Chapter 136 - Music to Sleep By
I have not written here in over a month. I have not kept daily notes for some three weeks. The task becomes hard work. She says she is bothered by my questioning her about her condition, how often she rises in the night etc. Yet when we talk about events that have occurred to her we are unable to remember when, and that is important to me. Perhaps with age I need to nail down a record of our activities, our emotions. Yet it is a chore. Last night and this morning have been eventful enough to encourage some more recording.
At the beginning of July I read a post on one of the PD groups I subscribe to. A simple reference to a site offering meditation music and words designed to be helpful for PD patients . In case you are interested, www.healthjourneys.com .
An interruption - she just came to my dungeon door to say she felt "whoozy" and needed to go to bed. I helped her, then turned up loud the sound from one of her favourite DVD's so she can hear it faintly in the bedroom.
Back to my story. The site has a large range of meditation recordings available so in addition to the PD recording, I also downloaded one for sleep problems. I preferred downloading MP3 files rather than wait for CD's. The one small MP3 player we had on which she once listened to some spiritual songs was unable to contain all the files, so I wiped it & only copied the sleep files, since her biggest problem recently has been an inability to fall asleep. I have since bought another player with 2GB capacity that is able to contain all the files and then some.
Although I had little faith in such sleep therapy, she tried it, listening to the MP3 player on button earphones, as well as taking Horlix on going to bed, as suggested by the caring physician. The experiment almost failed that first night. After some two hours, including two trips to the loo, the top of her head began pounding. Then three hours later at 3:30AM her head was pulsating, even without listening to the MP3 player. She fell asleep and by 6am at meds time she was feeling horrible. Yet each night following she used the MP3 player. And each night sleep came more easily and without the strange effects in her head. She began looking refreshed, more awake, less drawn in her face, more cheerful as the days passed. A few days into the sleep "treatment" she adjusted the hems on 3 pairs of jeans of mine, a job she had avoided for many months. Last Monday, without any noticeable concerns, she saw a Hot Air City dentist that specialises in problem cases such as young children and matters like PD. Another appointment has been made to attend to a couple of fillings. She has not been relying on her walker, although I have had the 'flu. so we haven't been out very much. I have caught myself watching her, watching her relaxed face, her animated face. I had not realised that her face had become "sad"; perhaps others had. Until yesterday.
Yesterday, she "won" a prize - a government department had drawn her name out of the electoral roll hat to take part in a voluntary mental health survey. During the evening she studied the questions yet did not answer any. I took no notice. Last night, after setting up the MP3 player for her, I went to bed and sleep before she did.
When I came to this morning she told me about a horror night. Sleep had not come until after 4AM. Reading the mental health survey questions had reminded her of the invasive, depressing, guilt generating questions asked of her by the shrinks employed by the government department that employed her at the time of the infamous Queen Street massacre. She, most likely, would have been physically involved in the horror of that event had I not had a bad headache on that work day when I decided I needed to go home. I phoned her to ask her to leave work early and meet me at the entrance to the car park of a bank building about a block from her building. I can't remember why I was parked there. As we drove down the narrow street that crossed Queen Street we noticed massed fire engines and police vehicles blocking the traffic; must be due to a fire or an accident we thought. About an hour later when we arrived home did we learn the cause of the traffic congestion. And our daughter, a nurse in a hospital not far from the massacre, was phoning home. Those were the days before personal mobile phones (although I had one built into the car).
Back to last night. After memories of the massacre she so narrowly avoided and the following therapy sessions (after several she said "No more!") came other deep seated memories; how she has been denied and isolated from those experiences of Grandmother-hood that she should have had, our travel experiences of a few years ago across Canada, UK and Ireland when sodding insensitive neurologists lacking any empathy and bed-side manner dosed her with too much medication without schooling us in the possible side effects to turn what should have been a pleasurable experience into one of horror. And other memories of events that escape me at this time.
Anyway, a few hours ago I decided that she should go through the questionnaire as quickly as possible, answering the questions which I asked & recorded her answers, about 100 questions, to gain some sort of "closure" about it. She tended to think too much about each question, thought many were confusing, became emotional toward the end. Anyway, it is finished. I hope I did a helpful thing for her. She agreed to be involved in follow-up should she be asked. And now she sleeps.
The visits to the physio came to an end, although she now attends a falls prevention group at the hospital. The physio recommended her attendance at a therapy group at the town swimming pool so we went there to obtain the details but she does not wish to be involved because of dressing difficulties, size of the group and such things. She still does stretch exercises as directed but little other exercise unless I am motivated to bully her into going through the motions, and I haven't of late. The only item with which she occasionally needs help in dressing is an occasional bra clip. She gave up drinking the Horlix. She has felt so good these past weeks; we have a bench mark for her to return to.
Nearing time for her 2PM meds. I must check on her.
At the beginning of July I read a post on one of the PD groups I subscribe to. A simple reference to a site offering meditation music and words designed to be helpful for PD patients . In case you are interested, www.healthjourneys.com .
An interruption - she just came to my dungeon door to say she felt "whoozy" and needed to go to bed. I helped her, then turned up loud the sound from one of her favourite DVD's so she can hear it faintly in the bedroom.
Back to my story. The site has a large range of meditation recordings available so in addition to the PD recording, I also downloaded one for sleep problems. I preferred downloading MP3 files rather than wait for CD's. The one small MP3 player we had on which she once listened to some spiritual songs was unable to contain all the files, so I wiped it & only copied the sleep files, since her biggest problem recently has been an inability to fall asleep. I have since bought another player with 2GB capacity that is able to contain all the files and then some.
Although I had little faith in such sleep therapy, she tried it, listening to the MP3 player on button earphones, as well as taking Horlix on going to bed, as suggested by the caring physician. The experiment almost failed that first night. After some two hours, including two trips to the loo, the top of her head began pounding. Then three hours later at 3:30AM her head was pulsating, even without listening to the MP3 player. She fell asleep and by 6am at meds time she was feeling horrible. Yet each night following she used the MP3 player. And each night sleep came more easily and without the strange effects in her head. She began looking refreshed, more awake, less drawn in her face, more cheerful as the days passed. A few days into the sleep "treatment" she adjusted the hems on 3 pairs of jeans of mine, a job she had avoided for many months. Last Monday, without any noticeable concerns, she saw a Hot Air City dentist that specialises in problem cases such as young children and matters like PD. Another appointment has been made to attend to a couple of fillings. She has not been relying on her walker, although I have had the 'flu. so we haven't been out very much. I have caught myself watching her, watching her relaxed face, her animated face. I had not realised that her face had become "sad"; perhaps others had. Until yesterday.
Yesterday, she "won" a prize - a government department had drawn her name out of the electoral roll hat to take part in a voluntary mental health survey. During the evening she studied the questions yet did not answer any. I took no notice. Last night, after setting up the MP3 player for her, I went to bed and sleep before she did.
When I came to this morning she told me about a horror night. Sleep had not come until after 4AM. Reading the mental health survey questions had reminded her of the invasive, depressing, guilt generating questions asked of her by the shrinks employed by the government department that employed her at the time of the infamous Queen Street massacre. She, most likely, would have been physically involved in the horror of that event had I not had a bad headache on that work day when I decided I needed to go home. I phoned her to ask her to leave work early and meet me at the entrance to the car park of a bank building about a block from her building. I can't remember why I was parked there. As we drove down the narrow street that crossed Queen Street we noticed massed fire engines and police vehicles blocking the traffic; must be due to a fire or an accident we thought. About an hour later when we arrived home did we learn the cause of the traffic congestion. And our daughter, a nurse in a hospital not far from the massacre, was phoning home. Those were the days before personal mobile phones (although I had one built into the car).
Back to last night. After memories of the massacre she so narrowly avoided and the following therapy sessions (after several she said "No more!") came other deep seated memories; how she has been denied and isolated from those experiences of Grandmother-hood that she should have had, our travel experiences of a few years ago across Canada, UK and Ireland when sodding insensitive neurologists lacking any empathy and bed-side manner dosed her with too much medication without schooling us in the possible side effects to turn what should have been a pleasurable experience into one of horror. And other memories of events that escape me at this time.
Anyway, a few hours ago I decided that she should go through the questionnaire as quickly as possible, answering the questions which I asked & recorded her answers, about 100 questions, to gain some sort of "closure" about it. She tended to think too much about each question, thought many were confusing, became emotional toward the end. Anyway, it is finished. I hope I did a helpful thing for her. She agreed to be involved in follow-up should she be asked. And now she sleeps.
The visits to the physio came to an end, although she now attends a falls prevention group at the hospital. The physio recommended her attendance at a therapy group at the town swimming pool so we went there to obtain the details but she does not wish to be involved because of dressing difficulties, size of the group and such things. She still does stretch exercises as directed but little other exercise unless I am motivated to bully her into going through the motions, and I haven't of late. The only item with which she occasionally needs help in dressing is an occasional bra clip. She gave up drinking the Horlix. She has felt so good these past weeks; we have a bench mark for her to return to.
Nearing time for her 2PM meds. I must check on her.
posted by Kilpike | 11:34 am
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