Is there really a new normal?

Since early 2023, I have been working to establish a new normal for my life. I've come to the conclusion, however, that establishing a new normal isn't a real concept. 

When I first moved back to my hometown in 2003, my folks insisted that I move in with them. Then, as time passed, it became apparent that I needed to continue living with my aging parents to help out. That was our "normal" for nearly 20 years until my Dad died in early 2023.

At that point, I officially became the primary caregiver for my Mom, who had Parkinson's and the dementia that goes with it. Mom and I navigated a new life without Dad. All went fairly well until the fall of 2023, when our Shih Tzu developed irreversible kidney issues and had to be put down. 

Losing Jorgie like that was a gut punch that still prompts tears at times. Jorgie's kisses and snuggles had helped me work through my grief for losing Dad. Mom, through no fault of her own, was little help as her dementia had taken away her ability to empathize.

Nonetheless, we continued on until Mom died in August of this year. For the first time in my life, all of my immediate family members were gone and I was alone. 

I began to rely on my first cousins and my chosen family of close friends and neighbors as I once again tried to establish a new normal. 

A month after Mom died, my Uncle died. While I knew my cousins would still be there for me, I also knew that they now had even more on their plates.

Then, in October, my body rebelled and I was hospitalized twice in two consecutive weeks for two different health issues. In the first, I arrived at the hospital via ambulance mid morning and by 4 p.m. a surgeon was removing a giant blood clot from my lungs.

Shameless promotion: after passing out three times, I found myself on the hallway floor and unable to get up. I used my Apple watch to call the ambulance that first time. I had gotten the Apple watch after I shut the landline off in case I had an emergency and was not near my cell phone. It did its job well. If you have a smart watch synced to your cell phone, learn how to use it to call for help. It may save your life!

Nearly a week after I first went to the hospital, I rode an ambulance back to the hospital after a sharp pain in my lower chest/upper abdomen would not go away. 

I had been told the previous week that there were still some small pieces of the blood clot in my veins that were going to be treated with medication. I was concerned that the pain I was feeling was related to the blood clot pieces still in my system. The doctor had told me that if I had any issues, I needed to get back to the hospital quickly, so I called an ambulance a second time. 

As it turned out, the pain was caused by a bad gallbladder that needed to be removed. That surgery came a day after I arrived at the hospital the second time. 

Since then, I have been recovering from the two surgeries while working on issues related to Mom's estate. 

I've also been thinking about the concept of establishing a new normal. 

I've decided that establishing a new normal isn't real. It seems clear, as I have outlined the past couple of years above, that instead of establishing and living a new normal, we just continue to evolve, reacting and adapting to whatever life throws at us. 

And what if we don't? I suppose that either we die or go insane. 

As for me, it is a comfort to view the rest of my life in through this lens.

I choose to keep evolving. How about you?

And it was back to the hospital for me

Two trips in two consecutive weeks is enough!

Apparently my body had too much fun at the hospital last week and decided it wanted to visit again.

On Tuesday, I observed the Taco Tuesday ritual Mom and I had partaken in weekly for the last year of her life. A bit after eating, I started feeling unwell. I decided it was bad tacos. But when the pain in my stomach continued more than twelve hours after I ate, I became concerned that the pain was connected to the giant blood clot that was removed from my lungs last week. 

I called for an ambulance and took another ride to Salina Regional Health Center with Salina Fire's finest about 4:30 a.m. Wednesday.

I spent a good part of Wednesday in an ER room, partially waiting for a room to open up in the hospital. While there, I had blood tests and more CT scans. It was determined that there was a large stone blocking the duct in my gallbladder and that the gallbladder needed to go. 

So early on Thursday morning, I was in pre-surgery waiting for a very kind and upbeat Dr. Gray to remove the offending and somewhat useless organ from my body.

The procedure went well and I was sent back to my room on 5 Surgical West. 

Once again, the good folks at Salina Regional did a great job taking care of me. I especially appreciated the efforts of Lynnette and Miranda who went above and beyond to calm my fears and helped me through what turned into an emotional time for me.

Have you ever had to have someone wipe your butt because you were not able to? It was embarrassing and the last straw in what has been a tough couple of years for me. I lost it. Lynnette and Miranda got me through it with kind, upbeat attitudes.

I also appreciated the folks who showed up more often than I would have liked to draw blood. I have an aversion to being poked with needles that goes back to my youth. All of the Salina Regional folks who poked my arms were kind and understanding when I told my story about the blood draw long ago. They did their best to put me at ease and apologized each time I winced when they poked. 

Then there were the friends who picked up my mail and gave me a ride home, and the family and friends who knew I was in the hospital again and offered prayers and support from afar. 

Thank you all!

Aside from healing from the surgery, my immediate goal is to not need to go to the hospital for a third consecutive week. Please pray that I achieve that goal.

So, it wasn't COVID after all

 

About a week ago, I wrote that I thought I had COVID and that my illness was causing vivid dreams.

Well, it wasn't COVID.

I won't go into all the gory details, but after passing out on the toilet three times, I used my Apple watch on Wednesday to call 911. Salina Fire's finest broke into my house (though they left the door intact) and whisked me away to Salina Regional Health Center. Thanks, fellas!

After a CT scan, it was determined that I had a massive blood clot on my lungs. I also had whatever bug is currently going around. 

The ER doc told me that had I not come in when I did, I'd be dead. I got to the ER early afternoon and the procedure to remove the clot was scheduled for 4 p.m. that same day. 

The procedure was interesting. They wheeled me into an operating room where classic rock was playing in the background. I found myself singing along to some of the songs. 

They made an incision at the top of my leg and went up through an artery to the vessels in my lungs and sucked the clot out. I was too busy jammin' to realize when they finished. The whole procedure took maybe an hour.

They showed me the clot, which they had laid out on a card that had a line drawing of the vessels in my lungs. It was a massive, multi-tentacled monster that stretched seven to eight inches across and approximately five inches deep.

I was told that my clot set a record for the largest clot every removed at Salina Regional. I always thought It would be fun to be a record holder, but not like that!

They gave me a photo of the clot on the card. It was suggested by some at the hospital that I use the photo in my Christmas letter! We'll see.

I was sooo pretty in the hospital. ©

As they did with Mom, most of the people at Salina Regional took good care of me. A big shout-out to those who did and assisted with the procedure. You made it seem so easy. Also, a shout-out to the hospitalist, the nurses, and the aides/techs on 3SE. Your kindness and caring during a scary time is most appreciated. (And thanks for listening to and laughing at my goofy and probably not-as-funny-as-I-thought comments!)

Also, a big thank you to my longest-tenured friend, Laurie, who picked me up at the hospital this morning and took me to drag Fe before taking me home! Additionally, thank you to my friends and neighbors who picked up my mail and brought me freshly made chicken soup and a beautiful bouquet of roses.

Finally, thank you to my family and friends near and far for your support, prayers, and good wishes. Each one of you has played a part in helping me through this!

In looking back at the vivid dream I wrote about in my last blog post, I think it was a message from my Mom. As you may remember, in the dream I found myself in the ESU Memorial Union, eventually eating with my Mom, although I never saw her face. All I saw of her was when she was walking away down the long main hallway of the Memorial Union. 

I think she was trying to tell me it wasn't yet my time. 

I guess God still has plans for me here.

Dreaming in the time of COVID

 

I haven't been feeling well for the past few days. 

At first I thought it was the usual fall bug going around, as I was feeling a little out of sorts. But after I suddenly got winded walking to the bathroom and had surprise diarrhea, I decided to see what the symptoms of the latest version of COVID-19 were. I have had, over the course of the past few days, eight of the eleven symptoms.

Now before you start playing armchair doctor, as well-meaning and kind as it may be, I will be fine. The windedness has subsided a bit, as have the chills, and, thankfully, the diarrhea. I'm managing the congestion with Mucinex, and it seems to be easing a bit as well. The coughs are less frequent. And I promise, if things get worse, I will seek medical help.

I was fortunate that not all of the symptoms hit at the same time. One effect of the illness that has been consistent throughout the past few days is one that doesn't appear on the CDC's COVID-19 symptom list. My dreams have been incredibly vivid and weird as heck.

Most recently was one I had today. I had intended to watch the Lions-Vikings game at noon. I had sort of watched the New England-Jacksonville game from London earlier and turned the channel to the Lions-Vikings pregame as soon as NE-JAX concluded. Then I promptly fell asleep in my chair.

The part of the dream I remember was set along the main, long hallway of the Emporia State Memorial Union, a place I have not been in quite some time. As is true with many dreams, the Memorial Union in my dream, while resembling the real building, had a number of enhancements, most notably, a huge cafeteria to the east of the bookstore.

For those not familiar with the real Memorial Union, such a culinary enhancement in that location would have put the east entrance to the real Memorial Union in the parking lot across the street.

In the dream, Mom and I were going to have lunch in the cafeteria. Although neither of us lived in Emporia in the dream, we somehow managed to arrive in separate cars at different times. 

I went in search of Mom and was told that a friend was looking for me on Mom's behalf. (In reality, that friend is one from my days working at the Hays Daily News, not ESU.)

While looking for Mom, I encountered a number of people who, at least in my dream, were people I knew or knew of, though I couldn't remember their names. Whether they all were from ESU remains a mystery.

I approached the cafeteria and discovered that ESU staff members were there having a sit-down strike for better wages and better working conditions. Thinking that may have scared off Mom, I went to another part of the cafeteria (remember: it was huge) and apparently found Mom, though I don't recall ever sitting down with her and having a conversation while eating. During that time, not once did I see her face, yet she was there.

I do remember eating fried chicken. (Probably a KFC original chicken tenders commercial was on my TV during that part of the dream.) Then Mom got up and left, walking down the long hallway toward the west entrance to the Memorial Union, while I scrambled to figure out what to do with our trays while not disturbing the employees' sit-in.

I looked down the hall and could see Mom walking away. She was wearing the polo top that she wore in the photo I used for her obituary, though she had a coat over it. Ironically, in the dream, I said to myself, "Look! She's wearing the same polo shirt she wore in that photo I used for her obituary." Now keep in mind, in the dream Mom was not dead.

Part of me wonders whether it was Mom checking in with me because I was sick. I'd like to think that was the case. 

Nonetheless, that dream was weird as heck. 

I pray you never have to deal with dementia

In whatever form it manifests itself, dementia is callous.

Whether it be the inability to find the correct words to convey what one is thinking or the inability to recognize loved ones, the ability to converse with people who aren't really there or the loss of memory, dementia takes its toll on not only the person it afflicts, but also family and friends of the person. 

Perhaps the most well known of the dementia diseases is Alzheimer's disease. Celebrities such as Rita Hayworth, Ronald Reagan, Charlton Heston, Glen Campbell, Burgess Meredith, Perry Como, and Eddie Albert were among the millions who have suffered from Alzheimer's.

Although Alzheimer's disease usually is top of mind when "dementia" is mentioned, there are many other forms of dementia. For instance, an autopsy revealed that Robin Williams was in the advanced stages of Lewy body dementia at the time of his death by suicide in 2014, according to information on the Lewy Body Dementia Association website (https://www.lbda.org/blog/robin-williams-and-lewy-body-dementia-2/).

Actor Bruce Willis has been diagnosed with frontotemporal dementia, according to a family statement published on the Association for Frontotemporal Degeneration website (https://www.theaftd.org/mnlstatement23/ Feb. 16, 2023).

About seven years ago, my Mom was diagnosed with Parkinson's disease (the same disease that actor Michael J. Fox has). We had noticed that her hands shook while reading the newspaper, so much so that I could hear the pages rattling from across the room. She also was having trouble sleeping, partly because her legs shook in bed. 

Mom's primary physician at the time referred her to a neurologist, who made the Parkinson's diagnosis and prescribed medication to help lessen the tremors. After the initial couple of visits, Mom had to see the neurologist every six months. While there, she had to take a scored one-page cognitive test, an eyes and limbs movement test, and a walking test. 

Initially, Dad and I split doctor duty. He took Mom to appointments with her primary physician and I took Mom to her appointments with the neurologist. During the first several years, Mom's scores on the cognitive tests were fairly close. 

Several years ago, however, her score took a nose dive and her neurologist prescribed medication that could slow the progression of the dementia. During that time, Mom's mobility also decreased and she was forced to use a walker, something she absolutely hated. She tried her best to not have to use the walker, moving around the house by holding on to furniture or the walls. I never knew for sure whether, because of her dementia, she didn't understand why it was safer for her to use the walker or she just didn't want to and was being stubborn. (Stubborn runs in the family and I inherited it from both sides!)

After a while, however, Mom decided to quit taking the dementia-slowing medication as it made her light-headed and dizzy. The neurologist said it was her decision, and we moved on knowing that her cognitive abilities would decline more rapidly than they had been.

She still asked me daily what day it was, though those questions rapidly increased to multiple times in the same day. Some days she had trouble remembering or understanding what I had just said to her, while other days we could chat as we had for years. 

The past few years, Mom increasingly made notes about almost anything. For instance, if I had gone to pick up supper while we were watching a baseball or football game, she would make notes of who scored while I was gone so she could tell me about it when I returned. If there was something on the news that piqued her interest, she would make a note about it. 

Her cognitive decline really began to take a turn for the worse while Dad was recovering from cancer surgery in the fall of 2022. My normally chatty Mom did little more than sit by Dad when I would take her to see him while he was rehabbing. At the time, I thought that, perhaps, the whole situation was too overwhelming for her.

After the ICU nurse called the night Dad died a few months later, I woke up Mom to tell her. She said "Oh my," cried for a couple of minutes, and then went back to sleep.

Shortly after Dad died, Mom developed an affection for one of our dog's stuffed toys, a stuffed baby deer. Now Jorgie's toy wasn't really a dog toy. It was made for a child, but Jorgie was my child, thus he got the baby deer. Jorgie loved that baby deer and didn't understand why his Grandma kept taking it away from him. She finally put it on the back of the couch behind her where Jorgie couldn't get to it.  

Later in the year, for the first time in my life, Mom forgot my birthday. That was tough, though I knew she forgot because of the dementia. The day after my birthday, she had an inkling and asked when my birthday was. 

Last fall, when I had to have Jorgie put down because of kidney disease, I came home from the vet's office with nothing but his collar and tags. Mom asked if Jorgie was staying at the vet's for a few days. I told her, while tears streamed down my face, that Jorgie was dead and wouldn't be coming back home. I sat across the room from Mom, ugly crying for what seemed an eternity while she stared blankly at me for a couple of minutes and then went back to her book.

The neurologist later told me that sometimes people with dementia lose the ability to express emotions and to empathize with others. (That also explained her reaction when I told her Dad had died.)

Shortly after Jorgie died, Mom began placing the baby deer next to her on the couch and petting it. At night, the baby dear sat on the back of the couch. Each night, as she got up to go to bed, she would pet the baby deer and tell it "goodnight."

By far, the worst moment, however, was when Mom looked me in the eye and asked, "Where's Leslie?" I knew I couldn't react the way I felt inside, so in the calmest voice I could muster I said, "Mom, I am Leslie." She cocked her head a bit and looked at me, and then she said, "well, you are," and went back to reading her book. Thank goodness that only happened once. 

Fortunately for Mom and I, she never developed the ability to see and converse with people who really weren't there.  That is a condition that also sometimes afflicts persons with Parkinson's and dementia. 

Through it all, I tried to remember what a friend whose father had Parkinson's once told me: that instead of trying to correct Parkinson's patients for their inability to comprehend what we know to be real, it is better and less upsetting to them to just be present in their version of reality.

I think I did that. At least I tried to do so. Despite the challenges posed by the Parkinson's and dementia, I tried to make Mom's final years happy ones. 

I hope she saw them that way.

Looking at dangerous hurricanes from the safety of Kansas

I can't even begin to imagine what the people of the Florida peninsula are going through right now.

How scary to be facing potentially one of the most powerful and deadly hurricanes to hit the west coast of Florida. Not only that, but Milton is so strong that it also is expected to strike the west coast of Florida as a hurricane and exit the east coast of Florida as a hurricane.

Milton is predicted to be the second hurricane to have its name retired in as many weeks. That's what happens when a hurricane is incredibly deadly or costly.

Folks were still cleaning up from Hurricane Helene, which roared ashore further north on the Florida coast on September 26, when they had to turn their attention to preparing for Milton. While crews frantically work to remove debris from Hurricane Helene, they are not expected to get all of it before Milton hits. The debris that remains will become deadly projectiles being flung about by the strong winds and storm surge.

Forecasters believe Milton will make landfall somewhere between Tampa Bay and Fort Myers late tonight or early tomorrow morning. 

I have several friends living along the west coast of Florida in the area of Milton's predicted landfall. I pray that they remain safe.

In Kansas, we have the threat of tornadoes and storm-related flooding. That is scary enough. What we don't have is sustained winds in the 145-165 mph range, wind gusts in the 175 mph range and storm surge of 10-15 feet of sea water. The storm surge is so deadly that several days ago, Tampa Mayor Jane Castor warned people in the evacuation zones to leave or "you're going to die."

What an ominous warning. I can't even imagine.

Remembering a good man, my Uncle

My Mom dearly loved her "baby" brother, Jere. 

Her face would light up whenever he called and she eagerly anticipated those times when they got to be together.

As of yesterday, they are together once again. I imagine she was waiting for him with a big smile on her face, ready to give him a big hug.

Mom and Uncle Jere when they were kids.

I tell you this not to gain your sympathy. I would prefer that you direct your thoughts and prayers toward my two cousins who lost their Dad. I can relate to what they might be going through, though it is all new to them.

Rather, I want you to know what sort of person my Uncle Jere was. He was a good man, the type of person you would want as a relative.

After my Dad died last year, Uncle Jere stepped in, checking on me occasionally and providing fatherly advice. Those who know me well know that I might have bristled at that, after all, I am fiercely independent. But coming from Uncle Jere, it was okay. I knew he cared.

He loved to text me photos of family, which, of course, I would share with Mom. I got to know a couple of generations of cousins, many of whom I had never met, thanks to those texts.

Uncle Jere also had a great sense of humor and liked to tease those around him. Like Mom, he had a keen sense for finding the funny in situations. I loved listening to him when he was telling a story about someone because I knew, at some point, there would be something funny.

He also was ornery. According to Mom, a great deal of his orneriness in his youth was directed at my Grandmother. It apparently was great fun to hear her shriek at his hijinks!

Despite his ornery streak, Uncle Jere cared deeply about his family. While I am missing him terribly, I take comfort in the fact that he is with Mom once again.