They are just children...

It’s an adjustment really. I haven’t lived with small children for many years. I haven’t worried about baby-proofing, potty-training and/or snacks before dinner. This has been a wakeup call.

Before I moved into this house, Nicole would call me and have only one nerve left which one of the children was always standing on. I wanted so much to be able to help her get some rest and take the kids off her hands even if just for a few minutes. I thought it would be a simple thing to just play with them while their parents took a nap. They are children – how hard could it be?

Six and two year olds have minds of their own. They may not want to play the same game you want to play. The TV may be turned on to cartoons, but that doesn’t mean they will sit like zombies and become enthralled in the program. They are, in fact, little people who have their own wants and desires. My great-grandchildren are independent little souls who march to the beat of their own drummer. When the heck did that happen?

When my children were their age, I don’t remember them being so set in their ways. I imagine that sixty years of hindsight has probably changed my personal vision of reality. I do remember being frustrated and wanting to lock them in their rooms until they were adults. As they became teenagers, I wanted to locked them in their room and just throw away the key. But, I didn’t and – lo and behold – they eventually became responsible adults. Who’d a thunk it?

Emily and Brian, my great-grands, have places to go during the day. Brian goes to DayCare and Emily usually goes to Nana’s. When school starts next week, Emily will be spending her days at school until her mother picks her up. I don’t really have them during the day and for that I’m, surprisingly, happy. That’s OK because Barkly, the dog, makes up for lack of chaos.

My day usually starts at 5:30 a.m. pouring coffee for Riley, Ryan, Nicole and me. That’s about a whole pot, so with the last cup I make a fresh pot. Then I help Nicole find shoes and other things needed to get them out the door. They all leave at once. Now it’s just me and Riley. I find something for his breakfast. Sometimes it’s as simple as cereal and other times it’s bacon and eggs or waffles. He is now situated and I can go on to other things. I straighten up the living and dining rooms, gather up the laundry and start a load of wash. Next it’s doing the dishes and coming up with a plan for dinner.

I take little breaks between the tasks, but getting comfortable on the sofa is difficult because Barkley must be next to me at all times. Getting comfortable with a 55 pound dog laying on me, is not easy. Barkley is a blue-nosed pit bull that Ryan got long before he should have been taken from his mother. Ryan bottle-fed him and is afraid of his own shadow. He must have a trusted human around him, or he cries – no, he doesn’t bark or howl, he cries like an infant. He simpers and you can see in his eyes that he just wants someone to tell him he’s going to be OK. I’ve never liked pit-bulls, but this one is different than any other I’ve ever seen. Ryan and Nicole are very careful about Barkley being with the children. Barkley is never left alone with them and the children have learned not to lunge for the dog. They have been taught that Barkley needs gentleness and that’s exactly how both kids and dog behave. I’ve been extremely impressed even though Barkley’s constant following me and sitting with me is a pain in the neck.

Dinner is planned and probably started and a load or two of laundry is complete. I’ve been checking on Riley throughout the morning and if he’s had an accident in the bathroom, I must go clean that up. It’s time for lunch which may be leftovers or a sandwich or soup. I go down the hall, for the millionith time, to take him his tray. If I am lucky, he will finish before Young and Restless comes on so I can lay on Emily’s bed with Barkley gated from entry and settle in for one and a half hours of rest and enjoyment. Sometimes I fall asleep, but most days I do not. Riley always naps during this time and it’s a relief to know I don’t have to make another trip down the hall for a while.

After my respite, I continue with my dinner plans, fold the laundry and put it away, and clean up in mine and Riley’s room. Now I have a couple of hours before everyone gets home from work, school, etc. I can get on the computer and see what’s going on. I check on OARS, the blog, comments, bank account, Facebook, etc., etc. If I have time I’ll write a post.

Everyone piles in the door at the same time. The toys I put away this morning are instantly scattered back throughout the living and dining areas. Both kids want a juice box or a snack or something to digest. When I first got here, I was freely giving the kids anything they wanted. But, their parents reminded me that if they get lots of sugar before dinner, they will not eat. I’m not as quick to oblige them anymore.

My great-grands are the most talkative children I’ve ever seen. It seems they do not know how to stop. They use their indoor voice, but it’s like a bunch of magpies at a convention. I try to pay attention, but they often loose me in translation. Somehow, their parents are able to sort through it and know what is important from what is just chatter. I’m amazed at their ability. I remember trying to explain to my daughter that everything she thinks doesn’t need to be vocalized – but I wasn’t successful. She’s now an adult and has out-grown her need for vocalization.

We have dinner and then Ryan takes charge of their baths. In between we keep expressing to Brian that big boys potty in the toilet, but he insists he doesn’t want to. It is frustrating because he will tell us that he is busy pooping, but when we tell him he needs to go poop in the toilet he becomes quite adamant that the toilet is not his preferred repository for bodily functions. We agree that we don’t want to use the toilet as a punishment. We are patient. All things in due time.

There are no set bedtimes. It really isn’t necessary. Emily will just quietly disappear into her bed. Brian gets extremely hyper as he gets more tired. He plays “red light, green light” which involves him running in circles and suddenly starting and stopping. After a couple of runs around the room, he crawls into his mother’s lap and falls sound asleep.

It’s quiet in the house now. Nicole and I can now spend a few minutes talking about the day, house-hunting, budgeting, meals, plans and other things. I’m exhausted. I need sleep. I climb into my bed and listen to Riley. He’s now sleeping on his side rather than his back and the apnea seems to have subsided. He talks in his sleep. Eventually I fall into a welcomed slumber. My mind and body prepare for the next day.

We are looking for a house where Riley and I are more separated from Ryan and Nicole’s family. We want to be in the same house, but not in exactly the same space. It will happen, but we must be patient (OH! There’s that word again!). The right place will come along. In the meantime, we’ll just keep doing what we are doing. It seems to be working so far.

To My Commentors - 8/26/2012

Since I started reviewing the comments, I’ve only had to delete one – which was not related to my blog. It was basically an advertisement. Thank you all for being so understanding.

I want to remind you that a proactive site exists for communicating with others involved with caretaking or just loving an alcoholic. We have about 70 members now and are still growing. OARS F&F Group is a private Facebook page. Only members can see who participates and what they say. There is almost always someone available on the site 24 hours a day. The only rule is to not judge or criticize. Our topics are so varied – sometimes we are crying and other times we are laughing. There is a bond among the members that I’ve never seen in an Al-Anon meeting. I’m not knocking Al-Anon, it’s a fabulous support group, but I just feel that OARS goes that one step beyond.

An independent website is being developed for the OARS group and it will work similar to Facebook. It will include a forum and live chat – although Facebook works just as instantly. I have issues with Facebook and not everyone has access to it, so a separation is imminent.

To access the Facebook OARS – if you have an FB account, simply search for OARS F&F Group and request permission to join. Access is granted usually in less than a couple of hours. If you don’t have a FB account or you want to double your anonymity – create an email address (gmail or Hotmail) using a nickname. Then join FB using the nickname and request permission to join. Several people on the site do this and only use that nickname for the OARS site. It is free and is available internationally.

Anonymous 17 year old with a baby – PLEASE consider joining the OARS group. You have already experienced a lot in your early years. I know how painful it must be to watch your father destroy his life. Fathers are very important in the life of a young girl. They should protect and provide an example of the kind of man she would want to share her life with. I don’t know if you are with your baby’s father, but try to use your father’s example as one NOT to follow. However hurtful you’ve had a wonderful learning experience as to what you DO NOT want. I wish for you courage and strength as you tend to your father.

Msterfun – I agree with you – but it appears Riley is not dying. Of course, I won’t really know that until I can get him in to see the primary care doc (earliest appt was in Oct.). But, for now, I must assume he is simply physically ill and not dying. He is a handful to tend to even in sobriety. My main consideration at the moment is that we live with my grandson’s family. There are two very young children in this extremely small space. I CANNOT and WILL NOT expose the children to Riley’s insane drunken behavior. For now, at least, Riley is alcohol free and will stay that way for as long as I can manage it.

Jo – I just now this very minute accidently deleted one of your comments. I’ll try to replace it later today. I’m very sorry. It was not intentional. My cursor was in the wrong place when I clicked. That’s what I get for having both things open at once.

Syd – Riley has said he would like another letter and now that he’s a bit better he will try to write back. I’ll send the new address in a separate e-mail. Thank you very much.

No more comment drama...

I’m pretty thick-skinned. I do pretty well with criticism and welcome opposing points of view. After all, we are all different and no one person thinks or believes or agrees with every other person on this planet. What a boring place this would be if we all thought alike. So I’ve always welcomed comments that didn’t agree with me. They are helpful to me to be objective and re-evaluate my own perspective.

My readers have always been had the privilege of posting uncensored comments. I haven’t reviewed them before they post. I have let everyone speak their own mind no matter how they expressed their opinion. I have deleted only two comments in the past two years and they were ones that had nothing to do with the blog or content – they were just filled with pornography.

I have always felt that everyone has a point of view that deserves to be heard. I am a strong woman and (for the most part) can take whatever is dished out. Yesterday I met with a social worker from the Veterans Administration who pointed out that disrespectful comments made on this blog can hurt people other than me.  I have a lot of readers who relate to what I write as a story of their own life. They see themselves in my experiences. When someone posts a hateful comment, it is not just hateful towards me, it is also hateful towards those readers who have made similar choices. It’s not just about ME anymore.

There is also the issue of the rudeness upsetting my family. They take the commenters words personally and want to protect me. I’ve asked them not to respond to the hurtful things people post, but the comments have become so upsetting, that my grandson’s wife, could not help but lash back (grandaughter).

It is a shame when the actions of a few result in innocent people having to pay the consequences. Unfortunately, this has become the case. For now on, I will review every comment before it is posted. I will not post comments that are venomous, mean, rude or hateful. It is cowardly is hide behind anonymity in order to hurt others. Simply put – if you don’t like me, don’t read my blog. I invite you to NOT be involved in anything I do.

I still welcome opposing points of view. I will not edit the comments. Everyone has a right to be heard, as long as everyone is respectful of everyone else. Anonymous comments will still be accepted as long as they are of a constructive nature. I especially like comments that provide positive suggestions and/or links to other sites with helpful information.

Thank you very much for being my readers. I appreciate every one of you. I hope you will continue reading even though there might not be so much “comment drama”.

Nightmare move...

Leaving the big country house was an exercise that could have been portrayed in a Stephen King movie. It was a nightmare. All of my careful planning and organization, hiring of the handyman and housecleaner, and hiring a professional moving company turned out to be a comedy of errors. The plan was all about timing. I packed everything I could and then the movers were to pack what was left. As they emptied each room, the housecleaner, handyman and I would clean and make any repairs. I had separated certain boxes and a suitcase for the movers to take to my grandson’s house rather than go to storage. The “storage room” stuff was totally separate from the “grandson house” stuff. The boxes were clearly marked with red tape. I needed the movers to take them because my van was totally packed.

But, the timing was thrown off when the movers called to tell me they could not get to my house until 3:00 p.m. I thought – well OK – it shouldn’t take more than a couple of hours for the truck to load and we’d be completely done by 7 p.m. It was not the best scenario because it meant the cleaners and handyman would have to come back the next day to finish the job. But I needed to move forward.

To make a long story short – the moved was complete at 4:45 a.m. the NEXT morning. To top it all off, my careful separation of storage and house stuff was totally lost. Everything was simply thrown haphazardly into the storage room. By this time I had been awake for more than 30 hours and was not up to arguing or fussing with the rude workers. I just wanted it to be over.

I picked up Riley at the nursing home the following day and took him to our new temporary home – my grandson’s house. Riley and I are now sharing the master bedroom. It is an uncomfortable situation, but it is only temporary. I can handle this.

I had been given specific directions from the nursing home about how to take care of Riley. He was not to be left alone for any small amount of time. He needed his meals at regular times. Bathe him daily but he was not to get into the shower. Do not allow him to try to walk – he was to either be in bed or in his wheelchair. I wasn’t sure how I was going to meet all the requirements. My grandson’s wife had been searching for a personal aide for him, but had not had much luck.

The first 24 hours were very unpleasant to say the least.  By the end of the day I decided that I would try to help him regain some ability to walk. He had had NO physical therapy at the nursing home and I thought maybe with a little exercise and practice, he might be able to become at least a little more mobile. I was right. He can now get to the bathroom and he has discovered that he can make it to the toilet in time which means I don’t have to change messy diapers. He still wears the pull-ups in case of an accident – but for the most part he takes care of that by himself. This takes a HUGE load off my shoulders.

Riley has not expressed any interest in leaving the bedroom. He watches his TV, eats and sleeps. That’s his day in a nutshell. When everyone is home, the rest of the small house gets chaotic and he cannot handle the noise and confusion.

On the way home from the nursing home, Riley told me he couldn’t wait for a sandwich and a beer. I told him I was happy to make him a sandwich, but that there would be NO beer – or any other alcohol for that matter. As long as we are living with the kids, he would be alcohol-free. And – since we are looking for a larger house to share with the kids on a permanent basis – he better get used to the idea of not being drunk. He did not argue and has not asked for anything to drink since.

Over the past couple of weeks, I’ve had to leave him alone for short periods of time. When I returned everything was fine. I did not find him on the floor or stressed or drunk. So it seems, I am able to do things like grocery shopping or running some errands. I’m never gone for more than two hours – but it is a welcome time away from the house.

Sleep is a different story. Riley doesn’t sleep well through the entire night. I hear him gasping for a breath of air. I suspect he has some sleep apnea – which I will address with his primary care physician. I wake up each time I hear him make a noise that doesn’t sound “right”. As a result, I never get a full eight hours of sleep.

I keep a small supply of my own medication at my grandson’s in case I get stranded here and can’t get to my regular supply. I had been using my emergency supply because my suitcase containing my prescriptions ended up somewhere in the storage room. I thought that I could get my grandson to get them out and that it would not be a problem. However, when the boys went to the storage room, they had difficulty even getting into the shed to find anything. They did the best they could to move boxes around and still – there was no suitcase.

Because I couldn’t find my medication, I started making phone calls to the doctors who had prescribed them. I got nowhere. I left messages. I talked to the nurses. I was told that I had just had my meds refilled and if I wanted another prescription, I needed to make an appointment to see the doctor. I didn’t want to drive two hours to a doctor that I didn’t like when I knew those meds were in that storage room. But, basically, I was without my meds for the better part of two weeks.

I made an appointment with a primary care doctor here in the new location. I thought, I’d just start over with a new doctor. I explained my situation and the new doctor was happy to see me to get a prescription for my meds and then give me a physical later on in the month. This was good. I felt I had found a solution. I was exhausted and feeling generally yukky, but this would all be resolved.

Like any new patient, I expected the appointment to be lengthy. What I did not expect was the medical assistant coming in looking at me with concern and asking if I felt OK. She didn’t wait for an answer, but took my vitals and said she’d be right back. When she returned with the physician assistant, we talked a bit and then I was told they had called an ambulance to transport me to the hospital. I was confused and found that I was having difficulty answering the questions. Why was I going to the hospital? I just needed my prescriptions refilled. I couldn’t be gone that long from Riley.

The next thing I knew I was in the ambulance with a couple of EMT’s named Bruce and Eric. Bruce was talking softly to me and asking me questions. I didn’t feel like I could answer him. He told me not to worry they would take good care of me. I tried to tell him that people don’t “take care of me” – I take care of them. But we were now moving on down the road to the hospital.

When we were finally in the emergency room, my daughter came over. She told me that my blood pressure was extremely high and the doctor suspected that I was going to have (or having) a stroke. I remember hearing the numbers 200 and something over 100 and something. I repeated that I just wanted my prescriptions refilled. A doctor came over and asked some questions. My daughter talked to her because now I was so distraught that nothing was coming out of my mouth that made any sense.

I was given some medication and almost immediately I felt more relaxed. I was whisked off to getting a cat scan. By the time I returned to the room, I was dozing in and out. I was tired and just wanted to get to sleep.

The scan showed that there was no NEW damage. I got enough medication for two weeks and was sent home. I was told to make sure I took ALL my medication everyday as prescribed. I was instructed to get plenty of rest and make sure I avoided stress. If I do that, I should be fine.

My search for a personal aide for Riley continues.