Chapter 212 - Morning has Broken
"What's the time?" she asked from her chair as I unpacked the dishwasher. "Nine thirty." As she shuffled across the room I asked whether she wanted the treadmill. "If I don't have a shower now I'll lose it."
Prior to the above, she had been up before me this morning, doing puzzles in a booklet that we figured out she had been given when she was in hospital in 1995. "Why are you using it?" "I've finished the puzzle magazines." I proceeded to do the minimum Wii exercise I do lately, Hula Hoops, for 11 minutes then I showered & prepared my breakfast (she already had hers). She attempted Hula Hoops, failing as usual, (although yesterday she made 19 rotations in one direction) then began stepping, usually good for her, but after some 300 steps pains in her legs forced her to stop. "Use the Circulation Booster" I said. That eased her leg pains.
As she went into the bathroom, I went to my dungeon to begin this chapter. Within a couple of minutes she called on the CB that she needed help. "I need the shower chair." She had run out of steam. So I positioned the shower chair, helped her off with her nightie, then handed her the shower rose. I waited outside the door until she finished her shower. She called " There is nothing to stand on." I had positioned the shower chair over the plastic mat in the shower area. As I pushed the fabric bath mat closer to her and asked her to stand she pleaded "I can't, the floor is too slippery." Wet non-slip tiles do feel a little slippery. I kicked the bath mat onto the wet area & began to dry her. "I have to get out of here'" so I lead her, dripping, into the bedroom, where she needed a solid object to hang onto. The wardrobe doors were opened so she was able to grip the shelving while I dried her. Then she sat heavily on the bed. As I fumbled opening her incontinence pants I irritably told her I knew what I was doing as she tried to tell me which was the rear, where the label is, as she always does. They need to be threaded over her feet while she is seated before standing so that I can hitch them up. This part of the operation is trickier than could be expected; I have her hold my shoulders while I am seated on my bed while I grasp for her clothing & as I do so, her hips begin to oscillate back & forth at a great rate. Then she sat again. "Which trousers do you want?" I asked as I slid open the wardrobe door . "Out in the laundry." "What's wrong with all of these?" as I waved my hand towards a rack of jeans & things. "They are too tight to get up & down easily." An image of me rescuing her off the toilet seat because of such difficulty came to mind. "A mauve, dark brown pair at the front of the ...." she said trailing off as I went to the laundry. The slacks were threaded over her feet, the she stood as I hitched them up. As we shuffled out to her chair "Could you pull the pants up at the back please? That's better." "Do you want the treadmill now?" "What's the time?" "Ten o'clock." "In about half an hour; I must take my pills." So began this Sunday morning. Mornings are not always like this. Some mornings I go looking for her only to find she has risen, showered, had breakfast & is in her sewing room, all without needing help.
Our days are filled with small incidents I try to remember for recording, but each is usually forgotten in the fog. For instance, a few days ago she CB'd for help in the loo. She had pulled up her incontinence pants but her slacks remained around her ankles and beneath her feet. "I can't lift my feet to pull them up." I help her up, asking her to "climb the fireman's pole" to help her stand straighter rather than stooped. the lift each foot in turn.
We stay in-doors too much. One day she used her walker to come with me to collect the mail.
Another day I wondered whether a stroll around some of the town's junk shops would be good for her. She jumped at the opportunity; first we had a light lunch at the club (she gave me portion of her ham salad wrap) before strolling along the street to a newsagent for her puzzle magazines, then into the place where she buys cards, then a junk shop a little further along. After wandering the length of the shop, without showing much interest in anything, she said "That's enough", so we left by the rear door, back to the truck & home; all in about an hour & a half.
She often asks to use the treadmill while experiencing very sharp pains in back & legs; then after striding on the machine for a few minutes she gets off, with my help, only experiencing a dull ache.
She has had no success making an appointment with our new found Bowen person.
The oscillating column fan is often needed while she is seated in her chair. Only a little exertion causes sweating. Once as she got off the treadmill I noticed that the rear of her hands were wet with sweat and usually her hands only feel damp.
A few days ago at noon she called and I found her grasping the kitchen doorway, asking "Can I use the treadmill? The meds haven't kicked in." After only a short time she had to get off "I didn't have it up very high (speed) and I was scared." That day she wanted only a few dry biscuits for lunch.
I notice her more often slouched forward in her chair, mouth slightly open, hollow cheeked.
At almost 11am she has called me to help her onto the treadmill.
So ends an average morning.
Prior to the above, she had been up before me this morning, doing puzzles in a booklet that we figured out she had been given when she was in hospital in 1995. "Why are you using it?" "I've finished the puzzle magazines." I proceeded to do the minimum Wii exercise I do lately, Hula Hoops, for 11 minutes then I showered & prepared my breakfast (she already had hers). She attempted Hula Hoops, failing as usual, (although yesterday she made 19 rotations in one direction) then began stepping, usually good for her, but after some 300 steps pains in her legs forced her to stop. "Use the Circulation Booster" I said. That eased her leg pains.
As she went into the bathroom, I went to my dungeon to begin this chapter. Within a couple of minutes she called on the CB that she needed help. "I need the shower chair." She had run out of steam. So I positioned the shower chair, helped her off with her nightie, then handed her the shower rose. I waited outside the door until she finished her shower. She called " There is nothing to stand on." I had positioned the shower chair over the plastic mat in the shower area. As I pushed the fabric bath mat closer to her and asked her to stand she pleaded "I can't, the floor is too slippery." Wet non-slip tiles do feel a little slippery. I kicked the bath mat onto the wet area & began to dry her. "I have to get out of here'" so I lead her, dripping, into the bedroom, where she needed a solid object to hang onto. The wardrobe doors were opened so she was able to grip the shelving while I dried her. Then she sat heavily on the bed. As I fumbled opening her incontinence pants I irritably told her I knew what I was doing as she tried to tell me which was the rear, where the label is, as she always does. They need to be threaded over her feet while she is seated before standing so that I can hitch them up. This part of the operation is trickier than could be expected; I have her hold my shoulders while I am seated on my bed while I grasp for her clothing & as I do so, her hips begin to oscillate back & forth at a great rate. Then she sat again. "Which trousers do you want?" I asked as I slid open the wardrobe door . "Out in the laundry." "What's wrong with all of these?" as I waved my hand towards a rack of jeans & things. "They are too tight to get up & down easily." An image of me rescuing her off the toilet seat because of such difficulty came to mind. "A mauve, dark brown pair at the front of the ...." she said trailing off as I went to the laundry. The slacks were threaded over her feet, the she stood as I hitched them up. As we shuffled out to her chair "Could you pull the pants up at the back please? That's better." "Do you want the treadmill now?" "What's the time?" "Ten o'clock." "In about half an hour; I must take my pills." So began this Sunday morning. Mornings are not always like this. Some mornings I go looking for her only to find she has risen, showered, had breakfast & is in her sewing room, all without needing help.
Our days are filled with small incidents I try to remember for recording, but each is usually forgotten in the fog. For instance, a few days ago she CB'd for help in the loo. She had pulled up her incontinence pants but her slacks remained around her ankles and beneath her feet. "I can't lift my feet to pull them up." I help her up, asking her to "climb the fireman's pole" to help her stand straighter rather than stooped. the lift each foot in turn.
We stay in-doors too much. One day she used her walker to come with me to collect the mail.
Another day I wondered whether a stroll around some of the town's junk shops would be good for her. She jumped at the opportunity; first we had a light lunch at the club (she gave me portion of her ham salad wrap) before strolling along the street to a newsagent for her puzzle magazines, then into the place where she buys cards, then a junk shop a little further along. After wandering the length of the shop, without showing much interest in anything, she said "That's enough", so we left by the rear door, back to the truck & home; all in about an hour & a half.
She often asks to use the treadmill while experiencing very sharp pains in back & legs; then after striding on the machine for a few minutes she gets off, with my help, only experiencing a dull ache.
She has had no success making an appointment with our new found Bowen person.
The oscillating column fan is often needed while she is seated in her chair. Only a little exertion causes sweating. Once as she got off the treadmill I noticed that the rear of her hands were wet with sweat and usually her hands only feel damp.
A few days ago at noon she called and I found her grasping the kitchen doorway, asking "Can I use the treadmill? The meds haven't kicked in." After only a short time she had to get off "I didn't have it up very high (speed) and I was scared." That day she wanted only a few dry biscuits for lunch.
I notice her more often slouched forward in her chair, mouth slightly open, hollow cheeked.
At almost 11am she has called me to help her onto the treadmill.
So ends an average morning.
posted by Kilpike | 9:41 am
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