from the porches

gravity

The one thing I miss in my life is music.  When Clay was 12 years old he said, "I want a guitar for Christmas."   But Santa had already bought his presents, whatever they were.  Truett told Clay, "Son, we will rent you a guitar and pay for lessons until you prove you can play the guitar."

Well, after a couple of weeks, Clay proved he could play the guitar and we bought him all the equipment he needed to be successful.

I am missing Clay so much.  When I hear John Mayer, I think of my son. 

Here's to you, Clay.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yeRaUjTBuv0&feature=related

 

 

 

the will of the words

I took Mom to see her Oncologist yesterday.  I'll tell you now.  If you want an experience that lasts ALL DAY LONG, then YOU take my mom to the doctor. 

You do know she talks incessantly.  All the way to Gainesville, pointing out road signs, screeching, "Watch out fellow!", if a car gets too close to me, critizing anyone with a tattoo, especially if that person is a woman.  On and on and on and on and on . . .

But my mom has finally met her match with words with her Oncologist, Dr. Lynch.  (We love that man!)  You see, two years ago Mom said to Merry Jennifer, (with Dr. Lynch present), "I hope I haven't besmirched your name at this hospital."  Dr. Lynch was quick to point out that the word besmirched had not been used in fifty years or so.

Anyway, Dr. Lynch got my mother good yesterday.  Mom was complaining about her recent stomach virus and asked if he had any remedies.

"Certainly," Dr. Lynch said.  "A tincture of time." 

Mom was really wanting sympathy at this point, as well as a real remedy.  But then she thought about what he said, and asked, "A tincture of what?  Hey, are you being a smart alec?"

This is EXACTLY why we ADORE Dr. Jay Lynch!  My mom dishes it out and he slams it right back at her!  As Dr. Lynch says to the interns, "This woman wanted to die, but I wouldn't let her.  This woman is 88 years old and is as sharp as a tack.  Never underestimate this woman!"

Too bad I don't have the vocabulary my mama has. 

the walk

Last week during therapy, I came up with ways to give myself time for myself.  You see, for almost the past year I have been traumatized while dealing with Truett's injuries, time and again.  Having a tumor rupture which caused bleeding on the brain is a brain injury.  Flipping over in a recliner which caused bleeding on Truett's brain is a brain injury.  And I won't even mention Truett's fall at Vista, crushing five ribs and collapsing his lung three months ago.

Anyway, at one point during 2011, I couldn't think straight.  I felt frozen in time.  I would stand in one place in the house and not be able to move.  I have not read a book since January 27, 2011.  I cried uncontrollably, and sometimes in public places.  I cried all the time. . . every day. . . every hour of every day, and sometimes still do.

In the meantime, I drove daily to visit Truett when he was at Shands Hospital or at the Rehabilation Hospital.  I quit cooking.  I can't even fathom fancy meals.  All I do now is think, "Feed these people, clean up, and stop this day."  Pretty sad, isn't it?

As the year 2011 drew on, I knew I needed psychological help.  I didn't want a psychiatrist, a pill pusher.  I needed to be awake, alive, and alert.  I needed to talk to someone trained to listen to sad, sad tales so I wouldn't burden my family and friends. 

I needed someone who says little, but someone who causes me to think about possibilities of regaining my life.  Merry Jennifer referred me to a wonderful psychologist; and for the past several weeks I have found ways to regain my life, sort of.  My life, as I knew it is not really regained because when you live with someone with a brain injury, your life changes drastically.  Here is an article Merry Jennifer sent me and it is well worth reading about brain injuries and caregivers.

Well, now!  Let's all take a deep breath and exhale and I will tell you what I am now doing for myself.  I no longer go in the out-patient Rehab gym and push Truett in his wheelchair.  He is now learning to push himself!  YEA!  I now walk out to the  wetland area behind rehab and photograph hawks.  YEA!

But today I did something different.  Last week I put my right index finger to my lips and quietly said to my therapist,  "And I may start walking."  Of course, I didn't want to say it out loud because I am pretty out of shape and probably lazy and I didn't want to fail at a goal I had set for myself. 

Yet, today I walked twenty minutes around the rehab park.  Okay.  Alright.  On the way back, to the rehab building I stopped to purchase a Starbucks Mocha.  But, I won't do that again because I felt guilty . . . once again.  No.  Next week, I will increase my walking and I WILL BREATHE! 

So yes, I am setting goals for myself to deal with my new life.  By the way, if I ask, "Can I volunteer for you?"  I mean it with all my heart.  

Thanks for listening.

:) 

turkey or flu

I can probably count on one hand the number of times I have been sick since I have been married to Truett. . . 40 years.  I have also been wondering how this household would run if I got sick.  Well, the past thirty hours, plus a few, put my nursing and coping skills to the test.

Night before last I served a pre-baked turkey roast from Winn*Dixie.  After finishing the meal, I declared, "I feel awful.  I feel like I have poison in my blood!"  My head was swooning, my hands ached, and I could hardly sit up.  I told Truett and Mom I was retiring to the TV room and lying down on the couch, which I did.  After several hours, I got up, said, "Good night", and promptly threw up my dinner.

Yesterday arrived and I felt better.  I had arranged for a friend of Mom's to take her to the beauty shop since I had to take Truett to rehab.  Later, I learned Mom got sick as she and Lil were leaving the beauty shop. 

In the meantime, Truett felt woozy on the way home from rehab.  But that was nothing new.  Because of his lack of equilibrium, he almost always got sick, especially after Craig had him walking up and down steps.  Then the day got worse.

Truett threw up all afternoon and evening.  Mom stayed in bed all day long, feeling ill; and I ended up with a fever of 102.4.  I talked with my daughter and she said for me to take Truett to the doctor if he didn't feel better by this morning. (Fingers crossed.  So far . . .so good).  My fever broke during the night.  And Mom's doctor's appointment with her Oncologist has been put off a week.  So last night's dinner consisted of water.

All along I kept insisting, "Well, it can't be the flu.  We've had our flu shots!"  Mom and I think it may have been the roasted turkey .  Who knows? 

I found out one thing though during the past thirty something hours. I'm not a very good caregiver when I'm sick; plus, as much as I complain about my boring life, I'll take it any day rather than any of us being sick in this household.

keeping it real

Out of all the things I do during a day, there are a few things that help keeping my life real.  Roger, for one.  This cat rules my house.  Open the door . . . Roger goes out.  Open the door . . .Roger comes in.  Roger is in complete control, which becomes very aggravating when I feel stressed out.

Sometimes I think I may be affecting Roger's psyche, especially, when I scream, " Okay!  Get out, you STUPID CAT!"    However, Roger seems so unaffected.  Thank you, Roger.
In the meantime, my mother and I have spoiled two puppies.

Lord, have mercy on our souls! 

Hey, I am just trying to keep it real.

 

 

go away

I've been looking forward to Truett's first out-patient rehab appointment at Shands at Magnolia Parke in Gainesville.  I will no longer stay in the gym with him.  I will no longer push his wheelchair as the physical therapist walks Truett.

I told Craig, the PT, of my new plan. . . my plan to set aside at least forty-five minutes for myself.  Craig was very understanding.  Then he told me to have fun and I left.

I wandered down into the swampy area behind the rehab center.  I noticed animal paths emerging from one side of the water, crossing the human footpath, then leading to the water on the opposite bank.

I took deep breaths . . . and exhaled. Yet, in the back of my mind, guilt was weighing heavily on me.  So, after fifteen minutes, I walked back to the rehab gym.  Craig asked, "What are you doing here?  Go away and don't come back for twenty more minutes!"  Then he gave me a big, old, caregiver hug. 

"Thanks, Craig!"

Now I just have to get used to having time for me once again.

 

tippy

For months Mom and I have watched this squirrel, Tippy, bounding across the driveway, up the trees, onto the fence in front of our house.  We first noticed Tippy when he was just a baby squirrel.  Tippy stood out from all the rest of the squirrels because of his tail.  One day Mama said, "Let's name that squirrel Tippy.  So we did.  We worry about Tippy because of Molly, our yard cat.  (Once again, "Thanks, Sherry!  Now I don't only worry about the birds.  I worry that Molly will pounce on Tippy).  It's fun, though, to be sitting on the front porch and hear my mama screech, "Oh!  There's Tippy!"  It doesn't take much to make us happy around here!

sunday morning solitude

During my therapy session last week, my therapist asked what made me happy.  Of course, one thing came to mind.  Taking photographs in nature.  We discussed a plan for me to set aside time to do the thing I love the most. 

Even though I may not be out in nature at this very moment, I have edited photographs I took yesterday at Oleno State Park.  Just the mere editing of photographs and reflecting on what I captured with my camera lens, gives me that sense of solitude on this Sunday morning.

You see, I have dishes waiting to be washed.  Laundry ready to be done.  Beds to be made and office work to be dealt with.  But, instead.  I have decided to set aside this time to look at my photographs, edit them, and share them with you.  

twins . . . freaky but true

I found the latest National Geographic Magazine to be of interest.  The feature story is about twins.

Even though Sherry and I are fraternal twins, we are twins "to the bone".  We may as well be identical because in so many photographs, neither of us can tell each other apart.

Every summer there is a three-day Twins Day Festival in Twinsville, Ohio, a small town southeast of Cleveland. This festival was started by identical twin brothers and includes picnics, talent shows, and lots of research possibilities for research doctors.  I've always wanted to attend this festival, but never have.

I must tell you that I am glad that Sherry and I are fraternal twins and not identical, because the risks of reading disabilities, autism, schizophrenia, alzheimer's, and many other diseases are prevalent in identical twins, and less so in fraternal twins. 

Whew!  By looking at these photographs, I would have sworn Sherry and I were identical.

We looked identical when we were young.  And we look more identical as we have matured.  But, Sherry and I are fraternal. (I once had a student refer to us as "nocturnal", so I had to set him straight.)

Sherry and I have the twin's psychic sense. We do!  I've been know to pick up the phone receiver to call Sherry, and before I could hear a dial tone ringing to her house, Sherry said, "Merry.  Is that you?"

Twins are freaky . . . but true.

And I wouldn't have it any other way!

archaeologists

Happy New Year 2012!  My new year began with my grandchildren, Madeline and Oliver spending the night with us.

Thanks to my twin, Sherry, who convinced me to purchase a Smithsonian Archaeologist Kit from The Dollar Store. 

Of course, I had to explain what an Archaeologist does . . . and then they hacked away at a clay block, unveiling eight pieces of "Fools Gold".  It didn't look like gold, but then, my grandchildren didn't wash off the clay to discover the twinkle of gold.  But, the exciting part was using the tools and wearing the goggles.  I even wanted to be down there on my sidewalk smashing that block; but, I gave the grandchildren their experience, not mine.

Every New Year's Day Truett and I attend a New Year's Day Brunch hosted by nearby friends.  Truett and I had decided we would drop off the fruit salad this morning and then say our good-byes because we didn't want to impose our grandchildren into an adult celebration. However, our dear "river" friends thought otherwise.  "Oh, no you don't!  You're getting your ass out of that car and celebrating the new year with us!"  Madeline and Oliver were so well behaved and eventually became the center of attraction. Thanks to Barbara for providing a 3-D  book with miniature toys to preoccupy our grandchildren.

Not only that, but Maddie got to hold a five day old racing pigeon in her hands.  Many questions were asked about why the pigeons were not free.  I tried to explain that racing pigeons is a hobby.  What's a hobby?"  Maddie asked.  And then the conversation detoured to stained glass being a hobby for Granddaddy in the beginning.

After the brunch and many compliments about how well-behaved our grandchildren were, Truett and I came home.  The children watched cartoons for about an hour until I heard,  "Quit it!"    Well, I'm not stupid!  "Okay, kids!  Let's go!"  So we drove to Rum Island.  Maddie, of course, said "Is land?"  What does that mean?"  So I had to give a short English lesson on silent consonants.  (I think.)

And the grandchildren explored.

And explored.

And Truett watched from afar.

Since the Archaeologist Kit worked so well, I bought the "Giant Volcano" Kit from Dollar General.  Once we came home from Rum Island, I tried to assemble this kit; but guess what.  I am NOT a math person.  So I packed it up and said,  "Get your Mommy and Daddy to assemble this!"    And I packed it in their suitcase and felt great about doing so!  That's a good way to begin a new year, I think.
Eventually, as this new year 2012 winded down, I sent my grandchildren to the sandpile.  They were happy and so was I, except . . . they have buried the archaeologists tools somewhere in the sand in my driveway.

"You have to find them!" I stated.  "You might puncture my tire!"

And a new vocabulary lesson began.

"What does puncture mean, Nana?"

Sigh.

HELLO 2012!  I LOVE YOU ALREADY!