A friend once told me, “You can’t prevent a disaster from running it’s natural course.” She had four years of sobriety, a bankruptcy, an ex-husband, and a failed greyhound farm behind her. What she didn’t discuss, was how frustrating it is to calmly watch things go hell in a hand basket. That takes a special a special kind of zen or complete disregard for humanity.

I haven’t mentioned my in-laws since we screwed over the Mister’s younger brother moved. Aging has been a popular topic. I prefer not to dwell on the drama with the Mister’s parents, but others’ experiences can be useful when you attempt to map out your own.

In January I mentioned the possibility of the Mister’s parents, the One Eye, leaving the Assisted Living Facility and returning to their own home. In order for them to return, it is necessary for the house to be semi-gutted, painted, re-carpeted, cleaned, appliances, windows replaced, and sheet rock repaired. That doesn’t include the retrofitting required to make the house handicap accessible; handrails for bathrooms, ramp to enter the door.

The contractor hired was an abomination of ethics violations hand-delivered from Satan. The good news is eight months have passed, and the work is still incomplete. The bad news is the contractor started bypassing the Mister and his brother for advances and approval and went straight to Ole One Eye. I’m not sure what the final tab was on the remodeling, but I am certain the contractor abused the situation. Don’t rely upon the kindness of others when it comes looking after aging parents. You are their best advocate. Grace extended from others is a bonus not a given.

The return home has conditions. They will have constant supervision. One proposed plan is for the One Eyes to visit the home for 6-8 hours a day. They would leave the ALF in the morning, transported by caregivers spend the day at their home, and transported back the ALF in time for dinner to spend the night. This plan is favored by the sons. The back-up plan, is to return them to their home with twenty-four hour care. The back up plan is the back up plan only because there is a fear that once they return, they won’t be able to pry Mrs One Eye out of the place.

Being in excess of three hundred miles from the situation, affords me the luxury of not being affected by such a change, but it does not prevent me from giving a shit.

The cost of twenty-four hour care is obscene at best. At the most frugal cost, the services rendered are basic. Light housekeeping, light cooking, shopping, and transporting. Typically, the cheapest providers are not insured, and have minimal medical training, if any. The team of four which have been interviewed, have requested being paid in cash (Red flag, maybe?) There are agencies which offer the same service for a higher cost, but their staff have typically undergone background checks.

My SIL fears the One Eyes will go through caregivers like toilet paper, driving away any assistance that isn’t bound by an agency or a contract. Supposedly, the One Eyes will not have the power to hire and fire staff, that will be the sole domain of their sons. Even with a caregiver available to assist with cooking, cleaning, physical assistance. Mrs One Eye isn’t likely allow anyone to cook in her kitchen. Her kitchen and her paperwork are HER JOBS.

The son who still lives in the area and is responsible for their finances and the house remodel, has plans to build his home near the One Eyes’ homestead. I think his religious leanings have convinced him, this is the right thing to do, but emotionally, I don’t think he will be able to handle what it requires. True, he won’t be a twenty-four care giver, but should the hired staff fail to meet their obligations, I think he would expect his wife to. If you are unable to deal with your parents, I don’t think it is fair to expect your spouse.

I could offer a laundry list of friends, family, and physicians who believe it is a bad idea for the One Eyes to return home. I believe three out of four sons also think it is a bad idea. I don’t know why they persist in trying to actualize this disaster if they truly believe it is a bad idea. My inner uneducated freudian suspects their sons are seeking approval. It has been a lifelong quest of all yielding no acknowledgment, much less a reward. It saddens me on their behalf, yet my vicarious pity serves no useful purpose.

The silver lining is….
they remain heavily supervised in assisted living, and their house will not be ready for occupancy this month.

The not so silver lining…
Ole One Eye’s mental capacity is diminishing. He is hallucinating. He sees fleas fish eggs bees wasps. He isn’t nuts. This is symptomatic of a legitimate medical condition, for which there is medication available. No one seems to know why he isn’t on the medication, nor has anyone spoken to his primary physician about the psychosis or getting a referral to the appropriate physician. Ole One Eye is diminishing physically. He is no longer able to walk far, and he is very unsteady. He has abandoned most attempts at basic hygiene. The vision in his remaining eye has greatly diminished, and no longer reads or dials telephone numbers without assistance. Mrs. Ole One is probably shoving him into an early grave. She yells at him, she gets in his face, and she doesn’t let up about wanting to go home. Her strength is actually improving, but her basic understanding and comprehension are not.

These seniors can no longer be held responsible for their actions. All the hateful words, and manipulative statements are simply a means to an end. Like toddlers, their goal is to get what they want, nothing more and nothing less. Attempts to reason with them yield short-lived victories, because the One Eyes forget what they agreed to, or they discard it. Fear of being disrespectful, forever traps their sons in the process of negotiations. Respect is a two way relationship, not one of constant submission.

Thanks for your compassion and support on the last post. Things are quiet. If that sounds vague, worry not. Though not synonymous with peaceful, quiet is a good thing. I poured my frustrations and insecurities into this space because I didn’t want to pick a fight with the Mister. Some might argue he doesn’t deserve an extension of grace, but attacking him (even if deserved) is fruitless. It doesn’t correct his actions, and it does nothing for my self-esteem to emotionally kick a man in the crotch, after his parents have tried to rip his heart out of his chest. I can’t condone being mean for the sake of being mean.

The Mister has been supportive and believed in me when I couldn’t believe in myself. He’s tolerated my cutting remarks, and he’s held back my hair while I puked still greeted in the morning with the words, “I love you”. He’s encouraged me to chase my dreams. Dreams I seldom acknowledge much less consider attainable. Unconditional love. The least I can do is return the favor. I’m no saint. I just haven’t written about my character flaws it yet.

It’s important to learn from everyone. Those who know more than you and those who know less, those who learn from their mistakes, and those who don’t. I try to learn from my mistakes, and make adjustments should I face a similar situation occur in the future. The Mister, in his unshakable optimism, believes things will happen differently in spite of his indifference.

He believes whereas I suspect. I suppose both methods have a place in this world, and neither should be exclusive….

Tuesday morning the Mister met with the One Eyes and a contractor who has been hired to work on the One Eyes’ home. The Mister didn’t ask me to accompany him, and I didn’t volunteer. In the home’s current state, it is unsafe to be occupied by the One Eyes. Carpet must be installed, leaks repaired, handrails installed, closets re-equipped, ceilings repaired, walls repainted, and the whole structure cleaned from top to bottom.

The Mister returned from the meeting before lunch. I asked how he managed not leave without taking his parents to lunch and he replied, “I think they were ready for me to leave”. That never happens. They ALWAYS expect a road trip to get lunch. I didn’t ask any more questions about the meeting.

Later Mister Hombre mentioned he saw his brother at a fast food restaurant on the morning of the meeting, but his brother didn’t volunteer to join him with the contractor. I asked him if he would have volunteered if the situation had been reversed and he responded,”No, but this isn’t about me, it’s about my brother.” This is a good example of how the Mister and his brothers operate. Ignorance is bliss.

I talked to a friend who met the One Eyes when the Mister took them shopping. She acknowledged we had our hands full, then she asked how I was doing. I told her there are good days and bad days, but I’m hanging in there.

©2008 Cloud Study, Chalk Pastel on Textured Paper

I should have written this Thursday, in the moments after my heart fell, but I didn’t. My instinct was to tell my partner, “I need a drink,” but I had enough presence of mind to know that doesn’t help. Instead, I retreated into my silent, contemplative self. We made an unscheduled stop at a wooded park near home, and walked the nature trails along the river. The gravity of it all, made me feel like I had been punched in the stomach. With each additional step, I felt my shoulders fall forward as my face grew longer. Too much reality, and too powerless to make a difference.

You can know the truth, but as long as it remains unspoken, it doesn’t carry the proper weight. False hope lies in the inability to articulate, but maybe it’s just denial. I would prefer to be kicked in the crotch with a steel toed shoe than entertain the prospect of being in denial. Premature mourning of anticipated disasters is my baby……not denial.

*****

I’m in awe of this online community… compassion, consolation, laughter, sharing, openness, trust, and honor among thieves. There is a special uninhibitedness in meeting people through words and brief excerpts, absent of accent, geography, social status, and age. It’s an openness seldom available in physical introductions, and an opportunity to meet the self prior to previewing the shell.

I had the pleasure and privilege of meeting some of you in person. I wouldn’t trade those experiences for anything. It never occurred there could be a residual effect to, sharing food and wine, walking, talking or seeing the whites of your eyes…

When I was younger and more socially inept than now, I forged a few relationships based on angst. I worried if I didn’t bring some form of depression or personal disaster to the table, then I didn’t have anything worthy of friendship. I feared I was uninteresting on ordinary days, so I held my angst close and nurtured it.

I finally realized, it was no way to live or forge relationships, and the pendulum swung in the opposite direction. Now, I go through periods of silence and stoical contemplation. I don’t want to whine, which is why I’ve posted so little of late.

I can’t talk to the Mister. He has his own guilt to contend with and I don’t want to add to it. I don’t want to burden him, nor do I want to portray him as the bad guy. I’m just beginning to understand what it was like growing up in a home in which love was the means to justify treating you kids like crap.

******

The Mister and I were driving back from his parent’s home. He had made preparations for freezing conditions the previous day. We checked out the homestead to make sure there were no frozen pipes or damage. Mister Hombre called his father at the assisted living facility (ALF) to report the homestead survived the freeze. Ole One Eye proceeded to harass him about new car tags so Mrs. One Eye could drive (she’s been advised not to by all her doctors). The conversation was lengthy and wore the Mister down.

Afterwards, I suggested the Mister that he and the brothers sell the cars. There is a power of attorney drawn up that would make the action legal. The Mister said, he was hesitant to sell the car because they might need it for a caregiver to drive them to Dr’s appointments should they return home. In that moment, I felt a little piece of myself die.

I haven’t remained HERE this year, so they could return home.

If you read the above paragraph, without comprehending the context, I sound like a complete bitch. I’m not in a position to deny my status, as there is too much published material to contradict it, but I feel compelled to offer a few points in my defense:

• My top priorities for my in-laws are: their health, and their safety.
• They may or may not have enough financial resources to remain in their home full-time with medical supervision.
• They need 24 hour care (On this point, Mister Hombre and I agree)
• They think their happiness depends upon returning home, but they seem to forget they weren’t happy at home prior to moving to the ALF.
• We’ve remained here ostensibly to get the One Eye’s settled, and assist in protecting financial resources from the state, and see that certain medical needs are accomplished….Eleven months later, few of these goals have been attempted, much less accomplished.
• The One Eyes make few attempts at hygiene. They smell, and wear the same clothes for days. The boys will not address this, and the ALF staff cannot force them to bathe.

Thanks. I’m not looking for answers, My solutions are not welcome by the Mister, and he has his own demons to consider. I’m only looking for fortitude.

Normally, Patches would post this. Unfortunately, when I translate encounters with my in-laws (the One Eyes) into third person, the context shifts, I sound all bitter and non-compassionate. I feel that way frequently, but not constantly. They’ve been bitter, self-entitled complainers since I met them, but the dementia and inability to care for themselves, has only become obvious in the last year.

I’m not so callous that hold a person’s diminishing health, and mental capacity against them. Aging is an humbling experience and often propagates acrimony. My understanding would be more generous if their hostility did not pre-date the bicentennial.

Last week, I accompanied my husband to take his parents out for breakfast to celebrate their birthdays. The following are snippets highlighting the outing. It may read like a badly written sitcom, or a Month Python sketch, but I swear this shit really happened. I’m posting in the interest of public service. This could happen to you…or someone you love.

• Shower, get dressed and leave the house at sunrise. Don’t want to keep the One Eye’s waiting too long. Ole One Eye doesn’t always eat when he should and gets weak and dizzy. Mister Hombre thanks me on three separate occasions for agreeing to go before we arrive at the assisted living facility. I tell him thanks aren’t necessary, and request being rewarded with ice cream later, instead.

• Enter the One Eye’s room. Mrs. One Eye is surprised to see us. She doesn’t remember we are taking her to breakfast, but she was told the previous day. We sit down to exchange pleasantries. Mrs. One Eye is happy to see us for ten seconds…Then she begins complaining she can’t hear Ole One Eye speak. He needs to speak louder. His voice isn’t as loud as it was the previous day, and she can hear everyone in the room speak except for HIM. (This is complete bullshit. She is almost deaf. She wears in-ear aids, that no longer meet her needs. She will not wear the larger models, because they are not stylish and people will see them. She is a vain woman, and thinks people don’t notice she can’t hear. She mostly reads lips, but she won’t make eye contact long enough to get the context. She enjoys not hearing because it insulates her from truth.) Next, she complains about not being allowed to drive. She would take care of more business if only someone would bring her a car. Wisely, Mister Hombre does not acknowledge this and changes the subject.

• Mister Hombre distracts his parents with shiny things. Mrs. One Eye reads her card and gets teary. After gifts are opened, Mister Hombre quickly confiscates the wrappings. If he doesn’t, Mrs. One Eye will save all packaging materials. She is a collector/packrat. She discards very little. It’s common for people who were raised during the depression. Having had so little in the past makes it difficult for them to part with useless things in the present.

• Mister Hombre suggest we leave for breakfast. He gets Mrs. One Eye’s walker (two broken hips and three surgeries in four months). Mister Hombre escorts hit mother and I follow Ole One Eye. You can lose a senior in a straight hallway, if you don’t pay attention. When we get to the vehicle, Mrs. One Eye starts gushing about the new car. She thinks this is the first time she has seen it. She rode in it the previous week. Mister Hombre helps his mother into the car and wrestles with the walker. I lead Ole One Eye to the other passenger door (If I don’t escort him, he will get confused and try to enter the wrong door or even the wrong car. He has no sense no spacial awareness, and gets lost returning from the bathroom….but still he thinks he should drive.) and help him with his seat belt, which he cannot manage.

• Mister Hombre and I belt in and he starts the vehicle. Mrs. One Eye begins complaining because she doesn’t have her purse. Mister Hombre offers to get it. She responds she hardly takes her purse anywhere, because she hardly gets to go anywhere. Mister Hombre asks again if she needs her purse. She can’t hear him. Mister Hombre asks Ole One Eye to repeat the question to her (since they are sitting next to each other). Ole One Eye, instead tells her, “If you want your purse, go back and get it.” (Ole One Eye doesn’t listen and stays in a shitload of trouble because he doesn’t listen to Mrs. One Eye.) Mrs. One Eye unbuckles her seat belt, opens the car door, and gets ready to go without the walker. Mister Hombre gets out, straps her in, and offers once more to get her purse which is hidden in a paper sack in the back of her closet.

• The car ride is relatively uneventful. There are the usual issues regarding hearing, listening and getting lost in translation, but nothing causes tears.

• We form the kindergarten line to usher the seniors into the restaurant. Ole One Eye was confused, and Mrs. One Eye wasn’t using the ramp with her walker. The Hostess takes us to our table, but Ole One Eye doesn’t understand he should follow. Ole One Eye tries to be chivalrous and pulls out a chair for Mrs. One Eye, and tries to help her ease closer to the table. She doesn’t assist by sitting up a little and leaves all her weight resting in the chair, making it much heavier for Ole One Eye to push forward. She snaps at him and says he isn’t doing it right. Dejected and worn out he sits beside her.

• The waitress takes drink orders and returns with coffee for everyone and two extra pots for the table. The seniors complain bitterly, the coffee hot isn’t enough (They make their coffee on the stove and pour into cups while still boiling). The waitress comes to take orders and we wave her off. Everyone reads the menu. The waitress comes a second time and we wave her off again. More complaints about coffee temperature ensue. The waitress comes a third time and hotter coffee is requested. Mister Hombre asks what I’m ordering, and I point it out on the menu (it’s a stuffed french toast thingy with cream cheese and strawberry topping. More like a dessert than a breakfast, but I’m rewarding myself for enduring this). He shows the item to his Mom, and asks if she wants that instead of the plain french toast. She looked at the picture and nodded (She had no idea what she agreed to. She didn’t read the description. I get ready to watch the inevitable train wreck that will occur when the food arrives.). The waitress returns for the fourth time takes orders and goes to get ANOTHER pot of hot coffee.

• After a lengthy wait and more complaining about the coffee, food arrives. Everyone except Mrs. One Eye begins eating. She stares at her plate and says, “I didn’t order THIS”. Mister Hombre tries to explain she did, but she is having NONE of it. Both Ole One Eye and Mister Hombre offer to trade entrées with her, but she won’t, even though Ole One Eye ordered the entrée she thought she was getting. Complaints continue. The men offer AGAIN to trade. Finally I can’t take it anymore and speak up,”She doesn’t want to trade, she only wants to complain.” (This has been her tactic for years. The hearing loss made it easy for her to alienate herself from society. Over time, family began to ignore her too. She knows, if she complains, they will listen….and they do.). For a woman who hated her entrée, she ate all of the stuffed toast and left the topping (Also ironic, she usually eats a doughnut or something sugary for breakfast. Her entrée was the equivalent of a cheese danish covered in strawberries).

• We return to the ALF, and go to their room and visit before going home (because it is rude to drop them off and honk the horn for the caregivers to retrieve them from the porch). After two major hip replacement surgeries in three months, Mrs. One Eye is under movement restrictions. The idea is to avoid motion that could cause the hip to pop out of the socket before it heals. Mister Hombre has been vigilant about correcting her when she moves in ways she should not (bending at the waist, crossing legs, walking without the walker). She leaned over in her chair, bending at the waist, to pick up a tissue on the floor. Mister Hombre immediately chastised her and told her she couldn’t do that. She responded, “Sure, I can.” and did it AGAIN. Mister Hombre brings her a reach extender with a pistol grip, so she can pick things up without bending over. She drops her tissue, leans over to pick it up bending at the waist, and then she takes the reach extender and leans over using it as a pseudo-cane (It is only two feet long and it doesn’t have a stable base) walks to the wastebasket, tosses her tissue, then returns to her chair still using the extender as a cane. Mister Hombre is so flabbergasted, he can’t even speak. Ole One Eye drops a subtle hint and says, “Well we really appreciate you stopping by and taking us to breakfast…” (Don’t let the door hit you in the ass on the way out.).

• Not to ignore an opportunity, Mister Hombre and I bid farewells and retreat to the car. He thanks me again for going, and I asked when we are going out for ice cream.

Things are quiet. I haven’t been to the hospital since Wednesday. The Mister left for work Thursday and won’t return until Monday. His brother knows how to reach me if he needs me. I’m available, but I’m not volunteering…

The Mister had a voicemail on his cell Friday night from the hospital. They said Mrs One Eye kept getting out of bed and they had to restrain her with a posey vest. I have not heard if they will transfer her to the physical therapy wing or not.

I spent a few hours sitting with her Tuesday and Wednesday so the guys could eat lunch. Tuesday she was fighting really hard to overcome the effects of the anesthesia and regain lucidity. Sheer determination overshadows concealed rage. I’m concerned she will become more physical as time passes.

As I sat with her, I read from John Steinbeck’s, East of Eden, and wondered, “How would Steinbeck write about this family? I could envision lengthy poetic descriptions, the setting of stage, and geography, but I could not conceive of a plot, at least not from Steinbeck. For there really is no plot, it is simply a snapshot in time, like Brett Easton Ellis’s, Less than Zero. A complex cast of characters with no direction and no motivation only an unknown destiny.

Thursday I relieved myself of nervous energy. It’s weird, I can maintain focus, and keep a cool head when needed, but sooner or later a valve has to release pressure. So I cut the grass, hauled away yard debris, washed and waxed my ride, and cleaned the pond filter.

By Friday my body betrayed me. Too many consecutive days of sleeplessness, and and improper eating. After a poor lunch choice (strawberry milkshake) I laid on the sofa for two hours with a pounding chest and no energy because of a sugar crash. Today, I concentrated on being active and eating better. My eyes are too fatigued to focus, so I’ve taken out my contacts to rest them. Tonight I am tired, a good tired, not exhausted, so the pendulum is swinging the other way….for me, for a while.