This content has been archived. It may no longer be relevant
PART ONE
Today’s post reflects some of my recent thoughts on getting older and issues that crop up as we do so. I will share with readers what brought some of this to the surface over the past week. Part Two will follow soon, so I hope you will watch for it. Why not subscribe to be notified of new posts?
Like most of you, I prefer to spend more time thinking about living life and enjoying it, rather than what happens when it ends or is starting to wind down, but sometimes events and encounters invariably trigger such thoughts.
Last weekend was supposed to have been a much-needed getaway weekend for me and my husband. In most respects it was. We spent a night at a B and B in Brookline, MA, the Bertram Inn. We were there once before, a long time ago, and remembered liking it. This stay was pleasant, as well. We had a really nice dinner on Friday night and then spent Saturday at the Boston Museum of Fine Arts. On Saturday night we visited a good friend from my early college days. I had been wanting to visit and see Pamela’s house for some years but somehow it never happened. She visits me frequently on her way to see her daughter and granddaughters. Pamela’s house is an 1890 structure, filled with furniture and items from Pamela’s mother, grandmother and other family members. She is an artistic person, as was her mother and very individualistic in her tastes and interests. There was a lot to look at and appreciate.
Pamela and I have had many conversations over the years about aging, caring for our elderly mothers and end of life issues. Our conversational themes have been consistent with our stage of life as members of the Sandwich Generation and reluctantly aging Baby Boomers. We have shared our challenges and frustrations as caregivers and our joys and our worries about our adult kids.
Pamela’s mother lived until her 90’s and suffered from dementia during her last years. Pam cared for her in a sensitive and loving way, but it took a toll and was difficult for her. My mother died about 10 years ago. She lived in New York City until the last 11 years of her life when she moved into a senior housing complex down the road from my house in Connecticut. In her final year, after various care arrangements proved inadequate, she had to enter a nursing home and she had mild dementia. My mother-in-law is currently living in a dementia facility and we relocated her from PA at the end of July. She is 87 and is confused a good part of the time, highly anxious but also retains a good sense of humor and makes us laugh almost as often as we cry about her situation.
I have had a few health challenges here and there, though mine have been relatively minor, thankfully. My friend Pamela survived a bout with cancer a few years back. She is now having some other health problems that are frustrating for her and that definitely have an impact on her quality of life. She has always been one who watched her diet, was conscientious about living in a healthful fashion and has been a vegetarian most of her adult life. She looks youthful and thinks youthfully. She and I have acknowledged to each other how difficult it is to shift our thinking of ourselves as forever young, strong and invincible, to a more practical picture of ourselves as people in our sixties, no matter how we pretend this isn’t so. Dr. Mary Pipher has referred to our age group as “the young old”. This does sting to hear, though I believe I am doing my very best to age gracefully while retaining a young attitude.
Pamela graciously let us stay in her charming house and turned it over to us while she stayed elsewhere. We enjoyed our visit and our further glimpse into her personality. She has deliberately pared down her belongings and surrounds herself with things she takes pleasure in and that are meaningful to her. She chooses to lead her life in ways that make sense to her, though they might not to somebody else. For example, when we opened the refrigerator we were amazed to find a greeting card standing on the top shelf. She explained that it was such a pretty card that she liked being surprised by it each time she opened the door of the fridge. I found myself thinking, though, about the fact that she lives alone and that her living space might not be too conducive to aging safely and comfortably and one day might prove to be inappropriate. This made me feel sad briefly, as I pondered it. Perhaps it isn’t anything Pamela (or I) will have to face for another twenty or thirty years, but we can’t be sure. One day we (and/or our children in our behalf) will have to deal with these realities. Pamela and her mother, Mary, had shared a home for some years. After Mary’s death she was forced to sell the house to cover debts but was able to purchase an affordable and attractive home that reflected her tastes and needs. I hope she will be able to stay in her home and be independent for a very long time, but having seen how unpredictable life can be, I hope even more that she will continue to notice and enjoy all of the people and treasures she has consciously chosen to have around her.
Following our visit to the Boston area, we stopped in Sturbridge, MA to attend the annual luncheon meeting of the Scottish Terrier Club of America. Just as we were finishing up our desserts, we got a cell phone call from our daughter that my mother-in-law had fallen and had been taken to the hospital by ambulance. So of course, we left early and drove to Hartford to be with her. Luckily no bones were broken and nothing serious seemed to have caused the fall. A night at the ER, rehydration and time to sleep off the drugs that calmed her agitation, and my mother-in-law was sent back to her assisted living. This was her second trip to the hospital in six weeks. When the phone rings at our house or our cells when we are out and about, we are beginning to get used to the sinking feeling that there is a new crisis brewing or already erupting.
While at the hospital ER, the attending doctor reviewed her history and paperwork with us. Somehow the assisted living had forwarded the information that my husband’s mother is a full code. In reality she has had a living will for some time that instructs (as does mine and my husband’s) that she is a “Do Not Resuscitate, Do Not Intubate” patient. We had supplied copies of the Power of Attorney, the Living Will and Health Care Agent documents to her primary physician and to the facility where she resides. If the doctor had not thought to go over things with us prior to our leaving for the night, we might never have known that there was an important piece we and the assisted living staff had overlooked. Apparently in this state (and many others as well), an assisted living or long term care facility must have a doctor’s order for the DNR, DNI status to be honored. My husband is an R.N. and when he thought about this, he realized that was so, but it had slipped his mind or gotten lost in all the details involved in moving his mother to Connecticut. The facility where she resided was supposed to have provided us with a form for the primary doctor but had not done it. So two hospitalizations later, we learned what to do, took care of it the next day but realized that a simple mention by the ER doc alerted us to something important and perhaps averted a tragedy that might have been contrary to my mother-in-law’s wishes and to our own values and beliefs about people’s right to make end of life choices and to choose to die with dignity.
Once my husband’s mother returned to the assisted living, we resumed our regular schedules and the rest of the past week was relatively normal. However, a dear friend whose blog I try to follow regularly, directed readers to a recent blog post by her daughter. On reading it, realities having to do with this friend slapped me in the face as a result of what the daughter wrote. Her post also generated thought and feelings that were very much in line with those that had preoccupied me much of the previous week.
