The past month and a half has been a complete blur... no doubt due to a great deal of loss. And as we all know, the one constant in life is change. A thing that most people dread. But it is through change that we grow, and learn, and move on to whatever is meant to happen next.
"V" has been experiencing the same thing in her own life lately. Truth be told, she's been experiencing it for the past ninety six years. Just as I have for the past fifty.
Last week, "V" learned that one of her best friends, who had recently entered a hospice in FL, had passed away. She didn't talk much about it, because every time she brought up her friend's name, her eyes welled up with tears. I didn't push the subject, simply telling her that I was deeply sorry for her loss.
I could empathize completely, however. My eyes have been welling up quite a bit in recent weeks.
I assured "V that based on my own first-hand experience, Hospice in FL, especially the area where her friend had lived (which was not far from my Father's home), was wonderful... comforting and caring to those who are nearing life's end.
"I know," she said with a slight smile. I imagine she's been down this road one too many times.
Our time together this past week was a bit different from our regular routine. In fact, that's exactly where the difference was... trying to establish a new regular routine.
"V" was fitted wit a new leg brace late last week. Since her second hip replacement back in October, she's had some difficulty walking, clearly favoring one leg over the other. It was hoped that this would subside in time, but during the past month, one of her feet has been swelling up, hindering her mobility even further.
A visit to the orthopedist for a consultation resulted in a brand new, top-of-the-line, straight-off-the-wrack, ultra-lightweight leg brace. Along with absolutely arduous to put on, and also straight-off-the-wrack (purchased at the pharmacy on the way home form the doctor's office!) support hose to replace her fuzzy, comfy, skid-proof, socks that barely go above her ankle, let alone all the way up to her knees, like these new atrocities.
One may not think that a simple think like changing the type of socks you wear is a big deal. For some people, wearing mismatched socks is an everyday occurrence that doesn't shake them in the least (my teenage son is one of those amazing individuals... black, white, grey, striped, checkered, zig-zagged... it doesn't matter to him what goes on his feet, as long as they fit and feel good!).
Like "V", I'm a creature of habit. Always have been. In fact, the more I get to know "V", the more I realize how alike we are in personality. As a Caregiver, this is a wonderful thing. It helps me to relate to her as an individual at a much more intimate level. But as I know from my relationship with "M", sometimes this intimacy can become a little too close, with the loss of the person whose family you are really not a part of taking quite an emotional toll.
Along with the leg paraphernalia, "V"s twin-size bed has recently received a makeover. Instead of a small, almost unnoticeable white bed-rail that blended in with the colors of her quaint quilt, her safety in bed is now ensured with a much larger, three-railed black barricade that cannot help but be noticed. It looks kind of like the bars on a jail cell.
To be fair, the three-railed black barricade, which fits firmly under the mattress, has been a huge help to "V" over the past several months. With the old, almost unnoticeable white rail on one side of the bed and the jail cell bars on the other, "V" is able to use her arms to pull herself into position so that she is able to get in and out of the bed. And even with the both bed rails in place, she stills needs assistance moving her legs off the bed and onto the floor.
This entire bedroom situation is a huge change from when I first met "V" in August. At that time, she was getting in and out of bed independently, able to use her walker to get to the commode as needed during the night without any assistance whatsoever. She felt good about that, as any semblance of independence that remains a part of her life is a treasure to her.
Since the fall and subsequent hip replacement, "V" now needs one of her Caregivers to lift her legs up and swing them over to the floor, sometimes calling for help three or four times during the night.
When I am with her, I try to handle the situation as nonchalantly as possible, often joking with her and trying to make her smile (although without her hearing aide on at night, I think she is trying to make me smile by nodding politely and pretending to hear what I'm saying!).
The addition of the suffocating support hose and leg brace (which must be attached to a shoe, which "V" is not accustomed to wearing inside) is yet another major change that "V" bravely tries to adjust to so that she can continue to reside in her own home.
My heart goes out to her, while at the same time my spirit is inspired by her. Change is damned hard! For almost everyone! In my entire life, I've only met one person who honestly stated that she liked change... and she was a bit of an odd duck to begin with!
Add a series of losses on top of that, and it is a wonder that anyone would continue to persevere with the steadfast determination that "V" has consistently demonstrated.
Yet week after week, "V" does exactly that. Perseveres. The baseball game we know of as life continues to throw her curve ball after curve ball, and she just keeps ducking.
Come to think of it, that's exactly how I live my own life. You never know what's going to be thrown at you next. No wonder "V" and I get along so well!
The first night I spent with "V" this past weekend, she was clearly very anxious about the leg brace and support hose. This prevented her from sleeping soundly, but not in the way that you might think. She doesn't need to wear those things at night. They come off before bedtime and are replaced with her fuzzy, comfy, skid-proofed socks.
The concern was focused on her morning routine, as "V" worried about what order to do things in: Should she have me put her pants on first, and then the support hose and leg brace and shoes? Or should we reverse it and do the pants last? Will the pants even fit over the brace? What if they don't? Am I going to have to order all new pants?
I felt badly for her, and tried to ease her anxiety while at the same time completely empathizing with it. When my morning routine gets changed, I'm a basket case! This past winter proved it. With the continuously cold temperatures in the Northeast, often getting to the sub-zero mark, I've had to adjust my shower schedule. My hot water does not come on when the weather mimics the arctic, so I have to wait to take my shower. This throws me completely off track, because shower time is when I meditate (or at least try to) and get myself focused on the tasks I have to complete that day. There were quite a number of days this winter when I couldn't shower at all, and even my closest friends did NOT want to be around me during those times!
It occurred to me on my second morning with "V", after a second night of worry by both of us, her anxiety having become completely enmeshed with my own, that we should just talk about the situation honestly and openly. I assured her, as I often do, that there was nothing to be embarrassed about, and that we needed to work together as a team to figure out a new system that works best for us so that she can get ready for her day as easily as possible in the morning.
And so we talked. Not only about the support hose and the brace and the shoes and whether or not the pants would fit over them (luckily, we found a perfect pair that did!). We talked about our winter of loss. About her best friend's passing, and how even though it was expected, it still hurts. Just like my Dad's passing. Or "M"s. We talked about how both our lives have been full of loss, except that she has had twice as many as me. "V" shared about how she has handled these situations, and moved on gracefully to establish new routines... like living alone, without her late husband of many, MANY years by her side.
And as we talked about how we each had survived the losses of many things in our lives, not just people, but other things equally important, like changes in lifestyles and attitudes, we noticed an amazing occurrence outside her dining room doors.
Birds were beginning to appear, hopefully chirping as they searched for food. The snow had mostly melted, and we saw some deer finally able to navigate their way across the once frozen field of beans. Geese were squawking, LOUDLY, but at least they were flying North instead of South!
I decided to go outside and retrieve "V"s mail, as the path to the mailbox was finally clear of ice, and she had not wanted me to fall and break my hip just to get a pile of mostly magazines and advertisements.
For some reason, I brought my phone with me. The handy-dandy (and now updated) phone that also served as a camera. It's become a habit (and not always a good one). Bringing the darned gadget with me everywhere I go! I guess I really have started to adapt, despite MUCH resistance, to life in a technological world! Talk about a BIG CHANGE!!!
I stopped in my tracks three quarters of the way up the path to "V"s mailbox. There, popping out of the remnants of snow, ice, piles of dead leaves, crushed brown grass, and spewed salt and sand, was a patch of little white buds. Spring flowers. The first I had seen this year. Most likely, they were Crocuses, which are common in this part of this country, and often the first flowers to bravely poke their tiny heads out of the still thawing ground. Even before the Daffodils.
Good thing I brought that silly camera phone with me! I knelt down on my knees beside the newborns, not minding the remnants of snow, ice, piles of dead leaves, crushed brown grass, and spewed salt and sand soaking through my already worn out jeans, and snapped photos of the first Spring Buds. Signs of life and renewal after a season of tremendous change.
I rushed into the house, completely forgetting about the mail, to show "V" the pictures.
"Look!" I practically shouted at her, even though she did have her hearing aide in.
Always curious to look at photos, "V" put her glasses on, thankfully ignoring my rather loud clumsy entrance, and peered down at the tiny images on the phone.
"I can make it bigger!" I said in a tone that clearly was boasting about my ability to use the device.
"V" smiled, and softly said, "Spring is finally here." I thought I heard a sigh of relief in her voice... of maybe the sound was coming from me.
Tiny little Spring Buds, eager to start a new season, despite the harshness of the previous one.
Just like me and "V". Maybe not quite as tiny, but more than ready to move forward past the Winter of loss, establish new routines, and start our lives anew.
Along with the leg paraphernalia, "V"s twin-size bed has recently received a makeover. Instead of a small, almost unnoticeable white bed-rail that blended in with the colors of her quaint quilt, her safety in bed is now ensured with a much larger, three-railed black barricade that cannot help but be noticed. It looks kind of like the bars on a jail cell.
To be fair, the three-railed black barricade, which fits firmly under the mattress, has been a huge help to "V" over the past several months. With the old, almost unnoticeable white rail on one side of the bed and the jail cell bars on the other, "V" is able to use her arms to pull herself into position so that she is able to get in and out of the bed. And even with the both bed rails in place, she stills needs assistance moving her legs off the bed and onto the floor.
Since the fall and subsequent hip replacement, "V" now needs one of her Caregivers to lift her legs up and swing them over to the floor, sometimes calling for help three or four times during the night.
When I am with her, I try to handle the situation as nonchalantly as possible, often joking with her and trying to make her smile (although without her hearing aide on at night, I think she is trying to make me smile by nodding politely and pretending to hear what I'm saying!).
The addition of the suffocating support hose and leg brace (which must be attached to a shoe, which "V" is not accustomed to wearing inside) is yet another major change that "V" bravely tries to adjust to so that she can continue to reside in her own home.
My heart goes out to her, while at the same time my spirit is inspired by her. Change is damned hard! For almost everyone! In my entire life, I've only met one person who honestly stated that she liked change... and she was a bit of an odd duck to begin with!
Add a series of losses on top of that, and it is a wonder that anyone would continue to persevere with the steadfast determination that "V" has consistently demonstrated.
Yet week after week, "V" does exactly that. Perseveres. The baseball game we know of as life continues to throw her curve ball after curve ball, and she just keeps ducking.
Come to think of it, that's exactly how I live my own life. You never know what's going to be thrown at you next. No wonder "V" and I get along so well!
The first night I spent with "V" this past weekend, she was clearly very anxious about the leg brace and support hose. This prevented her from sleeping soundly, but not in the way that you might think. She doesn't need to wear those things at night. They come off before bedtime and are replaced with her fuzzy, comfy, skid-proofed socks.
The concern was focused on her morning routine, as "V" worried about what order to do things in: Should she have me put her pants on first, and then the support hose and leg brace and shoes? Or should we reverse it and do the pants last? Will the pants even fit over the brace? What if they don't? Am I going to have to order all new pants?
I felt badly for her, and tried to ease her anxiety while at the same time completely empathizing with it. When my morning routine gets changed, I'm a basket case! This past winter proved it. With the continuously cold temperatures in the Northeast, often getting to the sub-zero mark, I've had to adjust my shower schedule. My hot water does not come on when the weather mimics the arctic, so I have to wait to take my shower. This throws me completely off track, because shower time is when I meditate (or at least try to) and get myself focused on the tasks I have to complete that day. There were quite a number of days this winter when I couldn't shower at all, and even my closest friends did NOT want to be around me during those times!
It occurred to me on my second morning with "V", after a second night of worry by both of us, her anxiety having become completely enmeshed with my own, that we should just talk about the situation honestly and openly. I assured her, as I often do, that there was nothing to be embarrassed about, and that we needed to work together as a team to figure out a new system that works best for us so that she can get ready for her day as easily as possible in the morning.
And so we talked. Not only about the support hose and the brace and the shoes and whether or not the pants would fit over them (luckily, we found a perfect pair that did!). We talked about our winter of loss. About her best friend's passing, and how even though it was expected, it still hurts. Just like my Dad's passing. Or "M"s. We talked about how both our lives have been full of loss, except that she has had twice as many as me. "V" shared about how she has handled these situations, and moved on gracefully to establish new routines... like living alone, without her late husband of many, MANY years by her side.
And as we talked about how we each had survived the losses of many things in our lives, not just people, but other things equally important, like changes in lifestyles and attitudes, we noticed an amazing occurrence outside her dining room doors.
Birds were beginning to appear, hopefully chirping as they searched for food. The snow had mostly melted, and we saw some deer finally able to navigate their way across the once frozen field of beans. Geese were squawking, LOUDLY, but at least they were flying North instead of South!
I decided to go outside and retrieve "V"s mail, as the path to the mailbox was finally clear of ice, and she had not wanted me to fall and break my hip just to get a pile of mostly magazines and advertisements.
For some reason, I brought my phone with me. The handy-dandy (and now updated) phone that also served as a camera. It's become a habit (and not always a good one). Bringing the darned gadget with me everywhere I go! I guess I really have started to adapt, despite MUCH resistance, to life in a technological world! Talk about a BIG CHANGE!!!
I stopped in my tracks three quarters of the way up the path to "V"s mailbox. There, popping out of the remnants of snow, ice, piles of dead leaves, crushed brown grass, and spewed salt and sand, was a patch of little white buds. Spring flowers. The first I had seen this year. Most likely, they were Crocuses, which are common in this part of this country, and often the first flowers to bravely poke their tiny heads out of the still thawing ground. Even before the Daffodils.
Good thing I brought that silly camera phone with me! I knelt down on my knees beside the newborns, not minding the remnants of snow, ice, piles of dead leaves, crushed brown grass, and spewed salt and sand soaking through my already worn out jeans, and snapped photos of the first Spring Buds. Signs of life and renewal after a season of tremendous change.
I rushed into the house, completely forgetting about the mail, to show "V" the pictures.
"Look!" I practically shouted at her, even though she did have her hearing aide in.
Always curious to look at photos, "V" put her glasses on, thankfully ignoring my rather loud clumsy entrance, and peered down at the tiny images on the phone.
"I can make it bigger!" I said in a tone that clearly was boasting about my ability to use the device.
"V" smiled, and softly said, "Spring is finally here." I thought I heard a sigh of relief in her voice... of maybe the sound was coming from me.
Tiny little Spring Buds, eager to start a new season, despite the harshness of the previous one.
Just like me and "V". Maybe not quite as tiny, but more than ready to move forward past the Winter of loss, establish new routines, and start our lives anew.
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