Recently, while driving past our neighborhood supermarket, I saw that a carnival had been set-up in the parking lot. I have seen quite a few carnivals in parking lots in Southern Arizona, but this is the first time I have seen a ferris wheel, a roller coaster, and a "Ring of Fire" in our neighborhood. At night, I could see the lights from the ferris wheel from our front yard and I thought about how excited the kids must be, seeing their roof-tops and streets from high above the Food City parking lot. I could not help but remember about the time I rode an elephant when I was a little girl in Amarillo, Texas.
My family lived in Amarillo, Texas for a few years in the 1960's. One day, my mother and I went grocery shopping at the local Piggly Wiggly store and low and behold, there in the parking lot was a small carnival. It was on the small side meaning that it had a couple of rides for little kids, a "Scrambler" for the big kids, and it also had an elephant. For a price, you could sit in a seat for four and ride around the parking lot while a man led the elephant. I was instantly interested in seeing this elephant. Mother and I stood and watched people ride around on top of this enormous animal. She kept a tight hold on my hand just in case I decided to get too close for her comfort. But for me, at that moment, I had made up my mind that I was going to ride that elephant! When I asked my mother, she said the most dreaded words I hated to hear... "Let's ask your daddy."
Now, "Let's ask your daddy" was code in my home for "It's probably not going to happen." I had heard this phrase most of my five year old life. "Can I have a dog?" "Let's ask your daddy." "Can I have a horse?" "Let's ask your daddy." Can I have a Chatty Cathy?" "Let's ask your daddy." Needless to say, I didn't get a dog, a horse, or a Chatty Cathy. All afternoon long, while dreaming of my triumphant ride, I was planning on how to secure my daddy's agreement to ride the elephant. I even thought of recruiting my brother Gary, but since he was seven years older than me, he usually thought my ideas were not what the cool junior high boys did. So, I was on my own to work this plan out.
When Daddy came home from the office, I started my campaign the second he walked in the door. He smiled and kinda chuckled, but he didn't tell me "no". We sat down for dinner and I told him all about the elephant ride in the parking lot of the Piggly Wiggly. I was prepared to launch into a crying, begging, wailing fit, but to my surprise, when the table had been cleared, my daddy said, "Let's go ride that elephant."
I was so terribly excited! As a family, we drove to the Piggly Wiggly, and there it was in all its glory. THE ELEPHANT! Mother, Daddy, and I stood in line with the other people and waited for my turn. When it was time for me to ride, the man pulled on the elephant and it bent its front legs and back legs and kneeled on the pavement. The man took my money and helped me into the metal chair that held four people. Three other children were also lifted into the seat. When we were settled, the man gave a command and the elephant rocked back and forth to stand up right. Holy Moly! The powerfulness of that elephant was so intense as it rocked to stand up that I was absolutely terrified as it was all happening. I know my eyes had to look like saucers! However, once we were settled and the ride began, I was in control of my of my fears, but I held onto the metal bar in front of me for dear life. We slowly paraded around the parking lot and I even chanced a wave at my family. I just know I looked like a princess on top of that elephant. It seemed like forever as we walked around and around.
I don't remember the elephant lowering itself to the parking lot or me getting off the elephant. I don't remember the ride home or even discussing the experience. But I do remember the fear, the power, and the glory it felt that day. I could do anything because I had ridden an elephant!
Many years later, when I was a mom and Meg was a Brownie, the circus came to town. Meghan and her troop went to the circus together. However, when she came home she was horrified that one of the elephants had dropped its sequin clad rider and the ambulance had taken her away. Hmmm... I knew better than to mention an elephant ride at that moment.
Sunday, March 21, 2010
Saturday, March 20, 2010
The Notebook
Three or four years ago, when I was visiting my daughter in Las Cruces, we decided we would take in a movie. It would be a typical evening for us when we were together--go to dinner and go see a movie. Girl Time! Meghan told me that she really wanted to see the "Notebook." I had seen the previews and it looked like one of those wonderfully sappy love stories that you just love getting lost in.
We bought our tickets and entered the theater. The first thing I noticed were all the older people who were at the movie. It was kinda strange. At first I thought it might be a senior citizen's discount movie, because it was really different seeing a tremendous amount of seriously gray headed people in the theater. However, the movie started, I was lost in the story, and the other patrons were not on my mind until the end of the movie.
It was probably 2007 when my dad called me on the sly to talk to me about my mother. (On the sly meaning that he would wait until she went to the beauty shop on Friday and we could talk about whatever he didn't want her to hear.) This conversation would be the first in a series where he told me that he thought she was behaving differently and was being unusually forgetful. Now, my mom and my dad had been living together as a retired couple for many years, spending an inordinate amount of time together. Mother had reduced much of her traveling and going off on her own because of her fears that my dad would have a heart attack or die by himself if she left him alone. I secretly thought she also was concerned that he would withdraw thousands of dollars from their bank account and spend it willy-nilly at yard sales if her back was turned. However, Mother and Dad were definitely exhibiting many signs of spending too much time together. Trying to be supportive, but not encouraging his worrying, I would reassure him that this was all part of growing old together. This did not stop his concern. After talking with Dad, I would call my brother, Gary, and get his point of view. Gary would give her his evaluation and tell me that she was good--it was all good. Mom and I discussed it all too. She ademantly disagreed and thought Dad was being a pain over nothing new. Finally, all this came to a head and Mother agreed to go see a doctor to appease my father.
Testing for memory loss is interesting... First, you have to have a physical. Then, a battery of tests begins. CAT Scans, MRIs, eye exams, hearing tests, internists, and finally someone refers you to a psychiatrist and a psychromatrist. Mom actually did well on all the tests. We learned that she had some brain scars from high blood pressure, she had a couple of "mini-strokes", her hearing was good as was her eye-sight, she had a small growth on her pituitary gland, she was very bright and very social. (If the doctor had told me that her coat was glossy and her teeth were fine it would not have suprised me!) We also learned that she did exhibit some signs of mild dementia, but the psychiatrist reassured me that she was doing well and everything was good. Typical results for an aging woman. No Alzheimers--thank you, God! My dad had also heard the same results, but every week when we would talk on the phone, he usually had concerns for her memory and her mental health.
My mother seemed just fine to me. We also talk at least once a week, and she seemed to remember things just fine. When we were together, she was lucid, sharp, and able to recall details without concern. She could piece one of her quilt masterpieces, make my favorite cookies or pie without a hitch, and she kept her checkbook to the penny. She would go to her doctors' appointments with Dad in tow, and everything seemed just fine on her end until last December.
Mom and Dad were scheduled to fly to Arizona for the holidays on the Saturday before Christmas. On Friday, she would get her results from her regular memory tests from her new doctor, a gereatric psychiatrist. That Friday evening, both of my parents called to tell me that the doctor had changed the diagnosis to Alzheimers. My heart just sunk. There had to be a mistake. Who was this new doctor? Something just wasn't right.
I wish I could say that everything was bright and beautiful--candy canes and sugar plums, the best Christmas ever... But that would be a lie. Mom DID seem the same, but one day, when she and I were frantically wrapping presents and baking goodies, she seemed to "check-out." She asked several questions over and over and I had to keep track of what she wrapped to make sure the tags didn't get switched. I was already stressed out with the approaching holiday, and now this. Dad wanted to talk about it all the time. If we went to a store, he told the sales clerks his wife had Alzheimers. When we spent a day with Bosco's family, he quietly told everyone there that Mother had Alzheimers. On Christmas day, he told all our friends that Mother had Alzheimers. Only he calls it "Aldztimers." Finally, the day after Christmas, I thought I would scream if I heard him say it again, and he did. I didn't scream, but he and I did sit down and try to talk it all out. Picture this... An eighty year old telling me that if he dies before she does that Gary and I are to sell their house and move her into an assisted living facility. And me, the fifty year old with a big case of denial arguing that there had to be a gross mistake. Not my mother. Not us.
After Christmas break was over, I contacted my mother's psychiatrist. He was a nice man, very patient, and truly experienced in explaining the situation and bad news to extremely worried children of patients. The news wasn't good and the future isn't either.
MY mother. Note that I claim her as MY OWN. Yes, I share her with Gary, but due to the age difference between Gary and myself, we each have different memories and relationships with her. Katherine Henry Hill. Organized. Dedicated Christian. Frugal. Good cook. Excellent seamstress. Family quilter. Sister. Talented. Fast driver. Crocheting goddess. Wonderful Nana. Big haired Texas Lady. Gardener. Funny. Polite. Reader. Loving friend. Democrat. Breast cancer survior. Exemplar southern woman. Strong willed. Country girl. Barefoot by choice. Worrier. MY mother. Her doctor told me that little by little she would lose pieces of herself and that one day she would not only not know me, but anyone else. How could MY mother not know me? I'm her baby. This has been selfishly the hardest thing to accept. Her doctor told me that over time we would see the woman we knew diminish, but that it is not hard on the Alzheimer's victim, but their family. I see that.
A person in my shoes told me that Alzheimer's is like swiss cheese--you know how the holes in swiss cheese don't exactly line up? That is like an Alzheimer's patient's memory. One day they can remember a lot, the next day more, then nothing, then it's back again. A rollercoaster of unexpectedness. Only, there are signs and stages the victim will go through. In the end, all the brain cells die--end of story.
Right now, MY mom still knows me and our family. She is still pretty active and enjoys doing the things she has always done. Dad does more for and with her. She likes making her own decisions and often feels like he is over protective. We talk regularly and when she doesn't seem to remember something, I don't push it. It's hard, but not compared to what is coming our way. Weird thing is, I used to pray and worry that cancer would be our main concern with Mother. I just didn't see this coming.
Oh, and the Notebook... I hate that movie.
We bought our tickets and entered the theater. The first thing I noticed were all the older people who were at the movie. It was kinda strange. At first I thought it might be a senior citizen's discount movie, because it was really different seeing a tremendous amount of seriously gray headed people in the theater. However, the movie started, I was lost in the story, and the other patrons were not on my mind until the end of the movie.
It was probably 2007 when my dad called me on the sly to talk to me about my mother. (On the sly meaning that he would wait until she went to the beauty shop on Friday and we could talk about whatever he didn't want her to hear.) This conversation would be the first in a series where he told me that he thought she was behaving differently and was being unusually forgetful. Now, my mom and my dad had been living together as a retired couple for many years, spending an inordinate amount of time together. Mother had reduced much of her traveling and going off on her own because of her fears that my dad would have a heart attack or die by himself if she left him alone. I secretly thought she also was concerned that he would withdraw thousands of dollars from their bank account and spend it willy-nilly at yard sales if her back was turned. However, Mother and Dad were definitely exhibiting many signs of spending too much time together. Trying to be supportive, but not encouraging his worrying, I would reassure him that this was all part of growing old together. This did not stop his concern. After talking with Dad, I would call my brother, Gary, and get his point of view. Gary would give her his evaluation and tell me that she was good--it was all good. Mom and I discussed it all too. She ademantly disagreed and thought Dad was being a pain over nothing new. Finally, all this came to a head and Mother agreed to go see a doctor to appease my father.
Testing for memory loss is interesting... First, you have to have a physical. Then, a battery of tests begins. CAT Scans, MRIs, eye exams, hearing tests, internists, and finally someone refers you to a psychiatrist and a psychromatrist. Mom actually did well on all the tests. We learned that she had some brain scars from high blood pressure, she had a couple of "mini-strokes", her hearing was good as was her eye-sight, she had a small growth on her pituitary gland, she was very bright and very social. (If the doctor had told me that her coat was glossy and her teeth were fine it would not have suprised me!) We also learned that she did exhibit some signs of mild dementia, but the psychiatrist reassured me that she was doing well and everything was good. Typical results for an aging woman. No Alzheimers--thank you, God! My dad had also heard the same results, but every week when we would talk on the phone, he usually had concerns for her memory and her mental health.
My mother seemed just fine to me. We also talk at least once a week, and she seemed to remember things just fine. When we were together, she was lucid, sharp, and able to recall details without concern. She could piece one of her quilt masterpieces, make my favorite cookies or pie without a hitch, and she kept her checkbook to the penny. She would go to her doctors' appointments with Dad in tow, and everything seemed just fine on her end until last December.
Mom and Dad were scheduled to fly to Arizona for the holidays on the Saturday before Christmas. On Friday, she would get her results from her regular memory tests from her new doctor, a gereatric psychiatrist. That Friday evening, both of my parents called to tell me that the doctor had changed the diagnosis to Alzheimers. My heart just sunk. There had to be a mistake. Who was this new doctor? Something just wasn't right.
I wish I could say that everything was bright and beautiful--candy canes and sugar plums, the best Christmas ever... But that would be a lie. Mom DID seem the same, but one day, when she and I were frantically wrapping presents and baking goodies, she seemed to "check-out." She asked several questions over and over and I had to keep track of what she wrapped to make sure the tags didn't get switched. I was already stressed out with the approaching holiday, and now this. Dad wanted to talk about it all the time. If we went to a store, he told the sales clerks his wife had Alzheimers. When we spent a day with Bosco's family, he quietly told everyone there that Mother had Alzheimers. On Christmas day, he told all our friends that Mother had Alzheimers. Only he calls it "Aldztimers." Finally, the day after Christmas, I thought I would scream if I heard him say it again, and he did. I didn't scream, but he and I did sit down and try to talk it all out. Picture this... An eighty year old telling me that if he dies before she does that Gary and I are to sell their house and move her into an assisted living facility. And me, the fifty year old with a big case of denial arguing that there had to be a gross mistake. Not my mother. Not us.
After Christmas break was over, I contacted my mother's psychiatrist. He was a nice man, very patient, and truly experienced in explaining the situation and bad news to extremely worried children of patients. The news wasn't good and the future isn't either.
MY mother. Note that I claim her as MY OWN. Yes, I share her with Gary, but due to the age difference between Gary and myself, we each have different memories and relationships with her. Katherine Henry Hill. Organized. Dedicated Christian. Frugal. Good cook. Excellent seamstress. Family quilter. Sister. Talented. Fast driver. Crocheting goddess. Wonderful Nana. Big haired Texas Lady. Gardener. Funny. Polite. Reader. Loving friend. Democrat. Breast cancer survior. Exemplar southern woman. Strong willed. Country girl. Barefoot by choice. Worrier. MY mother. Her doctor told me that little by little she would lose pieces of herself and that one day she would not only not know me, but anyone else. How could MY mother not know me? I'm her baby. This has been selfishly the hardest thing to accept. Her doctor told me that over time we would see the woman we knew diminish, but that it is not hard on the Alzheimer's victim, but their family. I see that.
A person in my shoes told me that Alzheimer's is like swiss cheese--you know how the holes in swiss cheese don't exactly line up? That is like an Alzheimer's patient's memory. One day they can remember a lot, the next day more, then nothing, then it's back again. A rollercoaster of unexpectedness. Only, there are signs and stages the victim will go through. In the end, all the brain cells die--end of story.
Right now, MY mom still knows me and our family. She is still pretty active and enjoys doing the things she has always done. Dad does more for and with her. She likes making her own decisions and often feels like he is over protective. We talk regularly and when she doesn't seem to remember something, I don't push it. It's hard, but not compared to what is coming our way. Weird thing is, I used to pray and worry that cancer would be our main concern with Mother. I just didn't see this coming.
Oh, and the Notebook... I hate that movie.
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