We Can’t Fix This.
03 Sep 2009 3 Comments
in elderly, family, father, nursing, Parkinson's Disease, Uncategorized, Worry
Listening to the Hospice doctor speaking to Fay and I today, I was reminded how serious the job of helping someone die really is. We had our first Hospice consult on Friday last week. Six days later, we’ve had 4 scheduled RN visits and one highly unscheduled visit when Charlie fell. We’ve had two social work visits. Today, Dr. Playfoot came here and stayed until we were ready for him to leave. Nearly 90 minutes.
He cared, he talked, he asked, he questioned, he looked, he examined and observed. But most of all, he was a human treating a human. Not a clinician treating a symptom.
So often in the medical field, we want to fix the thing that bothers our patient by throwing medication or therapy or tests at them. For nearly 30 years, Charlie has been rescued and sustained by an ever-increasing number of medicines. New surgeries, fake heart valves and blood tests. He has a neurologist, cardiologist, urologist, endocrinologist, podiatrist, internist, gastroenterologist and a family doctor who shall remain nameless because he’s the most incompetent physician to walk the earth.
Now, he has a hospice team who will save him from blood tests, unnesecary pills, and stupid ideas of physical therapy. He has a team of people who care about all of us and are willing to help him live comfortably as long as he wants. They are also willing to help him die comfortably when he decides to give that a try.
They are the first people to ask Andy and I how WE are doing. The social worker stopped by unannounced with information on how the kids can deal with this.
We can’t fix this. Fay wants to try, but we can’t.
Today she found out that no one can fix it. Dr. Playfoot told her that he can’t fix each symptom…we’ve lost part of this fight to PD.
Maybe she’ll get it.
Please Throw Stuff Away!!!
26 Jun 2009 Leave a Comment
in Change, death, elderly, family, father, Parkinson's Disease Tags: angry daughter-in-law, hoarding
I am pleading with you…do NOT hoarde decades worth of financial documents, illegible scribblings intended to log all your medical expenses, little calendars with your mileage to doctor appointments on them, paystubs, cancelled checks, benevolent gifts and other useless tax write offs.
As a daughter-in-law of someone who never throws things away…I implore you to look beyond yourself and realize that someday, one of your children or one of your children’s spouses will spend hours and hours going through all that crap and then pitching it!
I am now surrounded by boxes of papers ready for the Shred-It people who will charge me by the pound to obliterate any traces of personal information contained therein. They charge by the pound. I have at least 90 pounds of papers.
The IRS and Medicare are tricky. You can claim expenses, itemize deductions, under certain circumstances. Most people don’t fit those circumstances. So…stop with the obsessive record keeping.
Don’t go to funerals, give a donation to the memorial fund and then write on the pretty little service program you received the amount of your “charitable donation” and the date you used it as a tax write off. That’s just sick.
Don’t paperclip or rubber band all these things together. I have to remove each and every one of those before the shredder can eat the paper inside.
Don’t keep everything in it’s original envelope with little notes on the outside referring me to the date, hour, minute and second that you spent the money or claimed the deduction. It just makes the whole process of going through your stuff even more aggravating.
If you had spent half the time, money and energy on playing with your children and grandchildren or having fun with your wife that you did keeping, sorting, filing, documenting and storing all these papers….I can’t imagine how different it would be.
The Love of the Father
28 Mar 2007 2 Comments
in Amish shooting, anger, baby, child, Christianity, Faith, family, father, forgiveness, Grace, healing, love, Mennonite, mother
In early October, 2006, a man walked into an Amish school armed with rifles, pistols and deep pain. No one will ever understand why he chose to execute a group of young Amish girls; we don’t need to. It is the aftermath of that day that will live forever in the lives of so many people all over the world and the consequences of his deeds are far reaching in ways that no one expected.
Three nights ago, Andy and I witnessed God’s healing and grace in action. We were invited to visit with a little 8 year old girl who bears the scars of that day in October. I will call her Miss S. Andy was one of the people who treated her that day. I remember the evening after the shooting, he was telling me how feisty she was. With the extent of her injuries, he tried to intubate her to help her to breathe and she kept pushing him away. He desperately hoped that meant she would make it through. She did. And when we walked into her kitchen she ran up to him and laughingly said, “I look better than I did the last time you saw me!”
As we sat in their living room, we heard her father’s stories of how brave she was, how miraculous her healing and what an impact she had on the staff at the hospital who worked with her. He told of daily visits to the hospital, relying on others to drive them. Only on Sundays were they unable to be with her. Aunts, grandfather and parents; someone was always with her. As he spoke, tears threatened to fall, but he had a never ending smile on his face as he watched his daughter. Their family also lost a daughter to a bullet, but they do not dwell on her pain or death. They focus on the miracle walking around their house.
While we were there, two other families stopped by to visit. They didn’t know we would be there, it was just their normal visiting night. God planned it though, I am sure. One couple lost their daughter that day. Another man was a first responder and a member of their church and knew the girls. He had been the first to aid the little one Andy took care of.
The living room was crowded with chairs for the 8 adults and we counted nearly 12 children from age 12 to 4 weeks running in and out of the room. Listening to the Amish men speak of their experiences that day and reliving their roles was so healing for us. They asked questions of each other. “Where were you?” “What happened next?” and “When did you find out who passed away?”. They discussed helicopters, the speed of the police cars responding and the dynamics of the whole event in very factual terms. I felt as though I was sitting in a group therapy session. Nearly six months later, and these parents still pour out their memories and questions to eachother in order to unload their grief.
The most incredible moment for me was a conversation between the first responder and a mother whose daughter had died. He said he had been struggling with the fact that he could have identified each of the girls and let their parents know which hospital their child was sent to or what their physical condition was. But he didn’t, and it wasn’t until much later that night that parents knew the fate of their children. The mother of the slain girl looked at him and said, “If I had known what had happend to (her), that she had passed away, I would have left the school and gone home. Instead, I stayed with my friends and waited. I am glad you didn’t tell me or I would have been alone all day.”
In our Sunday School class we are studying what Mennonites believe. Woven into all that discussion is the idea of community as a place to study scripture, learn and work together. These Amish families that night embodied that perfectly. They relied on each other to hold them up each day and listening to them talk together for hours about thier experiences was healing for them and for Andy and I.
Miss S never stopped smiling or kissing me after she opened the gift we brought her. Her father noted that the hospital wasn’t able to take the “silly” out of her when they removed part of her brain! His obvious love for her was palpable.
Both of her parents repeatedly stated that without God carrying them through they would have cracked up. They have received hundreds of letters and cards from around the world from people who want to live their lives differently and with less anger now that they have witnessed forgiveness and grace from the Amish parents. To them, that makes it all worthwhile. They even received word of a country closed to the Bible that was allowed to view footage of the event and send their condolences through their government controlled mail system. The idea that the murder of little Amish girls in rural Lancaster county touched the lives of people behind a communist curtain was amazing to their parents and made God so much more evident in the aftermath.
Miss S’s father asked me if I thought the effect of this would continue or if it was just a short lived “one day” ripple of grace. I told him that I think that his children and the children in his community will be testament to Christ for the rest of their lives. I believe that.
The love of a father for his children so close to the love of The Father for us. Amazing grace and peace where there could be so much anger and fear.
The new school building is nearly ready and the kids are excited to use it. That building itself is a testament to faith and trust.
We healed that night a little, I know Andy did. So did the parents we met with and the children playing around us. Miss S has a brand new baby sister to love and 6 brothers to take care of her. She is a little bit of a celebrity and a very happy little girl. Her scars are hidden with a new head of hair and her vision is returning to normal. She bears little outward scars of the fearful events of that day in October and inwardly, I think she’s just fine.
So You Say