Enemy #1-The Telephone

When I was 15 years old my father gave me an egg timer to help me shorten my telephone calls. He was never a big fan of long phone conversations and hated that I stayed on the phone almost every night with my school friends. To be fair, I think I was like every other teenage girl of the time--we reviewed and replayed everything that happened in school during the day and planned the next day, on the phone. The egg timer became a family joke when I would turn it over at least ten times during each call--Dad knew it was a losing battle and just smiled.

Now, I would love to use that timer again. The phone calls from my uncle are painful. He has lost so much physical strength within the last 3 months that it has broken his spirit. He has become a whimpering, weak, sad shadow of his former self. The calls are usually filled with complaints of nurses or aides not attending to his needs properly or quickly enough, or distress about physical maladies that are magnified by too much time on his hands and complete immersion in his diminishing abilities. I completely understand and sympathize with his sadness and depression (he refuses to take anti-depressants --or mind-bending drugs as he calls them, because he doesn't want to lose mental clarity). I am just at a loss for easing the miserable state of being completely cognizant of your frailties without solutions to the problem. The calls are long and agonizing, with my own helplessness to fix things running rampant.

Phase two of the same day also comes in the form of the calls from my mother as I've described before--she's unhappy with being in a nursing facility, she's lonely, and now, always "losing" something. Sometimes I'm able to help her locate the missing object and sometimes just talking about life outside the walls of the nursing home lift her spirits. Sometimes I can visit and take her outside or out to lunch, though she often seems a little fearful of leaving the environment she's accustomed to. The catch 22 for me is the ways to ease her boredom also yield a certain amount of angst for her. The larger dilemma lies in trying to be more than I am. I am not a doctor or psychologist. I am just a daughter trying to ease the complicated state in my mother's aging.

I have now dreamed of the 3 minute phone call. Maybe Dad was on to something. If I could keep each phone call to only 3 minutes, my frustration with just being a sounding board for all the difficulties of growing old would be under control. If I could just be the voice they both need to hear so they know that someone is listening to them that might work.

There are those who age so gracefully and who are fortunate enough to maintain good health, eyesight and mental capacity. Then there are countless others who languish in the grey zone between vibrant life and the great beyond. The latter seek counsel in so many ways. The phone becomes the single lifeline that connects between the two worlds. I guess I'm just the lucky one who is at the end of that line for my mom and uncle. Sometimes I'm honored to give them a little of what they need, but sometimes I just wish I had an egg timer!

It Happens Almost Every Day

Most people begin their day with the annoying sound of a clock radio or a buzzer to awaken them from their dreams. In my new life, I don't use an alarm clock, but frequently deal with the telephone ringing before I've had my morning coffee. The conversation is nearly the same each morning and it goes something like this:

Mom: Hi, Ann

Me: Hi, good morning--how are you today?

Mom--Right now I'm pretty annoyed--my ____ is missing--who would take that?

OR: I'm so unhappy and bored--I want to go home. I'm really tired of this place and I don't understand why I need to be here.

Me: If that top/nightgown/robe is missing, it must be in the wash.

OR: I know it's not easy to adjust but once you get going, you'll have a pretty good day--there's _______activity planned today ( I make sure to have the nursing home calendar handy so I can tell her what's on the agenda for the day)

Mom: I really think I should be going home--there's no reason for me to be here-- I had a good life and now I have nothing--this stinks!

This conversation is also replayed most evenings between 9 and 10 PM. because she doesn't remember that we talked in the morning.

I don't blame her for having difficulty adjusting to her new life; or for missing her old routine and being surrounded by her own things collected over a lifetime. I don't blame her for forgetting that we talked or visited earlier in the day or 2 days before. I don't blame her for lamenting the loss of most of her eyesight and the strength it now takes to face each new day.

I don't blame her for wishing for a different old age because I also wish things could be different.

Yet, I still hate to begin and end each and every day this way. I still feel as if nothing I do is enough to ease the discontent and loneliness. I still feel guilty for having plans or going on vacation or for wanting to have my morning coffee without this daily ritual. Then, I feel guilty for wishing it would stop--what am I really wishing for? Am I hoping her dementia gets bad enough for her to forget how to use a phone? Am I wishing for worse than that, so I can move forward with my own plans? It is an uncomfortable place to be. My job is not a good one--not one I would choose to interview for-- not one I wish on anyone else. Yet it is the job that I presently have and will have for the foreseeable future. So, I must learn to adjust to the new morning and evening ritual and take comfort in the notion that sometimes she just needs to hear my voice. Sometimes she really doesn't expect me to fix anything--she just needs to vent her dismay at an old age that somehow tricked her into being old. Sometimes she just needs to know that there's someone there to listen, and that someone is ME!