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.

Freezer Burn

During my recent visit, my father bragged about the kitchen appliances holding up after 26 years – “perfectly good shape, even though not very efficient” – and would not need replacing until after his death. Judging by the amount of meat carefully wrapped, hermetically sealed and labeled in their freezer (see picture), there is no need to shop for a decade. Well guess what. The refrigerator/freezer died last week. And he didn’t. In a burst of energy, Dad went door to door dividing up his stash with the neighbors for safekeeping. Then he convinced someone to take him to the nearest store to buy a new one – no comparison shopping, no coupons, no discussion with my mother. He found the dinged, dented, lowest cost model, had it delivered the next day and the old one hauled off.

My mother only realized something was amiss when she noticed how clean the refrigerator was and that it seemed organized. She also noticed it was white – the old one was beige – since my Dad is color blind, it never occurred to him that color would matter. Well, hey, it does match the tiled counter, which in theory is white but no one knows for sure because of all the debris piled on top.

I wonder if all those crusty packets of ketchup and mustard made it to the new vegetable bin. I’m guessing that they survived and will be there at my next visit. I’ll be sure to check.

Shopping for Necessities

My saintly errands today included taking my mother for a hair (and eyebrow) trim. I hauled my father to the DMV where he turned in his drivers license to get a senior ID instead (the final act of the automobile saga and my guilty but necessary role to remove him from the roads). I kept his license as a memento. He told the clerk that I was a good driver and he taught me how to be careful – OMG, probably not the time to mention I recently smashed up my front bumper, eh? Hey, I hear you all laughing, stop that. Then we went to the tool discount warehouse in the ghetto of El Cajon -- I understood that he needed to wander the aisles of manhood.

Dad found cheap amplifiers to wear in his decaying ears since he refuses to spend money on a hearing aid. My mother couldn’t navigate the steps so she went next door to the military surplus store, where she inspected the ammo and tried on hats to replace the ones I threw out on my last visit. I took her back to the car before she tried to bargain for used uniforms, and she proudly showed me her turquoise socks that had the initials of KV on the cuffs. I recognized those socks – they were mine, from 8th grade.

Tomorrow I will be transporting them to their doctor, who will tell me that they are obstinate, and I will meet their home health nurse, who will tell me that they are challenging. Then I will somehow find my way to a large margarita before escaping. I will fly back to my beautiful home, where I just learned that my cats peed and pooped all over my guest bed – and possibly mine. Feline acting out behavior for their own parental issues.

Buffet Bonanza

Sooner or later I had to come back to Santee to visit my parents, so I wrapped it into a work trip and came here to observe their latest status. I finally got smart and stayed in a hotel rather than their house. The hotel is the only one in town, next to Honey Donuts and the crack district -- the room is $59/night and worth every penny. It’s blissfully quiet with a fast Internet connection.

We had dinner at Hometown Buffet, a suburban mecca of overcooked and bland food, to belatedly celebrate their 89th birthdays. For the last 15 years my father told people he was about to turn 90. Now it’s true – and he’s changed his line to “I’m about to turn 100.” God forbid. My dietician friend Julie thinks the preservatives my parents are ingesting are keeping them alive beyond their natural expiration dates. Based on the spread I saw tonight, it’s a valid theory.

They had respective birthday 2-for-1 coupons, senior discount coupons, and promo coupons. Some were valid, some expired. My father tried to combine all the coupons for free food along with a dozen takeout cartons. My mother insisted that 3 other people could have been there with us to justify the discounts, but they didn’t show up. And with horror, I realized there is a strong genetic component to my love of a good deal and my negotiation skills.

After the feast (which I barely ate), my father assembled the walker for my mother and carefully pulled it behind him, huffing and puffing. The only problem was that Mom wasn’t attached to it – she was still at the dessert table, stuffing cookies into her purse.

When Blogs Collide (cross-posted)

My 89-year old father figured out how to use LinkedIn – he clicked on a hyperlink and read my profile. He was surprised that I had done so much since college (okay Dad, I’m almost 55 years old, I should have pursued a few things related to work . . .) seriously it was really sweet when he told me he was proud of my career achievements. Some people never get to hear that from their parents. He doesn’t quite get the nuances of how I made a living for the last few decades, nor why I have no pension plan. He is however, very happy that I finally got a job, and that it is with a company he has actually heard of – because they have screwed up his insurance claims. The dots connect.