Saturday, March 31, 2012
GrAnDmA
If Moma called her momma's name when she was a little girl as much as she does now, then my great grandma was a flipping saint. I am listening to her lay in bed and call "Momma......Moooooommmmmmaaaaaa, Momma, I want some water!" Poor Grandma....
Friday, March 30, 2012
JUST SO YOU KNOW......
YOU CANNOT SAY I DIDN'T WARN YOU.......
If you choose to take in a little old person, like mine. Fortify yourself..........You'll do 3 times the loads of laundry that you are used to. Sometimes 4 and 5 times (when there is a UTI or virus, etc.)
NOW YOU CAN'T SAY I DIDN'T WARN YOU!
YOU CANNOT SAY I DIDN'T WARN YOU.......
If you choose to take in a little old person, like mine. Fortify yourself..........You'll do 3 times the loads of laundry that you are used to. Sometimes 4 and 5 times (when there is a UTI or virus, etc.)
NOW YOU CAN'T SAY I DIDN'T WARN YOU!
Wednesday, March 28, 2012
Crazy as Hell and a Subway to boot
Yesterday I had lunch with a precious friend who fears Mildred. She fears her dying on her. She fears what she might say or do. But she also thinks Mildred is hilarious. I say all that to say that she understands that my life rarely is fun and she tries to do little things to "reward" me from time to time for my perseverance in all this madness. She cooked country fried steak, gravy, biscuits, and "mashed taters". We had such a nice visit. Then I had to come home to complete and total insanity. She was asleep when I got home, but soon I heard her rousing. She came into the kitchen asking that usual stupid question "Who's gone help me?" I tried to have a conversation with her but she couldn't hear me for the voices in her head apparently. She began to scream and carry on like a total imbecile. She asked me to call her daddy and ask him if he would take care of her. Then she told me to call Alene and ask her to take care of her (both dead, and Alene Butler would not consider taking care of my grandmother unless it was going to promote her or make her rich). She kept saying "I got to go to bed" and trying to get up but landing back in the chair. Finally, I got up and got her one of her new magic pills Dr. Robinson prescribed for her psychosis. She took it and began screaming (yes, screaming!) I sat back down to my paper I was writing. When she saw I was not going to be alarmed, she said, "I'll go out in the street. I'll get more help that way". She got up and headed toward her room (I thought) but detoured to the front door, opened it and began to scream "HELLLLLLP! Somebody HELLLLLP me!!" The urge to push her on out the door was fairly strong, but my next door neighbor is a cop, so nix that. I grabbed her and sat her fairly roughly on the sofa. She drew back her fist at me. I just took her walker, folded it up and took it to my room and closed the door. She began to wail like someone had shot her dog. "They've taken everything away from me. I can't get around. (long pause, change of voice) I'm gone find me something to get around with...." and with that she was up and back to her room. I expected more drama but by then the magic had taken effect, and the craziness was in voice alone. She talked a blue streak, but never got up until supper time.
Today, she has been bossy. She has told me how to do everything but take a breath. She woke me up bossing. I tried to change her sheets and before I could tuck the corners, she was telling me to tuck them. I'm sure the nurse's aid called DHR on her way out the door the way we were screaming at each other. I hate days like this. It seems like every time she would get settled, someone would come in. She finally got settled after her bath, when the chaplain came in. I know he has to come, but we are all Christians, who belong to a church with a pastor (even though hers doesn't know she's still alive). We have Bibles and we all have scripture hidden in our hearts. GRMC could save a dime in that area with us. ANYWAY....he came in and got her all stirred up. She puts on a good show for him. So I figured I'd feed her lunch while she was alert. Penny had made her some 15 Bean Soup, so I warmed that. She complained that I'd fixed too much but ate every bite! Christopher came up and wanted Subway, so I let him get me one too, knowing I'd have to give her part of it (even though she cannot eat them and complains when we get her one). When he got back, I had cleaned up her mess, and she was just sitting at the table. It was written all over her face....she was dying to say something. Christopher and I were mumbling to each other to watch her. I sat down with a knife, ready to cut her a bit of my sandwich. "WHERE'S MINE?" she demanded. I held up the knife, "I plan to cut you some", and with that I cut her a small section of my sub, put it on a napkin and put it in front of her. Immediately that lip curled up and she made some smart comment about starving to death over the small piece I cut her. Rage flew over me, and I shoved the whole sandwich at her! "Take the whole damn thing!" I shouted and walked out. Sometimes, I just want to walk out the door and never look back.
Today, she has been bossy. She has told me how to do everything but take a breath. She woke me up bossing. I tried to change her sheets and before I could tuck the corners, she was telling me to tuck them. I'm sure the nurse's aid called DHR on her way out the door the way we were screaming at each other. I hate days like this. It seems like every time she would get settled, someone would come in. She finally got settled after her bath, when the chaplain came in. I know he has to come, but we are all Christians, who belong to a church with a pastor (even though hers doesn't know she's still alive). We have Bibles and we all have scripture hidden in our hearts. GRMC could save a dime in that area with us. ANYWAY....he came in and got her all stirred up. She puts on a good show for him. So I figured I'd feed her lunch while she was alert. Penny had made her some 15 Bean Soup, so I warmed that. She complained that I'd fixed too much but ate every bite! Christopher came up and wanted Subway, so I let him get me one too, knowing I'd have to give her part of it (even though she cannot eat them and complains when we get her one). When he got back, I had cleaned up her mess, and she was just sitting at the table. It was written all over her face....she was dying to say something. Christopher and I were mumbling to each other to watch her. I sat down with a knife, ready to cut her a bit of my sandwich. "WHERE'S MINE?" she demanded. I held up the knife, "I plan to cut you some", and with that I cut her a small section of my sub, put it on a napkin and put it in front of her. Immediately that lip curled up and she made some smart comment about starving to death over the small piece I cut her. Rage flew over me, and I shoved the whole sandwich at her! "Take the whole damn thing!" I shouted and walked out. Sometimes, I just want to walk out the door and never look back.
Monday, March 26, 2012
Spring Break
Yes, it is the first day of spring break, and here I sit at home with this old woman. I tried to have a really good attitude about it. I thought we might get out some, go to the mall, get lunch or better yet....ice cream. But if today is any indication of what this week has in store for me....all I can say is HELL to the NO, not taking her anywhere! She is bossy and mean today. She is totally in charge and likes it that way. At 8:30, she swung my bedroom door open and bellowed "I want something to eat!" I hate her today. She tried to argue with the nurse's aid who came to bathe her, but I did intervene there. She complained about her lunch, asked for ice cream afterward and complained about that too. I am actually looking forward to the doctor's appointment today that I have been dreading for weeks.
Saturday, March 17, 2012
Thursday, March 15, 2012
Ripples and Ripples of Water Under the Bridge
Gee, so much has transpired since I last wrote.....summary? Ok! She has been mean and bossy, nosy and annoying, hateful and stubborn, greedy and thieving. I realize that is the definition of Moma, but take those to the 25th power. Now you get it?
I must go into detail about a recent event. Let's back up to Tuesday evening. She refused to eat a banana sandwich for supper but would not let me fix her ANYTHING. Fine. She went to bed. Hubby came home and I went to the track for a rousing 3 mile jaunt (great for the stress level). When I came home, she had not been up, so I went about my routine getting ready for bed. I took my bath and washed my hair, pj'd up and got settled on my bed for "Body of Proof" with my heating pad (no, I'm not in shape yet!) It was a good episode, and right smack dab in the middle of it, I hear that infernal sound of her walker. Grrrr.....I figured she just wanted diapers, but no. "Julie, you gotta come help me." "Help you what?" I asked in fear. "I've shit all over the place". KILL ME NOW. Knowing now what I didn't know then, I wish God had just smacked me down dead. Reluctantly, I followed her into her room. The aroma of you-know greeted us as we approached her room. I didn't really see anything much, but smelled it so I knew it was there....somewhere. She had some "skidmarks" on the bed but I found the disgusting treasure in her bedside commode and her garbage can. I emptied them into a garbage bag, tied it up and began stripping her bed. I then took the pot to the bathroom for a thorough cleaning. Garbage emptied, pot clean, bed stripped and remade.....that wasn't so bad. But, she then got on the pot......the story goes bad downhill from here so I'm going to shortcut it for you. Her "tail" (as she referred to it) was hurting, but it appeared she had diarrhea. I knew what that meant. Glove up.....it's dig time. I put a pad on the bed, stripped her and rolled her over on her side. Yes.....I dug it out. Didn't call for any reinforcements because there were none, and I knew it. She screamed and I cursed. She slapped me and I popped her back. It was bad ugly. I was mean to her. It was NOT her fault, but if you know me, you know that I hate that sort of thing. God knew not to call me into nursing...... The truly bad thing was after I "dug her out", the oozing began of all the backed up stuff. It was just running. She wasn't doing it, she couldn't control it. I'd get her cleaned up and a fresh diaper and back in the bed, and her diaper would be full and running out the legs. I changed her bed 4 or 5 times in 3 1/2 hours. We went through all her gowns because she kept dragging them through it either on the bed or the commode. She had to change house shoes 3 times because she pulls her legs up in bed and was wagging her shoes through it. I thought she was disappearing from the inside out. It stunk so bad, I gagged and gagged (while there was peace on earth outside her door). I wanted her to sit on the toilet until it stopped. She kept wiping and wiping. She had her bottom bleeding. She was screaming in pain from the raw skin. I finally moved the tissue, the toilet paper, and the wipes, so she would be forced to stop wiping. She just used her hand. YES! and then wiped it on the bed. AUGHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!! The urge to just kill her was getting stronger. It was like she was doing the exact opposite of what I was asking her to do for pure meanness. I did talk very ugly to her which I have asked forgiveness for (and still feel guilty) I was exhausted. It was after midnight and I knew I'd never get up for work the next day, so I finally gave her enough drugs to kill her, put her in the bed, went into the dark living room and cried. I realized that I smelled like it, plus I had sweat like a man, so I took yet another bath and re-washed my hair. I laid in the bathtub and cried and prayed. I was in a very bad place. When I finally hit the bed, my body ached, my head was throbbing, and I was nauseated from the smell. The fear of my killing her with the medicines I gave her sank in. I laid in pain, wide awake for what seemed like hours. I went into work late the next day, and cried all the way. Good grief............
Sorry for the disgusting post, but I promised to be brutally honest. Now go have you a big lunch! Have a brownie, on Mildred.
I must go into detail about a recent event. Let's back up to Tuesday evening. She refused to eat a banana sandwich for supper but would not let me fix her ANYTHING. Fine. She went to bed. Hubby came home and I went to the track for a rousing 3 mile jaunt (great for the stress level). When I came home, she had not been up, so I went about my routine getting ready for bed. I took my bath and washed my hair, pj'd up and got settled on my bed for "Body of Proof" with my heating pad (no, I'm not in shape yet!) It was a good episode, and right smack dab in the middle of it, I hear that infernal sound of her walker. Grrrr.....I figured she just wanted diapers, but no. "Julie, you gotta come help me." "Help you what?" I asked in fear. "I've shit all over the place". KILL ME NOW. Knowing now what I didn't know then, I wish God had just smacked me down dead. Reluctantly, I followed her into her room. The aroma of you-know greeted us as we approached her room. I didn't really see anything much, but smelled it so I knew it was there....somewhere. She had some "skidmarks" on the bed but I found the disgusting treasure in her bedside commode and her garbage can. I emptied them into a garbage bag, tied it up and began stripping her bed. I then took the pot to the bathroom for a thorough cleaning. Garbage emptied, pot clean, bed stripped and remade.....that wasn't so bad. But, she then got on the pot......the story goes bad downhill from here so I'm going to shortcut it for you. Her "tail" (as she referred to it) was hurting, but it appeared she had diarrhea. I knew what that meant. Glove up.....it's dig time. I put a pad on the bed, stripped her and rolled her over on her side. Yes.....I dug it out. Didn't call for any reinforcements because there were none, and I knew it. She screamed and I cursed. She slapped me and I popped her back. It was bad ugly. I was mean to her. It was NOT her fault, but if you know me, you know that I hate that sort of thing. God knew not to call me into nursing...... The truly bad thing was after I "dug her out", the oozing began of all the backed up stuff. It was just running. She wasn't doing it, she couldn't control it. I'd get her cleaned up and a fresh diaper and back in the bed, and her diaper would be full and running out the legs. I changed her bed 4 or 5 times in 3 1/2 hours. We went through all her gowns because she kept dragging them through it either on the bed or the commode. She had to change house shoes 3 times because she pulls her legs up in bed and was wagging her shoes through it. I thought she was disappearing from the inside out. It stunk so bad, I gagged and gagged (while there was peace on earth outside her door). I wanted her to sit on the toilet until it stopped. She kept wiping and wiping. She had her bottom bleeding. She was screaming in pain from the raw skin. I finally moved the tissue, the toilet paper, and the wipes, so she would be forced to stop wiping. She just used her hand. YES! and then wiped it on the bed. AUGHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!! The urge to just kill her was getting stronger. It was like she was doing the exact opposite of what I was asking her to do for pure meanness. I did talk very ugly to her which I have asked forgiveness for (and still feel guilty) I was exhausted. It was after midnight and I knew I'd never get up for work the next day, so I finally gave her enough drugs to kill her, put her in the bed, went into the dark living room and cried. I realized that I smelled like it, plus I had sweat like a man, so I took yet another bath and re-washed my hair. I laid in the bathtub and cried and prayed. I was in a very bad place. When I finally hit the bed, my body ached, my head was throbbing, and I was nauseated from the smell. The fear of my killing her with the medicines I gave her sank in. I laid in pain, wide awake for what seemed like hours. I went into work late the next day, and cried all the way. Good grief............
Sorry for the disgusting post, but I promised to be brutally honest. Now go have you a big lunch! Have a brownie, on Mildred.
Sunday, March 4, 2012
Her Prayer...
(Moma, lying almost upside down in my brown chair, praying to Jesus because she is mad at me for not abandoning my school work to fix her lunch. She ate breakfast 2 hours ago.)
Moma: Jesus.....Jesus.....Send me somebody to love me. Send me a momma. I got a momma, she was sooooooooo good to me. She taught me to love you. She was sooooooo good, Lord. Momma! Momma! Tell Jesus to send me somebody to love me. I want something to eat. Send me somebody good to fix me some dinner and love me. Lord.....If I stood out on the street, could I find me somebody to love me and take me out to eat? Could I? Jesus....Jesus? I am hungry and I want something to eat. Jesus, what can I do? What can I do? (eyes open, and she sits up) I know what I'll do....I'll go sit at the table 'til they fix my dinner!
I finally got up to go fix her lunch. She has complained about being cold all morning, so I figured soup was in store. I fixed it and set it before her. I returned to my school work. She ate 2 bites, and said, "HEY! I don't want this.....I don't like it", and got up and went to her room.
I hate her.
Moma: Jesus.....Jesus.....Send me somebody to love me. Send me a momma. I got a momma, she was sooooooooo good to me. She taught me to love you. She was sooooooo good, Lord. Momma! Momma! Tell Jesus to send me somebody to love me. I want something to eat. Send me somebody good to fix me some dinner and love me. Lord.....If I stood out on the street, could I find me somebody to love me and take me out to eat? Could I? Jesus....Jesus? I am hungry and I want something to eat. Jesus, what can I do? What can I do? (eyes open, and she sits up) I know what I'll do....I'll go sit at the table 'til they fix my dinner!
I finally got up to go fix her lunch. She has complained about being cold all morning, so I figured soup was in store. I fixed it and set it before her. I returned to my school work. She ate 2 bites, and said, "HEY! I don't want this.....I don't like it", and got up and went to her room.
I hate her.
Friday, March 2, 2012
Where is that straight jacket?
I am so tired.....so sick and tired.....of CRAZY! She has been "dying" for days now and hasn't gone any where yet. She screams and cries...."Help me Lord! HELP ME LORD!!!!!!!!!!!" Of course, in the next breath she is cursing. This afternoon she made Rebekah cry. My little mean girl was brought to tears by the 78 pound crazy woman. Now, that is just wrong. It should be the other way around, to make sense, I mean.
She came into the kitchen this afternoon to get something for her head. She claimed it hurt, but then said, "It ain't a hurtin', it's swimmin'" (Get your story straight!). I sent her to bed to lie down so her head would stop hurting, and she would get out of my hair. She began that crazy screaming, and then my name came up. "Julie.....Julie....Julie......Juuuuuullllliiiieeeeeeeeeeee........JUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUULLLLLLLLLLLLIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE" I went into her room. "What?" I simply asked. "Com'ere" I walked over to her bed. She held up her arm she cut a day or so ago. "Put a banday on this". All that screaming for that tiny cut, which is healing, I might add. I put the band-aid on, left the room to only have to repeat the entire performance over a cut on her leg. This time, she changed the story about the cut. She claims to have fallen and cut her foot. I checked. NOPE, same old scabbed over cut on the back of her leg where the dog scratched her. She is doing this thing where if you question her, she gets mad and curses you out. She kept insisting I put something on the cut on her leg first before the band-aid. I put a little Vaseline on it. She went berserk, cursing and screaming at me. "That ain't gone help! DAMN VASELINE!" I wadded up the band-aid wrappers and put them in the trash and walked out. You cannot reason with her, question her, or even have a conversation with her unless you are as freaking crazy as she is. I'm almost there.
She came into the kitchen this afternoon to get something for her head. She claimed it hurt, but then said, "It ain't a hurtin', it's swimmin'" (Get your story straight!). I sent her to bed to lie down so her head would stop hurting, and she would get out of my hair. She began that crazy screaming, and then my name came up. "Julie.....Julie....Julie......Juuuuuullllliiiieeeeeeeeeeee........JUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUULLLLLLLLLLLLIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE" I went into her room. "What?" I simply asked. "Com'ere" I walked over to her bed. She held up her arm she cut a day or so ago. "Put a banday on this". All that screaming for that tiny cut, which is healing, I might add. I put the band-aid on, left the room to only have to repeat the entire performance over a cut on her leg. This time, she changed the story about the cut. She claims to have fallen and cut her foot. I checked. NOPE, same old scabbed over cut on the back of her leg where the dog scratched her. She is doing this thing where if you question her, she gets mad and curses you out. She kept insisting I put something on the cut on her leg first before the band-aid. I put a little Vaseline on it. She went berserk, cursing and screaming at me. "That ain't gone help! DAMN VASELINE!" I wadded up the band-aid wrappers and put them in the trash and walked out. You cannot reason with her, question her, or even have a conversation with her unless you are as freaking crazy as she is. I'm almost there.
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