from the porches

The Little Things

 

It was the little things I've noticed over the past year regarding Truett's dementia. 

 

Since I took Truett out to lunch daily, I noticed my husband had changed his eating patterns.  Before, he would take a bite of meat, a bite of mac 'n cheese, a bite of asparagus, etc.  But that changed.  He had begun to focus on his plate of food and ate all of one vegetable until it was gone.  Then on to the next vegetable until it was gone.  Lastly, the meat.  Some people do that naturally, but it wasn't Truett's pattern of eating.

 

It was the little things.  We had stopped talking.  If I elaborated on a subject, it frustrated him.  The only things he asked about was, "Is it Tuesday?  Who's picking me up?"  That refers to the wonderful Lion Club friends who so diligently drove to Fort White, took my husband to meetings, and brought him home. Mom and I celebrated Tuesday nights with take out food, Judge Judy, Two and a Half Men, and NCIS!  Mom and I reveled in our  time.

 As the months wore on, it was the little things I noticed.   Increased aggitation, especially toward me.  Cussing at me, threatening me.  Every morning I would wake up, look to the Heavens, and ask God to bless our family.  Every evening, the sundowner syndrome set in.  Right as I cooked supper.  "What are you doing?"  I told him I was cooking supper.  I would leave the room and he would call my name again.  Back and forth.  Back and forth.  At night I was so exhausted I could barely move.  Cleaning the kitchen after dinner was shelved to the next day.

 

It was the little things.  Eventually, Truett refused to brush his teeth or put off taking a shower.  I was micro-managing his life up until March 16, 2013.  "What do I do now?" he would ask.  And then I would begin: "Stand up.  Sit down.  Put your deodorant on (but he couldn't even do that anymore). Brush your hair (He did half of his hair and I did the other half). Go to the living room and wait for me."  In the meantime, his impatience was unbearable.  "Hurry! Hurry!"  My friends noticed my hands shook constantly and Clay questioned if I had had too much coffee. 

  

It was the little things.  Making excues when he went to town meetings.  "I don't feel well" or "My hearing aide batteries aren't working."  But, the other councilmen guided him through the meetings; and I thank you, Fort White Town Council.

It was the little things.  Truett calling our grandchildren by the wrong names.  Calling them by our children's names.  Every day became "Thursday".  "Is it Thursday?" he would ask.  "No, Truett.  It's Saturday.

 

Tomorrow is Easter.  This is the first Easter dinner I have not hosted since our grandchildren were born.  Clay and I are going to Merry Jennifer's for Easter dinner.  Then Clay and I will visit Truett.  I don't mean for this to be sad.  It's not.  It is reality. 

 So count your blessings! 

The little things finally added up in our life because we paid attention.

 

 

 

Jilted

Jilted is a word I carry with me from the fifties.  A boy friend who jilted me.  A girl friend who jilted me.  A horrible feeling word.

But, tonight I felt jilted by my family. 

Clay and I visited Truett this morning.  Clay drove in blinding thunderstorms toward Gainesville Health Center.  I urged him to slow down because of the slick roads.  "I'ts okay, Mom.  Trust me."  But I was a nervous nilly the whole way down.

We visited Truett for a short while.  I cannot take the "Please take me home!"  or the threats,  "Just wait until I get home."  He is miserable at the nursing home and I 'm miserable at the nursing home.    Truett doesn't understand why he is there; but Clay promises him he will come home in a couple of weeks.

The nurse tried to explain to Truett that he has to get better. He has to do rehab.  He has to learn to start taking care of himself, because I can't do it anymore.

Clay and I didn't stay long at Gainesville Health Center.  We came on home because my brother, Steve, his wife, Alice, and Alice's Mom, Rebecca, were coming to visit.  What a wonderful visit that was.

I called Clay on his cell phone, but couldn't reach him.  I called him numerous times to visit Uncle Steve.    Jilt #1.  My brother drove from Nashville and Clay was not around.  Cell phone wouldn't answer.

After Steve and his family left, Mom and I watched TV.  The usual:  Funniest Home Videos and then NCIS.

Jilted once again.  Mom said she was going to the bathroom and she never returned.  "Mom, I thought you were coming back!"

"I thought you were asleep," she said.

"Mom, I had the controller!"

Somehow, jilted, fits my day.

Too bad.  So sad.

Guess I need a big old hug from virtual friends!

 

Remembering Dixie Chicken

Since my sister, Susan, has lived in Germany and most recently, England, she posts on Facebook about her chickens.  I never, ever, ever in my wildest dreams thought she would own chickens and write about them so personally on Facebook.

The more I read Susan's posts about her chickens, the more I am remembering about our Dixie chicken.  Here is the story about Dixie Chicken.

One year, long ago when Clay was about nine years old, this golden retriever mix, sashayed down our dirt driveway, proudly carrying  a chicken in it's mouth.  We didn't know this dog.  "Oh, my word!  Look at that dog!  He's got a chicken in it's mouth!"

The family was astonished.  Of course, I believed the chicken to be dead; but it wasn't. 

 

 

 

 

Our family rushed to the driveway and the dog dropped the chicken out of his mouth, wagged his tail, and waited to be petted.  "Claude", the dog became one of the best dog pets we ever had.  And, Dixie, she scampered off toward the back of our house and became one of our most endearing pets.

Dixie Chicken may have out-lived Claude.  I don't remember.  But, what I do remember is when I drove home from school, all the dogs and yard cats and Dixie Chicken would rush to the front driveway to greet me.  Plus, my family, of course.  All of them!  That's what I call "Mama Love".

Well, we kept Dixie Chicken for quite a few years.  Then, my friend, Pamela Faith, said I needed a rooster to be with Dixie.  Bad idea.  That rooster about killed Dixie.  You see, a rooster needs many hens, not just one; so I sent that rooster back.

 

 

 

I didn't like the chicken poop on the back deck and in the yard; but we lived with it. What I did like was the absence of palmetto roaches.

Then, one summer Truett decided we needed a new roof.  He placed 2X4's  (I might have made that up) on the back deck, in preparation for replacing the roof. 

But Mother Nature struck.  Some hurricane dumped rain and powerful winds in our area.  Truett jumped out of our bed, bare-assed naked, in the wee hours of the early morning and climbed on the roof  to cover the familiar blue tarp that protected our roof.

Unfortunately, the next morning, we found Dixie Chicken flattened by 2x4's that had been blown over, right on top of her.  Dixie was as dead as a door nail.

We loved that chicken. 

PS.  We think Claude, the dog was stolen.  He was a beautiful dog.  One day he was here.  One day, he wasn't.

Just remembering Dixie Chicken!

Plus/Minus Plus Chickens

+ Saw a trailer full of $2 hens today.  Since I haven't been out and about to photograph wild birds, I jumped at the chance to photograph these chickens which were on sale in Fort White, on a side street.  Eggs in the trailer included.

- Miss cooking real suppers.  For a week now our meals have been take-out or leftover take-out. 

- Miss driving to the rivers and looking for birds to photograph.

+ Mom is finally getting attention.  "I want you to make me an appointment to get a pedicure/manicure; and when do I have a dentist appointment; and don't forget my hair appointment." 

- Feeling stressed that I still have to organize my life, closet, AGW paperwork, etc.

+ Dozens of American goldfinches have been feeding at my birdfeeders, even though I have not photographed them.

- Restless nights, wild dreams, and depression, not excluding guilt, overcome me at times.

+ My brother and his family will be visiting us from Tennessee in the next few days.

+  Clay has been a huge help to me, just by driving me places, getting the mail, shredding stuff.  Plus, his truck is fixed now.

+  And a great big final plus: I love Truett and miss him.  I'm just not able to be his caregiver at this point.

Anyone know of full time caregivers?  Part- time?  Have to be experienced, to say the least .. and maybe a little cheaper that nursing home care.  Who am I kidding?  After the past two+ years that I spent care-giving, you couldn't pay me enough money to do what I did as a care-giver.

Nope.  It was all out of LOVE! But, somehow, it broke me temporarily.  I'm better today than I was yesterday, and definitely better than the five days before.

<3

 

Life Long Friends

Thank you Pamela Faith, Angela Decenzo, and Araya Sunshine for visiting me this morning. 

I was gone most of the day; and tonight I looked at the flowers in the kitchen window and realized, once again, how special your family has meant to me all of these years. 

Hope I didn't burden you too much with my tales of woe.  Your visit was very special to me.

Love you all.

I'm Bored

Over the weekend Merry Jennifer brought Maddie and Oliver to visit Truett.  The children really don't want to visit sick people or anyone in hospitals, so I volunteered to stay with them while MJ visited Truett.

It's not an exciting way to spend a Sunday afternoon, unless maybe you find a stick.

Then you can poke the stick in the ground and still complain, "I'm bored!"

"Good grief!" I exclaimed.  "I'm bored!"

"Look here, Oliver and Maddie!  Watch the helicopter land!"

"That was boring," Oliver said.  "Let's go back to the lake."

So back they went.  "Don't fall in the water!" I shouted.  I don't think my knee would have let me walk down that hill.  Good grief, I was soooo bored!

Okay.  Here is pure boredom.

And then Uncle Clay came out and I insisted he show my grandchildren all of his tattoos.  "I think they like me," Clay said as we drove off.  "They've never really talked to me before."

I must say that I was bored that afternoon.  But, I got to see my grandchildren and that lifted my heart.

 

That's What Friends Are For

I have to thank my friends: Lucille, MaryAnne, Ginger, Stephanie, and Brenda for visiting me yesterday and today.  These are my "teacher friends", whom I so dearly miss.

Most of them said they have not read my posts or been on Facebook because of the up-coming FCAT tests at Fort White Elementary.  But, the word spread anyway about our crisis.

We sat on the front porch and I told my stories.  We laughed.  I asked them about school and they told me all the FCAT tests are not taken yet...just the writing. 

We looked through my scrapbooks from way back when . . . so far back when Merry Jennifer was born and there was snow in Savannah, Georgia, way back in 1972.  I showed them photographs from the '70's when everything was "up in smoke".  And they laughed.  I doubt they were five years old back then.  I only know how old I am.

My friends were here for me yesterday and today and I appreciate that.  We hugged.  A couple teared up; and one said she was looking at long-term care, just in case.

Spring break is coming up for my teacher friends.  As they left, I shouted, "Check out Facebook!"

I so miss teaching and my friends. 

But, they provided me with support, humor, and love.  And I appreciate that so much.

bruise bracelets

I wear many bracelets on my arms.  They are bruises, unfortunately.  I wear long sleeve shirts when it is 80 degrees because I am embarrassed because of what I call my bruise bracelets.

I have been a caregiver of my mother and my husband since 2010.  It's been a hard road.  A road I never knew I would have to travel.  After forty-six years of teaching, caregiving took over my life. 

My 89 year old mother is easy to care for.  We only had a problem for about six weeks when she stopped taking her anti-depression medication; but we got that solved eventually by switching her meds.

Since January 2011, I have been the caregiver of my husband.  Things were fine until he took a couple of falls.  But that wasn't the biggest culprit.  Dementia has set it.  Over the past year, my husband has declared himself an invalid; and he has become one.  When he raises both arms in the air for me to put deodorant on, I cuss silently but do it.  When I have to wipe his butt because he cannot stand and do it himself, I cringe. But I've learned to accept that as well. 

I have had patience.    Every morning I prayed and asked for help to get me through the day.  Yet, when I looked in the mirror, I looked like a scared rabbit.

However, my husband's increasing dementia has caused me greater problems.  He cussed me constantly.  He was impatient.  He was impulsive.  He was  violent and has grabbed my arm so tightly that I permanently wear "bruise bracelets."

I've been told by my family to deal with it.  Put him in a nursing home with full health care.  My answer was always, "I'll do it when I know when the time is right."

Friday night was my breaking point.  Because my  husband couldn't hear with his hearing aides and  was impatient, he became violent.  "That's it!", I said.  "I cannot do this anymore."

So, I called 911 and had him admitted into Shand's Hospital and then he was transferred to Gainesville Health Center, a nursing home.

He pleads with me daily to bring him home.  I tell him I can't because of the mental and physical abuse caused by his dementia.  He doesn't understand.  I tell him I am a broken woman.  I need time to heal.  Eventually, he may come home, and maybe I will pay the price for full time health care workers.  But, I cannot do it any longer.  Yet, he doesn't understand.

I feel sooooo guilty; but, I can't keep on like it is.  I have been a caregiver for him, my 89 year old mom, my two puppies, my two cats and Clay.  However; Clay has been one of my biggest supporters.  He is driving again and driving responsibly, I might add.  It's been since 2010 since I have not driven.  Thanks, Clay.

Now, my biggest issues are trying to convince my husband that I have to re-heal before he can come home.  He doesn't understand it now even though I tell him over and over again.

I am a broken woman and it will take time. He doesn't understand it now, even after I explain it to him; but, I have to emotionally heal, first.

Prayers are welcome.

I'm tired of bruise bracelets.

 

Driving Ms. Merry

Today Clay drove Truett to rehab in Gainesville.  Yesterday, I must admit, he drove the Cadillac, the Suburban, and my Acadia.  I was ready for a down-home conversation about him getting his license back.  But, today, Clay volunteered to drive Truett to rehab.  Personally, I thought I was going to get some time away; but I decided differently.  I wanted to know how Clay drove after three years of not driving.  He did a great job.  Truett didn't cuss him once.  Maybe because Clay didn't hit a curb like I do.

On the way to Gainesville, Clay had conversation.  We do not do that because Truett cannot hear out of his left ear. Clay said, "But, Mom, I'm talking to you."  It didn't matter.  Truett would say,  "I can't hear you!"  Clay has a lot to learn if he is going to drive Truett to rehab by himself.  Shhhhh!  No conversation because the man cannot hear you.  So Clay played music.  Ackkkkk!  "Who is this, Mom?" 

I don't know, son.  "The Doors!"  Oh, right.  I remember them somewhere back in the closet of my mind. 

While we were at rehab, I showed Clay the swamp.  "Cool~   I bet there are water moccassins and alligators!"  Clay liked the swamp and made me a bet:  "If I swim across, will you give me $100.00?"  It's amusing the things I took away from rehab today.

I am so proud of my son for driving Truett to rehab . . . and most of all driving Ms. Merry!  I love this man.

And I didn't even tell you about the fire drill at rehab.. Oh, well!

Honest Communication

On Sunday I had the opportunity to keep my grandchildren for several hours.  I knew exactly where I wanted to take them. . . O'Leno State Park. I told the grandchildren they would be able to walk on the suspension bridge, and hop up and down on it and that it was going to be fun, with a capital F.

Unfortunately, the suspension bridge is being re-planked, so no one got to walk or hop on it.  That was disappointing to say the least.

So Maddie and Oliver and I took a walk . . .

while Clay and Truett stared at the water.  Poor Clay.  I told him there was a sidewalk near the water, but I was wrong.  Have you ever tried to push a wheelchair in Florida sand?   I couldn't do it, so I rewarded Clay later.

Many questions were asked, "Nana, did someone break the bridge and fall in the water?  Nana, why is this place so boring?  Nana, can we go somewhere else?" 

Of course I had the ten-point system in place so I said, "Yes, let's go to Dollar General and get your rewards because I just know you are going to earn ten points."

After a trip to Dollar General we sat on the front porch and talked.  Usually, when Truett and I visit the grandchildren and their parents in Gainesville, the kids hide and won't come out.  "But, I already gave Granddaddy a hug," Oliver says.  "How many times do I have to do this?  Maddie only gave him a hug once."

This is probably one of the first times Maddie and I had real conversation other than, "I'm hungry!"

"Let's talk," I suggested.  "How's school?" 

"Do we have to talk about school?" Maddie asked.

"No we do not," I declared.  "Who is your best friend, Maddie?"

Maddie told me she didn't have one best friend and asked if it could be more than one. 

That's when I thought about the JUG CLUB, a social group of 8-9 year old friends of mine and Sherry's.  We did things together almost every week, rode bikes, went to the movies, had play dates (although that word wasn't invented until our daughters' generation created it.)  And I can't forget slumber parties.  We had our own song, collected dues, and helped poor people.  Eventually, we voted on whether to get our ears pierced or not.  Definitely NOT! 

But, alas, the JUG CLUB lasted until we were turning eleven or twelve.  You see, boyfriends got in the way, and other mothers were insisting their daughters be admitted to the club.  We were just friends, but became friends with a purpose.

We talked about the worse thing we ever did and I told Maddie I stole a key chain at her age.  "YOU STOLE?" Oliver exclaimed.  "BUT WHY?"  Then I hung my head in shame and told them "Because I wanted it!"  Of course, Nana got caught and was marched to the JUG CLUB member's house and had to return the key chain while I bawled my embarrassed and humiliated eyes out! 

"Don't ever do that!" I said.  Maddie told me her worse thing she ever did, but that's a secret. 

Maddie showed me a few rhyming word/hand games that she and her friends do in the lunch line.  "It's a good thing I wasn't on cafeteria duty," I told her.

Apples on a stick they make me sick.  They make my eart go 246, 246.  Not because I'm dirty, not because I'm clean, not because I kissed the boy behind the magazine.  Hey Johnny, want to have a fight?  Meet me at the club on a Saturday night.  If you say 2, you're out of the game.  Let's go home on the choo choo train.  Then the counting begins and some says a number with a two in it, they are out of the game.

I loved the honest communication, my grandchildren and I shared.