I would like to sit alone in a dark room, in a comfortable chair curled up in the fetal position and cry until I dry up from dehydration. The pain that I feel when I see how far dementia has brought down my Dad is something I have tried desperately for almost a year to run away from. But today, as the rain pours down outside, it is fitting that I sit here amidst the mountain of unfolded clothes and dirty dishes and work piled up around me, that I type how I feel because today, Dad was admitted to Hospice and they say it might be only a couple of more weeks before he goes to be with Mom and Jesus. He's in a nursing home on a dementia unit, but Hospice nurses go there too, and they are like beautiful angels who help you cross the bridge from medical personnel who are trying to fix a broken man over to the common sense and realistic ease into the inevitable.
And so here I sit. He's in Gadsden. I'm in Huntsville. No nursing home in Huntsville would take him because he came from the old folks crazy hospital in Tuscaloosa. He stayed there about 2 months while they took him off of anti psychotic medications. He started losing weight at a much faster rate. He weighed 148 when he was admitted there. He weighed 136 when he came out. He still had that stubborn drive to get up even though his brain could not tell him it wasn't safe and he would fall. He'd get angry that he couldn't get any help getting up and out and who knows what else. A judge committed him because he was deemed a threat to himself and mean to some of the caregivers. I think they just got in his way. He was too weak to hit anybody, but he grabbed a caregiver trying to get up. That got him committed...But that's all behind us now. He survived it. They helped us find a good nursing home in Gadsden..2 hours away, but still it's the best one he's been in so far..and honestly, I don't know if it's that they're all that good or that he's just declined so much that it really doesn't matter anymore. But yesterday, he weighed 123. He's 5'10". He had been speaking a little here and there. Now, he just grunts and there are no audible words. He looks like a concentration camp prisoner. We try to feed him and he just takes a little then either spits it out or doesn't swallow. I have so many things I want to write about this, but it just all floods in and I can't quit crying.
My wonderful sister and I have a routine each time we go to see him. After our visit with him, we go to the Cracker Barrel, eat lunch, then go to the discount bread store, then go to the garden store and walk through the nursery. Sometimes we buy a flower or two. Then, we go get ice cream. It is what we have deemed "our decompression routine". But today, it didn't work. Today, we had a professional tell his it's close to the end. The unknown date is starting to come into view. He can't exist with a 9lb weight loss per week for very long....and again I can't stop crying. I held his hand, tried to feed him, rubbed his head. Sometimes his eyes would meet mine, and he seemed to recognize me for a split second. Then it was gone. He used to wink at us. He seemed to be trying to do that again. I didn't want him to see me cry because I wasn't sure if being that close to his face if he would realize I was crying. Sometimes when I would smile, it would seem like he was smiling back - at least with his eyes - but I don't know how much of that is really me just wanting some kind of recognition.
But life goes on. The children still have things they need Mommy to do. Laundry needs to find it's way to the bedrooms instead of the couches and chairs where it's new residence seems to be. Life just goes on and you either move on with it or sit somewhere curled up in the fetal position and wait for the crew from Hoarders Buried Alive to knock on your door. I guess that's the grieving process though. It's just another thing to do....just another bridge to cross.
December 7, 2013....I don't know if I every published that entry above. I haven't blogged since then, but now feel like I'd like to again. That was on 5/17. Dad died the next day. We got a call from the nurse who said she didn't think we had much longer. We dropped everything and drove to Gadsden. He died about 30 minutes after we were there.
The funeral was better than our Mom's was, but in a way it was kind of for both of them. It was a military funeral complete with a 21 gun salute. We also had a bag pipe. It was a grave side service, and I wrote the eulogy which the funeral director informed me that I would be reading at the last minute. I told him I didn't think I could do that, but I would try...I was right...I couldn't even stand in front of friends and family and read something I'd written. I motioned for my husband to come over and he saved me. He read my words, and I stood here and cried like a baby.
But as I've said before. Life goes on. The grieving goes with you. You just push it aside and do the next thing. It sneaks up to take front and center in the strangest of ways. It might slap you when you're just cooking dinner and you see a recipe your Mom wrote out for you. You might be going along pretty well and then all of a sudden for no reason, you get an image of your Dad saying something to you. Then you cry...for awhile...Then, you move on again.
SO...during this Christmas season now...the first one "officially" without Dad, I move on by reminding myself that although this is the first Christmas without him, this is his first Christmas in Heaven. I make myself dwell on that and on what he and Mom are doing there. It is the only way to get through it.
I might write a book about this someday...or I might just grieve quietly and move on...blog here and there and revisit these feelings someday. I kind of doubt I will though. It's painful to relive those memories, and honestly, life is too short to grieve all the time. We let death rob us when that happens. I won't let that hapen.
Dementia isn't just getting senile. It's a legitimate, deadly and awful disease. I wouldn't wish it on my worst enemy especially not my Dad. But here we are. It's been a long road, and now...Hospice.
Friday, May 17, 2013
Wednesday, July 11, 2012
I've adopted....an 84 year old man....
As I write this, my 84 year old Dad is asleep on the futon in the living room which has become his bedroom. My 11 year old is at dance class. My 9 year old is watching a movie, and my 7 year old is playing Star Wars on the Wii. My husband is at work, and here I sit. I quit my full time job as a home health nurse back in June to spend more time with my parents as they seemed to be going down hill. It was a good decision, and one I am thankful I was able to make. I don't know how I could have worked full time and taken care of them.
It was a bumpy night. The kids slept fine, and my husband got a good night's sleep in our bedroom, but I slept on the couch next to Dad, and during the night, he had many hallucinations and frightening dreams that could only be soothed with a pain pill, a back scratch and a head rub. With a house full of kids, it's a blessing that he can't hear very well, but it would be nice sometimes if he had more moments where he at least seemed to hear me. I'll say things like, "I'm your daughter. You're my Daddy. Today is July 11, 2012." He is good at pseudo listening, but I've learned that he really doesn't remember past a few minutes, but can remember being on maneuvers as an 82nd Airborne paratrooper back in the 1950's in North Carolina. He talks about that a lot.
We've had quite a few bumpy nights with my Dad this summer. My Mom passed away on June 28th. She had become incapacitated over the last few months because she had a lung infection and decided to stop taking the antibiotics for it because she was convinced they wouldn't work. We convinced her to finally go back into the hospital to get some pain relief. She died two days later, but felt no pain as she passed. My sister and I were with her. I know she is happy now. But Dad is still tormented, and his vascular dementia has progressed to the point where we really don't know how it will all end. I know it is in in God's hands, and that gives me hope. Without that, I would be depressed and on anti depressants myself.
Which brings me to why I decided to write this blog. Dad had been on anti depressants for 15 years till one day, last October, he decided to stop taking his antidepressants cold turkey which everybody knows is a dumb idea. He never really got back to a normal level of function after that decision. His brain chemistry had now been altered. Now, the man who had been so wise, practical and logical with everything from money to dealing with people had now started to show the first signs of dementia which is a terrible disease.
I'm now living the results of his decision because what we have found out about Assisted Living Facilities (ALF), Skilled Nursing Facilities (SNF) and other elder care issues has been enlightening, and a friend of mine suggested I share that information. I will have to preface it with this statement though: I am only reporting my experience. I have no ties to any company, and I don't even have any ill feeling towards any of these organizations. I do believe that somehow the almighty dollar has created a problem for the elderly which should be eye opening and terrifying to everyone.
First of all, we discovered that there are places for people like my Dad. Since right now, he is still semi ambulatory and is able to feed himself, he could go to a Skilled Care Assisted Living Facility or "SCALF" where for $3950/month, they would provide food, lodging and scheduled activities. For an additional $450/month, they would even give him his medicines (which of course would have an additional fee for each medicine), but if he got a boo boo or needed some kind of nursing care, they would call home health. I know that because I used to visit patients who lived there. Apparently, band aids would be extra...as would shaving or hair cuts, but they would give him a bath 2 days a week. How lovely. Other costs he might incur would be any kind of damages or things he broke which is of course understandable, but a few weeks ago, before they got his anti psychotic medication leveled out, he took a hammer to his bathroom door because he was convinced it needed to come off. HOWEVER, the biggest eye opener to the Assisted Living Facility racket is this: If he should wander at night into someone else's room, we would be required to hire sitters (at $16.20/hr) to sit with him at night or we would have to sit with him or he would be asked to leave. This defeats the purpose of having him in a facility which could charge at least $4400/month.
Why not a traditional nursing home you ask? Well, we actually tried that. The doctor told us that we could admit him to the hospital for 3 days, then Medicare would pay for 20 days of SNF and he could be admitted to a locked memory care unit. After that, Medicare would pay for 80% and his secondary insurance would cover the other 20% for another 80 days. We (the family members who were actually taking an active role in his care) were very excited at the possibility of 8 hours of a non hallucinatory environment for sleep. But this was a pipe dream. The case manager at the hospital either didn't understand English or didn't care because he set us up with a SNF that had a bed for him, but as it turns out, there was no bed in their memory care unit, and to be honest, I think it's just as well. He was discharged from the hospital on the 4th of July and taken by ambulance to the SNF, taken to a room (which was right by a door that said alarms would go off if opened, but I saw first hand that wasn't the case), handed a call button and told to "Call us if you need us." At this point, my sister and I are both crying, exhausted and tired of having the hope ripped out from under us that we would actually find some place safe, affordable and helpful for Dad. I said, "I'll just take him home with me. I can't leave him here." My sister had a good analogy to what it was like. She said, "It would have been like leaving your 2 year old in an apartment building, handing him a phone and saying, 'Call me!'." I later found out from a social worker friend of mine that SNF's are trying to get rid of memory care units because the assisted living facilities provide care for them. The problem is, as it usually is with everything...money. They are all private pay. Oh, and a small foot note to Long Term Care Insurance policies which he didn't have, but everyone needs to know about is this: Check the fine print. A lot of those long term policies have a clause that says the money can't be used in case of dementia or Alzheimer'. Keep that in mind.
So here we are. My Dad has done well for the week I've had him here. He hasn't been violent, and hasn't wanted to wander outside the house. We've even had some very sweet conversations where I actually think he remembered who I was. We've hired a sitter company that will help when we need to go on vacation or just need a break. I guess we'll just take it one day at a time. Isn't that what everybody says? "Just one day at a time"...like there's any choice other than that anyway. But I do. I'm learning to "find the happy in the crappy" as I mentioned on a Facebook post one day. As long as he doesn't get violent, or destructive, I'll let him stay here. I need to get his days and nights switched back to normal. My husband has been a jewel through all this. He is supportive mature and even knew what to say to make me feel better. He said, "Well, we can still keep looking for something that would be good for him, but I figure that we should make his last time on Earth as comfortable as possible because he had a rough time during the first part of his life." He did have a hard childhood as a poor farmer's kid in Hardy, Arkansas in the 1930's, and he worked hard all his life to make sure his children had opportunities he didn't have. He was a good Daddy, and I want to be a good daughter...even if I am having to live as a sleep deprived Zombie.
It was a bumpy night. The kids slept fine, and my husband got a good night's sleep in our bedroom, but I slept on the couch next to Dad, and during the night, he had many hallucinations and frightening dreams that could only be soothed with a pain pill, a back scratch and a head rub. With a house full of kids, it's a blessing that he can't hear very well, but it would be nice sometimes if he had more moments where he at least seemed to hear me. I'll say things like, "I'm your daughter. You're my Daddy. Today is July 11, 2012." He is good at pseudo listening, but I've learned that he really doesn't remember past a few minutes, but can remember being on maneuvers as an 82nd Airborne paratrooper back in the 1950's in North Carolina. He talks about that a lot.
We've had quite a few bumpy nights with my Dad this summer. My Mom passed away on June 28th. She had become incapacitated over the last few months because she had a lung infection and decided to stop taking the antibiotics for it because she was convinced they wouldn't work. We convinced her to finally go back into the hospital to get some pain relief. She died two days later, but felt no pain as she passed. My sister and I were with her. I know she is happy now. But Dad is still tormented, and his vascular dementia has progressed to the point where we really don't know how it will all end. I know it is in in God's hands, and that gives me hope. Without that, I would be depressed and on anti depressants myself.
Which brings me to why I decided to write this blog. Dad had been on anti depressants for 15 years till one day, last October, he decided to stop taking his antidepressants cold turkey which everybody knows is a dumb idea. He never really got back to a normal level of function after that decision. His brain chemistry had now been altered. Now, the man who had been so wise, practical and logical with everything from money to dealing with people had now started to show the first signs of dementia which is a terrible disease.
I'm now living the results of his decision because what we have found out about Assisted Living Facilities (ALF), Skilled Nursing Facilities (SNF) and other elder care issues has been enlightening, and a friend of mine suggested I share that information. I will have to preface it with this statement though: I am only reporting my experience. I have no ties to any company, and I don't even have any ill feeling towards any of these organizations. I do believe that somehow the almighty dollar has created a problem for the elderly which should be eye opening and terrifying to everyone.
First of all, we discovered that there are places for people like my Dad. Since right now, he is still semi ambulatory and is able to feed himself, he could go to a Skilled Care Assisted Living Facility or "SCALF" where for $3950/month, they would provide food, lodging and scheduled activities. For an additional $450/month, they would even give him his medicines (which of course would have an additional fee for each medicine), but if he got a boo boo or needed some kind of nursing care, they would call home health. I know that because I used to visit patients who lived there. Apparently, band aids would be extra...as would shaving or hair cuts, but they would give him a bath 2 days a week. How lovely. Other costs he might incur would be any kind of damages or things he broke which is of course understandable, but a few weeks ago, before they got his anti psychotic medication leveled out, he took a hammer to his bathroom door because he was convinced it needed to come off. HOWEVER, the biggest eye opener to the Assisted Living Facility racket is this: If he should wander at night into someone else's room, we would be required to hire sitters (at $16.20/hr) to sit with him at night or we would have to sit with him or he would be asked to leave. This defeats the purpose of having him in a facility which could charge at least $4400/month.
Why not a traditional nursing home you ask? Well, we actually tried that. The doctor told us that we could admit him to the hospital for 3 days, then Medicare would pay for 20 days of SNF and he could be admitted to a locked memory care unit. After that, Medicare would pay for 80% and his secondary insurance would cover the other 20% for another 80 days. We (the family members who were actually taking an active role in his care) were very excited at the possibility of 8 hours of a non hallucinatory environment for sleep. But this was a pipe dream. The case manager at the hospital either didn't understand English or didn't care because he set us up with a SNF that had a bed for him, but as it turns out, there was no bed in their memory care unit, and to be honest, I think it's just as well. He was discharged from the hospital on the 4th of July and taken by ambulance to the SNF, taken to a room (which was right by a door that said alarms would go off if opened, but I saw first hand that wasn't the case), handed a call button and told to "Call us if you need us." At this point, my sister and I are both crying, exhausted and tired of having the hope ripped out from under us that we would actually find some place safe, affordable and helpful for Dad. I said, "I'll just take him home with me. I can't leave him here." My sister had a good analogy to what it was like. She said, "It would have been like leaving your 2 year old in an apartment building, handing him a phone and saying, 'Call me!'." I later found out from a social worker friend of mine that SNF's are trying to get rid of memory care units because the assisted living facilities provide care for them. The problem is, as it usually is with everything...money. They are all private pay. Oh, and a small foot note to Long Term Care Insurance policies which he didn't have, but everyone needs to know about is this: Check the fine print. A lot of those long term policies have a clause that says the money can't be used in case of dementia or Alzheimer'. Keep that in mind.
So here we are. My Dad has done well for the week I've had him here. He hasn't been violent, and hasn't wanted to wander outside the house. We've even had some very sweet conversations where I actually think he remembered who I was. We've hired a sitter company that will help when we need to go on vacation or just need a break. I guess we'll just take it one day at a time. Isn't that what everybody says? "Just one day at a time"...like there's any choice other than that anyway. But I do. I'm learning to "find the happy in the crappy" as I mentioned on a Facebook post one day. As long as he doesn't get violent, or destructive, I'll let him stay here. I need to get his days and nights switched back to normal. My husband has been a jewel through all this. He is supportive mature and even knew what to say to make me feel better. He said, "Well, we can still keep looking for something that would be good for him, but I figure that we should make his last time on Earth as comfortable as possible because he had a rough time during the first part of his life." He did have a hard childhood as a poor farmer's kid in Hardy, Arkansas in the 1930's, and he worked hard all his life to make sure his children had opportunities he didn't have. He was a good Daddy, and I want to be a good daughter...even if I am having to live as a sleep deprived Zombie.
Saturday, April 7, 2012
To eat a plant or eat a bird...that is ONE of the questions.
Well, maybe not EXACTLY the question, but I certainly am scared to death after watching "Forks Over Knives" about eating dairy and meat that I am looking for recipes that may guide me in my seemingly never ending question of "What exactly DO Vegans eat?" Lettuce comes to mind. That's a gimmie..Yes, apples, and I suppose all fruits. Ok, so fruits and vegetables...Got it. Now, we're getting into the fuzzy territory. I've always grown up with the idea that "a meat and two vegetables" was the standard operating procedure and basic way that most healthy people lived. If you were feeling particularly hungry, you would throw in an apple cobbler for dessert. (Can you tell I've eaten at Cracker Barrel one too many times?) However, now, with the revelation that what I've been eating will kill me - or at the very least give me cancer or heart disease or both, I am really wanting to flip those genetic markers and make sure they don't get turned on. Lots of my ancestors died of either one or both of the two biggies.
But how? How with three children and a husband who believes that the high protein/low carb diet is what works best for weight loss, can I do this? I've been thinking about it for a few months now - ever since I saw the eye opening horror film "Forks Over Knives." You should watch it too. I'm a skeptic when it comes to diet programs and anything vegetarian in general, but that has me convinced - dairy and meat will kill me....maybe even painfully in about 25 years if not sooner.
SO, the question begs to be answered.. Barring any accidental death, do I really want to live beyond 25 years? And, maybe, would I like being 69 if I didn't have one of the big diseases? I've seen enough patients to say that I don't think I wanna live past 80 if I have a debilitating disease...or any disease for that matter. Like everyone else, I would like to just be cognitively super savvy, physically fit and independent well into my 90's....or beyond...However, I draw the line (like I'm the one really in charge of the "timeline" of my life) at outliving my children or grandchildren. I'm not a vampire wanna be thank you. I think maybe not. I think sometimes that the bottom line and even bigger questions are "Is there food out there that I can enjoy that won't kill me? AND, Would my instant gratification for what tastes good really be satisfied by granola and tofu?" See, even the thought of that makes me throw up a little in my mouth. That's my big (we'll call it health insurance) search which I might blog about from time to time because it helps me sort out what I think I need and want.
So, now I'll go drink a bottle of water and take a walk. I'm sure water and walking are safe. Maybe I'll have some oatmeal when I get back. Can't have cereal cause I can't have milk if I'm a vegan. Oh, and by the way, I consider anyone who attaches any kind of religious belief to their food is an idiot. Yes, I did just have to throw that in. Peace to you...even if you do have a weird religion. And, yes anything other than Christianity is weird and wrong. I know, we'll sort it all out when we die, but do you really want to be wrong if I'm right about this and you wind up in hell? If you don't know that by now, I feel sorry for you. I'm not gonna erase that last paragraph either because it is Easter weekend and "If we deny Him, He will deny us." So, sorry if you're offended, but I'm feeling like I don't do enough witnessing lately anyway and I really believe that Jesus will be coming back soon...which makes me ask yet another question..."If He comes back before I get old and might start seeing some of these diseases, shouldn't I go ahead and indulge in that steak if I want to? Oh, so many questions on such an empty stomach.
But how? How with three children and a husband who believes that the high protein/low carb diet is what works best for weight loss, can I do this? I've been thinking about it for a few months now - ever since I saw the eye opening horror film "Forks Over Knives." You should watch it too. I'm a skeptic when it comes to diet programs and anything vegetarian in general, but that has me convinced - dairy and meat will kill me....maybe even painfully in about 25 years if not sooner.
SO, the question begs to be answered.. Barring any accidental death, do I really want to live beyond 25 years? And, maybe, would I like being 69 if I didn't have one of the big diseases? I've seen enough patients to say that I don't think I wanna live past 80 if I have a debilitating disease...or any disease for that matter. Like everyone else, I would like to just be cognitively super savvy, physically fit and independent well into my 90's....or beyond...However, I draw the line (like I'm the one really in charge of the "timeline" of my life) at outliving my children or grandchildren. I'm not a vampire wanna be thank you. I think maybe not. I think sometimes that the bottom line and even bigger questions are "Is there food out there that I can enjoy that won't kill me? AND, Would my instant gratification for what tastes good really be satisfied by granola and tofu?" See, even the thought of that makes me throw up a little in my mouth. That's my big (we'll call it health insurance) search which I might blog about from time to time because it helps me sort out what I think I need and want.
So, now I'll go drink a bottle of water and take a walk. I'm sure water and walking are safe. Maybe I'll have some oatmeal when I get back. Can't have cereal cause I can't have milk if I'm a vegan. Oh, and by the way, I consider anyone who attaches any kind of religious belief to their food is an idiot. Yes, I did just have to throw that in. Peace to you...even if you do have a weird religion. And, yes anything other than Christianity is weird and wrong. I know, we'll sort it all out when we die, but do you really want to be wrong if I'm right about this and you wind up in hell? If you don't know that by now, I feel sorry for you. I'm not gonna erase that last paragraph either because it is Easter weekend and "If we deny Him, He will deny us." So, sorry if you're offended, but I'm feeling like I don't do enough witnessing lately anyway and I really believe that Jesus will be coming back soon...which makes me ask yet another question..."If He comes back before I get old and might start seeing some of these diseases, shouldn't I go ahead and indulge in that steak if I want to? Oh, so many questions on such an empty stomach.
Monday, April 2, 2012
You learn something new every day.
I like being a nurse. I don't like the paperwork involved, but I like the people. Oh, and I'm also not really a big fan of looking at strangers rashes or getting asked medical advice when they find out I'm a nurse. I'm not a doctor. A lot of people get those two things confused...including nurses. I like the people because they provide the best stories to tell. Some of them I can even write about without getting thrown in the pokey because I've infringed on someone's privacy rights. I always change the names, the circumstances and the place. But, even with doing that, the stories are true and are just too odd to have been made up.
Take, for instance, the story of Mr. Clean. I'll just call him that because of what the poor guy did - at the advice of a nurse no less- (but not me thank you). He had a foot fungus that would itch the chigger right off of a boy scout. A nurse friend of his suggested that he soak his foot in bleach every night. She told him to mix a half a CAP (with an "a") of bleach with a gallon of water. He did this for five years which obviously didn't cure the itchy foot. However, one fateful night, his wife (who normally mixed up the solution) was out of town and Mr. Clean decided he could do it himself. Unfortunately, he put a whole CUP (with a "u") of bleach in one gallon of water and then dried his foot, put his sock on and then later that night when he was going to bed and took off his socks, he took the skin from the top part of his foot with it. Off he goes to the ER, (which by the way I'm sure would be a great place to get even more "You did what?" stories, but I don't work in the ER. I work in home health. I'm a whole different kinda nurse. Currently, we're taking care of the foot and it's starting to look better. Now comes the infection prevention measures. Fortunately, he's diabetic and has diabetic neuropathy and can't feel his feet too well. It's the small blessings in life that make it doable I guess.
So what have we learned from this post students? Don't soak your feet in bleach. In our next episode, we'll tackle the concept of "If you're an Octogenarian, don't think you can start walking down an extremely steep driveway without avalanching to the bottom and breaking something." Benefit from the stupidity of others people. That's the real survival of the fittest.
Take, for instance, the story of Mr. Clean. I'll just call him that because of what the poor guy did - at the advice of a nurse no less- (but not me thank you). He had a foot fungus that would itch the chigger right off of a boy scout. A nurse friend of his suggested that he soak his foot in bleach every night. She told him to mix a half a CAP (with an "a") of bleach with a gallon of water. He did this for five years which obviously didn't cure the itchy foot. However, one fateful night, his wife (who normally mixed up the solution) was out of town and Mr. Clean decided he could do it himself. Unfortunately, he put a whole CUP (with a "u") of bleach in one gallon of water and then dried his foot, put his sock on and then later that night when he was going to bed and took off his socks, he took the skin from the top part of his foot with it. Off he goes to the ER, (which by the way I'm sure would be a great place to get even more "You did what?" stories, but I don't work in the ER. I work in home health. I'm a whole different kinda nurse. Currently, we're taking care of the foot and it's starting to look better. Now comes the infection prevention measures. Fortunately, he's diabetic and has diabetic neuropathy and can't feel his feet too well. It's the small blessings in life that make it doable I guess.
So what have we learned from this post students? Don't soak your feet in bleach. In our next episode, we'll tackle the concept of "If you're an Octogenarian, don't think you can start walking down an extremely steep driveway without avalanching to the bottom and breaking something." Benefit from the stupidity of others people. That's the real survival of the fittest.
Monday, January 23, 2012
His name was Coos Coos...
I like dogs. Really, I do. We always had dogs growing up, and I even have a dog now. I have found that I tend to favor larger dogs which don't qualify as "nippy, ankle bitters". As a home health nurse, part of my job is to go into the homes of strangers and provide whatever nursing care that's ordered. Most of the time, people who have ankle biters, usually have enough sense to put the dog in another room or outside or shove it in a drawer when someone visits them. This was not the case today. His name was "Coos Coos"..yes, just like the ricey/noodlelish food. He was a tiny, white, long haired Chiwawa, and he hated everyone except his owner. He was solid white except for a light brown patch of hair that surrounded his little white butt...Yes, it looked a lot like poop. I was not impressed with Coos Coos, nor he with me. But I was there to take his owner's vital signs and discuss her medications and quite possibly, he would get kicked or I would get bitten before the visit was over.
I don't know why....I have a theory for another blog - but most of the patients I see would qualify as active participants in the show "Hoarder's Buried Alive". This particular house was no different. There were boxes lining the doorway and little paths through the maze of clutter as I found my way to a level spot on a box where I could put my bag. The difference between this hoarder's house and all the other houses I've been in was the fact that most of the time, I've been barricaded away from the pets or they've been too scared to attack me. Not this time. We went through the usual niceities and after I washed my hands, cleared a chair, scurried away a roach and sat down, Coos Coos settled down a bit. I talked to his owner for a few minutes then it was time to take her blood pressure. Standing wasn't something Coos Coos wanted to see me do, but something I desperately needed to do for fear of more roaches. He would be content to stare at me as if his beedy little brown eyes were keeping me paralyzed in my chair. However, I had no intention of staying in this lady's house any longer than required. As I took out my blood pressure cuff and approached his owner, he danced around in circles and lunged at me if I ever turned my back. It was the first backward and blind blood pressure cuff placement I'd ever completed. He must have thought we were playing "Red Light/Green Light" because each time I turned my back on him, he gained a little ground.
His owner, we'll call her Ms. B. (though that's no where near her real name) said, "Don't turn your back on him or he'll get cha!"
"Do you think he'd be happier in a different room so I can do your assessment?" I hinted...
"Oh, no, he'll be ok...Just don't take your eyes off of him," she said.
"Ms. B, that's kinda hard to do since I have to read the blood pressure cuff dial," I said.
"Well, you'll be ok. It'll upset him more if I lock him up," she said.
With my irritation meter reaching hypertension levels, I quickly finished up my half blind assessment and headed toward the door.
"I think you'll probably have to walk backwards so he won't try to bite you," said Ms. B.
This was not easy in the least bit. Not only did I have to maintain eye contact with the doglet, I also had to maneuver backwards toward the door and try not to knock over any boxes into the tiny little path carved out to the door. How do people live this way? Why do people live this way? Do they just become blind to the junk? Mental illness runs rampant. I just know it does.
Anyway, as Coos Coos escorted me to the door, his anxiety level started growing because his high pitched bark started getting louder. Just as I was almost to the door, Coos Coos grabbed my pant leg and was shaking his little head trying to tear my pants leg off.
"Coos Coos! Stop that!" Ms. B yelled which was the end of her involvement or control of killer Coos.
Thankfully, just then Ms. B's phone rang and she went to the other room to answer it. I was almost to the door, and then my foot just accidentally - and with no ill feeling or premeditation of any nature on my behalf - kicked Coos Coos clear across the room. I think he landed on a roach. But don't feel sorry for the Coos. That little foot fling bought me just enough time to slip out the door and close it...Just as I closed it, I heard Coos Coos hit the door with his nose..followed by a deep, throaty growl that I've only heard on nature shows documenting the mating habits of wildebeests...or so I've imagined. Needless to say, so I must say it, I am kinda dreading the next visit to that patient's house. Maybe I should bring it a snack...maybe it won't contain rat poisoning....maybe it will.....: )
I don't know why....I have a theory for another blog - but most of the patients I see would qualify as active participants in the show "Hoarder's Buried Alive". This particular house was no different. There were boxes lining the doorway and little paths through the maze of clutter as I found my way to a level spot on a box where I could put my bag. The difference between this hoarder's house and all the other houses I've been in was the fact that most of the time, I've been barricaded away from the pets or they've been too scared to attack me. Not this time. We went through the usual niceities and after I washed my hands, cleared a chair, scurried away a roach and sat down, Coos Coos settled down a bit. I talked to his owner for a few minutes then it was time to take her blood pressure. Standing wasn't something Coos Coos wanted to see me do, but something I desperately needed to do for fear of more roaches. He would be content to stare at me as if his beedy little brown eyes were keeping me paralyzed in my chair. However, I had no intention of staying in this lady's house any longer than required. As I took out my blood pressure cuff and approached his owner, he danced around in circles and lunged at me if I ever turned my back. It was the first backward and blind blood pressure cuff placement I'd ever completed. He must have thought we were playing "Red Light/Green Light" because each time I turned my back on him, he gained a little ground.
His owner, we'll call her Ms. B. (though that's no where near her real name) said, "Don't turn your back on him or he'll get cha!"
"Do you think he'd be happier in a different room so I can do your assessment?" I hinted...
"Oh, no, he'll be ok...Just don't take your eyes off of him," she said.
"Ms. B, that's kinda hard to do since I have to read the blood pressure cuff dial," I said.
"Well, you'll be ok. It'll upset him more if I lock him up," she said.
With my irritation meter reaching hypertension levels, I quickly finished up my half blind assessment and headed toward the door.
"I think you'll probably have to walk backwards so he won't try to bite you," said Ms. B.
This was not easy in the least bit. Not only did I have to maintain eye contact with the doglet, I also had to maneuver backwards toward the door and try not to knock over any boxes into the tiny little path carved out to the door. How do people live this way? Why do people live this way? Do they just become blind to the junk? Mental illness runs rampant. I just know it does.
Anyway, as Coos Coos escorted me to the door, his anxiety level started growing because his high pitched bark started getting louder. Just as I was almost to the door, Coos Coos grabbed my pant leg and was shaking his little head trying to tear my pants leg off.
"Coos Coos! Stop that!" Ms. B yelled which was the end of her involvement or control of killer Coos.
Thankfully, just then Ms. B's phone rang and she went to the other room to answer it. I was almost to the door, and then my foot just accidentally - and with no ill feeling or premeditation of any nature on my behalf - kicked Coos Coos clear across the room. I think he landed on a roach. But don't feel sorry for the Coos. That little foot fling bought me just enough time to slip out the door and close it...Just as I closed it, I heard Coos Coos hit the door with his nose..followed by a deep, throaty growl that I've only heard on nature shows documenting the mating habits of wildebeests...or so I've imagined. Needless to say, so I must say it, I am kinda dreading the next visit to that patient's house. Maybe I should bring it a snack...maybe it won't contain rat poisoning....maybe it will.....: )
Saturday, November 26, 2011
There will be no roaches in Heaven. Not my version of Heaven anyway.
I was going to blog about something spiritual, deep and important to everyone's life. It was going to be something about "whatever we loose on Earth is loosed in Heaven"...that kinda thing. But, I can sum that up in one paragraph and then go on to what I am really interested in today...roaches. Here's the summary (one should always get the important spiritual things done first...'seek ye first'...remember?)
Anyway, in Matthew 16:19, Jesus is talking to Peter and says "whatever you bind on earth will be bound in Heaven". I interpret that to mean that we are supposed to turn our problems over to God and not hold on to them so as not to "bind" them on Earth, but let God handle them and see His power released on the situation here on earth...no matter what it is. I used to think that it meant that if we were mad at someone on earth, then we didn't have to talk to them in Heaven, but I have since revisited that idea. I don't know how Heaven will be, but I hope my irritation with certain people I know will not prevent me from getting to Heaven. I'm pretty sure it won't.
However, on to the pressing matter of roaches. It has been 20 days since I last posted a blog. During those 20 days, I have been diligently trying to relearn how to be a home health RN. I went back to work full time and although I am enjoying the paycheck, I am learning that change and adjustments are part of life, and they're not always fun. Getting out of my comfort zone has not been easy. I am treading water though so no one has to do career CPR on me just yet. It helps to have weekends, and I just LIVE for Saturdays. There is nothing like waking up and the first thought in your head is, "Ah, today, I don't have to be anywhere. It's a beautiful day."
So, how does this all relate to roaches? Well, when you work in home health either as a nurse, physical therapist or, God love you, a bath aide, you go into stranger's homes and provide whatever care your ordered to do there. This means that you see how they live. You see their mental illnesses...like hoarding, and I don't care how clean you think your house is, if you are a hoarder, you have roaches. Mostly because hoarding means that you don't declutter, and you can't clean what you can't see so if you can't see the floor, you can't see the roach colonies populating your residence.
You see people as they really are. Let me paint a picture for you. Let's just say that somewhere in America, there is a nice little old lady about 88 years old who lives with her husband who is also about 190. In their tiny little 2 bedroom home, built in the year 1932, they have a rickety wheelchair ramp leading to the front door. About 10 flower pots full of pink, white, purple and blue artificial flowers line the ramp. Three wind chimes hang from the porch that you are hoping will support your weight as you knock on the door. The eerie sound that comes from the chimes gets louder as you approach the house. And, let's not forget the gnomes. Never forget the gnomes with their faded red paint on their pointed little hats. You're met with an army of gnomes and that added to the chimes makes you question your career choice.
But you knock on the screen door anyway hoping that it won't fall off the hinges as you knock. How much paperwork would that be back at the office? The "yippie" dogs are the first to alert the home owners of your presence. You hear a frail voice in the house say, "just a minute!" After about three long minutes of waiting at the door, it opens slowly and four little Chiwawas nip, snip and sniff at your feet. You're just thankful they're not Rottweilers. Although that's happened to me too, but that's another story. SO, now, you're in the house, you go through the usual niceties, "How are you? blah blah blah. " You're looking for a place to sit your nurses' bag (which contains your stethoscope, bp cuff, thermometer, and all the other 'accoutrements' nurses have to carry). You put your trash bag or "barrier" on top of a big cardboard box which is the only flat service you can find. You'll have to wash your hands too because that's protocol even though your hands were probably cleaner before you walked into the house. You're trying not to stare at all the clutter and cardboard boxes and trash cans that would make someone with a propensity to go dumpster diving think they'd found Nirvana. But, you wash your hands in the little bathroom and as you look over to the faucet handle, there sits the king of the roaches...His little antenna and body looking straight at you waving in the air. It's as if he's saying, "What is your purpose for invading my home?" You quickly remind yourself and the roach who is boss as you flick him on the floor and step on him. You're adrenaline is up anyway because you've been freaked out by the gnomes so your reflexes are lightening quick.
You move on and do your assessments and afterward, just before you leave, you step on a roach or two just to do your part to control the insect population. Not that it makes any difference, but it makes you feel better. Through his oxygen nasal cannula, he laughs and says, "Did you kill one? I hope so." Cause, you see, people know they have roaches. Some people just don't care because they've given up hope that it could ever get any better. People know they have "their stuff" which we often call clutter. To them it is normal. I can't judge them. I can just treat them. Someone with different definitions of clutter could easily come into my house and determine that I am a hoarder of say, s'mores. Oh well, we all have our issues.
The central core truth is that some people just have different opinions of what is acceptable to live with and what is not acceptable. If this old couple chooses to allow roaches to live with them, then that's their business. All I can do is suggest that roaches carry diseases and that they might have a healthier lifestyle without them. I can't make them want to buy Raid....but they can buy gnomes...maybe they think the gnomes will scare the roaches off. Unfortunately, that theory seems flawed. Maybe that ties in to the whole "loosing it in Heaven" thing. Maybe when I see situations like that, I should pray God will kill the roaches. I don't know. I do know I'll be nice and try to help them anyway I can. Unfortunately, most people don't want help because they don't see they have a problem. It's a strange, strange world, and I can't fix it. But I can make suggestions to buy Raid. Great. That's helpful.
Anyway, in Matthew 16:19, Jesus is talking to Peter and says "whatever you bind on earth will be bound in Heaven". I interpret that to mean that we are supposed to turn our problems over to God and not hold on to them so as not to "bind" them on Earth, but let God handle them and see His power released on the situation here on earth...no matter what it is. I used to think that it meant that if we were mad at someone on earth, then we didn't have to talk to them in Heaven, but I have since revisited that idea. I don't know how Heaven will be, but I hope my irritation with certain people I know will not prevent me from getting to Heaven. I'm pretty sure it won't.
However, on to the pressing matter of roaches. It has been 20 days since I last posted a blog. During those 20 days, I have been diligently trying to relearn how to be a home health RN. I went back to work full time and although I am enjoying the paycheck, I am learning that change and adjustments are part of life, and they're not always fun. Getting out of my comfort zone has not been easy. I am treading water though so no one has to do career CPR on me just yet. It helps to have weekends, and I just LIVE for Saturdays. There is nothing like waking up and the first thought in your head is, "Ah, today, I don't have to be anywhere. It's a beautiful day."
So, how does this all relate to roaches? Well, when you work in home health either as a nurse, physical therapist or, God love you, a bath aide, you go into stranger's homes and provide whatever care your ordered to do there. This means that you see how they live. You see their mental illnesses...like hoarding, and I don't care how clean you think your house is, if you are a hoarder, you have roaches. Mostly because hoarding means that you don't declutter, and you can't clean what you can't see so if you can't see the floor, you can't see the roach colonies populating your residence.
You see people as they really are. Let me paint a picture for you. Let's just say that somewhere in America, there is a nice little old lady about 88 years old who lives with her husband who is also about 190. In their tiny little 2 bedroom home, built in the year 1932, they have a rickety wheelchair ramp leading to the front door. About 10 flower pots full of pink, white, purple and blue artificial flowers line the ramp. Three wind chimes hang from the porch that you are hoping will support your weight as you knock on the door. The eerie sound that comes from the chimes gets louder as you approach the house. And, let's not forget the gnomes. Never forget the gnomes with their faded red paint on their pointed little hats. You're met with an army of gnomes and that added to the chimes makes you question your career choice.
But you knock on the screen door anyway hoping that it won't fall off the hinges as you knock. How much paperwork would that be back at the office? The "yippie" dogs are the first to alert the home owners of your presence. You hear a frail voice in the house say, "just a minute!" After about three long minutes of waiting at the door, it opens slowly and four little Chiwawas nip, snip and sniff at your feet. You're just thankful they're not Rottweilers. Although that's happened to me too, but that's another story. SO, now, you're in the house, you go through the usual niceties, "How are you? blah blah blah. " You're looking for a place to sit your nurses' bag (which contains your stethoscope, bp cuff, thermometer, and all the other 'accoutrements' nurses have to carry). You put your trash bag or "barrier" on top of a big cardboard box which is the only flat service you can find. You'll have to wash your hands too because that's protocol even though your hands were probably cleaner before you walked into the house. You're trying not to stare at all the clutter and cardboard boxes and trash cans that would make someone with a propensity to go dumpster diving think they'd found Nirvana. But, you wash your hands in the little bathroom and as you look over to the faucet handle, there sits the king of the roaches...His little antenna and body looking straight at you waving in the air. It's as if he's saying, "What is your purpose for invading my home?" You quickly remind yourself and the roach who is boss as you flick him on the floor and step on him. You're adrenaline is up anyway because you've been freaked out by the gnomes so your reflexes are lightening quick.
You move on and do your assessments and afterward, just before you leave, you step on a roach or two just to do your part to control the insect population. Not that it makes any difference, but it makes you feel better. Through his oxygen nasal cannula, he laughs and says, "Did you kill one? I hope so." Cause, you see, people know they have roaches. Some people just don't care because they've given up hope that it could ever get any better. People know they have "their stuff" which we often call clutter. To them it is normal. I can't judge them. I can just treat them. Someone with different definitions of clutter could easily come into my house and determine that I am a hoarder of say, s'mores. Oh well, we all have our issues.
The central core truth is that some people just have different opinions of what is acceptable to live with and what is not acceptable. If this old couple chooses to allow roaches to live with them, then that's their business. All I can do is suggest that roaches carry diseases and that they might have a healthier lifestyle without them. I can't make them want to buy Raid....but they can buy gnomes...maybe they think the gnomes will scare the roaches off. Unfortunately, that theory seems flawed. Maybe that ties in to the whole "loosing it in Heaven" thing. Maybe when I see situations like that, I should pray God will kill the roaches. I don't know. I do know I'll be nice and try to help them anyway I can. Unfortunately, most people don't want help because they don't see they have a problem. It's a strange, strange world, and I can't fix it. But I can make suggestions to buy Raid. Great. That's helpful.
Sunday, November 6, 2011
Football advice for non Alabamians...
If you are from the great state of Alabama, then you have undoubtedly had the opportunity to pick either Auburn or Alabama as your "team". I'm surprised that it is not a required question to ask when renewing your driver's license..."Are you an Alabama or Auburn fan?" It's that important to some people. I bet it must be confusing for someone who moves to Alabama from a state that doesn't take football as seriously as we do in the south. My advice to them would be...stay neutral..You'll have more friends that way. I promise you!
I know that most college football teams have state rivalries. It's just a natural progression of having two universities in the same state with the same division size requirements for a football team. Not every body can go to one school so variety is good. I guess in Georgia, the rivalry is between the University of Georgia and maybe Georgia Tech. In Tennessee the rivalry is between the University of Tennessee and maybe Vanderbilt...In Mississippi, it's the University of Mississippi and maybe Ole Miss...I think. I don't really know because the only one that has ever seemed to effect my life in any shape, form or fashion has been the vicious and sometimes ignorant rivalry between Auburn University and the University of Alabama. I won't give you the history of the rivalry. You can google that as well as I can, but I will give you a small snap shot of just how serious, yet silly, that the feelings of some people can be regarding their beloved team..whichever one they root for. But let me be clear...I have many wonderful (and not as ridiculous as the people I'm about to describe) Alabama friends. I have many great Auburn friends too. And, after all, isn't that what life is all about...Cum ba ya and all that? Hee hee.
When I worked at the hospital, I had a patient who was a very serious and devoted Alabama fan. He had never stepped foot on the Tuscaloosa campus and to my knowledge was not a college graduate from anywhere, but when I walked in wearing Auburn scrubs, he wouldn't talk to me. I had to go get another nurse to give him his meds. He didn't trust me. Since then, I only wear neutral scrubs whenever I see patients. I'm a home health nurse so I don't want to get thrown out of any Alabama fans' house. That would really mess up my schedule.
I have a friend from high school (who shall remain nameless) who told me once (and he realizes that it's silly now), that he actually used to wonder how anyone could be an Auburn fan and still call themselves a Christian. He actually did graduate from UA, but that's no excuse. He should have known better. He says now that he has many Auburn fans, but he never makes it a secret how much he hates Auburn.
Now, to be fair, I have to say why I am an Auburn fan. It's Troy. He graduated from there, and was in the fraternity that got to take care of the eagle (their mascot..or is that the Tiger...why do we have two?) before the Vet school down there took over that job. I don't think he would appreciate it if I wore red and white on game day. Anyway, it's a loyalty thing. My sister gradated from there, and I didn't know a football from a sausage ball so yeah, sure I'll wear orange and blue. I don't look that good in red anyway so that worked. Then, in college (I went to the University of Montevallo which - to my knowledge - is not affiliated officially with either of the big schools) I went through a brief period of time where, I had more Alabama fans than Auburn fans so I wore red and white and shouted "Roll Tide" for awhile. However, if you strapped me up to a lie detector machine, you would find that I don't really care who wins cause, I "don't have a dog in that fight." as they say.. If one of my kids grows up to attend either university, I will gladly wear their colors -mainly because by then, I will be paying lots of money to whichever school it is, so I should support them with a t-shirt. It will be the least I can do. If they go to both schools, I will have to get a shirt with an Alabama elephant on one side and an Auburn Tiger on the other. Won't that be pretty?
Which brings me to the crux of why I wanted to write this blog...even though I really only just wanted to use the word "crux" but I'm a bit scared now cause I'm hoping that I will use it correctly...You see, my point in all this is...Attendance at either school is not a prerequisite to participate in the insanity of the rivalry. Just like ownership in an NFL team is not a requirement to like one of those teams. True football fans will just like watching good football players play the game. The uniform won't matter. We saw a t-shirt that said, "I got this t-shirt because I graduated from Auburn University. You got that Bama shirt because you went to Wal-Mart."...Now, that could go either way which is also true for pretty much any Auburn/Alabama joke. It's just crazy. It always has been, always will be.
The only advice I can give someone who didn't grow up in the midst of the insanity is that when you see a die hard Auburn fan or die hard Alabama fan coming, just smile politely, hope that you're wearing gray and speak in calming tones. The insanity will calm down a bit in the spring when football season is over. Until then, just stay neutral, but whatever you do...please don't say, "It's just a game" because then you will have both sides after you. You've been warned...Roll Tide and War Eagle! : )
I know that most college football teams have state rivalries. It's just a natural progression of having two universities in the same state with the same division size requirements for a football team. Not every body can go to one school so variety is good. I guess in Georgia, the rivalry is between the University of Georgia and maybe Georgia Tech. In Tennessee the rivalry is between the University of Tennessee and maybe Vanderbilt...In Mississippi, it's the University of Mississippi and maybe Ole Miss...I think. I don't really know because the only one that has ever seemed to effect my life in any shape, form or fashion has been the vicious and sometimes ignorant rivalry between Auburn University and the University of Alabama. I won't give you the history of the rivalry. You can google that as well as I can, but I will give you a small snap shot of just how serious, yet silly, that the feelings of some people can be regarding their beloved team..whichever one they root for. But let me be clear...I have many wonderful (and not as ridiculous as the people I'm about to describe) Alabama friends. I have many great Auburn friends too. And, after all, isn't that what life is all about...Cum ba ya and all that? Hee hee.
When I worked at the hospital, I had a patient who was a very serious and devoted Alabama fan. He had never stepped foot on the Tuscaloosa campus and to my knowledge was not a college graduate from anywhere, but when I walked in wearing Auburn scrubs, he wouldn't talk to me. I had to go get another nurse to give him his meds. He didn't trust me. Since then, I only wear neutral scrubs whenever I see patients. I'm a home health nurse so I don't want to get thrown out of any Alabama fans' house. That would really mess up my schedule.
I have a friend from high school (who shall remain nameless) who told me once (and he realizes that it's silly now), that he actually used to wonder how anyone could be an Auburn fan and still call themselves a Christian. He actually did graduate from UA, but that's no excuse. He should have known better. He says now that he has many Auburn fans, but he never makes it a secret how much he hates Auburn.
Now, to be fair, I have to say why I am an Auburn fan. It's Troy. He graduated from there, and was in the fraternity that got to take care of the eagle (their mascot..or is that the Tiger...why do we have two?) before the Vet school down there took over that job. I don't think he would appreciate it if I wore red and white on game day. Anyway, it's a loyalty thing. My sister gradated from there, and I didn't know a football from a sausage ball so yeah, sure I'll wear orange and blue. I don't look that good in red anyway so that worked. Then, in college (I went to the University of Montevallo which - to my knowledge - is not affiliated officially with either of the big schools) I went through a brief period of time where, I had more Alabama fans than Auburn fans so I wore red and white and shouted "Roll Tide" for awhile. However, if you strapped me up to a lie detector machine, you would find that I don't really care who wins cause, I "don't have a dog in that fight." as they say.. If one of my kids grows up to attend either university, I will gladly wear their colors -mainly because by then, I will be paying lots of money to whichever school it is, so I should support them with a t-shirt. It will be the least I can do. If they go to both schools, I will have to get a shirt with an Alabama elephant on one side and an Auburn Tiger on the other. Won't that be pretty?
Which brings me to the crux of why I wanted to write this blog...even though I really only just wanted to use the word "crux" but I'm a bit scared now cause I'm hoping that I will use it correctly...You see, my point in all this is...Attendance at either school is not a prerequisite to participate in the insanity of the rivalry. Just like ownership in an NFL team is not a requirement to like one of those teams. True football fans will just like watching good football players play the game. The uniform won't matter. We saw a t-shirt that said, "I got this t-shirt because I graduated from Auburn University. You got that Bama shirt because you went to Wal-Mart."...Now, that could go either way which is also true for pretty much any Auburn/Alabama joke. It's just crazy. It always has been, always will be.
The only advice I can give someone who didn't grow up in the midst of the insanity is that when you see a die hard Auburn fan or die hard Alabama fan coming, just smile politely, hope that you're wearing gray and speak in calming tones. The insanity will calm down a bit in the spring when football season is over. Until then, just stay neutral, but whatever you do...please don't say, "It's just a game" because then you will have both sides after you. You've been warned...Roll Tide and War Eagle! : )
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