Back to Badboulder for Christmas

My leisurely retirement days took an unexpected turn in mid-October. My ninety-one year old mother was diagnosed with an aggressive sarcoma in her left leg. In a matter of days she lost her mobility, started a radiation program and needed assistance with all facets of her life. My sister and I became Florence Nightingale and Clara Barton--acquiring skills quickly thanks to the staff at Carrie Babb Cancer Center in Bolivar, MO. Our dear Aunt Bonnie and Mom's wonderful neighbor, Leann, a retired nurse, gave us practical advice and provided comfort to Mom when we slipped out for an occasional walk.

The two of us met Mom's needs for five weeks before entrusting a nursing home associated with the cancer center with that job. We were replaced with a staff of about 15-16 skilled and caring people who quickly began treating her like a queen.

Providing around the clock care is so demanding physically and emotionally on caregivers that time becomes a blur, meals sometimes consists of a handful of nuts, a bath is pure luxury, and any connections made to your own family is done with some quick texting on a mobile phone. This said, I'm so grateful that I had the opportunity to help my Mom and connect with my sis.

Mom has spent little time dwelling on the gravity of her illness and determined that she was going to see herself through it with a sense of humor. Her Christian faith provides her with strength to tolerate the pain associated with her illness and the loss of her independence.

Now to the logistics of our care providing. My sis and I took turns with the night shift, drowsing some and using an alarm to keep continual pain meds on schedule and assist with bathroom walks. On our night off we relied on sleeping aids to refresh and restore ourselves in order to meet the daytime routine. We took turns driving the eighty mile trip for daily radiation. One trip was achieved by driving around, through and beside some unseasonable November tornadoes. Sis and Mom were nonchalant about the weather but those screaming sirens sure got my attention.

We mastered the art of pushing her wheelchair to the point that she was no longer fearful of those excursions. We cooked her meals--this involved permitting her to eat potato chip snacks and the occasional hot dog, as well as insist on some nutrition. My sis won favor by cooking turnips not once but twice.

Our mom is quite social, thus we gladly entertained a multitude of visitors who bolstered her well-being. Many came bringing gifts of food which we welcomed wholeheartedly and some shared their uplifting stories of battles with cancer. Friends phoned daily to inquire of Mom's well being and the mail never ceased to include wishes for a speedy recovery. Grandchildren, grown with jobs and family commitments, continue to jet in to cheer and support their beloved grams.

GG's response to radiation is slowly showing favorable results which permitted me to fly back to sunny Arizona literally missing the first sub-zero wind chill temperature reading in Missouri this winter by mere hours. Allegiant Airlines took deicing precautions at 2 pm and I arrived in Mesa to 80 degrees and sunshine by 4pm. I arrived home for the glorious Christmas season!

It's difficult to find a rendition of "White Christmas" that I don't find enjoyable listening. But, if I inadvertently sing along it's pure blasphemy on my part. Sunshine in the swaying palm trees with blasts of scarlet bougainvilleas says Merry Christmas to me. I've managed to stir up some of our family's traditional Chex Mix and peanut butter fudge. Knothole Man hung my favorite nativity scene and we're enjoying peace and good will here at Badboulder.

I'm wishing all a peaceful, joyful and healthy New Year.

FROM THE KNOTHOLE: I wonder how many people who read this blog have thought about going to the nursing home, or let's call it a care center. Wonder how many of you have long term care insurance. Do you know what it costs per month to stay in a care center? How will you pay for it? Me? I hope to stay in my knothole.

a parting shot from bbman: Ba mui ba. Means 33 in the Vietnamese language. These numbers appeared on the side of big brown bottles of beer commonly available in Vietnam when i was there in '69-'70. i was told that beer 33 was a legacy of the French military presence in southeast asia which ended in 1954. to all the wonderful french people. gotta love 'em.