The Evolution of Women's Medicine as Seen in My Purse

I stuck my hand in my purse to fish for something the other day. When I drew it back out, some kind of goo was all over my entire hand. What? I look inside. Ahhhh...some Junior Mints from the movie last week. Yes, I sneak candy into movies -sometimes.

Anyway, I set about to clean the deep recesses of my purse. As I upend the purse to shake out the contents, I remembered that a bottle of Midol had spilled inside a few weeks back. So now there were melted Junior Mints and Midol tablets stuck all over the lining of my purse. As I was unsticking and cleaning everything, I saw that several of the Midol tablets had almost completely combined with the melted candy. Hmmmm...random genius! Chocolate candy-coated Midol tablets.

I am going to be rich! This idea has legs - unshaven, bloated legs. Chocolate-craving, cramping demands for deliciously dipped menstrual relief will be heard around the world!

Now all I have to do is get past the FDA. If I can campaign to pack the advisory counsel with pre-menstrual women, I can get this fast tracked and be filthy rich by the end of the year!

One can dream...

I Don't Want to be All Wet

I made a pledge to pay more attention to the Words than the waves.

In the book of Matthew and the story of Jesus walking on the water, Peter wants to walk on the water, too. Jesus simply says, "Come." Peter, with no effort, walks on the water. When he obeys Jesus' commandment, Peter simply, but miraculously, walks on water, but when he gives his attention to the wind, waves and storm, Peter sinks.

Through this very difficult time with my children, I want to pay more attention to Jesus' Words than the waves of the storm. I want the miracle of restoration, the simplicity of obedience. I want the unity of the relationship of family.

It is easier said than done.

Healthcare vs. Heartcare

I recently went through my mom’s rapid illness and death. Initially, we thought mom had some pain issues or heart issues, or respiratory problems or arthritis. After going from specialist to specialist and back to the general practitioner and back out again to even more specialists, we finally came to the awful discovery that mom was suffering from dementia.

Growing up, I never had to crack a dictionary if I didn’t want to. Mom knew the definition and etymology of every word. Her penmanship was perfect. She could add columns of numbers quickly and put out a spread sheet that looked like Excel in cursive. She could organize any group of parents, neighbors or citizens. This woman had a sharp mind, made sharper by an army of nuns some of whom also played basketball – I love that image.

My mom also came from a family of round folks who fried and frosted anything that stood still. She had a massive heart attack in her 50’s. They found then that she had genetically malformed arteries throughout her body. My mom would probably die of a fried chicken induced heart attack. She would NOT lose her sharp wit, her well-exercised mind. That’s what I thought.

From September 2008 to January 2009, my mom’s mind moved through the stages of Alzheimer’s at a pace that amazed all her doctors. It left us running after her down the street as she ran away from caretakers and explaining why she could NOT brush her teeth with Bengay or use Fix-a-dent as hair gel.

I became my mom’s caretaker. My brother and I tried to care for her every need as she declined. He took care of all the money and business and I took care of her emotional and physical needs.

My mother’s first hospitalization during her illness caused her to completely lose her speech, ability to walk and eat. We learned that this is not unusual for dementia patients. I had never seen or heard of this before. I requested every test. I read every report. I pursued every specialist. I read everything I could get my hands on. I did not leave her until I had to ask for help so I could go home and sleep. After days of testing, exam after exam, waiting for reports, waiting for diagnosis, I realized that after three days, she had not really eaten or had very much fluid. I asked a nurse what they were going to do about getting her fed and hydrated. Honestly, they acted like they hadn’t even thought about it.

This was the first time I realized that the elderly, and particularly the demented, often were allowed to deteriorate because of this little thing called “quality of life.”

I admit I was very naive about this; although, my mother was very adamant about this all her life. She had a living will, a health care directive and had discussed all this with my brother and I. She did not want to be a burden. She did not want to be a vegetable. Honestly, she made all kinds of brave statements about the fact that she wanted a “quick” death.

Here’s the problem: She was demented now. If she could be physically healthy, but her mind was lost, what did that mean? She wasn’t a “burden” to me. I wanted to care for her. She wasn’t a vegetable, or she wouldn’t be if the doctors and hospital would give the care she needed, even if it was difficult and she wasn’t very cooperative.

She had money, she had a slew of insurances and insurances for her insurances. So now what?

I wasn’t getting the many different hints from the nurses and doctors when they would ask me about what the family’s wishes were for her “quality of life.” I am of the opinion that Life is Life. The quality or the determination of “quality” was not ours to decide. I kept asking about her nutrition needs and hydration and they kept sending people in to talk about “quality of life.”

I finally realized that while I was asking them about when and how they intended to feed and hydrate my mom, they were trying to get me to decide IF I REALLY WANTED TO FEED AND HYDRATE HER! I was mad! Yes, feed her! Yes, hydrate her! I don’t care why you can’t figure out what’s wrong with her; give her what she needs to live! She and I will figure out the rest!

I could understand not relentlessly beating on her chest if her heart failed while in this condition, I could understand not hooking her up to a machine that would function for her, but she was not hooked up to anything. She just couldn’t talk or stand up. Only weeks earlier she had put in a brick pathway in her backyard! Her house was immaculately clean, she did everything herself.

Unfortunately, as the days and weeks went by, she continued to suffer setbacks with her heart and multiple simple system failures, nothing huge, but they were cumulative. Mom declined in her mind more every day. But she also spent time with her family, talked with her grandkids about that which was very clear to her – her childhood. The kids loved it. Especially since much of it was uncensored because of her condition. (Stories for another time.) Her sister came to see her. She had some really nice days. She blessed us, we blessed her. Quantify that!

My experience makes me very concerned about the rationing of healthcare. The doctors and nurses who only knew my mother as a seriously demented woman with multiple health problems, had their own opinions about what kind of “treatment” she should have and thereby how long she lived. As her daughter, I knew HER. Days and months didn’t matter to them: They matter to me more than words can express.

Through all of the medical mazes that mom and I passed through during her illness, in the end, I was usually right about what she needed. The doctors looked at their charts; I looked at my mom’s eyes. The insurance company looked at the bills, I looked at a woman who wanted to eat Fry’s macaroni salad and have her nails painted, even if she couldn’t remember the word “pink.”

Although her last days contained unimaginable difficulties due to the cruel damage to her brain, they also contained much laughter, sweet kisses, heart-melting confessions, and life-changing secrets revealed. I would fight to the end for those days. My heart will heal from the pain, but my heart would not be as full now without all of it.

The government should stay out of these decisions. I would fight. I will fight. Whatever it takes.

Another Branch of Business

We have started our fourth business.

I have told people I've always felt like God was always blowing my nest out of the tree.

Just when we finally had a thriving business, it was taken all away this week. Our accounts were from a government entity and they decided to give all the accounts to another company who came from out of state.

Now we move on. My husband is a craftsman. He's very talented.

I've re-discovered author, Ann Kiemel. She is a perfect example of someone who's nest is forever being blown out of a tree. In the end, she always finds a way to praise the Lord.

No other way seems best. I will praise the Lord, for He is worthy. I trust in Him.

Now, let me see if I can find another branch.

Scarlett O'Hara Rocks

I haven’t posted for a while because life and my mind have gotten in the way.

I intended not to embarrass myself doing this blog.

That hasn’t gone too well.

I come back to posts and think: Who wrote this?

My intended points seem to dissipate after a short time.

How can I really communicate to others when I cannot even identify with something I’ve written after a period of time?

Scarlett O’Hara wins again: I’ll think about that tomorrow.

Mental Illness for Dummies

There's a joke that I love:
First Man: "Are you suffering from mental illness?"
Second Man: "No, I'm enjoying it."

I read a book once that proffered a philosophy that maintains there cannot be "disease" of the mind. Since the "mind" is not a tangible thing, it cannot have a disease. That made sense to me.

So, what am I to do with my contention that I have mental illness? I think I can prove I do.

Here is some proof:
1. My mind gets a fever: I get heated up about a lot of things I only think about.
2. My mind gets fatigued: I get so tired just thinking about certain things.
3. My mind coughs: I can be thinking of one thing and then instantly, out of no where - "Cough!" - I have a spasm and my mind spews junk.

This is not scientific, but it is one of my theories.

At this time, I don't know what could cure or help the Common Mind Cold. But it would be nice if someday I could find the equivelant to NyQuil for the mind.

Actually. Come to think of it, Nyquil actually does help a little...

Address Book of Life

Two people in my cell phone contacts are no longer living.

It's the same problem I have with my address book.

Once, I drew a line through someone's name who died.

Everytime I looked at it, it seemed like such a cold thing to do.

I always write my addresses in pencil to make changes easier.

I've tried erasing names, but usually I can still see the name.

It seems ghostly.

I've tried writing, "Died" with the date. That seemed more memorial.

This week a friend died in childbirth.

For some reason, I went right to my cell phone contacts and looked at her number.

I thought, "Now what am I going to do?"

If I delete it, it will be gone forever.

I left it there.

I then checked to see if mom's number was still there.

It was.

I left it, too.

I think one day, I will feel comfortable not transfering them to the next phone and address book.

Not yet.

Kerry Martin was a lovely wife, a fantastic public servant and a joy to be around. Although she was only able to mother little Austin as he grew in her womb, she still was a great mother, too.