Our Many Bright Spots

Winter is moving right along, and so is Dean's nursing care at the Waverly Care Center. We have focused so much on his diabetes though, that a visit to the pulmonary doctor last week reminded us once again of another health crisis on the horizon for him. His COPD, or chronic obstructive pulmonary disease. His forty-year smoking habit has left its mark on his lungs after all.

We must make more concerted efforts to encourage Dean to use his oxygen and C-PAP machine more. His shortness of breath has increased, with Dean even noticing and mentioning it to me. The one bright spot is the fact that he has quit smoking as of 1999, when he had that near-fatal tractor accident. So at least we don't have to worry about efforts to make him quit or limit his smoking.

The Lord has blessed us with several things about Dean's care that I thank God for every day. All of them have made his caregiving possible...both when he was at home and now at the skilled nursing care center:

1. He hasn't asked to drive the car (even though driving was one of his favorite activities, being a truck driver).
2. He has allowed me, and now the nurses, to prepare and administer his medicines (his illegal drug use, when he was young, could have made this a hard one).
3. He never balks or refuses to see a doctor (as many independent men are apt to do).
4. He doesn't mind getting insulin shots and finger pricks for the diabetes now (perhaps because of his earlier drug use).
5. He has never asked for a cigarette (which would have speeded up his lung disease drastically, not to mention the cost it would have been to our budget)!!!

 Yes, the longer Dean and I live, the more we see of God's work in our lives. When we put Him in charge, marvelous things happen. Even when they aren't readily discernible to us at the time, we can know that it will all work out in a way that most glorifies God in the end.

Practice Till It Hurts

Three strikes and I hope I'm not out. So far I have had two failed attempts at giving Dean his insulin shots at church. This should not be so hard--one would think. After all, I have a master's degree. Almost anyone should be able to do this task of checking blood sugars and giving a shot.

I admit I've never been nearly as handy with my hands as I'd like. Learning how to crochet was a major undertaking. And I have never been one to untangle a mechanical dilemma of any kind. But, really...?

Even with a couple of church member nurses present and a small assembly of other interested onlookers, I have had dubious success with getting this simple operation completed. Twice, no less! It really is quite embarrassing, not to mention heartbreaking. Yesterday Dean had to miss his first potluck dinner after church in several months. We've always had to leave right after the worship service to get back to the care center. And now that he's on five shots a day, it really is important that I learn to do this so he can stay away till his three o'clock shot.

It's all about the training though, I know. So far, it's been pretty haphazard stuff. One can't expect a harried nurse, who's busy giving hundreds of these pricks and shots a day to slowly and methodically allow me to learn how to do it on their watch. I really need a more thorough sit-down, hands-on, demonstration and practice training session, especially considering my ineptness with doing anything with my hands. (With the exception of typewriting, I sweat when I have to screw in a lightbulb.)

This experience, while increasing my appreciation for God's patience with my stumbling attempts to do the right thing, has also reminded me of the necessity of a recent piece of legislation that passed through our state of Nebraska last year. It's called the Assisting Caregiver Transitions Act, requiring hospitals to give the training needed to caregivers before they take their loved one home. We caregivers can't be expected to become instant medical technicians overnight. It takes practice.

And that's just what I'm going to continue to do. Practice, practice, practice, until I get this diabetes monster, in the form of an insulin pen, on the floor, begging for mercy!

Just for Fun

'Twas the day after Christmas and all through the house,
Not a creature was moving, not even my Yorkie, Minnie Mouse.
The stockings were given to those with cold feet,
In hopes of more car repairs my son-in-law can complete.

The grandchildren were nestled, all snug in their new bath robes,
While visions of their mom's fudge, swam by their eyes and earlobes.
Daughter in her new thermal underwear top, and my hubby in his new winter cap,
Have settled down warmly for many more winter naps.

When right through my window, there arose some warm sunshine,
A sharp weather contrast to yesterday's rainstormy kind.
I ran to the window, where granddaughters had drawn
Many beautiful pictures with their new window crayons.

Adults have been coloring in their new coloring books,
While two little hermit crabs might be on the loose.
These crabs are good pets, the pet stores have assured us,
But of course, there are many accessories that allured us.

For now, we will put on our new lotions and creams,
And hope that the New Year will have many sunbeams.

Worth the Wait!

 I wasn't trying to hide from my caregiving duties, but the respite I just received by spending twelve days with my sister in Florida, has proven just the medicine I needed to face the unpredictability of overseeing Dean's care now that I've returned.

Keeping my Thanksgiving visit a secret from my sister was difficult, but I'm glad we did. She was as awestruck and happy as I was, when I walked in the house one day, totally unexpected. It was her Christmas present from her husband, and who could ask for a better one?!

Her tearful, happy response reminded me of how the righteous will react when Jesus gloriously comes again to reunite us with our loved ones and take us all together to heaven to be with Him there.

I've often wondered why the timing of Jesus' Second Coming is unknown to all but God Himself. But perhaps He wants to keep it a secret for the same reason we wanted to surprise my sister. What a thoughtful, loving God we have to give us the wonderful gift of His Return.

My sister, making our family's homemade noodles for Thanksgiving...very yum!

Two days after my return, we had a birthday party for Dean at the house. He had 3 ice cream bars, but also has 3 teeth left. His birthday smiles were worth waiting for. Many friends stopped by the house that afternoon to see him.

Friends to the Rescue

It's time I update my readers on Dean's new living arrangement. He was in a far-away town, much too far for me to feel comfortable driving in the winter, so after a week I was able to have him transferred to a closer town, only eight quick miles up the road.

The real bonus is that I am much more comfortable with this latest move. Everyone has given me good feedback on the care someone they know received at the Waverly Care Center. They really seem to be conscientious and caring there. I am quite relieved knowing that he's in such capable hands.

His blood sugars seem to be climbing, even on the diabetic diet they have him on, and I guess that's my greatest stress factor right now. Just where this will lead, I have no idea, but it doesn't sound promising.

I do know God is overseeing it all though. The first weekend I couldn't be with Dean in that town farther away, some church friends unexpectedly took it upon themselves to drive clear out of town to visit Dean and we both appreciated their gesture of love so much. Yes, God, I know you are watching out for Dean--wherever he is, even when we're not together.

...enjoying the breakfast Paul brought him the next morning--thank you guys, for taking care of my man!
Notice the little cell phone, hanging around his neck, I got him so he can call me whenever he wants. It does help, almost like prayer (our link to God, now that we are separated from Him on this earth)...

Our "Riches to Rags" Story

It's with a heavy heart that I report our sad story about Dean's new level of care this past week. In our minds we could see it coming a couple of months ago, but when his move finally became a reality, the emotional impact has hit me like a ton of bricks.

Dean's anger outbursts, although not different from what they were at home--just brief verbal profanity, followed by remorse and apologies--were not accepted or understood in the upscale assisted living environment he's enjoyed for the last three months.

This was not the fault of anyone; the staff there did their utmost to make it work. This particular setting was just not a good fit for Dean, which none of us could foresee. Dean appears so independent, mobility-wise, that we thought assisted living was worth a try for him. But most of the residents there were elderly women, and they and their families were understandably concerned about this lionly man, who proved capable of some very loud roaring at times.

(Even with the lack of socialization he eventually encountered there, I'm grateful for the three months of quality care this assisted living center provided for Dean during this difficult transition.)

Our search for another living arrangement was made even more challenging due to his being on Medicaid (there are only so many Medicaid beds available). His diabetes, still showing very high blood sugar levels, has made skilled nursing seem all the more appropriate for him.

In addition, I'm sure his anger issues resulted in many places also deciding against his placement, as he would have to be a good fit for a roommate. Medicaid does not pay for a private room.

We eventually found a facility that accepted him though. Unfortunately it's in a neighboring town, thirty miles from our home, which will prove quite a barrier for me to be able to see him as often as I'd like. Especially when winter hits, with Nebraska's notorious driving conditions on the smaller highways.

What was most depressing for Dean and me, however, was the fact that this particular skilled nursing center seems to be the final placement for many of the most severely disabled. I had visited many places in our hometown, so I wasn't expecting anything close to the luxuriant accommodations we were coming from, but nothing prepared me for the run-down conditions I witnessed where he's at now. It's a far cry from the environment Dean just came from.

Often this week my mind's gone to the Bible story of Joseph. Poor Joseph repeatedly fell from riches to rags, the opposite of a "rags to riches" story. First, as Jacob's favorite son, he found himself being dragged as a slave down to Egypt. Then after enjoying years as Potiphar's chief steward, he was sent to a filthy dungeon to suffer for a crime he didn't commit.

Fortunately, there was a happy ending for Joseph. And I'm sure God has a happy ending in mind for Dean and me too. He's preparing mansions for us in heaven. And they will be assisted living at its finest.

Thank you, Jesus, for offering to leave your beautiful surroundings in heaven and come down to this severely disabled planet. Your resurrection proved that our stories always end in riches, when we come to you for placement there.

Heels Dug In

The hardest part about taking care of Dean is convincing him that he needs to take care of himself. You'd think at seventy years of age he'd have this down pat. But our asking him to control his eating, wear his oxygen enough, and C-pap every night seems to be falling on deaf ears. I can't even convince him to change his socks every day!

My latest worry is that the pulmonologist has now determined he has COPD, not just sleep apnea, as we supposed. His pulmonary function test and chest X-ray revealed that his years of smoking are finally catching up with him and resulting in this shortness of breath he's been having. This, of course, makes it all the more critical that he wears the C-pap and oxygen as the doctors have told him.

Our frustration in getting Dean to cooperate must mirror the same response from our heavenly Father when we refuse to take care of our spiritual bodies as He's warned us. No wonder Jesus got so emotional with the scribes and Pharisees. They should have been at the forefront of the reforms Jesus was recommending. Instead those who listened at all were digging their heels in and refusing to budge.

Yep, that's the image I have of Dean at this point in his dementia care. Heels dug in, like a stubborn mule. Lord, give us patience with this cowboy. You must have a lot of patience somewhere out there!