Kitty, Kitty

The cat arrived today. She's really fat! And really scared. She's been hiding in Mary's room (first under the bed and now behind the toilet). I got her out and put her on Mary's lap. I think she would have stayed there all night, but I eventually put her on the bed and then she ran back to her hiding place behind the toilet. Mary is very concerned that she hasn't had anything to eat, but I figure that when she gets good and hungry, she'll just have to come out and find something to eat. I've put half of a hot dog, cut up, on a saucer next to the toilet, but she isn't interested in it. Well, I think she is, but she's too upset to eat.

I'm filled with this awful feeling. A really bad premonition. I hope I'm just being silly. Well, if it doesn't work out, the lady who helped us get her said she would take the cat.

Diversions, Food, and Health

Gina got Mary a little stuffed doggy for Valentine’s Day that sings, “Ah, Sugar, ah, honey, honey, you are my candy, girl, and you got me lovin’ you.” She can’t quite figure out how to press it to make it play, and she can’t understand what it’s singing (she doesn’t recognize the song), but she thinks it’s so adorable. She keeps talking to it, telling it how cute it is.

The other morning one of our neighbors had some men putting in a garage floor behind his house. Mary sat in our kitchen doorway and watched—it provided hours of entertainment for her! I couldn’t believe she didn’t get cold or bored. Go figure.

She seems to be eating less and less, even though her emotional state has gotten back to normal. Every meal she tells me that I’ve given her too much, which drives me crazy because she then proceeds to eat everything (perhaps leaving her famous one bite) on her plate. Not that she’s thin, she’s probably a good weight, if not maybe even overweight for her height, but I’d prefer to see her eat more. It makes it rather difficult to cook. I’ll make two servings and eat one and she’ll eat half of one. Then she’ll have the other half the next day for lunch. Then I never get to give her any “lunch” foods that I know she’d enjoy—Limburger Cheese or bologna or grilled cheese, for instance. Plus, I like to give her cake, pies and cookies, because I know she enjoys these things (as do I), and I love to make them, but she eats such a miniscule amount… Can you imagine anyone really, really being satisfied with ½ a slice of pie? But, then, it’s fun(ny) to see what she will eat more of. Cottage Cheese pie seems to always get her. And we made up some more of those seasoned oyster crackers and she munches on them quite frequently—but only about 3 of them. I got some pistachios and she’s really digging them, but unfortunately she can’t shell them herself, as I was hoping she would (help keep her busy, give her something to do). There again, she’ll eat about 5 of them. I always tell her that if I just ate exactly what she does, I wouldn’t have to follow any other diet! I’d be skinny as a rail.
Her left ankle seems to be better and she can get around like she was before (with a small amount of pain). The sores on her right toes don’t seem to be getting any better. But I really don’t know much about that sort of thing. The nurse told me not to peel away any dry skin, but I couldn’t help it—it practically flakes off, but just stays there till it’s pulled away. Well, I thought, if it just needs to be taken off, then the skin underneath can get some air and heal up, so I removed quite a bit. Even around the scabs there was a ring of dry skin, which I removed. I’m sure the nurse will ask me if I removed it and I’ll have to say yes, even though she told me not to! Well, sometimes you’ve just got to go with your instincts. I’ll be so glad when Mary’s feet are better and I can take her out again. I’m going to call one of the ladies who used to help take care of her and arrange to have her come once week. I hope she can/will do it or knows someone who can. I’m tired of dealing with the stress of having to find a way to get to the grocery, the post office or where ever I need to go to run an errand.

Feeling Better

Mary is feeling so much better--what a relief! She smiled real big at breakfast and I asked her what she was smiling about--I'd never seen her do that--and regretted it immediately. It kind of sounded like I was, I don't know, being critical of her. In any case, I wish I hadn't drawn attention to it but instead just accepted it. I tried to cover the fact that it was something unusual by saying that I'd wondered if she'd seen something funny or had a funny thought. But that would be ridiculous to ask her about because whenever she says something and I ask her to repeat it because didn't hear her, she can't remember what she said. Occassionally, I wonder why I'm telling her something or why I'm reading to her since she won't remember it. But then she'll surprise the heck out of me by actually remembering something.

The lady who's getting us the cat called. Her friend should be able to get it to us this weekend. Mary's still very excited, thank goodness. I was afraid she'd change her mind. I can't even believe she ever agreed to it. Most likely because a) Angie and Anna were for it and b) it's free.

I put her out on the back porch today since it was so sunny. Since I moved the bird feeder closer (Angie's idea and a good one, too--why didn't I ever think of it???), she can see the birds better. Angie and Anna seemed to sort of... begrudge Mary her interest in birds. They said that before I came along, she was never interested in birds. And there was no "Honey." Hm. So I guess it's really more me that they begrudge Mary.

Yesterday I got her dressed and even managed to get her teeth brushed after breakfast. This is hard to do because she always lingers so long over her coffee and then I move on to other things. I left her in her PJ's today. It's kind of like there's a window of opportunity to get her dressed and if we miss that, then she might as well skip it. I put the potty chair back over the toilet and had her walk to it in the bathroom. Angie got on my case for having her walk but I need to see what she's capable of and I try to be very careful. I wish Angie would respect that--respect me. I get tired of being questioned, you know? But I guess part of it is just wanting to say something.

Mary's been coughing a lot since last night, so I'm going to give her something--which I hate to do since it often just knocks her out. Oh, get this--last night she called to me asked me for some Mylanta. I got it and brought it to her. I didn't ask, just acted because when she gets chest pain, it scares me. But she didn't have any chest pain. She just thought it would help her get to sleep! Go figure. So I read to her for a bit till she nodded off. I didn't give her the Mylanta, btw.

This and That

I just gave Mary some Limburger cheese. Ugh! Stinky! I finally got myself to taste some, thinking that maybe it didn’t taste like it smelled—wrong! It tasted exactly like it smelled! Angie loves to tell about how once when I was about five or six, she and Grandma pulled out some Limburger cheese, and I just stood there for a minute or so and then suddenly said, “I gotta go now,” and took off. She said they just died laughing because they knew it was the smell, even though I didn’t say anything.

Speaking of Angie, here’s a typical exchange between us, which will show why we don’t get along.
Me: (after noticing that Angie had once again put the sponge in the sink, which majorly annoys me—I expect people to see what I do and imitate my perfection!) Ange, do you purposely put the sponge in the sink? Cause that really annoys me, to have to reach in the sink and pick up a wet sponge.
Angie: What?
Me: I always lay the sponge up here and I keep finding it in the sink. It gets wet and it’s really yucky to pick up when it’s cold and wet.
Angie: I don’t know. I’ve never had a sponge. I don’t know anything about sponges. I don’t like them. I think they’re dirty—they’re full of bacteria.
I keep my mouth shut this time but often I would have reminded her that just the last time she was there she was saying how much she liked the sponge at the sink and wanted to get one herself. It was, actually, one of her typical remarks that lead me to give her something, which I always kick myself for afterwards. I mean, I remember telling her that we had an extra one that she could have, but she must not have heard me.
I admit it—we’re both at fault. I guess we’re just like oil and water…

Did I tell you that I’ve been making yogurt the last few weeks? I’ve always tried to get Mary to eat yogurt that I’ve bought at the grocery—strawberry or vanilla flavored, but she always said it tasted awful to her and she couldn’t eat it. I’d never made yogurt—I remember Mom making it and it seemed like this sour, runny white stuff. I discovered Mary’s yogurt maker out in the garage (along with a broken ice cream maker, which I’m still considering whether it’s worth paying to fix), so I decided to try it. Guess what—she’s eating it like a little piggy! And so am I! And it’s nonfat! How great is that, huh?

A friend of Mary’s has a sister who wants to get rid of one of her cats because she’s moving. It sounds like a great deal: female, spayed, five years old, front declawed, loves to sit on your lap, with litter box and carrier. She’s kind of a tiger-looking one, which isn’t my favorite but Mary seems to be gaga over her. However, the lady’s son might want the cat. She’s moving at the end of March, so we’ll just have to wait.

Thoughtless

Living with Mary seems to serve the purpose of constantly proving to me how inconsiderate and selfish I am. Sometimes I wonder at myself, I have to admit. Like tonight.

Mary fell today. I’d just cut her hair and thought maybe we could go get those new shoes today. So I got her to come stand in front of her dresser with the mirror on it, so she could see her hair—before she put her wig on over it. I wanted her to see how short I’d cut it, but she bent her head down. I thought she’d misunderstood me. In retrospect it’s so clear that that wasn’t the case but at the time… I said, “No, look here,” and pointed to the back of her neck. She looked down again and with a second or two, she was crumpling to the floor. I tried to grab her—I always keep her gait belt on her—but she was just dead weight and it was so unexpected. She fell on her knees and then back so that she was sitting on her heels with her feet splayed out under her, too. I still see that picture in my head and it turns my stomach! (In fact, we’d just had lunch and afterwards I noticed that I had a sour stomach from the whole event.) I immediately lifted and pulled her back so that her legs were out in front of her—I believe I lifted her under her arms, which was an awful thing to do and I’m so mad at myself, but I didn’t know what else to do and I guess in the circumstances it was the best thing.

She was pretty freaked out, too, as you can imagine. I ran to get the wheelchair, leaving her lying on the floor. She was crying out that she needed something under her back, but I figured that I needed to get her up and into a chair as soon as possible. I don’t know why I didn’t take the time to make her comfortable. I got the chair and hoisted her into it (thank God with some help from her—105 pounds is heavy!). She seemed to be ok; we were both rather freaked out, though. I didn’t know what to do. There’s always that helpless, confused feeling after she falls. Do I get her to the emergency room or not. She wasn’t complaining of pain, so I decided not to. I took her back out to the back porch, where she’d been all morning, and set her back up in her chair. It was extremely painful, almost impossible, for her to walk—her ankle hurt so bad.

Later, she had to use the potty and wanted to be moved to the living room. It was practically impossible to get her to the toilet and get her pants down. As you can imagine, I was getting more and more stressed. I got her into the living room and turned the Animal Planet on. We called Angie, which only made ME feel worse. She wanted me to put cold and hot on it and call the doctor and take her to the hospital and this and that. Later she called back and repeated everything and how sorry she was that I had to be in this situation. Yeah, right, whatever.

I’d tried a hot beanbag, but it didn’t seem to help, so I tried cold (to suit Angie, although Mom had said that if it wasn’t swollen, she didn’t need cold on it). Well, it didn’t help, either, so I tried hot again. She seemed to like it, but she moved around so much that it kept falling off and it didn’t seem to really help anyway. I also gave her a Darviset and wrapped her ankle up with an ace bandage. Her pain just seemed to get worse. She kept trying to rub her ankle even though she’d told me when I’d rubbed it that that hurt.

I got her to bed at 9 PM and read her to sleep—even though she didn’t want me to at first. I do it probably more for me than her; I love reading aloud so very much. She was awake again fairly soon. She kept moaning over the next few hours about how much it hurt. The thing is that she doesn’t know why it hurts. She forgets that she fell on it. So she thinks she’s just going crazy, with one thing hurting and then the other. (Oddly enough, her right toes only hurt her once this whole day and evening. I got her to stand up, which was very hard for her, and within a half a minute or so the pain had gone away. But it’s hard to tell about these things. She gets confused as to where the pain is coming from. I noticed a few months ago that her sense of left and right is often not there anymore.)

I tried again putting hot and then later putting cold on it, but nothing seemed to help. At 10:20, she was so wide-awake that she wanted me to read to her again. I finally had to stop because I couldn’t keep my own eyes open any longer. She seemed to be drifting off, too. A while later she was crying out again. I gave her another Darviset. It didn’t seem to help her, but I didn’t know what else to do. I’d already had one fit earlier this evening when she had to go to the potty and I couldn’t get her pants up. I’d put the wheelchair as close to the toilet as possible but it was still almost impossible for her to get over to it. I lost it. I hate it when I do that—but I often don’t know when it’s going to happen and it’s just like when I’m binging—I can’t seem to stop myself; I lose control. I said I’d had enough and couldn’t take it anymore, that I was at my wit’s end. I went and got a nightie (one like a dress) and went back into the bathroom to change her. She was close to tears (although I often wonder if they are more like crocodile tears because I never actually see any, not that I’d want to) and saying how she knew she was a burden to me, etc, etc. I told her it wasn’t her, it was all my problem and that I was frustrated with the situation, not her. That the situation made me angry, not her. That seemed to calm her down. I got her changed into the nightie, which really helped with using the potty.

Well, she kept moaning and complaining and I’d go into her room and tell her that I didn’t know what to do and the only thing I could do is call an ambulance because I couldn’t even get her down the steps into the car and that if we went to the emergency room it would be at least two hours before they even did anything with her and then they’d probably give her some extremely strong pain medicine which wasn’t good for her, which they’ve done before in the hospital—made her have hallucinations. I knew that neither she nor I wanted to go to the emergency room, but the whole time I wondered if it weren’t really me who didn’t want to go. To be honest, I could barely keep my eyes open. I’d sit down next to her bed and begin to fall asleep. She moaned about waking me up and what a burden she was. That only makes me annoyed, you know? I was really at my wits end. I gave her another Darviset. At around 2 AM when I went back to bed, I just couldn’t even see straight anymore. I begged her to please quite her Jesus-Jesusing because it woke me up and couldn’t she just try to ignore the pain and try to sleep, that she’d fall asleep from exhaustion eventually anyway. She promised to be quiet. I woke up half an hour later because she was saying things like, “Dear God, why do I have to suffer such pain? Bridget, can’t you do anything for me? I just can’t take it anymore. Oh, it hurts!” So I got up, as frustrated as ever at not knowing what to do. I looked at the ankle she was rubbing, mentally preparing myself to take her to the ER. She’d lost the clasp for the ace bandage somewhere. I decided to take it off to see what it looked like. There was something that sort of looked like a vain that might be swollen but otherwise there wasn’t even any bruising. I put some more capsazin cream on it, which I’d done several times already this evening, and put the ice pack on it again. Suddenly, it didn’t hurt anymore. Suddenly, everything was alright. Had it been the ace bandage all along that was causing the trouble?! She said she’d go on to sleep now. I made some sort of nasty remark about not me, that I was wide awake now, which I was, and that I’d be in the living room if she needed me. That really wasn’t necessary. Why did I say that? It’s not as if she’s been trying to keep me awake. Well, she’s been sleeping like a log ever since. I don’t know whether to be annoyed at it all or just relieved. I guess the later is the healthiest.

I’ve been eating sweets like a pig for most of the day. Stress? Can I really call all of this stress? It seems silly to do so, especially when I think about the stress that I was under during my graduate studies these past two years, but it does seem very stressful to me. I wish someone would come give me a break. But who? Why doesn’t anyone think of me? Is Mary really just my responsibility? Are we anybody’s responsibility? Or are we all really just here for and by ourselves in the end? I guess so unless someone decides to take responsibility for us—or else the law dictates that we have responsibility, like for a small child. One of my sister-in-laws is planning a birthday party for my sister who has cancer. I just feel like, that’s nice but how am I supposed to come? I feel like, go ahead and have the party without me; it doesn’t matter if I come or not. And I really mean that. I’m really not that interested in going anywhere. Just like how I’d have preferred to stay home at Christmas. It really wouldn’t have bothered me. I just want some rest; I don’t feel like going to parties.

I slept late yesterday morning because I was so very exhausted from having to get up so much the night before (toes and potty). Then I felt like crap all day. Didn’t’ do the dishes, didn’t do my housecleaning task for the day, didn’t do much of anything. Ate a lot. Was frustrated with how dinner turned out. Am I depressed? I’ve been exercising more and have only gained weight. I think while I was losing weight I at least felt that something, one small thin, was going well in my life. But I’m too tired to exercise anymore. And it used to be so easy to do my diet. For the first time in my life it was easy. I didn’t feel hungry; I felt in control. Then Christmas came. I only gain a pound or so but since then, I can’t get over wanting to pig out, especially on sweets.

I think I hear Mary.

She had to use the potty. I put the chair right next to the bed, but just the standing up and pivoting is painful for her. I’ve been through so much with her where she couldn’t put her weight on one of her legs, etc, but this seems harder. Am I getting weaker? Is she heavier? Will there come a time when I can’t handle her? And she doesn’t always help. She wants to stand up to wipe herself. I asked if she couldn’t just open her legs and do that. Yes, she can. She just doesn’t think. My brain is dead. I can’t think anymore. Will I go back to sleep tonight? I’ll probably be ready to sleep when she’s ready to get up.

Amnesia

I’ve figured out what to do about Mary’s foot! I’m so excited! She just needs to get up and walk around a bit—apparently it’s her circulation. When I think of all the times she’s been in pain because I didn’t know what to do…

I gave her another Hot Toddy tonight. I know, I’ve got to stop that. Wouldn’t I be a terrible mother??? She said she wanted it, though.

Her walking seems to be getting worse and worse. It’s such a shame. I remember when I came her four years ago and she’d just had a hip replacement and walked everywhere and could bend over to pick something up off the floor like it was nothing…

Did I ever tell you about my amazing ability to pull out facial hairs with my bare hands? All the aunts and Mom are amazed. Facial hair is one thing I simply can’t stand to see! Gross!

Mom came over to sit with Mary today while I went to mail a job application—Library Assistant for the public library—keep your fingers crossed! Maybe I’ll get it and like it and they’ll pay for me to get a Masters in Library and Information Science and then require me to work for them and my employment woes will be solved. It also doesn’t pay badly—not really great either, but that’s ok. Anyway, I think Mom really enjoyed watching the birds. I put Mary out on the back porch because we actually got a lot of sun today and it was warmish out there—and the birds and other animals were out in droves. We get a couple of woodpeckers and we’re always tickled to watch them.

Did I mention that I’m getting up earlier—getting Mary up earlier, too—and I’ve got a lot more energy. Maybe I just have more time! Whatever, I’m so amazed that I actually get up. I’ve just been wrestling with myself for not being able to get up in the morning basically all my life and now I’m just doing it without any big lectures (from myself). I’ve also been exercising. I see that it inspires Mary. We were lifting some weights the other day—just simple exercises. That woman is amazing! She could lift two pounds and do eight reps slowly twice. But her right wrist did hurt her today, so I hope we didn’t overdo it! I found a hand brace I one of her drawers and put it on her. She said it really helped. Maybe she’s had problems with that wrist before. I’ll never know unless that information just suddenly comes tumbling out of her sometime. You can’t ask, though. Asking is the worst way to find out something from Mary. That makes her freeze/lock up right away. But it’s so hard not to ask when you want to know something. Funny, it’s kind of like living with someone who has amnesia.

Getting Back to Abnormal

Mary’s foot keeps hurting her and no one knows why. I certainly don’t. The two toes still have sores on them. They don’t’ seem to be getting any worse or any better. The podiatrist said they would be slow to heal because she has poor circulation in that foot. Is that why it hurts??? One of the home health nurses put a special bandage (Duoderm) on it, which they’ve used before for her bedsores on her rear end. However, I was a bit wary about that. On one hand, it seemed like a good idea because it’s made to cushion the sore place and then to fall off when the scab heals. On the other hand, the podiatrist said to not put anything on it and just let the scabs dry out and heal. I ended up taking the Duoderm off because Mary was complaining so very much about her toes hurting. I guess I couldn’t stand not being able to see what was hurting her, even if I couldn’t do anything about it. It looked like the skin around one of the sores was, I don’t know, blistering or something, so I felt pretty good at that time for taking the Duoderm off. I just don’t know! Also, I think because she so rarely feels any pain, when she does, either it must be pretty bad or else she’s just a real baby about it.

I think maybe she’s slowly getting back to her normal self. She’s still not drinking much coffee, which sounds like a good thing, but that’s definitely not normal, so it concerns me. I gave her a hot toddy again because I just didn’t feel like dealing with her not sleeping again. I think it’s been working pretty good thus far, but the night is still young!

I have this feeling that she’s also getting a bit stir crazy and if we could just get out of the house, say go shopping (one of her favorite things to do), she’d feel better. But it’s just been too cold.