Ah, yes, the mini-miracle...
...Mom went for the oxygen on her own, night before last, in the middle of the night. Then, again, yesterday, decided to use it in the bath, which is an important choice.
    Since having been prescribed oxygen last September she has resented, and fought, its intrusion into her life. First of all, it severely cuts her smoking. Secondly, it is an apparatus that requires some attention. It is possible, not slim-to-none possible, that, as she forgets to smoke, and she is forgetting, that her blood oxygen level will rise on it's own. It has done this. And, although she realizes this only when her blood oxygen level is up, she is much more alert when she's adequately oxygenated.
    Since her doctor got scared on her behalf, maybe a little over a month ago, and Mom witnessed this, I have "forced" her to use the oxygen concentrator every night and during most naps. I have also insisted that she nebulize her breathing medication mix at least once a day, in the morning, when her lungs have been bathed in oxygen. Much of this has been a bother for her, but she is noticing a few benefits, as well.
    One benefit was a stretch of hours, Thursday afternoon and evening, when she was optimally alert, focused and curious. She surprised both of us. It was even more surprising for us to realize that she'd used oxygen very little that day.
    In the merriment of the evening I forgot to 'plug her into' her oxygen before she went to bed. Sometime during the night my mother arose (which is not unusual), scouted out the cannula, put it on and went to bed. She forgot to turn on the machine, so I'll need to remind her how to do that, but, this is why I've labeled it a "mini" miracle.
    She mostly mouth breathes, on the oxygen. With the concentrator, this doesn't matter. The oxygen is puffed down her trachea, anyway. It does matter with the portables, which I think she'll need to get used to using in Prescott.
    Her almost natural seeking out of oxygen on this particular night was especially surprising, as, the previous morning I noticed that sometime during the night she'd arisen, taken off her cannula and draped it over the arm of her rocking chair.
    Yesterday, as well, she was lively. She seemed a little pale to me, but I have to continually remind myself that she hasn't seen much sun for awhile. She will see more of it in Prescott, when we finally return to what used to be our spring-summer-fall home. Last year it was our home for less than a month.
    When my mother is focused her profile looks like the profile of the man on the opposite side of the buffalo head nickle. I noticed this the other night and mentioned it to her. I knew she'd be tickled, and she was. There was a time, several years ago, when she became very interested in reincarnational literature because of her intense attraction to all things Native American, particularly having to do with the Sioux Nation.
    Last night we went out to eat. She had a martini, a rare occurrence, and clouded over for the rest of the evening. I think she turned in at 2030 or so after dozing while I rubbed her feet and lower legs. She slipped the cannula over her face without protest and autmatically adjusted the tubing. I note, this morning, that she did arise some time in the night, but she still has the cannula on, I checked, it isn't askew, and I hid her cigarettes well, so I know she didn't risk blowing herself up. Her hair, alone, sports enough hair spray to qualify as TNT.
    The most 'miraculous' aspect of the above 'event' is that it happened on the tail end of a period in which I had guilted myself out for no longer imagining that she had 5 years in her. Now, although I think 5 is a stretch, maybe we'll see two or three more years together.
    Yesterday afternoon, as my mother and I were wheeling out of the neighborhood toward her hair appointment, we were passed by yet another daughter living with her mother. The daughter is an Amazon of a woman. Her mother is tiny in comparison. They were swinging around a corner, both laughing about something. I noticed that her mother was not seat belted, just as mine isn't. I know exactly her problem with that. Her mother, I'm sure, will be intransigient on seat belts until she is no longer capable of instransigience, if that should ever happen.
    About a week ago, after another lively evening which included some catch-up reading aloud, on the spur of the moment as I was talking my mother and the cats into her bed, I mentioned to her that if and when she felt she no longer wanted to sleep alone in a bedroom we'd move things around in both houses so that we'd share the master bedroom. I have no idea why I mentioned this. My mother has been a staunch her-own-room supporter from the day after my father died. This subject came up about a year ago and she was definitely not ready then. When I mentioned it some nights ago, though, she looked at me thoughtfully and told me that she'd been thinking about this, lately (much to my surprise), and that she'd let me know when she wanted to do this. I'll keep my eye open, now, for her desire to do this. I asked her, that night, if she wanted "some company", I think is how I put it, and she said, "No," but thanked me, again. So, I'm glad we have that settled. I have been so lucky that she and I have weathered some of the more troublesome hurdles, the driving hurdle, for instance, and the money management hurdle, and the negotiating hurdle, as easily as we have. It looks like that part of our relationship is solid.
- posted by gail rae @ 17:20   email...this post