Riders on the Storm

                                                  Photo by John Midelkoop, Unsplash.jpg

Most of us Baby Boomers were and still are influenced by the music of our youth. I’m not ashamed to admit I listen to my own personal jukebox (in my head) on a regular basis. Just the other day I mentally listened to *Riders on the Storm. I was visiting a memory care unit where people were staring off into space and aimlessly wandering around looking for home. It reminded me of a news feed of an Oklahoma tornado victim picking through a pile of rubble. Pajama clad and confused,  wondering what the heck just happened, “All I know is, it sounded like a freight train…”

Alzheimer’s/Dementia is the stormageddon none of us saw coming. And even if we did, there’s no safe place to hunker down to hide from it. We need to establish better long term “shelters” for those permanently displaced in its aftermath. If you see substandard eldercare, don't just look the other way and utter a prayer of thanks that you're not living there. Use your voice to speak for those who can't speak for themselves. Disaster recovery seems to bring out the best in us, so roll up your sleeves and get involved! The sooner, the better.    

I hope you enjoy this classic: 

*Riders on the Storm - The last song Jim Morrison ever recorded with The Doors

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lS-af9Q-zvQ

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Mothering

Life’s Lovely Circle. 

I drove a total of 3,464 miles just to hold my youngest grandson for the very first time. His eye sight not fully developed, he intently studied my face and his breathing quieted. His skin - so delicate, his coos and whimpers - music to my ears. I noticed every nuance, sigh, and quiver while his mother quietly nursed him in her arms. He knows her. Her silhouette, her voice, her scent. I was witnessing the beginning of their lifelong journey as mother and child. My heart both thrilled and ached for her; motherhood will require all that she has to give and then some. 

All too soon it was time for me to get back in my car to make the long journey home. I took one last long look at them - trying to press every detail into the pages of my mind. I kissed the top of his bald little head and quietly tip-toed out of the room.

A few days and many miles later I stopped by to visit my dear friend Agnes. I found her sitting in her favorite chair, nearly naked, except for her disposable underpants and a child size undershirt. The sight of her translucent skin loosely draped over her 90 year old frame was nearly more than I could bear. She strained to see my face through hazy lenses and her breathing slowed to a peaceful rhythm. Like a helpless infant, I wrapped her in a fleece robe and held her close. We talked, and laughed, and prayed together.  A soul deep contentment washed over me as my mothering instincts re-emerged. I slipped off my shoes and yielded to what is, and what was, and what eventually will be. After a while, she fell asleep, so I tucked some pillows all around her, kissed her on the top of her balding little head and tip-toed out of the room. 

Tiny babies and frail older ladies...their lives are much the same.

We Are Family

I got all my sisters with me…

Sister Sledge’s 1979 signature song, “We are Family,” was recorded in one take. Pretty remarkable considering, “Kathy Sledge, who sang lead, did not know the lyrics ahead of time. Rodgers and Edwards (writers and producers) gave her each line through her headphones as it came up to make it sound spontaneous.”          
Source: http://www.songfacts.com/detail.php?id=1557

Winging it. I can relate – but getting it right the first time like she did? Not so much. It took me years to figure out that providing in-home care services by its’ very nature, extended a tempting invitation for me to become part of the family I served. Sounds good, right? But if you’ve been a caregiver for very long, I’m guessing you already know exactly what I’m talking about. Maybe that kind of thing has worked out well for you, but when I look back, I realize allowing myself to become part of the family has caused some unnecessary heart ache I hope you'll avoid.

I like to be liked. I long to belong. It gives me pleasure to help others when they need it most, but sometimes I need a (not so) gentle reminder that caregiving is my job, NOT my identity.

Oh sure, everyone means well. Families want us to feel comfortable and appreciated in their homes, plus it’s flattering when people say you’re just like one of the family. We see, hear, and find ourselves in the middle of some very personal situations. A listening ear, comfort and reassurance…that’s most often where things get iffy. Lines are blurred and we cross over before we know it. Do you find yourself unable to “clock out” at the end of your shift? Texting back and forth after hours? Seems impossible to let go and move on?

The truth is, after the coroner is called your work is done. I keep a photo album and a box of keepsakes to remind me of those I’ve loved and served. They and their families will always hold a special place in my heart...while I continue to fill it with more and more families who’ll need my help in the days ahead. 

Be encouraged! You are part of a world-wide family of caregivers. Learn to give your best without giving your heart away. And oh yeah, next time you hear Sister Sledge singing, “We are family, I got all my sisters with me…” turn up the volume and sing your heart out, along with all of your caregiving sisters and brothers in mind!

Finishing - But Never Finished

Life’s journey is one l o n g => marathon we’re seldom prepared to run. As caregivers we offer assistance to weary runners approaching their own personal finish line. Sometimes we cheer them on and sometimes we bandage their feet. Sometimes we lovingly cool their brow and wet their lips; but all too often when they falter, we attempt to pick them up and carry them the rest of the way, all by ourselves!

Imagine the inevitable (and preventable) crash you both face, all because no one asked for help.

Burn-out is a very real occupational hazard, whether you’re a family caregiver or you give care as a professional. Do yourself a favor, read some expert advice on how to run a marathon using walk-breaks:   https://www.runnersworld.com/training/a20862651/why-you-should-take-walk-breaks/  You don’t have to be a long distance runner to benefit from the concept. 

Thoughtfully plan to take short, daily “walk breaks.” Long awaited vacations and get-a-ways are not nearly as effective when it comes to curing and/or preventing exhaustion. A lifestyle that incorporates walk, run, walk, run, intervals is a more realistic and effective way to prevent unnecessary burn-out.

Recognize the signs and symptoms of Caregiver burnout:

https://www.webmd.com/healthy-aging/caregiver-recognizing-burnout#1

Staying strong takes thoughtful planning and preparation, especially for those of us running a challenging race of our own while assisting others who are facing the end of theirs as well.

Priceless

                                            Photo by Kelley Bozarth - Unsplash

MasterCard’s “priceless” commercials have been tugging at our heart strings for nearly two decades now. And why not? The immeasurable worth of relationships is a timeless truth that appeals to young and old alike.  

As a caregiver I witness more than my fair share of priceless moments. Loving hand squeezes, forehead kisses, laughter and tears comingled in a desperate attempt to hang on to a life that’s slipping away… I may not be at the top of any corporate ladder or pay scale, but OH! the benefits of what I do - are PRICELESS.  

In 2013 I had the privilege of looking after a married couple in their nineties. Both widowed, they met and married while in their sixties, never imagining their second marriages would outlast their first. I always looked forward to their nightly ritual when they blew kisses to each other from across the room, and then I’d turn out the lights.  

His & Her bedside commodes and twin beds replaced their queen sized bed and stylish furniture. Not exactly the American dream for retirement, but their modest kitchen afforded them the simple pleasure of dining together while enjoying a beautiful backyard view.

I’ll never forget the day Mildred shared one of her dearest desires with me. It was something she hoped would happen sometime before she died. I’m almost afraid to write about it, for fear of corrupting its’ purity.

What she wanted, I dare say, longed for, just once…was a really good kiss from her dear husband Nelson.

Aww! I know, right? J

Her innocent confession hung in the air like the sweet scent of lilacs in May. And oh how I wish I could say I quietly soaked it all in and simply nodded in respectful admiration. I should have kept my mouth shut and smiled, but no, the doer in me wanted to set things in motion. To clear the way for her wish to come true...so I promised to get on him about brushing his teeth more often and make sure he mowed down some of those whiskers he kept missing when he shaved in the morning. Hmm, I even thought perhaps I should light some candles at dinner, you know, to help set the mood? Yep, I’m ashamed to admit it, but I wanted to be the one to make sure Mildred’s lovely wish came true.  

Fortunately for them, she set me straight and don’t think she didn’t! She thought he was just fine the way he was: whiskers, bad breath, and all. So I stayed out of the way, and watched and waited. Months passed and sure enough, one cold, dreary February morning, Nelson came clunking along behind his walker into the kitchen like he always did. But this time he stopped next to where Mildred was sitting at the table. He pressed his hand flat on top of hers and she looked up at him, the man of her dreams. He said, in his breathy hoarse voice, “May I have a kiss?”

I stepped back and held my breath, not wanting to spoil the moment. She smiled, and giggled, and said shyly, “Of course.” And right then and there folks, I witnessed her dream coming true. Better than any chick flick, or fairy tale, or romance novel; they kissed! 

He lingered for a moment and then, without a word, he clunked along with his walker until he plopped down in the chair where he always sat, right across from his beloved Mildred, every single day since they’d declared their “I dos.”

Yep. The pay I receive for being a caregiver – is PRICELESS.

They Call Me Mellow Yellow

How many of us needlessly toss and turn with strange bedfellows like Wondering, Waiting, and Worrying? Medical terminology, confusing lab results, and a plethora of medical websites can all be a blessing and/or a curse. Even if your doctor does have a brilliant mind and an uncanny ability to diagnose your ailments, she or he may not be the best communicator on the planet. And then again, maybe neither are you.

Want to avoid some needless worry? The next time you see your doctor, don't be afraid to ask questions. And keep asking until you fully understand what you've just heard. 

This week I found myself zooming down some highly polished hospital hallways, fearful of what I was going to find once I tracked down my friend Lucy. I stopped at the front desk to ask what room she was in and the guy mumbled three words that sounded like Critical Evaluation Wing to me. I could feel my anxiety level rise. "Critical!?" She seemed fine to me a couple of days ago…

Halting in my tracks, I was relieved to see “Clinical Evaluation Department” prominently spelled out on the wall above her room. I coached myself on my way into her room with thoughts like, “Ok, ok, take a deep breath, calm down, and remember to smile!”  

And there she was. Sitting on the edge of her bed, watching TV, swinging her legs, and eating gluten-free chicken fingers with the promise of a bowl full of yellow Jello for dessert. 

The song, “They Call Me Mellow Yellow…” began playing in my head. Seriously!

So yeah, even a trained facilitator can lose their composure -  ever so needlessly.  

Slaying Zhilaohu (AKA Paper Tigers)

Still in my pajamas and enjoying my second cup of coffee, a desperate phone call interrupted my day off. It was Ken. Calm, cool Ken. A guy so laid back, I often wondered if he was taking short naps in between sentences.

Ken is a member of the sandwich generation. He and his wife Anna are hard pressed between the needs of their kids, their grandkids, and their fiercely independent elderly parents; so I occasionally lend them a hand as an eldercare professional. Ken’s voice was shaking one particular day when he called for my help, “My dad has stage four kidney failure…this could be it…my mom wasn’t sure if it was stage four or three or…the doctor called and wants to see him right away…They’re probably going to admit him…” I reassured him that I’d meet his dad at the doctor’s office, I got dressed and quickly jumped into my car.

A short time later, I was listening to the nurse record his remarkably good vitals. Apparently all he needed was a vitamin B-12 shot. “That’s it? Are you sure? What about his kidney function?” I asked. It was fine for a man his age. Go figure. So, what the heck happened? I knew there had to be a health literacy teachable moment somewhere in the middle of all this and here’s what I found:

Ken’s mother read the lab test results that came in the mail the same day they called to schedule his B-12 shot. Did I mention that she suffers from macular degeneration? And that she’s legally blind? And that all she could really make out was the test key, which gave specific ranges for stage one right on through to stage five kidney failure. She never compared her husband’s actual reading to the key…which led to her hysterical call to Ken…which led to Ken’s frantic call to me... which led to ...well, you get the point! It was like playing Telephone Tag, with disastrous results.

This short but intense emotional upheaval could have been avoided and here’s how:

A simple medical release form would give their adult children access to their parent's test results, not only that, but a quick phone call to the Doctor’s office would have prevented it from getting out of hand.

If this kind of thing has ever happened to you and/or a loved one, you are not alone. According to the *Minnesota Health Literacy Partnership, “only 12% of literate Americans are proficient in understanding health information.” Twelve percent!

We can all promote better health through better communication. This short video clip sums up the benefits of finding a trained health literacy facilitator. I hope you enjoy watching! 

Use cntrl+click: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VKodtW01RIY

*Source: https://healthliteracymn.org/health-literacy/why-health-literacy-matters