My Mom always loved lilacs. She loved the colour purple, the smell in early spring and the way the plant grew. I remember when I was about 9 years old she planted a small bush in our back yard on Slocan street. She wasn't much of a gardener, and didn't have much in the way of flowers growing (although she always loved flowers in all colours or kinds) so her venture into a long term perennial was out of her usual hobbies. The fact that we ended up moving a few years later meant she never saw the first blooms or got to smell the sweet perfume.
Funny thing is, when I turned 16 my old best friend came to see me and took me for a drive in her car. The two of us went down to the old house and found the lilac still growing in the garden. Being cocky teenagers we asked the guy working on the house if we could "take it" and he said yes! Out came a shovel from "J"s parents place, and we got digging. Not only did we transplant the lilac, but we also scammed the rosebush from the front yard as well! We drove back laughing to the house, dug a big hole in the front yard and plunked the lilac into it...
What I didn't know was that Dad HATED the smell of lilacs! In his younger days he had worked briefly at a funeral home, and the lilac smell always reminded him of dead people! Needless to say, although Mom was pleased to no end, Dad was not thrilled! That tenacious plant continued to grow and spread and bloom, much to Dad's disgust, no matter how it was treated! I would hack it back when I did the gardening, shaping it and pruning the height and learning about how it grew. I always loved it. After I moved away from home I would come back to visit, and the lilac was still in the front yard, bigger than ever. It always bloomed for my birthday, and I would cut bunches of the blooms to bring back to my apartment, and later to my house, even though I knew they would wilt quickly... but the smell was irresistible to me.
In 1994 my Dad had had enough and wanted to tear the lilac out of the yard. I asked if I could take it and my parents were happy to let me! My husband and I dug as best we could, wrapped a chain around the root system and pulled it out with the van! It barely fit into the back of the vehilce, and we tied red flags onto the branches that stuck out the back for the drive home from Vancouver to Maple Ridge. I gleefully followed in my mini van with the kids, and when we arrived back at our place my husband loaded the root system onto a dolly and wheeled it into the yard. We stood it in place, piled dirt on it, and watered it. Lilacs are tough. That old bush took root and thrived! And I had lilacs in my garden...
Every spring since then I would call Mom near Mother's day and tell her "the lilacs are almost in bloom".... and she would ask me to cut some for her and bring them so she could smell the perfume. After Dad passed and Mom moved into her little "granny apartment" I would make a drive to her place with flowers... sometimes the lilacs, sometimes just whatever I had in the garden... and later not so much. I would still call near Mother's day to tell her the lilacs were blooming, and I'm glad to say that last year I did bring her some. But this year as the lilacs bloom she isn't there to call. The tiny buds are hard and closed, deep purple and waiting for the warmth of spring to open into paler blossoms with that sweet, sweet scent.... it's nearly my birthday... but Mom is gone. And as I sit in my apartment missing her I realize that it wasn't so much the lilacs she wanted me to bring; it was just me. The lilacs were just an excuse, as if she didn't know how to tell me she missed me and wanted my company. And I'm sorry that I didn't take more time to spend with her.
So this year on my birthday I'm taking some time away. My first vacation as a single woman, because I will be divorced on that day, too. My birthday becomes my "rebirth day", and I will take time to grieve the passing of a chapter in my life while giving myself the opportunity to get away from the chaos and the clutter and take a breath. It has been a tough road. Sometimes I have gone off the path and slogged through a lot of mud to get ahead. But I know, this spring, there will be lilacs in the garden again. Happy Mother's Day, Mom.... I'm taking care of the lilacs....
Sunday, May 8, 2011
Monday, April 25, 2011
The office cat....
I have another cat. My penchant for taking care of strays - the one I held down quite ruthlessly for years - has finally been allowed out and I was privileged to "rescue" a small treasure for my very own. It was just luck that had my niece "E" sending me a message as a last ditch to find a home for her little cat, Bella. After a couple of messages back and forth, "E" and her roommate stopped by with a frightened little kitty in a cat carrier. I tucked her into the bathroom on her own and shut the door.
Before the end of the night "Bella Meow" had decided that the cabinet under the sink was a good place to hide, so she opened the cupboard and crawled in behind the epsom salts and the paper cups. It was two days before I was sure she had eaten something or had any water, and she was terrified of the other cats, the dogs, loud noises, the carpet cleaner, or anything else that seemed different I suppose. The rotten dogs decided to gang up on her and would bark aggressively until I picked each one up and presented them - butt first - to Bella's face! A couple of sniffs later and I had peace of a sort for a little while, but had to repeat THAT fairly often! Daisy was always submissive, and still tries to steal Bella's canned food. Folly barks like a lunatic, but when Penny gets into the mix, WATCH OUT! Full dog assault corps have cornered the cat again!
After two weeks of Bella in the bathroom, adding one cat at a time for company and so they could sort out the pecking order, I decided the dogs would have to bunk with me at night to allow Bella to venture out on her own. I had been told Bella was an "outside" cat and she had "accidents" so I made sure the catbox was clean and hoped for the best.
Bella made a decision to move into my craproom/office on the first night the bathroom door was left open. She has been in here ever since. There has not been a single accident on the carpet, although one of the dogs and evil Xena have made messes since then! Thank goodness for my new carpet cleaner! The room smells like freshly opened cat food, occasional happy kitty farts, and computer paper. Nothing else. She hasn't had a problem living inside, and I am proud of her. I decided to install a cat door in the office window, with the "kitty tree" underneath it as a jumping up point. Although it has not been installed yet I have everything here now to get that job done. I just need to clear the stuff to make room!
Having to change the use of the room has finally given me a chance to think outside the box for the rest of my living space. The closet next to the bathroom (which had been housing cleaning supplies and pet stuff) has been taken over by the portable countertop dishwasher on a rolling caddy. The cleaning supplies store underneath it and my towels and TP fit in the two remaining shelves above it. The power cord and the water lines fit neatly around the door frame and I can still use my kitchen sink while the dishwasher is operating. It also stores the dirty (rinsed) dishes between washings! With the "kitty tree" and pet supplies moving into the "office" it leaves more room for me! I am seriously thinking about removing the cat box from the bathroom as well so I have one less mess in there! If I can get all three cats to use the cat door instead of the cat box my place will be a much fresher one!
I like sitting in my soft leather chair in the evening, tooling around on facebook or checking messages... Bella comes over and cuddles up in my lap or watches me from the pile of comforters folded on the dresser... she stays here in the office with the baby gate in place, always out of sight of the dogs. Her water is fresh, she gets a can of food to herself once in a while, and sometimes I hear the contented "crunchcrunchcrunch" of her nibbling the kibble she likes. It's a "win/win" as far as both of us are concerned. I have another warm body to love, and she has a safe place to be. And really, isn't that what we all want? A safe place to just be?
Having so many pets makes me feel a little like the "crazy cat lady" sometimes. But I can't help feeling lifted when they offer me their trust. I'm looking forward to a summer of having active cats and dogs sharing space with me, trusting me to care for them, and having the peace that comes with knowing where I am in the world. I'm right here. And as far as I'm concerned it feels just right!
Before the end of the night "Bella Meow" had decided that the cabinet under the sink was a good place to hide, so she opened the cupboard and crawled in behind the epsom salts and the paper cups. It was two days before I was sure she had eaten something or had any water, and she was terrified of the other cats, the dogs, loud noises, the carpet cleaner, or anything else that seemed different I suppose. The rotten dogs decided to gang up on her and would bark aggressively until I picked each one up and presented them - butt first - to Bella's face! A couple of sniffs later and I had peace of a sort for a little while, but had to repeat THAT fairly often! Daisy was always submissive, and still tries to steal Bella's canned food. Folly barks like a lunatic, but when Penny gets into the mix, WATCH OUT! Full dog assault corps have cornered the cat again!
After two weeks of Bella in the bathroom, adding one cat at a time for company and so they could sort out the pecking order, I decided the dogs would have to bunk with me at night to allow Bella to venture out on her own. I had been told Bella was an "outside" cat and she had "accidents" so I made sure the catbox was clean and hoped for the best.
Bella made a decision to move into my craproom/office on the first night the bathroom door was left open. She has been in here ever since. There has not been a single accident on the carpet, although one of the dogs and evil Xena have made messes since then! Thank goodness for my new carpet cleaner! The room smells like freshly opened cat food, occasional happy kitty farts, and computer paper. Nothing else. She hasn't had a problem living inside, and I am proud of her. I decided to install a cat door in the office window, with the "kitty tree" underneath it as a jumping up point. Although it has not been installed yet I have everything here now to get that job done. I just need to clear the stuff to make room!
Having to change the use of the room has finally given me a chance to think outside the box for the rest of my living space. The closet next to the bathroom (which had been housing cleaning supplies and pet stuff) has been taken over by the portable countertop dishwasher on a rolling caddy. The cleaning supplies store underneath it and my towels and TP fit in the two remaining shelves above it. The power cord and the water lines fit neatly around the door frame and I can still use my kitchen sink while the dishwasher is operating. It also stores the dirty (rinsed) dishes between washings! With the "kitty tree" and pet supplies moving into the "office" it leaves more room for me! I am seriously thinking about removing the cat box from the bathroom as well so I have one less mess in there! If I can get all three cats to use the cat door instead of the cat box my place will be a much fresher one!
I like sitting in my soft leather chair in the evening, tooling around on facebook or checking messages... Bella comes over and cuddles up in my lap or watches me from the pile of comforters folded on the dresser... she stays here in the office with the baby gate in place, always out of sight of the dogs. Her water is fresh, she gets a can of food to herself once in a while, and sometimes I hear the contented "crunchcrunchcrunch" of her nibbling the kibble she likes. It's a "win/win" as far as both of us are concerned. I have another warm body to love, and she has a safe place to be. And really, isn't that what we all want? A safe place to just be?
Having so many pets makes me feel a little like the "crazy cat lady" sometimes. But I can't help feeling lifted when they offer me their trust. I'm looking forward to a summer of having active cats and dogs sharing space with me, trusting me to care for them, and having the peace that comes with knowing where I am in the world. I'm right here. And as far as I'm concerned it feels just right!
Monday, April 11, 2011
Stuck in a pile again....
Well, the next level of moving has finally happened. I had to get myself out of my storage locker and found myself with my "pants down" having put things off waiting for something else to happen. It's funny how old patterns are so hard to break! Oddly enough, I managed to drag all my important things out of the storage unit, lug them to my mini van, drag them home, and started loading them into what is now dubbed the "crap room" with grandiose plans to organize, prioritize, junk out, sort out and make everything fit. Well, it fits... just barely! At the last moment it was a mad dash, loading the last items of Christmas lights and ornaments, refitting the back seat into the van, and tying the Ikea chairs onto the roof rack so I could take the lock off the door and drive home the two blocks to the house. I'm sort of proud to say I did it all by myself!
It was just dumb luck that had me moving shelving and tools into the proper storage to make room. There was barely an area to place the still-packed tea pots and future projects. I have all my quilting stuff neatly stacked in one area, but everything else got rushed into place.
I moved the computer from the living room into the smaller bedroom. All the paper files are moved into the room, but the filing cabinet is still empty! I have a designated "office" area now, but I have a little problem in that my Penny (the 12 lb. Shih Tzu) has decided that her half-chewed "bouncy balls" MUST be rolled under the filing cabinet so I can retrieve them for her... and the little "rhouw... rhouw...." as she tries to get my attention is cute at first, but starts to wear on my nerves like a toddler who asks "why????".... That's when I take a deep breath, find her toy and toss it into the other room... sometimes over and over... until she finds something else to do. I'm happy to say that the rage that used to fill me and I once allowed to control me is ... not there... and it feels strange.
I really think it's funny - not "haha" funny - that I am learning patience now when I really needed to have it so many years before. There is lots of time to reflect on where I am, and I realize that I am doing in the middle of my adult years what should have been done in the beginning; finding that center of myself, learning the difference between giving and taking, and understanding that it's not about the kindness and grace you receive from others so much as the kindness and grace you show. I'm learning to let things go, and that's hard sometimes. It gets easier as the pain fades and the rage subsides. The medication helps, and I know that I will need to keep taking it to keep the anxiety and rage from ever taking hold again. And I also understand that part of the chaos around me was really just a reflection of my inner clutter. Too much going on and no way to slow it down and keep it from spilling over. Life is not so technicolour... now it's just simple and has enough going on to show the small beauties one at a time, instead of overwhelming my senses in a constant stream. Think of a mixer turned on too high, with too much pudding in a small bowl! Of course everything gets spattered with goo! And that was me! Too much, too high speed, too small of a container...
So is this what it feels like to be "ordinary"? This quiet, peaceful time? Simple pleasures, like a clean floor under my bare feet, fresh air, folded laundry, and a lack of the constant jangle of sound from electronic gadgets? A bowl of soup, a bran muffin, a call from a friend so I can laugh with someone? Working and coming home to play with little dogs, buying something if I can use it and have room for it... and not worrying any more about the next day or next week or next drama... I love being able to say "not mine to rescue, not my lesson to teach"... and really letting it just... go...
And now I need to contain this clutter that slows me down and get myself "unstuck" from waiting. The waiting is finally over, and I can really start to move forward for the first time in my life; unhampered by those who wanted what they didn't deserve, unslowed by those who would have taken what wasn't theirs, unstoppable, unsinkable... but no longer unhappy. Like I said, the chaos around me is just a reflection of the clutter within me. Since I'm the only one who can take charge and straighten this up, then I think it's high time I started... one pile at a time.
It was just dumb luck that had me moving shelving and tools into the proper storage to make room. There was barely an area to place the still-packed tea pots and future projects. I have all my quilting stuff neatly stacked in one area, but everything else got rushed into place.
I moved the computer from the living room into the smaller bedroom. All the paper files are moved into the room, but the filing cabinet is still empty! I have a designated "office" area now, but I have a little problem in that my Penny (the 12 lb. Shih Tzu) has decided that her half-chewed "bouncy balls" MUST be rolled under the filing cabinet so I can retrieve them for her... and the little "rhouw... rhouw...." as she tries to get my attention is cute at first, but starts to wear on my nerves like a toddler who asks "why????".... That's when I take a deep breath, find her toy and toss it into the other room... sometimes over and over... until she finds something else to do. I'm happy to say that the rage that used to fill me and I once allowed to control me is ... not there... and it feels strange.
I really think it's funny - not "haha" funny - that I am learning patience now when I really needed to have it so many years before. There is lots of time to reflect on where I am, and I realize that I am doing in the middle of my adult years what should have been done in the beginning; finding that center of myself, learning the difference between giving and taking, and understanding that it's not about the kindness and grace you receive from others so much as the kindness and grace you show. I'm learning to let things go, and that's hard sometimes. It gets easier as the pain fades and the rage subsides. The medication helps, and I know that I will need to keep taking it to keep the anxiety and rage from ever taking hold again. And I also understand that part of the chaos around me was really just a reflection of my inner clutter. Too much going on and no way to slow it down and keep it from spilling over. Life is not so technicolour... now it's just simple and has enough going on to show the small beauties one at a time, instead of overwhelming my senses in a constant stream. Think of a mixer turned on too high, with too much pudding in a small bowl! Of course everything gets spattered with goo! And that was me! Too much, too high speed, too small of a container...
So is this what it feels like to be "ordinary"? This quiet, peaceful time? Simple pleasures, like a clean floor under my bare feet, fresh air, folded laundry, and a lack of the constant jangle of sound from electronic gadgets? A bowl of soup, a bran muffin, a call from a friend so I can laugh with someone? Working and coming home to play with little dogs, buying something if I can use it and have room for it... and not worrying any more about the next day or next week or next drama... I love being able to say "not mine to rescue, not my lesson to teach"... and really letting it just... go...
And now I need to contain this clutter that slows me down and get myself "unstuck" from waiting. The waiting is finally over, and I can really start to move forward for the first time in my life; unhampered by those who wanted what they didn't deserve, unslowed by those who would have taken what wasn't theirs, unstoppable, unsinkable... but no longer unhappy. Like I said, the chaos around me is just a reflection of the clutter within me. Since I'm the only one who can take charge and straighten this up, then I think it's high time I started... one pile at a time.
Friday, March 25, 2011
A question of shoes.....
For those of you who have gotten to know me better over the last couple of years, you know of my new found delight in purchasing shoes! I was recently asked.."what's with women and shoes, anyway?".. it got me thinking. So, what's with women and shoes, and more importantly for me, what's with ME and shoes these days? Women and shoes; it's a purely psychological thing. Shoes is one of those fashion statements that can change the way you seem to the world, as well as change the way you think about yourself.
A small woman puts on a pair of heels; depending on the ratio of angle between the heel and the toe (women with a smaller size get a dramatic difference with a lower heel) you look 10 to 15 lbs. slimmer! That's a bonus on it's own! The way you walk in heels changes your stride. Leading "heel/toe, heel/toe" makes your body undulate, and when you lead with your chest when you walk it is very attractive to the opposite sex, as it conveys the primal idea that you are an "alpha" female. Stiletto heels force the upper thighs to tighten to keep your body in balance, lifting the "derriere" and making it look higher - there fore more youthful and therefore a better mate (again, body language overrides the conscious brain!).
One of my favorite movies is the British Film "Kinky Boots", and a lot of what I have come to realize about the subject is paraphrasing some of the ideas there. You can tell a lot about a person by their shoes. Shoes have character, and they convey what you think about yourself to the world. Think of a young woman wearing Doc Martins. Now picture someone wearing Christian Loubouton! More than expensive jewelery, expensive shoes make a statement about how you feel about yourself. And face it, shoes have connotations; think of the term "the girl in the comfortable shoes", "sensible shoes", "old lady shoes", "stripper shoes", "office shoes", "baby shoes", "ass kickers", "CFMs", or just simply "heels". Each one of those titles carries a thought in your brain about "who" the person who wears them really is! And think about a woman wearing a well tailored grey skirt suit... then add a classy pair of Jimmy Choos or Manolo Blaniks in red and it changes how you look at her! It especially changes how her peers look at her! It's like that big fat diamond ring that makes a statement about a woman's status to her peers.
From personal experience, well made, butter soft leather beats cheap and cheerful shoes by a mile - mostly because they look good AND they are functional! When you slide into that Italian leather and feel the material wrap around your arch like it was made for you there is NO going back! We are and can be very vain creatures, and lets face it; Cinderella was most little girl's "favorite" fairy tale!
So many of us have been in "Mom" mode for so long we forget the power of shoes. Some shoes we wear make us feel worthwhile and rich. Some allow us to feel strong. And some just allow us to feel beautiful. If a shoe reflects all those feelings for me, I'm sold!
A small woman puts on a pair of heels; depending on the ratio of angle between the heel and the toe (women with a smaller size get a dramatic difference with a lower heel) you look 10 to 15 lbs. slimmer! That's a bonus on it's own! The way you walk in heels changes your stride. Leading "heel/toe, heel/toe" makes your body undulate, and when you lead with your chest when you walk it is very attractive to the opposite sex, as it conveys the primal idea that you are an "alpha" female. Stiletto heels force the upper thighs to tighten to keep your body in balance, lifting the "derriere" and making it look higher - there fore more youthful and therefore a better mate (again, body language overrides the conscious brain!).
One of my favorite movies is the British Film "Kinky Boots", and a lot of what I have come to realize about the subject is paraphrasing some of the ideas there. You can tell a lot about a person by their shoes. Shoes have character, and they convey what you think about yourself to the world. Think of a young woman wearing Doc Martins. Now picture someone wearing Christian Loubouton! More than expensive jewelery, expensive shoes make a statement about how you feel about yourself. And face it, shoes have connotations; think of the term "the girl in the comfortable shoes", "sensible shoes", "old lady shoes", "stripper shoes", "office shoes", "baby shoes", "ass kickers", "CFMs", or just simply "heels". Each one of those titles carries a thought in your brain about "who" the person who wears them really is! And think about a woman wearing a well tailored grey skirt suit... then add a classy pair of Jimmy Choos or Manolo Blaniks in red and it changes how you look at her! It especially changes how her peers look at her! It's like that big fat diamond ring that makes a statement about a woman's status to her peers.
From personal experience, well made, butter soft leather beats cheap and cheerful shoes by a mile - mostly because they look good AND they are functional! When you slide into that Italian leather and feel the material wrap around your arch like it was made for you there is NO going back! We are and can be very vain creatures, and lets face it; Cinderella was most little girl's "favorite" fairy tale!
So many of us have been in "Mom" mode for so long we forget the power of shoes. Some shoes we wear make us feel worthwhile and rich. Some allow us to feel strong. And some just allow us to feel beautiful. If a shoe reflects all those feelings for me, I'm sold!
Thursday, March 3, 2011
Timmies triage....
In the grand scheme of things I never expected to have those "15 minutes of fame" to deal with. I expected my life to continue on in much the same vein as it has most of my life; occasional drama, highs and lows, normal and everyday stuff or perhaps the excitement of some special occurrence. But sometimes you get caught in a moment you never expected; you end up riding the current and being swept along with nothing to go on and only being able to take one fast paced step after another, literally running in place without seeing what is next just to keep your head above water or be drowned.
On February 28, 2011 it was only the luck of the draw that sent my Mom into the hospital. She had called the ambulance to take her to the hospital with flu-like symptoms. The dizziness she was experiencing made her feel so helpless but she still managed to make the call and have them come to get her. With the help of her niece - my cousin, Lois - the attendants loaded her onto her "granny transport" rolling walker and took her down the elevator to wait in the lobby for the stretcher. When I got the call that she was in the emergency I flew of the house as fast as I could (leaving my debit card, cash, phone charger and snacks at home) to find her waiting, still on the same stretcher, with the ambulance attendants keeping her spirits as high as they could, flattering her, smiling at her, comforting her and never leaving her side. Unable to even supply her with a proper pillow, her head was supported by two flannel sheets tucked into a pillow case. My brother and I had to hold up a sheet to give her privacy while they quickly helped her change into a gown, inserted the IV needle and brought her a warmed blanket. The four of us took turns, held the bag when she vomited, wiped her chin, held her hand, joked with her and tried to keep her comfortable until the medication nurse brought her a dose of anti nausea medication and something to calm her and help her relax.
With no where else to keep her and the emergency filled to overcrowding (I heard later there were rumours of 100 or more travelling through the emergency that night) the personnel running the shifts was quick enough to make a snap decision to take what they thought were less critical patients and place them in more quiet surroundings; the Tim Horton's coffee shop located in the Hospital lobby. I heard the nurses and staff worried about funding cuts, talking about placing patients in otherwise unstaffed areas because they needed care - referred to as "ghost wards" - rather than give them no care at all. I heard them talking about working hard and having to work harder without the staffing needed to supply all the areas needed, and talked to them about the problem of "burn out" with the overload. It was frightening.
The Tim Hortons was quiet, and mom slept in a drug induced doze, snoring gently. I was glad she could get some peace but truly troubled. The cold bled off the windows and I draped her coat over her feet to keep her from chilling too much. I started taking pictures of the situation with my mobile phone, even recorded a short video to make a point, but was not able to upload the video and allow others access to the shots. I did post the photos on my facebook page, and one of the other family members for another patient went outside to speak to television reporters on the conditions our caregivers are forced to work in.
It seemed I was there for a significant amount of time, but after a while they moved my little Mommy from the cold of the Timmies back into a bay in the admitting area; still in emergency and still among the traffic, but quieter than it was closer to the nurses' station. and she and I sat together with me pulling her blankets around her shoulders, wiping her face, comforting her when she was fretful and letting her know that people were sending good wishes and thinking about her. She was truly thrilled by each well wish and giggled over the mentioning of friends and family she has loved for so long. As the medication wore off she began vomiting again and I called the attendant to help her while I held the basin and spoke to her gently. In the wee, small hours of the night they gave her a dose of different medication to calm her and keep her from being sick again. This time it was successful. But by 6:30 when the Tim Horton's opened for business again I had seen myself - front and center - in stills taken by other patients on the Timmies' Triage ward running in a news segment on the televison in the emergency room. "Dbl Dbl Trouble for RCH"... Well, the damn place was shut that night and we couldn't even get a coffee! Mom and I waited until 9 am, with her becoming more worn out as the hours past, until they finally prepped her for a CT scan, and I pointed out to them that one side of her face was "droopy". After that the situation was handled a little more seriously and the staff reacted in a way that showed they were concerned for the prognosis. I went to the lobby to make some calls and inform my family of the state things were in (my poor cell phone had died from lack of power the night before, and my car was under lock and key in a blockaded lot across the street), then managed to move my car to another spot and headed back in to continue waiting. Mom was returned to the Trauma room on the emergency ward - the 4th spot in less than 12 hours - where we waited for the Dr. to give us the news; it was not good. Stroke with atypical symptoms (hence the diagnosis that she suffered from the flu), looking at waiting on a swallowing assesment, a chest xray and stabilizing her. The staff wanted me to go home. I was told the "cavalry" was being mobilized, and there would be people to spell me off, so I went home to grab a few hours sleep, take care of my dogs, feed myself, send out information to those that needed it, field phone calls, and prepare to do it all over again.
Back to the hospital I went, this time carrying my debit card, a recharged phone (no charger), change in my wallet, and parked in a different lot - after calling in work to say I wasn't coming to close the store tonight I arrived to find... no one. Mom was sitting in another bed (the 5th spot in her stay and right next to the noisey nursing station) and on a new oxygen set up. The phlem she was coughing up had thickened and darkend, and was very difficult to move. I talked with the staff who made changed that should have made her more comfortable, but she began struggling and trying to remove the mask, saying she couldn't breath. And then she stopped. She drifted into a semi coma and made no further complaints, just a few incoherent comments.
I suspect she had another stroke at that point. Even though the chest xray showed no infection her lungs had been compromised and were shutting down. The staff did everything in their power to help her, but in the end the last thing they could help with was to give her morphine for the pain and to take away that feeling that she was drowning. She stopped fighting the machines, stopped fighting to breathe, and as they wheeled her down to what would be her 6th and final spot in the hospital she breathed shallower and shallower until she wasn't breathing any more at all. I held her in my arms, kissed her, and as I stroked her arms my brain recognized the shape of my own hands in hers, the lenght of my forearms and the size of the muscle structure, the height of my cheekbones and the depth of my eye sockets in her face. I am my Mother's daughter. And I'm just as stubborn, just as pragmatic, just as strong, and just as weary of the unneeded drama that affects my life from the outside. Come by it honestly, and have no intention of changing it at this time in my life.
The damn story has gone viral on the internet now... it's all over the world and so it should be. Our government has allowed the infrastructure that supports our medical system to come perilously close to collapsing. The only problem is, every time I hear them on the news, every time I see my Mother's smiling face on the TV, every time I catch a glimpse of myself in a still shot I am back in the Timmies Triage waiting for them to take care of my Mother.... but they can't anymore, because she's gone. And I cry. And cry....
I know that my role in this is to remember, so remember I will. I need to make sure this NEVER happens to someone else. Spread the word. I didn't want this particular 15 minutes of fame and I would give it back to hold my Mom in my arms one more time. But you don't get a do-over very often, and I don't think there would have been any other outcome, but I would have wanted her to have the dignity she was denied, the comfort they were unable to give, and had a diagnosis sooner through quicker care so she could have had those last moments with more of the family.
More than anything, I would like the world to remember; one day this may be you....
On February 28, 2011 it was only the luck of the draw that sent my Mom into the hospital. She had called the ambulance to take her to the hospital with flu-like symptoms. The dizziness she was experiencing made her feel so helpless but she still managed to make the call and have them come to get her. With the help of her niece - my cousin, Lois - the attendants loaded her onto her "granny transport" rolling walker and took her down the elevator to wait in the lobby for the stretcher. When I got the call that she was in the emergency I flew of the house as fast as I could (leaving my debit card, cash, phone charger and snacks at home) to find her waiting, still on the same stretcher, with the ambulance attendants keeping her spirits as high as they could, flattering her, smiling at her, comforting her and never leaving her side. Unable to even supply her with a proper pillow, her head was supported by two flannel sheets tucked into a pillow case. My brother and I had to hold up a sheet to give her privacy while they quickly helped her change into a gown, inserted the IV needle and brought her a warmed blanket. The four of us took turns, held the bag when she vomited, wiped her chin, held her hand, joked with her and tried to keep her comfortable until the medication nurse brought her a dose of anti nausea medication and something to calm her and help her relax.
With no where else to keep her and the emergency filled to overcrowding (I heard later there were rumours of 100 or more travelling through the emergency that night) the personnel running the shifts was quick enough to make a snap decision to take what they thought were less critical patients and place them in more quiet surroundings; the Tim Horton's coffee shop located in the Hospital lobby. I heard the nurses and staff worried about funding cuts, talking about placing patients in otherwise unstaffed areas because they needed care - referred to as "ghost wards" - rather than give them no care at all. I heard them talking about working hard and having to work harder without the staffing needed to supply all the areas needed, and talked to them about the problem of "burn out" with the overload. It was frightening.
The Tim Hortons was quiet, and mom slept in a drug induced doze, snoring gently. I was glad she could get some peace but truly troubled. The cold bled off the windows and I draped her coat over her feet to keep her from chilling too much. I started taking pictures of the situation with my mobile phone, even recorded a short video to make a point, but was not able to upload the video and allow others access to the shots. I did post the photos on my facebook page, and one of the other family members for another patient went outside to speak to television reporters on the conditions our caregivers are forced to work in.
It seemed I was there for a significant amount of time, but after a while they moved my little Mommy from the cold of the Timmies back into a bay in the admitting area; still in emergency and still among the traffic, but quieter than it was closer to the nurses' station. and she and I sat together with me pulling her blankets around her shoulders, wiping her face, comforting her when she was fretful and letting her know that people were sending good wishes and thinking about her. She was truly thrilled by each well wish and giggled over the mentioning of friends and family she has loved for so long. As the medication wore off she began vomiting again and I called the attendant to help her while I held the basin and spoke to her gently. In the wee, small hours of the night they gave her a dose of different medication to calm her and keep her from being sick again. This time it was successful. But by 6:30 when the Tim Horton's opened for business again I had seen myself - front and center - in stills taken by other patients on the Timmies' Triage ward running in a news segment on the televison in the emergency room. "Dbl Dbl Trouble for RCH"... Well, the damn place was shut that night and we couldn't even get a coffee! Mom and I waited until 9 am, with her becoming more worn out as the hours past, until they finally prepped her for a CT scan, and I pointed out to them that one side of her face was "droopy". After that the situation was handled a little more seriously and the staff reacted in a way that showed they were concerned for the prognosis. I went to the lobby to make some calls and inform my family of the state things were in (my poor cell phone had died from lack of power the night before, and my car was under lock and key in a blockaded lot across the street), then managed to move my car to another spot and headed back in to continue waiting. Mom was returned to the Trauma room on the emergency ward - the 4th spot in less than 12 hours - where we waited for the Dr. to give us the news; it was not good. Stroke with atypical symptoms (hence the diagnosis that she suffered from the flu), looking at waiting on a swallowing assesment, a chest xray and stabilizing her. The staff wanted me to go home. I was told the "cavalry" was being mobilized, and there would be people to spell me off, so I went home to grab a few hours sleep, take care of my dogs, feed myself, send out information to those that needed it, field phone calls, and prepare to do it all over again.
Back to the hospital I went, this time carrying my debit card, a recharged phone (no charger), change in my wallet, and parked in a different lot - after calling in work to say I wasn't coming to close the store tonight I arrived to find... no one. Mom was sitting in another bed (the 5th spot in her stay and right next to the noisey nursing station) and on a new oxygen set up. The phlem she was coughing up had thickened and darkend, and was very difficult to move. I talked with the staff who made changed that should have made her more comfortable, but she began struggling and trying to remove the mask, saying she couldn't breath. And then she stopped. She drifted into a semi coma and made no further complaints, just a few incoherent comments.
I suspect she had another stroke at that point. Even though the chest xray showed no infection her lungs had been compromised and were shutting down. The staff did everything in their power to help her, but in the end the last thing they could help with was to give her morphine for the pain and to take away that feeling that she was drowning. She stopped fighting the machines, stopped fighting to breathe, and as they wheeled her down to what would be her 6th and final spot in the hospital she breathed shallower and shallower until she wasn't breathing any more at all. I held her in my arms, kissed her, and as I stroked her arms my brain recognized the shape of my own hands in hers, the lenght of my forearms and the size of the muscle structure, the height of my cheekbones and the depth of my eye sockets in her face. I am my Mother's daughter. And I'm just as stubborn, just as pragmatic, just as strong, and just as weary of the unneeded drama that affects my life from the outside. Come by it honestly, and have no intention of changing it at this time in my life.
The damn story has gone viral on the internet now... it's all over the world and so it should be. Our government has allowed the infrastructure that supports our medical system to come perilously close to collapsing. The only problem is, every time I hear them on the news, every time I see my Mother's smiling face on the TV, every time I catch a glimpse of myself in a still shot I am back in the Timmies Triage waiting for them to take care of my Mother.... but they can't anymore, because she's gone. And I cry. And cry....
I know that my role in this is to remember, so remember I will. I need to make sure this NEVER happens to someone else. Spread the word. I didn't want this particular 15 minutes of fame and I would give it back to hold my Mom in my arms one more time. But you don't get a do-over very often, and I don't think there would have been any other outcome, but I would have wanted her to have the dignity she was denied, the comfort they were unable to give, and had a diagnosis sooner through quicker care so she could have had those last moments with more of the family.
More than anything, I would like the world to remember; one day this may be you....
Wednesday, March 2, 2011
Oh.... how I wish you were here......
There comes a time in everyone's life when they have to step up. The natural progression of aging; first babies, toddlers, school kids, teenagers... if we're lucky; spouses, parents... grandparents. We all take a step ahead, and bring what we learn with us. In the rush and joy we forget that the progression has an end, and eventually those that were ahead of us in the ladder have disappeared. So, when we get to the front of the line it's time to reflect on a lot of things until the final step into the unknown.
Last night, on the 1st of March just before midnight, my first love made that final step into forever; my Mother, Gloria Rossalind Knowlan, at age 86.
On the afternoon the day before she suffered a sudden and serious stroke. When the call came to let me know where she was (at that time her condition was unknown) I quickly grabbed my things and drove to the hospital. It was simply time to step up. For the next 15 hours I rarely left her side, holding her hand, comforting her, passing her tissues when she coughed, waiting (yes, even in the infamous "Tim Horton's" ward in RCH) for tests and time to pass. We spoke of so many things when she wanted to talk; how much she loved us - her children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren - special friends, fun times, things she taught me over the years; we talked quietly between her struggles to rest. She wanted Pink Floyd played at her memorial service and we talked about her favorite music. Mostly I dozed in the chair beside her bed and let her know she was not alone.
When she was finally taken for a CT scan on the morning of the 1st we were unsure of the prognosis, but I saw marks of the seriousness of her condition in the laxness on one side of her face and steeled myself for what was to come. When the Dr. finally had a consult with me following the test the result was pure and simple; there was a serious stroke in her cerebellum; it had not been the first one; she was going to be stabilized and best case scenario was she would stay as she was or heal; worst case scenario was further strokes, compromised respiratory system or heart problems. They told me that sleep was my best option and I checked with family and informed them that in my opinion the situation meant we all needed to step up and change how we were dealing with this. I was hopeful someone else would care for her while I took care of my own responsibilites, phoned in sick at work, slept a few hours, cleaned up and returned... this time with a different parking spot, change in my wallet, a fully recharged phone, and the hope that TONIGHT Tim Horton's was serving tea....
My siblings had taken care of a lot of the important stuff; Mom was still in the emergency by herself after insisting she wanted "no visitors" and that she was just tired. She sent my other siblings off to their lives and didn't want a fuss. My brother and sister had gone to clean her apartment and ease her worry over her personal space. My brother came by with a care package with personal items as I attempted to keep her as comfortable in bed as possible, but a little after 10 pm there was a marked change. She told me she was sad that we were all having to do these things for her now, so I reminded her that she did that and more for us when we were small; stayed by our sides, stroked our hair, held our hands, wiped our faces, and look at how lucky she was that now we were here to do it for her. I reminded her that her life was very, very rich, and that we were the gold that made it so. That comforted her and she giggled a little. But she was drifting away, not so lucid anymore, her breath becoming harder, fretful and struggling for air. The staff made her as comfortable as they could and I asked that they call my family and tell them of her condition. I knew it was close to the end.
One more time to feed the meter, and back I went to wait. I helped the staff gather her belongings and whispered in her ear that the family was coming, hang on just a little longer, but the morphine they gave her for her pain and comfort allowed her to slip away like a firefly, creeping softly from the ground and rising for the first time. I watched the husk of her earthly body wind down quietly like an old fashioned toy, and I held her close and kissed her as she took those last soft breaths. And she healed me. Softly, quietly, and without a lot of fuss or drama, she taught me her last lesson. I'm strong enough to take care of myself. I'm strong enough to do the right thing. I'm strong enough to take the tough stuff on and I don't have to claim the world, I just get to claim my role in it. And for one last time I had her all to myself.
That is the gold I get to share now. Like a chocolate coin, it's shiny on the outside and sweet in the middle, and it tastes better when you share it. And when you share a lot of them you have other people share theirs with you. That is what makes life so very rich and so very sweet.
I always tell people that your immortality lives on in the memories other people have of you. Mom, to me you will always be immortal and I will treasure every precious moment of your life. And although I do have a lot of regrets I am at peace in that this time I have none. I will keep being honest and straightforward with my family and friends, and I will live my life more the way she did; quietly and softly, with compassion and humour, and keep my childlike wonder, until I too go forward. I will continue to do the right thing even when no one else wants me to be right. I'm a bit stubborn that way, but for all of you who really knew Gloria you also know I come by that trait honestly.
Last night, on the 1st of March just before midnight, my first love made that final step into forever; my Mother, Gloria Rossalind Knowlan, at age 86.
On the afternoon the day before she suffered a sudden and serious stroke. When the call came to let me know where she was (at that time her condition was unknown) I quickly grabbed my things and drove to the hospital. It was simply time to step up. For the next 15 hours I rarely left her side, holding her hand, comforting her, passing her tissues when she coughed, waiting (yes, even in the infamous "Tim Horton's" ward in RCH) for tests and time to pass. We spoke of so many things when she wanted to talk; how much she loved us - her children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren - special friends, fun times, things she taught me over the years; we talked quietly between her struggles to rest. She wanted Pink Floyd played at her memorial service and we talked about her favorite music. Mostly I dozed in the chair beside her bed and let her know she was not alone.
When she was finally taken for a CT scan on the morning of the 1st we were unsure of the prognosis, but I saw marks of the seriousness of her condition in the laxness on one side of her face and steeled myself for what was to come. When the Dr. finally had a consult with me following the test the result was pure and simple; there was a serious stroke in her cerebellum; it had not been the first one; she was going to be stabilized and best case scenario was she would stay as she was or heal; worst case scenario was further strokes, compromised respiratory system or heart problems. They told me that sleep was my best option and I checked with family and informed them that in my opinion the situation meant we all needed to step up and change how we were dealing with this. I was hopeful someone else would care for her while I took care of my own responsibilites, phoned in sick at work, slept a few hours, cleaned up and returned... this time with a different parking spot, change in my wallet, a fully recharged phone, and the hope that TONIGHT Tim Horton's was serving tea....
My siblings had taken care of a lot of the important stuff; Mom was still in the emergency by herself after insisting she wanted "no visitors" and that she was just tired. She sent my other siblings off to their lives and didn't want a fuss. My brother and sister had gone to clean her apartment and ease her worry over her personal space. My brother came by with a care package with personal items as I attempted to keep her as comfortable in bed as possible, but a little after 10 pm there was a marked change. She told me she was sad that we were all having to do these things for her now, so I reminded her that she did that and more for us when we were small; stayed by our sides, stroked our hair, held our hands, wiped our faces, and look at how lucky she was that now we were here to do it for her. I reminded her that her life was very, very rich, and that we were the gold that made it so. That comforted her and she giggled a little. But she was drifting away, not so lucid anymore, her breath becoming harder, fretful and struggling for air. The staff made her as comfortable as they could and I asked that they call my family and tell them of her condition. I knew it was close to the end.
One more time to feed the meter, and back I went to wait. I helped the staff gather her belongings and whispered in her ear that the family was coming, hang on just a little longer, but the morphine they gave her for her pain and comfort allowed her to slip away like a firefly, creeping softly from the ground and rising for the first time. I watched the husk of her earthly body wind down quietly like an old fashioned toy, and I held her close and kissed her as she took those last soft breaths. And she healed me. Softly, quietly, and without a lot of fuss or drama, she taught me her last lesson. I'm strong enough to take care of myself. I'm strong enough to do the right thing. I'm strong enough to take the tough stuff on and I don't have to claim the world, I just get to claim my role in it. And for one last time I had her all to myself.
That is the gold I get to share now. Like a chocolate coin, it's shiny on the outside and sweet in the middle, and it tastes better when you share it. And when you share a lot of them you have other people share theirs with you. That is what makes life so very rich and so very sweet.
I always tell people that your immortality lives on in the memories other people have of you. Mom, to me you will always be immortal and I will treasure every precious moment of your life. And although I do have a lot of regrets I am at peace in that this time I have none. I will keep being honest and straightforward with my family and friends, and I will live my life more the way she did; quietly and softly, with compassion and humour, and keep my childlike wonder, until I too go forward. I will continue to do the right thing even when no one else wants me to be right. I'm a bit stubborn that way, but for all of you who really knew Gloria you also know I come by that trait honestly.
Monday, February 21, 2011
Learning to say goodbye....
Raising puppies is one of the most rewarding things I have ever done; it's a lot of hard work, a lot of sleepless nights, a lot of cleaning and scrubbing, worrying and watching. From the moment they birth, wet and tiny in my hands as I cut the cord that connects them to their Mothers, to the moment they go out the door in the arms of the special someone who will love them "forever" they are an enormous joy.
I love everything about them, their little cries like seagulls when they first find their voices, the times they suckle on my fingertips and the end of my nose, watching them learn to play with toys, and of course the smell of puppy breath. This last time was chaotic and crazy having two litters at once, but there is not a single moment I would take back in it. Each puppy is special, individual, unique, and much loved. I have fussed over them and fed them with a spoon, watched them toddle through their first steps, and who could forget the photo montages with puppies tucked into a Santa hat? Holding a warm puppy in my arms while I sat alone on Christmas just enjoying the fact that I wasn't really alone with them there.
I'm not the only one who has benefited, though. Daisy - who behaved like a shelter dog from the moment I fell in love and brought her home as a "timing out puppy" from the pet store - has become a more stable and balanced dog after going through the process of being with the first litters of puppies and then becoming a Mother herself. Surprisingly, she is quieter, less prone to be jealous, eager to play and interact with my remaining dogs. Now, when I tell her to "sit" for her treat there is no panic that the other dogs may get her share, just calm acceptance that she will get her turn when she behaves, and I'm glad for her. She has a bounce to her step and has even welcomed the occasional guest that pops by.
As each puppy left and went to their new families I felt a small part of my heart go with them; Kaya Lou, Painter, Patches, Coco, Prince, Bodie, Katinka, Mercedes, Molly and Dexter eventually found their forever homes after weeks of posting ads, flashing photographs, spreading word of mouth and taking texts and phone calls. Only one - Pixie - has yet to find her "forever home". And in the process of finding those perfect matches for each puppy I realized that the right person always comes for a puppy; no matter how much you worry, post, fuss, panic, no matter how many calls you take at odd hours, no matter the stretch of time, each puppy has someone out there who is waiting for them. You know instantly when that love bonds the right person to the puppy that will be theirs. And although I do love my little puppies and feel responsible for them I still have to let them go and be with the ones who make a choice to take them home.
It made me realize something about myself. No matter how much I fuss and worry, no matter how long I am alone and single, when the time is right - and not until then - there will be someone out there for me. That is the hardest part at the moment as I make the final arrangements to end my 36 year relationship with my Divorce. And I have to remember that although what I had wasn't real I always thought it was, and grieving for a dream is still grieving. It may be a long time until I get past this part of the process. In the meantime I am learning to say goodbye and still embrace the love that I shared. Puppies are good at teaching that. I cry a little as each one leaves, but puppies have no regrets. They are, quite simply, a joy.
I love everything about them, their little cries like seagulls when they first find their voices, the times they suckle on my fingertips and the end of my nose, watching them learn to play with toys, and of course the smell of puppy breath. This last time was chaotic and crazy having two litters at once, but there is not a single moment I would take back in it. Each puppy is special, individual, unique, and much loved. I have fussed over them and fed them with a spoon, watched them toddle through their first steps, and who could forget the photo montages with puppies tucked into a Santa hat? Holding a warm puppy in my arms while I sat alone on Christmas just enjoying the fact that I wasn't really alone with them there.
I'm not the only one who has benefited, though. Daisy - who behaved like a shelter dog from the moment I fell in love and brought her home as a "timing out puppy" from the pet store - has become a more stable and balanced dog after going through the process of being with the first litters of puppies and then becoming a Mother herself. Surprisingly, she is quieter, less prone to be jealous, eager to play and interact with my remaining dogs. Now, when I tell her to "sit" for her treat there is no panic that the other dogs may get her share, just calm acceptance that she will get her turn when she behaves, and I'm glad for her. She has a bounce to her step and has even welcomed the occasional guest that pops by.
As each puppy left and went to their new families I felt a small part of my heart go with them; Kaya Lou, Painter, Patches, Coco, Prince, Bodie, Katinka, Mercedes, Molly and Dexter eventually found their forever homes after weeks of posting ads, flashing photographs, spreading word of mouth and taking texts and phone calls. Only one - Pixie - has yet to find her "forever home". And in the process of finding those perfect matches for each puppy I realized that the right person always comes for a puppy; no matter how much you worry, post, fuss, panic, no matter how many calls you take at odd hours, no matter the stretch of time, each puppy has someone out there who is waiting for them. You know instantly when that love bonds the right person to the puppy that will be theirs. And although I do love my little puppies and feel responsible for them I still have to let them go and be with the ones who make a choice to take them home.
It made me realize something about myself. No matter how much I fuss and worry, no matter how long I am alone and single, when the time is right - and not until then - there will be someone out there for me. That is the hardest part at the moment as I make the final arrangements to end my 36 year relationship with my Divorce. And I have to remember that although what I had wasn't real I always thought it was, and grieving for a dream is still grieving. It may be a long time until I get past this part of the process. In the meantime I am learning to say goodbye and still embrace the love that I shared. Puppies are good at teaching that. I cry a little as each one leaves, but puppies have no regrets. They are, quite simply, a joy.
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