I know it's been a long time since I've written. So to those of you who look for my posts and have been encouraging me to write, thanks for caring and for reading!
God has been teaching me a lot in the past few months, and I've decided to share two of those lessons here.
Lesson One:
The past year was full of change for me. In a 12-month period I lost my job, left my church of 25 years, moved out of my apartment and into my friends' basement, job-hunted, felt called by God to serve my grandmother, purchased a house, moved out of my friends' basement, moved my grandma in with me, began attending a new church, joined a care group at my church, began volunteering with the youth in my church and throughout all that transition went through the ups and downs of some health worries without health insurance. Also during the past year one of my best friends got married and moved across the state and one of my other closest friends left to travel the world for a few months before settling in to serve at an orphanage in Peru for a while. So I found myself in a new place in life with an ever-smaller circle of the people I was most used to depending on for companionship, encouragement and advice. This winter I sunk into a pit of feeling discouraged, isolated and terribly alone. And there in the dark hours of my soul as I poured out my heart to God, I encountered him in a deeper way then ever before. I learned that there are times when he is the only one I can turn to for companionship (he will never leave me or forsake me), encouragement (he is gentler to me than I sometimes imagine and yet lovingly speaks truth to my heart when its perceptions are distorted by pain), and wisdom (he gives it freely to those who seek his heart and his will). I can't be simplistic and tell you that I don't need anyone but him, because I do believe that he created humans with the need to interact with others, and I'm thankful for the new friendships that I have been [slowly] building within my care group at church. But I will say this: God is the One who sustains me. Others may come and go but he is the one who guides my steps, guards my path and gives me those things that I truly need for the journey I am on.
Lesson Two:
Working with Gram has been one of the hardest things I've ever undertaken to do. It involves a complete giving over of myself to the needs of another (yeah, yeah, I can just imagine all you moms out there smiling wrily and arching one eyebrow, nonplussed). I have felt at times like my individual self was ceasing to exist and instead Gram permeates my thoughts, my actions, my wakefulness and my sleep. Every morning is full of getting her up and ready and every evening is full of getting her ready for bed and to sleep. My days, nights, sentences, thoughts, prayers and dreams are interrupted by the dull tweet of her whistle. It has been hard to let go of me and the time that I want to claim as mine (8 hours straight at night, for instance, or showers in the morning, or even time with the Lord in the morning). I am seeing my true rudeness and selfishness come out when I am awakened in the middle of the night to listen to apparently pointless and senseless ramblings from her confused mind. But I'm growing and God is giving me victory in small areas as I learn to see Grandma as he sees her, as I learn to speak gently rather than exasperatedly in the middle of the night, and as I learn to cheerfully and graciously clean up another's messes. I think the hardest thing for me has been the fact that often Gram misperceives my actions and intent. There are times when she grows suspicious of my actions and thinks I am taking her things, lying to her, ignoring her or even treating her roughly. This has been hard because in the beginning I believed that the whole point of this endeavor was for me to improve Gram's "quality of life" by caring for her and showing her love. So if she was going to believe that her caregiver was horrible or abusive it would be far better for her if she thought those things about a stranger than about her granddaughter who should be a source of love and encouragement to her. But with wise friends reminding me that it was clearly God who led me to this place in life, I'm realizing that perhaps his plan for this time is different than my plan for it. If it were true that the value of my service were found in Gram's perception of it or reception of it, then it is a futile task indeed--unappreciated, misunderstood and soon to be forgotten. I now believe that the value of what I am doing doesn't lie in Gram alone. Jesus taught that the things we do for the hurting souls of the world he accepts as service unto him. He sees every interaction I have with my Grandma--gracious and otherwise--and what I am doing is valuable not because it is grand or eternally meaningful to her, but because it is offered as a sacrifice of obedience to HIM! This lesson has deep and far-reaching implications in my heart, but it is very difficult to articulate. Suffice it to say that I am learning that my time with Grandma is not only about HER, but it is also about an amazing God who is using this opportunity in my life as a way to teach me and mold my character.
Showing posts with label grandma. Show all posts
Showing posts with label grandma. Show all posts
Saturday, April 25, 2009
Sunday, October 5, 2008
What?
Grandma was taking a nap in armchair in her bedroom. I went and awakened her to give her some pills. The first strange thing was that she would hold her straw cup about an inch away from her mouth and then make a sucking motion with her lips, like she thought she could get it from there. I helped her put the straw in her mouth, realizing that since the pills were a little late, her motor skills might not be at their best. Meanwhile I told her about working in the yard in the rain and how now I was cold and my shoulder hurt. She dropped some of her pills and I picked them up and watched carefully until they were all swallowed. I figured it would be best for her not to keep napping if she wanted to sleep well tonight, and so I asked her if she wanted me to turn on the TV in her room.
"You better not do that," she said in an ominous voice. I looked at her and couldn't tell if she was joking or serious.
"You don't want to watch TV right now?" I asked her. "Are you thinking of going back to sleep?"
"No, I need to be holy." Again I was confused, wondering if she suddenly thought that Murder She Wrote and Matlock were somehow evil. Then she followed with, "I need to do some holy work." What? Did she mean she wanted to read her Bible? I was so confused.
"What kind of holy work do you need to do?" I asked.
"Well....I need to.....what does he do?" she fumbled.
"Who is he?"
"You know, him. Uh....."
I waited for her to think of the name.
"Galen," she finished.
"Are you aking what my dad does for work?" I tried to clarify her question.
"He drives trucks," she attempted to answer the question herself.
"No, Gram, my dad does Payroll for Multnomah."
"Oh, but he works with the trucks and the cars," she offered.
At this I had to chuckle, "No Gram, Dad doesn't do much work on cars."
"Oh." This "oh" sounded very confused.
"Do you want to come hang out with me in the living room?" I invited.
"No, I'll stay here."
"Okay." I figured she was so confused she wouldn't remember what she'd said before about tv, so I tried again. "Do you want me turn the TV on for you while you're in here?"
"No! It's enough of that. We need to mend our ways."
"Umm...okay Gram. No TV for now. Are you hungry or are you still full from the big late lunch?"
"I guess I'm still full, but I don't know why."
"It's probably because you ate almost all of your giant plate of food and you didn't finish eating until mid-afternoon."
She seemed like she was going to fall back asleep. "Do you want to lie down on your bed?" I invited.
"In my bed."
"Do you mean for the night? Do you want to go to bed already for the night?"
"I think I better. I think you want to go to bed now," she replied.
"Nope," I said with forced cheerfulness, "I'll be up for a few hours still. It's just after 7:00."
"Well I better," she persisted.
"Okay, are you sure you don't want food first? A snack or something?"
"No, I'm just real tired."
By now she was seeming a bit more lucid, so I tried to see if she remembered what she had been
saying before.
"Hey Gram, do you know what my dad does for work?"
"He works with math," she answered.
"Yeah, that's right," I figured it was sort of right, "He does math for the Payroll."
"And what do you think about watching TV?" I tried to sound casual.
"I don't think that's a very good idea," she persisted.
"Do you want me to help you up?" I asked her in the midst of getting her ready for bed.
"I don't think you should help me."
"Why not?"
"Well, you worked so hard today, I think I should do something."
"Gram, you don't have to do anything. It was yardwork--so it was cold and tiring--but it wasn't terrible. It gave me a good sense of accomplishment. Besides, I want to be able to help you."
She consented. She finished getting ready for bed and then I helped her into it. We made plans for me to wake her up for her pills at what would normally be her bedtime. I asked her one last time, "Would you like me turn on the TV for you to listen to until you fall asleep?" (You have to understand that it's not so much that I'm a pusher for TV as that I was curious to see if she would persist in her idea that TV was evil and she wasn't going to watch it anymore. But that seemed forgotten.)
"That would be nice," she said. I turned on the tv and put it on her Hallmark channel.
"Good night Gram." I sat on the edge of her bed and rubbed her arm affectionately. "I sure hope you get lots of rest and wake up feeling clearer. You had me a little bit worried earlier."
"I'm sorry."
"That's okay, you just seeemed really confused and it made me wonder what was going on with you." I paused, then continued. "Do you remember what you were saying at all when you were on the recliner?"
"I was talking about your mom."
"You were talking about Dad. You said he was a truck driver."
"I did?"
"Yeah. And then you said you couldn't watch TV because you needed to do holy work and that we needed to mend our ways."
"I said that?" she chuckled incredulously.
"Yep...I'm glad that you think it's funny now. Maybe you were having weird dreams of some sort when I woke you up."
"Huh," she said curiously not confusedly.
"Well, g'night Gram. I love you."
"Thank you honey, I love you too."
I shut her bedroom door and shook my head. "What in the world was all that?"
"You better not do that," she said in an ominous voice. I looked at her and couldn't tell if she was joking or serious.
"You don't want to watch TV right now?" I asked her. "Are you thinking of going back to sleep?"
"No, I need to be holy." Again I was confused, wondering if she suddenly thought that Murder She Wrote and Matlock were somehow evil. Then she followed with, "I need to do some holy work." What? Did she mean she wanted to read her Bible? I was so confused.
"What kind of holy work do you need to do?" I asked.
"Well....I need to.....what does he do?" she fumbled.
"Who is he?"
"You know, him. Uh....."
I waited for her to think of the name.
"Galen," she finished.
"Are you aking what my dad does for work?" I tried to clarify her question.
"He drives trucks," she attempted to answer the question herself.
"No, Gram, my dad does Payroll for Multnomah."
"Oh, but he works with the trucks and the cars," she offered.
At this I had to chuckle, "No Gram, Dad doesn't do much work on cars."
"Oh." This "oh" sounded very confused.
"Do you want to come hang out with me in the living room?" I invited.
"No, I'll stay here."
"Okay." I figured she was so confused she wouldn't remember what she'd said before about tv, so I tried again. "Do you want me turn the TV on for you while you're in here?"
"No! It's enough of that. We need to mend our ways."
"Umm...okay Gram. No TV for now. Are you hungry or are you still full from the big late lunch?"
"I guess I'm still full, but I don't know why."
"It's probably because you ate almost all of your giant plate of food and you didn't finish eating until mid-afternoon."
She seemed like she was going to fall back asleep. "Do you want to lie down on your bed?" I invited.
"In my bed."
"Do you mean for the night? Do you want to go to bed already for the night?"
"I think I better. I think you want to go to bed now," she replied.
"Nope," I said with forced cheerfulness, "I'll be up for a few hours still. It's just after 7:00."
"Well I better," she persisted.
"Okay, are you sure you don't want food first? A snack or something?"
"No, I'm just real tired."
By now she was seeming a bit more lucid, so I tried to see if she remembered what she had been
saying before.
"Hey Gram, do you know what my dad does for work?"
"He works with math," she answered.
"Yeah, that's right," I figured it was sort of right, "He does math for the Payroll."
"And what do you think about watching TV?" I tried to sound casual.
"I don't think that's a very good idea," she persisted.
"Do you want me to help you up?" I asked her in the midst of getting her ready for bed.
"I don't think you should help me."
"Why not?"
"Well, you worked so hard today, I think I should do something."
"Gram, you don't have to do anything. It was yardwork--so it was cold and tiring--but it wasn't terrible. It gave me a good sense of accomplishment. Besides, I want to be able to help you."
She consented. She finished getting ready for bed and then I helped her into it. We made plans for me to wake her up for her pills at what would normally be her bedtime. I asked her one last time, "Would you like me turn on the TV for you to listen to until you fall asleep?" (You have to understand that it's not so much that I'm a pusher for TV as that I was curious to see if she would persist in her idea that TV was evil and she wasn't going to watch it anymore. But that seemed forgotten.)
"That would be nice," she said. I turned on the tv and put it on her Hallmark channel.
"Good night Gram." I sat on the edge of her bed and rubbed her arm affectionately. "I sure hope you get lots of rest and wake up feeling clearer. You had me a little bit worried earlier."
"I'm sorry."
"That's okay, you just seeemed really confused and it made me wonder what was going on with you." I paused, then continued. "Do you remember what you were saying at all when you were on the recliner?"
"I was talking about your mom."
"You were talking about Dad. You said he was a truck driver."
"I did?"
"Yeah. And then you said you couldn't watch TV because you needed to do holy work and that we needed to mend our ways."
"I said that?" she chuckled incredulously.
"Yep...I'm glad that you think it's funny now. Maybe you were having weird dreams of some sort when I woke you up."
"Huh," she said curiously not confusedly.
"Well, g'night Gram. I love you."
"Thank you honey, I love you too."
I shut her bedroom door and shook my head. "What in the world was all that?"
Sunday, September 21, 2008
The Good, The Bad and The Uglies
My computer is back after a couple weeks once again at the brink. I thought I'd catch you up to date with two each of the good, bad and the ugly things you missed out on.
THE GOOD
Most days Grandma is very, very appreciative of my care. It makes it so much easier to serve her when she is thankful for my help instead of resentful for it as many aging people can be, when they don't want to have to be helped. She thanks me frequently throughout the day for little things I do for her, and she thanks God for me in her prayers, which touch me deeply.
Another good thing that happened came from a sorta-bad thing. I have always had weak ankles, but the past couple years have been blessed enough to not have sprained them at all. The other day I was unloading Gram from the car, and just as I was about ready to push her wheelchair up the ramp into the house, my ankle suddenly gave out on me, turning my foot completely onto it's outerside with a big popping sound. It hurt terribly and I could not put any weight on it, but using Gram's wheelchair for support made it much easier to hop up the ramp and through the kitchen doorway which is inches away from the freezer which holds the ice packs. I iced it immediately, which seemed to keep the swelling to a minimum. When I turn my ankle, the pain always is very intense and I can't tell how bad it is until 5-20 minutes later. If it isn't any better it will usually be a bad sprain that can take weeks or even months to heal. I had no clue how I'd be able to support and transport Grandma if that happened. Thankfully, after five minutes I was able to put weight on it and could tell by the limited pain and swelling that it was only a minor twist. I was able to limp around on it that night and the two days since I have been able to walk normally just being careful not to retwist it in its' weakened state. Praise God for preventing it from being a serious sprain!
THE BAD
There was an accident of the most foul-smelling nature that took quite some time to clean up. As it was the first major one since she's been here, it took me a while to figure out how to best clean everything up. And I mean everything. After 2 hours of wiping, washing, and sanitizing...we conquered the mess. But I'm hoping it won't be frequently repeated. At least next time I'll have the process down. :-)
I've been feeling pretty weak, which makes some days very difficult. My appointment with the endocrinologist isn't until mid-October. On top of that, the migraines that have been much less frequent the past few years have resumed (or perhaps even surpassed) the frequency I was accustomed to in college. I've been experiencing intense migraine headaches about every four or five days the past several weeks. Medication doensn't always relieve the pain (not even twice my dose of vicodin!), and when it does work I worry because I have a limited quantity of it and every time I use it I'm closer to running out. Even when the pain goes away I am often nauseaus, which is gross, but I guess it's better than being light and sound sensitive since those symptoms make it much harder for me to help gram than just nausea and malaise. I'm tired of my body and ready for a new one.
THE UGLY
As Gram has expressed dissatisfaction with her hairstyle, I tried to help her with it. I parted it in the middle, and pinned it back on the sides in a cute style that helped cover the areas where her hair is thinning. Well, she didn't like it. "I look haggy," she grumbled as she looked in the mirror. "What does that mean?" I asked. "It means I look like an old hag!" So the next few days instead of styling her hair the way I thought it was cute, I tried to help her style it the way I thought she wanted it (which I don't think is very flattering on her, but I guess it's more important how she feels than how she looks). But even then she was always dissatisfied (even though she sometimes tried to hide that so she won't discourage me). In the end, I gave up helping her as each attempt produced an "ugly hag" look to her eyes. :-) On a positive note, though, I cut her hair the other day and she really really likes the hair cut!
Moving from the mundane to the serious...ugliness number two is my heart. I'm not quite as worried about the discouragement and hopeleness that I sometimes feel. That's just a result of many changes, and the depression and anxiety that have come along with the hyperthyroidism. But what does worry me is the bitterness and resentment that I can feel in my heart sometimes. Tonight I am very frustrated because after coming home from Mindy's birthday dinner at my parents' house, Grandma has spent over two hours getting ready for bed. She is doing all sorts of extra preparations tonight even though I've asked her to be quicker, since I have to wake up at 5:30 on Sundays in order to have time to get myself and then her ready for church. Last week I was nodding and blinking all service long and didn't really hear what the pastor was saying because I was concentrating so hard on staying awake. Gram has insisted that I can go to bed and she'll just put herself to bed just fine--but that doesn't always work out as we hope, and since she has a hard time rousing me from sleep, I want to stay up until she's tucked safely between her sheets. In the meantime, I am so angry with her. I'm exhausted and all I want to do is sleep, but I can't because she's won't go to bed until she puts her curlers in (apparently and hour-and-a-half process that I will ruin of course if I try to help). And because I'm feeling angry at her, I'm now feeling angry with myself for being so impatient and bitter and spiteful right now. She's an old woman who doesn't look the way she wants to look anymore, but has a strong sense of how she should look for church. I chose to care for her so that I could love her and help her and serve her, but sometimes I feel resentful to her for what was my own choice. I don't know that there is any answer to this besides continuing to pray for patience and love. But it is definitely the ugliest part of our situation.
ANOTHER GOOD SO I DON'T END WITH A DOWNER...
It's been fun to get to hear stories from Gram's life. I knew that her dad died when she was 13, but now I know what that was like for her, and I can imagine the happenings of that sad and scary day. Okay, that was a bad example of fun...but I've been able to learn about her relationships with siblings, and the various romances that each have been involved in. I've learned about Gram's various boyfriends, her first fiance, and her later relationship with and marriage to my grandpa. I've heard about her job in a theatre and her job with information at the telephone company before she moved up to the position of operator. She remembers those days vividly, like they were yesterday, but she can't remember the real yesterday--or even two minutes ago sometimes. Which is probably why she calls her son and daughter by the names of her older brother and sister. It's been fun hearing stories and imagining the full life she lived that I only have had a glimpse of as her granddaughter.
THE GOOD
Most days Grandma is very, very appreciative of my care. It makes it so much easier to serve her when she is thankful for my help instead of resentful for it as many aging people can be, when they don't want to have to be helped. She thanks me frequently throughout the day for little things I do for her, and she thanks God for me in her prayers, which touch me deeply.
Another good thing that happened came from a sorta-bad thing. I have always had weak ankles, but the past couple years have been blessed enough to not have sprained them at all. The other day I was unloading Gram from the car, and just as I was about ready to push her wheelchair up the ramp into the house, my ankle suddenly gave out on me, turning my foot completely onto it's outerside with a big popping sound. It hurt terribly and I could not put any weight on it, but using Gram's wheelchair for support made it much easier to hop up the ramp and through the kitchen doorway which is inches away from the freezer which holds the ice packs. I iced it immediately, which seemed to keep the swelling to a minimum. When I turn my ankle, the pain always is very intense and I can't tell how bad it is until 5-20 minutes later. If it isn't any better it will usually be a bad sprain that can take weeks or even months to heal. I had no clue how I'd be able to support and transport Grandma if that happened. Thankfully, after five minutes I was able to put weight on it and could tell by the limited pain and swelling that it was only a minor twist. I was able to limp around on it that night and the two days since I have been able to walk normally just being careful not to retwist it in its' weakened state. Praise God for preventing it from being a serious sprain!
THE BAD
There was an accident of the most foul-smelling nature that took quite some time to clean up. As it was the first major one since she's been here, it took me a while to figure out how to best clean everything up. And I mean everything. After 2 hours of wiping, washing, and sanitizing...we conquered the mess. But I'm hoping it won't be frequently repeated. At least next time I'll have the process down. :-)
I've been feeling pretty weak, which makes some days very difficult. My appointment with the endocrinologist isn't until mid-October. On top of that, the migraines that have been much less frequent the past few years have resumed (or perhaps even surpassed) the frequency I was accustomed to in college. I've been experiencing intense migraine headaches about every four or five days the past several weeks. Medication doensn't always relieve the pain (not even twice my dose of vicodin!), and when it does work I worry because I have a limited quantity of it and every time I use it I'm closer to running out. Even when the pain goes away I am often nauseaus, which is gross, but I guess it's better than being light and sound sensitive since those symptoms make it much harder for me to help gram than just nausea and malaise. I'm tired of my body and ready for a new one.
THE UGLY
As Gram has expressed dissatisfaction with her hairstyle, I tried to help her with it. I parted it in the middle, and pinned it back on the sides in a cute style that helped cover the areas where her hair is thinning. Well, she didn't like it. "I look haggy," she grumbled as she looked in the mirror. "What does that mean?" I asked. "It means I look like an old hag!" So the next few days instead of styling her hair the way I thought it was cute, I tried to help her style it the way I thought she wanted it (which I don't think is very flattering on her, but I guess it's more important how she feels than how she looks). But even then she was always dissatisfied (even though she sometimes tried to hide that so she won't discourage me). In the end, I gave up helping her as each attempt produced an "ugly hag" look to her eyes. :-) On a positive note, though, I cut her hair the other day and she really really likes the hair cut!
Moving from the mundane to the serious...ugliness number two is my heart. I'm not quite as worried about the discouragement and hopeleness that I sometimes feel. That's just a result of many changes, and the depression and anxiety that have come along with the hyperthyroidism. But what does worry me is the bitterness and resentment that I can feel in my heart sometimes. Tonight I am very frustrated because after coming home from Mindy's birthday dinner at my parents' house, Grandma has spent over two hours getting ready for bed. She is doing all sorts of extra preparations tonight even though I've asked her to be quicker, since I have to wake up at 5:30 on Sundays in order to have time to get myself and then her ready for church. Last week I was nodding and blinking all service long and didn't really hear what the pastor was saying because I was concentrating so hard on staying awake. Gram has insisted that I can go to bed and she'll just put herself to bed just fine--but that doesn't always work out as we hope, and since she has a hard time rousing me from sleep, I want to stay up until she's tucked safely between her sheets. In the meantime, I am so angry with her. I'm exhausted and all I want to do is sleep, but I can't because she's won't go to bed until she puts her curlers in (apparently and hour-and-a-half process that I will ruin of course if I try to help). And because I'm feeling angry at her, I'm now feeling angry with myself for being so impatient and bitter and spiteful right now. She's an old woman who doesn't look the way she wants to look anymore, but has a strong sense of how she should look for church. I chose to care for her so that I could love her and help her and serve her, but sometimes I feel resentful to her for what was my own choice. I don't know that there is any answer to this besides continuing to pray for patience and love. But it is definitely the ugliest part of our situation.
ANOTHER GOOD SO I DON'T END WITH A DOWNER...
It's been fun to get to hear stories from Gram's life. I knew that her dad died when she was 13, but now I know what that was like for her, and I can imagine the happenings of that sad and scary day. Okay, that was a bad example of fun...but I've been able to learn about her relationships with siblings, and the various romances that each have been involved in. I've learned about Gram's various boyfriends, her first fiance, and her later relationship with and marriage to my grandpa. I've heard about her job in a theatre and her job with information at the telephone company before she moved up to the position of operator. She remembers those days vividly, like they were yesterday, but she can't remember the real yesterday--or even two minutes ago sometimes. Which is probably why she calls her son and daughter by the names of her older brother and sister. It's been fun hearing stories and imagining the full life she lived that I only have had a glimpse of as her granddaughter.
Tuesday, September 2, 2008
Lucid Mornings / Confused Evenings
Wow. I guess I just experienced the highs and lows of functionality that can occur in a single day in Grandma's life. Today when she woke up, Gram was doing very well. She wasn't shaking, she was transferring herself without assistance, and dressing herself. We conversed about stuff throughought the morning and she communicated fine.
Then this evening, I was preparing a pot roast while Gram was in her room organizing her toiletries in the bathroom. Once the roast was in, I sauntered on down the hall to see how things were going with her, and to see if she needed my help with anything. I walked into her room just in time to see her scooping pills out of multiple sections of her weekly pill case. (I had left the pill case in a prominent place in her room so that I would be reminded to give them to her regularly.) At that point, the only pills she still needed to take for the day were her bedtime pills. "Gram, what are you doing?" I asked, as I hurried to take the pill case, "you already took most of your pills for today." She insisted that she hadn't taken any pills yet, and I gently reminded her that she had taken some when she woke up in the morning, midday, and in the early evening. "No, all my pills were still in the case," she insisted. I looked at the case and explained, "Gram, today is Monday...see your pills are gone except for the bedtime ones. You were looking at Tuesday's sections." "Oh..." She finally relented. Thankfully, the dozen-plus pills that she had emptied were still clutched in her hand, and it only took me a few minutes to sort them back into the appropriate places. I'm now keeping the pills on top of the refrigerator. I learn by experience, but I'm glad that lesson took place without her harming herself with an overdose of some sort.
Since she slept in late today, Gram wasn't ready to go to bed until way after I had wanted to be in bed. She insisted that she could get herself ready, but agreed to let me help. All the while she kept telling me I could just go to bed and let her finish on her own. We got her changed and ready so that all she needed to do was brush her teeth and climb into bed and at her insistence I left her at 1:15, assuring her that if she had a hard time getting into bed she could use her whistle to call me. Then I went to bed. 45 minutes later, I thought I semi thought I heard something and sat up wondering, was that Grandma calling me? I didn't hear anything else so I lay back down. But then I heard a whistle followed by "Kristi! KRISTI!" I jumped out of bed and ran out, wondering if she had fallen out of bed. Thankfully, Gram wasn't on the floor. She was sitting in her wheelchair at the doorway of her room. "Oh...there you were," she said as I came from the room next to hers, "I thought you were down there." She pointed to the living room, forgetting that she had told me to go to bed, "Why didn't you hear me?" "I heard something," I explained, "but I wasn't sure if what I had heard was your voice until you whistled. That I clearly heard over the fan in my room." "Oh...that's right, you have a fan." "So what's up?" I asked, "Are you having a hard time getting into bed?" "Oh...I don't know...... I guess I haven't tried yet." "Well, what did you call me for?" I said with a puzzled look. "Hmm...," she lowered her eyes sheepishly, "I guess mostly just to hear your voice." "Well, why don't I help you into bed now," I suggested and to my delight she consented. I helped her in and pulled up the covers. "Good night, Gramma. I love you. I'm really glad you're here." "I'm glad I'm here too."
So, leaving my grandmother's room at 2:00 am, I smiled to myself. I'm not tired yet, since I had quite the adrenaline rush when I thought she'd fallen out of bed, and it always takes a while to come down from that. So now I'm just sitting here on my bed giggling to myself about her calling me for no apparent reason at 2:00 am. And I decided to share it so that you could giggle too.
Then this evening, I was preparing a pot roast while Gram was in her room organizing her toiletries in the bathroom. Once the roast was in, I sauntered on down the hall to see how things were going with her, and to see if she needed my help with anything. I walked into her room just in time to see her scooping pills out of multiple sections of her weekly pill case. (I had left the pill case in a prominent place in her room so that I would be reminded to give them to her regularly.) At that point, the only pills she still needed to take for the day were her bedtime pills. "Gram, what are you doing?" I asked, as I hurried to take the pill case, "you already took most of your pills for today." She insisted that she hadn't taken any pills yet, and I gently reminded her that she had taken some when she woke up in the morning, midday, and in the early evening. "No, all my pills were still in the case," she insisted. I looked at the case and explained, "Gram, today is Monday...see your pills are gone except for the bedtime ones. You were looking at Tuesday's sections." "Oh..." She finally relented. Thankfully, the dozen-plus pills that she had emptied were still clutched in her hand, and it only took me a few minutes to sort them back into the appropriate places. I'm now keeping the pills on top of the refrigerator. I learn by experience, but I'm glad that lesson took place without her harming herself with an overdose of some sort.
Since she slept in late today, Gram wasn't ready to go to bed until way after I had wanted to be in bed. She insisted that she could get herself ready, but agreed to let me help. All the while she kept telling me I could just go to bed and let her finish on her own. We got her changed and ready so that all she needed to do was brush her teeth and climb into bed and at her insistence I left her at 1:15, assuring her that if she had a hard time getting into bed she could use her whistle to call me. Then I went to bed. 45 minutes later, I thought I semi thought I heard something and sat up wondering, was that Grandma calling me? I didn't hear anything else so I lay back down. But then I heard a whistle followed by "Kristi! KRISTI!" I jumped out of bed and ran out, wondering if she had fallen out of bed. Thankfully, Gram wasn't on the floor. She was sitting in her wheelchair at the doorway of her room. "Oh...there you were," she said as I came from the room next to hers, "I thought you were down there." She pointed to the living room, forgetting that she had told me to go to bed, "Why didn't you hear me?" "I heard something," I explained, "but I wasn't sure if what I had heard was your voice until you whistled. That I clearly heard over the fan in my room." "Oh...that's right, you have a fan." "So what's up?" I asked, "Are you having a hard time getting into bed?" "Oh...I don't know...... I guess I haven't tried yet." "Well, what did you call me for?" I said with a puzzled look. "Hmm...," she lowered her eyes sheepishly, "I guess mostly just to hear your voice." "Well, why don't I help you into bed now," I suggested and to my delight she consented. I helped her in and pulled up the covers. "Good night, Gramma. I love you. I'm really glad you're here." "I'm glad I'm here too."
So, leaving my grandmother's room at 2:00 am, I smiled to myself. I'm not tired yet, since I had quite the adrenaline rush when I thought she'd fallen out of bed, and it always takes a while to come down from that. So now I'm just sitting here on my bed giggling to myself about her calling me for no apparent reason at 2:00 am. And I decided to share it so that you could giggle too.
Monday, September 1, 2008
She's Here!
Yesterday we moved my grandma into my house. Now there are two people half-unpacked here. heh heh. (I decided I hate unpacking almost as much as I hate dusting.) But I'm so thankful that five months after we made the decision to move forward with this plan, it's finally begun!
Today we both slept in, and then we got her ready for the day. Since she eats very slowly, I finish way before. She doesn't read so well anymore, so I'm going to read the Bible to her after I'm done and while she's still eating.
After that I told her we should check some of our relative's blogs. I went to my bedroom and came back into the dining room carrying my laptop. "Do you call that contraption a blog?" Gram asked me.
"Ahh, no...this is a computer. But we use it to look at blogs." My grandma has a very vague sense of what the internet is, and so she looked on in amazement as I popped up one of my cousin's blogs. I magnified the window to 200% so that she could see the pictures better, and read the last few entries of the blog.
"That's so nice," she said as we left a comment, "so they see our note the next time they look at it?" Yay! She's getting it! Then we read another blog. And another. The third one had a video clip of my cousin's baby boy playing with his daddy. Gram and I both laughed as we listened to his adorable giggle. Then we watched another 10-minute video that was in the blog. "It's amazing what they can do these days!" she exclaimed. As I shut the laptop she admitted, "I can see why you guys get so attached to those things--computers."
I was pretty happy with her response. :-) It's been a great first day.
Today we both slept in, and then we got her ready for the day. Since she eats very slowly, I finish way before. She doesn't read so well anymore, so I'm going to read the Bible to her after I'm done and while she's still eating.
After that I told her we should check some of our relative's blogs. I went to my bedroom and came back into the dining room carrying my laptop. "Do you call that contraption a blog?" Gram asked me.
"Ahh, no...this is a computer. But we use it to look at blogs." My grandma has a very vague sense of what the internet is, and so she looked on in amazement as I popped up one of my cousin's blogs. I magnified the window to 200% so that she could see the pictures better, and read the last few entries of the blog.
"That's so nice," she said as we left a comment, "so they see our note the next time they look at it?" Yay! She's getting it! Then we read another blog. And another. The third one had a video clip of my cousin's baby boy playing with his daddy. Gram and I both laughed as we listened to his adorable giggle. Then we watched another 10-minute video that was in the blog. "It's amazing what they can do these days!" she exclaimed. As I shut the laptop she admitted, "I can see why you guys get so attached to those things--computers."
I was pretty happy with her response. :-) It's been a great first day.
Saturday, August 30, 2008
Nursing Home Blues
Did I mention that my new house is just accross a parking lot from a nursing home complex? It is. Last night Trisha and Carter spent the night (much to my delight), while they were treating their house for fleas. This morning we said our goodbyes and I closed the door behind Trish as she left.
Just then I heard this strange sound. At first I thought it was the wail of some animal, but then I barely made out words midst the wailing, "Waaaaaaaait! Haaalp Meeeeeee! Paaleeease!" I quickly opened the door back up to see who was making the noise. I looked around for some screaming kid, but then realized the voice sounded more mature. Hmmm...I shaded my eyes from the son, and peered through the chain link fence that runs between my road and the nursing home parking lot. There, in an archway that must lead to a courtyard, I saw the figure of an old man stooped over in a wheelchair. I realized that he was the source of the wailing, and that he was trying to attract the attention of Trisha and I as we stood in my driveway.
As our ears adjusted to his warbled voice, we realized that instead of yelling "Puhlease!" over and over again, he was yelling, "Pooooliice!"
"Call the police, their killin' me!" he hollered. "Police, get the police! I need the police!"
Trisha and I looked at each other quizzically. "Should we call the police?" I asked, "Just in case there is something going on?"
"Nah," decided my social-worker sister turned therapist, "I'll just go talk to him." So I sat down in her backseat next to where Carter was buckled in while she proceeded to walk around the fence and across the parking lot to the man who screamed all the more when he saw her approaching.
"Please, Lady!" he shouted,"Don't come here if you want to live, just call the police! I need the police!" By now, there were two women wearing scrubs on his side of the fence that appeared to be trying to subdue him. I couldn't hear them or Trisha from my seat in her car, but I could still hear the man yelling. Trisha must have asked him his name because I shouted, "Don Walters!!" and then, "Nice to meet you Trisha, but call the police!" At some point he yelled, "IT HURTS!!! They gave me my medicine already but it still hurts! I need the police!" Trisha was squatting down so she could be eye level with the man through the gate, but he didn't like whatever she was saying to him. "Don't you have a brain?!" he berated her, "You need to get a brain!" About that point, the two women who worked there, began to wheel him away from the courtyard and Trisha returned, on the way assuring concerned neighbors that everything was okay.
According to Trish the building closest to my road Psych Ward and this guy had only been there a couple days and was having a hard time adjusting. "He told me they were beating him," she said, "and he kept pointing to his dressed wounds. It looked to me like he may have fallen on the ground from his wheelchair or from a bed or something."
"How did the people who worked there treat him while you were there?" I asked.
"They seemed nice, but then I was right there." We stood there for a minute.
"It's hard," I finally said, "There are places that don't treat people well, but how do you know whether or not to believe someone who is behaving erratically and crazy? But then again, everyone who works there could be really nice except one mean person who really did do something to hurt the guy. That wouldn't be too hard to believe..."
I decided to keep my eyes and ears open. and I've been hoping to go visit with some of residents at some point, so maybe I can ask them how well they like the place and see what they say. All I know for sure is that I'm really glad that starting tomorrow my Grandma will be here with me.
________________________
I hope I didn't give the impression that my grandmother's current place is abusive. They have been kind to her, I just think I can offer her an even better quality of life, here living with someone who loves her.
Just then I heard this strange sound. At first I thought it was the wail of some animal, but then I barely made out words midst the wailing, "Waaaaaaaait! Haaalp Meeeeeee! Paaleeease!" I quickly opened the door back up to see who was making the noise. I looked around for some screaming kid, but then realized the voice sounded more mature. Hmmm...I shaded my eyes from the son, and peered through the chain link fence that runs between my road and the nursing home parking lot. There, in an archway that must lead to a courtyard, I saw the figure of an old man stooped over in a wheelchair. I realized that he was the source of the wailing, and that he was trying to attract the attention of Trisha and I as we stood in my driveway.
As our ears adjusted to his warbled voice, we realized that instead of yelling "Puhlease!" over and over again, he was yelling, "Pooooliice!"
"Call the police, their killin' me!" he hollered. "Police, get the police! I need the police!"
Trisha and I looked at each other quizzically. "Should we call the police?" I asked, "Just in case there is something going on?"
"Nah," decided my social-worker sister turned therapist, "I'll just go talk to him." So I sat down in her backseat next to where Carter was buckled in while she proceeded to walk around the fence and across the parking lot to the man who screamed all the more when he saw her approaching.
"Please, Lady!" he shouted,"Don't come here if you want to live, just call the police! I need the police!" By now, there were two women wearing scrubs on his side of the fence that appeared to be trying to subdue him. I couldn't hear them or Trisha from my seat in her car, but I could still hear the man yelling. Trisha must have asked him his name because I shouted, "Don Walters!!" and then, "Nice to meet you Trisha, but call the police!" At some point he yelled, "IT HURTS!!! They gave me my medicine already but it still hurts! I need the police!" Trisha was squatting down so she could be eye level with the man through the gate, but he didn't like whatever she was saying to him. "Don't you have a brain?!" he berated her, "You need to get a brain!" About that point, the two women who worked there, began to wheel him away from the courtyard and Trisha returned, on the way assuring concerned neighbors that everything was okay.
According to Trish the building closest to my road Psych Ward and this guy had only been there a couple days and was having a hard time adjusting. "He told me they were beating him," she said, "and he kept pointing to his dressed wounds. It looked to me like he may have fallen on the ground from his wheelchair or from a bed or something."
"How did the people who worked there treat him while you were there?" I asked.
"They seemed nice, but then I was right there." We stood there for a minute.
"It's hard," I finally said, "There are places that don't treat people well, but how do you know whether or not to believe someone who is behaving erratically and crazy? But then again, everyone who works there could be really nice except one mean person who really did do something to hurt the guy. That wouldn't be too hard to believe..."
I decided to keep my eyes and ears open. and I've been hoping to go visit with some of residents at some point, so maybe I can ask them how well they like the place and see what they say. All I know for sure is that I'm really glad that starting tomorrow my Grandma will be here with me.
________________________
I hope I didn't give the impression that my grandmother's current place is abusive. They have been kind to her, I just think I can offer her an even better quality of life, here living with someone who loves her.
Saturday, May 10, 2008
My Life 6.0 - The Update We've All Been Waiting For
If I were to divide my life into different versions of me, the way software companies release different versions of a program, I would be on the verge of my sixth release. Each release is similar in many ways, and often retains the same structure as the previous versions, but is different in some key way.
A run down on my life's versions (or stages, if you prefer), with a few characteristics of each release:
My Life 1.0 - Childhood
playing in the yard, unaware of the scariness of life
My Life 2.0 - Bad Adolescence
6th-9th grade, selfish, angry, low self-esteem.
My Life 3.0 - Good Adolescece
Increasing love for God, others, and self. Fun.
My Life 4.0 - College
Venturing out, working, learning how to minister.
My Life 5.0 - Cascade
2005-2008, first true independence, ministry-focused.
And now, what we've all been waiting for! What will the next version of my life hold?
My Life 6.0 - Grandma
Learning to be a servant, taking big financial steps.
So, the exciting news that I am bursting to tell all of you is that I've just been pre-approved for a home loan! This is an exciting dream come true for me. I am looking to buy a ranch-style home on the east side of Portland for me and my Grandmother to live in. My gram has Parkinson's Disease, and is currently in a care home, but we will soon be transitioning her into my home so that I can become her full-time caregiver. I am very excited about this opportunity to love and serve an amazing woman who means so much to me. I think that since I love her,, and don't merely view her as a patient, I will be able to improve her quality of life and provide the companionship that her current home is lacking.
If I'm honest, I'll admit that I'm also a little bit scared. When you live alone, your selfishness isn't visible, because your concerns are all you consider. But I'm afraid that living with Gramma, my selfishness will become quite visible as I learn to consider her concerns as well. I have felt quite strongly that it has been the Lord leading me to this though, so I will be trusting him to give me humility and a loving servant's heart each day.
So, that is what my plans are for the future. If you feel so inclined, please pray for the home-buying process, that God would provide me with an affordable home that will work well for both Gramma and me, and is close to my parents. Also, please pray for my heart, that it would be soft and humble and selfless and that I would follow the beautiful example of Jesus, who willingly submitted to death in order to serve the needs of those he created and loves.
A run down on my life's versions (or stages, if you prefer), with a few characteristics of each release:
My Life 1.0 - Childhood
playing in the yard, unaware of the scariness of life
My Life 2.0 - Bad Adolescence
6th-9th grade, selfish, angry, low self-esteem.
My Life 3.0 - Good Adolescece
Increasing love for God, others, and self. Fun.
My Life 4.0 - College
Venturing out, working, learning how to minister.
My Life 5.0 - Cascade
2005-2008, first true independence, ministry-focused.
And now, what we've all been waiting for! What will the next version of my life hold?
My Life 6.0 - Grandma
Learning to be a servant, taking big financial steps.
So, the exciting news that I am bursting to tell all of you is that I've just been pre-approved for a home loan! This is an exciting dream come true for me. I am looking to buy a ranch-style home on the east side of Portland for me and my Grandmother to live in. My gram has Parkinson's Disease, and is currently in a care home, but we will soon be transitioning her into my home so that I can become her full-time caregiver. I am very excited about this opportunity to love and serve an amazing woman who means so much to me. I think that since I love her,, and don't merely view her as a patient, I will be able to improve her quality of life and provide the companionship that her current home is lacking.
If I'm honest, I'll admit that I'm also a little bit scared. When you live alone, your selfishness isn't visible, because your concerns are all you consider. But I'm afraid that living with Gramma, my selfishness will become quite visible as I learn to consider her concerns as well. I have felt quite strongly that it has been the Lord leading me to this though, so I will be trusting him to give me humility and a loving servant's heart each day.
So, that is what my plans are for the future. If you feel so inclined, please pray for the home-buying process, that God would provide me with an affordable home that will work well for both Gramma and me, and is close to my parents. Also, please pray for my heart, that it would be soft and humble and selfless and that I would follow the beautiful example of Jesus, who willingly submitted to death in order to serve the needs of those he created and loves.
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