A Mima Moment

Welcome to the Stress Pool, where everyday is sunny and the water temperature is just right!

I haven't mentioned Mima in quite awhile, mostly because she's in Senior Prison, and truthfully, not much happens there. Well, that's not really true. Apparently, a lot goes on there, and I, for one, am glad to miss most of it! Whenever anyone asks me how she's doing, my standard answer is, "She's full of piss and vinegar."

Mima had a knee replaced two years ago - almost three now. It went badly. She was inhabited by a deep wound infection that ate - yes, ate - the plastic, the tissue, the bone, and the titanium. We were fortunate that she lived. After months of IV drugs and numerous visits to doctors, all was well enough that she could have had it done again, or leave it alone. The orthopedist asked what she'd like to do. She looked at me. I looked at him. "If she was your grandmother, what would you suggest?"

Dr. Eye Candy (yeah, he's all that) patted her hand and said, "If you were my nana, I would tell you to leave it alone." He felt that it was just opening it all to another infection, and secretly, I agreed. So, we went back to Senior Prison, and Mima went to physical therapy.

But, when you're in your early eighties, sometimes you want sympathy more than anything else. "You'll be so proud of me. I stood up for two minutes today."
"That's great, mom, but you've got to work a little harder than that."

Eventually, insurance took her off the physical therapy. If you're not making progress, you don't get to keep going.
"But, I was standing."
"Yes, but you weren't walking."
"I can't. I don't have the strength. How can they expect me to do that if they don't help me get my strength up?"
"Sigh."

She is now eighty-four, and though she cannot walk (or stand), she wields power from that bed. Aides fear her. Nurses question their career paths. Directors steer clear. And, Dietary - well, let's keep that for another day! She never leaves the room, doesn't let them keep the door open, yet she knows pretty much everything that goes on. She can tell me the names of residents who scooch by on their wheel chairs. and the scrapes they get into. She can tell me about the family who visits their person down the hall. It's amazing the information she's able to get. Seriously, if the FBI ever wanted to investigate the place, she's their best bet for a plant.
As I left one evening, I mentioned to the nurse on duty that I heard of the passing of one of the residents, a lovely woman who had once been mom's room mate. "Oh, yeah, she died the other night." Then, she stopped. "Wait, how did you know?"
"Mom told me."
This sweet little woman slapped her hand to her head. "How does she know all this? She never leaves that room, but she knows everything that goes on here!"

Of course, I take my share of abuse. Every Sunday I make my way there, and the visit goes pretty much the same way each time. "Did you bring me clean pajamas?"
"Yes. I just put them in your drawer."
"Did you bring me coffee creamer?  And biscuits?"
"Yes. I'm marking dates on them now." I tear off paper tape from the roll and write her name and dates on everything, then go in search of someone to put them in the refrigerator.
Back in the room. "Did you water my plants?"
"Yes."
"I didn't see you."
"I watered the plants."
Once all the business is taken care of, we can sit and talk. I usually stay a couple hours, tell her crazy things that happen at school or at home. She offers opinions, and then tells me things the aides tell her. "Don't repeat those things."
"Why?"
I frown at her. "That's gossip. Don't repeat stuff. Behave yourself."
"Hmmph."


Yup. That's my mom. It's got to be hard on her, and it's no wonder she's not accepted her station with grace. Or, maybe she has, but it just doesn't seem that way.

 Whenever I get there, she's either playing on her tablet (Christmas gift last year), or listening to books on tape. Sometimes she crochets granny square afghans, but with macular degeneration, that's getting harder for her to do, too. It takes a great amount of courage to accept what she's endured. She's suffered her fair amount of hardships. She misses seeing the family during events, and in general. She often laments the kids don't come around, and I have to remind her that I don't see the older ones much, either, but I see them more than she does. In the end, it's difficult watching someone you love deteriorate and you can't do anything about it. DH's mom had Altzheimer's, but her body was fine. It seems you either get to keep one or the other. I don't know which I'd rather - some days it already feels as if my mind has gone. I swear I meet new people every day, starting with the nice people who walk around my house!

So, in this season of Advent, as we approach the bright days of Christmas, maybe take a few minutes and visit someone who might be lonely, or do something nice for an elder in your life. We all have our own little Stress Pools, even if they're only as big as wading pools. And, if you'd like, weigh in with how good it felt to brighten someone's day.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I have some pajamas to fold. Thanks for dipping your toe in the Pool, and come back soon - I'm trying to get better at posting!