The Fish Pond

Happy Easter

May you have a glorious and blessed Easter, and if you are not christian, may your God bless you and keep you, and if you don't believe in God, have a wonderful, peaceful day, too.

If you feel so inclined, please say a prayer or think good thoughts for my dear friend J, who I think has commented here as Flipper or Flippy or something.  Her mother is currently in the hospital in very dire condition - they could both use all the strength they can get right now.  Thanks.

Please Let Me know in Comments

whether or not you can see my text ads, and what browser you are using?  I have had a reader tell me that he can't see my ads.  There should be one text ad in the right sidebar under "Feed the Fish" and there should be a box of four ads in the left sidebar, between my blogroll and my tip jar.  I can see them using IE 6 and Firefox, but BigDaddyFish is also using IE 6 (though probably missing all the security patches) and he can't see them.  Uncle Orca has IE 7 and he can't see them.  Please let me know if you can or not and what browser you have, and if any of you are techie sorts and have any idea why this is happening, can you please let me know?  I thought it had something to do with whether or not javascript was enabled, but that didn't pan out.  I'm guessing it's something to do with a security patch, but need a little bit more information.  Thanks!

The Dining Room

Yesterday I went to visit my grandfather in the nursing home where he will be for the foreseeable future.  The first thing that assaulted my senses was the smell.  That institutional sick, urine, sweat, shit smell.  Lucky for me, I arrived just at lunch time, so that smell was mixed with the smell of institution food: tuna casserole, carrots, peas, instant mashed potatoes and congealed gelatinous gravy.  Somehow I managed to make it through the 20 minutes I sat with him in the dining room without adding the stench of vomit to the mix.

My grandfather's room is in the section of the nursing home housing those with dementia in various forms, from those with some mild confusion, where my grandfather is, to a full-on lockdown Alzheimers ward.  They are currently doing construction to separate the two wards, but for now, they are two wings of the same area, with a common lobby/dining room in the middle.  They bring the residents together for their meals and some forms of recreation.

There was a woman sitting in the common dining room who had some form of brain injury or defect.   She couldn't move much that I could see; they were using some sort of restraint system to prop her up, and she wore a bib and someone finished feeding her not long after I arrived.  She also had a verbal tic.  When I arrived she kept saying "Who will help me?  Who will help me?  Who will help me?" over and over and over, with almost no breath in between, like the repeating scratch on a record.  After a while she changed to "Will somebody feed me?  Will somebody feed me?  Will somebody feed me?" and then to "Do you know me?  Do you know me?  Do you know me?"  Every so often the aide who had been feeding her would lean over and whisper something softly, and she would stop muttering for a minute or two, and then start up again.  My grandfather noted that she was "pitiful," and mused that he hoped he never got like that.

Eventually she grew louder, finally switching to "Do you love me?  Do you love me?  Do you love me?"  A couple of the other residents clearly grew tired of her utterances, and threw out comments to her, like "With a bushel and a peck and a hug around the neck" and other witty but long responses, to no avail.  On and on she kept going, "Do you love me?  Do you love me?  Do you love me?"

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I met with the admissions director of the nursing home, and we went over the paperwork to get him officially signed over and to make sure that the family was advised of all of their policies and our rights.  It took forever to work though the paperwork, such that at one point I remarked that it was worse than buying a house.  The director smiled and said "At some point or other everyone says that."  It was crazy.

One of the things that gave me pause as I was reading and signing was a form that said something to the effect of if the doctor decided that the patient needed restraints, the patient was given a choice of whether or not he/she wanted restraints used, and if you checked the negative, you also had to note that restraints may be necessary to protect the safety of the resident and others.  I checked that my grandfather would not want to be restrained, and kind of wondered if anyone ever checks that they would.  I know I can't think of any circumstances that I would want to be restrained.

Yesterday some of the staff moved a bunch of things over for him from his cottage; his TV, a phone, his cell phone, some clothing, a few pictures of my grandmother and him, and of my side of the family taken at my own wedding.  He was a lot more comfortable, and therefore more agreeable.  He was having a good day; he only needed reminding what Nemo's name is three times.  He did frighten me a bit, though.  We had to fill out a form (must have done 50 forms, it seems) that checked off the foods that he absolutely would not eat.  As I was reading through the list, he would be in the middle of an answer, a word, and would just drop off to sleep, and was difficult for me to rouse.  I would have let him sleep and come back, but a visitor came in to see him, and that gave him whatever it was he needed to stay awake so we could complete the form.  He did get a chance to hold Nemo, so that was good - it makes him happy to see and play with the baby.

When my grandmother passed away last January, my grandfather did up a new will, power of attorney, and medical advance directive.   What he didn't do was give anyone any copies of it.  The community had copies of the ones that named my grandmother as power of attorney and medical advance directive.  This meant that they were reluctant to discuss his case with us.  It also meant that his DNR, or do-not-resusitate order, was not on file, either.  If he is transported to the hospital and happened to arrest in the ambulance, then they are legally forced to resusitate, which isn't what my grandfather wants.  Now that they had his proper advance directive, they had the doctor fill out a DNR that will travel with him wherever he goes, so his wishes will be honored.

We had been having trouble with my grandfather's oncologist.  He recently put my grandfather through a round of radiation, and he continues to go through chemotherapy.  Since the community where my grandfather lives didn't have his medical advanced directive, I wonder if the oncologist doesn't, either.  To this point he has refused to give us a hospice order.  What my grandfather wants most of all is just to be allowed to go home and live the rest of his life in peace and comfort and be allowed to pass with dignity.  It is spelled out in his advance directive, and we in the family have known his wishes for at least two decades.  He does not want life prolonging measures.  I will be attending a meeting with my grandfather and the oncologist monday morning, armed with copies of the advance directive and power of attorney, and I will be demanding that the oncologist tell us his treatment plan and what he hopes to achieve with the continued chemo.  I am of british/scottish descent and I can be a real bitch bulldog when I need to be, and I am willing to whatever it takes to make sure my grandfather's wishes are honored.  That's part of the reason my name is on the papers.

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We didn't sit at the table very long; my grandfather doesn't have much of an appetite, and he only ate a small amount of lemon mirenge pie and drank his milk.  A few of the residents smiled at Nemo and asked a few questions about him; I hardly ever see any other children and babies there, and I think that's unfortunate because for one thing it gives the residents such joy to see and interact with the young, and for another, I think the children benefit from it for a variety of reasons, not the least of which is that it helps foster respect for the elderly.  The woman with the verbal tic continued her refrain of "Do you love me?  Do you love me?  Do you love me?" getting louder and louder.  Finally, one of the other residents in the dining hall yelled out at the top of his lungs "Yes!  I DO love you!  Very much!"

And the woman answered quietly "I love you, too," and then fell silent.

Coping

My grandfather has visited the hospital three times in the past month and a half, and I hadn't cried.

I've watched him deteriorate to where he only sometimes knows who I am.  He doesn't remember that I visited him last night.  He thought my aunt, who lives in Colorado, was in the hospital last friday night when he was admitted this latest time.  On Saturday when I talked to him on the phone, he didn't realize he was in the hospital, but insisted he was at home.  And I hadn't cried.

He just finished radiation therapy on friday for a cancerous lesion in his back that has the potential to leave him paralyzed if he doesn't respond favorably.  We don't yet know how he responded.  He has gone from a man who used to climb mountains in his seventies, play softball on several teams at once (so he was playing every day, sometimes more than once), who put enough miles on his exercise bike to circle the globe at the equator, to someone who can barely walk, feeble and frail.  And I hadn't cried.

After his second hospitalization he was allowed to return home only with 24-hour live-in care.  He has insisted on staying in his cottage with help rather than move in to the assisted living facility.  The hired help costs more than $5000/month, in addition to his already high $3000 rent.  The person the staffing agency sent has a very thick accent and there is a dramatic language barrier issue between her and my grandfather.  He was under her care when he fell on Friday.  His retirement community will not let him return to his cottage under her care, and has strong concerns about his safety.  He was released from the hospital yesterday to the nursing home portion of his retirement community for convalescent care.  He feels like he is in prison.  He wants to leave and drive his car to his doctor appointments 40 miles away and cook his own food.  He has a heart condition that the doctors can't get under control.  He can't get up and walk to the bathroom on his own.  He doesn't have the strength to stay up for longer than a couple of hours at a time and takes five naps a day.  And still I hadn't cried.

I've spent days with the phone mashed against my ear, trying to care for my little fishies and coordinate his care among several different doctors, social workers, the retirement community, nurses, and the like, all of whom won't talk to each other, all at the same time.  It is spring break and haven't been able to spend time with my kids because I'm so busy trying to deal with my grandfather.  I am serving as point person for phone calls and legwork and such, because my uncle has a full-time job in a sensitive area and he can't do it.  He and I have power of attorney for my grandfather.  And I still hadn't cried.

I'm behind on my housework and laundry and decluttering and planning for Easter and doing our taxes and taking showers and eating.  I have a heart condition that is aggravated by a suspected allergy to cherry blossom tree pollen and they are in full bloom and my body chemistry is all out of whack.  I've been having chest pain.  And I still hadn't cried.

Yesterday morning, while making myself some soup to force myself to eat because nothing is appetizing, I turned around in my kitchen and, in my bare feet, stepped on a wasp.  I got stung and OMG did it hurt.  I haven't been stung in decades and in my current state I couldn't think what to do, so I called BigDaddyFish to ask him what to do and to make sure an adult was paying attention to me in case I developed the late-in-life sting allergy that my uncle has, in case I went in anaphyllactic shock.  I didn't.  But I cried.

I sat on the floor in my kitchen, cradling the phone on one ear and my foot in my arms, and I wept.  I wailed.  I bawled.  Tears flowed like the proverbial river.  Sunny came and put a ring of bandaids around my foot.  Trout got me an ice pack.  Little Man wiped my tears and rubbed my arm.  BigDaddyFish talked to me soothingly, kindly.  I calmed down, and Uncle Orca came to watch my kids for me.

I spent the rest of the afternoon on the phone, trying to coordinate my grandfather's hospital discharge and my visit to see him last night.  At one point, I IM'd BigDaddyFish:

Me:  Remember that Pinot Noir I like?

BDF: I think so.

Then I got stuck on the phone again and didn't IM him back for quite a while.  When I looked back at my screen, this is what I read:

BDF:  Thank you for your order.  Please print this page for your records.

I got home at 11:30 last night.  My glass of wine was already poured and sitting on the kitchen counter.

Today I spent the day on the phone again.  But I had the strength to handle it when my grandfather called me all upset because he wants to leave and go back to his cottage and sit in his recliner and cook his food and drive his car and can't I do anything to get him the hell out of there and why won't people just let him die and the fall was no big deal and maybe he should just go check into a hotel for a couple of nights and does it really cost $8000/month for the cottage and we don't need to think about anything right now and he's okay for a few nights and he knows he's being stubborn and did we sign the lease on this place yet and your aunt and uncle were up here last night and couldn't get through the locked doors and were causing a ruckus and he's surprised they didn't get kicked out.  And I reminded him that I had been there to see him, too, again, and he said "Oh, were you?  I didn't see you there."

Banner Woes

So I'm trying to teach myself how to design my own banner.  I liked the way it worked yesterday, and the weird thing is that I didn't do a thing to to change it, but as of last night it turned small on me and I can't figure out how to fix it.  I do well coming up with graphic designs conceptually, but don't have a clue what I'm doing as far as execution is concerned.  Don't even know how to work the software (paintshop pro).

So!  A long way of saying please bear with my learning curve.  I'll get it fixed eventually.

(NOT) Spring Break

This week the monsters kids are on spring break.  Already my house looks like Hurricane FishFamily hit it.  Plus, I don't get my babysitting time, so I can't get any errands done unless I shlep all four with me.  Anyone who's ever tried to go to the store with more than one kid in tow knows just how much fun that is.  With three or more I think it's a circle of hell.

My grandfather is still in the hospital; he has a cardiac problem for which they've started him on new medication.  He was sounding okay until tonight, albeit more confused than usual; tonight when I talked to him he just kept talking about being so tired and weak.  It scared me.

My taxes aren't done, and I am responsible for overseeing the work on my grandfather's taxes, too.  Uncle Orca is supposed to give me some babysitting time this week, unless he gets on a trial when he has jury duty.

Nemo is grumpy as hell; I expect we'll see a tooth or two appear in the not-too-distant future.  On the bright side he has now added carrots to his repertoire of foods, currently consisting of rice cereal, oatmeal, pears, and apples; only bananas have been deemed evil.  He eats and nurses with gusto, which is always nice since the other three seem to exist on air, pb&j and pizza and apples (Trout), french toaster sticks and bananas (little man), and only 3 bites of whatever I give her (Sunny).  If he didn't look just like BigDaddyFish I'd swear he was switched at birth.

Sunny has her very first visit to the dentist in the morning.  At least BigDaddyFish does the first dental visits - I'd hate to have to take the other three along.  They'd want to watch and would distract the dentist from the all important task of counting Sunny's teeth.

Little Man is a Gameboy addict, and I'm already sick of listening to him whine when I won't let him play it and send him outside instead.  The weather is beautiful, and when the last pair of our chairs was delivered this morning I gave them the box to play with - you'd think he'd be wound up as all hell to be outside playing but Noooo, I am an evil mom for making him go out and have fun without a screen in front of his face.  The gall I have.

I'm tired already.  When do I get MY spring break? Hmmmm?

p.s. Please say a little prayer or think good thoughts for Her Bad Mother.  I'm worried about her.