19 July 2015
Friday at 9:00 AM, I made the call to our Lower Cape Fear Hospice Social Worker, Kim. I asked her about the protocol for admitting my parents to respite care. I never imagined making that call. To be honest, I've often thought of myself as fairly indestructible and I couldn't dream of a scenario where I would feel the need for a five day break from taking care of my 91 year old Mom and my 90 year old dad, but this past week, I found myself impatient, snapping at things that wouldn't ordinarily irritate me and weary of never piecing together more than two hours of sleep at a time. I wouldn't say I was near a breaking point, but I will say that I recognized I was drifting a little too close for comfort.
Kim is wonderful. Indeed each member of our dear sweet precious hospice team is nothing short of exceptional. That's not an exaggeration. I couldn't function right now without their skills, support and inestimable compassion. Seriously.
This weekend I am trying to keep our routine as "normal" as possible, quite a hat trick in what constitutes a most abnormal existence. I don't know that I'm performing terribly well. I don't think Mom and Dad remotely suspect that they're about to check in to LCFH in a few days, and I'm glad they don't. Trust me, I'm thinking about it enough for all of us.
You know how in life there are those hairpin points - one second you feel spent and hopeless and then something happens and life makes a 180 degree turn toward the positive and there you go feeling all relieved and maybe even almost smug...and THEN...when you find out you're being granted something you clearly believe you want and need, reality sets in and here comes another 180 degree turn and those knots in your stomach that were just hours earlier untied, reconfigure themselves into different knots and there you are.
And here I am.
I can be so completely neurotic and it's not my best trait but I'm so darn accomplished at it. Sad, really. I'm spending this afternoon trying to imagine what my parents will say when I take them in for five days of in-house care. Will they be profoundly confused? Oh wait, they already are. I can kind of accept that - it's how they spend most every single waking moment of every day. But my main focus, my premier mission is to do everything in my power to ensure they're not afraid, that even through the discombobulated dementia haze, they'll still feel safe, loved and cherished...because they are all that and so much more.
I'm not a prototypical over-achiever, but when it comes to having two of the best parents ever created, I kind of outdid myself. Somehow I managed to spring up from these two incredible souls and I almost feel as if I should come with a tattooed disclaimer that releases them from any responsibility for all the faults I have and mistakes I've made.
A few days ago I was frustrated, weary and pretty much at my wits' end from the rote nature of taking care of my Mom and Dad. I was wondering if my mental and physical stamina could handle what seems like an endless stream of these days; days where I'm asked about a hundred times a day what the weather is going to be like, if I know who those people are in a photograph, how old my granddaughter Evelyn is, and how much does Cleo weigh and where did I get Sailor? Where's Katie? Why is the door locked? How long are we going to stay here? We need to get back home to West Virginia, can you take us?
Today I'm remembering stuff - how many times I've taken my parents to Wilmington Health to see Dr. Babiss, how small they both looked in the examination room, how often I remember seeing my Dad push the lawn mower across the yard, well into his 80's - pipe in his mouth, baseball cap on his head, steadily taking one step after another with a determined, steady gait, knocking out one perfectly measured row after another, meticulous and uniform. I'm thinking how many meals my Mom has prepared in my kitchen, a room I had very little use for or interest in. How many steaming, mouth watering pots of chicken and dumplings has she created in there? I never learned how she did it and it wouldn't matter if I had because my primitive offerings couldn't come close to matching her culinary skills.
Such a history we have. When I was a little girl in elementary school, I used to lay awake at night worried that my parents would die because they were often at least ten years older than most of my friends parents. My Mom was 36 years old when she had me and so many of my buddies had moms and dads who seemed so much younger than mine. I noticed this pretty early on and, being the worrying and anxious kid that I was, I feared they wouldn't survive until I was an adult, when they would attain the ripe old age of 54 (one year younger than I am right now). I wish I could go back and tell my 10 year old angst-ridden self that really, of all the things that might happen in my colorful future, this is the one thing I really didn't need to worry about.
Such irony. I never gave a passing thought that my sister might die - she was young, seemed healthy and such a possibility never crossed my radar. When I was 13 years old, sure enough, my 23 year old sister died out of the blue. It was a horrible time and cranked up my already panic-ridden self into overdrive. It was a profound loss but at 13, I never thought to realize that when the time came, I'd be escorting my parents into super old age. I missed my sister terribly when she died but NOTHING compared to how I miss her presence now.
So on this oppressively hot Sunday Afternoon, I find myself struggling to come up with a script. Depending on the availability of beds at Lower Cape Fear Hospice, my parents may be admitted for five days of respite care tomorrow. I won't know until I get the call in the morning. It may be Tuesday or it could be Wednesday because I don't just have one parent to admit, I have two. I'm told this will be a unique opportunity for LCFH - bringing in a husband and wife at close to the same level of frailty and dementia. I know they'll be well cared for and I have complete faith in everyone employed by our hospice. I'm still nervous.
I need a story-line, a script, some solid, believable but uncomplicated reason to give them as I suddenly interrupt their routine and introduce them to a temporary new one. I've rehearsed what I might tell them about a hundred times. I've even practiced on Sailor and Cleo, explaining how they are going to spend a few days in this beautiful facility because I have to (fill in the blanks). When I pitch my spiel to Sailor, he listens attentively and then licks my nose. Cleo responds with soulful brown eyes and a tilted head and then takes her massive paw and places it on my arm as a cue to rub her belly. I wonder how my parents will react?
I just don't know. I'm anxious. I have no idea what to expect. Katie suggested I tell them I'm taking them to camp - hey, it's summer, that's normal, right? My kids always loved going to NASA Space Camp and were excited and happy on the drive from Ft. Lauderdale to Cape Kennedy.
The LCFH main campus is only about 3 1/2 miles from my house. Should we stop at Brusters for ice cream on the way there?
I guess I'll find out soon enough how they respond and when the phone rings telling me to bring them in, I certainly hope my story feels more believable than it does now because, right now, I haven't settled on one yet.
Later today, I need to surreptitiously sneak into their room and grab some of their clothes, underwear, toothbrushes, and bedroom slippers, a couple of pipes, a pouch of tobacco, a couple of lighters and pack their things in a suitcase. I was told to pack light - that should be a new experience for me - and I don't have to bring any of their medications because hospice has all of their medical information and they will supply all of that, which is a blessing. One less thing to worry about.
Yesterday afternoon I walked into my parents' room and my Mom was moving some pieces of a jigsaw puzzle that she honestly has absolutely no idea how to put together, but still she tries. My dad was asleep on the bed taking one of his marathon naps. Mom looked up at me and asked, "How long are we going to stay here?". The question stopped me in my tracks. I told her I didn't really know, but she'd lived here for nearly fifteen years. She nodded her head and went back to mismatching puzzle pieces.
This is going to be so strange. I can't wait to see how this story comes out. Prayers and good thoughts are welcomed.
...to be continued.