Just a quick note --

So no one thinks I died!

I am up to my ears in packing boxes here and the new house, which was supposed to be completed next Monday is waaaaay behind schedule, and the guy who is buying our house is itching to get in here, but agreed to postpone closing for another week. So we will need to move before the 26th of Feb.

I took this week "off" meaning NO doctors, therapy, etc. so I could have time to pack and I'm still not anywhere near done.  Seems impossible to get in a whole day of packing in and also taking care of Bob.

On the upside, the new house is looking good!

On the downside, the contractor keeps finding more and more "unexpected" things I have to pay for and I feel as if I am bleeding money here. And I still need to get bids on painting etc....

I tell you, I am tearing my hair out. Stressed to the max. Prone to crying jags and inappropriate laughing. And I am losing sleep at night with worry about how much over budget this project is going...

BUT, taking it day by day....

And oh, on a lighter note, did I tell you our pizza delivery guy got robbed?

I kid you not, last week I ordered a pizza for Boomer and myself and the pizza never made it to the door. Someone approached the delivery guy who had parked in front of our house and said "That's my pizza, I ordered it." And when the delivery guy handed him the pizza box, the pizza thief grabbed it and ran down the street without paying!

Oh-kay. That's a first.

On the upside, however, Papa Johns sent us a new pizza for no charge.

4 Years Post Stroke and A Squeeze!

Yesterday, at therapy, the PT was trying to get Bob to squeeze his right hand. Now, most of you know, Bob has had no movement what-so-ever in that right hand/arm/shoulder since the stroke. So, I'm sort of sitting there, rolling my eyes, because man, we've done this a million times with about a million other therapists with no luck. And I, too, have tried this a million times...

So imagine my surprise when the PT states that he has felt Bob squeeze his hand! I tell you, I didn't believe him. So the PT had me take Bob's hand and he asked Bob to squeeze it.

And to my amazement, I felt a squeeze. A little squeeze. But a squeeze! It felt like an "inner squeeze" sort of coming from inside his hand. I couldn't believe it, I really thought I just imagined it, because I didn't see Bob's hand move, only felt this little squeeze. Then, Bob did it again, on command.

All I can say is "WOW!" After four years of no movement, this is nothing short of a small miracle!

The technique the PT used was this: He had Bob lean back as far as he could in the wheelchair, hold his head as upright as he could, shoulders back -- this position, the PT says, "opens the nerve pathways to the brain". He told Bob to visualize energy flowing from his brain and "zapping" his right hand. Then, he also had Bob visualize the actual activity of squeezing his hand. Here's a video I took after that first, phenomenal, squeeze:

The PT also used another technique which he refers to as a "distraction" technique. This method is to distract the brain from the activity you want to perform by adding other, easier movements, simultaneously. In this way, the brain has a more spontaneous response. In this video, the PT has Bob move his head from left to right then squeeze his hand.

This PT thinks that Bob can regain the use of that right hand/arm. Though I'm not holding my breath.... I guess, I don't want my hopes dashed. So we'll see what happens... 

Birthday Boy!

In other news, Bob celebrated his 56th birthday last week. I asked him what he wanted to do to celebrate and he said "shopping!" So we spent another afternoon at an antique mall. Though I must say this antique mall had the steepest wheelchair ramp in the world. I had to get help to get him up and down....  grrr  But! We had fun and that's what counts!

Finally, The Power Chair! --- And then...

Finally, Bob's new wheelchair arrived!  And then, the delivery guy couldn't get it through the back door.... aargh!

So he had to take a portion of the armrests off and was able to just squeeze it through..... grrrr....

I tell you, this pissed me off because I told the guy (when we ordered the chair) that our back door was narrow and gave him the dimensions -- and he assured me it would fit....

But getting the thing out the back door was a complete bitch!

Anyway, Bob was able to try out the new chair...

And the twists and turns of the ramp was another difficulty....

But once on the road, he was tooling!

Vrrroooom!

And he pretty much passed me by -- so this was my view of him!

And we returned home only to get stuck on the back ramp, then stuck in the back door, then stuck between the fridge and door, then stuck in one of the interior doors and then hung up on the dog dishes and smashing into the oil heater and...

the brand new wheelchair is scratched to heck... grrr....

And it's now parked in my office.

I think we'll leave it there, until we move!

So Much to Blog About -- So Little Time!

I tell you, these past couple of weeks have been complete chaos. Not to mention the usual up-teen million doctors/therapy appointments, bills to pay, insurance company to argue with, etc. etc,, but the potential Buyer of our house sent over not only a home inspector but also a plumber, AC guy, roofer and termite guy.

Then paperwork back and forth, with the Buyer wanting Bob & me to PAY for a new roof, etc.  Well, I put my foot down on that -- even though my realtor warned we could lose this buyer -- but lo and behold, the Buyer still wants the house. So kudos to me for standing strong. And to Bob, who when I read him the Buyer's list of demands, said, and I quote, "Fuck him!" Ha!

Believe me, Bob may have aphasia, but he isn't about to be taken for a ride!

So we have a tentative closing date of Feb. 16th! And I gotta do some serious packing! And the new house is no-where near done! Or at least it seems so, to me. Plus there is taxes and transferring our homestead exemption and buying new appliances and ceiling fans and etc. etc. etc. Not to mention trying to find a painter and RIGHT shade of pink!! And the contractor calling nearly daily with dumb decisions like - "do you want the closet on the right side or left side of the tub???" and ga! Too many decisions to make --- And Bob has a half dozen doctor appts scheduled this month and twice weekly therapy plus a bone scan for his foot pain plus a peg tube replacement ---- argh!

I did cancel 3 doctors and cut out a couple therapy appts -- but still....

Today, I'm packing up the Christmas tree! Then, I need to pack up the rest of the house. How on earth have we accumulated so much stuff???? aaargh!

And I can't even find my desk -- under all this paperwork. And oh! Did I tell you about food stamps? Who way back in August, when we requested them to close our account, somehow never got the message -- ?? And now they want us to pay them $858! For money they credited to our account but we never used --- jeepers. So there is that mess to straighten away.... grrrrr....

So I'm outta here with about ten thousand things to do and I am majorly stressed out -- and if this blog is quiet, you know why!

A Caregiver's Christmas

Thursday was Christmas Day, and that morning, while other folks were gathering around the tree opening presents, my day started out as usual, with me leaping barefoot out of bed to catch the feeding pump before the pump alarm goes off, then, on my way, slipping and sliding in a pile of wet dog poop.

So I dashed to the kitchen to grab some paper towels, only to find that one of cats had left me a Christmas present on the counter -- a long, snaking tube of hairball puke.  Ho ho ho!

After cleaning up all that, and after disconnecting the feeding pump, flushing Bob's tube, giving Bob his morning meds, giving the dog his morning meds, feeding the cats and going for a long walk with the dog, I decided to treat myself to a frothy cup of cappuccino (the instant kind) and a couple of my mother's famous "ice box cookies" (great for dunking) that she sent in her annual Christmas care package and peruse the Sunday newspaper and, in that way, I prepared to spend a quiet, calm Christmas day watching sappy holiday specials on TV with Bob...

But alas, it was not meant to be, at least not yet. For not a half hour later, I hear a cry for "HELP!" from Bob's corner of the room.

And when I go to investigate, I find myself face-to-face with the mother-of-all-monsters and OMG, I nearly fainted straight away.  But let me back up a bit here --

Bob had been in the middle of his "morning powdering ritual". I must say, he developed this somewhat strange compulsion for baby powder since the stroke and has concocted a rather elaborate morning ritual which, on a good day, takes at least 15 minutes, but on a bad day, can take up to an hour or more.  This started after, in the early post-stroke days, Bob had trouble trying to one-handed sprinkle baby powder out of the bottle and his OT suggested I purchase an old fashion powder puff for him. So now he can powder himself one-handed using the puff and the powder jar and I can do other things whilst he completes his morning "toilet". And this is what Bob was doing when he called Help!

But I must back up again, to his Christmas morning meds, when he mentioned he was constipated and requested a laxative, which I dutifully gave to him.

Oh-kay. I think you'll begin to get the picture here, as when I arrived at Bob's bedside to find him butt naked (though still wearing socks), half powdered and sitting in the biggest pile of human feces I have ever laid eyes on. And I mean, this thing was HUGE! The size of an average well-fed, chocolate colored house cat.  And, I kid you not, it was ALIVE! I mean, the thing was moving, like some giant octopus, sending long tentacles of slurry sludge inching toward the edge of the bed pad.

And it was enough to make anyone faint, but of course, I couldn't faint, though I had the urge --- I pride myself in being able to efficiently handle catastrophes such as this, so I dashed back into the kitchen and grabbed my latex gloves, plastic garbage bag, roll of paper towels and set to work.

No small task, that. Because it was very wet and very sloppy and a bit like sludge and there was A LOT and my paper towels just disintegrated on contact. So I grabbed the next nearest thing, my Sunday paper, and pulled out the comics and tried to mop it up with that...

And I don't know what it was, perhaps the smell of newspaper combined with the smell of you-know-what combined with the creepy texture of the whole thing, but when I lifted the leaking newspaper up to plop it into the garbage bag, I lost it.

I tell you, cappuccino and ice box cookies taste much better going down, than coming up...

This took me by surprise (not that cappuccino and ice box cookies tasted better going down, but that I actually lost my cookies, quite literally.) You know, I pride myself in having developed an iron-clad stomach for this type of thing.  I mean, I was just bragging the other day to someone how this part of caregiving does not phase me one bit anymore, and, I have been known to be interrupted in the middle of dinner, put down my fork and knife, clean up a dirty Depends or whatnot and return, unrattled, to finish my meal...

Alas, my iron-clad stomach failed me, but at least I hit the garbage bag. And then I fled the room, to catch my breath.

It's moments like this, that one would like to flee not only the room, but the country as well. But I can't. Someone's got to confront the mess. And I'm afraid that I'm the only one here. (Someone should start an emergency poop clean-up service, I'll be the first customer!)

So I steal myself for a second attack on the mess. This time using a time proven method of "Whatever you do, DO NOT look at it!"

And, instead of trying to scoop the remaining poop, I decide to cover it. With the bed pad. Which, with averted eyes, I sort of carefully roll up and fold, enchilada style, around the whole shebang.  Then, quickly, I take the whole enchilada (so to speak) and run with it to the laundry room and deposit the sloppy mess, still folded, into the washing machine.  I turn on the HOT/HOT water and pour in a half gallon a bleach and some laundry soap, switch the Pre-Soak cycle on and pray.

An hour later, I check the washer and find that I've got an interesting brown soupy mess. But it looks like everything has dissolved to the point it should go down the drain. So I turn the wash cycle on.

And after the wash cycle, I find that now I have poop pellets sprayed all over the inside of the washer. But at least it's clean poop. And doesn't smell so bad. Another two laundry cycles, plus a wipe down with paper towels and life is back to normal.  Whatever normal is....

And Bob and I watch some sappy Christmas specials on TV. Which makes me think -- you know, where are the Christmas Specials for Caregivers? Something I can relate to? Really, most all these specials have the same old plot, you know the one, with the "scrooge" like character and a battle to do something like save the local animal shelter or Christmas parade or help Santa or what have you.  I think we need a Caregiver's Christmas, with a plot about a battle with a Scrooge called Christmas Constipation,  complete with Caregiver Carols sung by animated dancing Depends and singing suppositories. Something like:

On the twelfth day of Caregiving, my true love gave to me:

Twelve new prescriptions
Eleven diapers dripping
Ten tubes a leaking
Nine loads of laundry
Eight hours of mopping
Seven buckets of urine
Six bills for paying
Five clogg-ed peg tubes!!!
Four calls to the doctor
Three french tipped catheters
Two latex gloves
And a bowel movement in the middle of the bed!

Or maybe something like this sung by a choir of angels bearing gifts of laxatives and packages of Depends:

God rest ye harried caregiver,

let nothing you dismay!

Remember, constipation

can happen any day!

So arm yourself with laxatives

and do not go astray!

Tidings of comfort and Depends

Comfort and Depends

Ooooh, tidings of comfort and Depends!

And of course, the grande finale when the plucky Caregiver conquers the Scroogey Constipation and all the animated dancing Depends and singing suppositories enter, stage right, singing:

Joy to the World!

The Turd has come!!

Oh-kay, I think I've gone completely off my rocker, so I'll end here.

Happy Holidays!