I’m a keeper. I didn’t know I would be, but I can’t imagine parting with Daddy’s jacket.
It’s brick-red suede, and has completely worn through at the edge of the sleeves. It no longer smells of him, but I keep it.
I remember when I was a child, riding with him to Sears on Saturday morning just to buy salted peanuts and look at the tools in the tool department. He wore that jacket. I was adopted and maybe that makes me more sentimental, I don’t know, but keeping my past is important to me.
I also have his Bible, his wallet, his watch, his glasses, and a yellow shirt I remember him in.
I have lots of items that was my mother’s–her mink coat, her Russian coat, purses, jewelry, a Sunday suit, and more Bibles. (My mother was a preacher, so trust me when I say she had lots of Bibles).
I also have their photos, letters, recipes, Daddy’s old tool chest, the first gift he ever gave her when she was just 14–it’s a small cedar box that’s in the shape of a heart. If my math is right, he gave it to her in 1925. I can tell the story of how they met as if it were my own.
Why do we keep our loved one’s clothes?
Like a child’s ratty blanket, we hold on. Safety, security, identity.
Our momentos are in boxes, on shelves, in cabinets, and I know I keep way too much, but how do you let go of such things?
It’s all I have now, and I believe that by pulling out Daddy’s coat or by pinning on one of my mother’s broaches, I can see them clearer, remember better.
I remember Daddy’s bushy eyebrows, the thickness of his fingers and how I could barely squeeze my child fingers through his. I remember that jacket and how he’d wear it when we went to see his family–his sister and brother every Sunday afternoon. His faithfulness amazed me then. His loyalty and tenderness is something I value in a man.
There are issues with keeping things. Psychologists might tell you that you’re not moving on, not making room for the new. I understand the logic. A friend recently visited my home. I hadn’t seen her since my mom was alive and she commented on how much my house had changed. My mom’s antiques are no longer on display. Some have been give to other family members, others sold. This is a slow process–for me.
It no longer looks like my mother’s house. After moving my mother and her 40 years of not moving, her collections oozed out of every crevice. I barely had room for “me.” My mother was one powerful woman. She had a way of taking over. I let her reign, so to speak. As her daughter and in those last few years, caregiver, I learned how to hold my ground and still allow her to feel as if she had some independence.
But now, I have a new couch, a new dining room table. Her furniture has been divvied up among my daughters. I’ve reclaimed my throne, so to speak.
Ironically, I consider myself more of a futurist than a person who lives in the past. I lean toward modern/eclectic design and and music and I’ve made a slew of six month, one year, five year, and then year plans, always writing my future. I’m a list maker–a list for the day, the week, the month, sometimes two a day. I like noting the little things I’ve accomplished. I’ll write something down I just thought of just to get the thrill of crossing it out.
But when it comes to my parents, I’m a keeper, but it no longer keeps me in the past. I’ don’t think I fall iinto thecategory of “not moving on.”
I like to think of their clothes and personal items as a cushion to my life. As if they somehow support me and connect me. Just one look at that jacket and I’m four again. No other Bible comforts me like Daddy’s. I don’t need to even open it to feel a sense of guidance.
It takes time to get to a place to let go of at least a few things.
After your loved one dies, part of grief is when you still try to live in your old life with old clothes and the way things used surrounding you.
You weren’t ready for him to die. You don’t want to date, get a new job, or have to figure out what to do with yourself next Christmas. You don’t want to move on.
Some people get rid of things too soon. Others, too late–it’s different for each person. Finally, you begin to make your own way. Reinvent yourself. Find who you are–now. They are in you, a part of you, but you are changed. You have to go on.
What’s the time frame? Varies. I know people who were clearing out closets before the funeral. I know others who open a closet ten years later–and there’s everything just as it was. Of course, there’s always a chance of getting stuck and not being able to let go. You run that risk.
For many, somewhere around or after that first year mark, things shift–a little. You don’t have to make yourself do everything. Some things come a little easier. A little. For others, it’s two, three years before they can feel anything but blinding loss.
But somewhere along the line, you let go of a few things. You call up a family member and offer them a book or a knick-knack. You sell something, drop items off at Goodwill or another charity.
You live with the empty space for awhile before you figure out how to fill your life again. And the items you keep become more intended, more precious. They go in top drawers and the chest that sits in the guest bedroom. You leave out a few photos, a book–a silver comb that sits on your dresser.
Your loved one is now incorporated. Their clothes, their memories are a part of you, in your house so to speak–but they have a place and not like a box you trip over whenever you walk into a room. Anytime you need to, you can slide open a draw and remember. Find comfort.
And now, there’s also room for something new.
~Carol D. O’Dell, Family Advisor at Caring.com
Author, Mothering Mother: A Daughter’s Humorous and Heartbreaking Memoir,available on Amazon
Showing posts with label Alzheimer's. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Alzheimer's. Show all posts
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
Monday, April 7, 2008
Three Sure Signs Your Loved One is Ready for Hospice
You think your doctor will tell you when your loved one needs hospice?
They should know, right?
Not always the case.
I asked my mother’s doctor about hospice (Alzheimer’s and Parkinson’s) months beforehand and was “poo-pooed” away. Mother had a great way of rallying herself together for doctor visits, but I lived with her, cared for her 24/7, and I was beginning to see a shift.
I knew my mother had taken a turn. I knew that both of us were over the tests, treatments, and hospital rigamarole. I knew, in essence, that she had given up the will to live.
Alzheimer’s does more to a person’s body than simply making them forget names and current events. They forget things at a molecular level as well. They forget what to do with a spoon, how to chew and swallow. These symptoms don’t just come and stay–like early dementia, it comes and goes. That makes it easier to dismiss it, deny it, and hope it isn’t true.
Some days, my mom was pretty alert and could at least remember to put whatever food was in her hand into her mouth. Although her ability to remember me or where she lived seemed permanently lost, her body could still manage biological urges.
On other days, that natural reaction of opening your mouth when food comes near–was gone. That’s a tough realization.
For the most part, Mother was still mobile, or at least trying to be. She had this incredible drive to walk, stand up, and I know that for her, Alzheimer’s had a dimension of added aggitation. Some Alzheimer’s patients pace, exhibit unbelievable strength, and can go with limited sleep.
It’s one of those diseases that can manifest itself differently in different people. Some are babblers, curse like sailors, say and do apprehensible sexual things, blurt out inappropriate racial comments. Others are silent. They’re entombed and barely ever move.
Same disease, different brains.
But how do you know as a family member/caregiver that it’s time to call hospice?
First, the working definition of hospice or palliative care is: your loved one has a “life limiting condition.” Their words, not mine. While it’s technically correct, and I can’t think of a better way to say it, it still sounds odd.
In layman’s terms, most people think it means your loved one has a diagnosis of less than six months to live, and with some hospice situations, a year. While that’s technically true, some people receive hospice or palliative services for much longer.
The difference in hospice and palliative care is that palliative care specializes in the relief of the pain, symptoms and stress of serious illness.
Hospice care always provides palliative care. Hospice focuses on terminally ill people who no longer seek treatments to cure them and who are expected to live for a year or less.
Three signs That Indicate Your Loved One is Ready For Hospice:
1. The disease has progressed to the point that there’s no cure, and you’ve decided to make your loved one comfortable and not actively seek to treat the disease.
2. You and your loved one chooses to forego any further testing of hospitalizations and will allow the dying process to happen naturally.
3. You’re ready to begin to let go, say good bye, and follow the oath of hospice, which is to “neither hinder, not hasten death.”
Check out www.nhpco.org, website for National Hospice and Palliative Care Organization for more information.
Caring Connections also shares this advice: (www.caringconnections.com)
“Anyone can inquire about hospice services. You or your loved one may call a local hospice and request services. The hospice staff will then contact your physician to determine if a referral to hospice is appropriate. Another way to inquire about hospice is to talk with your physician, and he or she can make a referral to hospice.Hospice can begin as soon as a ‘referral’ is made by the person’s doctor.
The hospice staff will then contact the person referred to set up an initial meeting to review the services the hospice will offer and sign the necessary consent forms for care to begin. Usually, care is ready to begin within a day or two of a referral. However, in urgent situations, service may begin sooner.
When is the right time to ask about hospice?
Now is the best time to learn more about hospice care and ask questions about what to expect. Although end-of-life care may be difficult to discuss, it is best for loved ones and family members to share their wishes long before it becomes a concern. This can greatly reduce stress when the time for hospice becomes apparent. When is the right time to ask about hospice?
By having these discussions in advance, uncomfortable situations can be avoided. Instead, educated decisions can be made that include the advice and input of loved ones.”
Shannon Martin of Aging Wisely shares:
Just recently when my Grandmother died, my aunt (who is a geriatric nurse) said, “I don’t know that it’s time for Hospice yet” even when my Grandmother had stopped eating and they had decided no more hospitalizations, tests etc.”
This shows there’s some denial, even among professionally trained individuals, especially when it involves their own family. Accepting that the end is near, that you will begin to have to let go, to sit quietly by a loved one’s bedside, to not go into “heroics” and throw on the paddles or rush to the ER is very, very difficult.
The last month of my own mother’s life was in many ways one of the most peaceful times of my life. It was also excruciating. As a society, we’re no longer taught to sit with death.
We’re no longer taught to let nature take its course, to relinquish our control. Learning to do this, to hear the clock tick, to let my family come and go as I sat by my mother’s bed and wiped her brow–
It was a finishing of something I had begun.
It was bone deep and cathartic, and gave me time to think and process.
I began to see the whole of my mother’s life.
It wasn’t only what hospice did for me or for my mom, it was what they stood for, the permission they gave us all to let go in love.
~Carol D. O’Dell
Author of Mothering Mother: A Daughter’s Humorous and Heartbreaking Memoir
available on Amazon
www.mothering-mother.com
www.kunati.com
They should know, right?
Not always the case.
I asked my mother’s doctor about hospice (Alzheimer’s and Parkinson’s) months beforehand and was “poo-pooed” away. Mother had a great way of rallying herself together for doctor visits, but I lived with her, cared for her 24/7, and I was beginning to see a shift.
I knew my mother had taken a turn. I knew that both of us were over the tests, treatments, and hospital rigamarole. I knew, in essence, that she had given up the will to live.
Alzheimer’s does more to a person’s body than simply making them forget names and current events. They forget things at a molecular level as well. They forget what to do with a spoon, how to chew and swallow. These symptoms don’t just come and stay–like early dementia, it comes and goes. That makes it easier to dismiss it, deny it, and hope it isn’t true.
Some days, my mom was pretty alert and could at least remember to put whatever food was in her hand into her mouth. Although her ability to remember me or where she lived seemed permanently lost, her body could still manage biological urges.
On other days, that natural reaction of opening your mouth when food comes near–was gone. That’s a tough realization.
For the most part, Mother was still mobile, or at least trying to be. She had this incredible drive to walk, stand up, and I know that for her, Alzheimer’s had a dimension of added aggitation. Some Alzheimer’s patients pace, exhibit unbelievable strength, and can go with limited sleep.
It’s one of those diseases that can manifest itself differently in different people. Some are babblers, curse like sailors, say and do apprehensible sexual things, blurt out inappropriate racial comments. Others are silent. They’re entombed and barely ever move.
Same disease, different brains.
But how do you know as a family member/caregiver that it’s time to call hospice?
First, the working definition of hospice or palliative care is: your loved one has a “life limiting condition.” Their words, not mine. While it’s technically correct, and I can’t think of a better way to say it, it still sounds odd.
In layman’s terms, most people think it means your loved one has a diagnosis of less than six months to live, and with some hospice situations, a year. While that’s technically true, some people receive hospice or palliative services for much longer.
The difference in hospice and palliative care is that palliative care specializes in the relief of the pain, symptoms and stress of serious illness.
Hospice care always provides palliative care. Hospice focuses on terminally ill people who no longer seek treatments to cure them and who are expected to live for a year or less.
Three signs That Indicate Your Loved One is Ready For Hospice:
1. The disease has progressed to the point that there’s no cure, and you’ve decided to make your loved one comfortable and not actively seek to treat the disease.
2. You and your loved one chooses to forego any further testing of hospitalizations and will allow the dying process to happen naturally.
3. You’re ready to begin to let go, say good bye, and follow the oath of hospice, which is to “neither hinder, not hasten death.”
Check out www.nhpco.org, website for National Hospice and Palliative Care Organization for more information.
Caring Connections also shares this advice: (www.caringconnections.com)
“Anyone can inquire about hospice services. You or your loved one may call a local hospice and request services. The hospice staff will then contact your physician to determine if a referral to hospice is appropriate. Another way to inquire about hospice is to talk with your physician, and he or she can make a referral to hospice.Hospice can begin as soon as a ‘referral’ is made by the person’s doctor.
The hospice staff will then contact the person referred to set up an initial meeting to review the services the hospice will offer and sign the necessary consent forms for care to begin. Usually, care is ready to begin within a day or two of a referral. However, in urgent situations, service may begin sooner.
When is the right time to ask about hospice?
Now is the best time to learn more about hospice care and ask questions about what to expect. Although end-of-life care may be difficult to discuss, it is best for loved ones and family members to share their wishes long before it becomes a concern. This can greatly reduce stress when the time for hospice becomes apparent. When is the right time to ask about hospice?
By having these discussions in advance, uncomfortable situations can be avoided. Instead, educated decisions can be made that include the advice and input of loved ones.”
Shannon Martin of Aging Wisely shares:
Just recently when my Grandmother died, my aunt (who is a geriatric nurse) said, “I don’t know that it’s time for Hospice yet” even when my Grandmother had stopped eating and they had decided no more hospitalizations, tests etc.”
This shows there’s some denial, even among professionally trained individuals, especially when it involves their own family. Accepting that the end is near, that you will begin to have to let go, to sit quietly by a loved one’s bedside, to not go into “heroics” and throw on the paddles or rush to the ER is very, very difficult.
The last month of my own mother’s life was in many ways one of the most peaceful times of my life. It was also excruciating. As a society, we’re no longer taught to sit with death.
We’re no longer taught to let nature take its course, to relinquish our control. Learning to do this, to hear the clock tick, to let my family come and go as I sat by my mother’s bed and wiped her brow–
It was a finishing of something I had begun.
It was bone deep and cathartic, and gave me time to think and process.
I began to see the whole of my mother’s life.
It wasn’t only what hospice did for me or for my mom, it was what they stood for, the permission they gave us all to let go in love.
~Carol D. O’Dell
Author of Mothering Mother: A Daughter’s Humorous and Heartbreaking Memoir
available on Amazon
www.mothering-mother.com
www.kunati.com
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
Caregiving Transitions--The Elder Driving Dilemma
Life changes.
Just as we get used to one thing, it no longer works, and we have to figure out the next transition.
Caregivers and the folks they love and care for experience transition in rapid succession.
It's a lot like when your child turned fifteen--they can drive with you in the car, and before you know it, they're sixteen and begging to drive alone--you aren't ready for this--or for the dating, curfews, part-time jobs, SAT preps, and BAM! They're eighteen and headed off to college.
Only three years ago they were still your baby--gangly yes, but not living in a dorm, voting, and heaven forbid, fighting a war.
Our elders also go through rapid changes. You question whether they should still drive so you drive behind them, monitor their turns and parking. Your doubts are confirmed and it's time to have the first of many BIG TALKS.
The transition from driving to not driving is oftentimes the first a caregiverr must prepare for, and I do mean prepare. It's best to have this talk as a scenario that hasn't occured yet.
"Dad--"
"What?"
"You know, you're 85 and still driving, and I think that's great, but let's face it--one day, you will most likely not be safe behind the wheel."
"I don't want to talk about it."
"We have to."
"No, we don't."
"Yes, Dad, we do. Hear me out. I love you. I want you to have your independence--I really do. I respect you immensely, and I love you and want you to be safe--and I don't want you to hurt someone else."
(silence)
"This is what I propose. I think we should do what I did with your grandson. I think you should consider driving only when someone else is in the car with you. That way, I can see how you're doing--will you do that for me?"
(silence)
Take his hand. Be quiet for a minute. Change the subject. Enough for today. Go get an ice cream.
This is the first conversation. There will be several.
He has to get used to the idea that his life is changing. He has to transition out of the life he has--and it won't be easy.
Let's think about what our loved ones are feeling:
I'm still healthy and my driving is fine, what's she talking about?
It's my car. It's paid for and I'm insured.
I only drive to the store and to church. I know my way in my sleep.
They just want my money.
Why don't they take all the drunk drivers off the road first. They're more of a menace than I am.
Once I give up driving, I'll be her prisoner.
By putting ourselves in their situation, we see how very painful having someone decide when you can no longer drive can be.
It's best if they decide when it's no longer wise to drive on their own, but in many cases, that's just not going to happen. Their judgement is impaired. They fear losing their freedom. It's teenage-hood in reverse!
What if Dad's cantankerous and won't stop driving even when it's not safe?
We'll talk about your options tomorrow.
~Carol D. O'DellAuthor of Mothering Mother: A Daughter's Humorous and Heartbreaking Memoir
available on Amazonwww.mothering-mother.com
Just as we get used to one thing, it no longer works, and we have to figure out the next transition.
Caregivers and the folks they love and care for experience transition in rapid succession.
It's a lot like when your child turned fifteen--they can drive with you in the car, and before you know it, they're sixteen and begging to drive alone--you aren't ready for this--or for the dating, curfews, part-time jobs, SAT preps, and BAM! They're eighteen and headed off to college.
Only three years ago they were still your baby--gangly yes, but not living in a dorm, voting, and heaven forbid, fighting a war.
Our elders also go through rapid changes. You question whether they should still drive so you drive behind them, monitor their turns and parking. Your doubts are confirmed and it's time to have the first of many BIG TALKS.
The transition from driving to not driving is oftentimes the first a caregiverr must prepare for, and I do mean prepare. It's best to have this talk as a scenario that hasn't occured yet.
"Dad--"
"What?"
"You know, you're 85 and still driving, and I think that's great, but let's face it--one day, you will most likely not be safe behind the wheel."
"I don't want to talk about it."
"We have to."
"No, we don't."
"Yes, Dad, we do. Hear me out. I love you. I want you to have your independence--I really do. I respect you immensely, and I love you and want you to be safe--and I don't want you to hurt someone else."
(silence)
"This is what I propose. I think we should do what I did with your grandson. I think you should consider driving only when someone else is in the car with you. That way, I can see how you're doing--will you do that for me?"
(silence)
Take his hand. Be quiet for a minute. Change the subject. Enough for today. Go get an ice cream.
This is the first conversation. There will be several.
He has to get used to the idea that his life is changing. He has to transition out of the life he has--and it won't be easy.
Let's think about what our loved ones are feeling:
I'm still healthy and my driving is fine, what's she talking about?
It's my car. It's paid for and I'm insured.
I only drive to the store and to church. I know my way in my sleep.
They just want my money.
Why don't they take all the drunk drivers off the road first. They're more of a menace than I am.
Once I give up driving, I'll be her prisoner.
By putting ourselves in their situation, we see how very painful having someone decide when you can no longer drive can be.
It's best if they decide when it's no longer wise to drive on their own, but in many cases, that's just not going to happen. Their judgement is impaired. They fear losing their freedom. It's teenage-hood in reverse!
What if Dad's cantankerous and won't stop driving even when it's not safe?
We'll talk about your options tomorrow.
~Carol D. O'DellAuthor of Mothering Mother: A Daughter's Humorous and Heartbreaking Memoir
available on Amazonwww.mothering-mother.com
Friday, February 22, 2008
How to Approach Someone With Alzheimer's or Dementia
Approaching someone with dementia or Alzheimer's takes a little finesse. Too many folks charge right up to them and get in their "personal space," perhaps because they don't realize that person's with physical or neurological challenges still do have and need personal space.
Whether your loved one lives at home and you're their primary caregiver, or if they're in a care facility, knowing how to approach them is a crucial skill for all involved.
Sometimes they don't approach them at all.
They're uncomfortable, so they stay across the room and avoid eye contact. Some people don't even go to visit their loved ones. That's sad, because they're just scared and don't know exactly what to do.
Here area few simple steps to make this situation more comfortable for everyone:
If you have or can get a name tag, it can help. Wear your name tag since many dementia patients can still read and it reminds them who you are.
Approach a dementia or Alzheimer's patient calmly, extend your hand, but realize they might not know what to do with it. If they're in a wheelchair, bend your knees and meet them at their level. If you're much taller, try and make yourself an equal.
Don't come head on--even in nature, this is considered aggressive my most mammals.
Stand a little to their side--so they feel they have some air to breathe and an escape path if they feel threatened. Also realize that if you come up behind them or directly to their side, they might not see or hear you and you may startle them. They may react by a scream or even try to hit you if they're agitated, so make sure they know you're coming up to them, then step a little to the side so they have some breathing room and don't feel "attacked." Remember the old fight or flight reaction--some people might try to run away from you if you startle them, whereas others may try to bop you a good one!
Say your name clearly and ask them theirs. If you know their name then don't ask them--tell them their name. They shouldn't feel tested or put on the spot.
"Hi, my name is Carol, and your name is Lily. It's nice to meet you."
If they're shaking your hand and want to continue to hold it, then allow them to. Some dementia/neurological folks like touch and are quite tactile. They might touch your clothes or your hair, but realize that if it goes too far, it's because they might not be able to judge appropriateness. Simply gently take their hand from the unwanted are and either hold their hand, or let go and back up just a little without drawing attention to the unwanted behaviour. Like a little kid, people like to do things they're not supposed to.
If they don't seem to want to shake hands, respect that. Some dementia/neuro-impaired folks abhor touch, so don't take it personal.
If they lose their attention and aren't interested in you, don't take it personal.
If they aren't smiling, don't take it personal.
If you are assisting them in the restroom or dressing, also stand to the side. Our elderly folk don't have as good peripheral vision and if you stand directly to their side, they may feel more of a sense of privacy. You can also leverage yourself better with one arm holding their elbow up to their shoulder and the other across their back. Remind them you're still there, but be quiet if they need their privacy.
If they go into a stall alone, make sure they don't lock the door (unless you feel they're clear headed enough to know how to unlock it. Simply hold it closed--even if you have to make an excuse about the lock. Realize some folks like to "play" in the bathroom--everything from playing with their feces, to clogging up the toilet with excess paper, to self play, so don't let it surprise you. If you feel uncomfortable with all this, ask for someone who usually takes them to the restroom to do so. It's perfectly okay if you feel ill-prepared.
If they start telling you their life story, listen, but realize part of it or all of it might not be real. If you need to leave--try to find a place to interject, "I have to go to the kitchen (for example) and say good-bye. If you can lead them over to a group or something they can do, then do that and get them involved before you step away. Sometimes this is not possible, and they can be difficult to disengage. Treat them with respect, but realize they might not grasp the subtleties of conversation and let you leave without you being assertive.
Realize they might "lift" your rings or wallet out of your purse--out of curiosity. Some are collectors, but you might want to double check things before you leave.
If they start asking repeated questions, "Is my husband here?"
It's best to say something along the lines of, "You really loved him, didn't you?" or "What did you two like to do together?" Don't confront or argue--but do allow them to talk about that person because they probably do miss them.
After a few visits, you can decide if you should say goodbye, or if that upsets them. Don't feel bad if you need to simply slip away.
Always, always, always talk to the staff--everyone--kitchen help, bathers, nursing staff--everyone. You need them to be your friends. They need to know you know them by name. They're more likely to treat your loved one well if you treat them well. They're also less likely to do something less than appropriate if you know their name.
Thank them for all they do. No one is ever compensated enough to care for another human being. Genuine thanks is a way of showing honor.
By knowing a few simple strategies and understanding how our Alzheimer's, dementia, neuro-impaired process information, we can enjoy a calmer, more meaningful visit for everyone.
Carol D. O'Dell
Author of Mothering Mother; A Daughter's Humorous and Heartbreaking Memoiravailable on Amazon
www.mothering-mother.com.
www.Kunati.com
Whether your loved one lives at home and you're their primary caregiver, or if they're in a care facility, knowing how to approach them is a crucial skill for all involved.
Sometimes they don't approach them at all.
They're uncomfortable, so they stay across the room and avoid eye contact. Some people don't even go to visit their loved ones. That's sad, because they're just scared and don't know exactly what to do.
Here area few simple steps to make this situation more comfortable for everyone:
If you have or can get a name tag, it can help. Wear your name tag since many dementia patients can still read and it reminds them who you are.
Approach a dementia or Alzheimer's patient calmly, extend your hand, but realize they might not know what to do with it. If they're in a wheelchair, bend your knees and meet them at their level. If you're much taller, try and make yourself an equal.
Don't come head on--even in nature, this is considered aggressive my most mammals.
Stand a little to their side--so they feel they have some air to breathe and an escape path if they feel threatened. Also realize that if you come up behind them or directly to their side, they might not see or hear you and you may startle them. They may react by a scream or even try to hit you if they're agitated, so make sure they know you're coming up to them, then step a little to the side so they have some breathing room and don't feel "attacked." Remember the old fight or flight reaction--some people might try to run away from you if you startle them, whereas others may try to bop you a good one!
Say your name clearly and ask them theirs. If you know their name then don't ask them--tell them their name. They shouldn't feel tested or put on the spot.
"Hi, my name is Carol, and your name is Lily. It's nice to meet you."
If they're shaking your hand and want to continue to hold it, then allow them to. Some dementia/neurological folks like touch and are quite tactile. They might touch your clothes or your hair, but realize that if it goes too far, it's because they might not be able to judge appropriateness. Simply gently take their hand from the unwanted are and either hold their hand, or let go and back up just a little without drawing attention to the unwanted behaviour. Like a little kid, people like to do things they're not supposed to.
If they don't seem to want to shake hands, respect that. Some dementia/neuro-impaired folks abhor touch, so don't take it personal.
If they lose their attention and aren't interested in you, don't take it personal.
If they aren't smiling, don't take it personal.
If you are assisting them in the restroom or dressing, also stand to the side. Our elderly folk don't have as good peripheral vision and if you stand directly to their side, they may feel more of a sense of privacy. You can also leverage yourself better with one arm holding their elbow up to their shoulder and the other across their back. Remind them you're still there, but be quiet if they need their privacy.
If they go into a stall alone, make sure they don't lock the door (unless you feel they're clear headed enough to know how to unlock it. Simply hold it closed--even if you have to make an excuse about the lock. Realize some folks like to "play" in the bathroom--everything from playing with their feces, to clogging up the toilet with excess paper, to self play, so don't let it surprise you. If you feel uncomfortable with all this, ask for someone who usually takes them to the restroom to do so. It's perfectly okay if you feel ill-prepared.
If they start telling you their life story, listen, but realize part of it or all of it might not be real. If you need to leave--try to find a place to interject, "I have to go to the kitchen (for example) and say good-bye. If you can lead them over to a group or something they can do, then do that and get them involved before you step away. Sometimes this is not possible, and they can be difficult to disengage. Treat them with respect, but realize they might not grasp the subtleties of conversation and let you leave without you being assertive.
Realize they might "lift" your rings or wallet out of your purse--out of curiosity. Some are collectors, but you might want to double check things before you leave.
If they start asking repeated questions, "Is my husband here?"
It's best to say something along the lines of, "You really loved him, didn't you?" or "What did you two like to do together?" Don't confront or argue--but do allow them to talk about that person because they probably do miss them.
After a few visits, you can decide if you should say goodbye, or if that upsets them. Don't feel bad if you need to simply slip away.
Always, always, always talk to the staff--everyone--kitchen help, bathers, nursing staff--everyone. You need them to be your friends. They need to know you know them by name. They're more likely to treat your loved one well if you treat them well. They're also less likely to do something less than appropriate if you know their name.
Thank them for all they do. No one is ever compensated enough to care for another human being. Genuine thanks is a way of showing honor.
By knowing a few simple strategies and understanding how our Alzheimer's, dementia, neuro-impaired process information, we can enjoy a calmer, more meaningful visit for everyone.
Carol D. O'Dell
Author of Mothering Mother; A Daughter's Humorous and Heartbreaking Memoiravailable on Amazon
www.mothering-mother.com.
www.Kunati.com
Tuesday, February 19, 2008
If I Ran the Zoo: How I Would Run a Caregiver's Support Group
Remember the Dr. Suess book, If I Ran the Zoo? Well, I guess I've always wanted to be a zoo-keeper.
Lions, tigers, and support groups, oh my!
I have to admit, I didn't attend a monthly caregiver's support group while I cared for my mom. Why?
I guess you can chalk it up to my preacher's kid background, but I'm about meeting'ed out. I was a notorious school skipper in high school and I still have problems sitting through events where one person talks and everyone else has to listen, stand up, sit down, and clap on que. (Unless I'm the one doing the talking...and even then, I'm sensitive to people's time and attention spans).
For some reason, I'm either the slacker in the back of the room doodling on her notebook and making snide comments about everyone in the class--or I'm the front-row suck-up nerd hogging all the teacher's attention. One or the other--on any given day.
When I walk into a room with a banquet table and metal chairs placed around it, lit by a flourescent light and tired looking folks staring at one another--I want to go screaming out into the sunlight, find the nearest park, beach, or river and take a walk, that or go buy a triple expresso and power shop.
It's not that I don't realize that sharing your experience and working through the stresses, frustraitons, questions, and heartaches of caregiving isn't important. I know it is, but as my southern Mama always said:
"There's more than one way to skin a cat."
So, here's how I would run a support group. (dream scenario)
There would be couches, not metal chairs.
There would always be food and drink--and not just grocery store bought cookies.
There would be beautiful artwork.
There would be fresh flowers.
There would be music playing (sometimes jazz, sometimes, oldies, sometimes classical).
Stickers would be given out for doing things for yourself--making a phonecall, signing up for a class, etc. You would get to stand up, announce what you did for you, and get claps and/or hugs.
There would be show and tell--your latest photograph of your garden, a drawing, mom's broach, Dad's WWII medals, etc.
We'd share our favorite poems, books, and movie suggestons.
We'd have a gripe session and start off with cues such as:
"You wanna know what bugs me?!"
We'd throw eachother a potato to keep it going and anger would get a clap--we need to use our frustrations as energy so they won't implode on us.
We'd have guest speakers occasionally--but not all doctors and elder-care based. We'd have life coaches, a performer from the circus, a juggler who would teach us how to juggle, a policeman teaching us safety practices, a wardrobe consultant for you and your loved one...
We'd plan events--like a mother-daughter fashion show, or a WWII gathering of all the vets in the area--or a vintage car show and ride. We;d raise money for Alzheimer's or Parkinson's--or to sponsor a road trip!
We'd finish each session with either yoga or a walk or dancing. Movement is vital!
There. I might actually attend a group like this.
How 'bout you?
Carol D. O'Dell
Author of Mothering Mother: A Daughter's Humorous and Heartbreaking Memoir,
available on Amazon www.mothering-mother.com
Lions, tigers, and support groups, oh my!
I have to admit, I didn't attend a monthly caregiver's support group while I cared for my mom. Why?
I guess you can chalk it up to my preacher's kid background, but I'm about meeting'ed out. I was a notorious school skipper in high school and I still have problems sitting through events where one person talks and everyone else has to listen, stand up, sit down, and clap on que. (Unless I'm the one doing the talking...and even then, I'm sensitive to people's time and attention spans).
For some reason, I'm either the slacker in the back of the room doodling on her notebook and making snide comments about everyone in the class--or I'm the front-row suck-up nerd hogging all the teacher's attention. One or the other--on any given day.
When I walk into a room with a banquet table and metal chairs placed around it, lit by a flourescent light and tired looking folks staring at one another--I want to go screaming out into the sunlight, find the nearest park, beach, or river and take a walk, that or go buy a triple expresso and power shop.
It's not that I don't realize that sharing your experience and working through the stresses, frustraitons, questions, and heartaches of caregiving isn't important. I know it is, but as my southern Mama always said:
"There's more than one way to skin a cat."
So, here's how I would run a support group. (dream scenario)
There would be couches, not metal chairs.
There would always be food and drink--and not just grocery store bought cookies.
There would be beautiful artwork.
There would be fresh flowers.
There would be music playing (sometimes jazz, sometimes, oldies, sometimes classical).
Stickers would be given out for doing things for yourself--making a phonecall, signing up for a class, etc. You would get to stand up, announce what you did for you, and get claps and/or hugs.
There would be show and tell--your latest photograph of your garden, a drawing, mom's broach, Dad's WWII medals, etc.
We'd share our favorite poems, books, and movie suggestons.
We'd have a gripe session and start off with cues such as:
"You wanna know what bugs me?!"
We'd throw eachother a potato to keep it going and anger would get a clap--we need to use our frustrations as energy so they won't implode on us.
We'd have guest speakers occasionally--but not all doctors and elder-care based. We'd have life coaches, a performer from the circus, a juggler who would teach us how to juggle, a policeman teaching us safety practices, a wardrobe consultant for you and your loved one...
We'd plan events--like a mother-daughter fashion show, or a WWII gathering of all the vets in the area--or a vintage car show and ride. We;d raise money for Alzheimer's or Parkinson's--or to sponsor a road trip!
We'd finish each session with either yoga or a walk or dancing. Movement is vital!
There. I might actually attend a group like this.
How 'bout you?
Carol D. O'Dell
Author of Mothering Mother: A Daughter's Humorous and Heartbreaking Memoir,
available on Amazon www.mothering-mother.com
Thursday, February 14, 2008
Spice Up Valentine's or Any Day
Dr. Christine Northrup, Oprah's gynecologist on speed dial and author of Women's Bodies, Women's Lives, and the Wisdom of Menopause suggests that you spend 30 minutes three time a week in "self love."
Yes, that's right. The M word.
Now, I can only speak for myself here, but unless "self love" includes eating a bag of Dove chocolates, painting my toenails and thumbing through a magazine, I'm going to have about 27 minutes to kill.
It's not like I have to woo myself or assure myself that I'll respect me in the morning...
As a caregiver, mother, daughter, sandwich generationer, pet "mom," I have to tell you, thirty uninterrupted minutes is hard to come by.
(pah dum,dum)
I figure I can blog about this if Oprah can discuss it at 4:00 in the afternoon while I'm making chicken pot pie.
But a healthy love life is important.
Being a passionate person spills over into everything in your life--how you dress, walk, what you choose to eat, how genererous you are with your timea and energies, how affectionate you are to all living creatures--not to mention the effects giving and receiving love has on your heart, immune system, psychological, emotional and spiritual foundation.
I thought I'd suggest a few tips for revving up the ole' love life for couples who also caregivers, raise kids, and walk dogs.
Mom’s Home—Quick, Lock the Bedroom Door!
Tips on How to Enjoy Your Relationship Even if Your Mom
Lives With You
· Put a lock on your bedroom door—and use it
· Sneak around—intimacy doesn’t just have to happen in the bedroom. Be playful! Flirt!
· Nix the old t-shirt and sweats and wear attractive PJs—they don’t have to be overly sexy to be attractive.
· Stay affectionate--even if you have to make yourself at first—call each other during the day just for a “Hi, and I love you,” hug and kiss hello and goodbye, cuddle on the couch, call each other affectionate names/ take baths or showers together (you do remember those?)
. Take short walks together—even 5 or 10 minutes of fresh air is invigorating and gives you a chance to talk
· Plan a surprise—sneak out to the yard after dark to cuddle on a quilt under the stars with cups of hot chocolate
. Laugh! Rent a comedy, pop some popcorn and sit ont the couch together--not in dueling recliners
· Don’t sweat it if you aren’t in a lovey-dove mood--caregiving is stressful and there are seasons in life. Remember though, a healthy love life is healing, satisfying and stress relieving—and better for you than a bottle of Scotch!
Now, go have some chocolate.
Happy V Day!
~Carol D. O'Dell
Author of Mothering Mother: A Daughter's Humorous and Heartbreaking Memoir,
available on Amazon and in most bookstores
Kunati Publishing
Yes, that's right. The M word.
Now, I can only speak for myself here, but unless "self love" includes eating a bag of Dove chocolates, painting my toenails and thumbing through a magazine, I'm going to have about 27 minutes to kill.
It's not like I have to woo myself or assure myself that I'll respect me in the morning...
As a caregiver, mother, daughter, sandwich generationer, pet "mom," I have to tell you, thirty uninterrupted minutes is hard to come by.
(pah dum,dum)
I figure I can blog about this if Oprah can discuss it at 4:00 in the afternoon while I'm making chicken pot pie.
But a healthy love life is important.
Being a passionate person spills over into everything in your life--how you dress, walk, what you choose to eat, how genererous you are with your timea and energies, how affectionate you are to all living creatures--not to mention the effects giving and receiving love has on your heart, immune system, psychological, emotional and spiritual foundation.
I thought I'd suggest a few tips for revving up the ole' love life for couples who also caregivers, raise kids, and walk dogs.
Mom’s Home—Quick, Lock the Bedroom Door!
Tips on How to Enjoy Your Relationship Even if Your Mom
Lives With You
· Put a lock on your bedroom door—and use it
· Sneak around—intimacy doesn’t just have to happen in the bedroom. Be playful! Flirt!
· Nix the old t-shirt and sweats and wear attractive PJs—they don’t have to be overly sexy to be attractive.
· Stay affectionate--even if you have to make yourself at first—call each other during the day just for a “Hi, and I love you,” hug and kiss hello and goodbye, cuddle on the couch, call each other affectionate names/ take baths or showers together (you do remember those?)
. Take short walks together—even 5 or 10 minutes of fresh air is invigorating and gives you a chance to talk
· Plan a surprise—sneak out to the yard after dark to cuddle on a quilt under the stars with cups of hot chocolate
. Laugh! Rent a comedy, pop some popcorn and sit ont the couch together--not in dueling recliners
· Don’t sweat it if you aren’t in a lovey-dove mood--caregiving is stressful and there are seasons in life. Remember though, a healthy love life is healing, satisfying and stress relieving—and better for you than a bottle of Scotch!
Now, go have some chocolate.
Happy V Day!
~Carol D. O'Dell
Author of Mothering Mother: A Daughter's Humorous and Heartbreaking Memoir,
available on Amazon and in most bookstores
Kunati Publishing
Monday, July 2, 2007
Care Giving--Care Receiving
We've now turned the words "Care Giver" into a compound word.
Caregiver or caregiving is now written as one word.
Two words smeared together. Apropos. Two lives smeared together.
A Jackson Pollack painting is a great metaphor for Alzheimer's--layers of chaos--some beautiful, others haunting.
I wrote in my book, MOTHERING MOTHER that I thought that caregiving was such a sterile term. Mother has bonded well with her child makes me want to ask if bail has been posted.
I used to teach my daughters that family was an acronym for "Father and Mother, I Love You." It sounded really sweet when they were four and five years old.... Now they roll their eyes and give me a smirk.
Now I have a new word--Care Receiver.It's a two-worder. It looks funny as one word:Carereceiver. Care-receiver.
I prefer, "Loved One."
I'd like to be referred to as the loved one--the one who is loved.
Giving and receiving are reciprocal terms.Someone smiles, the other tears...or just sighs.
m
Carol D. O'Dell, author of Mothering Mother, available at Amazon
Caregiver or caregiving is now written as one word.
Two words smeared together. Apropos. Two lives smeared together.
A Jackson Pollack painting is a great metaphor for Alzheimer's--layers of chaos--some beautiful, others haunting.
I wrote in my book, MOTHERING MOTHER that I thought that caregiving was such a sterile term. Mother has bonded well with her child makes me want to ask if bail has been posted.
I used to teach my daughters that family was an acronym for "Father and Mother, I Love You." It sounded really sweet when they were four and five years old.... Now they roll their eyes and give me a smirk.
Now I have a new word--Care Receiver.It's a two-worder. It looks funny as one word:Carereceiver. Care-receiver.
I prefer, "Loved One."
I'd like to be referred to as the loved one--the one who is loved.
Giving and receiving are reciprocal terms.Someone smiles, the other tears...or just sighs.
m
Carol D. O'Dell, author of Mothering Mother, available at Amazon
Tuesday, June 19, 2007
Mothering Mother--The Truth Behind the Book
Mothering Mother is my first book. It's my first book published, not the first book I wrote. Like most writers, I have a couple of "dry runs" in the desk drawer. Mothering Mother was published first because I needed to understand myself and my role as daughter, mother, wife and woman. And if I needed it, I knew others did as well.
After seven years of writing and publishing, my own artistic journey was put on hold as my mother moved in. Caregiving is all encompassing and I didn't have enough brain cells to create fiction. So, I did what an artist does.
I turned my surrounding, my present condition into my art. Artists have to create. Boundaries create channels for energy. What I thought was a set back to my writing and my artist self turned out not to be a set back after all.
It wasn't easy either. Writing (or eating, bathing, having a life whatsoever) wasn't easy around my mother. She could suck the air out of tornado. I had to fight for any moment for myself.
I wrote in snatches for over two years--I'd run to the computer and type in a few lines. I'd write on the back of an envelope and stuff in my pocket. I wrote in my thoughts. The irony was that I was too tired to edit my thoughts. I told the truth--the raw, honest, gutsy, imperfect truth. Because I was too exhausted and frustrated not to.
Artists struggle with how to create art in the midst of life and reponsibilities. We struggle with how to tell, to show the truth. We struggle with how to be authentic and how to create beauty, clarity, flow and insight. We do that best when we don't (or can't) get in our own way.
.
After seven years of writing and publishing, my own artistic journey was put on hold as my mother moved in. Caregiving is all encompassing and I didn't have enough brain cells to create fiction. So, I did what an artist does.
I turned my surrounding, my present condition into my art. Artists have to create. Boundaries create channels for energy. What I thought was a set back to my writing and my artist self turned out not to be a set back after all.
It wasn't easy either. Writing (or eating, bathing, having a life whatsoever) wasn't easy around my mother. She could suck the air out of tornado. I had to fight for any moment for myself.
I wrote in snatches for over two years--I'd run to the computer and type in a few lines. I'd write on the back of an envelope and stuff in my pocket. I wrote in my thoughts. The irony was that I was too tired to edit my thoughts. I told the truth--the raw, honest, gutsy, imperfect truth. Because I was too exhausted and frustrated not to.
Artists struggle with how to create art in the midst of life and reponsibilities. We struggle with how to tell, to show the truth. We struggle with how to be authentic and how to create beauty, clarity, flow and insight. We do that best when we don't (or can't) get in our own way.
.
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