Dinner was an experience savoured with fine friends and red wine.
I contributed the Remy Martin; essential to any festive gathering.
It was a little different for me, the solo act with two duets.
Later the ladies both went to work and the gents and I sat, wine in hand, disseminating.
-- we are all the same--
Looking in from the outside they have it all. A beautiful home right on the golf course. A family of two beautiful children. Good-looks, charm, and happiness. The reality I was told, is rather different. Employment uncertain, love crushed by debt, anxiety and medicate the kids into happiness.
The wine was good though.
----------------
It's 1993.
Kurt is looking into the camera telling us how he is happy for the only time in his life.
He is calm, clear-eyed.
We heard it on the news ------
--------------
I’m on my time with everyone
I have very bad posture
Sit and drink pennyroyal tea
Distill the life that’s inside of me
Sit and drink pennyroyal tea
I’m anemic royalty
Give me a leonard cohen afterworld
So I can sigh enternally
I’m so tired I can’t sleep
I’m a liar and a thief - "Pennyroyale tea" Nirvana
12.10.04
Waiting
The telephone is silent.
I have no work today.
I imagine a little meeting going on somewhere.
Hopefully the results will be accomodation... if not, I shall return to school.
and borrow MORE money!!
--------------
Gentle souls wait quietly for nightfall.
I saw the wordsmith this last week. He has been so ill. Mind shining like a diamond, just one or two facets dimmed by life and pneumonia. I used to have the most pleasant assignment of going and sitting with him for 3 or 4 hours so his wife could go out and get the basics done.
He is 96 she is 80. The trouble is she looks about 60 and people forget this is her retirement too. He requires alot of maintenance these days.
One of our mutual pleasures was dreadful puns. And quips.
He would tell me story after story. "Showing off" his wife said.
It has been a few months since we crossed paths.
And there I am on Thursday, looking in the room to hear him say:
"Oh you are so cheery. And you LOVE your job."
Yes!
A little later he told me that it meant so much to him to have someone who enjoys their work near to him at a time like this. So honoured was I.
I went to wash my hands and I heard him say to his wife:
"What's her name again?"
hee hee a little reality check there.
Even worse was her reply:
"it's Anne."
(it's not)
--------------------
I have no work today.
I imagine a little meeting going on somewhere.
Hopefully the results will be accomodation... if not, I shall return to school.
and borrow MORE money!!
--------------
Gentle souls wait quietly for nightfall.
I saw the wordsmith this last week. He has been so ill. Mind shining like a diamond, just one or two facets dimmed by life and pneumonia. I used to have the most pleasant assignment of going and sitting with him for 3 or 4 hours so his wife could go out and get the basics done.
He is 96 she is 80. The trouble is she looks about 60 and people forget this is her retirement too. He requires alot of maintenance these days.
One of our mutual pleasures was dreadful puns. And quips.
He would tell me story after story. "Showing off" his wife said.
It has been a few months since we crossed paths.
And there I am on Thursday, looking in the room to hear him say:
"Oh you are so cheery. And you LOVE your job."
Yes!
A little later he told me that it meant so much to him to have someone who enjoys their work near to him at a time like this. So honoured was I.
I went to wash my hands and I heard him say to his wife:
"What's her name again?"
hee hee a little reality check there.
Even worse was her reply:
"it's Anne."
(it's not)
--------------------
"Blessed are those who give without remembering. And blessed are those who take without forgetting."
9.10.04
Our search for significance
Human beings are hard-wired for the perilous pursuit of seeking significance.
It is not that we shouldn't, it is more that we search for it in all the wrong places.
The God-shaped hole in our souls remains empty as we try to fill it with glory or gold or fame.
We find life disappointing and full of regret. Where is God now?
Pursuing property, power, pride, position... we have turned pride and passion inwards. We push pleasure into something of benefit chiefly to ourselves. I believe this is a primal need.
"Tell them I mattered."
Maslow's hierarchy was one of my chief interests in Nursing studies. It ranks Food and Safety only as less compelling than our need for significance. It is the addiction of our time.
It is honoured and lauded by our culture. Awards of every type on every channel.
Oh to matter!
Psalm 29 is my new mantra for this struggle.
" Ascribe to the LORD, O heavenly beings, ascribe to the LORD glory and strength.
It is not that we shouldn't, it is more that we search for it in all the wrong places.
The God-shaped hole in our souls remains empty as we try to fill it with glory or gold or fame.
We find life disappointing and full of regret. Where is God now?
Pursuing property, power, pride, position... we have turned pride and passion inwards. We push pleasure into something of benefit chiefly to ourselves. I believe this is a primal need.
"Tell them I mattered."
Maslow's hierarchy was one of my chief interests in Nursing studies. It ranks Food and Safety only as less compelling than our need for significance. It is the addiction of our time.
It is honoured and lauded by our culture. Awards of every type on every channel.
Oh to matter!
Psalm 29 is my new mantra for this struggle.
" Ascribe to the LORD, O heavenly beings, ascribe to the LORD glory and strength.
2 Ascribe to the LORD the glory of his name; worship the LORD in holy splendor."
That about covers it.
------------------
I read the most amazing book this week. It was written by Umberto Eco.
"Foucault's Pendulum"
(and I thought I had brains)
It is an extremely witty novel rife with irony of the sort I love.
It is also a committment. I do not think I have ever read so many inter-related factiods in my entire visual memory's life, with the possible exception of Tolkien. Even there, I could not hope to put them all into a novel let alone one with a decent plot.
Upon completion I went to the Web to read reviews. I did this primarily because I had never heard of this novel prior to buying it. The reviews were of two schools: One black and one white. One camp pronounced it *unreadable* and the other announced its' brilliance.
Count me white. I was amused and amazed and entertained.
I also am one of those people who do not believe anything provable by mathematics.
It hurt my head a little trying to follow the twists and turns until I realised with a laugh it did not matter one whit. M. Eco really is a very clever fellow indeed!
-------
I believe that you can reach the point where there is no longer any difference between developing the habit of pretending to believe and developing the habit of believing.
-- Foucault's Pendulum, Chapter 87
7.10.04
Going Home
It has been such a privilege and pleasure to meet and know intimatly a wide variety of folk whose combined lifestyles and times embrace all aspects of the human experience.
In school we had a little poem we chanted at recess:
"Tinker Tailor Soldier Sailor
Richman Poorman Beggarman Thief
Doctor Lawyer Indian Chief
Royal Canadian Mounted Police."
I think I have met them all now.
Alas it is a sexist poem. Where are the women in that rhyme? Are they merely implied?
I had to say goodbye to a few people this week.
To some the goodbye was a gesture, something I did that perhaps they will remember later as a farewell. To some it was a verbal expression of a thank you for sharing so many things with me.
Change is inevitable. Change is hard. Change is here.
---------------------------------
"Change is not merely necessary to life - it is life."
Alvin Toffler
In school we had a little poem we chanted at recess:
"Tinker Tailor Soldier Sailor
Richman Poorman Beggarman Thief
Doctor Lawyer Indian Chief
Royal Canadian Mounted Police."
I think I have met them all now.
Alas it is a sexist poem. Where are the women in that rhyme? Are they merely implied?
I had to say goodbye to a few people this week.
To some the goodbye was a gesture, something I did that perhaps they will remember later as a farewell. To some it was a verbal expression of a thank you for sharing so many things with me.
Change is inevitable. Change is hard. Change is here.
---------------------------------
"Change is not merely necessary to life - it is life."
Alvin Toffler
5.10.04
Processing speed
It was a decade or two ago when I was a self-described adreniliniac.
Now my processing speed is down by a few hertz.
I require more time to adjust to new things. Unexpected events take me by storm.
In the moment I am just fine. Afterwards, I crumble like last months stale cookie.
We had a suicide. I understand it. I just do not like it.
Coming back to find that out was difficult. Who and how and so on.
It was definitly a choice. Definitly someone who had had *enough*
Definitly a need for one last chance at control. --sigh--
The impact of our little community of caregivers is tremendous.
The people who came on shift to discover that... well. I hope they take the counselling offered.
I am still sad but not as sad as yesterday. It devastated me.
----------------
Now my processing speed is down by a few hertz.
I require more time to adjust to new things. Unexpected events take me by storm.
In the moment I am just fine. Afterwards, I crumble like last months stale cookie.
We had a suicide. I understand it. I just do not like it.
Coming back to find that out was difficult. Who and how and so on.
It was definitly a choice. Definitly someone who had had *enough*
Definitly a need for one last chance at control. --sigh--
The impact of our little community of caregivers is tremendous.
The people who came on shift to discover that... well. I hope they take the counselling offered.
I am still sad but not as sad as yesterday. It devastated me.
----------------
About power to recover from trauma and devastation…
1 Corinthians 14:3 If I give all I possess to the poor and surrender my body to the flames, but have not love, I gain nothing. (NIV)
3.10.04
Talking out of turn
tic tok
tick talk
-----------------------------------
Talking out of turn
Shot to pieces
When will I learn
Talking out of turn
Shot to pieces
When will I learn -Moody Blues (long distance voyager)
Conversing is a pleasure when it is practised among friends.
I have been very fortunate in the last decade to have enjoyed the companionship of fine folk most of whom I never will and never have met.
It is in times like this, when I cannot be understood when I speak out loud that I thank God for the kindred spirits of the Internet.
Thank you Wids.
Thank you ' clue.
Thank you Helene.
Thank you Keller.
Thank you Dale.
Thank you Turk.
Thank you Kevin(s).
Thank you Brian(s).
You will never know the comfort afforded me through your willingness to befriend a silly woman. I may be old but I am not yet olde.
I realize with company, I hardly focus my attention on the beauty of the place.
Yet, it is with company that such beauty is best shared.
===============================
It contributes greatly towards a man's moral and intellectual health,
to be brought into habits of companionship with individuals unlike
himself, who care little for his pursuits, and whose sphere and
abilities he must go out of himself to appreciate.
Nathaniel Hawthorne
tick talk
-----------------------------------
Talking out of turn
Shot to pieces
When will I learn
Talking out of turn
Shot to pieces
When will I learn -Moody Blues (long distance voyager)
Conversing is a pleasure when it is practised among friends.
I have been very fortunate in the last decade to have enjoyed the companionship of fine folk most of whom I never will and never have met.
It is in times like this, when I cannot be understood when I speak out loud that I thank God for the kindred spirits of the Internet.
Thank you Wids.
Thank you ' clue.
Thank you Helene.
Thank you Keller.
Thank you Dale.
Thank you Turk.
Thank you Kevin(s).
Thank you Brian(s).
You will never know the comfort afforded me through your willingness to befriend a silly woman. I may be old but I am not yet olde.
I realize with company, I hardly focus my attention on the beauty of the place.
Yet, it is with company that such beauty is best shared.
===============================
It contributes greatly towards a man's moral and intellectual health,
to be brought into habits of companionship with individuals unlike
himself, who care little for his pursuits, and whose sphere and
abilities he must go out of himself to appreciate.
Nathaniel Hawthorne
1.10.04
A Cunning Plan
"Auntie's coming!"
Yes Auntie me was coming to visit her very favourite nieces and nephews who technically are not even related to me but that's just reality intruding. We are family!
I had this brilliant and cunning plan.
a) Get the dentistry done.
b) Take a holiday week.
c) Visit the "fam"
d) Be very smug about the superior intellect that conceived such a grande plan
I accomplished a, & b, and we are stuck there.
I called my dear niece to let her know traveling was out of the question.
Her 7 year old son answered. We had a nice 5 sentence long conversation.
I concluded with: "Can you understand me?"
"Yes."
I had my daughter call back when she arrived home.
She explained to the same lad that Auntie cannot come.
A few hours later my telephone rang.
"Auntie?"
"yes?"
---- long gasp and pause -----
"WOW Auntie! Oh my GOODNESS!"
I asked her if her son mentioned I called.
"He told me your daughter called and then said:
"Oh Mommy some weird lady called for you. I think she was Chinese."
hah!
God Bless the young. They tell the truth!
!
============
There arises from a bad and inapt formation of words, a wonderful obstruction to the mind.
- Francis Bacon
Yes Auntie me was coming to visit her very favourite nieces and nephews who technically are not even related to me but that's just reality intruding. We are family!
I had this brilliant and cunning plan.
a) Get the dentistry done.
b) Take a holiday week.
c) Visit the "fam"
d) Be very smug about the superior intellect that conceived such a grande plan
I accomplished a, & b, and we are stuck there.
I called my dear niece to let her know traveling was out of the question.
Her 7 year old son answered. We had a nice 5 sentence long conversation.
I concluded with: "Can you understand me?"
"Yes."
I had my daughter call back when she arrived home.
She explained to the same lad that Auntie cannot come.
A few hours later my telephone rang.
"Auntie?"
"yes?"
---- long gasp and pause -----
"WOW Auntie! Oh my GOODNESS!"
I asked her if her son mentioned I called.
"He told me your daughter called and then said:
"Oh Mommy some weird lady called for you. I think she was Chinese."
hah!
God Bless the young. They tell the truth!
!
============
There arises from a bad and inapt formation of words, a wonderful obstruction to the mind.
- Francis Bacon
tic toc tic
One of my friends unwittingly gave me my motto:
"You can never have enough time"
We were talking about clocks.
I have a minor obsession with chronological devices. I am really a closet matho-holic.
(I LOVE that link. This person is a definite pale shade of me or the inverse)
St Augustine said that 'Time may not only be queerer than we imagine,
but queerer than we can imagine.' I have a good imagination. It is spilling out everywhere.
What, then, is time?
If no one asks me, I know what it is.
If I wish to explain it to him who asks me,
I do not know.
My house is a home for wayward clocks. It started as a fascination with cylindrical music boxes. I love the idea of weights and measures as a means of knowing your place in time and space. Or what you perceive to be....
Now every room in my house has at least 2 clocks except the powder room which has been spared. It is my oasis within time's illusion. The funny thing is that although clocks capture my attention, time matters not. We are here in this illusion but I do not believe we really exist in the way most of us would like to believe. Now before you think I am about to go all Matrix-y on you, its just a way of looking at life. My way. My life.
I picked up a vintage Bulova watch from the clockmaker yesterday.
It was in awful shape. Being an optimist I gave the clockmaker 1.5 years to fix it.
He came in a little late but its working.
Generally the vintage watch I wear is a very nice Rolex but lately I have been wearing nothing at all surrounded as I am by all this time at home.
This little Bulova has the curved glass and a missing second hand on a secondary dial on the face but it is special because it was a gift to my father from my mother in the early 50s.
*sigh happily*
Dad looked at the clockmaker and said brightly:
"She has over 100 clocks in her house!"
Perhaps he is still trying to make sense of it. I know he thinks I am a little odd.
Perhaps affirmation from the Clockmaker would make it all right.
It is just so wonderful to see attempts at quantifying the universe.
Archaic before their creation and yet so endearing.
Tic toc tic.
======================
In other news: work beckons.
*gasp*
=======================
"All my possessions for a moment of time"
Last words of Queen Elizabeth I of England and Ireland 1533-1603
"As if you could kill time without injuring eternity"
Henry David Thoreau 1817-62
"You can never have enough time"
We were talking about clocks.
I have a minor obsession with chronological devices. I am really a closet matho-holic.
(I LOVE that link. This person is a definite pale shade of me or the inverse)
St Augustine said that 'Time may not only be queerer than we imagine,
but queerer than we can imagine.' I have a good imagination. It is spilling out everywhere.
What, then, is time?
If no one asks me, I know what it is.
If I wish to explain it to him who asks me,
I do not know.
My house is a home for wayward clocks. It started as a fascination with cylindrical music boxes. I love the idea of weights and measures as a means of knowing your place in time and space. Or what you perceive to be....
Now every room in my house has at least 2 clocks except the powder room which has been spared. It is my oasis within time's illusion. The funny thing is that although clocks capture my attention, time matters not. We are here in this illusion but I do not believe we really exist in the way most of us would like to believe. Now before you think I am about to go all Matrix-y on you, its just a way of looking at life. My way. My life.
I picked up a vintage Bulova watch from the clockmaker yesterday.
It was in awful shape. Being an optimist I gave the clockmaker 1.5 years to fix it.
He came in a little late but its working.
Generally the vintage watch I wear is a very nice Rolex but lately I have been wearing nothing at all surrounded as I am by all this time at home.
This little Bulova has the curved glass and a missing second hand on a secondary dial on the face but it is special because it was a gift to my father from my mother in the early 50s.
*sigh happily*
Dad looked at the clockmaker and said brightly:
"She has over 100 clocks in her house!"
Perhaps he is still trying to make sense of it. I know he thinks I am a little odd.
Perhaps affirmation from the Clockmaker would make it all right.
It is just so wonderful to see attempts at quantifying the universe.
Archaic before their creation and yet so endearing.
Tic toc tic.
======================
In other news: work beckons.
*gasp*
=======================
"All my possessions for a moment of time"
Last words of Queen Elizabeth I of England and Ireland 1533-1603
"As if you could kill time without injuring eternity"
Henry David Thoreau 1817-62
26.9.04
"At Gerties"
A little retirement town has the million dollar compounds and the trailer parks on the outskirts of town. There are also various low-income complexes run by the Lions Club and the Shriners. The Legion has one or two also. These places are small and servicable and alot of the people living in them get home support or home nursing or both. It is possible a person could start their shift in one of those places and work almost the entire day without driving anywhere.
I had a new name on my list a few years back, a gentleman who was never home when I got there. A note was tacked to the door: "At Gerties, no worries." It was probably 2 months before I connected with him and found him to be a very chivalrous gent. He was profoundly deaf and his eyesight was going. He had congestive heart failure and wore compression stockings to keep his gouty feet under control. My little assignment was to remove those stockings around 10:30 pm.
Yes, we get paid for this!
Benny was the name he went by. Benny was a British Airforce man all spit and polish. He had been widowed for around ten years. One of the nights he was home I went to get him a drink of water and opened cupboard after cupboard to find empty bottles of Crown Royale Whiskey. I gently hinted he might want to get someone in to recycle. It got so that he was unpredictable and my list of those evenings took me the entire length and breadth of our area. I would call him to see if he was there. If not, I would carry on. When he was home he would say things like: "My stockings are off but I would dearly love for you to come by."
I asked about him to another woman.
"He's never home", I ventured.
"Ah don't you know Gertie?"
"uhm, no. Does she live in the same complex?"
"No! Gertie! From the day program!"
I do not do the day program so this meant nothing to me. It went in the storehouse of my brain somewhere around the ZZZZ888Z part.
Around Christmastime I was down in the shopping district of our small town.
The streets were festooned with lights and painted windows with merry scenes beckoned passersby. Along the short little one-way street, about 1 mile from home strode Ben.
I honked at him but he did not hear me. He wore a look of utter bliss. Whatever it was he was doing was clearly agreeing with him.
Two months later I had a new medication client. She lived in a rather more fashionable area of town and had serious memory trouble. She was very pleasant and most acceptant of help but quite conscious of her diminishment. A little budgie chirped from the counter where his cage sat on a towel. (gratuitous link here: I LOVE this site)
We sat at her dining room table and she told me about her friend.
He had always discreetly gotten up from the table right after dessert and moved to the recliner to watch the tellie. This was her signal to get the dishes done. Old-school I guess.
The bird was his. He came with the bird by cab a few times a week for supper.
Around Christmas week she had been sad over her inability to shop.
"Don't you worry my girl."
He had gone out and bought presents for everyone on the list. They had all been delivered to her door by cab neatly wrapped and then he had arrived separatly with the bird.
They finished dessert and she was up to the sink when she heard a *thunk*
She said she had stood over him saying: :"I'll get the neighbour you just stay there"
She told me the thing that had bothered her was his eyes were unblinking.
The very sensible neighbour had the ambulance there and her in another room drinking a cuppa while they removed Bens' body.
I kinda like this story alot.
He died on one of the happiest days of his life after a mission of kindness for a woman he cared deeply about. She could not remember his name but she took great care of his budgie which now lives in the extended care wing she happily stays in.
Gentle Ben.
You were so kind.
God blessed Gertie with you and me with you both.
-----------------------------------
"True blessedness consists in a good life and a happy death"
Solon (Athenian statesman and poet, 630-560bc)
I had a new name on my list a few years back, a gentleman who was never home when I got there. A note was tacked to the door: "At Gerties, no worries." It was probably 2 months before I connected with him and found him to be a very chivalrous gent. He was profoundly deaf and his eyesight was going. He had congestive heart failure and wore compression stockings to keep his gouty feet under control. My little assignment was to remove those stockings around 10:30 pm.
Yes, we get paid for this!
Benny was the name he went by. Benny was a British Airforce man all spit and polish. He had been widowed for around ten years. One of the nights he was home I went to get him a drink of water and opened cupboard after cupboard to find empty bottles of Crown Royale Whiskey. I gently hinted he might want to get someone in to recycle. It got so that he was unpredictable and my list of those evenings took me the entire length and breadth of our area. I would call him to see if he was there. If not, I would carry on. When he was home he would say things like: "My stockings are off but I would dearly love for you to come by."
I asked about him to another woman.
"He's never home", I ventured.
"Ah don't you know Gertie?"
"uhm, no. Does she live in the same complex?"
"No! Gertie! From the day program!"
I do not do the day program so this meant nothing to me. It went in the storehouse of my brain somewhere around the ZZZZ888Z part.
Around Christmastime I was down in the shopping district of our small town.
The streets were festooned with lights and painted windows with merry scenes beckoned passersby. Along the short little one-way street, about 1 mile from home strode Ben.
I honked at him but he did not hear me. He wore a look of utter bliss. Whatever it was he was doing was clearly agreeing with him.
Two months later I had a new medication client. She lived in a rather more fashionable area of town and had serious memory trouble. She was very pleasant and most acceptant of help but quite conscious of her diminishment. A little budgie chirped from the counter where his cage sat on a towel. (gratuitous link here: I LOVE this site)
We sat at her dining room table and she told me about her friend.
He had always discreetly gotten up from the table right after dessert and moved to the recliner to watch the tellie. This was her signal to get the dishes done. Old-school I guess.
The bird was his. He came with the bird by cab a few times a week for supper.
Around Christmas week she had been sad over her inability to shop.
"Don't you worry my girl."
He had gone out and bought presents for everyone on the list. They had all been delivered to her door by cab neatly wrapped and then he had arrived separatly with the bird.
They finished dessert and she was up to the sink when she heard a *thunk*
She said she had stood over him saying: :"I'll get the neighbour you just stay there"
She told me the thing that had bothered her was his eyes were unblinking.
The very sensible neighbour had the ambulance there and her in another room drinking a cuppa while they removed Bens' body.
I kinda like this story alot.
He died on one of the happiest days of his life after a mission of kindness for a woman he cared deeply about. She could not remember his name but she took great care of his budgie which now lives in the extended care wing she happily stays in.
Gentle Ben.
You were so kind.
God blessed Gertie with you and me with you both.
-----------------------------------
"True blessedness consists in a good life and a happy death"
Solon (Athenian statesman and poet, 630-560bc)
24.9.04
100 words per minute (with the gold pin to prove it)
This is a story about a very proud woman.
Born in Canada to immigrants from the British Isles. Her mother was from the beautiful Lake District near Coniston in England and her father was from just outside Glasgow. She was never anything in her own mind but 100% Scottish. She lived with her husband of a half-century in a beautiful oceanfront home after their retirement to the Island.
The entire upstairs of their home was one huge bedroom. It overlooked the most famous and beautiful beach in this area with a view that was breath-taking no matter how many times you saw it. There was a library area in this room, a reading nook complete with a pale peach leather couch, an ensuite with a very large and deep jacuzzi tub and a separate shower. The closet area was bigger than most peoples bedrooms. There was still enough room for a HUGE largescreen television which she only allowed on to watch her favourite show:
"Keeping Up Appearances."
Those big closets of theirs were 5% the husbands clothes and 95% hers.
Stuffed full of fashionable outfits and shoes all in boxes neatly stacked near the shelves where the matching purses were housed. Inside the handbags were change purses in the same shade.. Each box had a description neatly written in her beautiful and distinctive script in the same place as all the others. She wore no make-up but very light lipstick, and the blonde oak dresser had two full drawers where dozens of Revlon, Max Factor and Mary Kay lipsticks awaited her whim.
Her bathroom was mirrors and tile. The counter had Chanel #5 powder alongside the perfume and cologne.
She was surrounded by all the pleasures and comforts money could buy. Her chief comfort was her dedicated and selfless husband who considered it his duty to attend to very every need. It was a high calling he felt. Each night she insisted on taking a long hot bath and her husband would lift her out of it and into her bed. She refused to use a commode. She would not use a walker. She would not even consider an incontinent system. Those topics were absolutely forbidden. The word "death" was also on that list. "Cancer" was the other word not allowed.
She held court in her king-size bed and the view was out to sea. Her visitors could sit in the wingback chairs and watch the resort stayers frolicking on the mile-long white sands.
This Lady was very sick, in fact she was palliative. She had refused a colostomy because of her distaste for the "bag". This decision resulted in her being dramatically affected in the frequency and proximity department. She could not go anywhere. She had a solution. She bought a motorhome to travel in. You could see her all around the area, a gaunt figure gripping the steering wheel. It was a little scary for those of us who knew how ill she was.
Her husband did everything for her. She sent him out for pudding and boost and ice-cream: whatever her tastebuds fancied in the moment. He would get so very hopeful and bring home 5 of whatever she asked for. Unfortunatly she could no longer eat. She had just finished a round of radiation treatments. The desire for food had left her. She was more than disinterested in food. She could not even force herself to eat. Radiation can be bad that way. She wore her wedding rings on her third finger now and even then they slipped and slid. Her once tight watch hung limply at her wrist. She continued to wear it because she said it was the first really frivilously expensive piece of jewellery her husband had bought for her. It had an moscaic face and diamonds around the dial. The strap was 18ct gold. Even in her worst moments, the jewels remained on.
It had been almost 18 months since the Doctors had told her husband her death was imminent.
Since then, she had spent tens of thousands of dollars in experimental treatments.
Possibly more than that.
She also volunteered to take experimental chemotherapy.
It was very difficult to watch her go so forcefully ahead with these methods when the odds were overwhelmingly against her. Her husband had a heart attack in the middle of her treatment. The stress was piling up and up and up.
It was the Hospital Social Worker who finally let the family know that Community Care was available. Noone had offered anything before. Not that she would have accepted it. She was too proud. After her husband's heart attack and recovery she knew she had to let someone help, or she would lose him.
The assignment was overnight care. The idea was that her husband could take a sleeping pill and get a good nights rest. She then could sleep downstairs in a hospital bed with the healthcare worker sitting near for any needs she might have. A butterfly injection site was put in for Haldol
Now Haldol is a very good drug. It is used to counteract mania and to combat the side-effects from cancer drugs. This woman had not slept a full night for months. The Haldol would help with that.
But the mind is a powerful thing and this woman had a very strong mind and will.
Night #1 she threw the worker out.
Night #2 she asked the new worker to get her something from upstairs, and took her carkeys and tried to escape in her motorhome. The only reason she didn't was her lack of strength.
She got to the Motorhome. She got the door open. She could not get herself up high enough to get in, thank God.
Night #3 the worker well-orientated and on-guard was a little harder to fool so she pretended to sleep. Around 4am she crawled over her bedrail, and down the hall and up the stairs on her hands and knees to her bed. She couldnt get into the bed. Her husband fell over her at 6am when he got up to the bathroom. Clearly, we had it wrong.
The new improved plan was to give the workers the assignment to TALK to her all night. This worked like a charm. The Haldol was discontinued due to her screaming each time she was injected (it is almost painless) and the Workers were culled down to 4 hardy souls who got on well with her.
The woman on the hill could talk and talk the entire shift without ever repeating herself.
The story she told each and every worker was not about her adored husband. Not about her 4 kids of whom she was very protective and proud even if they DID drive her to distraction. No it was about her secretarial training. She had wanted to be a Doctor. Her mother had told her that she could do anything she wanted but if she chose University, it meant absolutely no dating. She was already in love, life-long consuming love with her future husband so she chose secretarial school and business college which came without the dating clause.
She was not very challenged by it, so she concentrated on proficiency. She attained a typing speed of 100 words per minute on a manual typewriter and was the very first recipient of a gold pin to honour this achievement. Every worker and every Nurse and even the Doctors had seen this pin which she brought out at the climax of the story to proudly display. Stories about her career at the University stories about her prestigious job as the Secretary to the Chief of Police, stories about her work.... it was very important to her that these women and men knew she had DONE something. She had MATTERED.
Each morning the Workers would leave looking worn out. They cried and sobbed and wombled their way to their cars. The woman got the nicname *Boadacia*.
The carebook was full of entries like this:
"family present. tension in the home."
The small team of Nurses and caregivers were relieved when the husband hired private Nurses to care for her full-time, and the Healthcare team only had to go in 3 nights a week.
When she died, each caregiver said it was the hardest assignment they had ever had.
The funeral was packed.
The Nurses and Care-givers sat in the pew behind us.
The woman on the hill was my Mother.
It has been 7 years now.
Nothing can ever take your mother away from you.
Not unless you want it to.
I miss you Mom.
You were unique.
Anything in me of great spirit and compassion is from you.
For all that you gave to me and all the blessings I did not see at the time, thank you.
You were an indomitable personality.
Heaven is much spicier with you up there, I know it!
----------------------------------------
A mother is the truest friend we have, when trials, heavy and sudden, fall upon us; when adversity takes the place of prosperity; when friends who rejoice with us in our sunshine, desert us; when troubles thicken around us, still will she cling to us, and endeavor by her kind precepts and counsels to dissipate the clouds of darkness, and cause peace to return to our hearts.--Washington Irving
Born in Canada to immigrants from the British Isles. Her mother was from the beautiful Lake District near Coniston in England and her father was from just outside Glasgow. She was never anything in her own mind but 100% Scottish. She lived with her husband of a half-century in a beautiful oceanfront home after their retirement to the Island.
The entire upstairs of their home was one huge bedroom. It overlooked the most famous and beautiful beach in this area with a view that was breath-taking no matter how many times you saw it. There was a library area in this room, a reading nook complete with a pale peach leather couch, an ensuite with a very large and deep jacuzzi tub and a separate shower. The closet area was bigger than most peoples bedrooms. There was still enough room for a HUGE largescreen television which she only allowed on to watch her favourite show:
"Keeping Up Appearances."
Those big closets of theirs were 5% the husbands clothes and 95% hers.
Stuffed full of fashionable outfits and shoes all in boxes neatly stacked near the shelves where the matching purses were housed. Inside the handbags were change purses in the same shade.. Each box had a description neatly written in her beautiful and distinctive script in the same place as all the others. She wore no make-up but very light lipstick, and the blonde oak dresser had two full drawers where dozens of Revlon, Max Factor and Mary Kay lipsticks awaited her whim.
Her bathroom was mirrors and tile. The counter had Chanel #5 powder alongside the perfume and cologne.
She was surrounded by all the pleasures and comforts money could buy. Her chief comfort was her dedicated and selfless husband who considered it his duty to attend to very every need. It was a high calling he felt. Each night she insisted on taking a long hot bath and her husband would lift her out of it and into her bed. She refused to use a commode. She would not use a walker. She would not even consider an incontinent system. Those topics were absolutely forbidden. The word "death" was also on that list. "Cancer" was the other word not allowed.
She held court in her king-size bed and the view was out to sea. Her visitors could sit in the wingback chairs and watch the resort stayers frolicking on the mile-long white sands.
This Lady was very sick, in fact she was palliative. She had refused a colostomy because of her distaste for the "bag". This decision resulted in her being dramatically affected in the frequency and proximity department. She could not go anywhere. She had a solution. She bought a motorhome to travel in. You could see her all around the area, a gaunt figure gripping the steering wheel. It was a little scary for those of us who knew how ill she was.
Her husband did everything for her. She sent him out for pudding and boost and ice-cream: whatever her tastebuds fancied in the moment. He would get so very hopeful and bring home 5 of whatever she asked for. Unfortunatly she could no longer eat. She had just finished a round of radiation treatments. The desire for food had left her. She was more than disinterested in food. She could not even force herself to eat. Radiation can be bad that way. She wore her wedding rings on her third finger now and even then they slipped and slid. Her once tight watch hung limply at her wrist. She continued to wear it because she said it was the first really frivilously expensive piece of jewellery her husband had bought for her. It had an moscaic face and diamonds around the dial. The strap was 18ct gold. Even in her worst moments, the jewels remained on.
It had been almost 18 months since the Doctors had told her husband her death was imminent.
Since then, she had spent tens of thousands of dollars in experimental treatments.
Possibly more than that.
She also volunteered to take experimental chemotherapy.
It was very difficult to watch her go so forcefully ahead with these methods when the odds were overwhelmingly against her. Her husband had a heart attack in the middle of her treatment. The stress was piling up and up and up.
It was the Hospital Social Worker who finally let the family know that Community Care was available. Noone had offered anything before. Not that she would have accepted it. She was too proud. After her husband's heart attack and recovery she knew she had to let someone help, or she would lose him.
The assignment was overnight care. The idea was that her husband could take a sleeping pill and get a good nights rest. She then could sleep downstairs in a hospital bed with the healthcare worker sitting near for any needs she might have. A butterfly injection site was put in for Haldol
Now Haldol is a very good drug. It is used to counteract mania and to combat the side-effects from cancer drugs. This woman had not slept a full night for months. The Haldol would help with that.
But the mind is a powerful thing and this woman had a very strong mind and will.
Night #1 she threw the worker out.
Night #2 she asked the new worker to get her something from upstairs, and took her carkeys and tried to escape in her motorhome. The only reason she didn't was her lack of strength.
She got to the Motorhome. She got the door open. She could not get herself up high enough to get in, thank God.
Night #3 the worker well-orientated and on-guard was a little harder to fool so she pretended to sleep. Around 4am she crawled over her bedrail, and down the hall and up the stairs on her hands and knees to her bed. She couldnt get into the bed. Her husband fell over her at 6am when he got up to the bathroom. Clearly, we had it wrong.
The new improved plan was to give the workers the assignment to TALK to her all night. This worked like a charm. The Haldol was discontinued due to her screaming each time she was injected (it is almost painless) and the Workers were culled down to 4 hardy souls who got on well with her.
The woman on the hill could talk and talk the entire shift without ever repeating herself.
The story she told each and every worker was not about her adored husband. Not about her 4 kids of whom she was very protective and proud even if they DID drive her to distraction. No it was about her secretarial training. She had wanted to be a Doctor. Her mother had told her that she could do anything she wanted but if she chose University, it meant absolutely no dating. She was already in love, life-long consuming love with her future husband so she chose secretarial school and business college which came without the dating clause.
She was not very challenged by it, so she concentrated on proficiency. She attained a typing speed of 100 words per minute on a manual typewriter and was the very first recipient of a gold pin to honour this achievement. Every worker and every Nurse and even the Doctors had seen this pin which she brought out at the climax of the story to proudly display. Stories about her career at the University stories about her prestigious job as the Secretary to the Chief of Police, stories about her work.... it was very important to her that these women and men knew she had DONE something. She had MATTERED.
Each morning the Workers would leave looking worn out. They cried and sobbed and wombled their way to their cars. The woman got the nicname *Boadacia*.
The carebook was full of entries like this:
"family present. tension in the home."
The small team of Nurses and caregivers were relieved when the husband hired private Nurses to care for her full-time, and the Healthcare team only had to go in 3 nights a week.
When she died, each caregiver said it was the hardest assignment they had ever had.
The funeral was packed.
The Nurses and Care-givers sat in the pew behind us.
The woman on the hill was my Mother.
It has been 7 years now.
Nothing can ever take your mother away from you.
Not unless you want it to.
I miss you Mom.
You were unique.
Anything in me of great spirit and compassion is from you.
For all that you gave to me and all the blessings I did not see at the time, thank you.
You were an indomitable personality.
Heaven is much spicier with you up there, I know it!
----------------------------------------
A mother is the truest friend we have, when trials, heavy and sudden, fall upon us; when adversity takes the place of prosperity; when friends who rejoice with us in our sunshine, desert us; when troubles thicken around us, still will she cling to us, and endeavor by her kind precepts and counsels to dissipate the clouds of darkness, and cause peace to return to our hearts.--Washington Irving
"Are you married?"
Most Nurses and Healthcare professionals out in the field hear that query many times from many people. There is no right answer, not in these uncertain times with skewered social mores (Pronunciation Key (môr
z
, -
z, m
r-) --Dad and I just argued about the correct way to articulate that. Did you know Dictionary.com has audio files to educate us all in the proper enunciation of our language? Should you attempt to hear their files you will get this message:
Audio pronunciations are available only to Dictionary.com Premium members.
(phht)
Yet another company that wants my information. No thanks.
Now about marriage: I get proposals decent and indecent a few times a year.
Mostly indecent in my way of thinking. It is a strange thing how people transfer their feelings.
One moment you are their care-giver and the next you are their future wife. Or mistress.
Or something inbetween.
I wear a wedding ring every work day.
When I come home after my shift I put my uniform in the hamper and the ring in a little trinket box. I might as well NOT bother. The only ring that works is this very large diamond ring I have that I would not be able to do any personal care wearing. That ring prompts clients to say things like:
"I can see YOU'RE taken!"
"Oh boy, someone loves you alot!"
Who bought me that ring?
Why I did of course :)
I was thinking about a dear person today named Mrs. Th.
I miss her dearly.
She said to me once:
"My dear girl, if you're not married it's because you do not want to be."
At the time I thought it was a very strange thing to say.
I think I understand what she meant now.
Ms. Th had been married 3 times.
Widowed 3 times. And still an optimist!
She lived in the most remote location from our central office. It was spectacular.
One day I almost fell over when an eagle swooped in front of the window.
Mere inches away.
I had never thought about how large an eagle really is!
The home was on a bluff.
Huge trees first growth variety were on the bank leading down to the waterfront. She looked out to a lighthouse and light marine traffic from the marina just around the bend. It was just a pleasure to be in the home. She was the icing on the cake.
We got along like a house on fire. Once I went off the night shift I did not see her again.
Mrs. Th so elegant and full of largess, gentility and warmth. It was that quality of class you cannot quite put words to. She was so very polished in such a refined manner. She exercised life as a nice choice; discriminating and sensitive to beauty; just a woman of quality. She once told me she wished I had been her daughter in law. I was so honoured. It was one of the highest compliments ever paid me.
I only found out a small while ago who her son is.
I had met granddaughters and adopted daughters and sons-in -law at her home but never the son. And yet it turned out that I know him.
He bore nor resemblance to his Mother at all physically.
He is a bit of a gentle giant.
But the heart is the same. He is a very good man.
He is a man who loves his family.
But the elegance and genteel manner skipped his generation.
Isn't that just like a classy woman to pass on the things that TRULY matter.
Oh Mrs. Th how I miss you.
------------------------------------------
A truly elegant taste is generally accompanied with an excellency of heart. - Henry Fielding
The only real elegance is in the mind, if you've got that, the rest really comes from it. - Diana Vreelan
z, -z, mr-) --Dad and I just argued about the correct way to articulate that. Did you know Dictionary.com has audio files to educate us all in the proper enunciation of our language? Should you attempt to hear their files you will get this message:Audio pronunciations are available only to Dictionary.com Premium members.
(phht)
Yet another company that wants my information. No thanks.
Now about marriage: I get proposals decent and indecent a few times a year.
Mostly indecent in my way of thinking. It is a strange thing how people transfer their feelings.
One moment you are their care-giver and the next you are their future wife. Or mistress.
Or something inbetween.
I wear a wedding ring every work day.
When I come home after my shift I put my uniform in the hamper and the ring in a little trinket box. I might as well NOT bother. The only ring that works is this very large diamond ring I have that I would not be able to do any personal care wearing. That ring prompts clients to say things like:
"I can see YOU'RE taken!"
"Oh boy, someone loves you alot!"
Who bought me that ring?
Why I did of course :)
I was thinking about a dear person today named Mrs. Th.
I miss her dearly.
She said to me once:
"My dear girl, if you're not married it's because you do not want to be."
At the time I thought it was a very strange thing to say.
I think I understand what she meant now.
Ms. Th had been married 3 times.
Widowed 3 times. And still an optimist!
She lived in the most remote location from our central office. It was spectacular.
One day I almost fell over when an eagle swooped in front of the window.
Mere inches away.
I had never thought about how large an eagle really is!
The home was on a bluff.
Huge trees first growth variety were on the bank leading down to the waterfront. She looked out to a lighthouse and light marine traffic from the marina just around the bend. It was just a pleasure to be in the home. She was the icing on the cake.
We got along like a house on fire. Once I went off the night shift I did not see her again.
Mrs. Th so elegant and full of largess, gentility and warmth. It was that quality of class you cannot quite put words to. She was so very polished in such a refined manner. She exercised life as a nice choice; discriminating and sensitive to beauty; just a woman of quality. She once told me she wished I had been her daughter in law. I was so honoured. It was one of the highest compliments ever paid me.
I only found out a small while ago who her son is.
I had met granddaughters and adopted daughters and sons-in -law at her home but never the son. And yet it turned out that I know him.
He bore nor resemblance to his Mother at all physically.
He is a bit of a gentle giant.
But the heart is the same. He is a very good man.
He is a man who loves his family.
But the elegance and genteel manner skipped his generation.
Isn't that just like a classy woman to pass on the things that TRULY matter.
Oh Mrs. Th how I miss you.
------------------------------------------
A truly elegant taste is generally accompanied with an excellency of heart. - Henry Fielding
The only real elegance is in the mind, if you've got that, the rest really comes from it. - Diana Vreelan
~*~ Death of a Warrior ~*~
Amid angels sighs...
on wings of thunder...
through a sunrise sky the eagle and its mate flies high…
The spirit warriors wait
-------------- ©Faye Sizemore
October 26, 2001
-------------
A sad thing happened around my town. I had the usual every 2nd Friday duty of dropping off my hours and mileage ito the office. Another worker was in the lower area where we have a drop file for such things.
I said my hi's and then my eagle-eye caught a single word on her client report sheet. *deceased*
I looked at her and she said, clutching it to her chest: "Oh no , don't look at that."
I asked her who. It was the warrior.
I gave her a big hug and asked her if she had been present at the time of death.
She burst into tears and said: "Yes. It was horrible."
She went on to tell me the last few days had been awful for her.
I told her how when I first started that happened to me in my second week on the job and I did not much like it either. We both cried.
"I am glad it was you." I said, then clarified; "And I mean that in the best of ways, you are a caring wonderful person and I am glad he had you.
What a warrior he was. He was a Pilot, a diver, a treasure-hunter, a financial wizard and so much more. He approached his brain cancer much the way he fought his paraplegia. He told me the hour and day of the accident which took away his ability to walk. It never stopped him from much except walking.
Mr. T. you were so strong.
Your courage and grace and appreciation of, and for, life was boundless.
God bless you and envelope you in his arms, free of pain and suffering.
@-#@-#@@-#@-#@@-#@-#@@-#@-#@@-#@-#@@-#@-
on wings of thunder...
through a sunrise sky the eagle and its mate flies high…
The spirit warriors wait
-------------- ©Faye Sizemore
October 26, 2001
-------------
A sad thing happened around my town. I had the usual every 2nd Friday duty of dropping off my hours and mileage ito the office. Another worker was in the lower area where we have a drop file for such things.
I said my hi's and then my eagle-eye caught a single word on her client report sheet. *deceased*
I looked at her and she said, clutching it to her chest: "Oh no , don't look at that."
I asked her who. It was the warrior.
I gave her a big hug and asked her if she had been present at the time of death.
She burst into tears and said: "Yes. It was horrible."
She went on to tell me the last few days had been awful for her.
I told her how when I first started that happened to me in my second week on the job and I did not much like it either. We both cried.
"I am glad it was you." I said, then clarified; "And I mean that in the best of ways, you are a caring wonderful person and I am glad he had you.
What a warrior he was. He was a Pilot, a diver, a treasure-hunter, a financial wizard and so much more. He approached his brain cancer much the way he fought his paraplegia. He told me the hour and day of the accident which took away his ability to walk. It never stopped him from much except walking.
Mr. T. you were so strong.
Your courage and grace and appreciation of, and for, life was boundless.
God bless you and envelope you in his arms, free of pain and suffering.
@-#@-#@@-#@-#@@-#@-#@@-#@-#@@-#@-#@@-#@-
23.9.04
~* Always*~ on the Job
Serendipity.
Synchroncity.
Coincidence.
God.
All of the above.
I am having a bit of a time regaining my abilities to the degree where I can comfortably drive long distances and perform life and death and after-death care. You would not want me walking in unable to speak clearly would you? How about if I lurched a little to the right every second step.
Yes yes, I am still off. I feel alot better but I am definitly not myself enough to go anywhere far. Luckily I live in the middle of our little resort city just up from the beach just over from the Library and just a few short blocks to the fabulous Thrift stores. We have the best deals ever in this town. Dealers line the aisles each and every morning picking up this and that for 50 cents and 2 dollars. It is a wonderful place if you like scrounging through other peoples stuff.
I do. Woo boy do I!
My little home houses me and my collections. The most noticable collection is my clocks. They really are fabulous. I also collect boxes, religious iconary, and cushions. I recycle. Get good stuff, enjoy it, get better stuff, donate the good stuff. The circle works for me. I never want for anything. Needs are few. Food. Money. Roof over my head. All that is taken care of. ahhhh
But I digress.... :)
I was very cranky yesterday. My jaw just would not unclench and I had to wear my jig all day to keep my teeth apart. Feeling very blue and unable even to cheer up by thrifting, I decided to go for a really good cup of coffee. A really really good ETHICAL cup of coffee.
But where?
My absolute favourite place is 1 hour up the highway in beautiful downtown nowheresville.
I couldnt possibly drive that far. If I could I should be working. I can't.
Inspiration hit. I went down to the little funky place owned by a 28 yr old hippie-chick. Her place is just down the hill near the water by me. The lights were dimmed. Odd for 13:00 hours. Even odder the keys were in the lock. I went in and she sat by the counter in tears.
"Sorry I am closed."
"I can see that. Your keys are in the door."
"Sorry... sorry closed. Ouch. Sorry."
She was doubled over in pain. This woman is fit and tough. She hikes and bikes and works her little shoppe 12+ hours a day in the tourist season and 8 every other day. She is no wimp.
"Oh please, dont make a scene. Please."
One of the advantages of being a take charge personality is that in crisis, I do not have to wait and think what to do I just do it. Ambulance came with little fanfare and she was whisked off to hospital and into surgery. She is recovering nicely at home now.
I think God had one of his angels whisper in my ear when I was thinking about going for a cup of coffee. I have not frequented her bistro for a year or so.
God can use anyone to accomplish his purpose.
God can work anything for good. Anything.
=======================
I love to cruise the Web looking for good things.
The quote below is from a site http://www.itwm.org/positive.html
This looks to me like a very inspired individual.
What do you think?
The raven is solitary in deposition, but was used by God to feed the prophet Elijah. God can use anything or anyone to do His will. Even someone like you and me.
22.9.04
Comfortably Numb
Perhaps it is dangerous to identify strongly with a song about drugs.
Hmmm does that mean the entire Floyd catalogue is out?
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Hello.
Is there anybody in there?
Just nod if you can hear me.
Is there anyone home? Hey! I have been homr a week now!
Come on, now.
I hear you’re feeling down.
Well I can ease your pain,
Get you on your feet again. yeah right; you told me it would not hurt the first time!
Relax.
I need some information first.
Just the basic facts:
Can you show me where it hurts? Mouth you ninny! Mouth! Jaw! Brain! Ouch, honey, ouch!
There is no pain, you are receding.
A distant ship’s smoke on the horizon.
You are only coming through in waves.
Your lips move but I can’t hear what you’re sayin’.
When I was a child I had a fever.
My hands felt just like two balloons.
Now I got that feeling once again.
I can’t explain, you would not understand. Ah but I DO understand. When I was a child I saw the same things. Small beings.
This is not how I am. Maybe not, but it IS how I am.
I have become comfortably numb. Drat it all. I 'm not.
Ok.
Just a little pinprick. [ping]
There’ll be no more --aaaaaahhhhh!
But you may feel a little sick. Nope I feel great. Except for this ocean of pain in my jaw.
Can you stand up?
I do believe it’s working. good.
That’ll keep you going for the show. Sorry bud. Retired. Reformed. No more shows.
Come on it’s time to go.
There is no pain, you are receding.
A distant ship’s smoke on the horizon. OOO its working. You really ARE receding.
You are only coming through in waves.
Your lips move but I can’t hear what you’re sayin’.
When I was a child I caught a fleeting glimpse,
Out of the corner of my eye.
I turned to look but it was gone.
I cannot put my finger on it now. I can. They were tiny beings of light. It wasn't a dream.
They are no longer visible to me now.
The child is grown, the dream is gone.
I have become comfortably numb. drat it all..... still not quite yet.
Pink Floyd
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
All righty then. Did that scare you?
Ah don't worry. It still hurts alot. ALOT. Alot.
Motrin is Advil. Thats all I am taking. I wear my jig at night which helps amazingly.
This has little to do with the current dental surgery and everything to do with the long ago traumas. It will be all right. <------ That link has SOME good info but overall the writer is deluded. In a very endearing way albeit. It still will really be all right tho. I promise.
After all I am a miracle many times over.
God must have something he wants of me.
Glad someone does. :)
God blessed me with a wonderful daughter.
I only ever truly prayed passionatly for 3 things in my life.
God gave me all three.
Want to know what they were?
I prayed from a young age: "Dear Lord, please just let me be happy." I am. Obscenely so.
In my teens and 20s: "Dear Lord please let my mother accept me for WHO I am and stop being so sorrowful about who I am not." It took her deathbed to do that but she did. God, what a price. Sometimes I wish I had NOT prayed that. But God heard my cry.
Same era it was: "Dear Lord, please let me know my Father."
I know him better than I knew my husband. The void left by my mothers dead was filled with our friendship.
So: Be careful what you pray for. Sometimes the cost is too high.
But this I know for certain:
In the darkness grace has not forsaken me.
-----------------------
Hmmm does that mean the entire Floyd catalogue is out?
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Hello.
Is there anybody in there?
Just nod if you can hear me.
Is there anyone home? Hey! I have been homr a week now!
Come on, now.
I hear you’re feeling down.
Well I can ease your pain,
Get you on your feet again. yeah right; you told me it would not hurt the first time!
Relax.
I need some information first.
Just the basic facts:
Can you show me where it hurts? Mouth you ninny! Mouth! Jaw! Brain! Ouch, honey, ouch!
There is no pain, you are receding.
A distant ship’s smoke on the horizon.
You are only coming through in waves.
Your lips move but I can’t hear what you’re sayin’.
When I was a child I had a fever.
My hands felt just like two balloons.
Now I got that feeling once again.
I can’t explain, you would not understand. Ah but I DO understand. When I was a child I saw the same things. Small beings.
This is not how I am. Maybe not, but it IS how I am.
I have become comfortably numb. Drat it all. I 'm not.
Ok.
Just a little pinprick. [ping]
There’ll be no more --aaaaaahhhhh!
But you may feel a little sick. Nope I feel great. Except for this ocean of pain in my jaw.
Can you stand up?
I do believe it’s working. good.
That’ll keep you going for the show. Sorry bud. Retired. Reformed. No more shows.
Come on it’s time to go.
There is no pain, you are receding.
A distant ship’s smoke on the horizon. OOO its working. You really ARE receding.
You are only coming through in waves.
Your lips move but I can’t hear what you’re sayin’.
When I was a child I caught a fleeting glimpse,
Out of the corner of my eye.
I turned to look but it was gone.
I cannot put my finger on it now. I can. They were tiny beings of light. It wasn't a dream.
They are no longer visible to me now.
The child is grown, the dream is gone.
I have become comfortably numb. drat it all..... still not quite yet.
Pink Floyd
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
All righty then. Did that scare you?
Ah don't worry. It still hurts alot. ALOT. Alot.
Motrin is Advil. Thats all I am taking. I wear my jig at night which helps amazingly.
This has little to do with the current dental surgery and everything to do with the long ago traumas. It will be all right. <------ That link has SOME good info but overall the writer is deluded. In a very endearing way albeit. It still will really be all right tho. I promise.
After all I am a miracle many times over.
God must have something he wants of me.
Glad someone does. :)
God blessed me with a wonderful daughter.
I only ever truly prayed passionatly for 3 things in my life.
God gave me all three.
Want to know what they were?
I prayed from a young age: "Dear Lord, please just let me be happy." I am. Obscenely so.
In my teens and 20s: "Dear Lord please let my mother accept me for WHO I am and stop being so sorrowful about who I am not." It took her deathbed to do that but she did. God, what a price. Sometimes I wish I had NOT prayed that. But God heard my cry.
Same era it was: "Dear Lord, please let me know my Father."
I know him better than I knew my husband. The void left by my mothers dead was filled with our friendship.
So: Be careful what you pray for. Sometimes the cost is too high.
But this I know for certain:
In the darkness grace has not forsaken me.
-----------------------
21.9.04
Make me beautiful!!
After my dental procedure of last week,
I went directly into my office,
did NOT pass GO,
did NOT collect $200.
Filling out the form with dates of absence from work and reasons thereof, I sat in the little office trying to collect my bearings. One of our Supervisors came in, looked over my shoulder at the form, and patted me on the back saying:
"Oh the things you do for beauty!"
She was very lucky my mouth was full of gauze. Beauty was the last thing on my mind at that moment.
Today I had a beauty moment. I felt worlds better than yesterday and showered, dressed and went out for a morning capp. I caught my reflectoin in a storefront window. It did not match what I see in my mind for my residual body image. After all if this was the Matrix I would be 5 foot 10 with 42 inch legs and clad head to toe comfortably in leather.
I saw this puffy little round person all in blue. oooo is it Gimli? hmm surely not Bombur! ---ack! its ME!
I went straight to the plaza to my dear hairdresser Dallas. After all it is Tuesday and unlikely he is TOTALLY booked up, right?
"ok you walk-in-er! What do you want?"
"What do I want? OR why am I here today?"
"heh heh how much time will you need?"
"How much time do you have?"
"So basically I can do anything I want?"
"Yes please and throw in the complementary botox and lipo"
Ah the merriment!
Dallas cut and coloured my hair and then just before 3:30 when the lowlights were almost settled in, I remembered the orthdontists.
"hey Dallas? Will I be out of here by 3:45?"
"More like 4."
"But I have to be at the Ortho at 3:50"
"Oh sure NOW you tell me."
Well I was!!! Dallas is a hair god.
The reflection is now Liv Tyler on steroids.
hee hee.
Thats a GOOD thing you know. She was far too thin to be a realistic Arwen.
These women fought with swords for Eru's sake. It takes back muscles to support arm and shoulder muscles. Try fencing with no muscle. Good luck on that!
So tonight your silly caregiver blogmeistress sits blogging while looking FABULOUS darling.
Feel like I have a ways to go but in general life is MUCH better.
Dallas you are the greatest, most talented and by far the wittiest of them all.
Bless your glovie hands.
==============
**The soul bride should weave patience into the braids of her hair, and apply the lotion of the Lord, the Great Lover. (Asa M.1 359)
I went directly into my office,
did NOT pass GO,
did NOT collect $200.
Filling out the form with dates of absence from work and reasons thereof, I sat in the little office trying to collect my bearings. One of our Supervisors came in, looked over my shoulder at the form, and patted me on the back saying:
"Oh the things you do for beauty!"
She was very lucky my mouth was full of gauze. Beauty was the last thing on my mind at that moment.
Today I had a beauty moment. I felt worlds better than yesterday and showered, dressed and went out for a morning capp. I caught my reflectoin in a storefront window. It did not match what I see in my mind for my residual body image. After all if this was the Matrix I would be 5 foot 10 with 42 inch legs and clad head to toe comfortably in leather.
I saw this puffy little round person all in blue. oooo is it Gimli? hmm surely not Bombur! ---ack! its ME!
I went straight to the plaza to my dear hairdresser Dallas. After all it is Tuesday and unlikely he is TOTALLY booked up, right?
"ok you walk-in-er! What do you want?"
"What do I want? OR why am I here today?"
"heh heh how much time will you need?"
"How much time do you have?"
"So basically I can do anything I want?"
"Yes please and throw in the complementary botox and lipo"
Ah the merriment!
Dallas cut and coloured my hair and then just before 3:30 when the lowlights were almost settled in, I remembered the orthdontists.
"hey Dallas? Will I be out of here by 3:45?"
"More like 4."
"But I have to be at the Ortho at 3:50"
"Oh sure NOW you tell me."
Well I was!!! Dallas is a hair god.
The reflection is now Liv Tyler on steroids.
hee hee.
Thats a GOOD thing you know. She was far too thin to be a realistic Arwen.
These women fought with swords for Eru's sake. It takes back muscles to support arm and shoulder muscles. Try fencing with no muscle. Good luck on that!
So tonight your silly caregiver blogmeistress sits blogging while looking FABULOUS darling.
Feel like I have a ways to go but in general life is MUCH better.
Dallas you are the greatest, most talented and by far the wittiest of them all.
Bless your glovie hands.
==============
**The soul bride should weave patience into the braids of her hair, and apply the lotion of the Lord, the Great Lover. (Asa M.1 359)
Heffalumps and woozles
If you ever watched Winnie the Pooh, the Disney version, you know that heffalumps and woozles are those unseen creatures that come out from under the bed when the lights are out.
I always think about being woozley in terms of feeling like I am about to wind up UNDER the bed.
Faithful friends know that for years I have struggled with jaw pain and seemingly endless dental procedures. Sometimes I would wonder if the cure was worth the pain. There was always more that needed to be done.
Lest you think I have an unscrupulous dentist, I must assure you that everything I have endured was necessary.
In my early teens, a very heavy, old fashioned wooden baseball bat went end over end up and over a 20 foot backstop, winged by an excited school mate, and connected with my head.
A 1/2 inch in any direction and I would have died. Instead I just endured a million tiny deaths.
My traumatic brain injury was largely ignored although I did end up taking my entire highschooling through correspondence.
The blow was severe enough to cause jaw problems on through the prevailing years. I never thought about it much if at all until my 30s when a series of happenstances brought it back to my attention.
Tournament baseball was one of my great love affairs. I liked to play 2nd base. Sometimes I would pitch. During a warm-up in a big money tournament, after the whistle blew, a hung-over team mate of mine whipped a 60mph ball at me. My peripheral vision caught the blur and my instincts got my mitt ALMOST up in time. The ball deflected off my mitt into (you guessed it) my mouth. I can still remember just wandering around in shock with ice to my face for hours. I remember it because at the time I thought about the single other time in my life I had experienced that level of pain. I could walk. I could breathe. But think? no. Talk? no.
The other time of course being the bat to the head.
Those events were just two things in a long checkered life.
I always loved living and lived pretty large.
I did not dwell on those two things until the dental/jaw problems started interferring with my everyday life. Gradually, back teeth broke off from grinding. The front teeth which had needed bleaching then crowns fell out. A bridge was inserted. On and on and on. Root canals on all my side teeth were done to try to diminish the throbbing and popping. My ears were sore 80% of my waking life. I wakened to teeth on the pillow or a jaw that was locked. On and on and on.
Last year I told my sister I was ready to get my jaw broken and reset. She had the same operation ten years ago to correct a genetic predisposition which I share. Small mouth, big teeth, crowding. She told me that it cured 75% of her pain. I was ready to settle for a cure of 25%, hell even 10%. I know this surgery would be about 26 thousand dollars and mean months of recovery. I went to my dentist and told him: I am ready.
My dentist sent me to an orthodontist who told me that neither the dentist nor himself felt that extreme operation would be worth it for me. They felt they could accomplish better results with extractions and braces. ---whew---
Nothing in my mouth ever goes easily.
Whether it is from the severe early traumas and the ongoing smaller ones or just plain old life: NOTHING ever goes easy in my mouth.
The extraction was perfect. A little extra pain from the root being dug out but not bad.
The pain, however, increased daily so yesterday found me back in the chair asking *why*
The dentist told me some bone was exposed. (ouch)
He ground it down and dressed it. Last night was hellish and I went to bed a little discouraged.
Praise God. Praise the Dentist! This morning I woke up and found that my mouth hurts very little. It does hurt. But you know: compared to yesterday it is nothing.
Today I get the spacers for the braces that will go on next week.
I am excited now that the hell pain is gone.
Hurrah hurrah.
I am content with progress. SO much for the woozles.
On to the heffalumps.
I always think about being woozley in terms of feeling like I am about to wind up UNDER the bed.
Faithful friends know that for years I have struggled with jaw pain and seemingly endless dental procedures. Sometimes I would wonder if the cure was worth the pain. There was always more that needed to be done.
Lest you think I have an unscrupulous dentist, I must assure you that everything I have endured was necessary.
In my early teens, a very heavy, old fashioned wooden baseball bat went end over end up and over a 20 foot backstop, winged by an excited school mate, and connected with my head.
A 1/2 inch in any direction and I would have died. Instead I just endured a million tiny deaths.
My traumatic brain injury was largely ignored although I did end up taking my entire highschooling through correspondence.
The blow was severe enough to cause jaw problems on through the prevailing years. I never thought about it much if at all until my 30s when a series of happenstances brought it back to my attention.
Tournament baseball was one of my great love affairs. I liked to play 2nd base. Sometimes I would pitch. During a warm-up in a big money tournament, after the whistle blew, a hung-over team mate of mine whipped a 60mph ball at me. My peripheral vision caught the blur and my instincts got my mitt ALMOST up in time. The ball deflected off my mitt into (you guessed it) my mouth. I can still remember just wandering around in shock with ice to my face for hours. I remember it because at the time I thought about the single other time in my life I had experienced that level of pain. I could walk. I could breathe. But think? no. Talk? no.
The other time of course being the bat to the head.
Those events were just two things in a long checkered life.
I always loved living and lived pretty large.
I did not dwell on those two things until the dental/jaw problems started interferring with my everyday life. Gradually, back teeth broke off from grinding. The front teeth which had needed bleaching then crowns fell out. A bridge was inserted. On and on and on. Root canals on all my side teeth were done to try to diminish the throbbing and popping. My ears were sore 80% of my waking life. I wakened to teeth on the pillow or a jaw that was locked. On and on and on.
Last year I told my sister I was ready to get my jaw broken and reset. She had the same operation ten years ago to correct a genetic predisposition which I share. Small mouth, big teeth, crowding. She told me that it cured 75% of her pain. I was ready to settle for a cure of 25%, hell even 10%. I know this surgery would be about 26 thousand dollars and mean months of recovery. I went to my dentist and told him: I am ready.
My dentist sent me to an orthodontist who told me that neither the dentist nor himself felt that extreme operation would be worth it for me. They felt they could accomplish better results with extractions and braces. ---whew---
Nothing in my mouth ever goes easily.
Whether it is from the severe early traumas and the ongoing smaller ones or just plain old life: NOTHING ever goes easy in my mouth.
The extraction was perfect. A little extra pain from the root being dug out but not bad.
The pain, however, increased daily so yesterday found me back in the chair asking *why*
The dentist told me some bone was exposed. (ouch)
He ground it down and dressed it. Last night was hellish and I went to bed a little discouraged.
Praise God. Praise the Dentist! This morning I woke up and found that my mouth hurts very little. It does hurt. But you know: compared to yesterday it is nothing.
Today I get the spacers for the braces that will go on next week.
I am excited now that the hell pain is gone.
Hurrah hurrah.
I am content with progress. SO much for the woozles.
On to the heffalumps.
| And God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes; and there shall be nor more death, neither sorrow nor crying, neither shall there be any more pain. [Revelation]" | |
| -- Bible | |
16.9.04
~* Fawlty
Whenever I am a little down in the mouth, I watch my little stash of "Fawlty Towers" episodes.
"The Psychiatrist"
(teeheeheehee)
My mouth is not happy. It will be soon though.
I have inherited a jaw problem that ten years ago I never really gave thought to.
It was a minor issue in my teens, but after an accident during tournament baseball, I began a long series of visits to the dentist. At first it was a niggling pain I thought was in my ear.
Then it was a throbbing in my right cheek. The throbbing became a drumbeat and now, 4 root canals, one endotontic root canal, 3 broken teeth now recrowned and 35% loss of range of motion later, I am willing to get braces to correct this bugger of a problem.
The worst of it is that my smile looks dazzling.
Noone would ever believe that I could have a problem when they look at my beautiful teeth.
Of course they do not realise they are looking at a dental masterpiece.
Twenty years and about 60k worth. All that money and still it is hurting.
Am I whining or is this really a problem?
Trust me... its a HUGE problem.
I rarely sleep more than 4 hours without waking up to a grind clench or tic.
Having a cramp while speaking is common also. My chin muscle is in spasm. I have a dimple where it should be smooth.
Massage to unclench my jaw is part of my weekly routine now.
The four broken teeth were night troubles. One I swallowed, the other three were found in the bed.
This with a custom made nightguard on!
I have spent more money on my mouth than I have on this little condo I live in.
And yet, the pain never relents.
After having to have a crown replaced I finally gave in and went for consultation with an Orthdontist. He x-rayed, measured and examined me for hours, and then made a jig that would force my jaw to relax. I wore this for 2 weeks. Then they remeasured.
I had the suggested treatment outlined for me and decided to go for it.
After all, if its a bugger now what will it be like in 5 years? Or ten?
I had the extractions necessaryto make the room to move my teeth over yesterday and next week will get my wires on.
The tooth did not want to come out and decided to break at the root. (wince)
A huge dosage of prescription Motrin and some muscle relaxants have got me in snoozeland.
So the care lane is at a full stop whilst I care for myself.
Not for long tho: I return to work Monday.
Fortunatly I booked a week of holidays around the time the wires go on.
Two years of this and I should have a working jaw and a mouth that opens properly.
With some very good luck I might even be able to sleep through the night.
HURRAH!
==============
The teeth are smiling, but is the heart?
- Congolese Proverb
"The Psychiatrist"
(teeheeheehee)
My mouth is not happy. It will be soon though.
I have inherited a jaw problem that ten years ago I never really gave thought to.
It was a minor issue in my teens, but after an accident during tournament baseball, I began a long series of visits to the dentist. At first it was a niggling pain I thought was in my ear.
Then it was a throbbing in my right cheek. The throbbing became a drumbeat and now, 4 root canals, one endotontic root canal, 3 broken teeth now recrowned and 35% loss of range of motion later, I am willing to get braces to correct this bugger of a problem.
The worst of it is that my smile looks dazzling.
Noone would ever believe that I could have a problem when they look at my beautiful teeth.
Of course they do not realise they are looking at a dental masterpiece.
Twenty years and about 60k worth. All that money and still it is hurting.
Am I whining or is this really a problem?
Trust me... its a HUGE problem.
I rarely sleep more than 4 hours without waking up to a grind clench or tic.
Having a cramp while speaking is common also. My chin muscle is in spasm. I have a dimple where it should be smooth.
Massage to unclench my jaw is part of my weekly routine now.
The four broken teeth were night troubles. One I swallowed, the other three were found in the bed.
This with a custom made nightguard on!
I have spent more money on my mouth than I have on this little condo I live in.
And yet, the pain never relents.
After having to have a crown replaced I finally gave in and went for consultation with an Orthdontist. He x-rayed, measured and examined me for hours, and then made a jig that would force my jaw to relax. I wore this for 2 weeks. Then they remeasured.
I had the suggested treatment outlined for me and decided to go for it.
After all, if its a bugger now what will it be like in 5 years? Or ten?
I had the extractions necessaryto make the room to move my teeth over yesterday and next week will get my wires on.
The tooth did not want to come out and decided to break at the root. (wince)
A huge dosage of prescription Motrin and some muscle relaxants have got me in snoozeland.
So the care lane is at a full stop whilst I care for myself.
Not for long tho: I return to work Monday.
Fortunatly I booked a week of holidays around the time the wires go on.
Two years of this and I should have a working jaw and a mouth that opens properly.
With some very good luck I might even be able to sleep through the night.
HURRAH!
==============
The teeth are smiling, but is the heart?
- Congolese Proverb
13.9.04
Priorities
When the Schedule is made up for the workload, there is a certain formula followed.
First priority are the clients who require full assistance with 2 workers.
Second priority are meds that are time specific.
Same for Palliative clients. They are accomodated as closely to their desires as possible.
The lower priorities are people who no imminent life-threatening illnesses.
I had one of those days where nothing seemed to be in my favour.
My schedule was changed after my 1st client.
The woman I went to was not one of my own. She is a lower priority client as pertains to the above. I was going there inbetween a woman in the advanced stages of Parkinsons and a gentleman battling brain cancer. I am not quite certain why they sent me, possibly it was a seniority issue. Anyway, I was roundly chastised for improper pouring of milk. Oh, and poor drying skills. Did I mention I forgot to open the back door? You know, all the really important things in life. I smile and do it all uncomplainingly, and then, as I leave, the woman apologises profusely. *bah*
-----------------------------------
We are still struggling trying to get the gentleman with brain cancer's edema under control. He has opted for more treatment.
He wants to live. Boy does he want to live.
He takes anti-cancer drugs and Diuretics which keep things moving along.
The trouble is that the drugs work so well his skin is weeping all the time.
Even compression stockings cannot hold the water back.
What happens then is that the skin just tears off in strips. It is hard to keep a handle on this. Every day there is a new open spot. It is a real challenge.
Not everyone is good at doing dressings. I am lucky in that the morning worker going into that gentleman takes the time to do a very good job every day. I love it when people are slotted where they can soar like eagles. It is doubtful you would ever read this Marilyn, but this is to let the world of blog-readers know you are a great person who does an excellent job.
------------------------------------
Aristotle:
We are what we repeatedly do. Excellence, then, is not an act, but a habit.
First priority are the clients who require full assistance with 2 workers.
Second priority are meds that are time specific.
Same for Palliative clients. They are accomodated as closely to their desires as possible.
The lower priorities are people who no imminent life-threatening illnesses.
I had one of those days where nothing seemed to be in my favour.
My schedule was changed after my 1st client.
The woman I went to was not one of my own. She is a lower priority client as pertains to the above. I was going there inbetween a woman in the advanced stages of Parkinsons and a gentleman battling brain cancer. I am not quite certain why they sent me, possibly it was a seniority issue. Anyway, I was roundly chastised for improper pouring of milk. Oh, and poor drying skills. Did I mention I forgot to open the back door? You know, all the really important things in life. I smile and do it all uncomplainingly, and then, as I leave, the woman apologises profusely. *bah*
-----------------------------------
We are still struggling trying to get the gentleman with brain cancer's edema under control. He has opted for more treatment.
He wants to live. Boy does he want to live.
He takes anti-cancer drugs and Diuretics which keep things moving along.
The trouble is that the drugs work so well his skin is weeping all the time.
Even compression stockings cannot hold the water back.
What happens then is that the skin just tears off in strips. It is hard to keep a handle on this. Every day there is a new open spot. It is a real challenge.
Not everyone is good at doing dressings. I am lucky in that the morning worker going into that gentleman takes the time to do a very good job every day. I love it when people are slotted where they can soar like eagles. It is doubtful you would ever read this Marilyn, but this is to let the world of blog-readers know you are a great person who does an excellent job.
------------------------------------
Aristotle:
We are what we repeatedly do. Excellence, then, is not an act, but a habit.
11.9.04
Colleen 'o' the Greens
In some dementias the person is left with but a few key words.
In others, actions take hold.
There is no cure for the progressive dementias.
The afflicted person can live for from two to twenty years (the average is eight).
In early stages, some drugs may temper the cognitive and behavioral symptoms. Non-pharmacological interventions can improve quality of life for the patient.
When the neurological impairment worsens, persons are dependent on caregivers and various complications develop. Clients frequently enter the healthcare system as Home Support and advance through to Intermediate and then Extended Care.
Colleen was a very animated happy woman.
She had been a great athelete and in particular a very gifted golfer. I knew none of that when I met her. I just saw that she was bored with what life she had left.
I met Colleen in a Hospital setting. She was in the extended care wing. She was an *eloper* so she was typically in a restraint.
Now judgement or no, I am opposed to physical restraints. I am not sure about chemical restraints either. The Head Nurse would remind me on a daily basis that it was the right of the family to decide such things. I have the right to disagree with that. And I did. And I still do. Noone in our area has ever successfully sued a Hospital for someone falling who might have been restrained. There are, however, several lawsuits pending about restraints improperly (allegedly) used.
I think people have the right to fall. I think even in a dementia if the person wants to walk let them walk. We do so much *fixing* in health care. Maybe they are not meant to BE fixed.
Colleen knew that I hated to see her strapped into a chair.
I would take her out on my breaks. Take her to the washroom so she could actually have the dignity of voiding on the throne rather than in her pants. I could always tell when she couldn't hold it any longer. She would have a tear in her eyes. She was not too talkative but she had a few words. Like: "thank you" and "dear dear".
I did not enjoy working in this Hospital and left as soon as I had other employment. I never went back to visit anyone there. Not physically anyway.
I had an assignment through Hospice at a private Hospital near my home. They asked me to go see a person in the end-of-life room. A good opportunity presented itself on the day they held a carnival for the community. There were pictures and memory books of all residents along with events for kids and families. The idea was that people would come for the carnival and stay to intermingle with the elders.
I walked into the dining room at lunchtime and heard an unmistakable voice shouting "ME! ME! ME! ME!"
In the corner where they put the "feed" clients (it is out of view of the other residents as it is not a lovely sight) sat Colleen.
She was bobbing her head at me wildly. I went over and sat beside her and asked the workers if I could feed her. The chef had given her food a palette look. He knew she had been a painter.
The Nurse in charge of the dining room let me remove her from the table as soon as she finished. I wheeled her out to the carnival.
There were happy kids everywhere. Lots of animals and more than a few performers. Colleen was babbling ME ME ME over and over again and motioning with her head. (Her arms were under a restraint.)
We wheeled past the action, past the tables of goodies, past the displays of crafts, past the books of lives where old blue grannies sat showing off to the very last table. Colleen suddenly hooted.
I stopped and looked at a very well-worn book. It was alot bigger than the others. Noone at all was even near us. It didnt look like anyone HAD been.
I pulled up a chair and sat beside Colleen and opened the book.
We looked at the whole thing. It took 2 hours.
It was press clippings and newspaper stories following her career as a pro golfer. She had been exceptional right from a small girl.
I saw pictures of her in her teens and in her 70s.
The last of the book was dedicated to her art career.
When we turned the last page the sun was going down.
The last of the party-goers had long since gone and the rest of the tables were dismantled. I looked across the lawn to the main building and saw dinner preparations.
Colleen and I went in. I did not get to see the other fella. He went on to eternity just fine without my help. Colleen gave me a kiss when I left and said: "You! You!"
I read her obituary not long ago.
It did not catch her spirit at all.
She was a great woman.
God bless you my dear.
*You* were.
================
Memory performs the impossible for man; holds together past and present, gives continuity and dignity to human life. - Mark Van Doren
In others, actions take hold.
There is no cure for the progressive dementias.
The afflicted person can live for from two to twenty years (the average is eight).
In early stages, some drugs may temper the cognitive and behavioral symptoms. Non-pharmacological interventions can improve quality of life for the patient.
When the neurological impairment worsens, persons are dependent on caregivers and various complications develop. Clients frequently enter the healthcare system as Home Support and advance through to Intermediate and then Extended Care.
Colleen was a very animated happy woman.
She had been a great athelete and in particular a very gifted golfer. I knew none of that when I met her. I just saw that she was bored with what life she had left.
I met Colleen in a Hospital setting. She was in the extended care wing. She was an *eloper* so she was typically in a restraint.
Now judgement or no, I am opposed to physical restraints. I am not sure about chemical restraints either. The Head Nurse would remind me on a daily basis that it was the right of the family to decide such things. I have the right to disagree with that. And I did. And I still do. Noone in our area has ever successfully sued a Hospital for someone falling who might have been restrained. There are, however, several lawsuits pending about restraints improperly (allegedly) used.
I think people have the right to fall. I think even in a dementia if the person wants to walk let them walk. We do so much *fixing* in health care. Maybe they are not meant to BE fixed.
Colleen knew that I hated to see her strapped into a chair.
I would take her out on my breaks. Take her to the washroom so she could actually have the dignity of voiding on the throne rather than in her pants. I could always tell when she couldn't hold it any longer. She would have a tear in her eyes. She was not too talkative but she had a few words. Like: "thank you" and "dear dear".
I did not enjoy working in this Hospital and left as soon as I had other employment. I never went back to visit anyone there. Not physically anyway.
I had an assignment through Hospice at a private Hospital near my home. They asked me to go see a person in the end-of-life room. A good opportunity presented itself on the day they held a carnival for the community. There were pictures and memory books of all residents along with events for kids and families. The idea was that people would come for the carnival and stay to intermingle with the elders.
I walked into the dining room at lunchtime and heard an unmistakable voice shouting "ME! ME! ME! ME!"
In the corner where they put the "feed" clients (it is out of view of the other residents as it is not a lovely sight) sat Colleen.
She was bobbing her head at me wildly. I went over and sat beside her and asked the workers if I could feed her. The chef had given her food a palette look. He knew she had been a painter.
The Nurse in charge of the dining room let me remove her from the table as soon as she finished. I wheeled her out to the carnival.
There were happy kids everywhere. Lots of animals and more than a few performers. Colleen was babbling ME ME ME over and over again and motioning with her head. (Her arms were under a restraint.)
We wheeled past the action, past the tables of goodies, past the displays of crafts, past the books of lives where old blue grannies sat showing off to the very last table. Colleen suddenly hooted.
I stopped and looked at a very well-worn book. It was alot bigger than the others. Noone at all was even near us. It didnt look like anyone HAD been.
I pulled up a chair and sat beside Colleen and opened the book.
We looked at the whole thing. It took 2 hours.
It was press clippings and newspaper stories following her career as a pro golfer. She had been exceptional right from a small girl.
I saw pictures of her in her teens and in her 70s.
The last of the book was dedicated to her art career.
When we turned the last page the sun was going down.
The last of the party-goers had long since gone and the rest of the tables were dismantled. I looked across the lawn to the main building and saw dinner preparations.
Colleen and I went in. I did not get to see the other fella. He went on to eternity just fine without my help. Colleen gave me a kiss when I left and said: "You! You!"
I read her obituary not long ago.
It did not catch her spirit at all.
She was a great woman.
God bless you my dear.
*You* were.
================
Memory performs the impossible for man; holds together past and present, gives continuity and dignity to human life. - Mark Van Doren
Maltese criss-cross
"Shh! Come in the Kitchen!"
"What?"
"Sshh!!!!'
All right, so I have never been accused of being overly subtle,
quite the opposite. This secrecy thing was not second nature.
"Sir, what it is?"
His wife, on full alert tried to turn around in her wheelchair.
She looked at me, then looked into the kitchen where her husband stood. She said something in German and shook her head.
The pictures on the wall were of the two of them at the townhall getting married. Her with business awards. Him with war medals and accolades for bravery. The two of them ballroom dancing.
I finished up what I was doing with her and went into the kitchen. I thought he had something to tell me pertaining to the wife. She had been getting very difficult to transfer.
He had his forefinger laid alongside his nose.
He motioned at the counter.
There was a beautiful plate of cookies there.
He winked at me and put a little napkin wrapped item in my hand.
I shook my head. He put it in my pocket.
"Must be shortbread", I thought. They seemed very heavy.
Two weeks later I was driving down the road and saw a napkin in the centre holder of my car. I remembered those cookies and wondered if they would still be good.
I made a grab for the napkin and out fell a small bottle of Kahlua. Oops.
It was a strange thing. I had not noticed when he began the drinking that now was an every night thing. I never fault anyone who lived through the hell of war their comforts. Now, so many long years later, he was the main caregiver to a stroke-worn wife. No more dances. No more conversations, she had reverted to a single language, her first. No more much of anything but sitting in their cute little house looking out on a world still turning without them. I did not fault him at all.
He had forgotten to cancel service. She was in the hospital recovering from another small stroke.
"Come in come in."
I was booked for 30 mins but as usual for evening shift I was behind in my time, and could use it for travelling if she was not home.
"Is she here?"
"Come in for a minute."
I went in with a funny feeling. He was in his cups.
"Come and give us a kiss."
"What?" You would think I would see that coming.
"Come on... give us a kiss. I think you are wonderful."
"SIR! Your wife! Don't talk like that."
I ended up leaving after just a few moments.
She never did come home.
The next year he was on my list.
I asked not to be sent... for obvious reasons.
My supervisor told me he wouldn't be doing much of "that".
"He's a very sick puppy."
I did go. He was barely recognisable. He was pretending everything was fine. We talked about his years in Malta and his gardens and this and that. He told me how happy he was his wife had not had to take care of him. How he was so blessed to have had her. Alot of things he wanted to be remembered as.
God Bless you Mr. D
I remember you as the hero you were.
A valiant and courageous man in life and death.
=================
"What?"
"Sshh!!!!'
All right, so I have never been accused of being overly subtle,
quite the opposite. This secrecy thing was not second nature.
"Sir, what it is?"
His wife, on full alert tried to turn around in her wheelchair.
She looked at me, then looked into the kitchen where her husband stood. She said something in German and shook her head.
The pictures on the wall were of the two of them at the townhall getting married. Her with business awards. Him with war medals and accolades for bravery. The two of them ballroom dancing.
I finished up what I was doing with her and went into the kitchen. I thought he had something to tell me pertaining to the wife. She had been getting very difficult to transfer.
He had his forefinger laid alongside his nose.
He motioned at the counter.
There was a beautiful plate of cookies there.
He winked at me and put a little napkin wrapped item in my hand.
I shook my head. He put it in my pocket.
"Must be shortbread", I thought. They seemed very heavy.
Two weeks later I was driving down the road and saw a napkin in the centre holder of my car. I remembered those cookies and wondered if they would still be good.
I made a grab for the napkin and out fell a small bottle of Kahlua. Oops.
It was a strange thing. I had not noticed when he began the drinking that now was an every night thing. I never fault anyone who lived through the hell of war their comforts. Now, so many long years later, he was the main caregiver to a stroke-worn wife. No more dances. No more conversations, she had reverted to a single language, her first. No more much of anything but sitting in their cute little house looking out on a world still turning without them. I did not fault him at all.
He had forgotten to cancel service. She was in the hospital recovering from another small stroke.
"Come in come in."
I was booked for 30 mins but as usual for evening shift I was behind in my time, and could use it for travelling if she was not home.
"Is she here?"
"Come in for a minute."
I went in with a funny feeling. He was in his cups.
"Come and give us a kiss."
"What?" You would think I would see that coming.
"Come on... give us a kiss. I think you are wonderful."
"SIR! Your wife! Don't talk like that."
I ended up leaving after just a few moments.
She never did come home.
The next year he was on my list.
I asked not to be sent... for obvious reasons.
My supervisor told me he wouldn't be doing much of "that".
"He's a very sick puppy."
I did go. He was barely recognisable. He was pretending everything was fine. We talked about his years in Malta and his gardens and this and that. He told me how happy he was his wife had not had to take care of him. How he was so blessed to have had her. Alot of things he wanted to be remembered as.
God Bless you Mr. D
I remember you as the hero you were.
A valiant and courageous man in life and death.
=================
Perfect Valor is to do, without a witness, all that we could do before the whole world.
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