Today, my daughters received a postcard letting them know that the downy woodpecker they had brought for treatment had died due to the severity of its injuries.
It’s too bad, but at least, he didn’t freeze to death or get eaten by a predator.
Today, my daughters received a postcard letting them know that the downy woodpecker they had brought for treatment had died due to the severity of its injuries.
It’s too bad, but at least, he didn’t freeze to death or get eaten by a predator.
Today is the 100th anniversary of the armistice that ended what was known then as the Great War. The carnage had been so great with several countries losing the majority of their young men that it was thought that this war would be “the war to end all wars.”
Sadly, that armistice did not end wars. The ensuing decades have seen an even larger world war, the development of more types of weapons, many regional wars that have been ideological proxy wars, genocides of various groups, and, increasingly, the torture, starvation, bombing, wounding, and death of non-combatants.
If we truly wish to honor those who have served in the military, we should reflect on what armistice means, what it means to cease hostilities, and what it means to be at peace. Instead of spending so much on expensive weaponry, we could spend more on fighting poverty, disease, and environmental degradation.
This afternoon at my parents’ senior community, there will be a gathering of veterans who live there. A few, like my dad, are veterans of World War II. Others, also like my dad, served in Korea. There are Vietnam War era veterans and those who served during peacetime. They will share coffee and cake and conversation.
I doubt any of them want more war.
They want their grandchildren and great-grandchildren to live in peace.
This afternoon, we noticed a downy woodpecker on the ground under our feeders. It was strange, as woodpeckers generally don’t like being on the ground. We watched it for a while, but it became obvious that it couldn’t fly back up to the relative safety of the trees.
My daughters researched what to do. They put air holes in a cardboard shoebox and cushioned it with a towel. Next, T gently picked up the woodpecker with a washcloth and put it in the box and brought it inside. It is very chilly and wet today, so a warm, dry box was important for the bird to have any chance of survival.
Then, we needed expert help. They looked online for wildlife rehabilitators. There are none in our county who do bird rescues and the nearest one in a neighboring county wasn’t at home. Next, they called one that is affiliated with Cornell, daughter T’s alma mater. They were able to assist, so E and T headed for Ithaca, about an hour’s drive. (I stayed at home with baby toddler ABC.)
I’m happy to report that the woodpecker stayed cozy in the box until arrival. It looks as though he is having problem with one eye and his neck. They will treat him if they are able and humanely euthanize him if they can’t help him, much better than either freezing to death or being eaten by a cat. They are going to send a postcard with the outcome and I will update at that time.
The whirlwind that was October has blown into November. At the moment, it has brought some messy mixed precipitation with wet snow starting to accumulate on the grass and the cars, but “messy and mixed” describes a lot of the situations I find myself in of late.
We have been continuing to try to settle Nana and Paco into new routines with Nana in the Health Canter and Paco in his apartment, but things tend to shift day to day. I have been trying to untangle all the required paperwork and meetings, but some things are still in process.
Meanwhile, even though I haven’t been able to follow the news as closely as I usually do, I feel the weight and disquiet of the terrible events around the United States with shootings, pipe bombs, fires, and vitriol swirling around us. I had hoped the election would settle things down a bit. While I am grateful not to be inundated with political ads, the level of uncertainty, especially in national politics, is daunting. Mueller’s team went quiet for several weeks before the election due to Justice Department protocol, but now there is a wide-spread expectation that new charges may be announced, although with Attorney General Sessions having been fired, it is hard to know what will happen next and when/if a final report will be made public.
It seems we are in for more “mixed and messy” times…
My Facebook page of Top of JC’s Mind is helpfully reminding me that I haven’t posted in 13 days, and that post was a so-far-unsuccessful plea to get from 99 to 100 likes. My last actual blog post was on October 6, so – deep breath – here is an attempt to catch up a bit.
My mom, known here as Nana, has been under hospice care since summer of 2017 due to congestive heart failure. There have been quite a few ups and downs over that time – and quite a bit of red tape. Re-certification reviews are every two months, so, one finishes and it is time to start on data collection for the next.
As it happened, Nana’s current certification was due to expire on October 15. I was due to be out of town from the third through the ninth and thought that the re-certification decision had been deferred until the tenth; instead, the medical director decided on the fourth that Nana would no longer be covered by hospice as of the sixth. Hospice would continue to “follow” her until another suitable, safe situation could be arranged, but we were not given a date.
The situation was complicated by the fact that Nana had been in residence at Mercy House, which only houses people under the care of our local hospice, since May and could not return to her former home in an apartment with my dad, known here as Paco, at Good Shepherd Village (GSV) because her care needs were too great. Anticipating the possibility that Nana might be decertified, we had her on the waiting list for the skilled nursing unit at GSV for weeks, but they had no availability.
As soon as I returned home, it became obvious that we wouldn’t be able to wait for a room at GSV. On Wednesday, the 10th, my first day back, we were offered a room at GSV’s sister institution in the rehab unit, which we basically had to take.
I will not vex you with the details of the bureaucratic wrangling I needed to do to get the move accomplished by Friday. I will, however, say that I was disappointed that I was caught in the middle of so much red tape when so many people in the official-dom had been assuring me for weeks that transferring between institutions would be smooth and handled by the professionals rather than family.
Mom had her evaluations and was starting in with physical and occupational therapy, when, on the following Tuesday, we got word that space had opened up for her at GSV. So, we packed up her room and, on Wednesday morning, she moved again to what should be her permanent home.
We have her settled in her new room, which has a beautiful view of the valley. There are favorite art pieces, cards, and photos on display and a new sized-for-her recliner lift chair that we bought. She is making progress with her therapy and can walk short distances with a walker and a companion nearby.
I wish I could say that her heart function is improved, but that is not possible. Our goal remains to keep her as active as possible for as long as possible and to keep her pain-free. She is under palliative care protocol, similar to hospice but without the pesky obligation of trying to guess life expectancy.
The best aspect of her new home is that she and Paco are back under the same roof, albeit in separate wings. Paco can hop on his scooter and, using the turtle (3mph) rather than prohibited rabbit (5mph) setting, navigate the apartment building halls, Village Center, elevator, and Health Center halls, and be with Nana in just a few minutes. They have been married 64 and a half years, so the ease of being together is much appreciated.
We are trying to establish some new schedules and routines for Nana and Paco after so many changes in such a short time. If I am lucky, I will be able to work through my backlog and get back to writing and posting a bit more. I know better than to make promises, though. The last few years have taught me over and over to expect the unexpected and I think I may have finally learned that lesson.
My birthday was this week. I am also away from home. I received cards from my daughters and granddaughter and a card and flowers from my sisters before I left, but the only card I have with me here is a handmade one that my spouse B slipped into my luggage and that I have kept on my bedstand, just to the right of my bed. Even though I am in a double bed by myself, I sleep on the right side as I do at home. Here, I use the extra pillows on the bed to lay on the left side of the bed, where, at home, B would be sleeping. It makes me feel cozier.
Back at home, my birthday cards are on the mantle, along with other cards dating back to our last set of household events in June, B and my wedding anniversary and the birthdays of daughter T and granddaughter ABC, who today is 16 months old. That four month old cards are still on the mantle is a testament to how roller-coaster, topsy-turvy things have been for us.
That is a story that needs to wait for a non-stream of consciousness post.
Someday.
Perhaps soon, but, if past is prologue, most likely later…
[Update from a few minutes later: As I was sharing this post on social media, I wrote this: “I used to have a set of Ziggy cards that said, ‘At last, a note from me. Hope you still remember who I am.’ Or words to that effect. That is how I feel.” As it is stream of consciousness and relates to cards, I thought I’d tack it here, too.]
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Linda’s prompt for Stream of Consciousness Saturday this week is “card.” Join us! Find out how here: https://lindaghill.com/2018/10/05/the-friday-reminder-and-prompt-for-socs-oct-6-18/
Contrary to appearances, I have not (quite) fallen off the face of the earth.
Since I last posted, I have spent quite a bit of time trying to take care of people who are sick and being sick myself. Luckily, both of my sisters have visited to help take care of Nana and Paco while I was sick.
This week, I need to do a ton of catching up on paperwork and poetry. Before the end of the month, I need to prepare comments on four manuscripts and get my own together to distribute to our group. Fingers crossed that I can get my brain in gear to manage it.
Of course, all of this is happening against the backdrop of the continuing maelstrom of the news. If a television show, novel, or movie followed a plot from the current political news in the US, everyone would dismiss it as too far-fetched. Yet, here we are in a continuing succession of situations that are accurately called unprecedented.
It’s enough to make one’s head spin.
On Wednesday evening, I drove to Mercy House, the hospice residence where my mother lives, during a sun-shower after a heavy downpour. Given the time of day and the moisture in the air, I started to look for a rainbow. When I turned east, a full rainbow appeared before me, one end of it resting on Mercy House.
What I didn’t know at the time was that Phatar, a twelve-year-old who was also in residence at Mercy House, had become unresponsive and would pass away the following day, surrounded by the love of family, friends, and caregivers.
On Friday morning, the door to Phatar’s room was open, his bed made with the quilt pulled up. Near his pillow was a little memorial with a flower, the United States flag that had been on his door, a little poem that had been posted in his room, and his handprint in green paint on white canvas.
This morning at church, Father Clarence told Phatar’s story during the homily, about his cancer diagnosis, about his final months at Mercy House, about his desire to receive Jesus in the Eucharist and his baptism, and the comfort that brought him in his final weeks. There were smiles and tears as we listened.
Our mix of emotions in reacting to death is always complex, but I think most people have a particularly strong sense of sadness at the death of a child. It has also been sad watching Phatar’s mom these last months, suffering through every parent’s nightmare of the illness and death of their child. Still, I am grateful to have met Phatar and to know that he is now at peace.
The next time I see a rainbow, I will think of him.
B and I finally carved out time to see Incredibles 2, the long-awaited sequel to one of our favorite Pixar movies. I’ll try not to have spoilers in this piece, although, with world-wide box office receipts around a billion dollars, there are probably not many people left to spoil.
Like all Pixar features, Incredible 2 is preceded by a short; Bao, written and directed by Domee Shi, is the first Pixar short to be directed by a woman. It covers decades of family life in a few short minutes in a rich, culturally significant context. I would not have imagined an animated dumpling could be so adorable!
Incredibles 2, like the original film, is also built around family life. Superheroes with special powers still have to deal with adolescent angst, homework help, division of paid and unpaid work, and child care and rearing. Because we have had grandbaby ABC living with us for most of her almost fourteen months, I particularly enjoyed the scenes with Incredible baby Jack-Jack, who is still very much a baby in his behavior, movements, and reactions, superpowered or not.
I also appreciated the themes of the use/misuse of media and celebrity. Although the script must have been written years ago, these issues are especially salient right now.
As always, I recommend staying for the credits. While there is no bonus scene, there is a great medley of superhero theme songs. I especially enjoyed Elastigirl’s.
[Warning for family: This post is about Nana’s hospice care. You may prefer not to read it.]
I got an unexpected call this week from my mom’s (Nana here at TJCM) hospice social worker. She wanted to set up a family meeting with her and the hospice nurse. It was a bit unusual to have a formal meeting time set up, but we agreed to meet in my mom’s room at Mercy House, the hospice residence where she moved in May. We were fortunate that my older sister was here visiting, so she was able to join in, too.
What I hadn’t suspected was that the meeting was about re-certification issues. In most hospices, acceptance means that life expectancy is six months or less. With some diagnoses, that determination is relatively clear, but, with heart failure, as my mom shows, it isn’t so clear.
Nana was re-certified at three months, at six months, and then every two months since. We are now at fourteen months. There have been lots of ups and downs, but, sadly but not unexpectedly, the overall direction has been one of decline with continuing weakness and fatigue that has worsened significantly over the course of this year.
Therefore, we were shocked that the social worker told us that the medical director was considering de-certifying Nana. I guess I shouldn’t have been shocked, as there had been a couple of other times that the medical director has questioned re-certification, but it seemed so clear that symptoms were worsening that I never thought there was a possibility that he would think Nana didn’t meet the criteria to remain in hospice care.
As I understand it, there are two basic issues. One is that the medical director only has access to data points collected during visits from the hospice personnel, perhaps two or three hours a week and always during the day. Second, the criteria to stay under hospice care have to do with rate of decline, so, even though Nana would easily qualify to enter hospice care in her current condition, it doesn’t necessarily follow that she would be re-certified to remain under hospice.
So, on hearing the news from the social worker, I freaked out a bit. Well, not outwardly. But losing hospice care at this point would be very complicated. In order to be in residence at Mercy House, one has to be under hospice care, so de-certification would have meant having to move Nana, which would be complicated and exhausting. We had a preliminary plan in place, but we hoped not to have to implement it.
What we could do was give the social worker more information of what we were seeing when we were there visiting, which covers about nine hours most days. Nana was also able to give us some more information about night-time issues.
The social worker took the additional information we were able to provide and the medical director was able to see how it fulfilled the criteria for Nana to be re-certified. We were very relieved. From now on, though, I will be more deliberate about noting changes in case we need to fill in the blanks again.
Through it all, we are grateful for the care hospice has been able to provide. If it were not for their expertise in managing symptoms, it is likely that we would already have lost Nana. As it is, we continue to have the hope of more time with her.
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Linda’s prompt for Stream of Consciousness Saturday this week is “call.” Join us! Find out how here: https://lindaghill.com/2018/08/03/the-friday-reminder-and-prompt-for-socs-august-4-18/