Me 'n My Laptop

Aha!

I had an epiphany today while watching the handyman snow-blow a path around the courtyard and around the building.  Earlier, I had been outside in the parking lot, sweeping 8 inches of freshly fallen snow off the parked cars.  I did the same thing yesterday, only about 6 inches.  While doing so, I reflected within that I really enjoyed doing so - the sun was bright, the snow wasn't too heavy, and I knew most of the owners of the cars were either old, on walkers, in wheelchairs and they would appreciate it.  I get true joy out of doing for them, because I know how it feels to not be able to do things.  And it truly feels sooo good to be able to do it myself again.  On my good days.  To be thankful for the good days, I do for others. 

Regarding moving to next door town, for the purpose of being 3-4 blocks closer to the river, where there is a walking path going around the river, and it's plowed in the winter = safe walking. 

1.  Cats will be exposed to much more traffic, neighbors, other cats, etc.  They have back door patios, and my cats would be a bother.  Here, they pretty much have the run of the courtyard, and they bother no-one cause no-one goes out there very much.  We don't have outdoor acess to the courtyard.  They have the garden area to hunt mice, should they decide to become more like cats, rather than dogs.  They are safe from traffic. 

2.  The Curves in town is clear across town.  Here, there is a gym about 2 blocks away, and my walking route goes right next to it during the summer.  During the winter, the roads are slippery and dangerous. 

Our apartment handyman had a snow blower today, and he made a path around the courtyard, and around the building.  The snow is 2 feet deep back there.  It took the visual for me to realize that is all I need - keep a damn path cleared and I don't have to move away.  I HAVE to walk.  I've gained 15 pounds back, and I could care less about living again, and I KNOW walking will fix that. 

So, tomorrow, I am going to ask the landlady if she will commit to making a "sidewalk" for me in the winter, AND keep the garden area as a garden (she wants to plant grass), then I will stay here.  I couldn't ask for a better place for my animals.  The other issue was not being able to have bird/squirrel feeders.  She told the new guy that he could have one.  Hmmm. 

The other place (I'm next on the list to be called and someone is going to a nursing home, so it's close) allows 1 small pet.  I know I can get the two dogs approved, but the cats are iffy.  I TRIED not to get attached, but damn.  I am attached.  We are a family of five. 

As this epiphany was happening, I realized to what extent I've put my life on hold, because I have been planning to move for 3 years now.  San Francisco is going to be years, I'm afraid.  Unless I simply just go with no net underneath ... I'm not saying that I'm giving up - absolutely not.   

Also, the new guy that moved in whom has so much in common with me?  He and I have been walking together, and it's soooooo nice to have someone closer to my age around here that doesn't need help.  Plus the fact that he's not boyfriend material is a good thing, cause we don't have that "thing" that complicates boy/girl relationships.  He is an avid gardener too, and it will be soooo nice to have HELP out there, rather me being the one that does the majority of the physical work.  Al tho the in common stuff is starting to get creepy.  We both drive same year/make of car, we both used to drive Ford Explorers.  We were both molested by fathers, and babysitters.  We both used to work for Club Inc.  We both used to have the same counselor.  He sees auras and visions, as I do.  Oh.  Get this.  He collects hearts.  Yea ... like I said ...creepy. 

Anyways.  I am peaceful once again inside.  I'll join Snap Fitness again, and start living like I live here, instead of mentally packing up and jumping ship.  After moving furniture a couple weeks and making a walk-in closet, I have really been liking my apartment too. 

SanFranMan is obsessed by politics lately.  He really likes Hillary, to the point of imagining he and her have a personal relationship.  All in his mind.  He's been calling me every nite, and we argue about politics, and he talks about his daughter alot cause he's worried about her, and then we argue about Hillary and Obama some more.  I originally liked Obama, but ever since Hillary showed her human side a couple weeks ago, showing how exhausted she is, I have come to like her better than Obama.  He just doesn't have the experience, and she can hit the ground running, should she be elected.  Our country is finally accepting the fact that a woman can be president ... and it's a HUGE plus that the first woman president (possibly) just happens to have the best experience one could ask for ... she was a First Lady 7 years ago.  It's good Obama inspires and dreams - our country has hope again, I think.  Either one, tho, is better than any of the other contenders, and I'm pretty sure we'll have a Democratic president this time around.  Ideally?  Clinton and Obama on the same ticket.  Then 8 years for Clinton, and another 8 years for Obama ... just might fix the majority of our country's problems.  Medical insurance, the war, illegal aliens, the recession, Medicare being the top priorities.  Oh, and rebuilding our status as the greatest country in the world ...

I can't believe I veered off so much off the Epiphany Course. 

*

Just Call Me

This is Happy here, talking from San Francisco

My last nite in San Franciso.  Hate that, don't you?  Of course you do - you want me to be happy. 

I'm pretty sure that when I move here, I'll have to stop driving.  Which is okay, since there's public transportation on every corner.

Yesterday, we went to the beach and Golden Gate Park.  Looked and looked for a coffee place "just around the corner", passing many, many corners until we finally gave up and found a St*rbucks.  Love those Peppermint Mocha's - double shot please. 

The trip out here was fantastic.  I do fly free because my son is employed by the airline, but it is "stand-by".  I got on the plane in Idaho Falls to Boise with no problem.  My son thought the problem would be getting out of Boise to Seattle.  But I got off the plane in Boise and walked straight to the plane for Seattle, which was already loading.  Stand-by's are supposed to wait quietly, hoping to be called when all the paid passengers are loaded.  I started to find a seat, thinking I'd have to wait for the next flight, but the lady called my name - I was the only stand-by, AND there was ONE SEAT LEFT!  I said "You're kidding!", and would have jumped up and down, had I been able to, but that is one of the things MS won't let me do - oddly.  So I flew from Boise to Seattle, got off the plane in Seattle, and headed for the plane leaving for San Francisco - got right on.  I didn't sit at any airport except the first one - awesome.  Which probably means it'll take 4 days to get home.  The dogs are paid up at the kennel till Tuesday, before noon.  I leave tomorrow at 1pm - wish me luck.

I do things here that I don't do anywhere else. 

I'll leave you with that.  Ha.

*

Just Call Me Satisfied

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I am amongst the Crazy People, and I may also be one

Today's Weird People Moment was:

I was standing outside the Housing Authority building, waiting for SanFranMan to pick me up.  A free clinic was next door, so there were all kinds of strange people hanging around.  It's a little nerve-racking when you hear cow noises coming out of a human mouth, but you just keep to yourself and hopefully the crazies won't be contagious.  I tried to look at the Crazy People thru the eyes of the Negative Roomate, but I couldn't - I just personally find the Crazy People fascinating, so they don't bother me.  Well, that is until you're sitting at a diner eating your burrito when suddenly there's a cow behind you ...

So anyways - there was a perfectly nice, normal, respectable looking man staring at me, when he suddenly asked me, "Who cut your bangs?"

???

Of all the questions in the world to ask when hitting on someone ... "Who cut your bangs?", doesn't really stand out as a winner.  I cleverly stammered, "I don't know".  Then I realized that didn't really sound intelligent - the average person usually knows who cut their bangs, especially when that person is themself... "Oh, wait, I cut my bangs", I said.  He didn't say a word.  So then I proceded to become self-conscious about my bangs.  And about becoming one of the Crazy People cause I didn't know who cut my bangs at first. 

On another note, I give SFM (who also has MS) my pee pills, because he doesn't have insurance, they're 3 times as much as they are in Idaho - and he has peeing problems worse than I do.  Or wait, maybe not worse, but he's got them everyday, whereas, I only have them during flare-ups.  But even with taking one dose, he's still waking up 2-3 times at nite to pee.  So I suggested taking another one at nite, and if it helped, I'd get the prescription doubled. 

He:  So do you think that will help?

Me:  I dunno.  If they do, they do.  It depends. 

He:  (Chuckles) 

Me:  What was so funny? 

He:  "Depends".

*

Just Call Me Worried about the Craziness

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I'm so busy, so here is this cause I'm being nudged to write, but it's not really what's going on in my head but life calls ...which I claimed to want

My sister has pointed out that I am getting more hits on the blog, but that I am writing less.  I checked out my blog stats, and it is true.  How weird is that?  But that has happened before.  Maybe it's just that my regulars are compulsively checking back for updates.  Two new comments tho!

So.  Update, huh. 

Today is the first day this week I've been home.  I've been going from the minute of getting out of bed around 8am to getting home around 10pm.  Built raised plants beds for WheelChairLady (WCL), and general chores that she can't do for herself.  I can't wait to organize her garage and laundry room, since I'm the one tripping over things as I move about.  Plus I love organizing other people. 

There's a resident here in the facility who has been needing help.  Four days ago, I'd taken him to get his meds from the pharmacy.  He couldn't take 50 steps without having to sit and rest.  Then 2 mornings ago, he called me, needing me to get him some cigarettes.  I got money from him, saw his apartment was covered in feces and vomit, he had 3 unopened frozen TV dinners on the table, and he hadn't eaten in 3 days.  I got one of my frozen breakfast meals, and told him he had to eat or I wouldn't get his cigarettes.  Luckily, rather than being offended, he did get up with great difficulty, and sat at the table.  I left to get the cigs, and called the agency he's signed up with and bitched.  No-one had seen anyone visit him for weeks (read - caseworker/s) (and believe you me, these old people know exactly what's going on around here and I could trust it when they said no-one had been by to see this guy).  When I got back, he'd eaten maybe 2 bites.  I also saw that he hadn't taken any of his meds in the last 3 days.   We talked for a bit, me trying to find out why he was doing this to himself, was he sick, drunk, or wanting to die.  Most definitely sick, not drunk at the time, as he hadn't been able to get to the store in 3 days. 

I don't know what it is about me, but I can talk to people like this, and they respond to me.  His caseworker later told me that he could barely get a yes or no out of him so he was glad I was there.  After it was established that no, he wasn't trying to give up, I told him I'd come by morning and nite, cause the first goal was to take the meds again, and he'd feel better.  He said that would help.  He needed to be in the hospital, and he absolutely refused.  I asked him if he wanted me to call his sister and he said no.  So I made him promise me after being on the meds, and eating for a week - if he wasn't better, he would let me take him to the doctor. 

I could have kicked myself in the mouth when I then heard myself saying "I'll come by tomorrow and clean up the place too".  I knew for sure that there's something wrong in my brain when I heard that. 

This afternoon, his caseworker (hurray!) knocked on my door, and said that he'd got SickMan to promise to go to the doctor "if Laurie would go with him".  Dammit.  The reason for dammit?  This man is a step-brother to SanFranMan!  Which means he's also the brother to BestFriend (BF).  And those who are regular readers know that story.  Check out the category "Jorge and Hospice" in my sidebar.  In no way do I want to go thru that again.

Let me rephrase that.  I don't mind helping or doing hospice, but it was the rest of the family that ruined the experience of taking care of George.  And there I was again - with the same family!  BestFriend said it would be different this time because she and her brother don't have a good relationship.  It really wasn't about what kind of relationship they all have or don't have with SickMan ... it's about the relatioonship they have with me, and how they perceive me and my words and actions.  It's sad how the most innocent of words/actions were viewed in a negative way, because of their own issues of guilt, or insecurity, because they cheated themselves out of spending more time with George because of it.  A little tiny example of it already happened today, but I'm getting ahead of myself. 

Coincidently, on Wednesday - before all the SickMan stuff had started - BestFriend and I sat down to really talk about the damage that had happened after George died.  We'd that big blow-out, talked it out, continued to help her with George's house and garage sale, and when that was done, we both just kind of faded away with each other for the last 2 years.  Turns out we needed to talk it out again, but that's another post, and related to the above paragraph - we've talked again and we seem to be in agreement about what happened - but it's a separate post. 

This morning, I met the caseworker and we marched resolutely to SickMan's apartment, gearing up for the smell, and knowing he'd try to talk us out of going to the hospital.  We had to find a wheelchair, and wheeled him out to the car.  We tried to get him into the car, but he didn't want to.  I told him to take some deep breathes and in 2 more minutes, he's getting in.  During those 2 minutes, I noticed he was raising his hands to his mouth as if he were drinking something, and setting it very carefully on the table, but a table wasn't there, so he set it just as carefully on the pavement.  I told the caseworker hallucinations were out of my league if it was more the diabetes, COPD, and alcoholism, and asked him to call the ambulance.  Done deal.  They couldn't find a pulse or get his blood pressure for the first 5 minutes, so I wasn't far off when I said he wasn't going to last much longer if he didn't start eating.  When I saw him 3 days ago, laying on his couch, he looked exactly like George on his death bed.  There's a certain "look" and he had it. 

I'll go see him in the hospital tomorrow before the races, cause I feel guilty for not going with him, but he won't remember a thing anyways or for the first few days.  He's done this before when he used to live with George, passed out so much with drinking, which messed with his diabetes - for days, the doctors gave him only a 5% chance of living.  He was moved to a nursing home, and shortly after that, I moved into George's to take care of him.  The rest of the family don't have anything to do with him cause of his drinking, and is pretty much just a "waste of skin", as SFM would say.  He didn't work, didn't live on his own, etc. and mommy took care of him and made excuses for him all the time.  It shows, boy howdy.

So I've been busy. 

*

George

Tomorrow is the 2nd anniversary of George’s death. Tonite I am thinking of the phone call I had to make to SanFranMan to tell him his dad had passed about 2 hours before my call. I remember worrying that he would be confused about the date, and think it was a April Fool’s joke. I called very early in the morning, which I had never done before when taking care of his dad, so he had to have known. He chatted a bit about this and that, I think, to give himself time to hear the words he knew I was going to say.

I don’t actually remember what we said exactly, just the feelings. I wanted so much to be able to say the words without hurting him, which was impossible, I know. During a long pause, as I started to say something, he said it himself, and I said yes, he’s gone.

So I will take flowers to the cemetary, and take a picture to send to SFM, and I will think of the time I spent with George, and how it was one of the most important and fulfilling times of my life. I am a caretaker at heart, and because of Jacob, I am not afraid of death. I know that my presence was very soothing to George and I am glad that I could hold his hands as he passed into another world where it seemed there were others there to meet him. I don’t know for sure what my spiritual beliefs are, but I do know that there were spirits there to welcome George. Of that I have no doubt.

For the full story on George and my hospice experience with him, click here. .

Trying not to incur the wrath of Shad

Me and the computer have been fighting for days now.  Ever since I discovered Firefox. 

I'd log on, get mad at something it did or didn't do, and stop speaking to it.  Then I'd forget I wasn't speaking to it, come back to it, and again, it didn't do what I wanted it to do, so I'd stop speaking to it again.  Do this 3-4 times every few hours, and one tends to overload on frustration. 

Oh yes.  Don't ever try to use a different mouse with 5 different buttons and the same time you're learning a new browser.  A mouse that you can't feel.  With the trackball in a different spot.  When it's a right handed mouse, and you have to use your left hand cause you can't FEEL anything with your right.  Try configuring the buttons in different ways so that your numb fingers don't click when they shouldn't cause they can't fucking feel where they are clicking. 

I've changed my mind, I'm not addicted to the computer.  I'm addicted to ... confusion and frustration.  Yea, that's it.

Duke and I got in a big fight tonite.  I don't even want to talk about it. 

Muttin and I got in a little fight.  I don't want to talk about it.  And yes, the fights do evidently depend on the size of the dog. 

I'm mad at my magic clock.  In the past, it has reset itself  for Daylight Savings Time, but it didn't do it this time.  Now... I know there was a big concern of near Y2K porportions, that DST was going to screw up the world because it was happening a couple of weeks sooner than usual.  So the computers that control the world were going to be all messed up.  However, my atomic clock isn't a computer.  So I don't  get it. 

SanFranMan and I are in a secret fight.  It's secret cause he doesn't know about it.  Both he and I are in High Apathetic Mode the last couple of weeks. 

He:  (snarl snarl snarl about something meaningless, I'm sure)

Me:  Don't bitch at me buddy.

He:  (snarl snarl snarl at what I just said)

Me:  I've been bitchy too lately.

He:  I'm bitchy too.  If I could, I'd have a period and be bitchy er with PMS.

Me:  I can outbitch you any day. 

He:  No you can't.  I'll just stop. 

Me:  (thinking how he just disappears all of a sudden for unknown reasons, only to find out he was mad at something I said or did)  (So I kept silent)  (But only for a nano-second) 

Me:  Yea, you'll just disappear and stop calling me. 

He:  (bitch bitch bitch moan moan moan about something meaningless I'm sure)

Me:  Bring.  It.  On.   

And then we made further plans for our trip to Reno on the 25th of March. 

Oh, I forgot to say why we're secretly fighting.  I had written an email to him this morning about the High Apathetic Mode, noting that I thought he was in it too, blah blah blah.  It was just a stupid email, not good, not bad, just fulfilling the desire to get it off my chest.  And my plan to make it better. 

He wrote back "This was a nice and intelligent email you just wrote". 

Intelligent? 

What the HELL does he mean by that, hmmm?

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Firefoxing down the primrose lane

I've discovered the browser 'Firefox' too.  Lordy. 

It's got all sorts of gizmo's that threaten to trigger my obsessive/compulsive disorder.  IF I had such a disorder, that is.

After two days of fiddling with it, I took the leap and made it my default browser, knowing full well that if I change my mind that I won't remember how to change it back to Internet Explorer. 

I just read that it's normal for MS'rs to have spats of insomnia.  I'm always happy to know I'm normal.

SanFranMan is planning another trip to Reno this month.  Ben invited me to San Diego maybe the first part of April.  It's times like these that I look at my dogs with a frown.  They help with depression, but it's also depressing being stuck all the time cause of them.  I looked into boarding them, and kennels don't like the fact that I feed them raw chicken.  One of them asked if they left it laying around.... ?  Uh no. 

I called the cops yesterday, because there was a high-pitched smoke alarm sounding noise outside, and it hurt the dogs ears - they wouldn't stay out long enough to go poop.  Of course, none of the old people could hear it.  It was my third call also, and they didn't take me seriously until I told them I lived where I do, and it sounded like a smoke alarm.  Two cops came, along with the fire truck, and I felt a little guilty cause I was sure it was coming from the new jail behind us.  I watched the cops faces closely because it occured to me that it might just be in my head - another symptom or sompting.  I did that on purpose.  Symptom or SOMETHING.  Fine.  The first cop couldn't hear it, but the second one did.  Whew. 

I feel so boring.  What the hell is there to write about? 

Maybe there will be new material at the gym. 

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The Duke Loves Me and it's About Damn Time

As I was taking their picture, SanFranMan called.  He is VERY fond of the dogs, so he called to wish them a Happy Valentine's.  Hee!  Okay, he didn't call THEM specifically, but when he signs off most of our conversations, he says "Give the dogs a hug and a kiss from me".  True story.  I know 'some' of us might find that hard to believe. 

I was gone for 8 hours today, working for the Wicker Lady.  When I got home, the dogs wanted out immediately.  Muttin/Jeff dance and jump and run when we get outside, but they won't do their business until I've acknowledged each of them by petting them, or saying their name, or they 'high-five' me with their nose on my hand.  Duke grabs his tennis ball when he knows we're going out, and trudges about the courtyard ignoring the rest of us while he goes about his business.  As we walked down the courtyard, I contemplated the fact that Duke has never really come to me like the little ones do for petting or attention.  He'll come to me when he wants to go outside, do the tennis ball, or eat.  But just as I was thinking that he's just not as happy or friendly or bonded or yippy skippy as the littles, Duke put his tennis ball down, stared at me until I got a little un-nerved, which made me say "What?" as in what the hell, dog.  Then he walked over to me, wagging his tail so hard that he was wiggling back and forth and I had a hard time petting the proper end of the dog.  Such a happy big puppy! 

Usually, when I've reached out to pet him or hug him, he ducks and is stand-offish.  As if he just can't be bothered.  SonOne says he and SweetieGirl have never hit him.  Not knowing that, I've swatted him 3 different times, for barking (and not quitting), and once when all three were at my feet and he snapped and snarled at the little dogs.  That was more of a sudden shoving him out of the way.  The other time was when he didn't come when he was called, running down the alleyway.  I went after him, stood over him and pointed the way to go and said "get back home".  At the same time, we were standing on some ice underneath the snow and I started to slip.  He thought I was going to hit him as I fell with my arms flailing - halfway reaching for him to steady me.  All three times,  he snapped, snarled and growled at me.  So I've be soundly trained to not hit him in any way, shape or form.  Smartass dog. 

As I was contemplating the above, prior to his happy dance, I had also been thinking about calling SonOne and telling him to come get his dog.  Then he did his happy dance and wanted petting and hugging - it just figures.  Cause I got all melty and mushy inside and think I love this dog. 

Great.  Just great. 

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Blah

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Unbeknowst to me, February 4th is National Wear Red Day.  This is supposed to make us aware that heart disease is the leading cause of death for women in the United States. 

   I just happened to wear red on Sunday, Feb. 4th.  Scuse the skinny picture, it's for another thing I did. 

Hmm.  Now I have to fill in this space so I can post another picture.  It's all about symetrics, people.  I can't stand unbalance, uneven, unright visual anything.  Which will also come into play when I organize my sister's walk-in closet.  Which isn't so walk-in at the moment... which is why it needs organizing.  I'm going to do it like the make-over shows.  She leaves the building while I do the work and surprise her with how wonderful it is when she comes back.  If we did it together?  We would fight and argue too much.  Why?  Because one of us is a control freak, and one of us can't see the possibilities because one of us is pretty damn rigid.  Just say'n. 

Yesterday was my brother's birthday.  He was one year younger than me.  I think?  He was killed in California........oooooooooooh.  Hmmm.  That's right, I'd forgotten.  People get killed in California.  I remember when me and my sister went down for the funeral, we felt like ducking/running for cover when we were walking on the streets of Orange County.  Orange Country has the highest crime rate per capita in the US.  Anyways.  He was killed and it's so weird to think of him alive and still one year younger than me.  Cause I'm almost old, and he would be too.  He had a drug and alcohol problem that he was growing out of and I wonder what he'd be like now.  He wrote poetry that he mailed to me once, and I was astounded at how 'deep' it was. 

SanFranMan is planning another trip to Reno in the middle of this month.  And what SanFranMan wants, SanFranMan gets.  Mostly because I like what he wants.  Heh.  So tomorrow I will be calling boarding kennels for the dogs, because my sister said she "isn't sure about keeping the dogs again".  Sniff.  I know!  It's unbelievable to me too. 

I may have a place to take the little dogs - one of the old ladies who used to live here, moved out to a house a few blocks away, and her little cha wa wa (I can't spell it, sound it out) used to play with my dogs.  She's got a fenced in yard.  Last time I researched boarding dogs, it was dismal because nobody would take dogs who ate raw chicken, even if I provided it. 

Is this the most boring post ever?  Boy, am I in the doldrums.  Is that a word?  Because of the Internet, I can't ever just ask a question.  Because in my brain, there's a voice that says "look it up yourself, you're sitting right there, right now, and all it takes is a click or two or three".  And I want to whine that it's too hard today. 

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Serenity serenity, wherefore art thou?

I went "out" today.  To Curves!  Can I quit writing now?  Okay, inside joke.  You'd have to read this post to understand. 

Theresa of Paper Rock Scissors described what I want for myself by going to a Yoga Class.  I don't think Idaho has ever heard of Yoga.  There's one on every corner in San Francisco. 

I'm in a bit of a depressed funk because of SanFranMan.  He made a serious mistake this morning in his email to me.  I don't remember the words exactly but it was something to the effect ... reading one of my  conversations with the dogs (complete with pictures) was a bit... tedious???

Sniff.

For some reason, I just now remembered that I promised him if I ever wrote about him, I'd let him read it first.  Ooops on the K-Y Jelly post.  Well, because of his email?  Paybacks a bitch. 

I'm all over the place today. 

As I was walking down my hallway, keeping my hand on the wall to be steady, as I was somewhat MS'y after my workout at Curves, I thought I don't think about MS hardly anymore.  The only time I really do is when I'm blogging, when I pee my pants, and when I take my meds. 

Blogging:  Damn the title of the blog, what can I come up with today?

Peeing pants:  Damn this.  Now I have to take a shower, and find something else to wear cause I haven't done laundry, and I hate doing laundry. 

Taking meds:  This I do almost by rote when and if I remember to take them.  It helps that I'm taking them only twice a day, instead of every four hours.  I guess because of the pain, I can't really say I don't think about MS anymore.  I'll amend it - I don't think about MS 24/7 like I used to.  Someone told me, when I was squirming about going on Disability, that I would have to make my health become my 8 to 5 job.  At the time, the thought of doing that was beyond my comprehension, because I could barely walk with a can or a walker and the pain was taking over.  But it's true - by walking the dogs 42 times a day, going to Curves and doing Pilate's and yoga at home... I'm taking care of my health pretty much 8 -5.  And it shows.  I've lost a total of 58 pounds last year, and kept it off.  Keeping it off is the challenge, and it's fairly easy for me.  I've got another 20 pounds to lose and then my weight will not be an issue anymore.  It goes up around 7 pounds each month with my period and fun times like Reno  and San Diego, but that's okay, because it's fairly easy to lose it again.  I don't come unglued about it. 

I feel another rant coming on.  Who the hell came up with calling it a "period?"  Another insider story - new readers would have to read the "Secrets I Should Keep" category.  Did I already rant about this? 

Seriously now, about Theresa's post.  I've been to yoga classes and remember the serenity.  I want that back.  During my recent massage, there was soothing music and aroma therapy going on.  I could feel my body relax so easily.  In fact, the masseuse told me that he didn't feel any knots or tightness anywhere.  Between me not being able to feel some parts of it (I couldn't tell what he was doing to my feet or hands) and him saying I was very relaxed - kinda makes a $90 massage a bit too expensive.  But as SFM said, now I've tackled an issue that was troublesome (because of the abuse, the thought of having a massage made me squiggy)   When I went back to my room SFM had set $50 in my drawer cause he wanted to help pay for it.  So, really it was a fantastic $40 massage! 

I want serenity back.  There is none in Idaho.

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"Just" Laurie? (Updated)

Last nite, SanFranMan, in a bit of alcohol induced fantasy, asked me to check on his dad in the next room.  I knew he was remembering his dad, but I was sooo surprised how fast the tears came to my eyes, wishing I really could step into the next room to check on his dad.  I wanted to so badly. 

That was really a good time in my life, despite us breaking up during that time, and the ugly family (his) shit that happened. 

In the past, I've hit him (SFM) over the head with not over-thanking me to death, putting me up on a pedestal for taking care of Jorge.  They gave me the car, which was far too much, but to me, that sealed the deal.  I kept saying taking care of him was good for me too, so it wasn't like I was some sort of saint for doing it.  I felt uncomfortable to all the thanks he gave me, as well as some members of his family. 

But now I feel different. 

Not that I think I'm a saint.  But taking care of Jorge was one of the most rewarding things I've done.  Besides Jacob, it was a soul-learning time for me, and one I'll always remember.  It was hard, it was scary, it was draining.  But I did it for him, because he needed it, and no one else could do it.  And my best friend needed me to help her take care of her dad.  And I did it because I loved SanFranMan, and he needed his mind at rest regarding his dad, since he couldn't be there himself, either. 

So it's okay to remember me as the one who took care of his dad after all.  It was important, what I did, and I was good at it.  It came at a time when I most needed to learn that I was useful after all, that even with MS, I was still good at something.  So he just better remember it. 

When I was in San Francisco last, we were talking about something, and I don't even remember what it was.  But the phrase came from his mouth "Yea, but you're Laurie" and I heard it as "just Laurie".  It wasn't an insult, because it was in the frame of him knowing I accept him as he is, where someone else might not, if they knew everything I know?  That he doesn't have to hide parts of him from me. 

I'm not "just Laurie" tho.  I'm ready to claim that it was really a special and great thing to take care of his dad.

Another thing.  After we broke up, he had told his sister that he wouldn't have "made it without her", meaning me, during that time when his wife kidnapped his kids to the East Coast, and while his dad was dying.  I have spent some months resenting "being used", and then dumped on my ass, but for some reason, all of a sudden one day, I thought to myself, "He's right".  Falling in love with me took him away from the misery of his real life.  I've never seen anyone be in such pain as he was, when his kids were taken.  It's not something he planned on doing, and if there was a willing diversion to take his mind off his living hell... then it would be easy to fall into. 

The only problem that still rankles is the deception that took place before the break-up.  That still dirties up the experience, and will always create doubt about future interactions, but maybe that's a lession I deserved...for falling in love with a married man.   

Oh, wouldn't he like that free pass?  Hmmm.  Not on your life, baby.  Dishonesty still makes me want to throw up. 

He damn well better always remember, and keep a tiny part of his heart open to towards me. 

Cause I'm gonna need his help unloading the U-Haul when I move down there...

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Remembering Jorge

It's been a year ago today that Jorge died.  One of my readers, Kris, Baby Likes Cabbage, wrote that she felt like she knew Jorge by the way I wrote about him.  What a wonderful compliment! 

He was a proud man and refused my offer to stay with him when BFriend (his daughter) left town in previous times.  But he would appreciate it if I'd check on him each day.  So I'd take him a plate of dinner every evening and drop it off.  If it was Monday, we'd have a 'Monk Date', and he'd chuckle his way thru it.  If it was Saturday, he'd ask me who I was rooting for in the NASCAR race, and on Monday, he'd ask me how it went.  He rarely ate the dinner, telling me to put it in the fridge.  On Feb 13th, our routine changed.  In his own proud way, he finally admitted he needed help without having to actually ask for it. 

The first week, he went to the doctor, and actually signed himself up for hospice.  Then he seemed to go downhill really fast for a couple of days.  It seemed like ... he was so relieved to know that he wasn't going to be put into a hospital or a nursing home, that maybe he was ready to go?  One nite, he shivered so violently, both of us were afraid.  I turned up the electric blanket, and held on to his hands, and even half layed across the top of him, holding him still, cause he was shaking so badly.  Earlier that day, BFriend and her husband, with CopSon, had been over to install a grab bar in the shower.  The two grand kids came over to, and were in and out the front door, which looks directly into Jorge's bedroom.  I wondered if he got a chill from having the front door opened so much, while they all ran in and out.  Weeks after he died, I happened to listen to something on the news about Terri Shiavio.  A doctor was describing what one can expect when one is starving to death, and one of the symptoms was severe chills right before death!!! 

But after about 5 days, he rallied, and began to eat all of a sudden.  I was damn proud of this day. 

Later on, I talked to him about dying . 

Two nights before he died here and here and here.  There is no doubt in my mind that someone/several someones will be there to help us thru our dying and death.  None.  That was the lesson of Jorge, and the gift. 

So here it is, a year later, I realize more than ever what an impact he had on my life.  Not having anything to do after he died put me into one of the worst depressions of my life.  I went from doing something important that impacted my life in profound ways.  Not only that, but it was perfect for me physically, not affecting the MS.  I was "working at home", where I could rest when I needed to, and what little I had to do for Jorge, didn't wear me out.  Doing it made me feel useful again.  And I'm instinctively good with helping people psychologically.  I can get in their heads and they feel I understand, so they talk to me.  He talked to me about each one of his kids specifically.  The only one he didn't talk about was Jucielle, his wife, who'd died 3 years before him, and that was the one place he'd never go with me, when we talked.  But it was okay, cause I understood.  Somehow I knew not to go there, and he appreciated it. 

The old lady in a wheelchair, who lives down the hall from me, whom I've taken to Wal-Mart a couple of times, and I walk her fat little chi-wa-wa... she told me that she preferred me to be the one to help her, cause I was "soothing" to be around, that I made having to deal with the wheelchair easy.  She said that I had a way of making her feel as if she weren't a burden, when that's how she felt with most everybody else.  That I was a good listener. 

When she used the word 'soothing'... I was slammed back to Jorge's last nite.  'Soothing' is the only word that fit for what I did for him.  Others have said the same thing and this time I heard what she was saying, I believed that this might be my calling.  I am soothing to be around.  Wonder if there's much call for Professional Soother? 

SanFranMan (formerly LoverMan) wrote something for his siblings after Jorge died, because one of them had gone batshit, accusing BFriend and I of starving Jorge, and stealing the family legacy heirlooms, and it was his way of calling attention to the gift and lesson that was Jorge, and hoping that the batshit sibling would "get it" too.   

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Thanksgiving 2004

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October 2004

This is the brother who hadn't seen his dad in years, and he came to visit in October.  He tried then to get me to stay with his dad.  (This was about 4 months before I did move in to help).  He LOVED me, he was thrilled I was with his brother,  SanFranMan, that he'd never seen his brother so happy.  When I called him on some shit and asked him to please not tell me the tales of SanFranMan's shenanigans with girls in their younger days, he told me he liked a gal who spoke up for herself, and he had a hell of alot of respect for me, blah blah blah.

Then he called me all the time when I was with his dad, on Hospice, and praised the high heavens I was there for Jorge, and for the rest of them, that I was a "god-damned saint". 

Then when Jorge died, he accused us (me and his step-sister, my best friend) of starving Jorge to death, that we were stealing all the possessions in the house, etc. 

Ugly, ugly man.  And he's still at it, 2 years later.  SanFranMan has been so good to him, paying for 2 cell phones for him and his wife, when they lost their own phone service, paying their bill a couple of months, even tho they went WAYYY over their minutes, paying for the trip to get him to see his dad, paying for the storage unit that still has the rest of the stuff from Jorge's house.  He's still paying the monthly storage, and this brother?  Hasn't helped with a dime, nor offered to come get the stuff.  Done nothing but criticize the people who actually did do something in the whole Jorge saga. 

Hate.  Fear.  Asshole to the max. 

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Thanksgiving 2004

A year ago today, SanFranMan and I made Thanksgiving dinner for Jorge.  To look at this picture brings home so many things of the last year.  

Looking at Jorge, and remembering how he was at Thanksgiving and then towards the end in March... it suddenly dawned on me that he went out with a minimum of fuss and drama.  He didn't go thru the humiliation of needing to be fed or needing diapers.  He had only one poopy accident, the one where I found him in his chair, and he asked me for help.  I decided then and there that I'd stay with him, because he could no longer be alone.  Altho the offer had been made a couple of times before, he turned it down, he just wanted me to look in on him every day.  His daughter or I brought him a meal every day, only to discover it in the fridge.  When he asked for help, it was time, but it was on his terms... simply by finally asking for help.  We determined later that he must have had a stroke that day/nite, and so the next several days, he was in a fog, therefore not really present for the one humiliating time I had to hold him up in the shower while his adult grandson sprayed him down.  From then on, it was a steady improvement up. 

I feel good in my heart for the way I treated him.  He was so proud and so independent, it was a fine line to walk between pushing him to do what he needed to do hygiene-wise, eating, taking care of bedsores, using the oxygen.  When to leave him alone and when to chat with him.  Once I started bringing him books from the library, he spent hours of each day engrossed in Louis A'Mour.  I "pushed" only two conversations on him, the one about how he wanted to die, and after he got started, he was glad to talk about it.  Another, if he had anything he needed to do, or have any one of the family do, or had anything to say, etc.  He said no at the time, but the door had been opened, left ajar, and he'd talked mostly about the kids.  One time about his wife.  Other times, something on TV would trigger a memory and he'd regale me with stories from the past, about jobs he'd done.  Several times, he talked about each one of his children, almost like I was meant to be a conduit of sorts.  If I don't use a word alot, I have to check the meaning to be sure I'm using it correctly. 

Main Entry: con·duit Pronunciation: 'kän-"dü-&t, -"dyü- also -dw&t, -d&t Function: noun 1 : a natural or artificial channel through which something (as a fluid) is conveyed 2 archaic : FOUNTAIN 3 : a pipe, tube, or tile for protecting electric wires or cables 4 : a means of transmitting or distributing <a conduit for illicit payments> <a conduit of information> I've not shared these conversations yet, and don't know if I ever will.  I've tried a couple of times, but circumstances stop me for both internal and external reasons.  He had a stroke the last couple of days, so again, he was out of it when I had to clean him up.  He quit eating, reading.  All he did was sleep during the day and talked to ghosts during the nite.  Happy ghosts he was glad to talk to.  Conversations I felt left out of as I held his hands to calm him.  Conversations that raised the hair on the back of my neck, because I knew there were other spirits in that bedroom.  Thanksgiving is more focused on "family" than our other holidays. The TV keeps rubbing in that fact as I contemplate that I have no real family, and I've not been a fan of holidays for the most part for that reason.  But this year, when I felt that familiar resentment... I thought of Jorge and didn't feel so alone.  .

Late Nite Text on Cell

He text'd messaged, "I love you, Soul Mate".

I responded, "Say that in the light of day, and I'll believe you".

He text'd back, "I love you, Soul Mate, you're the light of my day".

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Home again, home again

I'm home now. After 2 1/2 months of living at Jorge's, I'm in my own space once again. I had a hell of a time leaving his house, feeling some strange sense of abandoning him. Silly. The memorial is this Saturday. I'm not wanting to go. So many reasons. Physically, I'm exhausted, and don't want to appear MS'y around his family. The sibling that did the initial accusing us of starving Jorge might be there. He had said he couldn't be there. I don't care to be in the middle again, between the Hatfield's and the McCoy's. I'm afraid the revival of their pain, along with the completely empty house of Jorge, ALL of his possessions gone, the drinking of most of the males... I just don't want to be there.

He is having a hard time these days, grieving for his father. He and his siblings have been talking, memories. They have wonderful memories of their dad calling them up, "Let's go camping, son, grab your gear, I'll be there in an hour". Stories of hunting, him cooking meals for them. When Jorge had to work late, he'd always leave something cooking on the stove. While living with their mother, there was never enough food, so the memory of Jorge cooking and providing nourishment for them is precious. Can you tell I'm trying to convince myself there are good reasons not to go? But I am BFriend's best friend. I'm still close to RamTouch, he's staying with me, and will no doubt be in my bed. I "should" go for them. But I'm so tired of doing for them, frankly.

If I keep it about Jorge, whom I grew to care about, who taught me much, I wouldn't go. And it'd be okay with him if I didn't go. 

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The Heart Saga

I sent him a heart most every day.  Silly in love.  Long distance relationships suck. 

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He made me cry

His letter to his siblings made me cry.  He captured it perfectly.  It made me realize, hey I did do all those things for Jorge, and altho it was simple, ordinary, soothing, caring, instinctive to do so... it really was something to be proud of.  I felt... worthwhile again. 

None of them called me. 

Cept SanFranMan of course. 

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SanFranMan weighs in

This is the email SanFranMan sent off to his dueling siblings 2 days after Jorge died.


We’ll Meet Again
by SanFranMan
April 4, 2005

Tomorrow is Monday. This will be a whole different week than last. I mean, on the surface it will be like all the others. I'll get up, maybe not feel like it, but I will because I always have. I'm fortunate to have things to do. People need me, even.

But it will be different this week for 'all' of us, not just the devout Catholics and Clergy. (Jorge died the same day as the Pope) But for us - this Family, our Father and Mentor, he's died too. Something will be missing again this week. I remember this feeling when (Jorge's wife) died, too, that my world had somehow changed by affecting you, then you, and you and you and me, each one of us. It's inevitable, the dying part - we all will, sooner or later. What's not the same is how we die; the homeless man in the dead of winter in NYC who's cold and forgotten and left to freeze to death in the gutter because no one remembers or cared about him, or why should they? It's the runaway 15 year old girl who had ran away from an unknown place to Seattle because the city will put you up - no questions asked - and just died from HIV she got turning tricks or shooting drugs. And no one was there to claim the little girl’s body, or even knew if she had a mother or father somewhere - anywhere - that might want to know.

Years from now, we will be judged not just by the gusto we exhibit for life, but also the civilized way we nurture our aged and feeble into death. That we cared enough about the person they were, their shortcomings as well as the things they excelled at. We think about the whole person - the good and the bad - their life and how it affected us. There’s a lot of thinking going on. In an ideal, civilized world we exalt our own life by cradling the sick, the infirm, the once young and strong and now tired and old - through the last stage of their life.

There's a woman we all know who's stayed on at Dad's house, and this woman has full blown Multiple Sclerosis. She told me once, that she understood what he was going through (losing his motor skills, sometimes falling, crashing to the floor), because ‘she’ had gone through many of the same physical losses, the same that come with extreme old age. She cared about him, and he truly cared for her in the end. He was marooned by old age and a long, long life on his island bed; and her the doting, compassionate, caregiver at his side. She was the kind hand that held and comforted him when his hands trembled so badly he couldn't stop it and this tough old man was afraid, because nothing like that had ever happened to him. (The nite he was so cold and shivered so badly) He was afraid, and he wondered if 'this' might be the unknown and maybe his own immanent death. Who would he see there? Who was he seeing and talking to now, she would think, as he laughed and mumbled alone in his room, as if someone was there, but there was no one? He'd seen men die in WW2 and in that day just shook his head and went on. But now he couldn't go anywhere, couldn't get away, could hardly stand on his feet. His hands stopped shaking eventually and the fear passed but she kept holding his hand in comfort anyway and he held her hand back, just relaxed with the human touch.

She bathed his soiled body - he let and trusted her to do that too - and she changed his linens; she made him coffee, even though she doesn't drink coffee, and brought him the morning paper. She would write the date and day it was on a chalkboard on the bathroom door because he sometimes forgot, and forgetting made him feel lost and confused. She cooked for him and he ate with a little of the old gusto and he felt better.

She would read things to him and other times they would just watch Nascar on the TV (that was her sport), talk about the different drivers. He knew by rote her favorite Driver was #24, and so that was secretly his favorite driver too. She had two small dogs that would come in to his bed, look at him, and wag their tails. This made him smile and he liked these little dogs as much as he liked and trusted her. She did this daily for 4 or 5 weeks. Who cared? She cared. She gave a dying old man -who never lived a perfect life - incredible dignity and respect by her personal care. Everything she did, said to him 'you are worth' it, I do this for you out of respect for your unique life.’

She checked on him through the night. Sometimes she would unfold his hands from his chest and slip them beneath the warmth of the covers, just because it looked like it would feel better to him. She did all of this and more. She calmly, caringly, respectfully nurtured our Father along until he died peacefully in his sleep, with dignity I might add. She did all this because, as she said to me once, ‘I really care for that proud, old man.’ That proud old man was my Dad, and yours too.

Have any of us wondered what she must be feeling? Her sense of loss and isolation at his passing, this proud old man she had grown to love and respect? She must feel quite alone now too - don't you think? She was left with the silence, where a few days ago there was life, where there was the sound of their two voices laughing while she went through the duties of caring for him in his island bed.

Or are we too busy distrusting one another, wondering who and what is conspiring against us?
I wonder what loss she must be feeling. Does anybody care? I do, but I've just been too busy to think about it... until now. We all have her number, why don't we care enough to do a simple thing, to call and ask her how she is? Stop the infighting for a minute, to say, “thank you, Laurie, from the bottom of our hearts for mentoring and nurturing a proud old man into his next journey. And how are you? What are you feeling?

Thank you.

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Families suck

And all hell broke loose.  Why do families attack each other, when they're at their lowest/weakest?  And then there's me, who tried to be a buffer between siblings.  And as the buffer between siblings and BFriend... well, it wasn't fun. The Hatfield's treated me as one of the McCoy's, and the McCoy's treated me as one of the Hatfield's for about 3 days.  I knew both sides were spouting off things to me about the other, things I knew they didn't mean, and I thought it best to keep them from talking to each other till they calmed down.  That part I understood, but to take it out on me... too much for me to handle.  My faith in families, never very strong, is absolutely gone now. 

I offered to continue on at Jorge's house to help get it ready for sale, and to not have it empty of a human, leaving all the precious "heritage" stuff, alone in the house.  BFriend and SanFranMan, they wanted me to stay there.  So I'm here for at least another 2 weeks.  And the house is very, very quiet.  Creepy quiet.   

I finally turned off the baby monitor tonite. 

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5am

 

Rest in peace, Jorge.  Don't look back. 

It was an honor. 

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Sleepless in Idaho

More about last nite.

Jorge started his restlessness around 10pm, but it wasn't till around midnite that I realized it was going to be a looonng ass nite. Earlier in the day, SanFranMan and I had talked about maybe kinda sorta chatting on the Yahoo later in the evening.  Not exactly set in concrete in other words. I turned on my Yahoo, and promptly forgot about it. Not one thought about it. Till midnite. The Witching Hour. When all of a sudden it MATTERED.

Mattered ALOT that he hadn't got on Yahoo chat with me. Because I was realizing it was gonna be a long, long nite with Jorge. Who just happens to be the father of said SanFranMan, formerly LoverMan, whom was SUPPOSED to chat with me that nite, thank you very much. So I text messaged his cell phone "Where are you? I need to talk".  I think that's what I said. I think... I may have also left a self-pitying little tidbit on his yahoo... something like "Guess you didn't want to talk to me after all". sniff. sigh. SOB.  Cept I may have left off the sniffing and sighing, which may have made the message seem a bit... terse.  Then I forgot about it. Figured I'd called too late and was over it.  Mostly cause I was too busy trying to keep Jorge in bed. I had better things to do than pine about our iron-clad, made in stone agreement to chat that nite via Yahoo chat thingy.

Oh wait. I think I mentioned either on the yahoo offline, or the cellphone voicemail that I was scared.

And I was.

There's nothing quite like being all alone with a little old man who's swatting at flies, petting kitties, pointing off into the horizon, waving, and eating invisible food with more gusto than he's ever eaten anything real that I've served him. When I asked him what he was eating, he said "It's time to pour the concrete".

When he stared intently off into space and would laugh as if listening to an inside joke with someone else, I felt left out. And then creeped out about feeling left out. I'd ask him what he was seeing, hoping for something profound for my reward. He answered.... I'm sure it was profound as hell, I just couldn't understand a word of it. 

A couple weeks ago, when he was perfectly coherent, he had been crushed when I had to tell him that some friends of his and his wife hadn't come to visit him.  He had asked me where they were, and I, confused, said huh?  He thought that his dead wife and a few of his friends had been there in his room earlier.  I remembered earlier walking in on him, and he had been talking to someone standing in the doorway of his bathroom and I definitely felt as if I were intruding.  It rose the hair on my neck and arms.  Then I realized that is one of the "symptoms" of accepting death... either hallucinating about loved ones already dead, or being visited by them in another realm. 

Then there was the dark, the lateness of the hour. And being by myself. And my BROKEN heart cause SanFranMan didn't get on Yahoo chat with me. I got the heebie jeebies somewhat. Alllll allllone in the big, bad world.... yup yup yup. 

Then!?  He text messaged back about 2:45 my time, I was relieved to hear a fellow human being. Even tho he put me on ice the last time he was here, I was glad to hear his voice. So calm and reassuring. It might surprise you all, but he can be somewhat exciteable sometimes, and by all rights, he'd have had a right to be, having received a "I'm scared" type of message from the woman who's taking care of his dying father. Specially considering when he did call back, I said "hi gotta go, I'm calling the Hospice Nurse, I'll call you back in a minute". Only, I said it more like "HigottagoI'mcallingtheHospiceNurst,I'llcallyoubackina minute".  All in one word, I'm sure.  But no, he was calm, cool and quiet. Cept for the part when he thought my text message asking "Where are you?" had the tone of snark and 'you cheating ass dog you sorta tone', but that was so not true. I know when I've been dumped and my man is a free agent.

No, the "Where are you?" tone was ALL about being alone and his dad was freaking me out, and the ONLY 2 times I've EVER called him or BFriend regarding their father, BOTH times no one has answered, and I'm all alone in the world in the middle of the nite where Jorge is eating pretend cheesecake and noone appreciates me type of a tone. Totally. I know. I'm perfectly flawed and I admit it.

So anyways, I just wanted to say that despite my potential meltdown, it was nice to hear SanFranMan's voice, while I waited for the nurse, and to talk till about 4am, about Terry Shiavo and the Pope dying, and I fell back in love, but only a tiny bit, but don't tell him cause he can be an ass.

That is all.

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Terry Shiavo, Jorge, and then there's me

Yes, it is 5:04am in the morning, and I am still up. Because Jorge is so agitated, and won't stay in bed. I finally called the Hospice Nurse at 3:05am, and asked for sedation, either for me, or Jorge, I didn't care which. Of course, Jorge being the Hospice patient, he's the one who got the damn drugs. The Hospice nursed dosed him up with some sweet relief dispensed by eye dropper, since Jorge has suddenly forgotten how to drink out of a cup or with a straw.

The nurse left, and I put "Enya" in the CD player, hoping that would soothe him. He fought the sedation for a long time, grasping, clutchng, reaching for my hand.  Swatting at imaginary flies, petting imaginary kitties, eating and drinking imaginary food. He grabbed the sugar bowl and poured it all over himself. I told him now he was a sweet old man and he gave me a ghoulish grin. He fussed and fussed over everything on his bedside table, setting the items just so.  Finally, at 4:41am, he's sound asleep, and I'm wide awake. The sun is coming up. I've got the baby monitor right in front of me, listening to him breathe.  The first week I was here, he breathed 4 times to my one breath, which the hospice nurse had told me was a sign that death was very near. 

The music is kinda creepy... it could be worse... at least it's not "Stairway to Heaven"..... okay, I'm bad. 

We've got to re-arrange the furniture. I'm going to have to sleep in there, so I can make sure he doesn't get up by himself. And lower the bed some. It's too high for him, when he's so weak, and I can't lift him all the way up. And we need a bed rail to keep him in the bed. And re-arrange the furniture in the living room, so I can see into his room, when I'm not in there. Cause this ain't gonna be easy.

What does this have to do with Terri Shiavo? I dunno. But I keep feeling like I should call President George Bush.

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Jorge tonite

I'm scared tonite. Evidently Jorge had a stroke either last nite, or sometime today. Since I didn't know the signs, I didn't know, but it became clear that something was wrong late this afternoon. He was suddenly extremely weak when getting up to go to the bathroom, and needed help. He was confused about some lost toast this morning, (when I hadn't served him toast) and said a couple of confusing things thruout the day. But during a haircut and a nurse visit, he was perfectly sane. Later, he said that the t-shirt he had on was from WW2, and he hadn't taken it off since the war. 

He's been really agitated all evening, talking to himself/somebody else and when I talk to him, he garbles out complete nonsense. He got up himself to go to the bathroom, but seemed to forget what the toilet is for, and worried about some imagined malfunction on his walker instead. He has gained weight, cause he's harder to lift than he was a month ago. It took about 20 minutes to get him back into bed, between trying to figure out what he wanted and physically maneuvering him.  He almost missed the toilet when he sat down and I had to lift him up, and slide him back over in the right direction.  He's so much more heavier than he was when I first got here. 

I gave him his first Ativan. Spose to help with anxiety.

But I'm scared.

Not of him dying but of me not being able to get him changed, cleaned up, lifted, comfortable. Me not being physically strong enough.

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Disturbing Turbulance

I know being around Jorge's family is triggering my family issues.  Hence the following dream. 

It was one of those dreams that won't let go of you, even when you stir awake to avoid it. I'd go back to sleep and it'd pick me up where it had left off.  It was persistant, to say the least.

I dreamed that my parents woo'd me and my brothers and sister back to the fold with a new double-wide mobile home. Odd in itself. All us kids were all grown up. It was my father's effort to bring the family back together. (in real life, both my brothers are dead). I was the focus of attention, since I was the one blamed for tearing us apart by telling the big, bad secret of childhood sexual abuse.

The wonder of this mobile home was never-ending. All our childhood wants were fulfilled, bedrooms of our own, a trampoline for each of us, toys galore. But we were all grown-up. It was obvious to us kids that he was "buying us off".

As I write this, I'm trying VERY hard to hang on to the memory of the dream. I have an amazing ability to forget this unpleasantness, and I can feel it ebbing away even as I'm typing this.

Since I have spent most of my adult life without parents, and realizing that with the MS that I'm going to be a bit more dependent on other people, I, much to my awake shame... in this dream was soaking up being bought off by my father. He owed me, I figure. And I was hoping he'd changed.

But I was always on edge, in the dream, much like I was in real life, during my teen years. I spent my teenage years "on guard" in my own home. Listening for his footsteps. I became "hypervigilant" always watching out. It took alot of energy, energy that should have been spent growing up, doing normal teenage things... like maturing, for instance.

In the dream, he called for a group hug. Instantly I kept an eye out for my sister, making sure he didn't try any of his nasty hugging, touching, comments. In real life, he'd done the same thing after my brother's funeral. He spoke words, crying, hoping we'd hang together tight. When he hugged me, he nibbled on my ear.

In the dream, I was torn between wanting a real family, believing in the pretty picture they were painting for us kids, but knowing he still gave me a creeped out feeling. Knowing the kids wanted it too, but they were following my lead. Plus the fact that my brothers were alive! I WANTED this family to work. But sure enough, when he hugged me, he touched me wrong, and I looked over at my mom, hoping she hadn't seen him.

I'd been waking up on and off several times, on guard, at age 47, feeling dirty and angry. When I fell back asleep, the dream resumed with even more fabulous enticements to live in the brand new double-wide mobile home. The enticements had changed into more grown-up themes, wrapped up and labeled in decorated boxes. Money, new appliances, even a house for each of us. In the way of dreams, of course it made perfert sense that'd we'd live in this fabulous mobile home with our parents, AND our own houses.

There were also presents, wrapped in beautiful paper, labeled "Support". Another labeled "Unconditional Love". Another labeled "Babysitting". Etc. All the things that would have been nice while I was raising my son, going to doctor visits, losing Jacob, getting diagnosed with MS. I moved from room to room, watching my brothers and sisters fall for the happy dream.

All nite long, I kept dreaming and waking up, wanting to throw up, wanting to get away from him.

Just damn. Still.

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A day in our life

Excerpts of email updates I sent to his sons on some days:

Jorge had a good day today - he's stayed awake most of the day, and is reading Louis Amour or whoever that guy is. Thefamous cowboy books.They're small enough to hold so his hands don't get tired.

He's doing MUCH better. He asked for 2 pancakes, 2 eggs this morning. His oxygen is at 95% again, yesterday when the nurse checked it. His breathing is normal.

I called for a nurse yesterday to come take care of the bedsores. Scott had told us to massage the area around the sores to increase circulation, but when I got online to find more ideas on how to take care of them, every site said NOT TO TOUCH. Grrrr.

I don't think he's ready to die. He was so proud of the 95% oxygen thing, and wanted me to be sure to tell "the boys" about it.

The way he says "thank you" for every little thing I do just breaks my heart. Such a sweet old man. Thank God he's not a crab-apple, or demented or Alzshiemer (sp?). He's so easy to take care of.  I'm learning what it feels like to actually care for a father figure type.

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Butter it lavishly, he said

Jorge said he turned it down before, when son Truce offered him some cornbread, but now he wanted some. "With lots of butter, butter it lavishly, and then pour some maple syrup over it".

This is a dying man. Who spent 7 of the last 9 days in bed, often not making it to the bathroom in time to do his "bizness", requiring athletic powers on my part to change him in bed.

And today he's asking for lavish butter. I am so pleased.

Altho... I'm a little worried what lavish butter and maple syrup will do to the bowel system...

Deep Thoughts w/Jorge

Me: Jorge, that first week I was here, I really think you almost starved to death.

Jorge: Could be.

Me: You didn't eat, so you got weaker, your stomach shrinks, then you have no appetite, so you didn't eat, then got weaker, and then no appetite, etc. A vicious cycle. Even when we brought dinner over, you'd tell us you already ate, and we'd see no signs of it, and we'd find the meals we brought still in the fridge.

Jorge: I sure appreciated em. 

Me:  Well, it seemed like you did, but you also didn't eat them, cause we'd find the dinners molding in the fridge. 

He:  I was so weak, coffee was about all I could manage. 

Me: So Jorge, is that how you wanted to die and me feeding you now... is that the wrong thing for us to do? (looking at him straight in the eyes)

Jorge: shaking his head no, whispered "No", looking back at me straight in the eyes.

Whew. I've been worried. His family won't speak directly to him about dying issues, altho I think LoverMan has, indirectly.  In that first week, after his doctor asked Jorge if he thought had much longer to live, Jorge shook his head no,  and he agreed to Hospice easily.  They had been there for him 3 years ago, when his wife died of cancer.  He signed the DNR papers himself (Do Not Resuicate) and proceded to go downhill even further for the next 2 days. He seemed to be soooo relieved to know that he wouldn't end up in the hospital and that he could die at home.

And then he rallied. 

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Hospice Hex

I went home to my apartment today to water plants, meet up with my aide. I live in a "independent living" facility with 40 units. Independent living means we're able to take care of ourselves, but there's safety bars ALL over the bathroom, and pull cords in each room, in case we fall. Which I've not been able to figure out... what if I fall across the room from where the pull cord is? I asked what happened if I pulled it, wondering if it set an alarm to the fire station, rang the landlord, set off loud bells, etc. Uh... what it does is light the light outside my door in the hall, and hopefully, someone will see it, and come help. oooookay.

The complex is full of seniors, for the most part. Seems if you're disabled, you qualify for senior housing. Which is a plus, because that means no little kids are allowed - no playground type screaming outside. As far as I can tell, there are only 2 non-seniors, me and the kid across the hall, who's in a wheelchair. Whom I am facinated with, since the seniors told me he has Spina Bifida, which is what Jacob had. He's extremely shy, so I haven't had a chance to talk to him yet. Plus I have to take into account the seniors tendency to gossip about everyone... according to them, my disability was Alcoholism, since I can sometimes be seen staggering down the hall. I let them think that for a good 3 months before I managed to get the chance to correct their perceptions. I knew the busy-body who'd spread the word about my supposed affliction, and I wanted to be sure she was around when someone finally asked why I was there. I love to put gossips in their place. If I could remember how I did that, I'd certainly blog it, but I don't. I'm sure it was funny, tho.

The seniors tend to treat me like a kid. I'm the "youngster" around there. They think they can tell me what to do, and how to do it. So irritating.

So when I walked in today, into the common lounge area, they asked me if I was ever coming home again, and by the way, what was I doing. I told them that I was doing Hospice on a little old man in town. Boy, did that shut them up.

I think they think Hospice is contagious, and I'm going to take full advantage of it.

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What the hell?

Since I've been staying here with Jorge, my sleeping pattern is getting messed up. The first week I was here, I deliberately set the alarm for 3am so that I could check to see if he was still breathing. The possibility of him not breathing was highly possible, but since then, not so much.

Even so, I've been waking up between 3 and 4am without the alarm. Grrrrr I have a baby monitor set up so I can hear if he's breathing, and normally he's snoring away, so I don't even get up. On the couple times I've not heard him, I got up to check, and he's fine. Just having a quiet breating moment.

That first week he was taking 4 breaths to my one. The nurse later told us that his blood pressure was extremely low, the bottom number being 48. That the further apart the numbers are, the more eniment death is. That if it went below 48, they could pretty much predict death within days. The nurses and CNA's came to see us in the early mornings. Later, I noticed they weren't coming till late afternoon. One day, I needed to know when the nurse would be here, since I had a doctor's appointment and I didn't want to miss her. They told me they don't really have a schedule - that they visit the clients who are closest to death first. So as far as Hospice is concerned, Jorge is a late afternoon visit cause he's doing really well.

So it wasn't all in my imagination how bad off he was. I sometimes feel bad about the family. As soon as they heard the word "hospice", there was a flurry of phone calls and visits.

So here I am, Jorge is better, but I'm waking up at 6:30am to get him his coffee, and I wake up in the middle of the nite to make sure he's still breathing. Without an alarm clock. I, who used to sleep like a rock, never waking up in the nite.

I hope I go back to normal when this is all done. Not sleeping good is such a "disabled" thing, or a "senior" thing.

Since getting MS, I've always been proud of how my sleeping is JUST FINE, thank you very much.

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Looking back

Didn't I say this? 

"It was perfect. We were perfect together. It went beyond chemistry, beyond the way our bodies fit together, beyond the way we responded to each other. He made me feel more wanted than I'd ever felt in my life. "

But I knew it was over even before he broke up with me in February.  Cause someone madly in love with you doesn't give you a scarf and gloves for Christmas.  That's a friendship gift.

That is all.

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February 2005

SanFranMan, Jorge, and Truce.  Truce is another brother who came to visit after Jorge was put on Hospice.  He also has MS, and it was good to talk to another MS'er.  He seemed to have a quiet, calm soul, and I really liked him and wished we could have talked deeper but there was no time, and what time there was was spent with Jorge. 

He told me alot about the dynamics of the family, and of their growing up, which explained ALOT about SFM's, his family, etc.

I haven't asked permission to show Truce for real, hence the shading. 

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He's gone and the air is empty

SanFranMan left this morning. We had a good time these last few days, after surviving the Most Disgusting Break-up ever. The pressure and angst of long distance love, not to mention the married man factor was off of us, so oddly, things felt easier these last few days, and I really LIKE him too, besides loving him. 

I keep finding things he left for me. His razor that vibrates. The shirt that he slept in last nite.  The shirt smells of him. Not that I care or anything...

When one is promised the world, coupled with sharing the same quirky-assed disease... well, I fell hard. Plus he made me laugh and forget I had MS. Which is a big deal. When I stumble and stagger, he just reaches out a hand, knowing and silent. Others always comment with inane remarks that I must consider responding to while needing my energy just to walk in a straight line. 

I understood the true meaning of making love when he and I did so.  I'm not much of a fantasy sort of person, always preferring "hands on".  Maybe because of the long distance, that part of my life had to make do and it flourished.  And honestly, his voice just does it for me.  And he was always so... frank and open about how much I turned him on... I loved the way he'd talked about being with me, and wanting to be with me.  He was the best lover, the most amazing lover, who made me want to do whatever he wanted me to, and how I could go on and on.  I think for the first time, I gave simply and completely, without reservation, just to make him happy, without expecting anything back... it was pure giving at it's best. 

But ironically, after saying all that, breaking up isn't so hard to do, after all. Is it because I'm 47 years old and cynical? Breaking up as a teenager, or when divorcing in my 20's, and again, in my 30's... oh my the pain. Poems and poems worth. Now? I almost feel nothing but cynical amusement. What a BOY CHILD he was/is.  Which is SO MUCH a part of his charm, ironically.  Maybe I kept my heart on hold, knowing he was married, and not making progress towards divorcing?  I don't think so, because how could I have felt so completely in love and so giving, all that I spoke of in the above paragraph, if I was holding back? 

When she didn't return from the east coast with the kids, after their summer vacation, he quit being the hopeful man with a vision for happiness in his future with me, to a man blind-sided with his children used as the weapons against him. 

Update:  8 months later, after visiting him in San Francisco....as it turns out, there was a bit more to story of why he wanted to break up.  He started up another fantasy in his mind and moved away from the one he gave me.  Funny how the truth will always come out, 8 months later, but hey.  Long distance was just too hard on both of us.  He had trust issues, and I had lonely issues, making me more and more insecure and clingy.  The more he wouldn't tell me the truth, the more crazy I got, and it showed.  Conflict, when truth would have been so much better on me. 

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Battle Mountain

Today, Assholiness (formerly LoverMan) and drove to Battle Mountain, a 7 hour drive each way, to visit his great grandfather's grave site.  There was some mystery as to how he died, a very intriguing story about him maybe swallowing carbolic acid, mistakenly thinking it was his daily shot of whisky.  Caarbolic acid was used to sterilze lethal diseases back in the day.  There was a child with typhoid fever in the house at the time.  Anyways, we went to put flowers on the long lost grave. 

The cemetary was facinating.  Cemetary's facinate me in general, but this one was particularly interesting because it was all concrete, gravel, and wrought iron fencing.  It was a VERY old cemetary.  There were graves where the ground had sunk down about a foot or more... we do not know what that was about, and didn't really want to think about is too much.  There were many, many grave markers with only numbers on them, no names.  We're going to do some research on that, cause it just seemed so wrong to have so many grave sites without names on them. 

Don't ask me why I'm socializing with the man who just broke up with me while I was hospicing his dying father.  But then again... visiting a cemetary seems kind of appropriate, doesn't it?  Specially one called "Battle Mountain"...

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His Assholiness

Me:  I don't know what to call you in my blog now that we've broke up.

He:  What have you been calling me?

Me:  LoverMan.

He:  How about "His Holiness" (trying to use humor to diffuse the possibility of reviving the breaking up discussion)

Me:  How about Asshole?

He:  How about Assholiness?

Me:  Done. 

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The most disgusting breakup ever

So here I am, taking care of LoverMan's dying father, who was recently put on Hospice.  I did not do this for any reason except for the fact that Jorge needed 24/7 someone in the house and since I'm not working anymore, me doing it made the most sense.  He finally asked for help and I just happened to be the person there when he needed it. 

SanFranMan had been acting decidely less devoted these last few days.  I asked him directly if he was still planning a future with me, and he said he loved me.  Well, as all women of the world knows, this didn't exatly answer the question, I cleverly re-asked the question... "Are you IN LOVE with me still?".  No.  The answer was no.  Well, it wasn't directly a "no", there was alot of "We can still be friends" type comments from him. 

He just can't be in a relationship right now because it takes too much energy and focus away from his kids, whom he is trying to get visitation or maybe even custody.  He says the love he spent on me make him lose focus on getting his kids back.

Yes, I know.  I deserved this.  The Karma Of Loving a Married Man came home to rest in my nest.  But the timing was LOUSY.  Because I'm having to go thru breaking up with him in front of his sister, and his father.  Put on the happy mask.  Which makes me sick to my stomach, because I got real with myself quite some time ago, and this sucks. 

.

LoverMan is here

I'm watching him sleep in the LazyBoy. Nascar races are on. I can't decide whether I want to jump across the coffee table so I can jump his bones, or turn the sound down on the TV so he can rest. 

I do know that I love him. With all the dysfunction displayed by he and and family, I still love him, even more surer each day we spend together. I think that it's because I can truly accept him as he is, with all his craziness and that I have no need to fix him or change him. And in exchange, I think he accepts my imperfections, and for the first time ever, I feel accepted too. 

But besides all that... he is perfect in my eyes. 

And I wish he had a life where he could relax in a LazyBoy more often.

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Jorge - The Beginning

I am house-sitting for BFriend again, which has turned into Hospice for Jorge, who is BFriend's stepfather, and LoverMan's father.  BFriend had left town, and I was to check in on Jorge, while she was gone.  LoverMan lives in San Francisco, and of course can't be up here very much, altho he's visited Jorge far more times than the rest of the siblings. 

I checked on Jorge late  2 nites ago, and he was in his chair, which was usual for him. He said everything was fine, he was fine, thanks for the dinner, see ya later.  I went back down the street to BFriend's house, secure that all was as usual with Jorge. I checked on him again the next day (yesterday) to find Jorge had not gone to bed, which he had always done before. He asked me to help him into bed, which surprised me at first, cause he never asks for help.  I helped him up, he shuffled to his bed, sat down on the mattress, and brown stuff oozed out of his underwear.  ACK.  "Jorge, we need to get you in the bathroom to clean up", I said. He pushed me away, and lifted his legs into bed, continuing to ignore me. I tucked him in, while screaming inside my brain, "ick ick ick, what do I do, what do I do, I didn't sign up for this, dammit, BFriend all to hell!"

I called her. No answer. I called LoverMan. No answer. Greeaat. I took a look at Jorge's shower, telling myself, "Okay, I can do this". But the shower didn't have any handicap bars, no bathmat. I knew then, with my own MS limitations, that I wouldn't be able to shower him alone. So I called his grandson, who was able to come help 2-3 hours later.  Considering that Jorge may have been stuck in that chair in the livingroom for 24 hours, maybe even more, ... well, you can imagine the shower mess. And trying to hold up a 100 lbs or less, extremely frail, weak and full of pride man is no small feat, despite having a 230 lb., no nonsense cop grandson in your corner. I stood in the shower, holding my arms straight out in front of me, so that Jorge could stand between them, using my arms as bars to hang on to.  We washed him down with a washclothe and the shower spray nozzle. 

Can we talk about the laundry? I think we used every towel and washclothe in the building, and I tore the house apart looking for clean sheets, mattress pad, sheepskin, blankets, pillowcases, T-shirt, underwear, etc. Keep in mind that Jorge's wife died 3 years ago, and nothing has been touched since then. My kingdom for some Windex, Pledge, and some 409, cause everything felt so dusty and musty. 

Afterwards, I emailed both BFriend and LoverMan to tell them I was just going to stay with him, that it was time, he couldn't be left alone anymore.  I also think it was easier for Jorge to accept help from me, cause he didn't want his stepdaughter being the one cleaning him up, which anyone could understand.  Me taking care of him made the most sense, because I had no life and was the most transportable, with no obligations to anyone but my dogs.  He knew me from years past, and was comfortable enough with me, so I felt strongly that it was the best decision all around, specially considering BFriend and I had talked about it before, and so had LoverMan.  The time had arrived. 

I've moved my computer from my house into his livingroom,  and brought my dogs down too, because there's a big fenced in backyard.  Yea!  The dogs can have a life too!  Then I ordered HBO because the second season of Deadwood starts in March and I am a Deadwood slut, and I want my damn HBO!  So I'm now residing with Jorge in his house for the time being.  I'm gonna make sure BFriend takes him to the doctor on Monday, just to be sure I know where he's at physically, and hopefully someone will bring up Hospice.  I think it's time to consider that option, and I want us all on the same page.  I feel like I'm gonna need that kind of support and back-up from hospice, and it's really cool that I've already taken the 6 week Hospice course some years ago, so I feel pretty comfortable with being here. 

In retrospect, BFriend and I realized he must have had a stroke in the chair, which explained his extreme sudden weakness and why he was so ammendable to having help.  I also think it made him "not quite with us in the present sense of the word" and he didn't remember what happened, or the shower, which made it easier on his pride too. 

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MS or MS?

I'm a jangle of loose,
unattached parts
like a neckace made
of elbow macaroni,
a seashore
with the sand disappearing
from beneath my feet
as the tide rolls out.
Remember the feeling
of losing your balance?

The tide rolls my body.
Tides rage within me
when I stand, swaying motion
threatens to pull me over
pushing and pulling,
the waves crash within me.

MS is my personal tide
and it threatens my personal integrity,
and ruins my personal character.

What am I talking about? A disease,
Or falling in love with a married man                                                                            whose initials just happen to be MS. 

.

Words to Fall in Love by

Who wouldn't?

He writes some more...

"You are incredible. Your thinking, your feelings, those heart felt thoughts. Your sincerity and personal determination I can only admire and respect. You are special Laurie, in a world where most people’s personalities blend together into the path of least resistance. You question. You strive for the answers, and ultimately achieve them, gaining the peace of mind that comes at the end of this struggle. You are incredible."

.

It was perfect

It was perfect. We were perfect together. It went beyond chemistry, beyond the way our bodies fit together, beyond the way we responded to each other. He made me feel more wanted than I'd ever felt in my life.

That is all.

.

Or Maybe at Lunch 14 Months Ago

And this...he also writes:

"I came into this with an image of looking into your eyes at the restaurant we'd had lunch at 14 months ago. It was what I saw then that has haunted me. The beauty, the simplicity, the intelligence and experience. Left me asking myself if I was truly crazy. And I ended up concluding that it was real, what I saw. That I was mad with the realization that I do love you, for all the right reasons."

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I Had Him at the Game Hen

He wrote:

"When we had lunch last year -even before- I was thinking of you. That is, that I wanted you. I wanted to make you feel good, besides massaging your hands; I really wanted you. And your suggestive little hands in the moist, soft flesh of the game hen didn't help either. I knew what you meant. Least that's what I thought.

You remember when I went to get a lottery ticket for Dad at that corner store on Broadway? You should have seen the look on the woman’s face when I tossed a 'box of three' on the counter and then asked for a lottery ticket. She looked at me, thinking something, and then asked how my Dad was. I must have met her with him - she remembered who I was. Then I remembered you and I had been in there earlier in the day too. I felt embarrassed that she knew what I wanted to do with you, later. I almost tossed her the cash in my pocket without looking at the condoms or the lottery tickets, for that matter. I wanted to point at the 'box of three' and say, 'These are for him! He's doing great! Nice seein' ya'!' And hurry out the door.

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