It’s hard being an artist. It’s been almost three months that my mom has lived with us. I’d say, close to, approximately, okay, 100% of the time, my mom is questioning me about everything I do. Tonight, I was enjoying the beginning of a new painting project, and she asked me many questions, none of which were very complimentary. I said, “I know why Van Gogh cut his ear off; he was tired of everyone asking him what he was painting.” (No offense to Van Gogh)
Seniors, yes, I’m talking to you. Okay, I’m writing to you. It works out better for both of us since you might be hard of hearing.
If we’re talking senior discounts, seniors may refer to 55+-65+. Sure, the first time I asked for a senior movie ticket, I wanted the uninterested kid behind the window to say? He didn’t. I love saying, I’m 61 years old, or I have eight grandkids when I hear delightful words, no way, you look so young, as if I birthed all eight grandkids. Sometimes, I say it and get no response. Sometimes I look all the years I am and then some. Stress, lack of sleep, and eating crappy can do that.
I’m a bit off track from the real purpose of this post. I’m going to get personal now.
Do you think hearing aids make you look old? You’re mistaken. Stubbornness and not hearing make you look old.
Mom, isn’t that a wig you’re wearing? You love how you look, which immediately makes you feel prettier. I noticed at night your teeth floating in fuzzy suds. You have gorgeous dentures; dear Lord, I’m scared without them. Glasses help our tired eyes see; we consider our glasses a fashion statement. However, hearing aids that help you… hear, strengthen your brain, and help you keep your balance are out.
Mom, you’re not alone. Since finding myself in this dilemma with you, I have heard many other stories about seniors refusing hearing aids. Now, if the cost of hearing aids makes or breaks your bank account, I’m more sympathetic. My husband Tim gets his new hearing aids this month, and they are 6k. He is getting the deluxe tiny inside his ear because working in television for the last 25 years helped our Insurance to kick in. Costco makes affordable ones, and you can make payments with a Costco card.
I’m a senior. I don’t feel like one, doesn’t change the facts. Since my own hearing test in 2011 to this week, my hearing has changed pretty significant. The ENT isn’t recommending hearing aids, but if she did, I’d be all over them.
I’m not about to cause my family and myself more frustration than life offers. I want to hear every conversation my grandkids have with me.
I think that makes me more intelligent, more attractive, and much more fun than a senior denying their need to hear.
Do you hear me?
You can’t teach an old dog new tricks…
Who’s the fool trying to teach that old dog new tricks?
That would be me.
After all these years of knowing my mom and experiencing her razzle-dazzle, I should have been more prepared for the care meeting with her social worker, care manager, and head of Physical Therapy. You’d think I’d have my defenses up, played through the possibilities, and been on guard based on past interactions with doctors, bankers, or nurses.
Not me. I blindly walked into a setup. What was the first clue my mom gave me 45 minutes before our meeting?
Clue #1: When I walked into her room at the skilled nursing facility, my mom announced that she believed she would be going home the next day. Recalling my compassionate communication class, I gently shared that I didn’t think she would be going home that soon.
Clue #2: Rather than use her call button to go to the bathroom, my mom got out of her chair, grabbed her walker, and walked about 20 feet to the bathroom. She almost lost her balance but stayed committed. I sat dumbfounded, thinking I knew what she was doing, and I watched. She had bragged about doing it a few times before.
When the three VIPs arrived, before they could even start reviewing my mom’s three-week evaluation, she made it clear she was not staying there any longer. She said it made no sense for her to be there and that whatever she was doing there, she could do elsewhere. She wasn’t lovely about it.
My mom, being of sound mind—or at least, I haven’t used my Power of Attorney to say otherwise—put me on the spot. I’m not remotely prepared to have her come home. I must set up all her follow-up care appointments, ensure Medicare sends the necessary equipment to my home, interview caregivers, and work through the emotional aspects. See, nobody knows my mom better than me. She can razzle-dazzle her way around your block and then some. Her razzle-dazzling is still quite effective.
Rather than come off as a caring, loving daughter who just brought her mom clean underwear and Starbucks, I looked like an uncaring daughter who wouldn’t let her mom come home. When I say “home,” my mom made it clear that she lost her home, her husband, and my brother. Therefore, she had no home and was living with me.
All eyes were piercing through my body and soul. I felt my mom’s eyes burning through my chest. Now, I’m in charge of my mom’s broken pelvis? I’m the one determining what she is capable of doing. WTF? My mom signed the paper to be discharged, which was handed to me to sign. Yes, I signed it. Geez that isn’t very comfortable to write.
Honestly, you’d think I’d learn by now. What angers me the most is how this played-out situation upset me. Like nothing like this has ever happened to me. I’m sure I shaved off a few more years by not controlling my emotions once I left the facility. One thing is for sure: my mom knew how depressed I was. I also told the nurse to check my mom’s blood pressure because it constantly ran high, and I knew this drama—her playing the drama queen—would take a significant toll on her blood pressure. It did; it was well over 180/90.
Shortly after I left, my mom called to ask for forgiveness, admitting she hadn’t let the care team talk. The sad thing is that it’s pretty impossible to teach an old dog new tricks, as it is impossible for my mom’s 89-year-old body not to react to all of her preempted movements.
Without me having to say too much, my mom’s body spoke up, and sadly, she caused herself so much unnecessary physical pain that she readily admits she’ll need care through the holidays.
I don’t know how often I’ll put myself in that same scenario and then be upset by the outcome. Sadly, my mom is in more pain than before. It’s sad that my mom, after all these years of taking care of others, can’t give herself some time to heal without being knocked down by pain. Sadly, I’m expecting something different. Sad, no, more like stupid. I must read my blog to prepare for our next care meeting.
Hey, it’s Christmas time; maybe, just maybe, my mom will take the time to heal and do what’s best for herself and me.
Two weeks ago today, my mom fell.
What that equals to me personally is six missed personal training sessions, 2-3 missed nights of tennis, under 7000 steps daily, and wait for it… a double-double at In-N-Out. I’m not even a fan of the name hamburger establishment. Oh, and there’s that vegetarian thing I adhere to for heart health.
My left side was entirely out of whack. It’s better now due to the intense acupressure. Now my right side is out. It’s weird; you can feel rope-like knots on top of my ribs and neck. Usually, I cause my problems by carrying my grandchildren—those five years and under. My gorgeous 5-month-old grandson weighs 21 pounds. I’ve done no heavy lifting of lovebugs since my mom’s fall.
I’m stating facts without regret. To quote my mom and your mom, it is what it is.
I want this experience to help me grow as a human being. I believe this situation isn’t to kill me but to refine me. I attended a class called Compassionate Communication, which taught suggested responses by changing the wording around to be agreeable, kind, and compassionate. Shortly after my mom moved, I also attended a six-week class for Alzheimer’s caregivers. My mom doesn’t hasn’t been diagnosed with Alzheimer’s, but dementia. I felt it would help me. It has. One glitch is that my newly educated self hasn’t remembered this education. How did I forget I play Lumosity? It hit me last night that all I need to do is agree with my mom because the reality will speak for itself. I’m hoping to implement my recent education in my conversations with my mom in the future. I’m not getting the top grade in the class. Yet.
Today’s visit went well. My mom did not remember she had a broken pelvis, and I’m not 100% sure I’m supposed to tell her it’s broken. Either way, I’m happier with myself. I was sympathetic, agreeable, and engaging, and I brought my mom Kentucky Fried chicken.
CODOP!
Another clear indication that a child of a difficult older parent has not understood this insight is when the child continues to try to change their parent’s personality or behavior. Given the impossibility of changing another person, the only rational choice for the adult child is to let people be who they are.
A few significant realities hit me tonight. I’m allowing this challenging situation to control my thoughts and attitudes. It has controlled my every waking moment, even before my mom moved in. I’m letting it take over conversations with my girls, and that’s not fair. Since my mom moved in six months ago, it has also dominated most of my conversations with my husband. I have never truly accepted the situation and wouldn’t continue complaining. To be fair to myself, I’m not complaining; I’m discussing in depth how I’m feeling, which is pretty consistent.
Here’s an excerpt from a book I’m reading:
Being realistic includes acknowledging that dreams, yearnings, and hopes can never be fulfilled. Children of difficult older parents are often plagued by impossible hopes that their mom or dad will finally become loving, attentive, and appreciative. This hope is unfounded in most cases. The sad truth is that the child’s dream of having healthy, caring parents and a mutually satisfying relationship with them is already dead. The child of a difficult older parent must let such dead dreams die. The child of a difficult older parent who repeatedly expresses amazement, shock, or surprise at Mom’s or Dad’s latest outrageous or challenging behavior has not accepted this insight. Surprise at yet another unpleasant act is not justified. How is surprise possible after such a long track record of similar behavior? Surprise reflects denial and a lack of acknowledgment that the hope and dream of a healthier parent are dead. Indeed, as in any death, for the child of a difficult older parent, there is much to grieve. The situation includes so many losses involving the impaired loved one: their health, their intelligence, their abilities, their broken personality, their companionship, the good that might have been, etc.
Another clear indication that a child of a difficult older parent has not understood this insight is when the child continues to try to change their parent’s personality or behavior. Given the impossibility of changing another person, the only rational choice for the adult child is to let people be who they are. Their parent will be who they are no matter what they do, so we may as well accept it. The child of a difficult older parent begins maturing when she stops being surprised at the thousandth replay, begins to let dead dreams die, begins grieving this loss and all the other losses, and starts allowing people to be who they are. This is realism. This is healthy adulthood.
I have to vent, and this might be the best way. My daughters don’t read my blog; if they do, it’s their choice, not me taking over the conversation.
Today, my mom had two necessary follow-up doctor appointments. One with the care team from the facility and one with an orthopedic surgeon, my doctor, Dr. Solpour. Both times in these meetings, my mom acts prideful and loves to throw me under the bus. I’ll give you an example: I ask them to speak louder so my mom can hear. My mom says, “Oh, I can hear fine.” The care team continued, and without me pointing it out, my mom wrongly guessed some fundamental questions they asked her. When they speak louder, she hears it.
Also, my mom tells me about all her pain. Pain is legit in her case, and she deals with pain very well. She can get pain medication every four hours. All hail elder rights, but they can’t give her the pain medication unless she says so. Ninety-five percent of the time, when I am present, and she’s asked about her pain or needs for her medication, she does everything but answer the question, to the point where she might not get it. The nurse leaves the room, and I tell her again that she needs to be honest and it’s okay to tell them she’s in pain. She wins no prize for not telling them.
Today, at the doctor’s office, when she was asked about her pain, she went so far as to say, “I’m not in much pain.” I corrected her and said, “Mom, you just told me you were/are in pain and have been all day.” My mom then said to the doctor and two of his team in the room, “My daughter wants me to tell you I’m in pain.” WTF?
Let’s go back up to the excerpt above, and let’s say I must be in massive denial because I am shocked once again. I get so mad inside I want to leave her there. I stay angry for a few hours, reviewing the same thing in my mind.
I can change this. Be quiet, let her listen and not hear, and let her be at the level of pain she is. I look foolish, and I need to mature. I hope I figure this out before I waste more of my precious life. I’m not a kid anymore.
I love my beautiful hardwood floors. When my mom moved in 6 months ago, we set her up with everything downstairs. Private bathroom-attached big bedroom- our kitchen, laundry room, living room, family room downstairs. Since my mom already had a metal shoulder from a fall on her carpeted stairs two years ago, we discussed not going upstairs. That wasn’t wholly adhered to; if she didn’t get an answer because occasionally I’d have to use the bathroom, she’d come up.
Eight days ago, we were having a great time with my 10-year-old granddaughter on a sleepover. My mom was included in everything. Around 9 p.m., we went upstairs to change into our pajamas. And lo and behold, great-grandmother couldn’t help herself and came upstairs a few minutes later. She had socks on.
Now let me fill you in on my attempts to curtail her stair climbing: Mom, you say you care so much about me, and if you fall, I will either have to find you on the ground or see you fall. It was the same battle with nighttime. My mom wouldn’t wear a life alert either, so I was constantly worried about her safety because we slept upstairs behind a barrage of fans, sound machines, and humidifiers. I shared a life alert would help me.
Back to the stair climber: My mom did fall on the way down the stairs. She missed one step. Seeing her sprawled out on the floor was super fun. More fun was that it was dark, and the fall knocked her wig off, so from my vantage point, I thought it was a pool of blood.
So here I am eight days after her fall, sitting in a “skilled nursing facility” while my mom lays in bed with a right broken pelvic and the left arm’s bones around her metal shoulder broken. Get the dilemma?
On a selfish level, I’m trying not to torture myself with unnecessary madness, frustration, and sadness for the ridiculousness of this situation.
If you’re new to my life, here’s a small timeline of this year. My stepdad, my mom’s husband of 31 years, died on April 27. That was after surviving small cell carcinoma of his lungs and, while in a 4-year remission, got Lymphoma, only to get through the chemo for that and be in remission to succumb to esophageal cancer. A month after my stepdad’s death, my mom moved in with us. On June 8, my twin brother died from a stroke.
I’m not even going to mention that my 35-year-old daughter, mother of 4 girls under ten years old, has heart disease and needed a defibrillator/pacemaker when her 4th baby was two months old. My youngest daughter suffered two miscarriages, and my husband, after 25 years at CBS Television, was put on the graveyard shift.
Would I be complaining if I mentioned that my oldest brother committed suicide and my dad had two open heart surgeries a month apart and then died on vacation in Hong Kong? My dad was 57.
Life is hard. Thousands of people daily live with much worse hardships, and the Bible states do not compare yourself to others.
Galatians 6:4, NLT: Pay careful attention to your work. Then you will be satisfied with a well-done job and won’t need to compare yourself to anyone else.
I’m so blessed with seven beautiful, healthy grandchildren, the seventh being my youngest daughter’s beautiful son because my daughter didn’t give up. I like my husband of 40 years, and for the most part, I like myself. Betty, my dog, is my BFF and is the best dog I’ve ever had.
I’m being stretched in ways I didn’t ever plan on.
For now, that’s all I have to share.
