WHEN YOU GOTTA TAKE THE KEYS AWAY by Valerie Halla

It’s inevitable and most likely that a cancer patient will have his/her driving privileges taken away. My husband had seizures a few months after being diagnosed with metastatic brain cancer so the doctor had to let the DMV know and they suspended his license. We never questioned this nor followed up to check if his license was intact or revoked permanently or temporarily. We were just glad medication was prescribed that halted the frightening crippling seizures. Driving wasn’t important.

However, being the nice person I am, I never took away my husband’s car key fob. It sat on the counter and once when I was out with friends, my husband took the fob and escaped and drove to the larger town 10 miles away. He got lectured by me when he returned. He could’ve gotten in an accident and killed someone. Our insurance costs could sky rocket. I thought it was over. He wouldn’t cheat again. Then a few weeks ago he really started to improve his walking and talking abilities. We attributed it to the steroids he had started. I was having a colonoscopy and foolishly didn’t set up any friend or neighbor to drive me home. You guessed it. I had Ken drive me home. He did well. But after admitting to my daughter, since she asked who drove me home, I got the totally royal, “you are guilty, Mom, this is your adult-kid-lecture and you should be ashamed treatment”. WOW. ZOW. POW.

All three of our adult kids told me to hide his key fob so I finally did. It’s in the cupboard in Great Grandma’s gravy boat. I don’t think my husband will be making gravy in the near future and find it.

Other people have been telling me stories of how they had to take charge and hide a loved one’s keys. My Grandpa Sanderson was in his nineties when his two sons talked to him first and then had to take his car away. He was reasonable. They put his car in the driveway of one of their homes. He knew it was safe. He took it well. He told us that he was driving the interstate once and fell asleep at the wheel of his white Ford. He woke up to find himself on the shoulder of the busy highway. He often drove up one side of the burm of a road and down the other side pretty recklessly . It had been apparent to many of us that he shouldn’t be driving for a long time, but someone had to make the final decision. It’s for the best. Some people take it calmly and others fight it. No matter; it far surpasses the alternative of killing yourself or someone else in an accident.

Aunt Loretta knew, too. She had not driven much in Southern California having been a country gal and used to the more tame roads and highways of South Dakota. Moving to California was a big change. She went to get donuts one morning and accidentally drove onto a ramp heading onto one of the busiest Southern California freeways in the state. It was rush hour. It was crazy. She was ill prepared to say the least. She got in one lane and tried to maneuver into a slower lane but California drivers don’t know slow. She panicked and tried using the blinker to get over to the right and exit. Drivers don’t always let you get over and you’re often stuck in a lane going insane. (There are about a thousand lanes on CA freeways.)She swore to herself that if she got off the freeway and back home again, she would never drive again. And she didn’t. No one had to take her keys. She surrendered them gladly.

If you know someone maybe close to you who shouldn’t be driving, please talk to them. Follow the little voice inside you which might give you advice or a warning to take the responsibility of making your community safe by making an unsafe driver stop driving – at least temporarily. The unsafe driver may not even realize they aren’t capable of driving. Or maybe you can talk it over with a friend, your pastor or a relative who can give you counsel on taking the keys away. It’s also done with drinking and driving situations. Take the keys and take an unsafe driver off our streets.

THINGS GET LOOSER IN YOUR SEVENTIES

By Valerie Halla

I’m not one to write toilet humor nor about disgusting physical failings that are often unmentionable but it hits us all including my dog. Incontinence is no fun.

One morning recently it seemed like my life was full of cleanups. I had to help my husband, who has melanoma brain cancer, to the bathroom but he didn’t make it in time. In fact I already had two pair of his sweatpants in the wash from previous accidents. So I did a couple loads of laundry then went to check the dog pad on our front room floor. What a mess met me there as I looked on the floor. Nincompoop had peed not only on top of the pad but urine had flowed under the edge of the pad also. It was a poodle – er – puddle of wetness. She had also let loose over in a corner on the hardwood floor and then moved onto an electric cord with poop. She was living up to her name! It was poop galore. It was one dirty mess after another. It was stinky. It was ugly. It was old age.

I started the cleanup, all the while knowing my old dog can’t help it since she’s almost 13. It was not only incontinence in my husband’s case but also in my dog’s. It might hit us all. We might have to clean it up for ourselves or get help. The physical therapist who helped my husband said to use briefs. I remembered my mom calling them “adult diapers”. It did sound kinder to say “briefs.”Accidents in our 70’s do happen, so briefs are insurance. You pay for it not just for your car or house or boat, but just in case an accident happens even in embarrassing circumstances with loose bowels or kidneys. Although it’s more fun to think of your car, house or boat needing insurance instead of your pants.

I’m not an expert at discussing the medical aspects of incompetence or incontinence or incompleteness or infidelity or any “in” words. A lot is being done for we 70ish kids in the medical field. If you have incontinence, see your doctor. If your dog has it, see a vet or buy doggie diapers…uh…. briefs. Your dog won’t care what you call them. Just don’t let it go, so to speak. You don’t want to be in a store with a puddle suddenly surrounding you on the floor. Nor do you want your dog lifting his leg on a stranger’s pants. My mom used to say, “You can’t teach an old dog new tricks.” That’s true about people also. I will probably have trouble learning to use briefs but when that day comes, I’m sure things like muscles won’t he so strict and tight. I’m sure things will be loose and flowing along. Just go with it the best you can. And seek help.

It’s just a part of life in our 70’s. Our body parts get looser and our brains get weaker. You can take care of yourself by exercising more and eating right but research shows that socializing also is a big benefit to anti-aging. My Aunt Loretta used to discuss either taking care of her figure or her face but she couldn’t do both she said, so she was going to sit around mostly. She had a strong social network and was great at socializing. Nowadays there are even armchair exercises and physical therapists who can help you tighten those muscles. There are apps to help you find the nearest restrooms if you’re traveling and need to get to one fast. There are portable commodes to put next to your bed and I could go on but just know that you’re not alone in this incontinence problem. (You’re not even safe laughing at a good joke.)

My cousin on my Dad’s side who is ten years older, told me she got a nice set of bowls as a gift for her first wedding long ago. She was writing her thank you notes, like we did in the 1950’s, and wrote to the gift giver: Thank you for the pretty bowels.

Here’s hoping our bowels are pretty and work for a while longer.

BLESSED WITH THIRTEEN by Valerie Halla

Being an only lonely child growing up, I was in kid mode heaven when I slowly realized I had 12 cousins on my Mom’s side. We would visit South Dakota in the 1950’s and 1960’s driving for days from Pennsylvania where we lived and my whole world opened up like a combo- Disneyland with friends welded onto a “toy store” of family members my age, all in one, with love, fun and life showering down on me. It was magical. It was life changing. It was grand. Cousins were a life saver.

I used to want to play nonstop outdoors with kids in my suburban neighborhood growing up in Pennsylvania, but they often got called home or went inside to play with their brothers and sisters. I was alone with all this juvenile energy and a huge imagination, but there weren’t always other kids around. It got lonely.

Until I met 12 amazing humans as a kid on one trip to South Dakota during a family reunion in Murdo who I happily discovered were my cousins.

Terry is the oldest of the 13 cousins and my first impression of him as a kid about 10 years younger than him was how tall he was. He grew up in Murdo as an only child. He liked fishing, hunting and playing sports. As a young adult, he had one of the first Volkswagen bugs we had ever seen in smalltown Murdo. We all stared at the car since all we had ever seen were Fords, Chevys and GM cars. After getting his college education, he became a banker.He married a wonderful woman and went on to have four sons and lots of grandkids. He lives in Sioux Falls, South Dakota.

The next oldest cousin is Bill. I didn’t get to know Bill too well until he was tasked with taking me to the movies one warm summer night when we were visiting South Dakota, as my Mom visited with her parents and brothers and sisters. Bill paid for us, got popcorn and snacks and we started to watch an old King Kong movie at the little movie theater. I only saw part of King Kong. I was terrified looking up at the big screen as the eye of King Kong looked through a window of a building. Hey, it was just a scene in the movie but it reached out from the screen and shook me up. I was about 8 years old and I hadn’t seen any scary movies ever. I started crying and Bill tried to calm me down to no avail. I was interrupting everyone in the small town Murdo Theater. Bill somehow got me outside and someone called my Mom and Aunt Loretta who came and got me. Bill was happy to get rid of me and went back to watch the rest of the movie. I didn’t realize it until later that Bill was one of my closest friends when I was a toddler even though we both were too young at the time. He would be dropped at our apartment above Sanderson’s store where Grandma and Grandpa lived across the hall and they were supposed to babysit him, however Grampa would be napping. My Dad had to entertain Bill. Bill was a fun “big brother” type cousin and good with engaging people and telling stories. He lives in Los Angeles and has two children.

Jeff H comes next. He’s the oldest of Uncle Jeff and Aunt Irma’s two children. We called him Jeff H to distinguish him from his dad. Jeff H and I didn’t get to know one another at all since he seemed to be working on highway construction during summers or at his family store or playing sports. My parents thought he was a cute little boy when they were living in Murdo after the war. They even babysat sometimes. He said things they thought were funny when he was just a little toddler like calling deer “dur” and saying someone got “drosted” meaning hit with rocks and dirt. Jeff as a young adult took me to a dance in Draper once with another highway worker and the two guys pretty much ignored me. I don’t think I got asked to dance once. The big excitement was when a fistfight started out front. Jeff went into banking for many years and loves fishing. Jeff has one daughter and lives in Minnesota.

Bobby and his brother and two sisters didn’t live in South Dakota but were born in Michigan since their father got a job with a division of GM there many years ago. When Bobby and his brother and sisters came for summer visits to Murdo often, we would just see each other off and on. He would go fishing a lot with Grandpa and the guy cousins and I would stay to play with other cousins or take care of a litter of kittens that popped up in the neighborhood. Bobby would hang out with the men cousins and uncles and Grandpa.

We cousins would act out skits or sing songs like Purple People Eater or Yellow Polka Dot Bikini to perform under Grandma and Grandpa’s trees in their yard where it was cool. The younger neighborhood kids and cousins would be our audience. I really only got to know Bobby when we were preteens and everyone in Murdo thought he was so cute. He could have charmed the girls easily with his good looks and personality. Also in later years we would meet at family reunions. He has volumes of information and archival materials on our family tree. He’s written loads of papers on our family history and done research interviewing relatives and friends of our families. He’s good at genealogy. Bobby is an accomplished highly intelligent human being and worked at Buick for decades. He’s our family historian. He is also kind, caring and generous. Bobby has three sons. He lives in South Dakota.

Blake is Bobby’s younger brother and they don’t look alike but they’re close in age. Blake had rheumatic fever when he was a kid, I think. Our mothers wrote letters back and forth when the families were young and I remember my Mom being worried about her sister’s son, Blake. I didn’t know Blake very well either until he was married and bought a house in California. He invited my parents and I over to their big house and Aunt Loretta and Gus also. I went once when my kids were little. Everyone got dressed up because to my parents, it was a big deal going to Blake and Melanie’s. Another big deal was when Blake and Melanie bought an old building in Deadwood and after years of renovation opened it as an historic hotel with a ballroom on the top floor. It’s a quaint boutique hotel and walking inside, you’re taken back to the 1860’s or thereabouts. Blake has a lovely wife and three adult children. He has some funny stories about Grandpa Sanderson, as we all do. Blake lives in Deadwood, SD and sometimes in Michigan.

Cousin Andrea is six months older than me and you cannot find a more honest, trustworthy, beautiful lady. When we were toddlers together in Murdo, the local hairdresser nicknamed her “bug eyes” because she has large brown eyes that stare unflinchingly at you and I was nicknamed “pickle puss” since I loved sour dill pickles from Sanderson’s Store. We partly grew up together and when my family had left South Dakota for my Dad’s home state of Pennsylvania for about ten years and moved back to South Dakota, Andrea and I were in 7th and 8th grade together. What a pair. I copied everything she wore, how she talked, walked, and terms she used. She always said she tried to be different and I was totally following her by NOT being different at all. Andrea went on to become a popular student and was Homecoming Queen . She was close to her family and loved going skiing with them out on local dams after her Dad bought a boat. She had organized the cousins to sing carols at the annual Christmas get together one time which was a lovely tradition. The Murdo families all got together to open gifts and eat delicious food at a potluck. The aunts and uncles took turns having the celebration at each others home. Later in life, Andrea helped with her younger brother, Greg, to build a motel in town and a doll museum. She’s a successful businesswoman and a strong woman both in her community in Pierre, and in her beloved state of South Dakota. She has two sons and one stepdaughter and lots of grandchildren . She lives in Pierre.

PART 2

Next, we have yours truly. I am Valerie, in the seventh position among the 13 cousins. I’m honored and in awe of being in the Sanderson Cousin Clan of 13. I am a baby boomer, born in Pierre, South Dakota and raised in Murdo and the suburbs of Pennsylvania then back again briefly to SD then to California for high school. The surfer craze was on then, and the turbulent ‘60’s had started. I went to college and got my teaching credential. I taught for 34 years and now I’m enjoying retirement life having a good time. I have 3 children and live in California.

Mark comes next as younger brother to Jeff H. He grew up in Murdo and played in the high school band. His parents were well known and active in the community. Mark had the best yard for kids. He had a hut playhouse, a treehouse, a big stock tank to swim in, a barrel hanging up to ride and Uncle Jeff made rubber band type play guns for us. Mark grew up involved in school with perfect attendance. He went off to college and studied business. He traveled around a bit, then bought a place out in the country and got busy remodeling and rebuilding a partially constructed house there. He and I biked out there decades ago and looked it over. I kept feeling like he was planning on something big. It was a mystery to me. He was being secretive. He was planning a life changing adventure. He built a motel out in the country. Many years later now he lives there part of the year after also having a successful business in California which he eventually sold. Mark enjoys managing and maintaining his Country Inn with its beautiful prairie setting, indoor pool, and many unique rooms he rents out to travelers, many of whom return year after year to stay at his motel. Mark lives in California and South Dakota.

Mary is just a few weeks younger than Cousin Mark. She’s the younger sister of Bill. I remember first seeing her, a darling little girl with her dark hair in curly ringlets, bouncing along on her pony Governor. I didn’t know if the curls were bouncing more or the pony. As she grew up we all learned how cute she was and strong willed, talented and imaginative. We tried playing Rawhide together when we were about 10 and 12, she on her horse and me borrowing Mark’s horse, Prince. We were trying to herd dairy cattle one warm summer day. We lazily settled out in a pasture, not a care in the world, not only were we trespassing but we were running another man’s cows without permission. That already meant trouble. Mary and I in our youthful wisdom decided she would ride back to town to get us food and water. I would stay with the saddle which I had removed from Prince as the horse munched grass. I would faithfully wait for Mary to return and I waited, and waited , and waited. Mary didn’t return and I was getting thirsty plus I wondered if rattle snakes were out there on the prairie with me just lying around in the grass. Duh. She never returned because she got distracted and decided to play with other kids and forgot about me, until my mom drove around looking for me and ran into Mary. Luckily my dear mom found me after Mary gave her directions. After that I wasn’t ready to play Rawhide again no matter what Mary said. Lucky for us we didn’t get in trouble with the law, Rawhide or no Rawhide. Mary was a true Murdo Girl and later wrote her own blog with fantastic stories of growing up in a small town with lots of relatives around to keep you honest. Mary lives in Texas and doesn’t own any horses nor cows. She has four kids.

Stephanie was the younger sister of Andrea. She was a beautiful little blue eyed girl who grew up in Murdo. She had a talent for organizing people and bringing them together. She broke her tailbone as a cheerleader in high school and worked hard to organize a large pep rally to cheer on the team. She met her husband in college and he became a doctor and she worked as an EMT. They had three girls. Stephanie worked for Governor Janklow. She also helped her community financing Dolly Parton’s movement and getting free books to children from birth to age 5. There is a Stephanie Miller-Davis Day held in Murdo in her honor for all she’s done for the library and community. She and her sister, Andrea, organized several Sanderson Family Reunions in the Black Hills which were fun, well done and a chance for our families to come together from far and wide. Stephanie was liked by all who met her.

Suanne is the younger sister of Bob and Blake. We cousins who didn’t know one another rarely met up since she lived in Michigan most of her life until she and husband Ray decided to sell their house in Michigan and move out to the Black Hills where she helped her brother for a while. Later she helped other businesses in Deadwood. Suanne took care of her mother for many years. She’s a caring, intelligent and family person. She and husband Ray have settled into life in the Hills ambitiously building two houses. In retirement she is active with the Animal Shelter in Deadwood. She has always loved horses so they have acreage for horses and their umpteen dogs. She lives in a lovely area outside Spearfish.

Cousin Greg is 5 months younger than Suanne. He was born on June 26, 1955. The first time I met Greg, who is six years younger than me, he was hiding behind an easy chair in the living room of Aunt Elna and Uncle Jerry’s cozy house. He was tiny and thin with big eyes like his sister Andrea’s, and he didn’t say anything to the group of strange relatives descended upon him all giggling and talking at this little toddler. It was our first introduction to Greg since we lived in Pennsylvania and visited South Dakota every two years.After we all had given up coaxing him out from behind the easy chair, out of the blue we hear, “Gum, gum?” He finally talked. So his Mom- my dear Aunt Elna – gave him a tiny bit from a stick of gum. That broke the ice. He was shy but could be bribed. I’m not sure if he’s like that today but I do know he was a musician, a skilled carpenter, and a successful businessman and father and grandfather, on and on. I didn’t get to know him real well. He’s always there when we visit. He’s usually so busy with Range Country Motel that we don’t get to chat. I need to take care of that. I need to get to know Greg better. He has three grown kids and multiple grandkids. He lives in Murdo, a solid member of that community.

Last and not least of all we have the “baby” of the 13 Sanderson cousins, Patrice, who goes by Trice. She’s the youngest in her family of four kids also. She had a gorgeous wedding at her folks’ home years ago, at least it looked romantic from the pictures. She has three talented adult children and lives in Illinois. When she was a little kid on a regular visit to South Dakota with her family, somehow Trice and her sister, Suanne, were riding in the backseat with Grandpa Sanderson. He had his fishing rods and tackle box on the front seat. I guess they were going fishing together. Grandpa in his later years would talk away nonstop telling stories and pointing out certain places on the ride, all the while turning to look in back at the two grandchildren who were starting to look concerned, if not frightened. He would drive down dirt roads taking his big old car up the sides, into ruts and holes in the country road and then down into ditches at top speed. The girls were holding on for dear life in the back seat and wondering what they had gotten into. After a long ride finally getting back to where their folks were with all the other relatives, my Mom, their Aunt Ella, said, “You didn’t ride in the back seat with Grandpa- did you?”

The girls replied that they had. They were still pretty pale and shocked.

My Mom said, “Don’t ever ride in back with Grandpa, it’s dangerous because he constantly turns around to give you a long running monologue!”

Trice and Suanne replied together, “Now you tell us!”

*Those are write ups on my 12 cousins each of whom I am proud to say are related to me. How can I be so lucky?

If I’ve made errors, please let me know. I tried to recall my memories of all 12 cousins and being 70ish, some recollections are hazy and blurred. Plus being a Sanderson, I have embellished and skewed lots of facts. Forgive me.

I am truly blessed to have these cousins in my lifetime.

What a great group that I’m happy to call my cousins.

COLONOSCOPY: FUN TIMES AHEAD IN THE HEAD

By Valerie Halla

When I was a teenager, we thought we were cool calling the restroom “the head”. My high school friends and I would meet up in the head at school. We would check our hair, our clothes, our makeup and spend lots of time there gossiping and joking around. It was fun. I don’t think we went in the stalls at all. Little did I know that sixty years later I would still be hanging out in the bathroom but it wasn’t fun, not even close to being fun.

I had the prep last week for the “sit on the toilet marathon”. So much fake fun. If you have never had a colonoscopy, get ready for two days of not eating, going nonstop, and prepping until you cannot believe how your body can poop anymore. This all takes two days. You can’t count it as sick leave, and not vacation time off. It’s the opposite.

Picture this if you haven’t experienced the fun of it all: imagine you drank a quart of prune juice, after which you ate half a watermelon, then drank a bottle of Milk of Magnesium, followed up with a bowl of sauerkraut and a gallon of apple juice. That comes close to describing what the outcome would be. It’s a moving experience.

You cannot eat anything the entire day before the colonoscopy procedure. You can have clear liquids and jello but only two flavors, lime or lemon. You can also drink clear store bought broth. For a treat I drank clear black tea and snuck into that a few granules of sugar, feeling like I was doing some major cheating and I was oh so bad. I gave a muffled chuckle just to make myself feel good like I was doing something against the rules. Who would know the difference? After you do that most of the day, you can drink a gallon of the prescribed prep in the afternoon drinking 8 ounces every 15 minutes, and you start drinking that after taking three Dulcolax. It’s Laxative Party time. This prep drink stuff tastes like filtered ocean water with fake lemon flavoring thrown in and an added touch of salty soy sauce and dirt to give it a punch, right in the gut. My stomach was gurgling and sloshing around almost immediately. It was so loud, I couldn’t hear myself think. It was like my brain surrendered to my intestines and stomach.

Then the real fun in the “head” starts. I won’t bore you with the ugly details but it can get messy. Often I didn’t make it to the throne. I decided after a lot of cleanup that I would just sit on the commode and drink my cocktails every 15 minutes from there. I should have installed a safety belt because a few times I almost keeled over. I thought of installing a wide screen TV in my bathroom but the room was too small.

To make this fascinating story any better or worse, just know that I didn’t drink the entire gallon prep but I got most of it down. After three baths I went to bed with two big towels spread out on the bed under me. I changed my pants, pajamas and anything I touched about five times. The washing machine was on overtime duty. I woke up at 3:00 am and visited my comfy bathroom again and put more T paper on the holder. The next day we drove to the endoscopy center for the prep, anesthesia and recovery. We were there about 3 hours. Soon after waking up from the anesthesia, I was glad to chat with the doctor and have her declare I was polyp free. I had a nice 45 minute sleep courtesy of the anesthesiologist and I was ready to go and not to any restroom any time soon.

Don’t ask me what that means medically speaking but it sounded like good news – polyp free. I was ready to just get in the car and head for home to eat. I did head to the head for a few more trips. If you’re still reading this, don’t be scared. This procedure saves lives allowing your doctor to find any intestinal problems before they get seriously bad. After all, giving two days out of your life not eating and sitting in your bathroom is well worth the comfort of knowing you are having the best possible test for your health and well being. Colonoscopies save lives.

Besides that, I have had a brilliant idea. I think I will totally remodel my bathroom now and paint it a chocolate brown shade. Do commodes come in brown? Hmm.

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.

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.

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.

Uncalled for Comments Met with Apology, Respect and Rewards by Valerie Halla

I’m still a caregiver and I’m still learning about how to deal with giving up my time for the 24/7 job of helping another person through a cancer diagnosis and I’m learning every day that people can be angels- sweet angels on earth.

Another major lesson I am gradually getting pounded into my tired little brain is: take a break now and then. Now sooner than then, because I’m no spring chicken. I’m not even a summer nor fall chicken. Maybe more like a winter chicken in that time of year when the snow is piling up in drifts all around me. So it is necessary to hit the ground looking for people who can help me enjoy life and shovel off the snow drifts, to have a little down to earth, friend’s fun time.

A few months back I thought i needed to stay home and not go out because my caregiving responsibilities did not allow for time out. More recently I am definitely taking some breaks. Today I met an old friend, whom I’ve known since the 1960’s. We met up at our local coffee shop for just an hour which was packed with catching up and opening up. But before that, something sweet and refreshing happened. Something which showed me how wrong I can be.

I was waiting in line to order a hot drink, standing in front of a tall young man who had a serious expression and looked straight over my head, He was maybe 35 with a trim haircut and a young nondescript face. At my age everyone looks young. As I stood there in front of the stranger, waiting, my friend of 70ish years walked stiffly through the door and got behind this young man. She was obviously struggling with arthritis. I turned to hug her first asking this man if she could skip ahead in line to stand with me. We were already jabbering about seeing one another.

.He said, “As long as it’s quick.”

I said to him, “You know, just go ahead of me in line.” As he stepped hurriedly in front of me, I hugged my dear friend and said, in a disgusting voice “These younger generations!” I was being critical and was hopeful he hadn’t heard me. My friend and I started talking again and smiling since we hadn’t seen each other in over a year. I wanted to have a serious conversation also with her because she didn’t know my husband had melanoma brain cancer and I needed to let her know.

Just as we turned to place our order, the smug young man finished ordering, then he stopped, looking at us and said, “Hey, what would you ladies like?” holding up his credit card. “I was rude, so sorry and tell me what you want to order…a drink, any food? I’m buying.”

We were flabbergasted beyond flabber and gasted.

“Uhhh, what do you want, Madeline?” I stammered.

“That’s very nice of you! I’ll have a hot tea, a black hot tea”

Looking up at him I said, “I’ll take a tea also, the same.“

He then suggested,”Any food?”

We both said, “No thank you. This is very kind of you”

Madeline added, “This is a big deal for two old ladies!”

Feeling guilty I tried to make a joke. “Well, maybe if they had steak and lobster I’d take that, and you could pay for it, but I know they don’t serve it here so just tea is good!” The so called joke fell flatter than my joke telling skills and no one laughed. No one even smiled. I tried to grin but stopped.

He paid for our drinks. We sat down waiting for our order and after he got his order, he left.

We both looked at each other and were glad we had gotten free drinks. We got much more than free drinks. I said to my dear pal, “I guess he heard me say that derogatory remark about this younger generation or maybe he’s just a sweet guy. Either way, I feel badly that I didn’t see the good there and he restored my faith in youthful people. What a great gesture.”

We both agreed we had met someone special. There are good people around and we had been blessed meeting one; a young man who made our morning even better. I figured that this experience should make me a better person also. It might have rubbed off on me. I’m hoping it did. There is always room for improvement and life offers us lessons for us sometimes in the least expected places. Just because I am 70ish, doesn’t mean I can’t learn, and love others.

Flashback Photos by Valerie Halla

Our cousins keep in touch for which I am eternally grateful. One cousin sent a batch of old pictures her mother had put into an album. The pictures don’t have much info on the reverse side because some of them were glued into an album. These photos are worth more than anything to me and definitely worth more than a thousand words. Besides I’m not sure I could even type 1000 words today, My caregiving duties suck time like a robovac vacuuming up crumbs. I try to find time to write down memories which are fast fleeting the older I get.

Here goes with old pictures and old fading memories of days spent with more innocence and more fun than most things give us nowadays…

Great memories.