“That Must Be Challenging”

Some people have noticed my absence of blog posts for a while and worried that there was a crisis with my folks.  There has been personal heartbreak and anxiety over loss of a family member, and it continues, but it’s not directly related to my parents. Thank you for caring. What I am learning about loss of control is a different perspective that came in handy over the past weekend.

In the midst of a really shitty time, my father emailed me to guilt me out about not visiting – his computer skills functioning nicely at age 90. After agonizing about how to deal with yet another trip, I realized I didn’t have to do it alone. My cousin came to the rescue. She’s calm, she’s a physical therapist who is used to cranky seniors who fall down, and she’s fun. I had someone to witness the chaos, help me shuttle them around, and make me laugh. My mother screamed less and tried to have conversations about things other than bad health care. A trip I dreaded became a comedy sitcom through another set of eyes. Thank you Marian. Although your choice of beer is abysmal, slurping Coors Light at the Santee drive-in theatre was indeed a special evening.

I’ve had a few therapy sessions, a self-imposed intervention that was probably overdue to help me navigate lots of stress. I asked for practical tips to help me deflect the torrent of complaints and tirades from my parents that usually make me try to fix their lives. Here’s what I said whenever I was tempted to engage:

• “Gosh, that sounds hard.”
• “I’m sorry to hear that you are frustrated.”
• “That must be very challenging.”

No questions from me about what to do next. No offers to help. No reminders that they need to move. Just simple reflections back so they know I heard them. I honestly didn’t think it would work – they’re too smart, they resist psychobabble, and they don’t like sympathy.  It worked superbly. It calmed me down, and I didn’t feel the need to take one single item to the Goodwill bin.

There really isn’t any change to report on their status. They are shaping their own destiny. I’m gaining back my sense of humor. Sometimes you just need to get kicked and not kick back.

Lessons from the Handyman

Of course now that I’m leaving tomorrow I finally found a fast, alcohol-free wireless connection – at Von’s Supermarket, open until midnight, hooray. That was yesterday’s success, along with convincing my parents to go out to dinner. We went late so their volume wouldn’t annoy other diners. The restaurant supplied free birthday desserts, everyone was happy.

This morning we had another visit from Terry, the contractor who came yesterday to fix the kitchen florescent lights held together with scotch tape. He returned to unclog the shower drain and leaky toilet that I discovered – Dad was oblivious to water pooling at his toes. Terry is a miracle worker. He created a word-of-mouth market niche for his services among the elderly ladies attending water aerobics classes at the Y. My mother used to attend when she was more mobile – and now, the women have all died except for her. Anyway, Terry developed a reputation for fast, honest repairs at a fair price – no advertising needed. He comes on holidays and weekends at no extra fee. He’s licensed. He’s the only guy my Dad trusts to come into the house to help with projects.

I watched Terry in action – he spoke slowly and loudly, he asked my father’s opinion even though he clearly didn’t need it, and he respected Dad’s knowledge about tools. He told me he fully understands the hoarding instinct, and he knows when to back off to avoid offending folks. His own father, now deceased, had traits similar to my Dad’s quirks. He helps the geriatric set, below cost, because he feels it’s giving back. He even let me throw decaying plastic pots into his truck (while he distracted Dad with chit chat).

Terry refused payment today – however but he did want something. He wanted the never-worn pith helmet. He was eyeing it yesterday when all the men were bonding in the garage, but knew my mother was getting upset about the upheaval in her world so he backed off. My father was more than happy to gift it to him – along with an ancient battery charger (yes, it still works).

I thought about Terry while wandering the beach roads this afternoon. I am humbled by his attitude, and hope that his karma will help me deal with this increasingly stressful situation with more grace. Many of you have commented that reading my blog brings on laughter along with tears. Thank you for recognizing my writing efforts and my need to smile through the pain. Attached is a picture of Terry and Sidney – kindred spirits.

So Many Surprises

Here are some of the things that went into the dump truck early this morning: IV poles (formerly used to hold up the garage door when it broke), moldy suitcases, ripped lawn chairs, typewriters, tripods, rusty microwave ovens, file cabinets, a large steel desk, aluminum milk crates, fans, heaters, kitchen chairs that lost their legs, and a never-used pith helmet. I told my father I paid the guy $100 to haul it all away (it was actually $200). My mother was still sulking and stayed in bed, screeching “don’t let her get away with this!”

My father ambled out to meet all the neighbors who showed up to try to take his tools – nice, middle-aged guys I had never met until today. They saw the open garage with treasures spilling out, and the giant truck, and they must have figured that everyone finally died and it was time for plunder. Now while I do consider poisoning my parents while they sleep, I haven’t acted on it. And the only stuff I actually want to keep is my Dad’s tools – there are at least 2 men I know who have been salivating over the tool stash for years (you know who you are). So I grabbed back the ancient hammers and redirected the guys to the ample supply of light bulbs.

After the truck groaned up the hill, I took a long shower and left for the rest of the day, with a stop at Goodwill to offload a broken record player and thousands of vacation slides. I saw some parts of coastal San Diego I had never visited, even though I lived here for a time, and appreciated the views and the sunny breeze. I pondered how my parents are going senile in very different ways – he is becoming forgetful and transient, she is bitter and angry – not really with me, I recognize. She is hostile about aging and losing her mental grip, and who can blame her?

I went to yet another bar – the hunt for a wireless connection plus happy hour bargains is turning me into a lush – and found a garbage bin to dump the many expired pill bottles I rounded up last night. Old drugs are supposed to be disposed to a safe place, I know, but it was either the bin or flushing them down the toilet, and I don’t trust their plumbing.

So Many Mysteries

1. Why is it that my folks are stone deaf unless it’s convenient that they’re not? They argued loudly in the doctor’s waiting room this morning about the cost of their prescriptions, the Medicare donut hole policy, the stupidity of Republicans, why are there so many obese people, etc. – was I mortified? Yes. Was everyone else amused? Mostly – not the fat people. My mother’s eye is doing great, by the way. Her social skills are still terrible.
2. Why was there a pile of hamburger buns on the living room floor, and in the middle of it, a bound copy of my Master’s thesis from 1984? A connection between the two, I cannot fathom. Then again, my topic was adolescent decision-making skills and my parents are rapidly regressing to children.

3. Why are there so many metal chairs in the backyard? I arranged for a guy with a truck to come tomorrow morning to take away the rusting yard furniture, most of it more than 25 years old and broken. This of course started a nasty argument in the parking lot of Costco over what was junk and what was “salvageable with a little paint.” Then they used the bathroom in the Tire Store, leading to my father bemoaning that he no longer had a car and missed the smell of rubber. Yes, I felt guilty about the removal of his driver’s license, and no, I did not confess my role. See picture of Dad nodding off by the Costco watermelons, waiting for his Rx to be filled.

4. Why do they need to take home the half-eaten bread, the pats of butter, and all the unused napkins when we go to a restaurant? That depression-era mentality is amazing. The new items are going to fill up the spaces I created last night as I attempted to dig through the mess – it’s sad that my impact is so short-lived.

5. Why are there no wireless connections in this town unless I go to a bar? The neighbor clued me in to a new pub – which actually serves great Buffalo chicken wings. That cheered me up. I’m now going to swim laps in the local YMCA pool – it’s 90 degrees out, I’m greasy, and I’m avoiding going back to their house until the cover of darkness when I can clean again.

Just came back to more screaming – it was intolerable – so I left to go to the local drive-in theatre for some nostalgia and fantasy. Last time I saw a drive-in movie I was 10!

So Many Layers

I’m back in San Diego, the stories start again. Mom got a virectomy on her eye this morning to clear up the debris floating around from prior surgeries (outpatient, done with lasers to remove cataract remnants and vitreous floaters). A strange historical moment: the Scripps Mercy admitting nurse handing my 90-year old mother a Fujitsu tablet and asking her to tap consent into the Electronic Medical Record system -- Mom's first high tech experience. I had faith in her surgeon's attention to detail because he noticed my many bruises and asked if I was okay (I fell off a ladder recently – the garage looks good, I don’t.) Today is Mom’s actual birthday. After surgery was over, the medical staff decorated her with a giant banner like a beauty queen; I promptly posted the picture on Facebook to rave reviews. Considering all the things that might have gone wrong, the procedure was quite the success. We celebrated with takeout deli and cheesecake (not at all diabetic-compliant).

Afterwards, I took advantage of my mother’s lack of sight and my father’s exhaustion to throw out rotting fruit, stale Halloween candy and assorted artifacts. Did you know that overripe bananas explode when disturbed? I tossed hundreds of magazines in the recycle bin and discovered the mystery cache of soda cans that my father was planning to turn in for a reward. After ants started to crawl up my legs, I needed a sanity break at Santee’s newest hip hideout – the local microbrewery. It’s 5 minutes away, it has decent beer, but alas, with no wifi connection, it’s not such a find. I’m back sitting in a lawn chair on the driveway, hacking into the neighbor’s connection. I bought my father a year’s supply of kitchen garbage bags, which was an exciting product discovery – he’s been taping together plastic grocery sacks for decades. His 90th birthday is this Sunday, so that might be his present.

Another action-packed day is planned for tomorrow with appointments and errands. I am determined to eliminate the rusty lawn furniture in the back yard, wish me luck.

When Mom Pees Blue

We had the long awaited healthcare crisis a few days ago, when my mother was taken to the hospital for dehydration and diarrhea. I was actually relieved, since I thought she would finally trigger an all-out community alert for quick transfer to the nearest skilled nursing facility. No such luck; they pumped her up with fluid and sent her home. She complained endlessly about everyone’s stupidity, then called me in a panic as she noticed her urine was blue. I alerted her nurse case manager. I Googled side effects of antibiotics. I wondered if my father was poisoning her. Well, guess what. They now have a weekly house cleaner – who scrubbed the toilet with blue liquid cleanser. And then didn’t flush it.

Medical mystery solved, leading to the next problem – Mom lost a molar crown when she finally started eating again after a week of milkshakes. She carefully put the remnants in a cup on the kitchen table, and then it disappeared under the mounds of crumbling coupons, never to be seen again. It’s unlikely that the dentist would have wanted to re-glue the pieces, but that doesn’t matter. Why waste a perfectly good piece of porcelain? Now Mom and Dad match – he lost a crown 6 months ago and refuses to get it fixed – why bother spending money on dental care when he doesn’t like to smile.

I’m dealing with my own dental issues, and I just checked my urine, and this is making me even more paranoid about aging.

Can You Hear Me Now?

I just completed a short visit to my parents, looped onto a business trip.  As soon as I arrived I had to wire and install speakers in their bedroom. They've been waiting months for me to do it. The speakers looked vaguely familiar. I realized that I bought them in 1972, when in high school. I listened to Iron Butterfly and Supertramp on those walnut veneer speakers. They've been dropped a few dozen times over the decades, are chipped and dusty, yet apparently still work. Do you think your Kindle will function 40 years from now?

It gets better. My Dad agreed to have me sell his 212 record albums, which he thought he fairly valued at $1 each. Well that’s not quite how it works . . . I’ve been researching this for a while and I finally found a place that gave me $21 for the pile, hmm, about 10 cents per album. Despite bringing them to the gayest neighborhood in San Diego, all those show tune soundtracks from the 1960’s were not so desirable. Note that Dad carefully blacked out all the “promotional – not for sale” labels on the albums that he got for free back when my brother was a deejay. He didn’t want to get in trouble with the music police.

I was tempted to find a slide rule to calculate my commission - however Dad graciously let me keep the proceeds. I realized flying home tonight that my own music system is more than 20 years old and I’m still using my speakers as furniture (thanks Bob, for that nostalgic trigger).  So I’m going to buy a new setup tomorrow. Not succumbing to genetics this time, no way!