Mom's Favorite Joke

Mom has never been one to tell a lot of jokes but this is certainly the one exception that, in the end, always leaves her laughing and crying at once; it is all in the telling:

FREDDY, THE BIG-MOUTH FROG

There once was a BIG-MOUTH frog named Freddie who lived not far from here.

One day he decided to leave his pond and see the world.

On his journey he met any number of new and strange looking animals. And every time he came upon a new friend he would excitedly SHOUT with his BIG MOUTH WIDE OPEN using his LOUDEST, CROAKIEST voice:

"HELLO, I'M FREDDY THE BIG-MOUTH FROG! WHAT ARE YOU, AND WHAT DO YOU EAT?"

On his first day he met a four-legged, black and white animal with two horns;on asking his question the animal replied,

"I'm a cow, and I eat grass"

To which Freddy would always reply, "OHHH, IS THAT SO!?"

His adventures took him far and wide; after meeting the likes of mice eating eagles, and honey eating bears -- he eventually came upon a watery swamp.

There he happened on a long, green, slimy creature with huge jaws.

Happy to meet yet another new friend, Freddy BELLOWED:

"HELLO, I'M FREDDY, THE BIG-MOUTH FROG! WHAT ARE YOU, AND WHAT DO YOU EAT?"

At this, the watery beast inched closer, snapped his jaws and replied:

"I'm an Alligator, and I LOVE TO EAT BIG-MOUTH FROGS."

Freddy, the not-so-big mouth frog, gulped and in the tiniest of croaks replied:

“ohhh ... shit.”

Parkinson's Disease

A picture of Mom about the time she entered college; the trial of Parkinson's Disease had not yet entered her world.

Mother is little more than five feet tall (plus some change) and has been blessed to never experience problems with her weight; it was probably enough to anger a few of her friends. 

From what I know of her college days, she possessed a wicked sense of humor and had a tremendous zeal for life. She was in her glory days -- enjoying every moment. Life was very good.

It was after marrying our father as they worked to build a family that health issues emerged; she has almost never been free of these problems since. 

Her first major medical concern was precipitated by her small stature combined with the burdens brought on by child bearing; her back ultimately failed, forcing her to undergo numerous agonizing surgical procedures to bring about even a modicum of comfort; in all the years since she has suffered quietly with ongoing back problems. 

She was later diagnosed with what was thought to be Tuberculosis. The extent of her disease was so pronounced that her doctors were forced to perform extensive surgery -- certainly by today's standards -- to remove the diseased right lung. It was a monumental trial for her physically. 

As if this was not enough, she later suffered a head-on collision at the hands of a drunk driver -- driving on the wrong side of a bridge -- which further compounded her extensive back problems with a neck injury. 

In the mid-1990's, she began to demonstrate symptoms of neurological impairment: a shuffling gate, cramped writing, as well as a paucity of arm movement when walking. This led us to suspect the probable onset of Parkinson's Disease. Unfortunately, her doctor's took a few frustrating years to finally reach the same conclusion. Once appropriate therapy was initiated her symptoms improved. It was proving manageable. 

The problem with Parkinson's Disease is that it is progressive. Certain dopamine producing brain cells die resulting in less available dopamine necessary for proper body function. As the cells continue to die, you are forced to throw more and more of the "dopamine-like" drug(s) at the problem so as to achieve an adequate result. Unfortunately, just as the dopamine producing cells are fading, the receptors that feed on her medication also begin to diminish in number. It is a losing proposition. 

On average, patients with Parkinson's live anywhere from 15 to 25 years; Mom is well into 15 plus years. She is not on the winning side of these averages; Mom's health has declined precipitously in the last year alone. 

Nature has a curious way of balancing everything. Mom has been blessed in so many ways throughout her life; it seems the price for all the good may have been at the expense of her health over time. Yet even as she has endured a great many medical issues over the course of her long life, I have honestly never heard her bemoan these problems -- current or past.

I wish I could write that the litany of her medical concerns ends here. In the last two to three years, a form of Dementia has altered her life with a vengeance.

She may not be one to complain, but I, for one, have been left wanting to shout, "Enough."

Max

I never considered a Sheltie for a pet; we had always had Golden Retrievers, Beagles, German Shepherds, and any number of mutts.

Only once did I amend my own rigid "dog" list after coming to know and love the most fierce, blind Yorkie a person could ever meet.

But a Sheltie? Wasn't on my radar.

Well, my Mother and Stepfather really didn't much care what any of us thought back in the early days of 2005 when they adopted a Sheltie named, Max.

He had a troubled history with owners; Max was fine -- his owners were NOT. At the hands of these people he had apparently suffered from emotional abuse; he had been isolated for long periods of time -- as a result he was not well socialized.

Our parents fell for him at first glance; he apparently cleaned up well.

They took him home for a trial period. I believe the first thing he did on entering the house was "pee" on some furniture. After that, I am told all he did was stare at the front door apparently waiting to "go home." It is sad to think he may have preferred the life he knew with some abusive owners in his past rather than making an effort to bond with people who would give him a very good life.

I met the dog two months into their courtship; by this time Max had made serious inroads adapting to his new life. He had come to believe in and to trust the two of them -- he was, however, not going to tolerate anyone else being added to HIS mix.

When they picked me up at the airport, Mom was seated -- strategically -- in the back seat alone with Max. He was having NONE of this odd looking stranger. I have never endured such an intense silent interrogation; unflinching coal black eyes daring me to make a single move or to utter even a monosyllable.

Most dog people have rarely met a dog they don't like. Well, I had that day -- I honestly wanted no part of him, either.

The picture of the two of them on that couch seems sweet -- if not posed. But is wasn't. This is the position he assumed every time I came anywhere near my Mother. Whenever I dared to move closer, his mouth assumed a menacing snarl.

I had never met a dog like Max. But, I was also equally determined to win him over.

With time his defenses wore thin; he came to gradually accept the strange people called "family" who continued to move into and out of their life -- with no adjustment required of him other than accepting a great deal more attention -- and snacks.

He eventually became more of a people person -- er, dog.

Best is that he became Mother's second shadow; she could go nowhere without him following her every move. And as Mother became increasingly ill, he gladly took on the added role as her "nurse." He had become completely devoted to her.

I remember one night when an agency nurse was not available; another brother and I were in town so we took on the role of caring for Mom overnight while our stepfather attempted to get some much needed rest. I was asleep in the greatroom when I was awakened by the touch of something cold on my face; Max had become concerned for Mom and sought out my help -- he nudged me with his wet, cold nose so as to get me to my feet. Mom had truly needed assistance.

So it is that I came to love Max. He, too, has learned that the boundaries of love are not limited to the three of them -- we all share in a love for him which makes his life even better.

Max and the rest of us have gone through alot together; we are all intent on making Mom's life tolerable as her illness progresses. And now I actually savor every opportunity to look into his warm dark eyes and revel in his happy bucktoothed smile.

Nursing Notes Excerpt

Wednesday, June 17, 2009 10:00 pm

Dorothy asked me to move her up in the bed because her halo was tilted --
funny :)

Dancing in Wilmette

This picture never fails to bring a smile to my face and lately brings a few tears to my eyes as well.

I look at this beautiful girl dancing on her grandfather's property in Wilmette, outside of Chicago, and can't believe this was my Mother. I wonder what she must have been thinking, what music -- imagined or otherwise -- moved her to dance, or if the laugh I know was part of this moment in time. The sidewards glance has me wondering if it was directed at her Mother who monitored her every move.

That right leg bothers me.

To look at this little girl, I know she is in complete control of that leg; she jumps with joy and ease. And if one looks carefully, there is the telltale sign of a bruise over her shin earned doing -- God only knows what. Put this beautiful girl in her Sunday best and she proved to be just a little girl at heart.

Mom's right leg has now been rendered moot through disuse as her disease has progressed. After a period of weeks being confined to bed this past winter, her right foot is now permanently flexed; it is immovable.

The indignity is made worse when she expresses an overwhelming desire to walk. One experience of having your Mother look into your eyes, begging for help to free her from confines of a wheelchair, brings on an indescribable heartache.

We recently gave into her plea and, with the assistance of a trusted aide and friend, decided to help her attempt to walk. It was exhilarating, painful to watch, and probably ill-advised; how could we refuse? Tracy assisted Mom to her feet, and, with all the will she could summon, Mom took three tentative steps. The right foot refused to cooperate yet she persevered. She then uttered words that broke my heart, "I just can't do it."

I no longer have many problems dealing with the physical assaults on her body but I struggle when she becomes defeated; Mom didn't have to say anything for me to understand the expression on her face. Defeat is not a word in Mother's vocabulary; it is not part of her nature.

Her leg is still covered with bruises, but they were not earned at childhood play; instead, they are a result of some of her medication as well as the fact that she now doesn't move without the assistance of an aide or family member.

I never had the opportunity to meet the girl in this picture. If only I had the ability to transport myself to her grandfather's home in Wilmette on this sunny day so long ago. I would give most anything to see this beautiful girl -- dancing without a care in the world.

A rose by any other name ....

Mom's Favorite Flower - Queen Anne's Lace

A Lowly Weed

(photo: Derrick Bennitz)

January 2003

Reality hit home with my family in January 2003 with the sudden death of our father; he blessedly went to sleep one night never to awaken. I believe this represents the single most transformational experience in my life to date. Until that time I had personally lived with a veiled delusion that death would never cross our threshold. Despite a medical school education and considerable experience with death and dying, I had somehow managed to "semi-convince" myself that we might actually be spared the final act -- the simple, painful, and odd truth that we all -- each of us -- "owes" a death.

My patients who have died, either traumatically or at the end of a protracted illness, were clearly abstractions, while the sundry elderly relatives I have lost over the years had surely been preordained for that fate. But, MY OWN circle of family members were surely never meant to age or to suffer from disease, thus avoiding being touched by the cruel hand.

Clearly, my delusions collapsed that winter morning forcing me to begin accepting the fact that death surely is going to audaciously exact its toll on MY ENTIRE FAMILY given time -- the stats don't lie -- a debt will be paid. Sure as anything, no one ever asked if I like it.

One very well-intended, nice, elderly church lady (hat and all) felt compelled to impart some wisdom to me following Dad's funeral -- words that have never escaped my conscious thought,

"If you think losing your Father has been hard, just wait ......... losing your Mother will be 100 times more difficult!"