After that, I simply placed the phone in the cradle.

Explaining or restating my explanations just makes her mad. I'm pretty sure that I should be mad back and that maybe we should have a good old fight like we used to have when I was a teenager (there is so much about *this* that feels like *that*). However, as far as my feelings go, I'm sad but not angry. She's a 89 year old woman with dementia, and the dementia is making her upset. A lot.

This maybe the more interesting part:

And all I can think of is-- When will the time come that my life is "my own?"

After mulling this over for the last five hours, I have come to the conclusion that that day will never come. I know this for sure for a bazillion reasons related to my sad overburdened with dependents life situation. Even so, I can't help but ponder "my other life," as in, "the life I'm supposed to be having but can't."

I'll let you in on a little secret: My main pathetic source of entertainment lately is planning the life I could have if I was only responsible for myself. I'm not only a daydreamer. Sometimes, I put these plans into action, like a month ago when I tried to have a contractor draw up plans for a spa-pool for our backyard. I could just envision myself lazing around in a Grecian shaped pool, with a fountain or two, while my family fixed me a mouthwatering dinner. Ah, denial.

That didn't go over well, despite my big push to try to make it a reality. I thought that if I showed my family how much I really needed something fun in my life at home, that they would understand. They were unimpressed, and, well, it will never happen, as we recently put an offer on a house for our son.

I did buy myself a treadmill for our bedroom, against the advice of my cohabitants. *That* was liberating. And I gave away our huge Thomasville Entertainment Center (located in our bedroom at the site the treadmill now occupies) to one of the treadmill moving guys. (A treadmill is such a symbol of a 9-5, button-down, boring life. Don't you think?) Anyway, giving that thing away made me feel euphoric.

So, I guess I've had one little triumph. "Yay!" for creating my own space, and having fun, and bucking convention.

Now I think I'll go and pick up food to make dinner.