crazy town

In a few days, I will be hosting Maya's 10th birthday party at our house.
A sleepover.
With about 18 girls ages 8-11.
The night before a volleyball game and team photos.

I think I might be crazy.

We'll have them make their own pizzas, play a few Minute to Win It games, cake, ice cream, presents...at which time some kids will leave...and then??  Movies and hopefully sleep--for all of us.
Ha!

the end

Beginning last Wednesday, my grandma has been in bed.  She began her time in bed in a sleepy state with fairly regular moments of lucidity.

Friday her bath aid, Pat, came in and made all kinds of unnecessary (in my expert opinion) decisions: grandma would use Depends. Grandma would use a hospital bed.  Grandma would die by the end of the weekend.

I'd like to state that the bath aid was wrong at every turn.

The weekend was long and quiet; when hospice isn't visiting and church friends aren't visiting, the days are very long.  My grandpa and me (and/or my mom) sitting in a quiet house.  No radio. No TV. Minimal or idle conversation.

I stayed the night on Friday and Monday nights; we weren't needing to medicate my grandma (liquid morphine) because she really didn't show any signs of pain.

Monday night things changed for me.  My grandma really seemed to be in pain when I turned her (every 1.5hrs).  We turn her frequently because she wasn't able to move herself around as easily, and we wanted to prevent bedsores.  Waking every 1.5 hours was hard, and I realized that turning her so often seemed to cause her pain.  I suggested to my grandpa that we medicate her 10 minutes prior to turning, and we only turn her every two hours.

Hospice was back from holiday (Labor Day) on Tuesday, so grandma was visited by Elinda, our savior hospice nurse, Nancy, the substitute bath aide, and Peg, the LMP.  Grandma was doted on all day; it was so good for her.

I received a phone call from my grandpa this morning (about 7:40am) asking me to come to his house (about 5 mins away) to help him.  I arrived at his house around 8:00am and began to help him care for my grandma.  Her breathing was strained, in the gasping way that accompanies the end of life.  I moved her a little, heard a gurgle and didn't quite know what to do.  I lifted her torso into a 45* angle, and then... a rattle from her chest followed by stillness.  My grandpa was a few feet away from me on her opposite side.

I can say with authority that it isn't always easy to determine if one has departed this realm.

Around 8:00am PDT on September 8, 2010, my grandma, 78 years of age, took her last breath in my arms.

My mom, my aunt and I bathed her, lotioned and perfumed her, dressed her and prepared her for her final journey out of her house never to be seen by us again.  I stood at the window by her front door as she was driven away from the house, the way she always did when I drove away.  I wanted to wave good-bye to her like she always did to me, but I couldn't quite raise my hand.

shhhh...

I'm in bed, and my grandma is next to me.
Her breathing is slow and steady, and she is on her third day of sleepfulness.  She hasn't been out of bed except to use the bathroom.
Her moments of clarity are fewer and farther apart, but when she is clear, she reaches out, gives a hug, touches my face...

She is so thin right now; she wasn't big to begin with, but every time I go into her room and touch her, she seems to have lost even more weight, mass and inches.

We expect her to pass sometime this weekend.  We're doing everything we can to assure she is comfortable and  maintains dignity.  My grandpa has been the best caretaker he can be, and he has had to make some tough decisions.  I told him that right now, for me and Wayne, this point that they are at seems so far away for us, but I'm sure to him it all came upon them too quickly.  I keep telling Wayne different things I want if I die in the manner my grandma is dying: candles, music, family together, food cooking, massage, holding, touching, talking...I want to have vitality surround me as I pass, so I know I leave a legacy that will continue.

less than one week

One week from right this moment, I'll be getting in my car and heading over to get Maya after her first day of school.

Yes, we are less than one week away from school beginning.

Normally I'm not too excited about school starting, but this year, I need school to start; this summer has sucked. Actually, I guess that's unfair.  We tried to have a Summer of Spontaneity, and I think we mostly succeeded.  Our goal was to be able to say, "hey let's leave town" at the last minute and to be able to do it.  In that regard, our summer was a success.  We camped more than we have since Maya was born (2000).  We went to Walla Walla--just me and Wayne--and we had a great weekend.  Our last trip was to Bend,OR, which wasn't the best trip, but it was still fun.

This stuff with my grandma has been rough, and it has sort of overshadowed the good parts of summer, so I find myself looking at photos from our summer to remind myself that there were plenty of good times.  Wallowing is easy to do, but I will resist.

I stayed the night at my grandparents' house last night; my mom and I take turns sleeping over there.  We stay with my grandma while my grandpa sleeps in the guestroom; this allows him--the 24/7 caregiver-- a bit of respite from his duties, so he can sleep and be a better caregiver during the day.  In addition, I'm there almost every day to help my grandma get ready for the day and to be with her, so my grandpa can leave the house to run errands.

My grandma's condition has worsened, as expected, but she still has her sense of humor and interacts with us.  She hasn't been receiving regular tube-feedings anymore, and she can't really drink fluids anymore, either.  She can't write.  She can't talk.  She is mostly unable to communicate with us--she won't (or can't) even respond "yes" or "no" with nods of her head.  Her entire right side, which is her dominant side, appears to have effects from a stroke (or several small strokes).  She can still bear weight on her left side, but transferring her is more difficult with the limpness of her right side.

Last night was a sleepless night; my grandpa doesn't like to medicate my grandma, so the Haldol that the nurse suggested she take at night to ease anxiety, he tries to skip when he can.  He didn't give Haldol to my grandma on Tuesday night, and he didn't give it (he calls it Halo because it's generic name is Haloperidol) last night either.  She spent the whole night wiggling around in bed and groaning throughout the night.  She appeared anxious, for sure, or maybe it was discomfort.  It's difficult to know.  He told me this morning that he "probably should have given her the Halo."

His fear is chemical dependency, which I totally get with the f'ed up family we have, but at the same time, she's on hospice, which means she at the end of her life.  My poor grandpa is so conflicted.  To give her tube feedings or not?  To medicate her or not?  What medications to continue and which to discontinue?

I wonder if she knows she's dying because no one speaks of what's happening to her in front of her.  A week ago, my mom and my grandpa went to finalize the details at the cemetery and the crematorium.  He told  my grandma that he had to go to the credit union, which she didn't believe.  She was so pissed at him!  He never told her where he really was, so when he got home, she was so mad that he was gone since she was sure he wasn't at the credit union.  I think it would have been easier and better to be honest, but what do I know.

I'm exhausted, sad, unenthusiastic about the things I need to do (co-op, childbirth classes, cleaning, thinking, doing...).  So, that is why I am happy school is starting.  I know Maya will be engaged in activity for 6 1/2 hours a day, so I can help my grandparents and not have to worry about Maya being on the computer/playing video games/watching TV for 10 hours a day while I am at my grandparents' house (or just sitting at home like a blob).

Here's my grandparents on 8.18.10 using a communication board I made for my grandma.  She used it for a few hours before she grew tired of it and put it aside for good.

tired

We've gotten to the point with my grandma, I think, that she needs a lot more care and attention.

I stayed the night with my grandparents last night to give my grandpa a night of respite; he's been her 24-hr caregiver, and it's really affecting him.  She requires more care now than before, and it is exhausting.

I slept with my grandma and got up with her during the night, which was often.  We went to bed at 12:00am, and she was up at 1:30am, 3:00am, and 4:30am.  She was finally up for the day at 7:00am.  Each time she wanted to be out of bed, we were up for about half an hour.  I am tired today.  I totally get why my grandpa is just completely exhausted; this has been her schedule for weeks now, and sometimes it's a more erratic sleeping schedule than last night.

We're going to try an every third night sleepover schedule to continue to give my grandpa so time off of caregiving.  My mom, my grandpa and I all will all alternate nights sleeping with grandma and getting up with her through the night.

She's declining steadily now, but she's not in any pain.

it's grand

Two of our kids have now graduated, and one is for sure not living here at home anymore with the other likely to move in with her mom at the end of summer.

Would it be bad to say, "I can get used to this!"?

Sure, it's quiet, dull and lonely at times, but on the bright side, it's quiet, dull and lonely at times!

Paige and I get along a lot better when we don't live together; she's turned out to be a good kid.  She'll be 20 in a little less than 2 weeks (!), and I think she'll be okay.  She isn't lavished with things as much as some of her friends, so I think she'll either hate me for it later or thank me for it.  I just wish she was more on top of getting her school stuff together.  You know: financial aid, registration...

Brittani is 18.  I don't think anything else needs to be said.  Anyone who has ever lived with an 18 year-old understands what I'm talking about: 18 is hell.   Hopefully by the time she's 20, things will smooth over.

I'm just going to enjoy these next few (too few) years before Maya hits that icky stage of 11 to 20 years of age.  Peaks and valleys ahead, folks...

whiskey shots

Today was a gorgeous day.  It was solidly in the mid to high 80s, and I didn't really get out to enjoy it.  Maya's at daycamp this week, which is the perfect opportunity to clean the house.

Except I didn't.

I was a neglectful granddaughter last week and did not see my grandparents as much as usual.  I only saw them on Monday and on Saturday when my grandpa called me and told me that my grandma had to talk to me, which means I have to go there since her talking is writing on a pad of paper.  

On my drive there--all of 5 minutes--I was wondering what she could possibly need to tell me.  Of course, my mind goes straight to Days of Our Lives material.  She has to tell me some deep, dark family secret before she forgets it forever.  What could the secret be?  I was kind of nervous.  

When I arrive, she is greatly agitated, and it sounds like maybe she had hit my grandpa.  She hadn't.  She had thrown some stuff but not at him.  Just throwing in frustration.  It's something the women in my family do at times.  She was frustrated that there isn't any more treatment for her cancer.  She wrote in big, huge letters on her notebook paper: "HELP ME" and "CALL BRENDA" (my mom).  Also, "YOU WON"T HELP ME"  By help she means treatment, I guess.  She also wrote, "Who said no more help"  She's a fighter, that one.  A forgetful fighter, so we have to have this discussion with her several times a week if not several times a day: there is no more treatment for your cancer.

After the dust settled, I went home to a crab feast since Wayne and my parents had gone earlier that day.  I made plans to be at the grands again today.

Today was a good day.  She was active, cheerful and animated.  She dusted while I vacuumed all the carpeted areas in the house.  One of the carpeted areas of her house is the dining room, in which a big china hutch sits.  It's filled with tea pots and various glassware from her past.  She has a glassware set from Ireland that her great-grandmother brought over, from what she told me today.  See, this is the thing that sucks.  She has told me this stuff over and over throughout the years.  Was I listening?  Nope.  Now I'm worried that I won't get the correct info from her (she is easily confused about people and dates--there's a lot of them to keep straight).  Pay attention to what the old folks say to you because someday, they may not be able to tell you.  And it's lost.  The whole damn story.  

We're standing in front of the china hutch, and she's pointing out pieces, when she pulls out two shot glasses.  I say, "oh, is it time to do some whiskey shots?"  She laughs and calls for my grandpa to come in.  One of the glasses has a crack, so I say, "looks like someone slammed this one down too hard on the bar." right when my grandpa comes in and says, "Coulda been Jesse James"  

My grandma's grandpa Walters was sheriff in Kansas City, Missouri, and Jesse James came into the Green River bar (saloon?) there.  Her grandpa kept the glasses Jesse James drank from, and now there they are sitting in my grandma's china hutch with all her delicate tea pots and crystalware.  I was able to do a one-woman re-enactment of how I envisioned their meeting went, which amused my grandma.  

Needless to say, we didn't drink any whiskey.  

I tried to get a photo of the plastic grocery bags that my grandma has neatly folded, but she walked in on me. I didn't want her to see me taking a picture of the evidence of her OCD behavior.  Who folds plastic grocery bags?

After all that, I never had time to get my own house clean.  Oh well.  There's always tomorrow...

She would be pissed...

But I love these photos of my gma doing her thing:

Reading a letter from someone she can't remember (Karlene?).

Toes and slippers.
She always runs around the house in barefeet, and it makes me cold.

The whiteboard she uses (at times) to communicate.  She'll also use tablets of paper, envelopes or even paper tape.  Whatever is handy.

Writing something to me on the whiteboard.

Yesterday was a really good day.

write it down and remember

My grandma, whom I have adored since I decided to grace the earth with my presence, is currently under the care of hospice.  If you're not familiar, hospice is end-of-life care for people who are estimated to only have 6 months (or less) before end of life.  Hospice is about death with dignity.  Death with less pain.  Hospice is a good thing at a bad time.

I have been going to my grandparents' house almost daily to help out with household chores, to bathe my grandma, or wash her hair, help her get dressed or just to visit with her.

Today was nice because all I did was chat with her.  She can't speak, really, so she writes everything down.  She tries to talk, and some days are better than others when it comes to clarity of speech.

It hit me, this day, that my grandma is at the end of life and will take with her volumes of information about my family that only she knows, remembers or experienced.  She wrote some replies to some questions that came up today, and when she went to throw the paper away, I took the sheet of paper from her, folded it and put it in my pocket.  As soon as I got home I made notations on the paper to put into context "47" "Wisconsin" "W.P.B. Fla"--among other things.

We brought out the family bible, the enormous tome that it is (the word of God is heavy, I told her).  It's amazing the papers that people shove into their family bible--not to mention the important births, deaths, marriages that are noted within.  I added my marriage to Wayne, which she hadn't added yet.  She's also missing the births of three of her great-grandchildren (Maya, Ben & Blake).  Wayne and I don't have a family bible (my parents do!) to keep those important family records.  I need to think of a way to keep track of our family history past and as we make it in the future.  A bible will never do in this household.

My grandma showed me some journaling she did 3 weeks ago (she claims; her recognition of time is sketchy right now).  The penmanship on the page was lovely, as her handwriting always has been, which leads me to believe that it was written way before 3 weeks ago.  Her penmanship now is difficult to read sometimes; her brain tumors really impact her ability to write as well as to speak.  Communication is a challenge and a frustration.  This bit of journaling that she completed was only a short page of brief recollections of her daily life during her childhood, but her writing...it was so descriptive and fun; it made me sad that she hadn't written more.  She ended her memories on that page mid-sentence.  Abruptly.

I hope she has more journals somewhere, but she told me she doesn't.

ah

Thank god the sun is shining.  Crocus are blooming, and the bulbs that my Girl Scout troop planted outside their meeting space are poking up out of the cold earth to seek some warmth.  Spring is coming!  Yea!

This winter has to have been my best winter is years.  We've had no snow days, which means that school is out on-schedule this year.  I haven't felt that foggy blah feeling that I get many winters; I attribute my improved mood to exercise and nutrition.  I had my annual exam (that I only get about every 5 years), and I passed with flying colors.  Pap was clear--yea!  I hope my days of abnormal pap results is in my past forever.  All my bloodwork was stellar.  I feel healthy inside and out.  Whoot!  The best part of my exam was when the dr asked me if I exercise, and before I could answer, she said, "I will put "yes".  You look very fit."  Fit!  Me!  No one in my entire life has called me fit; it was exciting.

I was telling Wayne this morning that--unless something drastic happens-- this is the first spring-summer that I'm not dreading pulling out my warmer-weather clothes; however, none of my clothes fit now. Yesterday I tried to put on my favorite brown linen pants, which are perfect for the weather we've been having lately, but they are simply ginormous.  I wonder if I can alter them. I hate to have to give them up. 

Next month...in about 3 weeks, actually...I will be celebrating my 39th birthday.  Thirty-NINE. Good lord, how did I get to this age.  Seriously.  I plan to go to Masa in Tacoma for some serious Latin dancing.   And mojitos.  Lots of mojitos.  We'll do a family dinner there with the kids and some friends, and then the kids will take Maya home, and the party shall begin.  I. Can't. Wait.  

And then it's the downward spiral to 40.