Christmas of 1976 was one of excitement and anticipation. Our family had moved in to the Interior, to my Dad's family's farm; my Mom had relatives in that small town, too.
Part of the excitement was that us kids were to see two really BIG Christmas celebrations over two days : one with our Mom's Danish side, and one with our Dad's farming side. ALL of the family members (on both sides) were present that year, including my father's 76 yr old grandmother, Gramma Lora.
Lora lived in an extended care unit attached to the hospital in town. A brain aneurism in her late 60's had left her a hemi-plegic on the left side, and with a nasty speech slur. Wheel-chair dependent, she wasn't happy about where she was living ... but also knew, there wasn't a helluva lot of choice. I remember my Dad bribing us kids with DQ sundaes , so we'd go with him to visit Gramma Lora in the hospital with him : we HATED goin' there, it smelled ooky, and there was all these old people reaching out to try and touch us and talk to us (until Gramma Lora clued in , and then she'd bark to leave her kin be ).
My Mom had always wanted to be a nurse, and had even gone as far as getting textbooks from a friend to read up and study the subject ... but it would be another 10 yrs before she acted on that desire and followed through. As soon as my Dad and Granddad got back to the farmhouse with Gramma Lora, my Mom snapped into action ... and what a show.
It was like my Mom had an INSTINCT for helping mind Gramma Lora : it was as if she had precognitive abilities, she was anticipating things that others didn't seem to .
As the drinks were poured and the conversations got louder, my Mom leaned over and said to Gramma Lora " Gramma, I have to use the lil girls room, c'mon, let's go, you're coming with me ... " , then leaned over and fetched her makeup bag from her purse with the comment , "and we'll freshen up before dinner while we're at it".
My Mom wheeled Gramma Lora down to the main bathroom, closed the door ... and what the Hell, I hear GIGGLES from Gramma Lora ?
If they were gone for 5 minutes of "real" time, I'm a liar ... but my Mom had known that the old girl wouldn't ask to be taken and transferred to a toilet , it was too embarassing for her to do so ... there'd been a previous visit when my Mom had NOT been there, and a pee accident was the result : that wasn't happening on my Mom's watch !
Gramma Lora was returned to the head of the table, fresh powder and lipstick on her face, BEAMING , and with an empty bladder. My nose told me that my Mom had found Gramma Fran's baby powder in the main bathroom, and it was obvious she'd helped Gramma Lora with a comb, as well. No one else took Gramma Lora to pee that night : my Mom kept an eye on what she was drinking and when, and used her OWN bladder as an excuse to take Gramma Lora WITH HER to the bathroom : sorta like the ladies will do at a restaurant, going together to find a ladies room.
There was humor and dignity in my Mom's actions that Christmas, ones that ensured Gramma Lora adored her as much as she adored my Dad . The nursing home could serve Gramma Lora poached eggs and toast for breakfast, and she'd KICK at the nurses with her good foot ... but if WE served it at the farmhouse for her, it was five-star dining ... both of my parents would tease about that when she wasn't around to hear.
I decided, then and there, that nursing homes / extended care units were not good places, and be damned my mom or dad would ever know what it was like to be in one.
Fast forward 9 years ... the Summer of 1985. We were back in Vancouver by then, Gramma Lora had passed away the Summer following that awesome Christmas. I met my husband that year, and was surprised to discover that his mom and my Dad's mom were the same age : both women were born in 1922. As we talked and came to know one another, I made it quite clear that I could not be married to a man that did not share my views on taking care of older parents : he shared that view. He'd watched as his parents had tried to take care of HIS grandma, and resort to a care home for her when they couldn't muster the necessary support ; he wanted better for his own mother.
I took two runs at nurses training over the next 7 yrs ... nope, didn't graduate, didn't licence, and did NOT like working in the field, either : undignified assmebly line care that didn't acknowledge the PERSON within , was a huge piss off and was disrespectful to the clientele.
In 1999, hubby's mom approached us ... she was 77 years old, and was going blind . She lived in fear of being in a care-home , but knew that it wouldn't be much longer before she was gonna be unsafe in her own house ....
And so, the odyssey began.
We made a deal to BUY the house from my Mother-in-Law, and let her live on in it . We'd suite the basement and live down there --- her overhead meant I could hear her better (and she became prone to falling, so this was a wise move on our part !).
We had NO idea of what we'd gotten ourselves into ... but I'd like to share some of what we learned . I'd have given almost anything to have had such an option in '99, there was no information for us to wield as regards help and outside resources .
I called that woman, "Skinny Blind Thang" , and kid ya not, she'd laugh about it .... I remember my Dad calling Gramma Lora "Old Chickie Skin", and Lora laughing in the same way .
That twisted sense of humor was to be integral to the next 8 years. I was puked on, shit on, and argued with ; issues of immediacy and manipulation were rife. But until her final illness, Skinny Blind Thang was cared for and minded in her home of 40 years.
Part of the excitement was that us kids were to see two really BIG Christmas celebrations over two days : one with our Mom's Danish side, and one with our Dad's farming side. ALL of the family members (on both sides) were present that year, including my father's 76 yr old grandmother, Gramma Lora.
Lora lived in an extended care unit attached to the hospital in town. A brain aneurism in her late 60's had left her a hemi-plegic on the left side, and with a nasty speech slur. Wheel-chair dependent, she wasn't happy about where she was living ... but also knew, there wasn't a helluva lot of choice. I remember my Dad bribing us kids with DQ sundaes , so we'd go with him to visit Gramma Lora in the hospital with him : we HATED goin' there, it smelled ooky, and there was all these old people reaching out to try and touch us and talk to us (until Gramma Lora clued in , and then she'd bark to leave her kin be ).
My Mom had always wanted to be a nurse, and had even gone as far as getting textbooks from a friend to read up and study the subject ... but it would be another 10 yrs before she acted on that desire and followed through. As soon as my Dad and Granddad got back to the farmhouse with Gramma Lora, my Mom snapped into action ... and what a show.
It was like my Mom had an INSTINCT for helping mind Gramma Lora : it was as if she had precognitive abilities, she was anticipating things that others didn't seem to .
As the drinks were poured and the conversations got louder, my Mom leaned over and said to Gramma Lora " Gramma, I have to use the lil girls room, c'mon, let's go, you're coming with me ... " , then leaned over and fetched her makeup bag from her purse with the comment , "and we'll freshen up before dinner while we're at it".
My Mom wheeled Gramma Lora down to the main bathroom, closed the door ... and what the Hell, I hear GIGGLES from Gramma Lora ?
If they were gone for 5 minutes of "real" time, I'm a liar ... but my Mom had known that the old girl wouldn't ask to be taken and transferred to a toilet , it was too embarassing for her to do so ... there'd been a previous visit when my Mom had NOT been there, and a pee accident was the result : that wasn't happening on my Mom's watch !
Gramma Lora was returned to the head of the table, fresh powder and lipstick on her face, BEAMING , and with an empty bladder. My nose told me that my Mom had found Gramma Fran's baby powder in the main bathroom, and it was obvious she'd helped Gramma Lora with a comb, as well. No one else took Gramma Lora to pee that night : my Mom kept an eye on what she was drinking and when, and used her OWN bladder as an excuse to take Gramma Lora WITH HER to the bathroom : sorta like the ladies will do at a restaurant, going together to find a ladies room.
There was humor and dignity in my Mom's actions that Christmas, ones that ensured Gramma Lora adored her as much as she adored my Dad . The nursing home could serve Gramma Lora poached eggs and toast for breakfast, and she'd KICK at the nurses with her good foot ... but if WE served it at the farmhouse for her, it was five-star dining ... both of my parents would tease about that when she wasn't around to hear.
I decided, then and there, that nursing homes / extended care units were not good places, and be damned my mom or dad would ever know what it was like to be in one.
Fast forward 9 years ... the Summer of 1985. We were back in Vancouver by then, Gramma Lora had passed away the Summer following that awesome Christmas. I met my husband that year, and was surprised to discover that his mom and my Dad's mom were the same age : both women were born in 1922. As we talked and came to know one another, I made it quite clear that I could not be married to a man that did not share my views on taking care of older parents : he shared that view. He'd watched as his parents had tried to take care of HIS grandma, and resort to a care home for her when they couldn't muster the necessary support ; he wanted better for his own mother.
I took two runs at nurses training over the next 7 yrs ... nope, didn't graduate, didn't licence, and did NOT like working in the field, either : undignified assmebly line care that didn't acknowledge the PERSON within , was a huge piss off and was disrespectful to the clientele.
In 1999, hubby's mom approached us ... she was 77 years old, and was going blind . She lived in fear of being in a care-home , but knew that it wouldn't be much longer before she was gonna be unsafe in her own house ....
And so, the odyssey began.
We made a deal to BUY the house from my Mother-in-Law, and let her live on in it . We'd suite the basement and live down there --- her overhead meant I could hear her better (and she became prone to falling, so this was a wise move on our part !).
We had NO idea of what we'd gotten ourselves into ... but I'd like to share some of what we learned . I'd have given almost anything to have had such an option in '99, there was no information for us to wield as regards help and outside resources .
I called that woman, "Skinny Blind Thang" , and kid ya not, she'd laugh about it .... I remember my Dad calling Gramma Lora "Old Chickie Skin", and Lora laughing in the same way .
That twisted sense of humor was to be integral to the next 8 years. I was puked on, shit on, and argued with ; issues of immediacy and manipulation were rife. But until her final illness, Skinny Blind Thang was cared for and minded in her home of 40 years.
What an odyssey it turned out to be, too.
Mich's Mumbles © 2011
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