A Whirlwind Day.....

I've been trying hard not to make my blog just about my mother-in-law's medical issues and the accompanying DIZZYING array of things that amaze/frustrate/anger/terrify/challenge me on a daily basis. But here lately that's what my life IS, and I'm not complaining. Just the facts, ma'am.

Today was one of those days that make me question my strength, my competence, and something so deep down inside that I can't even find a name for it.

Without going into a lot of details, mother-in-law has gone downhill lately as a result of her surgery (where 40% of the roof of her mouth was removed) and radiation. Her mouth is very sore, which makes it hard to eat or drink, and then she has battled nausea off and one for several weeks. She has lost almost 30 pounds since the summer, and she was fairly weak BEFORE this whole chain of events started.

She has been receiving i.v. fluids in the radiology clinic to help guard against dehydration. Yesterday they decided to give her a break from radiation for the rest of this week (but tack those two treatments on to the end of next week - sigh) and arrange for in-home nurses to administer i.v. fluids over the holiday weekend. We cheered and heaved a tremendous sigh of relief that someone would be coming to US instead of having to take her to the clinic.

I spoke to the nurse on the phone this morning, and she cheerfully said something along the lines of, "Oh, you're the one I'm coming to train to give the i.v. fluids!"

Uh...no. There must be some mistake. I don't DO i.v. fluids. I once toyed with the idea of going to medical school, but that was before I met Mr. College Calculus and Mr. College Chemistry and changed my major to one for which they would give me a degree just for reading novels.

Oh, not to worry, she said, it's easy. I won't leave you until I'm sure you can do it.

I was pretty sure she would be moving into the guest room, because I was pretty sure I could NOT do it.

Seriously, I was freaking out. Not in front of my mother-in-law, because I didn't want her to think I didn't WANT to do it, but to Hubby I was in tears. I almost called Frogger Blogger, also known as Nurse Jane, and asked her to drive the two hours over here to bail me out. I didn't because she's working two jobs and I knew she would do it anyway. I texted Sweet Girl, I texted Katydid, I stomped around the house muttering about my incompetence and generally fell apart.

I've watched them stick mother-in-law so many times now I can't even begin to count. And I know what a hard time they have on a GOOD day finding a suitable vein for anything. Draw blood, give fluids, whatever, it's a serious challenge for trained medical professionals to find a vein on mother-in-law, and they want ME to do it? With an afternoon of "training"?

I seriously began to question myself. What is it that made me freak out like that? I've never turned down a challenge. I've always said I could do anything I needed to do, with proper instruction (except scuba diving, but the lack of "proper instruction" may have had something to do with that too), and yet I could not convince myself this was something of which I was capable.

I didn't realize at the freaking-out time that they had no intention of having me insert the needle. Their plan was to put a needle in place and leave it for the five days mother-in-law is to get fluids at home. My job was (is?) to flush the catheter when the saline bag is empty, then attach another bag the next morning.

Well... MAYBE I can do THAT.

Maybe.

I still don't feel confident.

Plans sort of got screwed up anyway when the first nurse tried for an hour to find a vein, she called a colleague to come to mother-in-law's house, and when SHE was unable to find a vein, she called yet another nurse. Four hours and three nurses later, the i.v. was finally started.

A fourth nurse came to take the i.v. down, and she showed me how to flush the catheter and take it down. Because I haven't been properly trained for the beginning end of the procedure, someone else (a fifth nurse?) will come out tomorrow and show me what to do.

I hope.

And I'm still a little nervous about the whole thing. While I don't have to stick anything into a vein, I still have to make sure the vein doesn't blow (!) and check that the saline is flowing properly. I can do most things, but I'm a hands-on type learner. I need to do it a few times before I'm sure of myself.

We don't really have a few times to practice. She is only getting fluids a few times, and this isn't a time to practice.

I'm still trying to figure out my own lack of confidence in this ordeal. Part of me wants to say, "This is somebody's JOB, and I shouldn't have to do it." Another part of me wants to say, "I'm a family member, of COURSE I can do this."

And both parts of me are pointing fingers at the other part and saying, "YOU figure this out."

Halfway Through......

My mother-in-law is halfway through her radiation treatments. I was about to type the words "we have settled into a routine..." when I realized that every time we settle into a routine, it gets changed and we have to establish a new one. Looks like I would guard myself against the temptation to "settle" in to anything.

Hubby takes his mother to radiation on Mondays and Wednesdays, and on those days I feel incredibly guilty that I'm not doing it. I'm not bragging or looking for accolades about my devotion; it just is what it is. Some of my friends have expressed admiration or disbelief or puzzlement or some combination of all of those that I have taken on so much responsibility for the care of my mother-in-law, a person I didn't even know 16 years ago.

I don't know what they expect. I certainly don't know how NOT to do it. I'm able, she isn't, and that's that.

It is very depressing (for lack of a better word) to watch someone go downhill. Again, I was about to type the words "so fast" when I realized it HASN'T been fast. It's been a slow, agonizing deterioration of health and capability. When I see pictures of her standing in our back yard with our two used-to-be dogs, it's hard even to remember those days. There was a time when she drove up in our driveway every Sunday afternoon, like clockwork, and visited for a couple of hours. Never mind that I may have been working on my dissertation or watching football, and she didn't mind if we kept the television on while she was here. Now it has been over a year since she has driven a car, and she cannot even manage to get off the sofa into her wheelchair into the car without a great deal of assistance.

The amount of assistance needed increases every day.

I think when she began her radiation treatment that some portion of her mind convinced another portion of her mind that this would "fix" everything. She would go through the rather uncomfortable ordeal (now there's an understatement) of radiation, but then she would bounce back and feel good again. She even said one day that she believed she could drive ... if she could only get to the car. And there is nothing feeble about her mind. Mentally she is very sharp.

It breaks my heart.

I compare her to my grandmother, who had Alzheimer's and lived in a nursing home for the last 10 years of her life. I don't know what's worse, having the body slowly deteriorate or having the mind go first. 

Today the doctor decided she needed fluids, for which I was grateful, since she is neither eating nor drinking sufficiently to retain enough strength to carry her through this period of radiation treatment. We went upstairs for her i.v., and we had to sit in the chemotherapy room. It's a large, open room with recliner-type chairs lining three walls, chairs for family members in the middle of the room, and a television that someone requested be changed to a channel covering election results. Patients read magazines, took naps, ate lunch, and tapped on their laptops, all while poisons dripped into their veins to kill another poison that came from within.

I wanted to scream, "She's not getting chemotherapy! It's only saline!"

Then I just wanted to scream.

But either one would have been insensitive.

Friday Fatigue......

I was afraid I would scare some of you off with another "random thoughts" title, so I switched it up a little.

I swear I had a wonderful blog post planned for tonight, a Flashback Friday all about my cycling buddy Roz and how we met, complete with some pictures. (There's one of her drinking a beer while standing on her head, and I don't think I can do it justice tonight.) I will share those thoughts with you by next Friday at the very latest.

My goal is to start writing blog posts earlier in the day, so I don't have to A) rush right before I go to bed; and B) come up with something coherent when I'm tired to the bone.

• My mother-in-law finished her first week of radiation treatment today. Only 5 more weeks to go. Nurses have warned her that she may begin to feel some discomfort in her mouth after three or four weeks. She refuses to believe it because her husband didn't have any discomfort in HIS mouth when HE did radiation 25 years (or so) ago. We keep reminding her that he didn't have radiation on his mouth, but she is sticking to her guns. I guess if I were in that situation I would have some coping skills too.
• I finally got on my bike today and rode 41 miles. It was a beautiful, beautiful day, but it was WINDY. I rode to the golf course where Hubby and his buddies were playing today, not their usual course. There is something psychologically satisfying about doing a bike ride and knowing you don't have to ride back home. No, I don't know why either.
• I have started crocheting an afghan from a kit I ordered after seeing it in a catalog. The picture was gorgeous, but I'm not liking how it is turning out. I'm wrestling whether to scrap it altogether, use the yarn for something I actually like, or just keep plugging away. I don't like admitting defeat, but I don't like putting time into something I probably won't like anyway.
• Our big-screen t.v. bit the dust. It was horribly expensive, and it's not that old, and we will NEVER buy another Samsung t.v. The one we bought tonight to replace it is almost as wide as I am tall. I saw one on display at the store that was almost $10,000. Seriously? Can a television be WORTH that much? Without washing the dishes or something?
• Tomorrow is a busy day. It begins with a bike ride sponsored by our Lieutenant Governor, in the middle is a birthday party for Baby Luke (can you BELIEVE he's a year old already?), and football to wrap things up. On television, thank goodness. I hope to have some pictures of Luke to post tomorrow night. With his parents' permission, of course.

Good night!

Quick Update.....

Just a quick update on my mother-in-law's condition. Thank you for the kind, supportive comments.

***Some of this may be too much for sensitive stomachs, so feel free to stop reading. I'll try not to be too gross, since I'm a bit of a weenie myself when it comes to yucky stuff. And I thought I was going to be a doctor. Pfffttt.***

MIL was scheduled to have a preliminary treatment at the radiology clinic (called a "block" treatment??) today AND a follow-up appointment with her surgeon, but we took her to the emergency room last night and she is still in the hospital.

When Hubby and I returned from our short day trip to the casino, my sister-in-law reported that her mother was vomiting blood. I had my doubts, but she DID appear weak and had been vomiting pretty steadily all day and all night. She was naturally weak and in a good deal of pain.

You know how trips to the emergency room go. Mostly you sit around and wait. The nurses and other staff members were VERY nice (which has not always been my experience) and accommodating. The ER doctor said the substance MIL was vomiting was probably NOT blood, but cola-colored stuff that often comes up when the stomach has been empty for a while. BUT she was concerned about the fact that MIL hadn't had anything substantial to eat or drink for the last couple of days, so the first thing they wanted to do was start an I.V.

The first thing took about three hours to get done. And I'm not faulting the ER personnel; I realize there is a protocol for how things get done and when. Especially since MIL's primary physician just happened to be on a returning flight from India and couldn't be reached until this morning. (Every time he goes to India, MIL gets sick. He's not allowed to go there anymore, I don't care if it WAS to fetch his 91-year-old father.)

The bottom line is that they still don't know a heck of a lot. MIL's primary doctor came in this morning, and he seems to think it COULD be blood that she was vomiting, so he has ordered a scope of her G.I. system. Only they couldn't schedule it for today, so it's on tap for tomorrow. The doctor thinks she may have a bleeding ulcer, but I don't know if he's just ruling things out or if he has reason to believe that for sure. He's been treating MIL for 30 years or more, so they know each other pretty well.

Hubby and I sat at the hospital with her for most of the day today, and SIL was on her way when we left. MIL also has a TERRIBLE bed sore (right in her crack - ouch) that I thought we had managed to clear up, but SIL says it returned after this latest surgery. Surely they won't send her home until it's healed ... will they?

And I wanted to write tonight about men (at least Hubby) and their responses to crises/pain/illness when it concerns people they love, but I am just too bone tired. Don't worry, I'm not going to bash them.

Thank you for your continued friendship and support. I love you all.

Some Me Time.....

After two rounds of doctors' visits today, we mercifully got home around 1:30. Hubby accompanied me on today's visits, but he was generally worthless. (I will compose a post about my experience with men and their emotional issues, but tonight it would only be snarky.)

We were walking up the street from his mother's house (her car is easier for her to get into and out of than my SUV, and besides it has a license plate designating her as disabled), and before Hubby could say anything about what we needed to do this afternoon, I said, "I'm going to ride my bike."

I was quite crabby and tense when I left on my bike, but I used the ride to push myself physically instead of breaking down emotionally. It worked wonders. I'm proud to say my fuse is a couple of millimeters longer than it was when I left home. I may still blow, but perhaps the physical exertion has helped delay it for a little while.

It was one of those picture-perfect days that must have been created specifically for cycling. (Or at least some other outdoor activity.) Beautiful blue skies, not a cloud in sight, cooler temperatures with just a hint of a chill. Perfect. I rode 36 miles and it was exhilarating. Refreshing. Restoring. Calming.

I needed that.

Good News and Bad News......

Caution: No sarcasm ahead. Deep thoughts that I can't express correctly and won't come out the way I mean them.

The bad news from last week is that my mother-in-law is going to require radiation treatments. Initially that meant going to downtown Atlanta five days a week for five to six weeks. We met with the radiologist last Wednesday, however, and my burning question for him was going to be, "Isn't there ANYBODY closer to us that can treat her?" Much to my surprise, though, the doctor beat me to it.

I think it takes an amazing person to go into a field like radiology. (I'm sure there are others on the top-10 list also.) A patient who shows up in a radiologist's office is already in dire straits. Either the radiation is being used as a last-ditch measure to control pain, or it's being used in the hope that it can prevent cancer from returning. (Please don't feel compelled to give me a medical lesson on radiology's other uses, because these are the only two pertinent to this story.) My mother-in-law isn't in a lot of pain, but when they removed the mass from the roof of her mouth (correction: they removed most OF the roof of her mouth), they discovered some nerve and bone involvement. Radiation was suggested. The people who work in that field are my new heroes.

I am a little disappointed that we won't see the doctor who is 55 miles away in Atlanta, because I really liked him. He seemed very down-to-earth, and I could sense that he was going to suggest we NOT pursue radiation for an 83-year-old (next week) woman who isn't suffering any pain. He mentioned the hardships of her traveling, the distance, the toll on the entire family. FINALLY, someone who understands our plight! (Oh my, that sounded terribly selfish, and that's NOT the way I meant it.)

I also appreciated the way he spoke to my mother-in-law. Throughout this ordeal, I've become annoyed with medical professionals who assume just because she's in a wheelchair, she can't think for herself. They ask ME their questions, and I just look at my mother-in-law. Sometimes they get the message; sometimes they don't. And don't get me started on the ones who think her hearing is impaired. Sheesh.

The radiologist sat down next to my mother-in-law, and at first he just looked at her and smiled. He was trying to formulate his question. He began, "How well are you going to tolerate...." and then he stopped. He sort of chuckled, and then he asked her, "Can you just tell me how long you're going to live?" He was being facetious, of course, but I think mother-in-law's answer directed the course of action. She said, "As long as I can," and he patted her on the hand. He made it his business to find us a clinic nearer our house that could handle her treatment, and he called and made the appointment himself. Not his resident, not a nurse, but the doctor. He put me on the phone, and when the receptionist started asking me questions, he took the phone back and told her she did NOT need to know that information right then, that we had to get the patient home. What a guy!

I asked him the purpose of the radiation, and he told me her cancer had a 50-75% chance of recurring. The radiation might cut those odds in half, so at worst we would be looking at a 37.5% chance. Maybe. What I thought of later but didn't think to ask him at the time was whether or not the benefits of the radiation treatments would outweigh the debilitating effects. We meet with the new radiologist tomorrow, and I'll ask her then.

It's a sticky situation. I want the choice about pursuing this line of treatment to be completely my mother-in-law's. But I'm not sure she feels she HAS a choice. She just goes from doctor to doctor and appointment to appointment and never complains, but I wonder at what point enough is enough.

I'm not saying this right at all. I'm afraid it sounds like I wish she would just decline treatment and let nature take its course because that would be much more convenient for me. Please believe me when I say that isn't what I mean at all. I'm worried that radiation will render her COMPLETELY unable to care for herself, and her independence is all she has left. What precious little of THAT she has left. She lives alone (at the "T" at the end of our road - I can see if her lights are on or not), but she can't drive, she can't do her own laundry, and she has to have help getting in and out of the bathtub. Yet she doesn't want anyone to come live with her either. (The only real option for that is Hubby's sister, and that would be a disaster. They do not play well together.) I wish she could come here, but we don't have a bathroom downstairs.

She gets around her own house with a motorized scooter. She can pull herself up to the sink to fix her coffee and what little she eats, and she can take herself to the bathroom. We go down there at least once a day, and I do what I can for her when she will let me, but mostly she just takes care of herself. I think some of the medical professionals think we should do more for her, but that's not what she wants.

I worry about the quality of her life if she gets too weak to take care of herself at all. I would gladly go stay down there, even at night, since it's so close and it wouldn't be like actually moving. It may come to that, and I won't mind at all.

Before his conversation with mother-in-law, I could sense the radiologist's dilemma. He finally summed it up by saying if she had another condition, like heart trouble or pneumonia or something else, he would recommend not getting the treatment at all. General frailty itself, though, does not mean the cancer shouldn't be treated. In his words, frail people are known to live a long time. He is worried, however, about the increased likelihood of a fall or some other accident associated with repeated car trips. It's a classic Catch-22.

I can talk all day long about what I would do in that situation, but until I am IN that situation, anything I say would be pure speculation. What I think today might not resemble at all what I would choose to do in the event death were staring me right in the face.

Meanwhile, life goes on. I took her to a baby shower this afternoon. Mother-in-law will be a great-great-grandmother in November, five generations of girls. (My sister-in-law is only 6 years older than I am, and she will be a great-grandmother, and that just boggles my mind. I'm not even a grandmother yet!) Hubby is going with me tomorrow, and we hope to work out an arrangement where we take turns with the radiation appointments. We might even include his sister in the pitching rotation, but that remains to be seen. I don't always trust her to be ... responsible ... enough to take care of her own mother.

I did NOT intend to end the weekend on such a downer of a post. It could be so much worse, and I'm grateful that it isn't. We will simply take things one day at a time and do whatever needs to be done. Have a good week, and I'll keep you posted. Thanks for listening!

Mother-in-Law's Surgery....

Mother-in-law finally had her surgery today, and it went fine. That's the most important part.

I was going to regale (?) you with the details of just how many doctor's office visits this entailed, how many times we had to go to each NEW doctor, how much closer to the heart of downtown Atlanta we got with each successive trip, blah, blah, blah, blah.

Instead, I'll give you the (mercifully) short version.

Mother-in-law told her doctor at her regular visit back in early summer that she couldn't wear her upper dentures anymore because of a "spot" in the roof of her mouth. The first oral surgeon she saw biopsied and determined it to be a benign mass, but something that needed to come out. He sent her to an ENT specialist, who agreed that the mass needed to come out, then reported that "the cancer" was now in the bone.

Excuse me? I thought by definition a benign mass couldn't be cancer. But what do I know?

I may be just a little bit in love with this particular doctor, by the way. He is about ten years old and can't possibly have completed high school, much less medical school, and he has a sense of humor and talks to people like they are ... people.

The good news is that while the mass is cancerous, it is not the kind that spreads, so mother-in-law won't need any kind of treatments.

The bad news is that they removed 40% of the roof of her mouth today. I suppose there are WORSE things to have 40% of removed, but right now I can't think of any.

Chalk up my brain fog to the fact that I got up at 3:00 AM, spent 13 hours at the hospital, and sat in not just Atlanta rush hour traffic, but Atlanta rush hour traffic on a Friday afternoon before a long holiday weekend. We just got home. "We" as in me, Hubby, and Hubby's sister. Yes, her. But this isn't about me.

The OTHER good news is that because mother-in-law already has a denture plate, the prosthodontist (who knew there WAS such a profession?) can use what she already has to cover the resulting hole in her head. Please don't tell her I said that. I'm a little punchy.

I hope with every cell of my being that I can be as tough as my mother-in-law when I'm 82 years old. She came through the surgery fine, although she had to stay in recovery for 5 hours due to fluid in her lungs (but not pneumonia) and a lower-than-optimal oxygen level. There is absolutely nothing wrong with her mind, and she was even able to talk and make jokes through her pain. We opted NOT to stay with her overnight, which has caused all three of us some degree of guilt. The young, cute, sweet, funny, handsome ... oh, I already said "cute" ... doctor even said it's possible she could come home tomorrow if all goes well tonight. And believe me, mother-in-law will MAKE it go well.

I'm that kind of tired where it feels like I have sand under my eyelids and I want to cry over silly things like a pack of crackers being stale. But I'm glad the procedure is over, and I'm glad my mother-in-law is on the mend. I'm not quite ready to give her up yet.

Long Day.....

I'm too pooped to blog (properly) tonight. I took my mother-in-law to the hospital today for what I thought would be routine pre-op stuff.

Actually, it WAS fairly routine. I just didn't know it was going to take over 4 hours. So I didn't take food. Or enough money to get the car out of the parking deck. Or any money at all, for that matter. We got finished at the hospital just in time to join 4,113,510 other cars in the daily party that is known as Atlanta Rush Hour. Hurricane Isaac was the featured act.

And I pinched my hand putting her wheelchair back in the car, resulting in a cool-looking blood blister. I don't know whether to pop it or wear it proudly as a symbol of my sacrifice. Or just keep picking at it. Or take a picture of it and post it on my blog. Just kidding.

And I got my hopes all up when I was texting my misery (minus the blood blister, only because it hadn't happened yet) to Hubby, and he responded with a couple of texts referencing both going out to dinner and margaritas. My eyes were dancing, a little bit at the prospect of a fishbowl-sized margarita, but mostly at the fact that the waiter brings a basket of warm tortilla chips to the table even before we are seated.

But for some strange reason, when I FINALLY got home and Hubby offered to go get something to eat, the words that came out of my mouth were, "Just go get me a salad somewhere."

Mother-in-law's surgery is this Friday, and I hope after that this whole saga will be over. I'll post later about what it entails (minus any gory details), but tonight I'm too pooped.

It's a good thing I retired. Otherwise I would have had to quit.

Officially Day #1 of Retirement......

Way back in May when I retired, I couldn't decide what the first day of retirement would really be. It wasn't that Memorial Day, the Monday after my last day of school, because I would have been off work that day ANYWAY. It wasn't any of the days after that, because I would have been off (theoretically anyway) for the whole summer.

Ultimately I decided my first official day of retirement would be the day I WOULD have gone back to school if I hadn't retired. I'm sure both of you were agonizing over that with me.

I couldn't decide if I would feel a tremendous sense of freedom as the day approached, gloating (even if only in my mind) over the fact that a whole bunch of people had to go back to work and I DIDN'T. Or if I would feel nostalgic, missing my friends and wondering what I'm going to do with myself now that a huge part of my identity is finished. Kaput. Out of here.

When it was all said and done, how I felt was .....

I almost forgot. The day completely slipped up on me.

One of my former co-workers called last week to ask if I could come to school and perhaps answer the phones some this week (more on that in a moment), and I readily agreed. I pictured myself sitting at the front desk, watching the Olympics on the computer (what were they gonna do, fire me?), and asking the new principal the answer to every single question that came through the door or on the phone. I thought it was the next-to-the-next-to-the-last week before teachers came back.

I didn't have to go after all, and it's probably a good thing because I took my mother-in-law to YET ANOTHER doctor. I'll wait to talk about her ongoing medical issues in another blog post. Bless her heart, she feels terrible about my having to take her up and down the road and back and forth to doctors. She asked today if I regretted having retired. I said, "No, if I hadn't retired, I would have had to quit anyway." She just laughed.

The reason I might have had to go to school and fill in this week was due to the tragic death of the daughter of our bookkeeper/registrar/keeper-of-things-running at school. The 22-year-old was in a terrible car accident last Friday morning when we were on the way home from Wisconsin, and she just couldn't pull through. She was a sweet girl who was also a student in our program for a while. She wasn't motivated enough to be successful in a program like ours, even with her mom in the building, and I'm ashamed that I don't remember whether she dropped out or if she went back to the traditional high school.

I consider her mom one of my dear friends, and my heart breaks for her. It isn't natural for a parent to bury a child; I never understood how my mother managed to go on living after my brother died. (I realize it's not a choice, I understand all that, but I still cannot imagine how one actually goes about doing it.) The funeral home visitation is tomorrow night, and the funeral is Thursday.

I want to kick myself for thinking I have problems. Ever.

Making Light.....

First of all, I have to apologize. In this blog post I'm making light of something that shouldn't be funny at all. Good thing my mother-in-law is a good sport about it.

She and I have spent a great deal of quality time together in the car lately, shuttling from doctor's appointment to doctor's appointment. Each one apparently leads to yet another specialist, and after three trips each one refers us to a new one, getting progressively closer and closer to downtown Atlanta.

This morning's appointment was at 7:00 AM. In Atlanta. I got up at 4:30, and we almost made it on time. We were in the parking deck at 7:00 AM, so that should count.

She was having an MRI today (she has a growth/tumor in the roof of her mouth, for Pete's sake, rendering her unable to wear her dentures, and when they did a CT scan, they saw something "they didn't like"). I realize the first word in the acronym for MRI is "magnetic," and the reason they have to ask these questions is obvious.

They're still funny.

Most of them I simply checked off myself, but every now and then I stopped and asked my mother-in-law, pretending to be serious.

"Any type of prosthesis (eye, limb, PENILE, etc.)?" I'm not sure I even want to know what a penile prosthesis is. Or does. 

"Do you have a bone growth/bone fusion stimulator?" Huh?

"Eye injury involving a metallic object?" Wouldn't they NOTICE a spoon sticking out of her cornea?

"Injury involving a metallic object (bullet or shrapnel, etc.)?" Yeah, we were just on our way to get that taken care of, but we stopped off here for an MRI first.

"Eyelid spring or wire?" Seriously? People HAVE those? Like that strange illness Hubby's uncle had where he couldn't open his eyes? Maybe he needed an eyelid spring.

"Any metallic fragment or foreign body?" Is this a trick question to make sure she answered the bullet question correctly the first time?

"Tissue expander (e.g. breast)?" No, that's not a tissue expander, it's called gravity.

"Intrauterine Device (IUD) or diaphragm?" She's 83 freakin' years old, for crying out loud!

It's possible ... not likely, but possible ... that these were only funny to me because I was/am sleep-deprived.

It ain't gonna get any better tomorrow, when I fully expect to get up at the crack of dawn to watch The Open Championship (formerly known as The British Open and I can't get out of the habit but wanted to be precise here). That's golf, y'all. Coverage starts at 4:30. Well, maybe I won't get up THAT early.

Some Updates.....

I realized I haven't updated you lately on several ongoing situations. You may not be waiting with bated breath for these updates, but it gives me something to write about other than the fact that I have to go fold a load of laundry. You're welcome.

• My mother-in-law is doing well, although she is not able to walk very well. She has a motorized scooter, and she has asked Hubby (and sometimes me) to come and help her walk around her living room and dining room with her walker every day. I don't mind doing it, but her ultimate goal is to be able to drive again. Mother. Of. All. That. Is. Holy. We don't want her to drive, and right now she doesn't even have the leg strength to go out TO her car. But we don't want to take that big step of taking her car keys away either. I feel that will kill whatever dignity she has left. I'm not sure what the answer is. She even suggested to Hubby that he could come down there and help her in the car. I understand she doesn't want to be isolated and trapped in that house, but if she doesn't have the strength to walk on her own, who's to say she will have the reaction time required to operate a car? Shudder.
• Baby Luke is thriving, and his daddy is learning to get by on a lot less sleep. (Tee hee.) He's up over nine pounds and has a sweet little grin. They still haven't taken him out in public, except for trips to doctors and therapists, and I can't wait to see him in person. He's a cutie, and I am thankful for the miracles of modern medicine that this little guy has grown from 1 pound 15 ounces to where he is today.
• I got a new crown (next to the OTHER new crown) on the tooth that was giving me so much trouble, and while I was afraid it had all been for naught, it FINALLY stopped hurting. I still have only a temporary and will get the permanent crown next Wednesday. The date for my regular cleaning? Next Thursday. And no, they can't be combined into one appointment, thanks for asking. I will have been at my dentist's office more in a single month than I usually go in two and a half years. But the pain is gone, so I am eternally grateful for that. I don't remember the last time I CRIED in the dentist's chair, but I'm pretty sure it was before I started driving. I will, however, be happy when I can chew gum again. Although I typically only chew gum in the car, because I'm one of those people who should NEVER chew gum in public.
• I hit a weight plateau back in the summer, and not only have I NOT been able to break through it, I've allowed about 5 pounds to creep back on. I wanted to lose 15 more pounds, not turn them into 20 more to lose. I need to track my calories again, because that's what works. And stay away from roasted peanuts. They are my crack, and I can't stop once I get started.
• I'm almost finished with my latest crochet project because it's for someone who may still be reading my blog and I don't want to spoil the surprise. No, it isn't you. Or you. Or you. But it might be you. If you think you might have reason to expect an unexpected gift, it's probably for you. If it isn't, then your surprise will be NOT getting a crocheted gift.
• I'm reading a fabulous book that is 852 pages long, and I already know I'm going to be disappointed with the ending. Not the WAY it ends, just that it will be over. Luckily I believe it's part one of a trilogy. Review forthcoming.

Updates.....

A couple of updates....

Mother-in-law is doing better. The doctor cleared her to start putting weight on the arm she broke, so she can (almost) get herself up and down. She has managed to get herself in her scooter and get around her house a little bit. Yay! The biggest problems remaining currently are her inability to sleep in her own bed and her inability to pull her pants back up when she goes to the bathroom. I wondered aloud to Hubby tonight if she would ever let me know not to come to her house at 6:00 AM every day (including weekends and holidays), and he said, "Nah. You're in it for life." Or something like that. But at least she's progressing.

Baby Luke is progressing as well. He is probably going to be in the hospital for AT LEAST another 8 weeks, but he has been able to breathe on his own, he has been able to suck on a pacifier, and he has been able to digest some food. Not steak and potatoes, you understand, but he has been able to keep down what they have given him. His mom's blood pressure is still elevated, so they are keeping her in the hospital for now. I think the hardest thing for her is yet to come: The day she has to walk out of the hospital and leave Baby Luke behind.

I tried to describe this picture to Hubby, but I kept getting choked up and couldn't finish. I finally asked Luke's daddy to send it to me so I could show Hubby just how tiny Luke is. The new daddy came to school today, and he said he could put his wedding ring around Luke's foot. It's impossible for me to wrap my head around the idea that a baby can be that tiny.

Hubby is fully immersed in at least his second childhood. After almost a year of euphoria caused by being debt-free, he has purchased this new toy.

While I don't tell him what to do (and he doesn't tell ME what to do or not to do), I did say to him SORT OF JOKINGLY, "You don't need anything with 140 mph on the speedometer."

His response?

"I will not go any faster than 130."

I am headed to Florida after school tomorrow for a dual purpose: #1 - To see my Sweet Girl, whom I haven't seen since June; and #2 - To attend the Georgia-Florida football game, formerly known as the World's Largest Outdoor Cocktail Party. More on that tomorrow or Saturday.

Kind of Mean but Necessary......

My mother-in-law, like many of her generation..... no wait, like many sane people of ANY generation.... is kind of particular about having her doors locked. It's HUBBY AND ME who are the weird ones, rarely locking our doors.

At my mother-in-law's house, however, the key is under a trash can that sits on her carport. No burglar worth his salt would ever think to look there because it's so damn obvious.

When we first started going down to her house first thing in the morning, we would locate the key, fumble with the doors (because her storm door opens one way and the main door the other), fumble around with the lock (because it's a trick to get her key in the lock and turn it to open the door), and generally turn the relatively simple operation into a chaotic ordeal. Thereby spilling our coffee and sometimes stepping on Gus in the process.

We then decided that we just wouldn't lock the door at night. We figured if the worst happened and someone did enter Granny's house in the middle of the night, perhaps he might take sympathy on her and take her to the bathroom.

I'm kidding!

Sort of.

We don't dare TELL her we aren't locking the door, though. She can't see it from her spot on the sofa, so when we leave at night, we make a big deal about fiddling around with the lock so it sounds like we are locking it. When we get there in the morning we do the same thing, so it sounds like we're having trouble putting the key in the lock. If we just opened the door and walked right in, she might realize it wasn't locked in the first place.

I feel kind of guilty, but if we can do even little things to help preserve our sanity after almost NINE WEEKS of tending to Granny....

We just have to do what we have to do. Please don't judge us too harshly.

My Mother-in-Law.......

Since she broke her arm almost seven weeks ago, my mother-in-law has been pretty much helpless. She has used a walker for the past few years, and she can't even do THAT with a broken arm. Forgive me if I'm repeating myself; I don't remember how much of this I've already blogged about.

Mother-in-law is pretty much trapped on her sofa. She can't stand up without someone there to help her, and she can't get in her bed. She has a portable potty chair in the living room, and one of us has to be there to help her use it. She has terrible bed sores from sitting in one place all the time. Thankfully her sofa reclines, so the last thing we do at night is "put Granny to bed," putting pillows under her legs and helping her recline the sofa so she can sleep.

She can't see the clock, so if she wakes up in the middle of the night and has to go to the bathroom, she calls us. I guess it wouldn't matter if she could see the clock anyway; if she's gotta go, she's gotta go. Thankfully she's only called in the middle of the night twice, once at 3:05 AM and this past Sunday at 3:30 AM (at least I got to "sleep in" after that).

Hubby and I went down there yesterday evening, and she was asleep. It was the first time that she has looked like an old lady to me. Her mouth was open, her jaw was slack, and we stood there for a moment to make sure her chest was moving. I had a horrible thought, which I shared with Hubby on our walk back home. I am the one who goes down there first thing every morning. (I let Hubby sleep, because I don't see the point in BOTH of us having to be up, even if it is his mother.) I have a horror of walking in her house one morning and finding her dead. I'm not sure how I would handle it.

I've never seen a dead person, other than in a casket, and I don't even handle THOSE very well. When my step-mother died and the family was viewing her in the casket, my father realized the funeral director hadn't put her earrings on her. The director brought the earrings to me and asked me to put them in her ears. I didn't want to refuse, with my father standing there, and I meant no disrespect to my step-mother, but I just don't do death very well. I think it may stem from the experience of touching my brother in his casket when I was only 11 years old. I asked for permission to touch him, but I wasn't prepared for the fact that he would be cold. It pretty much freaked me out.

My mother-in-law will be 82 years old next Friday, and she has overcome double pneumonia, two broken hips, multiple other broken bones, and a heart stent they inserted a few years ago. She's a tough old bird, but I realize the odds of her living to be 90 aren't very good. She appears to be going downhill, and she isn't any more able to stand on her own than she was seven weeks ago. She seems to think that once her arm is well, she will be able to get around on her own again. But her legs won't hold her up, and I don't think her arm is going to bear enough weight on her walker to give her any degree of mobility.

I just realized how shallow I sound. Here this woman is nearing the end of her life, and I'm worried about being the one to find her if she dies in her sleep. That would actually be better than my sister-in-law finding her, though, because I would have my suspicions for the rest of my life.

Sorry to be so morbid tonight. It's sad watching someone you love suffer. My mother-in-law has been good to me, and I hate to see her helpless and dependent on others.

The Downside of Three-Day Weekends.....

I really, really love three-day weekends. While I don't dread Mondays nearly as much as I did when I taught in the traditional school setting (i.e., lesson plans, grading essays, tests, making copies, controlling a classroom), I still get that Sunday-afternoon feeling of, "Ugh....tomorrow I have to go back to school."

When I have a three-day weekend, though, on Sunday afternoon I say, "Oh goody. I get to stay home again tomorrow!" And then I take another nap or three. I wanted to ride my bike yesterday because I knew the weather was going to take a turn for the worse today and the rest of the week, but I was too disausted to move out of my recliner. Hubby came home from playing golf yesterday and found me in almost exactly the same position I was in when he left that morning.

Since I didn't have to get up this morning, Hubby told his mother just to call us when she woke up and we would come help her use the potty chair. She let us sleep in..... all the way to 5:24. This is getting old. And every time I think that, I want to kick myself for being uncharitable. I know she can't help the fact that her arm is broken and her legs are too weak to hold her up, but she has these moments where she's... demanding... complaining... argumentative.

The predicted torrential downpours never materialized, at least not until after we ate supper. I could have ridden my bike today after all, but I wasn't a total slug. I did four miles on the elliptical, I went to the grocery store (onerous chore that it is), I changed the sheets on our bed, and I washed a load of laundry. I also crocheted some on baby Luke's afghan and played a gazillion games of pinball on my iPad.

I didn't even mind (much) that it rained and spoiled what would have been our last swim of the year. The pool folks are coming to cover it up and winterize it this Thursday.

What I really hate about three-day weekends, though, is the fact that they leave me wanting another few days off.

Our New Routine........

Please note: I am writing about how adaptable we human beings are, even set-in-my-routine folks like me. I am NOT complaining.

My husband's mother fell two weeks ago, breaking the bone in her upper left arm. She is so frail; the last time she broke something, it was her shoulder. She broke it when she reached back behind her to turn on a lamp. She has broken both hips, a wrist, a finger, a shoulder, now her arm, and I'm sure I left something out.

She has declined over the years that Hubby and I have been married. Every now and then a picture of her scrolls through my screensaver, in our backyard with our former dogs. It's hard for me to remember when she could do that. She has used a walker for several years, and I can't remember the last time she was in my house. She can't navigate the steps to the front door anymore. She has been to the pool for a couple of outings. Hubby drives her car into the backyard and brings her to the pool in a wheelchair.

She's a sweet lady, and she isn't feeble-minded in the least. She doesn't complain, and she isn't a lot of trouble. Although she DID refuse to go the hospital in the ambulance when she fell two weeks ago, all because they wouldn't take her to the hospital she wanted to go to. (It wasn't extremely convenient for Hubby to drive her there either, but he did it.)

Because she can't walk without a walker, and now her arm is broken, she is pretty much helpless. She has one of those power scooters, but she can't get on it. And it won't go into her bathroom. So her days AND nights are spent on her sofa (at least it reclines), and she has to use a portable potty chair to use the bathroom. I get up at 5:00 AM every morning, and at 6:00 AM Hubby and I (and Gus) walk down to my mother-in-law's house. Hubby helps her to a standing position, and then he runs like hell lest he be forced to see his mother use the pot. I help her use the potty chair while Hubby fixes her coffee and gets her a dunking stick for breakfast. (No, we aren't trying to kill her. That's what she ate even before she broke her arm.)

We make her as comfortable as we can, then I go home to exercise and get ready for school. My sister-in-law (the tacky one) comes in the afternoon, and sometimes she comes back in the evenings. Hubby and I walk down there at least one more time, to help her go to the bathroom before bed and close up her house for the evening.

I was sleeping blissfully last Saturday when Hubby woke me up at 6:00 AM to go help his mother. Some part of my brain had become convinced she could go the whole weekend without peeing, and I couldn't believe I had to get up at that ungodly hour on a Saturday. But I did, and I didn't whine about it, because those are the things we do for family. I would even do it for my own mother. If she lived near me. Which she doesn't. Whew.

What surprises me most about this whole ordeal is that I am such a routine-oriented person, and even with this major event in our lives, I have managed to shift my routine slightly and keep on trucking. It shouldn't be that surprising - what other choice is there? I don't consider myself very flexible, but maybe I don't give myself enough credit.

It's hard to watch someone go downhill. It's doubly painful because she isn't SICK; she's just frail. Personally I think we may be approaching the time when it's unrealistic to expect her to continue living by herself, but that's not my call to make. Hubby asked his sister (the tacky one) if she would consider moving in with their mother. His sister lives alone, and it would save her $600 a month in rent. Plus it would give his mother assistance and the peace of mind of having someone there. His sister's answer? Hubby would have to PAY her. (Did I mention she's tacky?) She wasn't exaggerating, not like saying, "Oh, you'd have to PAY me to do such-and-such." She REALLY meant he would have to pay her to stay with her own mother. For free rent.

A therapist is coming by a couple times a week to help Hubby's mother exercise her legs, but there's only so much they can do. She can't even stand up, and if you help her to a standing position, she can't bear her own weight. A home health care nurse came today, ostensibly to give mother-in-law a bath, but she said she couldn't do it if mother-in-law couldn't stand up on her own. Uh.....if she could stand and walk, we wouldn't NEED your services.

It's frustrating. It's sad. It's depressing. It's one of those times when you never know what the right decision is. Mother-in-law always said if she got to the point where she couldn't take care of herself, she would willingly go to a nursing home. But I'm pretty sure right now she would say, "I CAN take care of myself, except for this broken arm. And these weak legs."

It's frustrating. It's sad. It's depressing.

Lions and Tigers and ...... Lawnmowers........

One of Hubby's friends asked him a while back if I were scared to stay alone when he's gone on golf trips. Hubby replied, "She's not afraid of anything."

He's wrong about that, of course, because I've documented here before that I'm deathly afraid of snakes. And mice.

I also have what I'm pretty sure is an irrational fear of riding lawnmowers.

I don't mean that I have nightmares about being abducted by aliens riding lawnmowers, and I don't have to alter my path if I see someone out mowing his lawn, but I have a fear of OPERATING them.

I can drive our 30' motorhome, I almost never clench my jaws when riding my motorcycle anymore, but I almost seize up when faced with the prospect of using a riding lawnmower.

Give me a push mower any old day. I will happily mow both our front and back yards with a push mower, but don't make me use the riding mower. Well, perhaps not HAPPILY, but still....

Today Hubby got the idea that we could halve the job of mowing both our yard and that of his mother if we both participated. The catch was that I had to use his mother's riding mower to do her yard.

His mother is VERY picky about how her grass is cut. Why not let me do ours, where I represent 50% of the household population? She only stopped mowing her own yard two years ago at the age of 78. Even when she couldn't crank the pull-type mower, she still insisted on mowing her own grass. And Hubby wanted me to do it. On her mower.

Yikes.

It didn't help that I am completely unfamiliar with her mower. They aren't like cars; some of the controls are quite different from model to model. At least from ours to hers.

He tried to show me what to do, but my fear wouldn't allow me to concentrate. "Put your foot here, engage the blade, then put your foot here....." What? Did he say....? What DID he say? Put my foot WHERE?

How do I stop?

Where is reverse?

I made two passes under Hubby's watchful eye, then I begged ... BEGGED ... to use the push mower. I didn't care if it took all day, I did NOT want to use that riding mower. He was unrelenting.

It's not that I'm afraid of running into something (even if I DON'T know how to stop). I'm mostly afraid that I'll run OVER something I'm not supposed to, and I'll tear up the mower. I HATE that sound that I've run over a stick or a pine cone, no matter how small. I close my eyes and draw up, afraid that I've done irreparable damage.

I'm pretty sure I also don't mow properly. I start off following a plan, rectangular and regular. Before long, though, I'm wandering off ... oh, there's a patch over there ... did I get around that tree? ... and the pattern is history. I guess it doesn't matter as long as it all gets done, but I must look like a drunk wandering around the yard on a riding mower willy-nilly.

While I was mowing today, teeth clenched and knuckles white on the steering wheel, I even found myself looking forward to school starting back, when I won't be expected to help with the mowing.

Now that's just sad.

High Heels are of the Devil.....

I very, very rarely wear heels anymore. Hell, I very rarely wear anything that would LOOK good with heels.

Today, though, I decided to wear a pair of heels that I've only worn once before. They were one of the 42 pairs I bought last fall right before school started. Not really, it was only 7 pairs.

Is it 7 pairs? Or 7 pair? You'd think an English teacher would know. One pair is two shoes, but it seems that if you bought 14 shoes, it would be 7 pairs.

Anyway, I have this really cute jacket that sort of requires dressy brown pants, and dressy brown pants require dressy brown heels.

I took a spare pair (that one I KNOW is singular) of brown shoes (flat ones) to school today for that moment when I couldn't take the heels anymore.

But I never put them on.

Having a spare pair of shoes is sort of like having the granny gear on my bicycle. I like knowing it's there, but it's a point of pride not to use it.

Yes, I realize that doesn't make a whole lot of sense. About the bicycle OR the shoes.

So I managed to wear the heels all day. And it wasn't really all that bad.

Except that my day has now mercifully come to an end approximately 5 hours later than it normally does, and approximately 12 hours and 8 minutes since I put those damn shoes on.

I didn't realize when I put the heels on to go to school that I would NOT, as I usually do, come straight home and kick off my shoes.

Today's schedule included a trip to the tanning bed (don't tell my nurse sister), a visit to the hospital to see my mother-in-law (she's still not doing well, but she's in good spirits, for whatever THAT'S worth in the medical world), eating out (a blessing and a nice mid-week surprise), and an unexpected trip to the store with the big red bullseye-looking logo to buy paint for my hoodlums at school so they will FINALLY finish painting the ceiling tile they're doing for a project and get back to real work.

My puppies are tired.

As is the rest of my body and soul.

Goodnight.

My Mother-in-Law.......

I guess I'm one of the luckier married women in the world. Not only do I have the world's last perfect man, but also the world's only perfect mother-in-law. I told Hubby early in our marriage that if anything ever happened to us, I was getting custody of his mother. He didn't argue.

She's a sweet lady, and she would do anything in the world for us. When we missed the Party Bus to a UGA football game one Saturday morning (when that guy says the bus leaves at 8:07, he means 8:07, not 8:10), she took us to Athens to the tailgate location.

She keeps Gus for us every time we go out of town so he won't be subjected to the horrors of boarding. (My apologies to Chico.)

She cooks a mean biscuit, and her chicken and dumplings are scrumptious. She still insists on cooking a big meal for the whole family on Christmas Day.

She lets me use her car on the rare occasion that something is wrong with mine. Maybe I shouldn't give her too much credit for that one. Her car used to be mine, and I GAVE it to her when I bought my SUV.

She is 79 years old, and she's fairly frail. She has broken every bone you can think of: both hips, a wrist, a finger, a shoulder. And that's just in the 12 years I've known her. She broke her shoulder when she reached back to turn on a lamp. That's how fragile she is. She now walks with a walker, but she still drives and she's very sweet-natured. You can't make her mad, at least not that I know of. And if Hubby doesn't make her mad with some of HIS teasing, she must be a saint.

She has bounced back from double pneumonia, and just this past summer she had to have a stent put into her heart. But she gets right back on her feet almost immediately, and she always appears to have few lasting effects.

She's in the hospital tonight, but we don't know if they will keep her. My sister-in-law is with her and is keeping us posted on developments and her status. SIL was asking for clues to a crossword puzzle when she called earlier, so it must not be too serious.

But when someone is that old, you always get that "What if....." feeling any time she gets sick. People don't live forever, and I always wonder if this one will be the time that she goes downhill fast. Is that morbid? I don't mean to be. She just recuperates so easily and gets back to normal so fast that in between her illnesses and injuries, we forget how old and fragile she is and take for granted that she'll live forever.

I'll send up an extra prayer for her tonight.