from “Aunt” Janice

On Loss of a Loved Pet.  I never realized you could get that attached to a pet.  Carol’s 18-year-old cat died this past Monday.  Her name was Hanna B., nicknamed Ms. B. or Hanna Banana–depending on the mood at the time.

Carol and Hanna lived with me for two months in the summer of ‘02 and I, in turn, lived with them for two months the fall of ‘03.  Being retired gives you a lot of time so I focused my time and energy on Hanna and found myself emotionally involved with her.  I would join her outside and protect her from the birdies and squirrelies (as I liked to refer to them around Hanna).  I’d shoo away the birds pestering her.  She’d walk then confidently by my side toward her desired destination.

Hanna was “full of herself.”  A snob.  Persnickety.  Somewhat obnoxious.  You’d have to cater to her, you had to earn her love/her respect, it was on her terms.  Otherwise, she’d hiss at you; or better yet, bite your hand to signal patting time was over.  Like I’d tell Carol, couldn’t she just walk away.  Mommy Carol defended her prodigy saying it was an affectionate bite.  Besides being super attached to her mommy, Hanna liked me–for the most part.  I was referred to her as “Aunt” Janice.  When Carol was around, Hanna tolerated me.  When Carol met “the man,” Hanna included him into her minuscule repertoire of companions.  Anyone else, if you’d come close, you’d be the recipient of her wide open-mouthed hiss.

When Carol was not around, Hanna sat in my lap for an hour and a half–once; let me pat her when she was good and ready; slept with me occasionally; jumped on my back once (Her mommy said that meant she liked me–scared the fool out of me being unexpected and from then on, I had to watch my backside); she liked to play bat at your hands and scratch me half the time.

But I grew to genuinely care about her.  Babysat her when Carol took trips.  I got to know her quirks in personality, her moods.  She was a lot like me.  Very particular in her likes and dislikes.  Obsessive-compulsive.  Walked alongside the walls to venture from one room to another.  Hanna, that is.  In the latter years, she mellowed and became more affectionate.  I could approach her and comfortably pat her rather than she initiate the time and place.  And her hissing became virtually obsolete.

Last Sunday, I went to visit her for the last time.  When I sat down by her and softly spoke to her, she lifted her little head slightly and peered at me through the slits in her eyes.  She acknowledged me.  She conveyed to me in that look her caring for me, her appreciation, the special bond between us.  I’ve shed many a tear since then.  She was my little girl, my pumpkin girl.   She will be forevermore sorely missed.

A tribute to Hanna B.  To Sambo and Sassy, Virginia’s thriving poodles.  To all our pets present and past.  To all the fond memories with these pets who remind us of special times, special friends, and special loved ones–of the human kind.

by Janice

Obligation.  I asked Virginia why she became involved in caregiving.  She responded that she felt obligated.  Mother and Daddy raised her, took care of her when she was growing up.  Now, it was her turn.

Virginia is a loving, caring, very giving person.  She’s light-hearted, agreeable, hates confrontation, likes to keep the peace.  Mother always said she was “just like Aunt Otylie” who would “give the shirt off her back.”  Virginia has been married it seems all her life, since 19 to be exact; had a child at twenty; and CATERS to her husband.  For most of her life, she has lived in the same town as Mother and Daddy so she developed a particularly close relationship with them.  She said she truly enjoyed being around Mother, stopping by the house spontaneously to visit with her, antiquing together, attending extended-family functions, shopping tirelessly.  On so many Saturdays when I called, Daddy said they would be out together shopping.  When I came in on a weekend, we three would sit in the kitchen “catching up.”  But it would be Virginia and Mother who dominated the conversation.  They had a lot in common–marriage, child rearing, and the goings-on in a small community.

As Mother and Daddy aged, Virginia took them to numerous extended-family functions–reunions, weddings, birthday gatherings, funerals.  Mother and Daddy each had twelve siblings, my sisters and I have/had 100 first cousins (some have passed on).  So Virginia kept extremely busy.  As time moved on, Virginia’s relationhip with our parents deepened.  She was always there, you could count on her, it was so comforting knowing she would take care of things.  She carried the weight of caregiving for both–Mother and her treatments for Congestive Heart Failure; Daddy, his becoming frail at home after Mother died.  Virginia was such a trooper.

When it came to Daddy and his placement in the rest home, obligation again was the driving force for Virginia.  The policy of this rest home was no hiring, no hospice.  So she pitched in with me to see that Daddy got properly fed, in bed at a decent hour, spent extra time visiting with him, taking him to the music/birthday socials and to Mass, sitting with him numerous hours during his final days.

Whether it’s commitment or obligation or some other factor, what has brought you to the frontlines of caregiving?  How do you provide assistance?  What have you noticed is the gift you’ve received as a result of your caring for someone; in other words, how has it impacted your life?  Caregiving is undervalued, unappreciated, a risk to your health.  You deserve a humongous pat on the back.  God bless your endeavor.

by Janice

Commitment.  That’s what caregiving brought out in me.  I could never commit to a relationship–after having met my fair share of eligible men and twice engaged.  I assumed caregiving would be a breeze, a piece of cake.  After all, being a compassionate social worker, it should be second nature to me.  But I was sadly and even shockingly mistaken.

Caregiving became a calling, a devotion, it became the child I never had but so earnestly wanted in my 30’s, the soul mate I never met.  I became consumed with it, in love with it (after all, it was my affair), even obsessed with it.  I was so attached to my mother that I felt driven to fight for her healing.  When her cardiologist told Carol on the phone (believe me, we met with him numerous times in his office) our mother wouldn’t be here much longer, I went into denial.  How do you live without your mother?  Unimaginable.  Incomprehensible.  The thought scared me so much I cried every night in bed for six weeks before her death.

After Virginia and I placed Daddy in the rest home, I returned to my parents’ home and sobbed for an hour and a half.  Carol and Nancy, my closest cousin, called and listened to this–the faucet of tears stemmed from feelings of guilt and being powerless.  I had given up my Daddy to someone else’s care.  Little did I know at the time that my work had just begun.

With Daddy in the rest home, I found myself becoming his most staunch advocate.  He had an accident and needed to be changed.  He was leaning out of his wheelchair, struggling to get in bed for his nap or his nightly rest.  He was complaining of being hungry; upon questioning his roommate, I discovered Daddy was having problems handling his eating utensils and food was being dropped on the floor.  Nursing staff and assistants were overloaded and/or uncaring.  So I felt driven by some force, a strong moral pressure to assist.  Virginia and I took turns with lunch and dinner and getting him ready for bed at night.  And, always, we put in considerable time and effort searching for a nurse’s assistant with the above tasks.  Carol relieved us as needed on weekends.

But be of good cheer, I did overcome my affair with caregiving.  It was my best work, my greatest achievement, my finest service.  Would I do it all over again?  No.  Any other answer would only serve to diminish my experience.  The following biblical saying sums up the enormity of this journey: “There but for the Grace of God go I.”

by Janice

Larry Dressler in Consensus Through Conversation: How to Achieve High-Commitment Decisions addresses the issue of building consensus within a team, group, project, organization, and community.  “Consensus is a cooperative process in which all group members develop and agree to support a decision that is in the best interest of the whole.”  He further states “agreeing is not true consensus.  Consensus implies commitment to a decision.  Everyone wins because shared interests are served.”

How do you build a caregiving team?  Interesting question.  A thought-provoking one.  Rips-families-apart type of question.  I relate Dressler’s concept to our method of caregiving for our parents.  When my sisters and I undertook the task, it’s something we did through communication, through conversation because we were 100% committed to this decision.  Virginia was the primary caregiver through Mother’s several-year battle with Congestive Heart Failure because she lived in the same town. She had her fill of emergency room visits, doctor appointments, daily calls, frantic calls.  When Mother had major heart surgery to replace her aorta valve and three arteries, I took over for the week remaining of her hospital stay in Austin.  When Mother was rehospitalized in Waco after returning home for one week, I took a week’s leave from work to stay with her at the hospital.  Carol–in California at the time–flew in for Mother’s surgery and spent four days supporting us and spending nights in the hospital.  Our brother was also present for the surgery.

When we came to a crisis point with Daddy in the rest home (administration attempted to release him into my care), our brother’s wife who was a Parent Specialist with the Texas Department of Human Services intervened.  She met with the administrator and head nurse to review the complaints cited in a letter to us.  Main issue was the rest home could not meet his needs.  In that meeting, the administrator finally acknowledged the problem was the daughters’ over-involvement.  Our sister-in-law’s intervention was the first step toward remediation of the problem, hiring an attorney was the second step.

As a family, we presented ourselves as a formidable team, working together toward our common goal–in our parents’ best interests.  We did not always agree as a family on this caregiving roadtrip–where Mother’s heart surgery was to be held, when was the appropriate time to place Daddy in the rest home.  But my siblings and I were in attendance for the critical times and somehow always managed–through unspoken word–to agree not to disagree.

To be continued

by Janice

Carol suggested I write an excerpt that exhibited humor.  Virginia and I contended there was absolutely nothing funny about the task of caregiving.  But, you know, on second thought there were moments….

Like the time, Mother received her treatments for Congestive Heart Failure.  The nursing staff noted her dry humor in verbal comments to us and in a written card.  On one occasion, I recall vividly her quick wit in response to another patient’s question about how she was feeling that morning.  Mother said: “I guess the good Lord doesn’t have a place for me because I’m still here.”

When Daddy was in the rest home and transferred to the Alzheimer’s unit, one of the female patients would walk the hallway continuously in a regale manner and make comments to my sisters and me how beautiful we were.  That always made my day!  In response to a nurse’s question to Daddy about how he was feeling one afternoon, he said: “with my hands.”

These little anecdotes are unbelievably special to remember these days.  There were so many more–I wish I had written them down.  I wish I had noticed my mother’s wit earlier, it took a nursing staff to make me aware of it.  I wish I had seen some of the humor in Daddy’s condition, in the way he made the best of his situation with a laugh and a smile.  I wish I had laughed more with my parents.  I wish all this and more for you with loved ones–good times, blessed memories, and fond reminiscence.

by Janice

Our parents believed in their doctors.  Perhaps, it was part of their generation.  They did not ask questions of their doctors, they respected them, they did not want to take up too much time.  As they aged and driving became an issue especially in a larger city such as Waco, one of their daughters would accompany them on the appointment.

Mother was comfortable when I got involved with her health care, she never minded the questions, Daddy was a different story.  If I tried to participate during the doctor visit, Daddy would give me “that look.”  I recall vividly the time I took him to a bone specialist because he was complaining of pain in his hip after a fall two weeks prior.  (The family doctor referred him to the specialist.)  And Daddy gave me “that look” in the exam room, I did not question, I did not press the specialist for an MRI.  Instead an x-ray was taken, results were normal.  Due to Daddy’s persistent discomfort, my brother-in-law took him to another bone specialist who ordered an MRI which revealed a hairline fracture.  Immediately, surgery was scheduled.  After Daddy returned home, he ended up back in the hospital with a blood clot in one of his lungs due to immobility for several weeks and not keeping his legs elevated.  After these two trying events, Daddy mellowed some, dropped the “look,” and seemed to appreciate my participating with his doctors.

Our parents are from a small town.  For years I called their family doctor and Mother’s cardiologist “horse doctors.”  As our parents aged and it was my turn to accompany them on doctor visits, I came to recognize these two doctors’ wide range of knowledge, sensitivity, and caring.  They knew when to diagnose, when to make referrals for further testing, including to a specialist.  Be sure for your elderly loved one you help select doctors carefully.  On the internet, Google or Bing www.doctors.com and the elderly.com.  Leah Abramowitz wrote “How to Choose a Doctor” which contains great information.  And additionally, don’t let a parent silence your opinion if you intuitively feel he/she may have a serious health-related issue.  If I had to do it all over again, I would lovingly but firmly deal with Daddy and voice my concerns to any and all of his physicians.

Image Source: CNN.com

by Carol

In our last post Janice shared the deep family tradition that was ingrained in our aging parents. I remember the time my Mother was needing a ride to the clinic (about 25 miles from their home), neither of my sisters were available this one time to drive her. I could not get off from work to drive 125 miles one way to pick her up and drive her to the appointment. So, mom, took the “medical transport van” which picked her up in front of the house, drove her to the clinic, and then back home again.

Several hours after her appointment, I called to make sure she arrived home okay. She did, but not happily. Mom told me she had to wait 2 hours in the waiting room for the bus to come around for her. “I don’t like riding with strangers,” she told me. “They made me wait and I don’t like that either”.

In my mind I knew she did not mind the wait.. but riding with strangers was the thorn in her side. My parents and their siblings were all very close. When growing up, rarely did Mom and Dad have ‘friends’ over to visit, our company was always one their siblings like Uncle Johnnie or Aunt Lucille. That’s the tradition they held onto so dearly, family.. and it was family (the children) who were responsible for their care as they aged.

No hindsight here.. simple fact.

by Janice

Our parents took care of their parents so they expected us to care for them in their elderly years.  My sisters and I described them as being “from the old school.”  Whatever that means.  I just remember hearing a lot about walking five miles in the snow to get to school.  We were reminded frequently that we had it so much better.

Both our parents grew up on a farm, attended school sporadically (Daddy had a 7th to 8th grade education; Mother, a 10th grade) so that they could help with planting crops, picking cotton, chopping, gardening, etc.  Both came from large Catholic families; Daddy, being one of the oldest boys, had to help raise ten younger siblings.  Daddy would often lecture us how he helped his grandfather on the farm, took turns with his brothers spending nights with him.  My maternal grandmother spent three weeks every summer with us when I was growing up, occasionally several weeks during the winter.  When our paternal grandmother started getting frail, our mother (since Daddy was such a sound sleeper) took turns with her in-laws in caring for her mother-in-law from supper to breakfast next morning.  This was a several-year ordeal for our mother since she was still working.

Could it be our parents set an example for us or caregiving on our part was a given–an expectation?  Or a combination of the two, in addition to the fact that most women are known for their capacity as caregivers.  Whatever the explanation, caregiving was an awesome task for us and I’m sure for our parents.  Caregiving for a loved one is more difficult than caring for someone you are not related to.  At least, that’s what I have been told by a caregiver who, not only cared for her elderly parents, but is currently employed for several years by a health care organization as a caregiver.

Hindsight on my part (Janice’s) would be to make time for yourselves, take breaks, hire someone to assist you.  Please get siblings involved if at all possible.  I’m so thankful my sisters participated wholeheartedly in this process.

by Carol - I wish to this day that during the time of caring for mom and dad to have been wealthier during the family caregiving process. Not for my selfish reasons, although I would have enjoyed being rich, but mostly because having the money to properly care for my parents. My sisters and I would have hired more outside help from home care agencies for respite.

Caregiving is a tremendously stressful undertaking. As Janice mentions above.. get help and ask for support. Contact churches in your local area - typically they have volunteers who give support to families in need. Also visit Faith in Action, they provide volunteer caregiving services for their neighbors in need.

by Janice

Mother changed her view of parenting at some point.  I’m not exactly sure of her age when she underwent this transformation.  I remember thinking to myself Mother is “into herself” now.  Perhaps, it occurred after her heart surgery at 79 or even earlier–when she began experiencing issues with her heart.

In our early adult years, my sisters and I often commented that Mother put us before herself, before Daddy.  Her focus, her life was her children.  It seemed that she lived through us.  A close cousin made the same comment to me.  Don’t get me wrong, she had interests, hobbies but these focused around providing for her family’s wants and needs. She loved to cook, bake, sew, can pickles-green beans-beets-tomatoes-cabbage.  She was an outstanding Czech cook and proficient seamstress.  Suits ended up tailored and lined.  Mother made our clothes growing up and even into my teaching years, she sewed most of my clothes–including my sisters.  On the occasions when we went shopping with Mother, she would select material for us, purchase or point out an item that would complement our homes, go antiquing with us–the sisters’ hobby.

But all that changed in her 70’s and I was taken aback.  I don’t recall discussing it with my sisters.  I felt sad in a way and realizing that I was being selfish, I kept it to myself.  Now, if we discussed clothes, Mother talked about dresses she would select for herself.  When we went shopping, she chose clothes or material or pieces of furniture for herself.  She began having an interest in purchasing fine jewelry.  If Daddy bought her a ring she did not like, she’d make remarks like:  “I’ve been with you this long and this is all I’m worth?” She would take the piece of jewelry with Daddy in tow, return it, keep him of course, and exchange it for something nicer.

I guess it was time she realized there was more to life than being a mother, a wife. She was her own person, an individual with her own needs and desires and interests. Now looking back, I wish I had talked with her about this shift in her attitude and how proud I was of her in taking such an interest in herself, of taking a stance and demanding the best, of respecting herself. I sorely miss having that conversation with her.

by Carol

When I came home on weekends to help Mom and Dad, I often thought.. do I really know what their wishes are on how to live out the last few years of their life? I never asked. I assumed that we would deal with it one day at a time as things, issues, concerns came up.

They did.

Those concerns blasted us, like the time Dad was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s disease and Mother had a major stroke. These were the things the family and my parents never talked about. If the thought of “senior emergency” or “senior event” past through our minds, I believe they were brushed away.

What I want to leave you with when reading this post is PREPARE. Ask the tough questions to yourself, your parents, and the siblings. Make a plan. There are many books out there on the market that are very reliable and useful. Pick one. If you have a difficult time making a selection for one, please contact me here in the comment section. I read all comments and will be happy to give you further instructions.

This is my hindsight and recommendation.