Caregiving for Me

Two weeks ago I came down with a monster cold. It was so bad even the first day, with my wimpy lungs, that I went to see the doctor for some additional medicines. Even though I had already started using my nebulizer and cough expectorant, I knew that prednisone and even an antibiotic would probably be added. And it was.

I still went home with the fear that this cold would not end without a call to 911 when my coughing spasms would turn into a choking episode. With less than half of my lungs functioning due to a deformed chest cavity (scoliosis), I just don't have the pulmonary power needed to cough up phlegm or even a tiny piece of food or water that might get lodged in my windpipe.

Three days later after an intense coughing spell, I had the phone in my hand almost ready to punch the 911, before I started to get my breath back. A week after that I actually did dial the 911 when I started to choke again, but told the paramedics I was alright and they didn't have to come.

The very next morning I had to call 911, when I couldn't get any air due to the phlegm closing off my breathing. Even though I had thankfully started breathing by the time they got there, and was using my nebulizer, they insisted I needed to go in to ER. Still in my nightgown, I thought to ask for my purse as we went out the door.

The worse part of my ambulance ride was when I looked in my purse and didn't see my car keys! Sometimes I just leave them lying by the purse and sometimes they are in. I was terrified that Dean would get in the car and drive himself to the hospital! He would be OK driving even though he hasn't been a licensed driver for fifteen years, but would he actually be able to find his way to the hospital without getting lost? I doubted it.

My cell phone was in my purse, however, so I managed to call my daughter when I got to the hospital. Bless her heart, her dad had called her about what had happened, just as she was getting off her night shift and gotten almost asleep. But she said she was on the way to the hospital. I tried to divert her to our house first, but she was determined to be by my side and was almost there.

The happy ending was that after a few tests and they didn't see pneumonia or any sign of infection, I was allowed to go home before noon, with another round of meds to get filled at the drug store. I was so thankful that my daughter was there to take me home, and the house was still standing when we got there, although Dean had been pretty shook up over it all.

I had assumed that he would go ahead and take his van to his day program that day, but he hadn't been able to get his socks on, so had stayed home. How could this man have taken care of himself, if I had been admitted to the hospital? I hope I never find out. But it was comforting to know that my daughter and son-in-law are here to step up to the plate and help. I even have a nephew fifty miles away, who would have dropped everything to come, had I needed him.

One thing that brought a smile was when Dean and I went to church this weekend, and they handed him a microphone to share a prayer request. He asked that people pray that his wife not have another coughing "spree". Yep, that described it pretty well. Some people have shopping sprees; I have coughing sprees.

I was indeed thankful that prayers did see us both through this eventful week. But as soon as I feel better, I'm going shopping instead.

my "at home" hospital

Moms in My Life

Today being Mother's Day, I am overcome with emotions from several different fronts. I'm missing my own mother, appreciating my daughter's motherhood of two special granddaughters, recognizing the enormous sacrifice and love of all the women I have known in our family and church circle.

But taking it down to a personal level, as a caregiver, I'm reminded that motherhood doesn't end when a child is grown. We all require a little mothering as we get older. Just a listening ear and shoulder to cry on. Not all moms are as good at that as others, but it's something we need to keep practicing, especially when our  grown children no longer need our physical intervention as much as our emotional and moral support. (And conversely, we mothers need it too. That's why sisterhood was invented.)

Even Dean, who seems to be requiring more and more assistance with the tasks of life, is still in just as much need for someone who understands and appreciates him and his quirky ways, as he is with needing someone to help put his socks on.

As I contemplate our changing family roles, I am tending to embrace my role as caregiver/mother more on a day like today, Mother's Day. I can more easily find reason to celebrate my role, however it transforms itself with Dean over the next few years. I'm ready to be whatever he needs, because it continues to strengthen my relationship with him and with God. And what else is there?

my sister, mother, and I in 2005 (trip to Florida)

Blowing Up Balloons

Another blurp in the medical history books for a Mr. Dean, aka Idaho or Shortcut, (my everloving caregivee-husband). Never thought I'd have to take him to the doctor for blowing up a balloon too hard. Yes, believe it or not, he seems to have ruptured one of his salivary glands (parotid gland, if you want to get medically technical).

I swear he was trying to make as many annoying noises as he could with this balloon he got ahold of the other day. I finally got tired of asking him to tone it down. He was obviously enjoying the highly-pitched squeaks and fart sounds he was creating.

Then I noticed the sounds stopped and he brought to my attention a great big egg-sized lump on the left side of his face, right below his ear on the jawline. Naturally, I went into panic mode inside and asked him how long it had been there. Well, of course, he didn't know. He just felt this pop or something on the side of his face after blowing real hard on the balloon, and there it was!

I tried to stay cool, calm, and collected and careful enough not to feel the lump too vigorously, so as not to burst it or anything. But I was naturally curious whether this would go away by itself. It was evening time, so thought I'd let it wait till the next day before I starting dialing some medical professionals.

Everyone I talked to the next day said it probably needed medical attention, because it was still there in the morning, though not as big. So I took him to the doctor's office that afternoon (their after-hours-you-don't-need-an-appointment time). Fortunately the diagnosis was not as complicated as I'd feared and the doctor just prescribed an antibiotic in case some bacteria might escape. He suspected it would go away on its own though, so we're just waiting to see.

What could I possibly have learned from this silly experience, you ask? Well, I, like Dean's balloon-blowing, have a tendency to blow things out of proportion sometimes. Causing my "worry-wart", like a lump, tendencies to overpower my otherwise calm exterior. During these times I'm sure there must be a worry lump there someplace, if I took the time to look for it.

But, most of the time my worries prove to be unfounded. The final "diagnosis" is not nearly as dramatic as I'd feared. I need the Lord's help not to blow so hard on my "balloons" too.

Silly Pleasures

I've heard of people with dementia having wandering behaviors, and I just naturally think of them taking a walk through the neighborhood...actually someone else's neighborhood by the time they get through. Police are often called to assist in these haphazard excursions of the elderly.

But I would like to declare another genre of wandering behavior. It might be called telephone wander lust. Every time Dean sees an 800-number lately he feels compelled to call it. I can't tell you how many times I have rescued him from being a scam target.

The nurse at his doctor's office even called me the other day, wondering if we had put in a request for a back brace. I timidly explained that it was the result of one of his calls, answering a TV ad. It's getting downright scary what he might get himself involved in. And I don't know how to reel him in from this silly and potentially harmful practice.

Most of the time he just gets them to mail us information, as if we don't get enough junk mail already. And speaking of mail. I've also had to be careful of his mailing in postcards and ordering "stuff" with any postage paid invitations that he happens to come across. It doesn't matter what it is, if the word "free" is on it, he wants it. I'm trying to be the first one to the mailbox these days, but it isn't always easy.

I'm not sure why these activities are so enjoyable to him. I think he just has a desire to reach out and feel like he's still a normal human being, who can conduct business on his own.

Perhaps I shouldn't be so harsh with him and allow him these pleasures as long as I can. My first instinct is to get rid of the television, toss out our landline phone, and get our mail delivered to a post office box. But then again, I'll probably just wait and see where it all goes.

After all, isn't God just as patient with some of my silly pleasures?

A Long Stretch

Last night, Dean struck me in the middle of the night. Yes, he's done it before--just stretched his arm over to see if I'm still in bed, but making contact with my nose instead. It's similar to what we do to each other verbally during the day.

We don't mean it. It just happens. And like after our nocturnal mishap, it doesn't take long to forgive each other and move on. Caregiving is fraught with episodes of close verbal contact, that often end up as the "crash and clash" variety.

This is one time Dean's short term memory does us both good though. I need to apologize right away before he forgets the experience. And he needs to apologize right away for the same reason. It sure works for us.

Quick repentance and forgiveness is one lesson the Lord has taught me through this caregiving journey. Life is too short for grudges, guilt, and remorse. It's best to come clean as soon as possible. Even when you get slugged in the face in the middle of the night.

The Team Challenge

Last night our son-in-law came over to set up a new wireless printer for me. Could have done it myself, but wouldn't have been easy; and besides it was a chance to see the grandkids for an evening.

In order to get the house quieter though while he worked, our daughter took her dad somewhere so it was just the kids and I in the house. Believe me, it was an even trade-off. Two little girls for one big man/child.

The noise factor from the girls was kept confined to the hallway where they ran back and forth with Superman-style capes (really small blankets), trying to run fast enough to make the capes lift like parachutes.

It reminded me of a report I got from our daughter after a recent store trip she had with her dad. She said he challenged someone else riding in a department store power-chair to race him. So believe it or not, they both raced their "buggies" from one end of the store to the other to see whose cart was fastest.

Life itself is a race. Sometimes I feel like retiring my track shoes, but the people around me indicate that I'd better stay in the race awhile longer. God isn't through with this caregiver yet. And I'd better do all I can to stay fit in order to keep up with the team.

Valentine's Day Sleepover Interruption

What a joyous Valentine's Day we had this weekend! Just like Christmas being about the children, we were blessed with more time with our two adorable granddaughters coming over for a "sleepover". I'm sure their parents didn't mind another "date-night" on their schedule as well.

We try to space these events every few months, mostly because it isn't easy for me to juggle the care of an active preschooler and a first grader, and a sometimes-immature, well alot-of-times, immature old man.

The last thing I told him before we went to sleep was to be sure and let the girls sleep (they prefer camping out on the living room floor) and not get them up for Sunday pancakes too soon. Dean has been mysteriously waking up in the wee hours of the morning a lot, and I was hoping for once he would stay in bed and not pursue his word-search puzzles and solitaire out on the dining room table--just a stone's throw from where they'd be sleeping.

After finally getting them to sleep by ten o'clock, I was not pleased to wake up at about four and hear three voices coming from the other end of the house. Dean had been up since three, he said, and decided it was time for pancakes. The kitchen sounds and smells must have wakened the girls, who had declined the pancake invitation, saying they'd rather wait for grandma.

I tried to remain calm, thankful for the few hours of sleep I had just had, but doubtful if any more were coming. I hurried the girls into my big bed to encourage them back to sleep, and gave strict orders to the man in my life to sleep in his recliner (which he does half the time anyway) if he needed to.

All was not lost; the girls did drift back to sleep to the sounds of grandma's oxygen concentrator, but the same sleep escaped me for the moment, to be substituted for a nice nap the next day.

Dean remained on his own turf in the living room. But I felt compelled to check the stove a couple of times, just to assure that his pancakes were cooked appropriately. One black one left on a plate did not make me feel comfortable about his turning the stove off when he was done.

There have been many times in my own life that I'm sure I overlooked God's final instructions for me, leading to various degrees of crises He's had to see me through. How gracious and patient God is to "check up" on me as well.

I try to comfort myself with the thought that no matter how much turbulence I experience in my flight to heaven, God is the pilot, seatbelt, and flight attendant, overseeing reaching my final destination on schedule. What a great Caregiver He is!

The Ultimate Snow Day

Everyone looks forward to a "snow day" now and then when schools and jobs implore you to stay home and be safe from the frigid weather. We had one again this week, and I must say it was a welcome but brief reprieve from our daily routine. As we tend to linger in bed a bit longer in the morning, we have mental images of lounging by a warm fire and sipping on hot chocolate all day.

However, I found myself rescheduling appointments and finding out when the next meeting that was cancelled might reconvene. And most annoying was that the same caregiving tasks needed to be done, leaving me little time to even make that hot chocolate, let alone sip on it.

I'm sure even schoolchildren were disappointed to discover that their school assignments were not overlooked that day, but squeezed tightly into their already heavy schedules.

This has left me with a new appreciation of heaven. When the Lord declares a "snow day" up there (and I have a hunch it might be about every seventh day--Isaiah 66:23), we will truly have a rest and a reprieve from all the normal, but pleasant, duties that await us in our new home. Praise to God for designing and declaring the ultimate "snow day".

Pills Again

After a quick search, I see that I've already written nine times about Dean's pills since I began this blog. Our life seems to revolve around these little critters, so here's one more story about a "pill scare".

Last Friday night Dean hollered to me from the kitchen that he'd forgotten to take his pills that morning. He could see that pills were still in their morning slot in the weekly pill organizer he uses.

This happens occasionally, and usually it's nothing to worry about. But seconds later, he reports that he didn't take them the night before either! Now that would be something to worry about, so I dropped what I was doing and raced to the kitchen to verify what he was telling me.

We discovered that he was thinking it was the next night, Saturday night, so naturally there were pills in Saturday morning and Friday night that he hadn't taken yet. Whew, what a relief to see that although we had made a mistake in what day it was, it was not a mistake with great consequences, like not taking his pills would have been.

We've all made multiple mistakes during our lifetimes, but our merciful God races to our rescue to help oversee the situation, just as I raced to the kitchen. We can be sure in His capable Caregiver hands, our lives will make sense in eternity, if we've turned our lives over to Him and simply make the call for His help.

It's a Miracle!

It's been awhile since I posted on this blog for caregivers. I've made a grand start a couple of times, but just never could grab onto the right train of thought. I guess my thoughts had actually all left their stations and were going in all directions and it was hard to track a traveler down for his particular destination.

But now that I've lost my voice with a cold virus and life is moving at a slower pace, I have an urge to get some of my thoughts out to somebody. They may not be worth anything, but they will serve to relieve my guilt of silence.

First of all, I thought the world would end if I became sick with a cold again, and certainly it would be in God's interest to keep me healthy and strong. This was my prayer at least as one after another of my loved ones got sick. It's true that it's been hard to find substitute babysitters for my granddaughters, and Dean has had to do more for himself since I got sick. But hey, life moves on. With or without my services.

I was a bit upset with God, but only for a few seconds. I had prayed for a miracle to happen and for me not to succumb to the pestilence that surrounded me, but it was not to be. Instead God has performed another kind of miracle though in helping me survive this new onslaught of sickness.

God knows what He's doing. I am content to be His instrument, as long as He gives me breath. Even if that breath is aided by a nebulizer, a bi-pap machine and oxygen concentrator every night. So there, cold virus, do your stuff.

Growing Up

What a wild week it's been for caregiving Dean and babysitting grandchildren. A new baby cousin has caused my babysitting to kick in double time for awhile, so I've watched them every day this week, instead of just two.

That in itself keeps me reeling, but add that to the fact that the two darlings have had the flu all week, and you can readily see why my life activities have stepped up a notch. One adjustment is for me to take a morning nap, instead of afternoon, since their mom's working second shift now. But that hasn't been too hard. Hey, I'd take one in the morning AND the afternoon if I could. I call it my oxygen-energy snooze (it really is a recharge--I love my bi-pap!)

There is one bright spot for me though. My youngest granddaughter, the three-year-old, has mastered fastening her own seatbelt now in the car. I won't have to breathlessly lean over her every time, trying to click up for safety.

One time this week though, Dean was in the car with us going somewhere. I was just rejoicing to hear two clicks coming from the backseat area, when Dean pipes up, "Can you help me with this?" You guessed it. He was holding up his seatbelt latch. I wanted to cry, laugh, and strangle him with it at the same time. But I tried to remain calm and forget that my beloved husband will never grow up.

Can we Christians sometimes be accused of never growing up? God forbid I would ever disappoint God that way. We are babes to Him til the day we die, but at least we can be changing and growing the whole time here. Lord, help me to please you with my childlike desire to "grow up". And you are just the One to help me do it.

P.S. He really did need help with his seatbelt, by the way. Let's just hope it won't be habitual.

Sweet Respite

Yesterday was an unusual day. No Dean--he was at his day structure program. No babysitting for granddaughter. No pressing blogposts to write or phone calls to make. My housekeeping was up to snuff--no laundry or dishes to wash. The dog had even had a bath and the bird cage cleaned. And there was no shopping or errands to run.

I ended up taking a leisurely shower, watching a few Andy Griffith shows, and calling an old friend. After that I took a nap. Yes, I took a nap. Felt like I'd been on a short vacation.

I'm on a caregiver respite advisory board for southeast Nebraska, and have been "talking" about respite for months now. But yesterday I actually "felt" respite. This is what we're trying to give caregivers, isn't it?

Time to do nothing is really nice. But in most cases it's just respite to get away from direct caregiving to the care receiver. There is such a mountain of things that caregivers do that it's almost impossible to get away from them entirely.

I'm glad I got to experience true respite even ever-so-briefly yesterday. It reminded me of heaven. God can give us a form of rest while we're here on earth (the weekly Sabbath rest), but only when we get to heaven can we feel true rest from sin and cares of the world that we crave so much. That's why I look forward to the Second Coming and that glorious rest we'll enjoy with Him.

Jesus--our sweetest Respite Provider

Gnashing of Teeth

 My experience has brought a whole new meaning to the verse that says in the end times there shall be "weeping and gnashing of teeth." Matthew 24:51

Insomnia and teeth grinding...who would connect the two with stress. But I can't ignore them any longer. How do you avoid stress when it is under your nose 24 hours a day? Obviously the only thing I can change is my response to it.

But how does one change such an unconscious response as teeth grinding. Especially when it's happening during sleep. Maybe it's a good thing I'm having insomnia, or my mouth would be hurting even more often than it does!

The reason I think these symptoms are stress related is because they are so sporadic. I can go for a few days and not have my mouth hurt at all; then I have several days when I find myself slathering ora-gel and holding hot washcloths to my face all day for relief. I can also sleep almost nine hours one night and the next night only be able to squeeze out three or four.

There doesn't seem to be a pattern with these symptoms. Maybe because as much as I try to schedule and keep to a tight program around here, it just seems impossible to create a pattern for what goes on in my busy caregiving life. That in itself can be stressful.

Plus my to-do lists seem to have a life of their own. The responsibilities and cares of life just keep pouring in. For instance, about a week ago my microwave quit working. Can't blame the thing, it was probably over two decades old anyway. The light and alarm had stopped working a few years back. It was so old it didn't even have a turntable, but at least it heated up our food.

That wouldn't be such a tragedy to most folks. But most folks don't have a family member who forgets to turn the stove off 75% of the time. Having a microwave is the only way I feel comfortable leaving him by himself, so he doesn't have to use a stove.

After looking into many options, I just decided to wait until our social security checks came in and then buy the cheapest one I could find. In the meantime, my daughter and son-in-law brought one over from a neighbor of theirs, and it didn't cost us a thing!

Countless times, God has provided for us that way. It reminded me that trust in God is my greatest tool in fighting off stress. Only when I turn my burdens over to Him can I have peaceful, non-grinding sleep. He has everything under control.
 

the "new" microwave--compliments of God

My Plank

Believe it or not, I went out on a date with Dean tonight at Misty's Restaurant (probably the most popular steakhouse in town). I wasn't thinking of it as a date until it was over though. I shouldn't have been so negative about it the last few days, because Dean was really looking forward to it. I'm sure I killed a lot of his joy with my skeptical remarks.

You see, last week we got one of those marketing offers in the mail. Come and hear "information" about something, in exchange for a free meal. We have done it occasionally in the past, when our finances weren't as tight. But now it's just a painful reminder that there's a room full of fifty or so people, all with more money than you have. You definitely are not going to buy whatever they have to sell. And it's just not a good feeling for me.

Dean insisted that I call and make the reservations though, so I did. Just to appease him. I made it known that I was not on board with his request and frequently voiced my unhappiness over his decision to attend the "free" dinner.

Now my regret is that I didn't try to make it a more positive experience for him from the start. After watching him spill his drink almost as soon as we sat down, some of the old compassion started coming back for me. I saw that he was having a hard time cutting his steak (let alone eating it with his eight lonely remaining teeth), so I cut my steak in bite-size pieces before transferring it to his plate (our agreed-upon arrangement since I'm vegetarian).

Thinking back on our day, I recognize now the negativity I've had inside me lately. I'm always worried about Dean watching his language and behavior in front of our granddaughters, but I definitely need to watch my own words and actions and make sure they are full of the same patience and respect we encourage the girls to show their grandpa.

Jesus knew what He was saying when He told us not to judge, lest we be judged. (Matthew 7:1). And we see His sense of humor as He further describes it as looking for the splinter in your brother's eye, when you have a plank in your own! I pray God will show me how to get the plank out of my eye, so I can see clearly enough to help Dean with his little splinters.

My Giver Husband

Mondays have taken on a whole new flavor since I've started watching my granddaughter during the day. It actually feels like the beginning of a work week now around here.

Dean has graciously agreed to attend another day at his adult day program--going there three times a week, rather than just two. I know it's asking a lot of him; it's not his favorite way to spend the day. But I'm sure thankful he's doing it for me.

I've convinced him that my work is doubled (actually multiplied more than that) when he is around when I'm babysitting. He asks and expects me to help him with things as much as I'm helping little Mae. I've been trying to get him to wait on himself more, even though I recognize he really does need some assistance. (This Sunday morning when he fixed our pancakes, for instance, he asked me if the peanut butter or the applesauce went on first.)

But there's also the fact that I try not to leave him alone with the girls for very long. It usually ends up with someone, usually him, getting upset about something. (Just like when some siblings can't be left alone for long.)

So you can see why my babysitting work is greater with him around. Going to his program more days is really going to lighten my load. I'm thankful that he loves me enough to do what he'd prefer not to do.

This makes me wonder if I'm willing to do what I dislike for God. Do I love Him enough to leave my comfortable house and do whatever it takes to serve Him? Are my stubborn desires getting in the way of God completing His work on earth? Lord, teach me to be as humble and giving a person as my husband. Caregivers aren't the only givers in this household.

What a Pair

We just finished the second "trial" week of babysitting for our 3 1/2-yr.-old granddaughter every day--all day (well, during school hours--her sister is in kindergarten now). This way their mommy can get some sleep and hang on to her new third-shift employment which she just started.

The biggest unknown factor was my ability to cater to the demands of TWO toddlers during the day. Especially when there's such an age difference in the two. I think you know of whom I speak. Mae is just barely out of the "it's mine" stage, but she easily reverts to it when Grampa repeatedly wants to play with one of her toys, and there's the question, at least in her mind, of when and if she'll get it back.

Then there's also Grampa's constant requests to "keep your feet off the furniture", "put your coat by the door", "pick up your dolly", etc., etc., punctuated with frequent calls to "come give me a hug" and "why don't you answer Grampa?"

But we are adjusting around here. Mae really does love her Grampa and most of the time they get along just fine. We have separate rooms for them to "play" in, and I do my best to keep them occupied separately, especially close to naptimes (either hers or his).

The bottom line is there are lots of grandmas out there, willing to sacrifice to keep their precious little ones out of daycare. I know I'm going to give it all I've got too. It's only for a short time anyway. Keeping in mind that they don't stay "little" very long makes it easier to bear. (Wish I could say that for Grampa, who's development seems quite fragile these days.)

It makes me wonder how God can cater to us human beings, as diverse and needy as we are. Thank heaven, He makes the sacrifice to keep us close to Him as our grandma, and reminds us that this time on earth is short enough to make it all worthwhile.

Pill Panic

Don't know when I've felt such panic. The other day when we came home from the drug store with some new pain medication for Dean, I asked where the pills were. We had only been home a few minutes, but he announced that he had hid them. My heart must have skipped several beats when I immediately began every persuasion known to man (and woman) to get him to reveal the hiding place of his new powerful drug.

My first instinct for the hiding place turned out to be correct, but I didn't let him know that I had already located them in the top drawer of his dresser. I needed his willing compliance if I was going to be the administrator of this medication, a very necessary measure due to his memory issues.

And the "memory loss" argument finally won him over. By the next day, when he went to his adult day program, I had convinced him that I would put the amount of pills in the pill bottle that he needed just for that day, and hold the rest aside in another location (undisclosed to him, of course).

But then, I noticed that he was getting easily overdosed with the two pills he was allowed, resulting in slurred speech and being uneasy on his feet. So, I came up with an idea. A deceptive one, but necessary for his health and safety. I switched the few pills in the bottle to Tylenol. And if I felt he should have the "real stuff", I could give him one (just one) along with his daily pills in his pill organizer. (There's so many in there already he surely wouldn't notice one more.)

At one point I was wondering if my little "scheme" would be undetected. Because the Tylenol pills look totally different than the "real" pain pills. Different shape, different size. Would he trust me enough to accept the change without questioning the different-looking pills? Fortunately, I don't think he has so far even remembered that they are different. So, the crisis has been averted for this round.

Isn't it nice that our great God-Caregiver has the power and knows us well enough to give us substitutes when we need them? I pray that I can trust God enough to look out for my welfare, especially when my ability to make wise choices is seriously impaired. God has the situation under control, but we do need to reveal our "hiding places" and willingly allow Him to administer His will.

our trusty pill organizer, where one more pill won't be noticed

Escaped Pills

This morning when I was filling my own pill organizer, I noticed Dean's pill organizer had one of the little boxes open just a little. Much to my chagrin, Tuesday night's pill door was not only open, but there were three little "escapees" on the loose! Did they fall on the floor somewhere that only a curious dog or child would be able to locate and put in "solitaire" (i.e. their own mouth)?

Dean came into the kitchen at about that time and when I asked what he knew about the "pill break", he informed me that he had noticed that pills had dropped to the floor when he took his pills the night before. But not to worry, he found them and taken them along with his other pills. Well, there's a whole new thing to worry about...what pills were they?

They ended up being "significant" pills, but evidently Dean was able to weather the storm overdose, because, after all, here he was at five in the morning, wide awake and telling me about it with coherent speech and everything.

When bigger things start falling out of their prescribed places in our lives, we follow a similar pattern of wondering, worrying, questioning, and searching. How patient a God we have, who allows us to experience these very human responses. In the end, we often don't get our questions answered, we never find what we're looking for, and it's especially then that our worry can spin out of control.

But God has given us a special tool to help us weather these very real storms of life. It's called faith. Nothing gets the emotions under control better than a healthy dose of this worry-buster. When we turn the controls over to God, He never steers us into waters we can't handle. Things find their perspective in the bigger picture that God Himself controls.

I needed this little reminder this morning. God has the answers and He's in control.

Reminders

Been so busy this week taking care of myself that I haven't had time for much blogging. A monster cold came on like a lamb, but soon showed itself as a lion, and set me reeling again with two episodes of coughing that ended up as choking, near-911 calls. (Praise the Lord, this is the first cold I've had since last February though!)

Most of you know about my pulmonary restrictive disease, causing me to be on oxygen part of the time. My deformed chest cavity from scoliosis doesn't give me the room I need to breathe. When asked by the nurse if I was short of breath, it was tempting to report that all my breaths were short. I haven't had a deep breath in years, maybe never really. Wouldn't know one if it hit me!

But this blog isn't about me. It's about my caregiving life with my hubby dear. After returning home after a six-hour emergency room visit, my daughter (MY caregiver for the day) gave her dad the low-down on not overworking her momma while she's sick. Her lecture really seemed to influence his behavior these past few days. He has been much less needy himself and more observant of my needs, constantly asking what he can do to help.

One thing I've discovered with my illnesses though is that I need reminders for my care. Not taking my medicine or breathing treatments at regular intervals gets me in trouble every time. Seeing my medical arsenal on the washing machine may have reminded Dean of the seriousness of my condition too. It looked like this:

Living in a household with someone who has memory deficits keeps me looking for memory aids for both of us. I have to be doubly cognizant of remembering appointments, medicine times, getting bills paid on time, etc., etc.

How nice that God placed one reminder for us that happens at regular intervals, making it even easier to remember. How important to remember our "weekly date" with Him! He actually blessed a certain day and placed it in the Ten Commandments, so we would never lose it. What could be easier?

A Greater Power

Last week after lightning from a thunderstorm split a big tree in our neighbor's yard, Dean and I were both shocked to see the downed tree taking up her whole back yard. What a blessing it didn't land on her house!

But she was at wit's end as to how she was going to get rid of it. Dean, an ex-logger, immediately offered his services in cutting up the tree for her and getting it stacked as firewood that she could sell. Even though his power saw hadn't been used for about fifteen years and was buried in the far recesses of our garage, he didn't see why he couldn't come to her rescue and do the job.

The neighbor and I, and I'm sure anyone else who knows Dean very well, had our doubts that Dean could ever accomplish such a feat. Dean at 67, with a brain injury and dementia, who can't even put his own socks on any more and falls on a regular basis--chopping and stacking firewood? It seemed laughable, improbable, and totally unthinkable. But we humored him, knowing that chances are he'd forget about it by the next day and it would never happen.

Nothing more was said about it for a couple of days. Imagine my shock Saturday night when he announced that he had a busy day the next day. I asked what he would be doing, and he said, "I'll be cutting up that tree, that's what!" So Sunday morning he put on his jeans, work gloves, hat, and began the search for the chain saw in the garage. He finally managed to resurrect it from its greasy, dusty grave, began feeding it with oil and gas, and patiently pulling on the cord to start his reluctant forest friend.

I had a weekly blog to get out that day, but had to take intermittent breaks to check on Dean, who was alone in the neighbor's back yard, trying to start his poor, tired saw. I could hardly concentrate, thinking about him falling and lying over there alone with multiple lacerations on multiple limbs--not the trees', but his own!

My mechanic son-in-law assured me that the saw would never start, and we were counting on that to keep him safe. It was so sad to see him trying so hard to complete this one last logging feat though. As much as I dreaded hearing that saw start up, I found myself almost wishing it would, so I could see his face light up with joy and his hefty arms once more take up the saw and apply it to the wood all around him. We were both being transported back to another time, another decade, a newly married, young couple in the Montana Bitterroot Mountains.

But alas, it was not to be. As the day wore on, he finally allowed the saw to be taken over to our son-in-law's garage to see if he could perform some magic on it. But his final diagnosis for the saw was terminal. Dean's precious last link to his manhood is resting in peace once again in our garage.

Fortunately, Dean is taking the loss well. Our neighbor informed us that she has found someone to cut and take the tree, and Dean will never know whether he could have tackled the job or not. In actuality, his saw saved him from knowing...and saved him from getting hurt. I think I'll be hanging on to that power saw. It's a symbol to me of that Greater Power that we can rely on to get the job done, one way or another.

The Saw

my cowboy, logger, truck driver husband and I--sometimes I miss him