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About Me
Thursday, September 3, 2009
Tuesday, September 1, 2009
The Warning Signs of Change
In the time since my father passed away, and mom went through her depressive stages, she had a series a small problems that forced her to face some different health issues.
One day, mom and I took a late dinner out, and after we left the restaurant, she said that she wasn’t feeling right. I knew that she absolutely hated to go to any emergency room, and would avoid it at any cost, so I suggested that we check out a near-by hospital clinic. It was almost 10:00pm, and the clinic was about to close, but they let us in. In a short time, they took my mom’s blood pressure, and found it at around 235! Suddenly, there was a bit of panic. The attending doctor said that mom had to go to the emergency room at a near-by private hospital—luckily the same one that mom’s doctor was associated with. In no time, she was admitted, and I was later told that she came close to having a stroke or heart attack. I knew that mom had a congenital heart deformity (a small hole) that she had since birth, and her doctor had previously tried to convince her to get a pacemaker. Mom would not hear of it then, but it became more important now. Within a day or two, mom had her pacemaker implanted, and started on a regimen for high blood pressure. This was the first eye-opening experience for me and for mom, and the first of many changes associated with her aging process.
In 2002 and 2003, it was her eyes. She had been complaining about visual problems for several months. Mom loved crossword puzzles, and she began to notice “flecks” in her field of vision that were disturbing enough for her to back away from her favorite pastime. The flecks were only the beginning, which started in one eye. Within a short period of time, she complained about a “crackling” effect in her vision similar to a kaleidoscope. Mom indicated that it was starting to become a problem for her, so she gave in and went to see an ophthalmologist who determined that she had cataracts and the beginning stages of glaucoma.
The ophthalmologist at first prescribed some extremely expensive eye drops, which helped to a certain extent, but later gave way to a need for surgery. The doctor told her that she could have implants embedded in her eyes that he claimed would likely improve her vision. Mom was skeptical, but only for a short time since she was told that the alternative was to lose her eye sight completely. It turns out that there is a genetic predisposition for blindness on her side of our family, and this terrorized her immensely. So, she had the first eye implant procedure. Within a year, she had the other eye implanted as well. The implants were difficult for her to deal with, because even though her eyesight had improved somewhat, she still found that she could not focus as well as she used to. Her days of doing crossword puzzles were slowly and sadly coming to an end. On top of all of this, the doctor told her that she also had macular degeneration—the dry kind that is more difficult to help. From that day on, mom was in another slow downward spiral into depression.
When mom began having her visual problems, I started to focus more on her general way of life. I started to spend even more time with her and became more concerned for her well-being. After my dad died, mom continued her “normal way” of life living alone in the upper apartment of the family home that she once shared with him. While I was going to work and trying to pursue a college degree, she was home alone most of the time, although my sister was living in an apartment just below. At first, I wasn’t paying too much attention to what was actually going on in her life when I was not around, but slowly I did begin to notice things. For example, she would complain about how she would suddenly doze-off while watching television, and awake 15 or 20 minutes later feeling as if she had slept for eight hours. This was evidently happening more frequently over time. There then came a time when she admitted that she had left something cooking on the stove, usually a pot of water or soup, and forgot all about it. By the time that she realized what had happened, in-between “naps”, the pot had already cooked down to nothing. She said that this had occurred “a couple of times”, and that threw me into a panic. That was enough for me to hear, especially when I discovered the nylon window curtains in the kitchen partially melted from the ensuing heat of the stove. That’s when I insisted that she stay in the first floor apartment with me. I also began to depend upon my sister for more help, despite the fact that she had her own problems with Bi-Polar depression, and had unresolved personal issues with our mother as well.
It was not easy to convince mom to move out of her apartment, even under the circumstances. After all, she lived in that same place since 1940. It was home. It was where she lived independently since 1994. I did everything that I thought that I could do to convince her to leave, and what changed her mind was the safety and security factors of the situation. I really had to convince her that she could no longer rely on her own independent determinations for safety based on what she told me of her experiences. I had to go as far as to present several scenarios of “what could happen” if she tried to remain on her own. Besides having visual problems, the 25 stairs up or down from her apartment had become more challenging. She already had some problems walking and keeping her balance, so traversing those stairs was a tremendously daunting task. I continued to present the “what ifs” to her until she finally gave in to the reality of it all: her safety was at issue. It was one of the worst times in my life as a daughter because I knew only too well that she had to give up some of her independence, and begin to depend on someone else for her needs and well-being.
From that day on, everything went as well as it could. At least I knew that she was safer living with me than being alone. No one should be left alone, and especially someone with the beginning stages of diminishing capacity.
One day, mom and I took a late dinner out, and after we left the restaurant, she said that she wasn’t feeling right. I knew that she absolutely hated to go to any emergency room, and would avoid it at any cost, so I suggested that we check out a near-by hospital clinic. It was almost 10:00pm, and the clinic was about to close, but they let us in. In a short time, they took my mom’s blood pressure, and found it at around 235! Suddenly, there was a bit of panic. The attending doctor said that mom had to go to the emergency room at a near-by private hospital—luckily the same one that mom’s doctor was associated with. In no time, she was admitted, and I was later told that she came close to having a stroke or heart attack. I knew that mom had a congenital heart deformity (a small hole) that she had since birth, and her doctor had previously tried to convince her to get a pacemaker. Mom would not hear of it then, but it became more important now. Within a day or two, mom had her pacemaker implanted, and started on a regimen for high blood pressure. This was the first eye-opening experience for me and for mom, and the first of many changes associated with her aging process.
In 2002 and 2003, it was her eyes. She had been complaining about visual problems for several months. Mom loved crossword puzzles, and she began to notice “flecks” in her field of vision that were disturbing enough for her to back away from her favorite pastime. The flecks were only the beginning, which started in one eye. Within a short period of time, she complained about a “crackling” effect in her vision similar to a kaleidoscope. Mom indicated that it was starting to become a problem for her, so she gave in and went to see an ophthalmologist who determined that she had cataracts and the beginning stages of glaucoma.
The ophthalmologist at first prescribed some extremely expensive eye drops, which helped to a certain extent, but later gave way to a need for surgery. The doctor told her that she could have implants embedded in her eyes that he claimed would likely improve her vision. Mom was skeptical, but only for a short time since she was told that the alternative was to lose her eye sight completely. It turns out that there is a genetic predisposition for blindness on her side of our family, and this terrorized her immensely. So, she had the first eye implant procedure. Within a year, she had the other eye implanted as well. The implants were difficult for her to deal with, because even though her eyesight had improved somewhat, she still found that she could not focus as well as she used to. Her days of doing crossword puzzles were slowly and sadly coming to an end. On top of all of this, the doctor told her that she also had macular degeneration—the dry kind that is more difficult to help. From that day on, mom was in another slow downward spiral into depression.
When mom began having her visual problems, I started to focus more on her general way of life. I started to spend even more time with her and became more concerned for her well-being. After my dad died, mom continued her “normal way” of life living alone in the upper apartment of the family home that she once shared with him. While I was going to work and trying to pursue a college degree, she was home alone most of the time, although my sister was living in an apartment just below. At first, I wasn’t paying too much attention to what was actually going on in her life when I was not around, but slowly I did begin to notice things. For example, she would complain about how she would suddenly doze-off while watching television, and awake 15 or 20 minutes later feeling as if she had slept for eight hours. This was evidently happening more frequently over time. There then came a time when she admitted that she had left something cooking on the stove, usually a pot of water or soup, and forgot all about it. By the time that she realized what had happened, in-between “naps”, the pot had already cooked down to nothing. She said that this had occurred “a couple of times”, and that threw me into a panic. That was enough for me to hear, especially when I discovered the nylon window curtains in the kitchen partially melted from the ensuing heat of the stove. That’s when I insisted that she stay in the first floor apartment with me. I also began to depend upon my sister for more help, despite the fact that she had her own problems with Bi-Polar depression, and had unresolved personal issues with our mother as well.
It was not easy to convince mom to move out of her apartment, even under the circumstances. After all, she lived in that same place since 1940. It was home. It was where she lived independently since 1994. I did everything that I thought that I could do to convince her to leave, and what changed her mind was the safety and security factors of the situation. I really had to convince her that she could no longer rely on her own independent determinations for safety based on what she told me of her experiences. I had to go as far as to present several scenarios of “what could happen” if she tried to remain on her own. Besides having visual problems, the 25 stairs up or down from her apartment had become more challenging. She already had some problems walking and keeping her balance, so traversing those stairs was a tremendously daunting task. I continued to present the “what ifs” to her until she finally gave in to the reality of it all: her safety was at issue. It was one of the worst times in my life as a daughter because I knew only too well that she had to give up some of her independence, and begin to depend on someone else for her needs and well-being.
From that day on, everything went as well as it could. At least I knew that she was safer living with me than being alone. No one should be left alone, and especially someone with the beginning stages of diminishing capacity.
Monday, August 31, 2009
Going From Bad To Worse
As I was beginning to realize that I needed more help than I had with mom, I asked my brother if he would be willing to help out in exchange for room and board. He quickly agreed, so we sat down and discussed the situation with our mother, and how we could work things out to our individual benefits. We scheduled our times so that he would be available for mom while I was at work, checking in with her on occasion. Needless to say, mom was not too happy that he moved back into the family house. Overall, everything went well for about a month or two, and then things began to change for mom again.
Late in the year of 2005, I was just finishing up with some courses that I took in college when mom started to become more pensive over some symptoms that she was experiencing. For one thing, she was becoming more agitated and depressed about the changes in her vision. However, she was beginning to complain more about having a strange pain in her chest near the area of her pacemaker. Mom was taking various drugs at the time—for high blood pressure, estrogen, thyroid, and at least two types of heart medicines. On top of that, she also wanted to take supplements, particularly vitamin C, D, and E. Originally, I just discounted her complaints because of the medications, but also thought that there might have been some interactions with the supplements. When I could finally convince her to see her doctor, the doctor basically related the problems to the medications and the fact that she was getting old, and that was about it.
I would like to make a comment at this point about mom’s doctor. I have never really liked this doctor from the very beginning because of her apparently lackadaisical attitude toward my mom, and from past experiences that she had with my father. This doctor cared for both my mom and dad at one time. Of course, it did not help that my mom would not take her physician’s advice every time, and canceled many of her regularly scheduled visits when she really needed to be seen. Mom had a love-hate relationship with her doctor, and preferred to “self-analyze” her many issues, too. This did not make for a good relationship with the doctor, but I was also skeptical about the doctor’s true feelings and intentions. In any case, no matter what the complaint was, my mom was basically told that she was experiencing the effects of old age and not much more could be done. When mom began to complain more about the chest pains, I knew that I had to do something soon. It was one week before Christmas in 2005 that everything changed again.
I had just began what I thought would be a nice Christmas break when mom became very upset about having pains in her chest. When she finally agreed to let me take her to the ER, I never thought that we would be facing anything close to traumatic. After taking some x-rays and tests, the attending physician said that they wanted to admit mom to the hospital. It had little to do with the actual chest pains, but more to do with a urine analysis. I had to convince mom that she was going to be alright, and that they just wanted her to stay for observational purposes. So, that’s where I left her, all the while wondering what I could expect to hear.
The next day, I received a call from the hospital and was told that they had found a mass on her right kidney. They said that they could not be sure of its extent, but that it was the size of a small golf ball and only a sampling of the tissue could offer a better scenario. I was told, however, that they were hesitant to perform the biopsy because of her condition and the other implications involved, so they wanted her to stay for more tests and observational purposes. I was just stunned! Mom never complained about having any type of pain, severe or otherwise, at least nothing that could be related to a tumor.
Late in the year of 2005, I was just finishing up with some courses that I took in college when mom started to become more pensive over some symptoms that she was experiencing. For one thing, she was becoming more agitated and depressed about the changes in her vision. However, she was beginning to complain more about having a strange pain in her chest near the area of her pacemaker. Mom was taking various drugs at the time—for high blood pressure, estrogen, thyroid, and at least two types of heart medicines. On top of that, she also wanted to take supplements, particularly vitamin C, D, and E. Originally, I just discounted her complaints because of the medications, but also thought that there might have been some interactions with the supplements. When I could finally convince her to see her doctor, the doctor basically related the problems to the medications and the fact that she was getting old, and that was about it.
I would like to make a comment at this point about mom’s doctor. I have never really liked this doctor from the very beginning because of her apparently lackadaisical attitude toward my mom, and from past experiences that she had with my father. This doctor cared for both my mom and dad at one time. Of course, it did not help that my mom would not take her physician’s advice every time, and canceled many of her regularly scheduled visits when she really needed to be seen. Mom had a love-hate relationship with her doctor, and preferred to “self-analyze” her many issues, too. This did not make for a good relationship with the doctor, but I was also skeptical about the doctor’s true feelings and intentions. In any case, no matter what the complaint was, my mom was basically told that she was experiencing the effects of old age and not much more could be done. When mom began to complain more about the chest pains, I knew that I had to do something soon. It was one week before Christmas in 2005 that everything changed again.
I had just began what I thought would be a nice Christmas break when mom became very upset about having pains in her chest. When she finally agreed to let me take her to the ER, I never thought that we would be facing anything close to traumatic. After taking some x-rays and tests, the attending physician said that they wanted to admit mom to the hospital. It had little to do with the actual chest pains, but more to do with a urine analysis. I had to convince mom that she was going to be alright, and that they just wanted her to stay for observational purposes. So, that’s where I left her, all the while wondering what I could expect to hear.
The next day, I received a call from the hospital and was told that they had found a mass on her right kidney. They said that they could not be sure of its extent, but that it was the size of a small golf ball and only a sampling of the tissue could offer a better scenario. I was told, however, that they were hesitant to perform the biopsy because of her condition and the other implications involved, so they wanted her to stay for more tests and observational purposes. I was just stunned! Mom never complained about having any type of pain, severe or otherwise, at least nothing that could be related to a tumor.
Sudden Shock!
I did not know what to do but cry at the thought that mom might have cancer. I gathered myself together and decided to go to the hospital and see her the next day.
It was a beautiful but cold Sunday morning when I arrived at the hospital. I was still pretty shook up, and had to gather all of my strength to overcome any emotion so that I would not upset mom.
I did not immediately inform any of my family members about the situation until I could get a better understanding of what mom would be facing. When I walked into her room, the shades were drawn by the window, and the curtain was mostly closed around her hospital bed. There were no lights on, either. I came around and saw that she was sleeping, so I sat down and watched for a while. Then I decided to seek out a nurse or doctor to see if I could find out anything more about mom’s situation, only to discover that there were no doctors available to talk to. Since it was a holiday week, and a weekend, they were short-staffed and all of the senior physician’s were apparently out of town. I was told that some doctor would call me by the next day. Mom was pretty out-of-it, so I decided to go home.
Over the course of the next 4-days, more tests were taken, though it is not clear what was actually done. I was told that a bone marrow test had been done, and that it came out normal, but there was still a concern about mom’s kidneys. Mom seemed to be OK for the most part, but I soon became aware that something else was going on. Every time I came to visit her, she was usually sitting up on the side of her bed and apparently in good spirits, laughing even. However, she began to tell me about some curious things: that there was some kind of a “conspiracy” going on with her room mate’s teenage children, and also seeing strange things in her room. While it appeared that the conspiracy she spoke of was more like teenage fun to placate my mother, the basis for it was that mom was seeing imaginary, cartoon-like figures running around the room. When I tried to tell mom that she might be hallucinating, she laughed it off, claiming that they were real to her.
I questioned one doctor, who appeared to be straight out of med-school, about the hallucinations, and he indicated that they were likely due to the sedatives and medication that they were giving her. When I asked what medicines she was on, they could not give me any straight answers. That's when I started to get angry. It seemed that I was annoying them with reasonable questions, and I felt like they were giving me the run-around. At that point, I decided to pay real close attention to what was being said and done to my mother.
I later did a little research of my own and found out that the medication(s) that were causing the hallucinations, particularly anesthetics, were also negatively affecting her memory and thought processes, and likely irreversible. Little did I know then that the day mom was admitted to the hospital would be the last day that she was truly lucid, truly herself. It would be the last time that mom was "normal".
Note: Two great resources for medical information on the internet are The Merck Manual (for aging) and WebMD. They will offer answers that the medical "experts" can't or won't offer.
It was a beautiful but cold Sunday morning when I arrived at the hospital. I was still pretty shook up, and had to gather all of my strength to overcome any emotion so that I would not upset mom.
I did not immediately inform any of my family members about the situation until I could get a better understanding of what mom would be facing. When I walked into her room, the shades were drawn by the window, and the curtain was mostly closed around her hospital bed. There were no lights on, either. I came around and saw that she was sleeping, so I sat down and watched for a while. Then I decided to seek out a nurse or doctor to see if I could find out anything more about mom’s situation, only to discover that there were no doctors available to talk to. Since it was a holiday week, and a weekend, they were short-staffed and all of the senior physician’s were apparently out of town. I was told that some doctor would call me by the next day. Mom was pretty out-of-it, so I decided to go home.
Over the course of the next 4-days, more tests were taken, though it is not clear what was actually done. I was told that a bone marrow test had been done, and that it came out normal, but there was still a concern about mom’s kidneys. Mom seemed to be OK for the most part, but I soon became aware that something else was going on. Every time I came to visit her, she was usually sitting up on the side of her bed and apparently in good spirits, laughing even. However, she began to tell me about some curious things: that there was some kind of a “conspiracy” going on with her room mate’s teenage children, and also seeing strange things in her room. While it appeared that the conspiracy she spoke of was more like teenage fun to placate my mother, the basis for it was that mom was seeing imaginary, cartoon-like figures running around the room. When I tried to tell mom that she might be hallucinating, she laughed it off, claiming that they were real to her.
I questioned one doctor, who appeared to be straight out of med-school, about the hallucinations, and he indicated that they were likely due to the sedatives and medication that they were giving her. When I asked what medicines she was on, they could not give me any straight answers. That's when I started to get angry. It seemed that I was annoying them with reasonable questions, and I felt like they were giving me the run-around. At that point, I decided to pay real close attention to what was being said and done to my mother.
I later did a little research of my own and found out that the medication(s) that were causing the hallucinations, particularly anesthetics, were also negatively affecting her memory and thought processes, and likely irreversible. Little did I know then that the day mom was admitted to the hospital would be the last day that she was truly lucid, truly herself. It would be the last time that mom was "normal".
Note: Two great resources for medical information on the internet are The Merck Manual (for aging) and WebMD. They will offer answers that the medical "experts" can't or won't offer.
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