Renewal

This week has seemed rather long, and today seems like Thursday instead of Wednesday.  That's probably because I worked in the office on Monday, which I rarely do.  But I've taken on some new reponsibilities in my office job, which means I may be working a bit more.  That's okay though - I've rediscovered how much I like my office job this week.  True, there's lots of paper shuffling going on, but in the past few months I've started developing some new procedures for doing things, started training a co-worker to help me out, and convinced my boss to let my department handle more of the documentation the nurses were once required to do (which will be quite a bit more cost efficient for the company, and makes the nurses happier too.) So I've been bustling around there feeling quite proud of myself. It's been good for me - takes my mind off some of the other problems I've been dealing with on the domestic front.  (And thank you all for your kind and supportive comments.  How lucky I am to have such a wise and wonderful network with which to share.)

Elaine, one of the nurses in my office, came in quite excited herself today.  A long term client of hers- a young man with brain injuries and physical impairments resulting from a car accident when he was 12 - has been working for a while in a rather dull sheltered workshop, a kind of place where special needs adults can perform manual labor and get paid a small amount of money.  She's noticed that he's been getting more and more depressed,  talking less and less, and using his wheelchair nearly all the time instead of trying to walk with a cane.

So she started looking around for other opportunities for him.  Knowing that he liked art, she tried to get him a volunteer position at the Detroit Art Institute, but nothing was availble.  However, staff members there suggested she try the Opera House. 

It's been a miracle.  Not only have the staff at the Detroit Opera House been accepting and welcoming, they have gone out of there way to provide this young man with the best possible experiences he can have.  He's going downtown now at least three times a week, ushering for special programs, working in the office, and having the opportunity to see all sorts of great musical productions.

He saw his first full length opera last weekend, and his mother said he was in tears at the end, completely overwhelmed by music and pagentry.  As a result, he's decided to take an adult piano class at the community college.  And Elaine reports that he's speaking more, smiling and laughing a lot, and using his cane to walk with.  At his neurology appointment today, his physician said he "looked better than he'd ever seen him."

Amazing, isn't it?  How finding something you feel passionate about, activities that are fulfilling and satisfying, is the best medicine for one's physical and mental health?  It's given him confidence, stimulated his mind and body, and enriched life on so many levels.  If it can make such a dramatic difference in the life of a young man with a brain and spinal cord injury, imagine what it can do for ordinary, healthy folks?

Sort of like me this week, working away at my new job responsibilities, writing memos and re-organizing files, creating policies and explaining procedures. 

It's given me a new little lease on life.

So here's to finding something you can get excited about - a new hobby, planting spring flowers, a committment to help others, whatever it is that sparks a sense of enthusiasm about life in general. 

How about you?  What gives you that sense of renewal, that extra spark of energy and confidence that can make you say "yes" to life?

The New Territory of Old Age

Until I was 12 years old, I was lucky enough to have my great grandmother living right across the street.  My Gramma always seemed very old in my estimation, although in actuality she was only in her mid 70's when she moved in with my aunt and uncle, and 85 when she died.   But we spent lots of time together, watching her favorite stories on TV (General Hospital and Lawerence Welk), drinking Cokes and eating Fritos, and piecing quilt squares together.  In addition to having this wise and wonderful old lady across the way, my maternal grandparents lived with us.  So, I grew up with the elderly and I became quite familiar with the aging process. I only recall my Gramma becoming weaker and less energetic that last year of her life.  She was often in bed when I'd dash over after school, and sometimes I would just sit in the chair beside her bed and read quietly while she slept.  One day I came home to the news that she had fallen and broken a hip.  Surgery was performed, but within a couple of days she developed pneumonia and died in her sleep.

"She was ready to go," I remember my mom saying through her tears.  "Bless her heart, she was just all tired out from living."

Today, people who are "all tired out from living" have spawned their own cottage industry.  Assisted living, memory loss neighborhoods, respite care, nursing homes - all euphemisms for warehousing the aged.  My mother in law "lives" in such a place, and I place quotation marks around the word "lives" because I'm not sure that what she does qualifies as living, at least not the way I define it.  She doesn't remember that she was married, that she raised a child, that she worked in a productive, responsible job.  She recalls her mother- whose photograph she will bring to her lips and kiss - but she doesn't recall her own name, or her only son's, or her husband's, or mine.  She's been "banned" from participating in the one activity she might enjoy (playing Bingo) because she becomes "adversarial" if she doesn't win.

Sigh.

I've just been conversing with my mother in law's physician (a young woman who sounds as if she's about 15 years old) and she tells me that recent test results indicate her creatinine levels are "alarmingly high," and her potassium levels are also "quite high."

"Normally a physician would be very concerned about this because it signals kidney failure," Dr. C. says.  "I'm only telling you because I need to know how you'd like to proceed.  With creatinine levels this high, we might start talking about dialysis.  But considering her age and mental status, I'm not sure this is the direction you'd want to take.  And the elevated potassium, if left unchecked, could lead to atrial fibrillation and heart failure."

(At this point, I press my finger to the ear opposite my cell phone because there's a cacophony of background noise on her end.  Did I hear someone say "do you want fries with that?")

"Well," I say, taking a deep breath and looking over at my husband who is sitting at our dining room table on a business conference call of his own, "at this point we really aren't pursuing any course that will prolong her life.  We basically just want to keep her as comfortable and pain free as possible."

Do you realize what I just said?  I'm standing in my kitchen on a sunny spring morning, coffee cup in hand.  My dogs are sniffing around the back yard.   And I've virtually just pronounced a death sentence on my mother in law.

"I understand that," Dr. C. tells me.  "I can document that you want me to check her potassium levels in three to six months and then go from there.  If I check the potassium and it's dangerously elevated, we can do something as simple as providing medication to counteract it.  Or you can decide to let nature takes it course.  It's completely up to you."

Oh god.  I speak enough "doctor" to know that she's asking me whether we should check her potassium levels at all or let her die a (semi) natural death.

At this point, I'm longing for the ease of a broken hip and pneumonia.  How easy that would be.

Of course, it isn't really my decision to make.  This is my husband's mother, every difficult, stubborn, pessimistic bone of her 90 pound body.   She doesn't really belong to me - she never has.  The two of us have absolutely nothing in common save our relationship with this man sitting at my dining room table talking to a fellow engineer about heat calculations.

"I need to talk to my husband about this," I tell the good doctor. 

"Of course," she says again.  "Just let me know how you'd like to proceed."

So here I am, plopped squarely in this brave new world of old age.  It isn't anything like the old age of generations gone by, where the elderly tended to be cared for by one family member or another until they died.  Oh no, it's much more complicated than that.  Now we have "living wills" and "do not resuscitate orders" and hospice.  We have to make "decisions about how we want to proceed."

My oh my, how life (and death) have changed in the last 40 years.

Of course, I'm not the only one in this predicament.  It would take all my fingers and toes to count the number of people within my circle of acquaintance's who are currently dealing with similar problems. 

Sometimes,  I  imagine myself in this situation at some point in the (hopefully) very distant future, when my son and daughter in law might have to make these same decisions.  My worst fear is the loss of my mind, my ability to read, write, think, know what is going on in the world around me.   Would I want to continue living in some institutional type environment, sucking up time and money to prolong my existence?  Or would I advise them to "let me go" as peacefully and painlessly as possible? 

And does one person really have the right to decide for another just when life is no longer worth living?  But what do you do, how do you "proceed" when the person in question cannot decide for themselves?

When I talk to my husband about this, his reaction is basically what I've come to expect in regard to dealing with his mother.  "I really can't handle this right now," he says, staring at me glassy eyed, the look that means "don't push me too far or I'll break."

Sigh. (again)

I'm traveling through uncharted territory here, folks. 

Wish me luck.

Friday Night Meme Time

Just stumbled across this meme at Tea Reads, and i've never seen it before.  Try it - it's kind of fun (smiles) You’re feeling: content To your left: stove and refrigerator On your mind: paying bills Last meal included: pasta You sometimes find it hard to: stop worrying The weather: SPRING! Something you have a collection of: notebooks A smell that cheers you up: fresh coffee first thing in the morning A smell that can ruin your mood: skunk

How long since you last shaved: two days The current state of your hair: freshly cut The largest item on your desk/workspace (not computer): telephone Your skill with chopsticks: clumsy Which section you head for first in a bookstore: new fiction Something you’re craving: chocolate mint chip ice cream (about to go out for some, actually) Your general thoughts on the presidential race: god help us

How many times have you been hospitalized this year: once, if you count two hours in the ER

Favorite place to go for a quiet moment: my back porch You’ve always secretly thought you’d be a good: novelist

Something that freaks you out a little: the price of gasoline Something you’ve eaten too much of lately: sandwiches, my fallback meal You have never: smoked cigarettes You never want to: live without dogs

Looking Up

Whether it's because of the sun, the mellow breeze, being able to write this while sitting on my back porch, or just normal fluctuation of my roller coaster hormones, I'm feeling much more Matisse today (and again I refer you to this post for an explanation). The human spirit is amazing, isn't it?  It rejuvenates itself daily, healing over hurt places, pulling itself up by the bootstraps and moving forward with determination.  Much like a fractured bone, it can mend, generating strength and density from somewhere deep within. 

And speaking of fractured bones, I've just returned from the orthopedic surgeon who tells me that mine is progressing very nicely, and I can begin to "wean off the boot."

Yes.

While waiting for the doctor, I read a magazine interview with Helen Hunt, one of my favorite actresses.  She was recalling some of the more difficult times in her life - a divorce, problems becoming pregnant, the failure of a tv show.  "Something positive has come from every tough situation in my life," she said.  "It's just hell getting to the positive part."

True, that.

I tried to walk my dogs today - couldn't stand it another minute - and even though we had to turn around at the church instead of going to the park (about which Magic was none too pleased ), it reassured me to set out on that familiar path, see the signs of spring appearing in my neighbor's flower beds and forsythia bushes.  Renewal is possible, even after the most bitter of winters. 

We will get to the positive part.

So storms will be weathered, houses will be paid for (or not), it will all work itself out.

Things are looking up.

Another Day

Life's been weird lately, as you might have guessed from my last post, which was decidedly more Picasso than usual (to understand what I mean, you'll have to go read this post at Red Umbrella).  But some interesting discussion was generated in the comments section, the upshot of which I totally agree.  Life in general can get messed up but we have to deal with it, hope for the best, and enjoy whatever small pleasures are available.

Most of my angst over the weekend stems from a conversation with the company who holds the mortgage on our two homes in Florida.   Like many other people, we got caught smack dab in the middle of the housing market meltdown, and our rental property is now worth less than we owe on the mortgage.

Nasty business, that.  I won't go into any of the gory details, but we're faced with some rather tough choices in the coming months. 

So I spent the weekend being mad at the world in general and myself in particular for thinking I could make a killing in the real estate market.  There really are no free rides, and I know that.  Just a lifetime of honest, hard work, which is something with which I'm quite familiar (and by the looks of things will continue being familiar with until I'm at least 80!)

Speaking of work, there's some weirdness going on at my company these days.  We've had a rash of new hires who last about three weeks and then bail.  My boss, who has been working yeoman's duty picking up all the slack from these slackers, is about to throw in the towel.  The latest defection occurred today - a young woman who hired started on the job three weeks ago, left a message this morning stating the job "just wasn't for her," and she wouldn't be returning. 

In retrospect, I should have suspected something yesterday when I noticed she had taken the 8x10 glossy photo of her family home with her.

I'm wondering-in a state where unemployment is higher than just about anywhere and the cost of living is pretty steep too, how can people be so cavalier about jobs?  And where is the sense of responsibility?  Our company is very small, and the presence (or absence) of one person makes a huge difference in terms of profitability. 

To top it off, it's a super nice place to work.  It's a very professional environment, all women, great teamwork atmosphere, flexible schedule with the ability to work at home, decent pay, 401K program - I just don't get it. 

What do women want, anyway?

So, if you know of a good, level headed nurse out there who'd relish the opportunity to work in case management with a group of intelligent women, send her my way would you?

Along with someone who'd like to buy some swampland in Florida (smiles).