Recently in Dealing with my family Category

How would you like to pack up and move at age 84?

In the best of circumstances that could be unnerving, but in my parents' case there's a lot of change going on. Since I haven't posted in quite awhile, let me refresh your memory.

My parents came to California last year after we siblings got too many calls from concerned relatives that share retirement homes near Mom and Dad in Florida. After we got a good look at them we decided it was time to get them into assisted living. Actually it was my sister in Los Altos of the 5 of us, who had the good sense to make this happen, and for her convenience they moved into a facility near her.

But now my sister and her family are making a move to Portland, for business reasons, and Mom & Dad aren't invited. It's been very challenging, I can tell, to deal with the 3am phone calls and trips to the Emergency Room, plus all the regular trips to the doctors. She'll have enough on her plate moving her family out of state without caring for aging parents.

So they're moving to San Diego this weekend. Should they fly? Drive?

I eliminated the fly option; they can both get pretty worked up if they get too confused. On the other hand, I've had them in my car several times over the past year, once as far as Hearst Castle, and although they're not well suited for vacations any more, I expect they'll do just fine traveling by car.

I'll keep you posted. Wish me luck.

My mother's back in the hospital; is she on a 2 week cycle? This time it's because of a heart attack. Her angioplasty shows some heart damage with no opportunity for a stent. Other complications: her doctor describes her long term breathing problems as emphysema. It sounds like the correct term to me.

My sisters Maureen and Kathleen have been shuttling Dad from Assisted Living to the hospital for daily visits. It's been stressful, lots of tears. Yesterday her doctor was asking questions about the extent of care we want. He said most people who go on a ventilator usually don't come off. If she relapses, what response do we want? It's a difficult conversation.

This morning she's looking much better.

Assisted living doesn't look so bad. Here they are settled into their own place, making new friends and all of us siblings assured they're getting their meds correctly. Whew! What an ordeal it's been!

They've been visiting for 12 weeks, since Valentines Day. They came for a visit that had some business issues to deal with, like a new Last Will and Testament, a Living Will and a Power of Attorney. Everyone agreed those issues needed resolution, but then it's been one health calamity after another. An accident and pneumonia for Mom, a hernia then a heart stent followed by an infection for Dad. Doesn't sound like much as I write this list of ailments, but combined with their increasing dementia it's made for a difficult time for the siblings.

No matter how many times I answered their questions, "'I'm homesick; why can't we go home?" by the next day they just couldn't recall what I'd said, so round 2 would begin, each iteration a little bit more argumentative, followed by growing resentment and obstinate behavior. They were no fun to live with, nor to visit.

Then a crisis hit. Dad complaining of chest pains meant a trip to the emergency room. After more than a couple of exciting moments, he was out, but moving back in with my sister's family wasn't a suitable next step. He'd need more supervision and care; it turned out to be the deciding factor in favor of assisted living.

My mother moved in while Dad was still in the hospital. We knew he'd go wherever she went. She loved it as we thought she would. The social activities lead to making new friends and from there, life works as you'd expect; she was happy. An anti-anxiety prescription helped to calm her nerves; some of us regretted we hadn't focused on this earlier.

Last week as they settled in, it was time to revisit their doctor and get the results of their cognitive tests. We knew Dad had suffered mini strokes before, at least one, so that was no surprise; likewise his age related brain atrophy. But Mom's brain scan showed several mini strokes; that was news. The doctor adding that "things will only get worse". Mom found that upsetting.

It's been quite a weekend for the family. Dad was rushed to the hospital Thursday; when he got there they said he was in immediate danger of a heart attack. A stent the next morning cleared up that problem, but as I look back on the past few days, I see it as a momentary calm in a stormy weekend. Before the weekend is over my sister Mary will be in the Emergency Room herself.

Later Friday afternoon dad suffered a setback that turned into quite a panic. I think it was more serious than the doctor says, his vitals dropped sending every nurse and doctor on the floor into his room, shuffling my mom and sister Kathleen out into the hallway. Whatever color of Code Blue or Red included summoning the Chaplain and I got a teary phone call from Kathleen when they didn't know just how serious this incident was. It was up to me to contact the siblings.

In this day and age how can you reach out to 3 people and not get any response?

Dad's been complaining of chest pains, so Kathleen called 911 last night. He told me of discomfort while we were on the Hearst Castle trip last week, but he told me at 4 o'clock of pain he'd had that morning. And he was combining his laments with his hernia discomforts; he'd been fitted with a truss just before we departed, so I ignored him. At Stanford Medical Center they say he's in grave danger of a heart attack, that one of his arteries is almost completely blocked. They're doing an angiogram this afternoon. He'll probably be getting a stent.

Makes me glad that we did the Living Will back in February. Although he's conscious and still making his own decisions, the doctors are complaining about his dementia. It may be the stress. They're having difficulty communicating, "tell me why you're here today?".

Update: he's proudly wearing a new stent! One of his arteries was completely blocked, now it's flowing like the Merrimac River he claims he wants to see again.

In All That Jazz, Director Bob Fosse features a comedian who's rift is the 7 Stages of Grief.

Anger, denial, bargaining, depression and loneliness, Mom and Dad are still some ways from acceptance; they're grieving their youth and their life.

I chatted with Mom this afternoon; she was agitated and quick to tears. She wants to move home, wherever that is. And "what about my taxes?"; she has so many worries.  I heard them all, "I've got stuff in Treelakes!  I've got to get back to sell the cottage!  I miss my friends!"  They're not harmonizing with their new lifestyle, living with my sister's family.  It was a little unsettling when she mentioned 3 different times, "I have guns!". She was slow to pick up on the analogy that assisted living in Palo Alto might be like Treelakes, inside 4 walls with lots of new friends. "I won't go!"

"All I do is walk, about a mile, twice a day!" That's good, let's extend that to 3 times a day. She did say that coming off her high dosage prednisone was a challenge to her mental health.

I told her that since she's been a great wit for so many years that I was going to argue back with her and dispute some of the "I can handle my medicines and my life" claims. "Who ratted us out? Was it Cynthia? Who said we can't take care of ourselves?" How 'bout I tell you who's not on that list, it'll be shorter. Uncle Art, Aunt Pat, Cynthia and Paul, they all called to alert us to your declining situation in Florida.

I remembered Dad last summer, when he saw me arguing with Mom, he advised, "let it pass, it'll pass". Then Mom hung up on me.

Are things settling down for my parents? They still talk incessantly of how they must return to TreeLakes in FL to retrieve some valuable possessions. As if sorting through these keepsakes would bring a corresponding order to their lives. My sister Kathleen thinks Dad must have some cash hidden under a mattress. I expect to find that matching pair of Woodstock Inn wine glasses; they were a gift 4 years ago and you'd have thought they were made of gold the way they were repacked and squirreled away, then next summer when I'm looking for a decent wine glass, they're no where to be found. "They must be at TreeLakes", Mom suggests.  What's the point of saving things if you never get to enjoy them? Like the heavy table cover on the old oak dining table, when do you get to take it off and admire the wood grain?

My mother has recovered from the pneumonia and the gash in her leg that required 17 stitches, but a broken tooth is the latest lament. "The dentist wants to see me again in 3 weeks", and so life takes on its predictable pattern, going from one doctor's appointment to the next. It's surprised me how easily they abandoned their insistence to fly away when they first had stitches to remove (2 weeks) then new hearing aids (1 week) and now pneumonia and a new crown, but that's the pace of their lives.

The day after the big family meeting and we're all feeling good. The paperwork issues have all been worked out and soon the Power of Attorney will be signed; we're just waiting till the Notary comes in around noon. But as we gather at the UPS Store the word travels fast, Dad's not going to sign. "No problem," I say, trying to keep my mother calm, "we'll start with you". The Notary overhears him mumbling his objections and tells us that she won't be able to work with him. Fortunately I've again brought the paragraph-by-paragraph draft which shows my mother's initials, so the Notary's assured and we can proceed with mom.

This past summer my dad observed my mother and I having a spat. She was being difficult and I was pushing back. His advice, "let it pass, it will pass". A message of patience that I could apply to his resistance. So instead of signed paperwork I took him and my brother for a haircut across the street. The barbers didn't believe we're related since he has a full head of hair while my brother and I take after my mother's side of the family; someday we'll be bald as cue balls.

Mom, Dad and all 5 children met in Newport Beach for a family meeting this Valentines Day weekend. My siblings and I felt that they had to have a Power of Attorney and a Living Will in place, and the Last Will & Testament had to be revised. Beyond paperwork, we wanted to hear their wishes; were they ready to sell the cottage, and if so, what about after the cottage?

How'd it go? It started out dramatically. Just before noon on Friday the 13th we had to dial 9-1-1. Mom has asthma and the prednisone she takes for it makes her skin paper thin so when she banged her leg against the bed frame it split wide open. After a trip to the emergency room and 17 stitches she was fine, but rattled.

The drama started on the way home from the airport. With my parents sitting in the back seat and unable to read lips, it took no time to realize their hearing had slipped another notch. Just mentioning getting it checked evoked a surprising reaction from my mother.