Tag Archives: Everyday Life

Daddy & Larry

13 Tuesday Oct 2009

Posted by in Life at Home

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Daddy was sitting with the aides in the dining room when we arrived today. He saw us before Jon and I saw him.  And while I’d like to think Daddy was watching for our arrival, that might be going a bit far.  But expected or not, Daddy was all smiles, and it was good to arrive to Daddy’s big smile.

We quickly stole Daddy away from his aides, wheeling him toward the bedroom, that for the last six weeks, Daddy has shared with Larry.  Larry probably knows Daddy as good as anyone these days.  Paralyzed from the waist down for the last twenty years, Larry observes life from flat on his back. 

About a month ago, Larry motioned me to his bedside with a whisper:

“How old is your father”?
“Seventy-nine.”.
“Is that all?”  “That’s MY age.  I thought your Dad was an old man.” 

Old is a relative term I’ve learning and age is only one indicator of the state of old.  Today I learned that even the young-old like Larry (versus the old-old like Daddy) want to be useful, even if paralyzed from the waist down.  So today, while Dad and Jon were watching Bonanza, Larry caught my attention for a bedside conferernce.  And what I got was a brief of Daddy’s nocturnal wanderings.  After the report was in, I found myself admitting my worry about Daddy’s wandering ways; and then confidentially, Larry whispered that he worries about Daddy too.

It seems Daddy has become Larry’s  new found purpose in life.  Working under cover (literally), Larry watches Daddy’s every prohibited move,  everytime Daddy gets it in his demented mind to use his shaky, almost useless legs to get around.  I don’t think Daddy has a clue that Larry is spying on him.  And to Larry’s credit — he’s  becoming a pretty good informant.   He told Christi on Sunday about Daddy’s doings.   And then told the nursing home staff what Daddy was up to when Daddy fell last night.  And today, he was telling me about both.  

Daddy couldn’t ask for a better protector.  Because Larry has a handle on reality where Daddy, even in his better days, lived life in his own little dream world.  Larry is paralyzed and knows it.  Daddy is practically paralyzed and doesn’t know it.  Larry is clear-minded where in a state of dementia, Daddy lives in a fog.  Case in point:  Today at 4:30, I called Christi at work to let Daddy hear her Tuesday dog report.   Fifteen minutes later, just as Jon and I were getting ready to leave, Daddy stalls our departure by  asking me where Christi is.  My mother would have yelled at Daddy for such a silly question — Jack, don’t YOU remember, YOU just talked to Christi a few minutes ago!  Yelling’s not my thing.  I simply answer Dad’s question, by telling Daddy that Christi is at work — as if Daddy’s asking is the most natural thing in the world for him to do.   

On our way out, Larry asks my brother to open the privacy curtain that divides Larry’s space from Daddy’s.  Meanwhile, out in the hallway, I just smile.  With Dad’s family out of the picture, Larry is back on the job, trying to protect Daddy from Daddy.  And with Larry preferring truth to fiction, when do I warn Larry he’s taking on Mission Impossible?

And all shall be well…

12 Monday Oct 2009

Posted by in Life at Home, Prayer, Soul Care

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One of my favorite quotations comes from the writings of English mystic Julian of Norwich:  “…All shall be well, and all shall be well and all manner of thing shall be well.”

In any day, life hiccups and things go bump in the night.  But over the course of a lifetime, all does indeed become well.

And so it seems is Max, who gave us quite a scare yesterday.  Max is home now, after a battery of tests and after more than a little stress to this poodle mom.  Yesteday the vet had no clue what could be the source of Max’s latest malady.  Today the official diagnosis is Addison’s, which means Max’s body manufactures no cortisone.  Yes, none.  Did it stop all at once?  Was the cortisone spigot operating on Friday noon and turned off six hours later?  That’s how quick it seemed to happen.  One moment Max is his bouncy self; the next a limp rag.

I really try not to worry over that which I’ve no control.  Sometimes this is easier said than done, like last night.  I woke up in the dead of night to remember Max.  And before drifting back to sleep, I whispered a quick prayer.  And even though it was brief, I told God exactly what I wanted for Max; none of this ‘thy will be done’ business. 

I wish I could have the faith of St. Julian that all shall be well.  Then I wouldn’t feel this need to give God a helping hand with shaping answers to my prayers.  Maybe that’s why I prefer, or maybe why I feel I am at my best, when I pray without words.

When I pray with words, I’m slumming.  But not so with Julian.  Her words, like the poets, soar.  And they help lift me up — out of the slum of my own words — to  heaven, I guess.  And God, I hope.

And ushered into the presence of God, with love in my eyes and no words on the tongue, here is the part where I thank God that Max will soon be all well.  God’s good at reading minds and hearts.   

Bone Chills

11 Sunday Oct 2009

Posted by in Life at Home, The Great Outdoors

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Our cold and damp weather reminds me of cold winter days in south Texas.  Because of high humidity, a  mid-forty temperature ‘down there’ feels just as cold as below freezing temperatures do here in central Oklahoma.  This holds true even when a frigid wind whips down the plain.  But no matter where, I am chilled to the bone by a cold damp day.  

Today we took Max to a veterinary emergency clinic.  Laying on the cold floor of the waiting room, Max too was chilled to the bone.  His chills sent me out to the car to retrieve a comfy old afghan for Max to lay on.  Our mild-manner poodle boy has been listless and limp for the last thirty-six hours.  Just like a baby, the health of this particular dog goes down fast and usually, bounces back just as fast.  But not so this time.

Usually it’s me that makes the call that it’s time for the vet.  Even when raising children, my husband rarely thought the kids were sick enough to take to the pediatrician.  But today,  like a good wife, I planted the seed that it might be vet time for Max.  When I gave my husband a choice to wait or make the call, he chose to wait.  An hour later, I pulled out the seed a second time, this time leaving less room for choice.  In talking it over, we discovered  my husband had misunderstood me the first time;  he thought we were waiting for a call from our regular vet.  Lord have mercy.  Will my husband and I ever communicate well? 

The scary news on Max is that after blood and urine work, the on-call vet doesn’t know the source of Max’s illness.  What they do know is that Max is dehydrated and that the blood test seems to point to kidney disease.  An ultrasound may reveal the cause, but the doctor advised us to wait until Max is hydrated before running the test.  So we left our sad poodle boy to the experts for an overnight stay, to see if they can make Max all well again.

This dog of ours has faced and overcome so many health issues in his young life.  And I wonder, as my eyes tear up, if Max can fight off another claim on his precious life.  In the quiet of the waiting room, I noticed that my husband was no longer reading his book.  When I ask him to share his thoughts, I find that he too is trying to wrap his mind around the diagnosis called kidney disease and wondering where this will take us.  And Max. 

But no matter where, I am chilled to the bone at the scary words ‘kidney disease’ and the mere thought of losing this poodle boy of ours.  On this point, my husband and I are of one mind.  No words are needed.