THE PROCEDURE:
On June 4, 2010, I entered the out patient surgergical center in Sierra Vista, Arizona. I was the first scheduled sugery that day, and all the pre-op was quick, pain-free, and relatively painless. The nurses were all friendly and chatty, which put me at ease before I was wheeled into the operating room. My doctor had chosen to use a spinal block on me during the procedure and I would be awake the WHOLE time. I had an IV and I believe I was slipped a "little something" to take the edge off, but no one came forward with that information.
I am sitting, yes that is correct, sitting on the gurney with the back of my hospital gown open when one of my nurses puts her hand on the back of my head and slightly pushes it forward. Okay, now I am feeling a little panicky... The anethesiologist tells me to hold my breath and to stay very still. Does the vision frozen in time come to mind? I felt the "stick" he described and whooooooooooooooossssssssssssssssssshhhhhhhhhhhhhhh, my toes began to go numb. A few seconds later...no feeling from the waist down. The nurses rolled me over on my stomach, propped my upper half up on a lot of pillows, and it was "SHOWTIME!" I heard it all. Country music on the radio, conversations between the doctor, the nurses, and the anethesiologist. Every so often, someone would come to the head of the table and ask me how I was doing, was I feeling anything, did I need something, etc... I heard something like a Dremel tool cutting the heel spur off and sanding some calcium deposits off as well. WHAP-WHAP-WHAP! I heard and felt the pressure of the doctor pounding the pegs into the bottom of my foot. Dr. Chou, the anesthesiologist and I started a dialog, but I really wish I had taken my IPOD with me. It would have helped pass the time. Before I knew it, I was rolled over onto my back and wheeled to recovery with my foot in a splint and three nurses to hover over me. The feeling came back to my legs and waist and before I knew it, it was time to go home.
CARING/LOVING PEOPLE:
Meg was terribly patient and helped me so much during the first two days. She got up with me at night when I needed to go to the bathroom, helped me figure out a way to shower in a lawn chair (no, not yard, in the walk-in shower), get dressed, and more. She returned to Quincy on the third day and from then on, it was just Bosco and me to handle the details.
I spent many hours in our recliner with my foot elevated. I watched hours of old Malcolm in the Middle re-runs, Ballykissangel on PBS, and all the Glee series. I learned to crochet, shopped on-line, and received visits, flowers, and delicious meals from a lot of really thoughtful friends. Sue Gibbs cooked our dinner, visited with me, and even dead-headed my geraniums. Judy baby-sat me when Bosco went out-of-town or played golf, brought me zuchinni bread, took me to the movies, brought me Kenny's home-made shrimp lomain, and checked on me daily. Carol Huddleston brought me her special chicken salad twice, Denise Cox and Siboney brought me an angel figurine, Elsa Obregon and Patty Chambers emailed me regularly, Bev Enriquez brought me flowers, took me to the movies, took me to lunch, and called daily. Cynthia Bohmfalk brought me flowers, entertained me, and took me to Dairy Queen. Sandy Thomas emailed me, took me to lunch, and brought me a wonderful book to read and enjoy. And Vicky Merritt and Jill Forsythe connected me with a wonderful source of freedom, my knee scooter!!
ON THE MOVE!
The knee scooter honestly made two weeks of splints, four weeks of casts, and four weeks of a cam-walker boot actually bearable. I would put my left knee on the "seat" and push the four-wheeled scooter across the floor/pavement/grass/rocks/any surface to get where I wanted to go. At first, it was a little scary because it turned sharply, but after three falls and a hole in my bedroom wall, I was "scooter-savy." Nothing aside from mud could stop me! Bosco and I loaded that "puppy" in the Nissan or the truck and we went to Pinetop for our annual spoiling at my sister-in-law's cabin, Tucson to see our new great-niece, Carlee, the doctor, movies in Sierra Vista, shopping, TAP training in Phoenix, my nephew's wedding in Houston, and Elephant Butte Lake. It caused a lot of stares and I received a lot of questions. At the airport in Phoenix I was subjected to an invasive "pat-down search" in security, but I did get to lead all the wheel-chair ladies onto the plane. (I received handshakes, a few high fives, and two cheek kisses from my "peeps" in the handicap waiting area.) I even presented at the New Teacher Orientation as well as the beginning of the school year professional development on the scooter. It was a little weird looking, but it worked!
PHYSICAL THERAPY:
During my last doctor's appointment, Dr. Kuchar announced that it was time to lose the boot and start physical therapy. Okay, for over ten weeks, I had not walked or put any weight on my left foot. I tried to walk, but was horrified to discover that I was unable to work both my feet. It seemed so easy, but in addition to an incredible amount of pain, I literally could not lift my left foot in sync with my right. I was really freaked out!
Friday, September 9, 2011
How You Made Them Feel
They may forget what you said... but they will never forget how you made them feel.
~Carl W. Buechner
I recently read this quote on my friend Sandi's facebook page. It is not a new quote, I have seen it many times before, but this time it really made me think about somethings going on in my life.
My Parents: Lately, the "old people," as we like to call them, have seemed a little more frailer than usual. Dad has had a couple of falls and Mom's memory seems a bit worse. However, every weekend, when we talk on the phone as we have done since the first weekend I spent in college, just listening to their voices makes me feel loved and cared for. There are weeks when the news isn't always the best--they are tired, in pain, sad, or not feeling so well, but before we say goodbye, they always tell me they love me. On Easter, Mom asked about my job and my travels. Before she said goodbye, she said, "I just want you to know how terribly proud I am of you." At that moment, nothing could have meant more to me. I always knew I was loved, but to hear my mother, the one woman who allowed me to be who I really am, even though she didn't always understand, expressed her pride. It was so loving and all the hard work seemed worth it.
My In-Laws: Those wild and crazy Selchows are people you want on your side. They love a party, keep their friend endlessly, always put their family first, and are a force to be reckoned with. This past weekend, they held a "porch party" and invited two of their life-long friends, a few new friends, and of course, family. It was hysterical watching the eternal cowgirl, Waynette, "booty dance" and request to hear some Pink on the stereo. She called my sister-in-law, Barb, "Beulah Pearl," and they danced like they were 18 on the patio as we watched and cheered! Barb received three fashion watches for her birthday, and wore all three at the same time. Everyone was made to feel welcome and there is no such thing as a stranger. How does that make you feel? Special, accepted, a part of the family.
My husband: Since taking this job, there have been a few late nights and many long hours learning the job. Many evenings when I come home from work, I fall asleep on the couch. Tonight, I fell asleep with a paper plate and a fork sitting next to me. I was cruisin' when I felt him quietly reach over me and take my plate and fork to the kitchen. He didn't rouse me or comment on having to do this, he just let me rest. I felt so safe and secure. He has done this so many times for me in our thirty-one years together. When I have been frustrated and angry, he has not let me allow it to control me. When I have cried pitifully over being hurt and sad, he has spoken kind words and encouraged me to work toward a goal, like going to Ireland when I retire. He has painted my walls, bought me what he thinks is millions of shoes, started my car on cold mornings, and took care of me when I was sick or hurt. He makes me feel like I can go on, even when I am worn out.
How do you make others feel? I know how you make me feel. I hope I always make you feel like you matter, because you do.
~Carl W. Buechner
I recently read this quote on my friend Sandi's facebook page. It is not a new quote, I have seen it many times before, but this time it really made me think about somethings going on in my life.
My Parents: Lately, the "old people," as we like to call them, have seemed a little more frailer than usual. Dad has had a couple of falls and Mom's memory seems a bit worse. However, every weekend, when we talk on the phone as we have done since the first weekend I spent in college, just listening to their voices makes me feel loved and cared for. There are weeks when the news isn't always the best--they are tired, in pain, sad, or not feeling so well, but before we say goodbye, they always tell me they love me. On Easter, Mom asked about my job and my travels. Before she said goodbye, she said, "I just want you to know how terribly proud I am of you." At that moment, nothing could have meant more to me. I always knew I was loved, but to hear my mother, the one woman who allowed me to be who I really am, even though she didn't always understand, expressed her pride. It was so loving and all the hard work seemed worth it.
My In-Laws: Those wild and crazy Selchows are people you want on your side. They love a party, keep their friend endlessly, always put their family first, and are a force to be reckoned with. This past weekend, they held a "porch party" and invited two of their life-long friends, a few new friends, and of course, family. It was hysterical watching the eternal cowgirl, Waynette, "booty dance" and request to hear some Pink on the stereo. She called my sister-in-law, Barb, "Beulah Pearl," and they danced like they were 18 on the patio as we watched and cheered! Barb received three fashion watches for her birthday, and wore all three at the same time. Everyone was made to feel welcome and there is no such thing as a stranger. How does that make you feel? Special, accepted, a part of the family.
My husband: Since taking this job, there have been a few late nights and many long hours learning the job. Many evenings when I come home from work, I fall asleep on the couch. Tonight, I fell asleep with a paper plate and a fork sitting next to me. I was cruisin' when I felt him quietly reach over me and take my plate and fork to the kitchen. He didn't rouse me or comment on having to do this, he just let me rest. I felt so safe and secure. He has done this so many times for me in our thirty-one years together. When I have been frustrated and angry, he has not let me allow it to control me. When I have cried pitifully over being hurt and sad, he has spoken kind words and encouraged me to work toward a goal, like going to Ireland when I retire. He has painted my walls, bought me what he thinks is millions of shoes, started my car on cold mornings, and took care of me when I was sick or hurt. He makes me feel like I can go on, even when I am worn out.
How do you make others feel? I know how you make me feel. I hope I always make you feel like you matter, because you do.
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
My First Earth Day
On April 22, 1970, my parents, my brother, and I lived in Houston, Texas. I was a sixth grader at Anderson Elementary School in Westbury. Our PTA bought white roses to plant in a star shape between two of the buildings. Each class was given an empty plastic pill bottle from a pharmacy and we were instructed to write our first name and last name on a narrow slip of paper. My teacher, Mrs. L (aka Cruella deVil) folded it up and squished it into the little clear bottle. She snapped the lid on it and when the office called our class, we all marched out to the flower bed and waited for directions. All the classes stood in lines, waiting, and someone said, "Ten, nine, eight, seven..." We all chimed in and counted down to zero then our teacher dropped the pill bottle in the hole. We marched back to class and went back to our school work. No explanation.
On April 22, 1971, my parents and I were living in Oklahoma City, Oklahoma. A year had passed, the seventies were in full swing (literally) and my Scientific Geography (no kidding, it was really a class) teacher had days before explained how carbon monoxide was polluting the air and possibly killing us, too. He encouraged us not to litter, to walk whenever possible, and probably eat more vegetables... At least someone informed my class what Earth Day represented. So, the next morning, I was riding the school bus to school and someone said, "Hey! We should get off this bus and walk to school!" I am sure we all cheered, but I know that minutes later that bus was empty and we were all standing on the corner as the bus drove away...and left us all in a cloud of exhaust. Thirty minutes later we trucked into school, tardy and probably a little sweaty.
Many years passed and it was April 22, and I was a CHAMPS leader at Douglas Junior High. Together we went to the local nursery and used some of our fund raised money to buy roses to plant in the front of our school. We took turns digging the holes and planting our roses. Until there weren't any CHAMPS left, the roses were watered each week of the growing season by my kids. One day, a truck from a construction company ran over two of the bushes and they died. There is still one rose bush left in front of the school. I look for it whenever I am on campus or I drive by the school.
Earth Days came and went... Sometimes it seemed important and other times it didn't in our country. My own involvement didn't soar after that Earth Day in Oklahoma City. I wish I could say I always recycle, I have a compost pile, and I drive an electric car, but I don't. I can do more. Tomorrow is Earth Day, April 22, 2010. Get off your bus. Plant a rose bush. Recycle. Talk about it. Think about it. Just do something.
On April 22, 1971, my parents and I were living in Oklahoma City, Oklahoma. A year had passed, the seventies were in full swing (literally) and my Scientific Geography (no kidding, it was really a class) teacher had days before explained how carbon monoxide was polluting the air and possibly killing us, too. He encouraged us not to litter, to walk whenever possible, and probably eat more vegetables... At least someone informed my class what Earth Day represented. So, the next morning, I was riding the school bus to school and someone said, "Hey! We should get off this bus and walk to school!" I am sure we all cheered, but I know that minutes later that bus was empty and we were all standing on the corner as the bus drove away...and left us all in a cloud of exhaust. Thirty minutes later we trucked into school, tardy and probably a little sweaty.
Many years passed and it was April 22, and I was a CHAMPS leader at Douglas Junior High. Together we went to the local nursery and used some of our fund raised money to buy roses to plant in the front of our school. We took turns digging the holes and planting our roses. Until there weren't any CHAMPS left, the roses were watered each week of the growing season by my kids. One day, a truck from a construction company ran over two of the bushes and they died. There is still one rose bush left in front of the school. I look for it whenever I am on campus or I drive by the school.
Earth Days came and went... Sometimes it seemed important and other times it didn't in our country. My own involvement didn't soar after that Earth Day in Oklahoma City. I wish I could say I always recycle, I have a compost pile, and I drive an electric car, but I don't. I can do more. Tomorrow is Earth Day, April 22, 2010. Get off your bus. Plant a rose bush. Recycle. Talk about it. Think about it. Just do something.
Sunday, April 11, 2010
The Get-To-Know-Each-Other Question
When people begin to get-to-know-each-other one question inevitably is asked... "Where are you from?" As you know, this usually means "where did you grow-up/who are your people/what environment molded you, etc..." This question seems simple, but for me, it is a little difficult to answer. To avoid a long explanation at least until I know someone better my usual reply is "I'm from Texas and my family is still lives there, but I moved around a lot when I was growing up." It usually satisfies but yet doesn't turn into one of those "Too Much Information" moments.
I was born in Lubbock, Texas in 1958. My parents were from nearby Tahoka and Post, both West Texas born and bred. My grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, great aunts and uncles all seemed to live in this area, too. If anyone lived away, I was unaware of it because heck, I was a baby! My dad worked for Orkin Exterminating as a salesman and my mother had resigned from her job in a hat shop when I was born. My dad then entered the management division of Orkin. When I was a 10 month old, our family was "transferred" to Plainview, Texas, and away we went.
[Orkin Exterminating is an extremely large corporation. At my last point of interest in Orkin, it was part of the Rollins family corporate dynasty. Being transferred was not unusual for people in management at Orkin, in fact, it became a part of our family culture.]
Plainview, Texas, is not very far from Lubbock. It is part of North West Texas. It was and is smaller than Lubbock. Mother told me that our things were moved in my uncle Daniel's horse trailer. My parents, my brother, and I must have thrived in Plainview because the friends our family made became life-long friends. We lived there until I was four or very close to being four. My memories of Plainview are those of a really young child: watching fireworks from our front porch, playing with Billy, Sarah, Misha, and Melinda, our friends the Holumns, the Davises, and the Kinards, going to Sunbeams at church, a huge ceramic chicken in front of a restaurant, a tornado, hardwood floors in our house, and things like this. At four, though, Orkin called and the movers showed-up to pack our possessions and away we moved to Amarillo.
Amarillo, Texas is only about two hours north from Lubbock and is just as windy. Dad was a branch manager for Orkin, Gary was in junior high school, and at home, it was Mom and me. Friends were made in the neighborhood and at church as was the norm for our family. Our family made life-long friends that my parents communicated with until the friends recently passed away. I have clearer memories of Amarillo, since I was older. During first grade, when I was six, the company moved us back to Lubbock.
"Going home" was the message I understood when we moved back to Lubbock. We lived in the same small city as family members and of course, others lived close-by. Gary entered and completed high school in Lubbock and had planned to attend Texas Tech. Dad was the branch manager of the office where he began with Orkin. Old friends still lived there and between family, old friends, and new friends we lived a very happy life. We were active in our church and many of my memories involve Southcrest Baptist Church. I turned seven the summer we moved to Lubbock and was eleven when the company transferred us to Houston. My mother and her sisters cried when we left, my grandparents promised to visit, my brother had to change his college plans, and the movers came.
We had visited Houston during a vacation the summer prior to our move. My mother's comment was, "It's a nice place to visit, but I certainly wouldn't want to move here." Orkin had other ideas. Houston is a nine hour drive into unfamiliar sounds, sights, smells, cultures, and worlds to a family from West Texas. Even in 1969, it was enormous! The term "great melting pot" described the people from Houston. People from all other the world were represented here. It was truly an amazing learning experience. Our school visited the museums and attend the symphony. I saw Leonard Berstein and Andre Previn conduct the Houston Symphony. I had the opportunity to get close to the art of Mary Cassatt, Monet, Jackson Pollack, and Cezanne. I heard languages that belonged to people we studied in our Social Studies books. I tasted shrimp, crab, and frogs legs for the first time. Gary enrolled in the University of Houston and started his adult life. We joined and attended church, but no life-long friends were made here. Living in a neighborhood of pre-pubescent girls was impossible and school was no joy either. Kids teased me about my West Texas Twang and isolated me from their groups. My grandparents kept their promise and visited, but when they left to return to West Texas, I cried to go with them. Before the year was over, the company gave its orders, but this time Dad started to look for another job. However, after weeks of interviews, and a country entering a recession, my father took the transfer and the movers came. Except this time, Gary stayed behind.
Hello Oklahoma City. I was twelve years old and suddenly the only child living in our home. My parents, my dog, Shorty, and my pet gerbil were all I had from my life in Texas. Three aunts and uncles, several cousins and their families, and even a great uncle and aunt lived in and outside OKC. One of my mother's brothers and his family lived a little over an hour away. We spent time with family I really had never spent much time with before. We spent holidays in Del City and Kingfisher, enjoyed cook-outs in Midwest City, and they came to our home to get to know us, too. My grandfather died that first year and my dad's two sisters helped us get ready to go back to West Texas for his funeral. My brother visited us at holidays, we went to Houston whenever to see him whenever we could, and we talked on the phone every Sunday. My dad traveled between three and four days a week for the company. I was the only girl in a neighborhood of boys which was a relief from the "cat-fight" attitude of the neighborhood in Houston. I began junior high in OKC and my education took a turn in that there was a focus on building inter-racial relationships. I learned about the Native Americans of Oklahoma and attended an exchange program where I attended English class one day a week at a "black" junior high school across town for a semester. I was active as a pre-teen in choir and youth group at our church. Church provided me with summer camp, retreats, singing in a special group, and a choir tour one summer. But there were no life-long friends made, and 18 months later, it was no surprise that the movers were coming.
Even though I was pretty conditioned to "pack and go", it was having a greater effect on me as a teen. I had a melt-down when Mom, Dad, and I went "house-hunting" in Tulsa. Aside from the visits from my brother and my grandmother, their were no visits from either side of the families. Despite the turmoil of relocating, I did adjust to being the "only child in the home" and really enjoyed the nine months we lived there. Church was good, I made friends easily, I discovered S.E. Hinton, my favorite adolescent literature author, and Shorty (the dog) had become more of a sibling than a pet. The company called, the movers came, and there was no pretense that we would leave behind any friends, period.
Moving to Little Rock in November was not a pretty site. It was a cold and rainy weekend, the trees looked like skeletons from the highway, and as we got closer to our hotel, I was a basket-case. We moved into our home during a snowfall and the heater went out that first night. I begged not to begin school for a couple of days to help unpack and my "we never miss school" mother agreed to my request. I was bussed across Little Rock to a high crime neighborhood where the school was bordered by three cemetaries and a highway. I had no friends, I didn't want friends, and I buried myself in the books from the school and public library. I was 13 and a half, depressed, and I told all my family members that I hated living in Little Rock. Church activites were my only refuge. My brother married Sally and they would come to visit us and called every Sunday. Shorty was my younger brother by then. (LOL) And finally, after many months, I let go and opened my eyes and my heart and began to make friends. That first Christmas in LR, my dad gave me a silver locket with the promise that I would never have to move again, if I didn't want to. I am sure he saw something scary when he looked into my eyes during those first dark months. Dad was the district manager of Arkansas for Orkin by then. He still traveled every week, but Mom and I did okay together and always looked forward to the days he would be home. Family visits were few and far between--my dad's brother and wife from California came once and my mother's sister and her family came to dinner once, and of course, my mother's mother came to stay for a week or two each year. As always, we spent a week or two in West Texas every summer. When I entered high school, the depression left and I embraced being a full-fledged high schooler. I loved my church and was extremely involved. I saw the beauty and the wonder of living in Arkansas. The four seasons are amazing. I became a U of A, hog-hat, callin' the hogs fan. It was a great place to live. When I graduated from high school, I made the move alone and went off to college at Ouachita Baptist Univervsity in Arkadelphia, Arkansas.
When I was a sophomore at OBU, Mom and Dad came to see me one Sunday. I knew by the look in her eyes what the news would be. After six years, Orkin had called and they were moving back to Houston. Dad kept his promise, but they did ask me to go with them and go to college in Houston. I stayed at OBU, visited Houston whenever I could and we talked on the phone at least once a week, but certainly every Sunday. During the summer weeks when I lived at home in Houston, I made friends, went to church, and enjoyed spending time with Gary and Sally. I met Bosco at OBU and we married when I graduated in 1981. I packed most of my things, loaded them, my headboard, and my cedar chest and moved across the county to Douglas, Arizona. No company called, just my heart.
I have lived here in Douglas for 29 years. I married a home-town boy, had my children, and raised them here. I talk to my parents every Sunday and other days in between. They visit us when they can and we visit them when we can. They always come when I need them and I go there if they need me. I have a great church and life-long friends. I taught my kids that while there is no place like home, there is a lot to be learned by living other places, too. Meghan moved to the midwest when she graduated from college and Jordan is living in Tucson, going to the University of Arizona. If they want to move to Douglas, to Arizona, to Kalamazoo, or to Katmandoo, that will be okay. Because no matter where they go, I am probably going to be staying here, calling them everyday, and going to visit them whevenever we can as long as we can. I tried to give them an answer to that "get-to-know you" question. Douglas, Arizona.
For a long time I blamed Orkin for all the moves in our lives, but now I think we were supposed to go on that journey. God has plans for us and we need to listen to his call and to our hearts. I am stronger for a I led, and I am wiser for it, too.
I was born in Lubbock, Texas in 1958. My parents were from nearby Tahoka and Post, both West Texas born and bred. My grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, great aunts and uncles all seemed to live in this area, too. If anyone lived away, I was unaware of it because heck, I was a baby! My dad worked for Orkin Exterminating as a salesman and my mother had resigned from her job in a hat shop when I was born. My dad then entered the management division of Orkin. When I was a 10 month old, our family was "transferred" to Plainview, Texas, and away we went.
[Orkin Exterminating is an extremely large corporation. At my last point of interest in Orkin, it was part of the Rollins family corporate dynasty. Being transferred was not unusual for people in management at Orkin, in fact, it became a part of our family culture.]
Plainview, Texas, is not very far from Lubbock. It is part of North West Texas. It was and is smaller than Lubbock. Mother told me that our things were moved in my uncle Daniel's horse trailer. My parents, my brother, and I must have thrived in Plainview because the friends our family made became life-long friends. We lived there until I was four or very close to being four. My memories of Plainview are those of a really young child: watching fireworks from our front porch, playing with Billy, Sarah, Misha, and Melinda, our friends the Holumns, the Davises, and the Kinards, going to Sunbeams at church, a huge ceramic chicken in front of a restaurant, a tornado, hardwood floors in our house, and things like this. At four, though, Orkin called and the movers showed-up to pack our possessions and away we moved to Amarillo.
Amarillo, Texas is only about two hours north from Lubbock and is just as windy. Dad was a branch manager for Orkin, Gary was in junior high school, and at home, it was Mom and me. Friends were made in the neighborhood and at church as was the norm for our family. Our family made life-long friends that my parents communicated with until the friends recently passed away. I have clearer memories of Amarillo, since I was older. During first grade, when I was six, the company moved us back to Lubbock.
"Going home" was the message I understood when we moved back to Lubbock. We lived in the same small city as family members and of course, others lived close-by. Gary entered and completed high school in Lubbock and had planned to attend Texas Tech. Dad was the branch manager of the office where he began with Orkin. Old friends still lived there and between family, old friends, and new friends we lived a very happy life. We were active in our church and many of my memories involve Southcrest Baptist Church. I turned seven the summer we moved to Lubbock and was eleven when the company transferred us to Houston. My mother and her sisters cried when we left, my grandparents promised to visit, my brother had to change his college plans, and the movers came.
We had visited Houston during a vacation the summer prior to our move. My mother's comment was, "It's a nice place to visit, but I certainly wouldn't want to move here." Orkin had other ideas. Houston is a nine hour drive into unfamiliar sounds, sights, smells, cultures, and worlds to a family from West Texas. Even in 1969, it was enormous! The term "great melting pot" described the people from Houston. People from all other the world were represented here. It was truly an amazing learning experience. Our school visited the museums and attend the symphony. I saw Leonard Berstein and Andre Previn conduct the Houston Symphony. I had the opportunity to get close to the art of Mary Cassatt, Monet, Jackson Pollack, and Cezanne. I heard languages that belonged to people we studied in our Social Studies books. I tasted shrimp, crab, and frogs legs for the first time. Gary enrolled in the University of Houston and started his adult life. We joined and attended church, but no life-long friends were made here. Living in a neighborhood of pre-pubescent girls was impossible and school was no joy either. Kids teased me about my West Texas Twang and isolated me from their groups. My grandparents kept their promise and visited, but when they left to return to West Texas, I cried to go with them. Before the year was over, the company gave its orders, but this time Dad started to look for another job. However, after weeks of interviews, and a country entering a recession, my father took the transfer and the movers came. Except this time, Gary stayed behind.
Hello Oklahoma City. I was twelve years old and suddenly the only child living in our home. My parents, my dog, Shorty, and my pet gerbil were all I had from my life in Texas. Three aunts and uncles, several cousins and their families, and even a great uncle and aunt lived in and outside OKC. One of my mother's brothers and his family lived a little over an hour away. We spent time with family I really had never spent much time with before. We spent holidays in Del City and Kingfisher, enjoyed cook-outs in Midwest City, and they came to our home to get to know us, too. My grandfather died that first year and my dad's two sisters helped us get ready to go back to West Texas for his funeral. My brother visited us at holidays, we went to Houston whenever to see him whenever we could, and we talked on the phone every Sunday. My dad traveled between three and four days a week for the company. I was the only girl in a neighborhood of boys which was a relief from the "cat-fight" attitude of the neighborhood in Houston. I began junior high in OKC and my education took a turn in that there was a focus on building inter-racial relationships. I learned about the Native Americans of Oklahoma and attended an exchange program where I attended English class one day a week at a "black" junior high school across town for a semester. I was active as a pre-teen in choir and youth group at our church. Church provided me with summer camp, retreats, singing in a special group, and a choir tour one summer. But there were no life-long friends made, and 18 months later, it was no surprise that the movers were coming.
Even though I was pretty conditioned to "pack and go", it was having a greater effect on me as a teen. I had a melt-down when Mom, Dad, and I went "house-hunting" in Tulsa. Aside from the visits from my brother and my grandmother, their were no visits from either side of the families. Despite the turmoil of relocating, I did adjust to being the "only child in the home" and really enjoyed the nine months we lived there. Church was good, I made friends easily, I discovered S.E. Hinton, my favorite adolescent literature author, and Shorty (the dog) had become more of a sibling than a pet. The company called, the movers came, and there was no pretense that we would leave behind any friends, period.
Moving to Little Rock in November was not a pretty site. It was a cold and rainy weekend, the trees looked like skeletons from the highway, and as we got closer to our hotel, I was a basket-case. We moved into our home during a snowfall and the heater went out that first night. I begged not to begin school for a couple of days to help unpack and my "we never miss school" mother agreed to my request. I was bussed across Little Rock to a high crime neighborhood where the school was bordered by three cemetaries and a highway. I had no friends, I didn't want friends, and I buried myself in the books from the school and public library. I was 13 and a half, depressed, and I told all my family members that I hated living in Little Rock. Church activites were my only refuge. My brother married Sally and they would come to visit us and called every Sunday. Shorty was my younger brother by then. (LOL) And finally, after many months, I let go and opened my eyes and my heart and began to make friends. That first Christmas in LR, my dad gave me a silver locket with the promise that I would never have to move again, if I didn't want to. I am sure he saw something scary when he looked into my eyes during those first dark months. Dad was the district manager of Arkansas for Orkin by then. He still traveled every week, but Mom and I did okay together and always looked forward to the days he would be home. Family visits were few and far between--my dad's brother and wife from California came once and my mother's sister and her family came to dinner once, and of course, my mother's mother came to stay for a week or two each year. As always, we spent a week or two in West Texas every summer. When I entered high school, the depression left and I embraced being a full-fledged high schooler. I loved my church and was extremely involved. I saw the beauty and the wonder of living in Arkansas. The four seasons are amazing. I became a U of A, hog-hat, callin' the hogs fan. It was a great place to live. When I graduated from high school, I made the move alone and went off to college at Ouachita Baptist Univervsity in Arkadelphia, Arkansas.
When I was a sophomore at OBU, Mom and Dad came to see me one Sunday. I knew by the look in her eyes what the news would be. After six years, Orkin had called and they were moving back to Houston. Dad kept his promise, but they did ask me to go with them and go to college in Houston. I stayed at OBU, visited Houston whenever I could and we talked on the phone at least once a week, but certainly every Sunday. During the summer weeks when I lived at home in Houston, I made friends, went to church, and enjoyed spending time with Gary and Sally. I met Bosco at OBU and we married when I graduated in 1981. I packed most of my things, loaded them, my headboard, and my cedar chest and moved across the county to Douglas, Arizona. No company called, just my heart.
I have lived here in Douglas for 29 years. I married a home-town boy, had my children, and raised them here. I talk to my parents every Sunday and other days in between. They visit us when they can and we visit them when we can. They always come when I need them and I go there if they need me. I have a great church and life-long friends. I taught my kids that while there is no place like home, there is a lot to be learned by living other places, too. Meghan moved to the midwest when she graduated from college and Jordan is living in Tucson, going to the University of Arizona. If they want to move to Douglas, to Arizona, to Kalamazoo, or to Katmandoo, that will be okay. Because no matter where they go, I am probably going to be staying here, calling them everyday, and going to visit them whevenever we can as long as we can. I tried to give them an answer to that "get-to-know you" question. Douglas, Arizona.
For a long time I blamed Orkin for all the moves in our lives, but now I think we were supposed to go on that journey. God has plans for us and we need to listen to his call and to our hearts. I am stronger for a I led, and I am wiser for it, too.
Tuesday, April 6, 2010
One Tarzan, One Jane, and a Whole Lot of Cheetahs
When I was a young girl, my favorite playmates were my cousins. There was so many of us who were close to the same age and when we were together it bordered on chaos. Most of us lived close to each other so we had the opportunity to spend time together on Christmas, Easter, Thanksgiving, and now and then during the summer. The best place to spend time together was on my grandparents' farm.
When we were really young, games of hide and seek, chase, swinging statues, and circus kept us occupied for hours. One of the worse things that could happen would be "bad weather" which could mean 10 to 13 kids hanging out together in the back room in my grandparents' home. Being told by various aunts and uncles to stop yelling was common place. Being swatted for jumping on the bed with three or four other kids happened, too. Swearing never to tell who had knocked a hole in the wall was expected. And being released from "back room prison" was such a sweet release!
Outside the house was a wonderful world to be explored. You could play army in the orchard and actually run from someone shooting b-bs at your legs.(It was unsafe to shoot above the waist!) You could play circus by walking on the chicken-house. You could slide down the cellar door, but you had to dodge the tin that would cut your leg or arm. We could sit on my grandpa's tractor and push the starter so it would lunge forward and scare the little kids. But best of all, you could play all sorts of things in the big mulberry tree that grew next to the garage.
The mulberry tree was huge. It was easy to climb and its branches provided some wonderful places to sit. It was perfect for swinging on a branch and dropping to the ground below. A tire-swing even hung from it for years. I loved riding in that swing. But my favorite thing to play in the tree was Tarzan.
Tarzan movies, starring Johnny Weismuller, were re-run on Saturday or Sunday afternoons on our local TV station. They were old even then, black and white, grainy, but exciting. I spent a lot of time watching Tarzan save Jane from quicksand, lions, blood-thirsty natives, and other predators. It was true-love between Tarzan and Jane. She was cultured, obviously educated at some British boarding school, a fine English lady, sometimes wore jungle-garb, and had impecible grammar. She could swing on her own, but usually rode with her macho-man, Tarzan, as he swung from vine to vine. Tarzan could do anything and once he somehow made it to New York and rescued some of his jungle homies who had been stolen and shipped to America. Tarzan's best buddy, Cheetah the chimpanzee, was never far behind along with "Boy", the jungle foster child Tarzan and Jane were raising. Tarzan was a giant among men, Jane his lady fair, Cheetah the comedian in the act, and Boy completed the blended family.
Picture a large leafy mulberry tree... One of the older boys got to be Tarzan. One of the younger boys got to be Boy. That left Jane and Cheetah. Ten kids. Jane had to be worldly, educated past the second grade, not afraid to climb to the highest branches, and most of all able to convince the other girls that no one else could swing with ease through the breeze of the trees. Why, of course that was ME, the oldest girl! It also helped that I could convince the rest that they were all Cheetahs--really the soul of the show who had all the fun! No Tarzan flick was complete without the fun from Cheetah! I thought it was a great trade-off.
I loved standing on the trunk of that big ole tree, looking out over the cotton fields which seemed to go on forever. It was thrilling climbing out on a really long limb, feeling my feet dangle over the edge. It was comforting to have a sweaty little monkey cousin lean against me, the two of us savoring the feel of a sunny Sunday afternoon. Even now, as I write these words, it's not so far away. For what seemed like such a short time in my life is such a sweet memory in my heart and mind.
There was never a place so magical or imaginative as that farm. When you are a kid who moves every three or four years, having to start over and over, home isn't always where your bedroom is. Sometimes it's a place that never really changes, where everyone knows you and loves you, and what you remember when you are fifty-one years old and you are trying to fall asleep at night. It's filled with adventure, fun, and security. There's one Tarzan, one Jane, and a whole lot of Cheetahs.
ahhhhhh-AHHHHHHHH-yaaaahhhhhhh!!!!! (Tarzan's call!)
When we were really young, games of hide and seek, chase, swinging statues, and circus kept us occupied for hours. One of the worse things that could happen would be "bad weather" which could mean 10 to 13 kids hanging out together in the back room in my grandparents' home. Being told by various aunts and uncles to stop yelling was common place. Being swatted for jumping on the bed with three or four other kids happened, too. Swearing never to tell who had knocked a hole in the wall was expected. And being released from "back room prison" was such a sweet release!
Outside the house was a wonderful world to be explored. You could play army in the orchard and actually run from someone shooting b-bs at your legs.(It was unsafe to shoot above the waist!) You could play circus by walking on the chicken-house. You could slide down the cellar door, but you had to dodge the tin that would cut your leg or arm. We could sit on my grandpa's tractor and push the starter so it would lunge forward and scare the little kids. But best of all, you could play all sorts of things in the big mulberry tree that grew next to the garage.
The mulberry tree was huge. It was easy to climb and its branches provided some wonderful places to sit. It was perfect for swinging on a branch and dropping to the ground below. A tire-swing even hung from it for years. I loved riding in that swing. But my favorite thing to play in the tree was Tarzan.
Tarzan movies, starring Johnny Weismuller, were re-run on Saturday or Sunday afternoons on our local TV station. They were old even then, black and white, grainy, but exciting. I spent a lot of time watching Tarzan save Jane from quicksand, lions, blood-thirsty natives, and other predators. It was true-love between Tarzan and Jane. She was cultured, obviously educated at some British boarding school, a fine English lady, sometimes wore jungle-garb, and had impecible grammar. She could swing on her own, but usually rode with her macho-man, Tarzan, as he swung from vine to vine. Tarzan could do anything and once he somehow made it to New York and rescued some of his jungle homies who had been stolen and shipped to America. Tarzan's best buddy, Cheetah the chimpanzee, was never far behind along with "Boy", the jungle foster child Tarzan and Jane were raising. Tarzan was a giant among men, Jane his lady fair, Cheetah the comedian in the act, and Boy completed the blended family.
Picture a large leafy mulberry tree... One of the older boys got to be Tarzan. One of the younger boys got to be Boy. That left Jane and Cheetah. Ten kids. Jane had to be worldly, educated past the second grade, not afraid to climb to the highest branches, and most of all able to convince the other girls that no one else could swing with ease through the breeze of the trees. Why, of course that was ME, the oldest girl! It also helped that I could convince the rest that they were all Cheetahs--really the soul of the show who had all the fun! No Tarzan flick was complete without the fun from Cheetah! I thought it was a great trade-off.
I loved standing on the trunk of that big ole tree, looking out over the cotton fields which seemed to go on forever. It was thrilling climbing out on a really long limb, feeling my feet dangle over the edge. It was comforting to have a sweaty little monkey cousin lean against me, the two of us savoring the feel of a sunny Sunday afternoon. Even now, as I write these words, it's not so far away. For what seemed like such a short time in my life is such a sweet memory in my heart and mind.
There was never a place so magical or imaginative as that farm. When you are a kid who moves every three or four years, having to start over and over, home isn't always where your bedroom is. Sometimes it's a place that never really changes, where everyone knows you and loves you, and what you remember when you are fifty-one years old and you are trying to fall asleep at night. It's filled with adventure, fun, and security. There's one Tarzan, one Jane, and a whole lot of Cheetahs.
ahhhhhh-AHHHHHHHH-yaaaahhhhhhh!!!!! (Tarzan's call!)
Sunday, March 21, 2010
The Elephant Ride
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.
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.
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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