To Laugh or Cry - Part 3

Yesterday was a 7 hour marathon of laundry. Their bed linens fell apart when I removed them. The washer’s spin cycle doesn’t work, requiring each sopping load to go through the dryer 3 times. I saw certain things that may scar me for life. Since my mother cleaned up my shit 55 years ago, I returned the favor. Enough said about that.

Today was a series of trips going back and forth, including a doctor visit to find out that my mother has a bad eye infection, but isn’t really going blind - yet. She complained loudly in the waiting room about health care and Republicans, and when there was no response, she complained about apathetic voters.

I took advantage of my father’s woozy state on pain drugs to strike a deal. If he would let me take away his ancient, heavy vacuum cleaner, I would drive him to Costco to get a decent one, and then I would return the flimsy one my brother bought last week, He held out for Fry’s Electronics, his former sanctuary. I tried to throw in 2 of 3 plugged up electric brooms. He offered up a broken sponge mop. As a skilled negotiator, I knew when to fold. Sort of.

Those who have already seen the photo know what happened next. I frantically stuffed every broken appliance I could find into the rental car while he was in the bathroom. Plus an assortment of crumpled hoses. It was like that old TV show where people grabbed as many items as possible in their shopping carts. I was so excited that I forgot to close the car door and things started falling out as I drove down the street. I found the neighborhood electronics recycling center, and quickly unloaded everything onto a dock while his head was down.

Then, in a sudden rainstorm, off we went 20 miles away to Fry’s. As we pondered the array of choices, a friendly shopper said, “hey, you know you can get these 2 models for half price at a local discount store in Santee – plus I have a 25% off coupon you can use.” This guy told me he lived in Arizona, was visiting his elderly mother in Santee, and was running around trying to make her happy. If I had time, I would have taken him out for a drink. Anyway, Dad immediately insisted we drive back all the way to Santee in rush hour traffic, where he gleefully bought a vacuum that was a DEAL. It’s unlikely he will ever take it out of the box.

P.S. My rental car is full of clumps of dirt; ironically I have no way to clean it.

To Laugh or Cry - Part 2

The family conference call took place and was reasonably successful. Eight of us took turns explaining our perspective about how aging sucks; my 29-year old nephew being the most coherent. Meals on Wheels starts on Monday 3 times/week, and maybe my Dad will let them past the front door.

I’m now in San Diego, sleeping in a private room at a youth hostel close to Ocean Beach, complete with aging surfers, yogurt smoothies, and happy dogs running on the sand. The hostel has a giant monitor lizard basking in the common area. I’m hiding out here until Tuesday. It’s a friendly and clean place for $40/night. I love hostels.

I drive to my parents’ house each day at 11 am, which is when they wake up. They live in a soul-less suburb with giant RVs and many fast food choices. My mother is going deaf and blind, screaming at my father constantly because she is having anxiety attacks. My father sleeps a lot, partly from being on Vicodin after his recent surgery and partly to escape my mother. I drove him 20 miles today to get ink cartridge refills for his ancient printer, just so he could get a break.

I have been trying to scrub decades of dirt and dust, with minimal success. Since my brother tried to vacuum last week, I chose other challenges. Their toilet broke this morning – according to my father, because my mother plugs it up with paper. According to my mother, because my father keeps forgetting to throw bleach into it to kill the tree roots. They keep each other alive by goading each other. Their daily highlight is getting the mail and perusing the coupons for deals they will never use.

I was keeping it together, stoically running errands and pretty much ignoring their symbiotic routine. Until I talked to the neighbor who drives my Dad to the grocery store each week. She told me that he teases her about coloring her hair, telling her “you should let it go silver like my daughter, who is proud and beautiful.” Then I lost it, because he would never directly say that to me. That nice lady had no idea why I ran out of her living room.

I tried to go swimming to revert back to the womb, however the local pool was closed. My sanity was saved by having dinner with a friend, he gave me a big hug and we drank lots of wine. Tomorrow morning I’m going to walk the pier to clear my head, drive out to Santee, and start the fun all over again.

See photo of my "survival pack" - whistles for my parents to blow at each other, a bell to ring instead of yell, and a panic button that emits a howling scream (for me).

To Laugh or Cry – Part 1

Well it’s time to check on the supply of crusty ketchup packets, so I’m heading down to Santee in a few days. Also, my father is having hernia surgery, which is normally minor but in an 89-year old, not so simple. My brother is already there, having a mental breakdown. His only real role is to provide transit for errands, deposit my Dad at the hospital, and remember to pick him up. Then he leaves town and I show up a few hours afterwards (yes, scheduled that way on purpose). Unfortunately, the rental car company flaked out, he couldn’t get a car for another day, he had no idea how to use light rail transit (a suburban New Yorker with little awareness that such things exist), and he asked me to assist. My first mistake was that I did help – I got hold of a supervisor, I threw a hissy fit about elderly folks at risk, I called the neighbor, etc. Ultimately it worked out. I also asked my nephew to step up and be the adult in the family, since the rest of us are bad at it.

Mistake #2: I checked back today to find out that my brother tried to get rid of the six non-working vacuum cleaners and bought a new one from the local Walmart. Faithful readers, you all understand what a major snafu that was – my Dad insisted that a little more duct tape would solve the problem, refusing to open the new ecologically sensitive unit, and saying that no one could see the dust anyway. Especially my mother, who is losing her sight in her remaining good eye, freaking out with anxiety attacks, and insisting that my father is trying to kill her. I’m thinking that there isn’t room for any more electrical cords to be used as curtains, and maybe my Dad got the hernia from trying to relocate them.

There’s a conference call on Wednesday with my parents, the case manager, the social worker, me, my brother, and my cousin Mike, who is the only semi-balanced one in the extended family. I helped set it up as an intervention to try to get some home care, Meals on Wheels, and miscellaneous resources in place. I don’t expect miracles, and I had to tutor my brother on how to “”dial” the passcode.

I got a massage this afternoon, which was first smart thing I’ve done lately. Well, the second. The first was not going skiing yesterday and not getting caught in an avalanche, but that’s another story. For some strange reason, during the massage I thought a lot about my maternal grandmother, who died when I was 15. She’s trying to tell me something important, but I don’t know what it is.

Things are tense.