Shorty Update

Okay so here's the deal, can't write in my blog while I'm at dad's 'cause he took away my privileges when his laptop went on the blink. Of course, after hinting that "someone" had messed with "something" they shouldn't have, he found out after fiddling with the cords connected from his desk top to the jack in the wall, that it was a loose connection. But if you think I've regained access to his office, you'd be wrong. Nope, door's still locked. So now I'm trying to drop a note or two on dad's progress and my progress dealing with dad, at work when I should be reviewing a policy or binding coverage. Whatever. So about dad...he's doing really well, I think. I even caught him walking around the house the other day without using his cane. When I mentioned it, he mumbled, "Well, I'm doing alright, but not one hundred percent, you know." I think he likes us all hanging around but he's just too stubborn to admit it. His cognitive abilities seem to be much improved since they changed his insulin to once a day. Dad says the new one-a-day meds are expensive and they don't the option of using it -- or even tell you there is a better option -- until after you've struggled with the cheaper stuff. Typical, when insurance companies are involved. But he's improving and that's what really counts. The other day I forgot to include one of his medicines in the med container -- I think he checks my work after I go upstairs. I'm usually very careful so it bothered me that I forgot to include a couple of pills, but he caught it and to be honest, I'm glad he's paying attention. Anyway, that's about it. Ciao.

Dad's Dog

I don’t particularly dislike dogs. But when my Dad got the 3-year-old, German Shepard-mixed pup almost twelve years ago, I was determined not to bond with the yippy dog that acted like she’d been intravenously pumped with caffeine. It bothered me that such a rambunctious animal was not placed with a family with kids and a yard where it could romp and play. Although my dad referred to her from time to time over the years, I pretty much intentionally forgot she was even in the back yard. And around the time I divorced my second husband, I found I actually preferred cats. The reference to dogs and my ex is purely coincidental. Sort of.

When Dad had his surgery in December, through the process of elimination, I was nominated to feed and water Dad’s dog until he recovered and could do it himself. Arrrgg, I was not pleased but the dog had to eat. Right? BUT, I was determined not to become her newest play date. Not me, I prefer cats. Dad was in the hospital for 3 weeks, and during that time I’d leave Seattle after work on the bus to the Tacoma Dome Park-n-Ride, hustle over to the house to feed and water his dog, then head over to the hospital to see Dad. December was really chilly and after the first week, and I was a bit concerned with her being out in the elements, not to mention, her water bowl kept freezing over which really worried me. After getting a bit of advice from a co-worker, I tossed a large wool pillow I bought at Pet Smart into her digs to keep her warm. I’d come back the next day and find the pillow behind a tree or in the bushes. She and I had a “chat” and it was agreed that she would stop tossin' the pillow, because if she continued her shenanigans she would freeze to death. I figured a blunt approach worked best. The pillow stayed in the doghouse after that. I considered looking into getting her more comfortable accommodations, like the fancy igloo doghouse my sister found online, however Doug, dad’s neighbor, said it would be a waste of money and assured me that after all of these years, the dog was happy with her current living situation. Never dawned on me to ask Dad's dog how she felt about it.

Dad’s had some ups and downs since December and hasn’t quite gotten to the place yet where he feels comfortable taking those stairs that exit the garage to the back yard, in order to feed his dog. He’s afraid of falling, so the care of the pooch has remained in my hands. Yip.

I don’t recall at what point over the last 6 months Dad’s dog started to tug on my heart strings. It was a gradual thing. Could have been the funny way she’d try to recapture some of that spunk from her youth by doing a rain dance around me whenever I’d visit. To out smart her, I’d toss a beggin’ strip across the yard and when she’d romp to grab it I’d jog down the stairs and jump over some fallen tree branches to get to her water and food bowl before she'd finished her snack, so I could refill them. Fait Accompli without being licked to death. I’m very clever.

Dad called me on my way home from work yesterday and asked, “Are you on the bus?” I said yes. “Well, Pepper died.” Oh. I think I said it out loud. Not sure. I held back until I’d made it to my car. Then I cried all the way home. I wish I'd bought her the igloo dog house.

I walked in the front door and slipped on some rubber gloves. I had to check her for myself. I picked up the bag of beggin’ treats sitting on the dryer. Just in case. I found her lying behind a huge oak, as if she were sleeping. She liked to lay there sometimes because it offered shade on hot days. One touch and I knew, and I cried some more. I tossed the dog treats in the garbage on the way into the kitchen. My 'ole dog was past minding.

Her name was Pepper. One of the sweetest tempered pooches I've ever had the honor of knowing. And I'll miss her.

Our Crabby Old Man

Dad has become a bit of a doolally tap, a term I once heard my English colleague and friend use in reference to her mother-in-law. It means to be mad, or very eccentric. I’m not sure if this was her intent, but I’m using the term with a whole lot of love and affection laced with some serious irritation. When I returned from beloved isolation at my own residence yesterday, he announced quite crankily that someone (meaning me), had messed with his laptop, disconnecting some cords and now it’s not working. “Because of this,” he says, “I don’t want anyone (a.k.a. mainly me), messing with my stuff anymore.” I literally forced something across my lips and hoped it was a smile and not the frown I was feeling on the inside, and said through clinched teeth. “Dad, I did not touch your laptop and I don’t know who did.” Although I suspect that whatever happened to dad’s laptop had a lot to do with the tinkering he was doing on it last Thursday when we thought the Internet connection was lost, but I wasn’t about to voice that thought. I’d noticed he was a tad irritated when I’d called on my way back to the house to tell him I was on my way. He’d called me earlier in the day to see when I was coming back so I could help him change the wafer that the colostomy bag connects to, and I told him I’d be back late evening. He said that’d be fine. So when I came in the door at around 8:45 pm I asked, “Are you going to shower so we can change the wafer?” His reply was a bit on the snippy side. “I didn’t know if you were even going to show up so I just did it myself.” Whoa. I show up every Sunday.

As I was going upstairs he continued on, “I asked Jean if she did it. Of course, she said no.” I can hear the click, click of his cane as he slowly makes it from the living room to the family room. “I asked Tony if he did it, and he said no. Nobody touched my computer and yet it’s not working.” Still about the damn laptop? At around 11:30 p.m. I decided sneak into his office to use his desktop to write in my blog, which I'd been preauthorized to do by the way, but the door to his office was locked. Yeah. Nothing says I love and appreciate you like distrust.

To be fair, Dad’s probably on edge because he has an appointment today for an ex-ray, and he has every right to be. He got the results back last Wednesday from a scan he took a week or so ago and they found a spot. The ex-ray will determine whether it’s more cancer or scar tissue from his surgery. I pray it's the latter.

He’s been through a helluva lot over the past few months so he’s certainly entitled to be a bit irritable from time to time. Although I have to add Dad could fry a last nerve before surgery. Whatever. He’s dad and we love him. But some days…oh Lordy.

Please God, let it be scar tissue.

Crabby Old Man

What do you see nurses? .......What do you see?
What are you thinking..........when you're looking at me?
A crabby old man, .............not very wise,
Uncertain of habit ............with faraway eyes?

Who dribbles his food..........and makes no reply.
When you say in a loud voice..."I do wish you'd try!"
Who seems not to notice .......the things that you do.
And forever is losing .........A sock or shoe?

Who, resisting or not..........lets you do as you will,
With bathing and feeding ......The long day to fill?
Is that what you're thinking?..Is that what you see?
Then open your eyes, nurse.....you're not looking at me.

I'll tell you who I am ........As I sit here so still,
As I do at your bidding, ......as I eat at your will.
I'm a small child of Ten.......with a father and mother,
Brothers and sisters ..........who love one another

A young boy of Sixteen ........with wings on his feet
Dreaming that soon now. .......a lover he'll meet.
A groom soon at Twenty ........my heart gives a leap.
Remembering, the vows..........that I promised to keep.

At Twenty-Five, now ...........I have young of my own.
Who need me to guide ..........And a secure happy home.
A man of Thirty ...............My young now grown fast,
Bound to each other ...........With ties that should last.

At Forty, my young sons .......have grown and are gone,
But my woman's beside me.......to see ! I don't mourn.
At Fifty, once more, ..........Babies play 'round my knee,
Again, we know children .......My loved one and me.

Dark days are upon me .........My wife is now dead.
I look at the future ..........I shudder with dread.
For my young are all rearing ..young of their own.
And I think of the years.......And the love that I've known.

I'm now an old man.............and nature is cruel.
'Tis jest to make old age .....look like a fool.
The body, it crumbles..........grace and vigor, depart.
There is now a stone...........where I once had a heart.

But inside this old carcass ...A young guy still dwells,
And now and again .......my battered heart swells.
I remember the joys.............. I remember the pain.
And I'm loving and living.............life over again.

I think of the years ...all too few......gone too fast.
And accept the stark fact........that nothing can last.
So open your eyes, people .........open and see..
Not a crabby old man. Look closer....see........ME!!

I like this poem. It reminds us that sometimes it's crucial that we look past what we see, and allow our hearts to be governed by what we know. Yeah. That's so it.

Letting Go

To "let go" does not mean to stop caring,
it means I can't do it for someone else.

To "let go" is not to cut myself off,
it's the realization I can't control another.

To "let go" is not to enable,
but to allow learning from natural consequences.

To "let go" is to admit powerlessness,
which means the outcome is not in my hands.

To "let go" is not to try to change or blame another,
it's to make the most of myself.

To "let go" is not to care for,
but to care about.

To "let go" is not to fix,
but to be supportive.

To "let go" is not to judge,
but to allow another to be a human being.

To "let go" is not to be in the middle arranging the outcomes,
but to allow others to affect their own destinies.

To "let go" is not to be protective,
it's to permit another to face reality.

To "let go" is not to deny,
but to accept.

To "let go" it not to nag, scold or argue,
but instead to search out my own shortcomings, and correct them.

To "let go" is not to adjust everything to my desires
but to take each day as it comes,
and cherish myself in it.

To "let go" is not to criticize and regulate anybody
but to try to become what I dream I can be.

To "let go" is not to regret the past,
but to grow and live for the future.

To "let go" is to fear less,
and love more.

Sometimes "letting go" is paramount to jumping out of a plane without a parachute. When you really care about somebody, it's just hard to do.

Operation: Helping Dad

Helping Dad these past few months has become a covert operation that calls for concise, strategic military-like planning...and some conniving. His feelings are easily stepped upon so we tip toe around caring, trying not to offend, when our intent is only to help. We've taken to hiding behind doors with mop and broom waiting for him to fall asleep so we can move in like stealth fighters into the kitchen to wash dishes and mop floors before he awakens. As he pulls out of the driveway for a doctor's appointment in a car he really should no longer be driving, we rush from behind the bushes where we've been hiding with our buckets, mops and brooms so we can gain access to the house with keys we're not suppose to have (says Dad), to mop floors, vacuum a rug, to tidy up his bedroom, pick up in the family room, do laundry, arrange his medications in a handy organizer Jean bought for him after he'd told her not to, or to put a low-sodium, diabetic safe casserole in the oven. Operative DBA, drops from the sky in chef hat and apron like a ninja warrior. Her assignment: replace his cookies and Twinkies with fruit and nuts, carrot sticks and raw broccoli, and to grill up a month worth of delicious low-sodium meats and veggies and stock dad's freezer, "Just so you have them handy Pops."

Double Agent JBH will coincidentally show up at an ungodly hour of the morning the same day he has a chemo appointment and say, "Well Dad, since I'm here can I drive you to your appointment?" Operatives Tamara and Desi nonchalantly pay an innocent visit to chat and accidentally stay overnight in an attempt to keep promises to doctors that he will not be left alone. Agent Tony's assignment (a.k.a. grandson), is to "drop by" because he's "in the neighborhood" to tidy up the yard, fix a broken door, feed the dog and get so busy with handyman duties he forgets to leave so will have to stay over -- not to watch over Dad of course, but because the experts say it's too dangerous hitting the road after too much yard work.

We are accused of being busy bodies and budinkys and making him feel like an invalid. But when we listened to him before surgery and gave him his home and his space, he accused us of not caring, never being around and he made us feel as if we'd failed him. We are stealth fighters with a mission to look after Dad, to care for him, to love him without encroaching on his privacy, his space, his world. We are honor bound by love and devotion to fulfill our mission at all cost.

And God help us that we can keep doing what we do, even when he tells us not to, that he doesn't want or need us around. 'Cause when I look in his eyes and see his fears, I know we're doing the right thing. I feel very strongly that we are.

Okay here's my disclaimer: This posting is a slight exaggeration, but sadly, not by much.

My Volunteer Work

As a hospice volunteer we are asked to walk into a stranger's home and allow the caregiver at least 4 hours to do whatever they want or need to do away from the home, while we look after their loved one. 4 hours didn't seem like a whole helluva lot of time to me when I first started my volunteer work. Now that I've spent some time in caring for my dad I have a clearer understanding of how precious those moments must be for a family member who's been caring for their loved one morning, noon and night. The person dealing with the good, bad and ugly moments, and I can guaran-damn-ty-ya there's going to be days where all three of them dudes will be present and accounted for. Imagine not getting any kind of release what-so-ever. I know how blissful my weekends have become after being at dad's all week, and I'm not even there during the day, so it goes without saying I'm not even doing half as much as what a full time caregiver does on a daily basis. And yet...the stress of wondering if I'm doing the right thing, saying the right thing, doubting whether I'll even be able to handle the next emergency--and there always seems to be another emergency--on some days, leaves me completely undone. And the emotionally jarring windfall from all of the bleeding done on the inside watching the life force slipping away from a person I've loved my whole life, or worst, waking up each morning wondering if I will walk into the family room where he sleeps and find him...gone, literally depletes me.

All of this, and more...gives me a deeper understanding of the role of hospice volunteers. They allow the caregiver to take a step back, to inhale a deep cleansing breath of air, and exhale the frustrations, the worry and sadness, so they can get back to the deeply intimate business of caring and giving.

I put a temporary freeze on my volunteering when my dad started to need more care. And actually, over the last couple of months, I'd even wondered if it's something I can go back to. I have doubts as to whether I possess that special something necessary to do what a good volunteer does over and over again. However, with all my insecurities about whether I can be more, when someone needs me to be, and my doubts about...well, everything, I know that volunteering is a call I may need to answer again. After all, now that I know what I know, how can I not?

God, please help me to be more, when it's necessary that I be.