... Valdosta today, for the third time in less than a week. Here last Saturday when the auntie was transported to the ER, then admitted to the hospital. You know nothing happens in hospitals on the weekend, so that was an exercise in futility. They will feed you, record your vital signs, provide Rx as ordered, but unless there is a dire situation, do little more than maintain the status quo.
Finally made progress when I went back on Monday morning, hoping to have her transferred to an inpatient hospice program. No beds available. Now what? A nurse recalled being able to return patients to the facility she came from once a hospice worker made an assessment. Yay. She went right back to where she came from two days prior. Under hospice care - which astounded me, as I did not have any reason to think they would allow someone of her 'iffy' status.
In retrospect, I can imagine they have people who come in the front door in relatively good health, just needing some support and meals provided to continue to live independently. As well as residents who cannot live on their own, due to health concerns or mental instability.Then they continue to decline, or the natural process of aging will incrementally demonstrate there is a need for a higher level of care to manage daily needs.
The auntie was back in a place where the staff knew her, cared for her needs, and was available to assist. She died this morning. The disease that affected her father, brother and sister overwhelmed her system. I cannot tell any more because I don't know any more. I do know she is at peace, no longer struggling with something she cannot control, or frustrated with not being able to assert her strong will and force the change she would desire.
I told someone earlier in the week that IF I knew then what I know now, I would never have let her be admitted to the hospital, never allowed them to keep her there for three days. If I had known she was so close to the end, I would not have even let them deliver her to the ER, but left her in the place where the staff knew and cared for her, was available to help with anything she needed. This is a prime example of what my mom would refer to as 'twenty-twenty hindsight'.If I only knew then what I know now....
Friday, February 8, 2019
Thursday, February 7, 2019
book review: "Educated"...
...written by Tara Westbrook. Amazing story - you should read it for yourself! Checked out from the library, I had a hard time getting started. But once I began to get interested, it was really hard to put down, as fascinating story of such bizarreness it is difficult to comprehend it is a memoir rather than fiction, a completely made up tale just conjured from imagination.
Tara was born and raised in rural Idaho, to Mormon parents who did not believe in sending children to school, taking medical crises to doctors or hospitals, any support or expectations from the government. Her father was brutal, mean spirited, manipulative and extremely difficult to live with -a man who would not broach having his word questioned. Suggestions that teachings from the Book of Mormon or the Bible were not absolute fact were met with shouted disdain, derision as well as physical punishment. His sons saw that demanding, belittling behavior and believed verbal and physical abuse was acceptable, a way to gain control over people and situations.
Her mother was a gentle spirit, but very much under the thumb of her husband, never questioning his demanding authority. Cooperating with her husband at the expense of raising caring compassionate children into functioning adults. It was a truly amazing tale of profound dysfunction. I kept expecting multiple wives to appear in the narrative, though I decided her father struggled so to provide for the family, the idea of more mouths to feed/support was not feasible.
Tara never entered a classroom until she was seventeen, much of her education was done independently, self-taught in order to satisfy take evaluation tests as a prerequisite for acceptance at BYU in Salt Lake City. She struggled for years with self-doubt, feeling like a charlatan, believing she was faking her way in her classes, often depressed, unable to function after demeaning interactions with her family in Idaho. After a BA at BYU, she was encouraged professors who saw her emerging talents and gifts, she applied for a Gates Cambridge Scholarship and went to England, where she earned a MPhil degree and a PhD in history.
It should have a happy ending, but she is estranged from many family members. When her paternal grandmother died and she returned to Idaho for the service, Tara reconnected with extended family, three brothers and their families. Sad that people can be so badgered and bullied and emotionally beat down, they loose sight of themselves as decent human beings. It took her many years, being away from the caustic environment of her childhood to gain a sense of self-worth and self-respect.\You cannot help but admire someone who was so emotionally abused who can make the changes necessary to let go of the past and live up to her potential.
Tara was born and raised in rural Idaho, to Mormon parents who did not believe in sending children to school, taking medical crises to doctors or hospitals, any support or expectations from the government. Her father was brutal, mean spirited, manipulative and extremely difficult to live with -a man who would not broach having his word questioned. Suggestions that teachings from the Book of Mormon or the Bible were not absolute fact were met with shouted disdain, derision as well as physical punishment. His sons saw that demanding, belittling behavior and believed verbal and physical abuse was acceptable, a way to gain control over people and situations.
Her mother was a gentle spirit, but very much under the thumb of her husband, never questioning his demanding authority. Cooperating with her husband at the expense of raising caring compassionate children into functioning adults. It was a truly amazing tale of profound dysfunction. I kept expecting multiple wives to appear in the narrative, though I decided her father struggled so to provide for the family, the idea of more mouths to feed/support was not feasible.
Tara never entered a classroom until she was seventeen, much of her education was done independently, self-taught in order to satisfy take evaluation tests as a prerequisite for acceptance at BYU in Salt Lake City. She struggled for years with self-doubt, feeling like a charlatan, believing she was faking her way in her classes, often depressed, unable to function after demeaning interactions with her family in Idaho. After a BA at BYU, she was encouraged professors who saw her emerging talents and gifts, she applied for a Gates Cambridge Scholarship and went to England, where she earned a MPhil degree and a PhD in history.
It should have a happy ending, but she is estranged from many family members. When her paternal grandmother died and she returned to Idaho for the service, Tara reconnected with extended family, three brothers and their families. Sad that people can be so badgered and bullied and emotionally beat down, they loose sight of themselves as decent human beings. It took her many years, being away from the caustic environment of her childhood to gain a sense of self-worth and self-respect.\You cannot help but admire someone who was so emotionally abused who can make the changes necessary to let go of the past and live up to her potential.
409 miles...
... when I drove from Decatur to Greenville SC and back to my starting point. Getting safely back home and falling into bed. I was typing 'crashing' as a reference to being so exhausted you can barely brush your teeth prior to head landing on pillow, but that implies I did not actually arrive back at the starting point intact. I did. Even though my brain was so weary I now am amazed there was no report of an accident or call to 911 from some wooded ravine along the interstate highway.
Having not been to visit my pen pal since early November, I really wanted to go and spend the day. We never do anything worth reporting: sitting around talking, eating lunch, possibly wandering around in his yard looking at things growing. I have taken him a number of plants over the years: always try to have something in my hand that he can enjoy seeing blooming. The last time, back in the fall, I took a pot of pansies, as I know they will survive the cold and be pretty with almost continuous blooms during the winter months.
Over the years as I have made that trip numerous times to spend the day, I've taken a number of amaryllis bulbs, that put a big show with gigantic red flowers after several weeks of nurturing. These he will eventually plant out in his yard where they will re-bloom year after year. This time I took a pot of hyacinth bulbs, found at Walmart, just barely peeking out of the dirt. These are reliable bloomers, and easy to plant afterward, to come back and bloom again every spring.
We had a good visit, and I left there mid-afternoon to return to GA. Planning to stop once I got back to Atlanta to visit a cousin briefly, I also spent a bit of time with the daughter who lives in Decatur. All that stopping and starting, chatting and commiserating about life, caused me to be nearly nine o'clock getting home where I did brush my teeth, but did not need to be rocked to sleep before closing my eyes. Having left Decatur at 6:01 am, and been on the road for over six hours, I had no problem drifting off to dreamland.
Having not been to visit my pen pal since early November, I really wanted to go and spend the day. We never do anything worth reporting: sitting around talking, eating lunch, possibly wandering around in his yard looking at things growing. I have taken him a number of plants over the years: always try to have something in my hand that he can enjoy seeing blooming. The last time, back in the fall, I took a pot of pansies, as I know they will survive the cold and be pretty with almost continuous blooms during the winter months.
Over the years as I have made that trip numerous times to spend the day, I've taken a number of amaryllis bulbs, that put a big show with gigantic red flowers after several weeks of nurturing. These he will eventually plant out in his yard where they will re-bloom year after year. This time I took a pot of hyacinth bulbs, found at Walmart, just barely peeking out of the dirt. These are reliable bloomers, and easy to plant afterward, to come back and bloom again every spring.
We had a good visit, and I left there mid-afternoon to return to GA. Planning to stop once I got back to Atlanta to visit a cousin briefly, I also spent a bit of time with the daughter who lives in Decatur. All that stopping and starting, chatting and commiserating about life, caused me to be nearly nine o'clock getting home where I did brush my teeth, but did not need to be rocked to sleep before closing my eyes. Having left Decatur at 6:01 am, and been on the road for over six hours, I had no problem drifting off to dreamland.
Monday, February 4, 2019
back on the road...
... driving to south Georgia in the dark and early morning fog. As soon as I got underway, I turned on the radio to discover that there was dense low lying fog blanketing the southwest part of the state. Just my luck: the part I would be traveling. Dense was an understatement: it appeared to be the kind of thing that had the temperature been lower, it might be described as 'white out' conditions.
It took about an hour longer than usual to make the trip to Valdosta, as visibility was so poor I was not whizzing along at the usual rate of speed. I was concerned about wildlife, especially fleet-footed deer appearing as apparitions out of the nothingness along the highway. Causing me to be driving slower and with caution: something I do not usually observe, but prefer to toss it out the window and let it be buffeted by tail winds as I zip along.
The auntie has been in the hospital since last Saturday. I got a call from the residence where she lives reporting she was having trouble breathing, and was to be transported to the local ER. Where she was admitted to ICU, but soon relocated into a room on a floor with standard level of care. She has been an inpatient since the admitting occurred last weekend, but will soon be returned to the place where she started from. Going back to assisted living facility where she has been for nearly two years.
Nieces have been here with her the entire time, while she has been poked and prodded. Her health has declined to the point that is is not much awareness of the people in her presence or her surroundings. My goal is for her to be comfortable and well cared for. I believe the staff here has done an excellent job, and feel that the workers at the facility she will return to have done the same. h
Just had a long conversation with hospice intake worker, and feel like things are coming together for return to the assisted living facility where she has been residing. Hopefully she will be relocated today, and be back in familiar environment with trusted and known caregivers today. I clearly recall my dad saying in the last months of his life, and have often quoted, though I know it is not 'original' from his mouth: "Old Age Ain't for Sissies".
It took about an hour longer than usual to make the trip to Valdosta, as visibility was so poor I was not whizzing along at the usual rate of speed. I was concerned about wildlife, especially fleet-footed deer appearing as apparitions out of the nothingness along the highway. Causing me to be driving slower and with caution: something I do not usually observe, but prefer to toss it out the window and let it be buffeted by tail winds as I zip along.
The auntie has been in the hospital since last Saturday. I got a call from the residence where she lives reporting she was having trouble breathing, and was to be transported to the local ER. Where she was admitted to ICU, but soon relocated into a room on a floor with standard level of care. She has been an inpatient since the admitting occurred last weekend, but will soon be returned to the place where she started from. Going back to assisted living facility where she has been for nearly two years.
Nieces have been here with her the entire time, while she has been poked and prodded. Her health has declined to the point that is is not much awareness of the people in her presence or her surroundings. My goal is for her to be comfortable and well cared for. I believe the staff here has done an excellent job, and feel that the workers at the facility she will return to have done the same. h
Just had a long conversation with hospice intake worker, and feel like things are coming together for return to the assisted living facility where she has been residing. Hopefully she will be relocated today, and be back in familiar environment with trusted and known caregivers today. I clearly recall my dad saying in the last months of his life, and have often quoted, though I know it is not 'original' from his mouth: "Old Age Ain't for Sissies".
it was not even...
... my yard where I put in three hours of cleaning up on Saturday. The acreage surrounding my house is a mess, with lots of limbs and sticks everywhere, since I have not been out there in weeks or possibly months to do any trash duty. I felt very accomplished when I spent the morning picking up tree trash, but it did not make my yard look any better, because the helpfulness did not occur in my yard.
Left home about 8:30, drove up to Harris County to the retreat center where I find myself volunteering for a weekend each spring and fall. The governing body had declared a work day, and was asking for people to come up and get an assortment of tasks done. I suspect it is really a challenge to get anyone to show up and donate a day to little 'honey-do' jobs, when everyone who might make an appearance knows there is a long list of honey-do projects at home being neglected.The jobs on the list for Saturday included a number of things that required power tools or ladders or both: not something I am interested in or skilled enough to attempt. My laddering days are long past. Plus, I know when you let a man get his hands on an electric or power saw, he is going to be on the lookout for things to cut whether they need it or not!
In the past, I have offered to devote time to painting, when they talk about needing to freshen the dorms or meeting room. I volunteer the information, to anyone who will listen, that I am a 'trained professional', even though my painting skills are not the sort that uses a roller and pan full of liquid. They just assume I am planning to dip my brush in the gallon can and start slapping the paint on the trim when I announce I have my paint brush in the car.
I was picking up tree trash most of the morning, after getting a slow start. Ironic that I was concerned about being late, when I was the first one to arrive. Sitting in the car listening to my talking book, waiting for the organizer to show up and provide direction. Someone else appeared to report our leader had another meeting, but there was a list, so the first person there could just take her pick! Ha! I started picking up tree trash and piling it up for someone else to come along with a gator, or truck and trailer to pick up. If I had been given wheelbarrow I would have cleaned up my mess. As it turned out, I just put in my time and departed. All the while thinking how I should be doing that at my house...
Left home about 8:30, drove up to Harris County to the retreat center where I find myself volunteering for a weekend each spring and fall. The governing body had declared a work day, and was asking for people to come up and get an assortment of tasks done. I suspect it is really a challenge to get anyone to show up and donate a day to little 'honey-do' jobs, when everyone who might make an appearance knows there is a long list of honey-do projects at home being neglected.The jobs on the list for Saturday included a number of things that required power tools or ladders or both: not something I am interested in or skilled enough to attempt. My laddering days are long past. Plus, I know when you let a man get his hands on an electric or power saw, he is going to be on the lookout for things to cut whether they need it or not!
In the past, I have offered to devote time to painting, when they talk about needing to freshen the dorms or meeting room. I volunteer the information, to anyone who will listen, that I am a 'trained professional', even though my painting skills are not the sort that uses a roller and pan full of liquid. They just assume I am planning to dip my brush in the gallon can and start slapping the paint on the trim when I announce I have my paint brush in the car.
I was picking up tree trash most of the morning, after getting a slow start. Ironic that I was concerned about being late, when I was the first one to arrive. Sitting in the car listening to my talking book, waiting for the organizer to show up and provide direction. Someone else appeared to report our leader had another meeting, but there was a list, so the first person there could just take her pick! Ha! I started picking up tree trash and piling it up for someone else to come along with a gator, or truck and trailer to pick up. If I had been given wheelbarrow I would have cleaned up my mess. As it turned out, I just put in my time and departed. All the while thinking how I should be doing that at my house...
book review: "The Color of Water"...
... written by James McBride, back in 1996. Pretty unusual for me to be reading something with a publication date back in the previous century. It was in the library holdings, checked out by a friend who recommended, then loaned it instead of returning it before the due date. A small paperback, with the printed statement that the book had spent two years on the New York Times bestseller list. Which is high praise, and makes it at least worth looking at - so I started in the middle!
Below the author's name on the front cover is also the small factoid reporting he is also the author of "Miracle at St. Anna's", which might be worth reading as I found this one so interesting. McBride has spend years as a journalist, working at a number of news/media outlets, and might have other books to his credit, but I have not yet googled....Oh. I lied: He won the National Book Award in 2013, so obviously quite prolific, publishing a number of highly regarded tomes.
The title refers to McBrides' mother's response when he was a youngster of about nine years of age. He was trying to understand God, hoping to get a straight answer from his mom: she was a white woman of Jewish descent, who had married a black man, had children in many shades of brown, that were raised as Christians. The response he got from his mother was a vague as many when she was questioned about her heritage, family history and life before she became a mother. She told him that God was the color of water, as James tried to understand where he and siblings fit into the schools, churches and neighborhoods they inhabited.
She was an amazing woman, widowed when pregnant with her seventh or eighth child, often seen by others as a misfit in the communities she chose for her family. Ultimately she had twelve children, all well educated, and successful in their professions and communities. The book is written in different voices, half the version as experienced by McBride as a child and young man, the other half a recorded narrative as told to him by his mother when she was persuaded to finally talk about her life. When she chose to leave her family, the Jewish community sat Shiva, and considered her dead, so she never had any contact with family members as an adult. But she was a capable resourceful woman, and did an amazing job of nurturing and guiding those children into capable, contributing adults.
Below the author's name on the front cover is also the small factoid reporting he is also the author of "Miracle at St. Anna's", which might be worth reading as I found this one so interesting. McBride has spend years as a journalist, working at a number of news/media outlets, and might have other books to his credit, but I have not yet googled....Oh. I lied: He won the National Book Award in 2013, so obviously quite prolific, publishing a number of highly regarded tomes.
The title refers to McBrides' mother's response when he was a youngster of about nine years of age. He was trying to understand God, hoping to get a straight answer from his mom: she was a white woman of Jewish descent, who had married a black man, had children in many shades of brown, that were raised as Christians. The response he got from his mother was a vague as many when she was questioned about her heritage, family history and life before she became a mother. She told him that God was the color of water, as James tried to understand where he and siblings fit into the schools, churches and neighborhoods they inhabited.
She was an amazing woman, widowed when pregnant with her seventh or eighth child, often seen by others as a misfit in the communities she chose for her family. Ultimately she had twelve children, all well educated, and successful in their professions and communities. The book is written in different voices, half the version as experienced by McBride as a child and young man, the other half a recorded narrative as told to him by his mother when she was persuaded to finally talk about her life. When she chose to leave her family, the Jewish community sat Shiva, and considered her dead, so she never had any contact with family members as an adult. But she was a capable resourceful woman, and did an amazing job of nurturing and guiding those children into capable, contributing adults.
after work...
... I came straight home and took a nap. Then I got up and went out in the yard to dig holes and plant some neglected bulbs. There are at least one hundred planted tonight that were not there earlier today. I am so excited, and ready for them to all pop up out of the dark and burst into bright yellow blooms!
Yay for daffodils!
The ones I planted that were purchased several weeks ago came from Tractor Supply. Whereupon I received a call to make an emergency trip to the farm store to buy daffodils before they all disappeared. I've been trying in the intervening weeks to get them in the ground, knowing it was imperative I get serious about planting: even going to the plant nursery to find a bag of the fertilizer that is precisely, specifically formulated to provide the best nutrition for bulbs
These bulbs that have been siting in my carport look remarkably like those three pound bags of onions I would bring home from the grocery. In a red mesh bag, with a tag indicating the contents were similar to a King Alfred. But still looking so much like a person taking home a bag of vegetables, I have read tales of people who accidentally sliced up tulips and put them in the pot of soup or stew and fed them to dinner guests who showed up for a meal.
Though I have practically no practical knowledge about daffodils, I do recall that the variety know as King Alfred is one that produces spectacularly large blooms, with the classic look of cup and saucer, both clearly defined. Some have more of a frilly look in the 'cup' part, some multi-colored in shades of red or orange, but I am expecting mine, after being diligently fed with the bulb booster chemicals, to put on a fine show of gigantic yellow flowers that will make me smile when I turn into my driveway.
Yay for daffodils!
The ones I planted that were purchased several weeks ago came from Tractor Supply. Whereupon I received a call to make an emergency trip to the farm store to buy daffodils before they all disappeared. I've been trying in the intervening weeks to get them in the ground, knowing it was imperative I get serious about planting: even going to the plant nursery to find a bag of the fertilizer that is precisely, specifically formulated to provide the best nutrition for bulbs
These bulbs that have been siting in my carport look remarkably like those three pound bags of onions I would bring home from the grocery. In a red mesh bag, with a tag indicating the contents were similar to a King Alfred. But still looking so much like a person taking home a bag of vegetables, I have read tales of people who accidentally sliced up tulips and put them in the pot of soup or stew and fed them to dinner guests who showed up for a meal.
Though I have practically no practical knowledge about daffodils, I do recall that the variety know as King Alfred is one that produces spectacularly large blooms, with the classic look of cup and saucer, both clearly defined. Some have more of a frilly look in the 'cup' part, some multi-colored in shades of red or orange, but I am expecting mine, after being diligently fed with the bulb booster chemicals, to put on a fine show of gigantic yellow flowers that will make me smile when I turn into my driveway.
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