Murdo Girl…Just one pretty flower

https://maryfrancismcninch.com/2023/05/29/murdo-girl-just-one-pretty-flower-3/

Old-timers Disease

By Valerie Halla

When I was young, I was fortunate to have my grandparents and elderly Great Aunts and Uncles around. I liked helping them and listening to them tell stories. Then as I became a teenager, I started to slip away from hanging around older people and didn’t give older relatives nor just old people in general any thought. I even avoided having anything to do with them. Yes, it was mean, but I was young and wanted to be surrounded by fun, energetic, like minded individuals. It wasn’t cool to be seen with wrinkled, gray haired, slow moving people.

You know how hummingbirds zip by when you’re outside and sometimes jerk to a halt midair or randomly watch a stream of water from the hose? That is how I see my time in this life. It zips by quickly and jerks to a stop sometimes briefly. Now I am 70ish and it’s making sense even through my hard headed mind that as you get older the light no matter how dim, comes on. I see now why as I was so young, my elders were trying to still be relevant. Even as they were sliding, slowing down and reaching their golden years they wanted to be a part of our family and society sharing stories from their youth to help we young folks see who they were and where their place in history was, no matter how small a slice they had carved out. Their lives mattered.

I’m hoping I don’t get Alzheimer’s but I guess if you told me I already had it, I wouldn’t know. I would just think that I’m normal anyway. I don’t think any of my grandparents had it. Grandpa Sanderson was very sharp and Grandma had a good sense of humor and always had pies, sauces and food ready for us. A doctor would need to tell me and then it would hit home, if I had Alzheimer’s, and would hit me hard and painfully. Mostly I would feel bad for my family. One cousin told us that when you have Alzheimer’s, you meet the nicest people.

One day when our one son was about 8 years old, we drove by a man in our neighborhood who clearly was walking with difficulty, head bobbing, jerky walk and looking about erratically. He seemed lost. Our son stared out the car window pointing at him and declared, “That man must have old-timer’s disease!” At the time we thought that was a cute way to say it, but later we sobered up. I later called the police to report our concern and they said they would go check on the man. It’s not funny and Alzheimer’s is a serious disease with no cure at present. It mostly affects older people so now that I am 70ish, it’s a possibility the disease could sneak up on me. There is much to worry about now in my later years.

I have a 78 year old friend with many health concerns and she goes for medical tests, infusions for rheumatoid arthritis, CT scans, AFIB and many other things. She almost died from a kidney bleeding this year. When I asked if she has had a colonoscopy she said, “No, never but with all I’m going through health wise I just say, ‘Get in line.‘“

I’m feeling the need to be relevant, to socialize and say hello to people even when young people often don’t say hello back. But I get it. In youth, older adults often don’t count or are off the grid of a twenty-something’s vision for the future. The shoe is on the other foot now when you turn into an old-timer. I am learning that. It’s a different world.

Canine Spelled Backwards by Valerie Halla

If you are going through a tough time in your life, get a dog. If you have a dog, take it for a walk or play with your canine buddy.

If you are depressed, pet your dog for about ten minutes. If you’re depressed and do not have a dog, go by your local animal shelter and sit with a dog. Talk to the sweet animal. It will listen. Trust me. You will feel better and so will the dog. You do not need to adopt the dog, just visit a few times now and then. Or borrow a friend’s dog.

If you’re feeling the need to give to a charity or help your community some way, go volunteer at an animal shelter or foster a dog, or kitten! If you cannot get out and are home bound, donate a little dough or bag of dog food or cat chow.

If you’re overworked, go home to a great friend who will love you unconditionally and wag with unfettered affection as you walk in the door.

I know that’s a long title, but I’m 70ish, so I can have a long title if I think it’s necessary.

I recently saw a quote that gave me pause. It said we should strive to be the kind of person we want to spend the rest of our life with.

I have flaws. I can be unreasonable, reactive, impulsive, and lazy, to name a few. I can do better.

My sweet daughter-in-law gave me a prayer journal, and I think it’s really helping me to become a better person. I try to write in it every day. The prompts encourage me to think about others instead of myself and my perceived needs all the time.

I’m a worrier. I can get deep into the throws of worry. I know in my heart that it is a waste of time and a lot of energy. It’s hard to catch myself  and try to change my thoughts. It’s a habit that I have indulged for many years, so it’s difficult. The point is, I don’t want to spend the rest of my life with a worrier.

I don’t want to spend the rest of my life reliving the past and agonizing over things I wish I’d done differently. I want to spend the rest of my life with someone who smiles more. Someone who looks for and finds the good in people, places, and things. I want to spend the rest of my life with someone who appreciates all the good things in life and looks forward to each day with joy.

I want to spend the rest of my life accepting all that comes with aging. I hope I can walk through the rest of my life with grace and humor.

Who do you want to spend the rest of your life with?

Maybe you know how caring for a cancer patient can be a downer. It also can be complicated with intermittent hope. There are many low dark days sprinkled around. I always have the thought lying dormant way in the back of my mind under the cobwebs, all the dusty memories and brain clutter that this will be over and my husband will be healthy in the future. Somewhere down this dark road with its stop signs, road blocks and speed bumps, we will both come out on the freeway in the fast lane, foot on the gas doing 85 maybe 90 driving a Porsche Boxter convertible. We will be celebrating that this long drive is about over…. No more blood tests, nor Scans, nor video doctor visits, nor immunotherapy, nor meds changing, adjusting and adding and removing. We will be smiling and waving to other people as we pass their cars behind. We will be free. Cured. Alive. Maybe this new life is a possibility. Who can tell? I can’t hear the sound of life’s problems because the wind is whistling in my ears as we drive, and my eyes are staring ahead at the pavement as my mouth is open tasting fresh air as well as fresh bugs. The Porsche keeps transporting me away into a dreamy heavenly ride to a nonexistent destination.

Then I shake off all that dusting of hope, my old mind kinda clears and I look at reality, at the old car in the driveway, no Porsche, and at the calendar on the fridge with its many appointments to come. Sitting in our old car, there is no end to it all looking out the rear view mirror, no other cars and definitely nothing out the pitted, dirty front windshield. I cannot clean it. I’m afraid the cancer is still on the medical records and onto the future and two years of infusion treatments are looming. We have to stick it out. We must drive on. We have to grab the few moments of happiness and not let go. Good memories are back there somewhere. We will always try to call forth those times. However, we have this issue, this problem and we will deal with it.

I have a short trip planned to visit our oldest son this weekend in southern California, and our second son will stay at home with his Dad. I am going to take this vacation to breathe, have fun with my son and go places. I might even pretend I am free for a pinpoint in time. I’ll take my foot off the gas and cruise through a museum, go out for a leisurely coffee and lunch and an extra long dinner out with my son and maybe even have a glass of wine. It will be a break in the routine. Caregivers need to take those breaks. Plus we need to let family help out.

I was watching an old series called BAND OF BROTHERS . Marines lived through horrendous battles and withstood grueling conditions in WWII and one scene showed an officer making a young Marine go back to the medical facility in a safe zone for some R and R, saying even a 24 hour break away from the front lines can help a weary soldier. The results could help prop up a young man’s morale. I’m not saying I have experienced anything like those brave young fighters did, but I’m sure a little respite will help me ten fold. I have an attitude of gratitude for any break I can grab. You should grab one when the opportunity comes, just like the young Marines did pushing themselves to the brink in wartime then getting an officer command them to go to the rear for a brief rest. Caregivers need someone advising them to take a timeout. Go to the rear and recover so you’re ready for the next battlefield because the end is not near.

Kip and I really lead an exciting life. If you don’t believe me, read on.

There were 2 bird feeders in the backyard when we moved into this house. We continued adding birdseed to them and enjoyed seeing all the birds, including a pair of cardinals, come by to partake. And then, we encountered a problem.

We watched the birds through the glass patio door. Our dog Nellie became interested when the squirrels started to enter the backyard enticed by the bird seed.

Nellie hates squirrels and she did not like them in her back yard. She started to bark and cry and jump on the door, so Kip and I set out to remedy the situation.

Our first attempt was to buy what were called squirrel repellent balls. We hung them in bags on the fence and bird feeders. They sort of worked until it rained, and they lost their scent.

Next, we found a fake owl that had a squirrel setting designed to make a sound that would deter squirrels. It was solar powered. We thought it was going to work, but we were kidding ourselves. It was wishful thinking, probably because we had invested $35.00 in it.

Nellie continued to be terrorized by the same two squirrels. By this time, they were getting very bold.

The next thing to come from Amazon was a squirrel trap. It was designed to lure the squirrel inside, and then the door would come down and trap him. We used bird seed for bate.

The trap worked. We trapped both squirrels and let them loose in a big park a couple of miles away. Finally, Nellie was no longer aggravated and irritated by those 2 peskie squirrels.

2 days later, another squirrel showed up…darn!

Our final and lasting solution? We got rid of the bird feeders. Now, we’re without squirrels and birds, and Nellie is bored. So are we.

Resentment by Valerie Halla

As you take care of a terminally sick person over weeks, months, years or even just temporarily, you might become beset with questions like:

Why am I doing this?

How did it come to this? It’s too difficult. I can’t carry on day after day, sometimes not even getting a full nights sleep before the whole job starts over again. Is this Monday or Saturday or does it even matter?I’m working my fingers to the bone. Worse yet, I can’t feel my fingers.

What did I do to deserve this?

How did I go wrong? I didn’t volunteer to be a caregiver. I’m not trained for this. I don’t know what I’m doing. I’m working like a stevedore. I’m too old for this.

Can I take a nap? Can I just walk out the door and never return? Don’t I deserve to be on a beach somewhere just lazing in the sun, cold drink in hand?

The ill person that I take care of doesn’t even seem to appreciate what I am doing sometimes. They don’t always thank me. What makes the situation even worse, is that I am now feeling ticked off when I’m supposed to be patient, kind, caring and helpful. Instead I’m feeling full of resentment toward the person and the situation I’ve been thrust into. I’m working hard but I’m supposed to be retired. I do not want a job at 70ish.

Resentment is a mean word. It can fester and grow and be like cancer- tough to fight and tough to eliminate from your mind and body. It makes me feel guilty that it’s come upon me…now…in my Golden Years.

I was talking to someone recently who had cared for a loved one with a different disease, Alzheimer’s. He said sometimes the patient would lash out at him, be rude, mean, irritable, almost violent. The more we chatted, it came to the surface that these people who are terminally ill, are feeling trapped and angry. They’re in a bad place. It seems hopeless to them. They don’t understand nor do they try to after a while. Hope fades and we caregivers need to just try to keep some positive vibes going no matter how dire the circumstances. But it’s not simple. You cannot blame these ill people. They feel trapped as can caregivers.

I have no answers. I have a few suggestions. Just know that if you’re a caregiver currently or have been one, it’s normal to feel resentful. When it falls upon you, seek help. Even a telephone call to a friend or relative will help. Vent, gripe, complain and let your feelings out. If someone can give you a break, take it. It’s normal to feel this way.

This too shall pass.