HARMONY, FRIENDSHIP, AND COMFORT, PART 1

Posted on May 5, 2010 by Judy

I am sharing correspondence with my high school choir teacher, Frankie Nobert. There is also a message to my friend, Amélie. Twenty years after high school, Amélie, Frankie, and I began to have annual lunches. It was a wonderful opportunity to reconnect with the teacher I worshipped in high school. I will share her story and insights about life someday.

A card I gave to Frankie a few years ago as a gift.

 

 

Lunch in March, ’09. Amelie didn’t show up. Her sister died that week of breast cancer.

On December 12, 2002 Judy wrote:

Dear Frankie:

It was so nice to receive your annual holiday card. You look great!

I’m hanging in there. It’s been an interesting year – I’m still so busy with my three children. I would love for us to have our three-some brunch with Amélie soon. Have a wonderful holiday season!

Love, Judy

On December 11, 2002 Judy wrote:

Hi Amélie!

How are you? I received Frankie’s annual card; it feels like time to make a plan. I’ve been busy with my children. It has literally been consuming me, and all my time. I’ve had some illustration assignments, but it’s been slow lately. My head has not been on my career with all that’s been going on.

Last year, all my energy went into stabilizing my oldest son. I learned everything I could about H.F.A. (High Functioning Autism), and benefited from the support of an advocate/friend. In fifth grade, things got worse – by summer, he was not doing better. I fought with the school district, because I wanted him in a less stressful and safer program for middle school. They had no placement for him, so in September I kept him home from school. I went to Due Process with my advocate and won! He now is attending a non-public school at District expense. He is picked up every morning in a taxi, and he loves going to school. He is doing very well now.

The hard part was that I never did get to relax at all. My daughter had been doing poorly in school all this time, and is exhibiting great depression and anxiety. I am currently fighting to get help for her at the school; she also has some mild dyslexia.

On top of that, my littlest child was diagnosed with ADHD (I’ve known it for a long time, and he’s severe). He is repeating Kindergarten this year and has learning disabilities, which the school refuses to acknowledge. I think they hate me at that school!

I just keep sending letters, keep going to meetings, and keep insisting on all kinds of tests for my kids. I’ve often felt an unreality about my life now – how is it possible that all of my children have these problems? It’s been like a full-time career.

I swim laps to ease my stress, and stopped eating most carbohydrates. I’ve lost about 50 pounds, which has really helped. Anyway, have a nice holiday and thank you again for your sweet gift. I sure hope life is going well for you.

Love, Judy

On July 12, 2003, Judy wrote:

Dear Frankie:

The time that I shared with you briefly, before catching up with Amélie, was very special to me. You always seem to be incredibly sensitive and I feel such a connection with you. When you shed some tears, I was overwhelmed with the emotion of feeling understood.

There is so much grieving that I am still going through. Time helps a lot, and now I’m grieving for some of my recent disappointments. I’m glad that I have the good health and energy to cope with things – it makes a huge difference.

You looked absolutely terrific – the last year you seem to be more at peace. Maybe all of your travels are giving you such great satisfaction; you look beautiful. I hope you stay well and continue to feel good. Until we meet again – I look forward to our next brunch!

On July 13, 2003, Frankie wrote:

Dear Judy,

Thank you for the beautiful message. I also feel a great connection with you; perhaps because of the losses we have both experienced. Since David’s death, I seem to be so much more sensitive to others’ situations, and I tend to shed tears more readily.

We are both so fortunate to have good health, Judy. I remind myself daily of how lucky I am, especially when I see what is happening to some of my friends. For you it is doubly important, with the challenges life has presented with your children.

Yes, I am at peace, especially now that I have made the decision to leave my church position. Doing so will give me total flexibility of schedule to “follow my bliss.” I appreciate your sensitivity in noticing my current state.

Judy, I will think about you when I am performing on July 24. I do hope the morning will go well for you.

Love, Frankie

April 20, 2006, Judy wrote:

Hi Frankie,

I found some messages on a Grant High School message board that you might enjoy. Thanks for sharing your concert info – I wish I were able to get away to come. Some day! Hope all is well with you.

Love, Judy

GRANT HIGH SCHOOL MESSAGE BOARD:

Favorite Teachers

From: DAVID 1972

To: ALL

(1) I Loved Mrs. Nobert!

Hey Alumnus!

Remember Mrs. Nobert, the music teacher? I never had her as a teacher, but I knew her through some of my friends that were in Girls Glee and Choir.

She was such a kind lady. I remember sitting on the steps of the seven hundred building and being on the verge of tears. I was fifteen at the time and had just been subjected to a bunch of crap that morning from my parents and the make fun of David steering committee. Mrs. Nobert took me into her room and tried to get me to release my emotions. She said I would feel better. At that time, I was afraid to actually cry.

Boy, I’ll never forget that kindness.

Anyone care to share some memories of this kindly lady?

From: Brian 1974, Aug 3, 2004

To: DAVID 1972

(2) I Loved Mrs. Nobert! (In reply to 1)

Mrs. Nobert was the only bright spot in my senior year. I had two semesters of harmony with her and enjoyed every minute. Her class was the only one I looked forward to. She was very kind and encouraging.

From: Karen 1975, Apr 19, 2006

To: DAVID 1972

(3) I Loved Mrs. Nobert! (In reply to 1)

Hi Dave —

I still stay in touch with Mrs. Nobert, or Frankie, as we call her. I bumped into her at LAX on my way to Oakland in the Southwest Terminal, just by chance a couple of years ago. She was a great teacher and musician. She made us memorize the Carmina Burana and several Bach motets. She was quite a perfectionist.

We all had to blend our voices into one unified sound, some of us more capable at that than others!! She still concertizes on the organ all over Southern California. I just remembered one day in harmony class where we were sight reading and something Steve said or did made her laugh so hard she had to leave the room . . . the wonder years . . . so much talent from Grant.

Music made the difference for me there. Thanks for sharing this story. There was magnificent talent in many ways at that school during the wonder years, and I know I will never forget it.

On Jun 12, 2007, Judy wrote:

Hi Frankie,

So nice to hear from you! I received the info for the upcoming reunion; I hope you’re still planning to go. I wish it wasn’t so expensive. Although I’m sure there will be many couples, it seems so wasteful for my husband to go – he will be left out as I catch up with everyone. And at that price, it seems silly!

Life has thrown me another curve. My mother became very ill – nothing specific, but she had excruciating back pain. The pain medications caused severe dementia, and she became child-like and demanding. It was so difficult for me to see her (and my father) suffer, and the stress of going to the hospital constantly was tremendous. After many MRI’s and scans, nothing was truly found – but because of the pain, she stopped eating.

That caused an electrolyte imbalance, which was actually the reason she was hospitalized. After being in and out of the emergency rooms and hospital five times over a period of several months, it became clear to me that my father could no longer cope. I ended up moving both of my parents in with me. It is gratifying to see that with good food, and loving care – my mom is slowly improving.

My dad also lost a lot of weight, and refers to himself as a shell of his former self.

However, as all this was happening, I began to have stomach problems. Last week I had a colonoscopy – it was more painful than I expected. Anyway, the doctor called me with the results yesterday, and said I have microscopic colitis. I am very depressed about all this, as you can imagine.

Fortunately, my children are coping and doing fairly well. My husband’s mother has been challenging for him – so he is also taken up with many additional demands. His mother is at an excellent nursing facility, and we applied there for my mom.

I am just grateful my mom didn’t have anything broken, or had cancer. I’m grateful also that nothing like that was found on my test either.

I’m glad to hear you’re performing. I hope you’re feeling healthy, and that things are going well with you.

Love, Judy

On Jun 12, 2007, Frankie wrote:

Oh, dear Judy, what a time for you. Please take care of yourself during this enormous period of stress. You are wonderful to take in your parents, and I am sure they are grateful.

With love and concern,

Frankie

Sent: Wed, Dec 2, 2009

Dearest Frankie,

This morning my mom was put on a respirator to help her breathe. Obviously, this is very serious. However, we were told that she’d be kept sedated and comfortable; she cannot be awake while on the respirator. It will be a few days of this, at least. We are holding out hope that she will be able to come off it.

I feel helpless and I’m trying to be positive.

Love, Judy

On Dec 2, 2009, Frankie wrote:

Dear Judy,

I am certainly with you in thought and in spirit. A dear friend and I had a long conversation recently, because the second anniversary of my long-time male friend was last Friday.  She made a comment that I have been considering a lot this week. She believes that when it is a person’s time to go, he or she will move out of this life. Perhaps that is true.

Love, Frankie

On Dec 2, 2009, Judy wrote:

Thanks, Frankie. I still have reason to be hopeful, however, because I have been so close with my mom – I’m preparing myself. I’ve always understood the time would come, but I also know how I will miss her so much. I am trying to grasp that reality, and I’m walking around like a zombie.

It’s all sad, but part of life. I’ll continue to keep you posted.

I did get a big art job, which will be quite a financial help. It will be a tough diversion, since I won’t have as much time to go to the hospital. I hope I can pull it off.

I always appreciate your kind words. When I hear the holiday music, I have such fond memories of choir and caroling. I hope you have a nice holiday.

Love, Judy

On Dec 2, 2009, Frankie wrote:

Dear Judy,

Art can be healing, which I hope will be the case for you during this very difficult time. You are on my mind a lot, especially because my mother was ill for so long.

Much love and lots of hugs, Frankie

Hi Frankie,

I didn’t know about your mother, Frankie. Maybe that’s why I can feel such compassion in your messages. It’s probably the hardest thing to love someone, and bear their illness. I can hardly imagine how it is done over a longer period of time. I can see how wearing and exhausting it is. I know my mom wouldn’t want me to fall apart, and I can’t afford to.

It does help to reach out. Email is definitely helpful for me to stay connected. Thank you for all your kind, supportive messages. One day we will talk; you can share with me what you went through with your mother.

Love, Judy

Dear Judy,

My mom died in 1983 after a twenty-year battle with cancer. The last year or so was very difficult. I wish I had lived closer to be of more help, but at least I spent the last Christmas with her before her death at the end of January. Even though such losses are part of life, they are very painful, as you know.

Do you have any good friends who live close to you and can give you support? Just to be with one of them can help you keep some kind of perspective. Also, as caretaker, you need to be careful about your own health.

Much love, Frankie

On Dec 18, 2009, Judy wrote:

Thanks, Frankie. Today was rough. My mom’s teeth were clenched in a grimace, and her eyes had a far-away look. I am really trying to prepare myself.

I am in the limbo hell, and you’re right that I need to watch my own health. I have a wonderful woman that helps me – she does hypnotherapy. I feel like she’s a friend, as well. It has truly made a difference for me.

As always, your messages buoy me.

Love, Judy

On Jan 17, 2010, Frankie wrote:

Dear Judy,

My brother and his wife hired a wonderful sitter for my mother when she was in the home (Jewish, actually).  It was a godsend and helped her spirits enormously. It is very important to have a constant advocate for someone in your mother’s condition, if it is feasible. As another friend said, you do need to think about your own mental and physical health.

Thanks for keeping me posted.

Love, Frankie

On January 26, 2010, Frankie wrote:

Dear Judy,

I have been reading these exchanges with your amazing support group and have marveled at their insights and your resilience. May the sun shine brightly on your life in the coming days after all the stormy times from the sky and from your surroundings.

With much love, Frankie

On January 26, 2010, Judy wrote:

Dearest Frankie,

Your insight and resilience has been coming my way with your daily emails. You don’t even write more than a sentence. Yet, I feel so much – even with your added graphics you are showing me how much you care. The resilience coming my way is really you looking in a mirror!  I will never forget the lunch we first had when we reconnected after so many years.  As my favorite high school choir teacher, where I had my most favorite high school memories – I was honored to see you again twenty years later.

I remember it was a few years later, and you were grieving David.  I didn’t know anything about your personal life. You were eager to accept all my Compassionate Friends literature to read. It didn’t matter that David wasn’t a child. Grief is horrible, and we became forever bonded after that.  I understand so much now. I even understand that there are different forms of grief, like the pain I felt when my children were diagnosed. It doesn’t matter what the reason is – it sure helps to have human support and understanding. I even feel sadness inside for you, with the loss of your beloved kitty, Cuddles recently.

Sometimes, clichés are true – time does heal. But not for everyone, and we are forever changed. I mourned the changes I went through because of grief, but those changes have allowed me to be a deeper and more compassionate person to others. I hope.

Looking forward to our annual lunch soon with Amélie. After all, she missed our last lunch because of her sister’s death a few days before. We will have a lot of catching up to do.

Love, Judy

On January 26, 2010, Frankie wrote:

Dearest Judy,

Your reply is very beautiful. Thank you. I vividly recall our sharing the grief after your loss and then mine. I have always felt a special bond with you since that time.

May you have a chance to recover from the latest traumas with your mom and her lack of care.

Love, Frankie

On Feb 1, 2010, Frankie wrote:

Dear Judy,

Yes, you are absolutely right that our lives have been enriched and deepened by all of our experiences. I definitely believe in positive thinking, even though it can be a challenge sometimes.

Have fun with the guitar!

Love, Frankie

The plaque between us at this restaurant says, “Artist’s Table.”

© Judy Unger and http://www.myjourneysinsight.com 2010. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Judy Unger with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

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ILLUMINATING HEARTACHE

Posted on May 2, 2010 by Judy

The beauty of lighting candles was always in my home. I am lighting a Chanukah menorah here. I’d guess I’m about six years old.

“Last Night”

My heart was pounding. I didn’t like hospitals at all. This particular hospital that I was entering was the same one where I had given birth to Jason.

I had decided to go to the hospital to see Sonia. I was carrying a brown shopping bag. Inside were my mom’s electric, Sabbath candlesticks. I told her I was “borrowing” them for a very good reason. Also in the shopping bag were egg bread, grape juice, napkins, and little cups.

As I exited the elevator, I saw Sonia. She was with another good friend. Sonia was wound up like a top.

Sonia’s voice was filled with anger as she recounted the endless barrage of difficult decisions that had been foisted upon her with indifference bordering on cruelty.

There was a lot of listening to do. She shared her anguish with a voice that did not reveal the true depth of her pain. The hospital insisted that her dying husband be released to her care tomorrow. She was not prepared.

The doctors felt there was nothing more that could be done for her husband. She was now responsible to set up hospice care. She would need a hospital bed and nurses. Sonia was overwhelmed.

I told her to tell the hospital, “No.” What would they do if she weren’t able to do this immediately?

Sonia said she had asked to see a social worker for an entire week. She was still waiting.

I handed her the bag.

Her voice cracked with a sob as she shared that she had wanted these things for the Sabbath!

I was surprised at myself. My mother is quite religious, but I am not. My mother lit Shabbat candles when our family went on a cruise ship. When she was hospitalized, I became responsible to make sure the candle lighting tradition was carried on. I lit the candles for my mother, even though I normally do not light Sabbath candles.

Sonia’s appreciation washed over me. I basked in it; because I had never yet found a way to thank her for all that she did for my son.

I mentioned to Sonia how my son was upset that I made this visit without him. I decided that he was too young and might not be allowed in. I didn’t want my plan to bring these Sabbath items derailed. I let her know how worried my son was for her.

She said, “You know your son – he is my therapy!”

Sonia was torn to pieces. She and her daughter were disagreeing. There was a lot of anger toward the entire hospital situation and the resulting helplessness.

Then Sonia said, “My daughter came in on April 30th, because she already had a ticket. She purchased it a long time ago! Can you believe that coincidence?”

I could.

“She was coming in for a twenty-fifth college reunion. She was going to have fun with her college friends, and she was looking forward to it for months!”

Her daughter did not go to her reunion.

Her daughter’s face had so much pain that I felt like I wanted to hug her. Earlier, she shared with me how this was all so familiar. Her son was close to death once. She had a severely, disabled son at home.

The pain in that waiting room was so palpable that my heart began to ache intensely.

Her daughter said, “Please, mom, you must eat! You cannot keep going without eating!”

Her daughter looked at me and said, “Will you please convince my stubborn mother to eat? She has not eaten all day.”

With some convincing, Sonia, her friend, and I went downstairs to the cafeteria. I decided to eat something also, and called home to let my family know.

As we were eating, I decided to ask Sonia some questions. This was what stood out for me:

She lost her entire, immediate family in the Holocaust.

She was sent to an orphanage and then to a convent.

Her brother and sister might have lived if they had stayed with her. She and her siblings were smuggled out of the ghetto for the summer and were hiding on a farm. For safety reasons, she was going to stay on. She was only eight years old.

Her siblings wanted to go back to the ghetto. She screamed at them before they left and begged them not to go. The next day after they left, they were killed along with 41,000 Jews in a horrible massacre.

That massacre was the day before Yom Kippur. That is the same day of “Yarzeit” (Jewish death day) for my son, Jason. My beloved son’s Yarzeit would forever now be linked with Sonia and her family!

After the war, she was separated from the beloved uncle that had helped save her. That alone was wrenching for her, for now she was alone. She ended up in Israel.

She met her husband on a kibbutz there.

I was glad I had come to the hospital. I was certain I would be spending more time with Sonia. The circumstances would probably be different, as this “crisis” would morph into something more like post-traumatic grief after the crisis.

Sonia’s voice still sounded very strong. That was until she mentioned her most painful moment.

Her voice began to break as she recounted a terrible moment the day before. Her husband pointed at her. He said, “GET HER OUT OF THE ROOM! I DON’T WANT HER HERE! SHE PUT ME IN THIS INSANE ASYLUM AND IT’S HER FAULT!”

Sonia began to cry. She continued by saying in an anguished voice, “I didn’t know what I was supposed to do at that moment!”

Her agony continued as she spun through the decisions that required instant answers. How would she take him to his dialysis three days a week in this condition? The confusion for her was there, because he had an inoperable, malignant brain tumor.

She hadn’t yet processed what that meant, because dialysis would prolong his life.

She choked again as she shared, “He said to his doctor to go ahead and test the tumor if it would help other people.”

His doctor said to him, “Sam, the test is only for information about the form of cancer you have. It is not for research.”

That was enough sadness for me for one evening.

A note from my youngest son to Sonia.

© Judy Unger and http://www.myjourneysinsight.com 2010. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Judy Unger with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

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A DAUGHTER’S LOVE – PART 2

Posted on April 30, 2010 by Judy
I wrote this to my mother as a child.

I wrote this to my mother as a child.

Today I wasn’t sure what I was going to write about. I had that familiar pain inside which told me I had to write something.

Since I’ve been feeling Sonia’s pain, it seemed that this would be the time to continue sharing the story of my recent ordeal during my mother’s hospitalization. I’ve entitled my story “Trying to be Positive.”

That is a perfect title for me. I have been feeling a little overwhelmed with continuing stress in my life.

I may convey a lot of the pain, however, along my life’s journey I have met some wonderful people. They are my heroes and heroines; it gives me so much satisfaction to be able to write about them. I celebrate how blessed I have been to cross paths with kindness that has overflowed onto me.

Lately, I’ve felt much less humorous and I haven’t felt like sharing my daily trials and tribulations. Those trials are continuing, for sure.

Only today my mother called to let me know how uncomfortable her feeding tube has been for her. She is not a “complainer,” and I’ve seen first hand how the annoying tube has eroded her quality of life.

It has been over a month since I “strongly” requested its removal. I’ve spoken with many nurses, doctors, and staff at her facility. As I write this, I begin to feel the slow boil of anger welling up inside of me.

The “daughter bear” fury isn’t helpful for me at this moment. I did call today, and I barely contained my anger. I found out that my mom’s feeding tube is scheduled for removal in two weeks. It’s a shame I had to do that, because the facility should have informed my poor mom. It would have alleviated so much of her anxiety.

I’ve noticed how the elderly are treated like ignorant children. Often my parents receive little notice of an appointment. Usually they’re told the day before or that same morning. It’s as if planning and anticipation of an appointment is insignificant when you’re old!

I do realize how difficult it is to change this system, especially when I consider that their facility is significantly better than most.

Lately, my father hasn’t looked well at all. Today, I asked him if he could go to a meeting tomorrow morning regarding my mother’s care.

My father said, “I’m out of the picture!” He explained that he couldn’t deal with anything related to my mother’s care anymore. He was honest and direct about it, but he had a lot of sadness. He hates to add to my burdens.

So tomorrow I will attend a meeting regarding my mother’s care at her facility. There is no one else that would do this for my mother. There’s no point for me to ask either of my brothers to take off work. Maybe I will someday.

College Graduation day with my mom.

A DAUGHTER’S LOVE – PART 2

Dec. 3, 2009

We don’t know if she still has pneumonia. Being on a respirator, cannot be helpful. However, she was not oxygen deprived and I’m trying to remain hopeful that she can recover. Tomorrow, if she’s able to come off the respirator – that would be a huge hurdle. I’ll continue to keep you posted.

December 4, 2009

I called this morning at 5:30 a.m. and spoke with mom’s nurse. The process of weaning is still on going.

So far, I was told that mom is doing “okay.” She is off sedation, and they are going to check her blood gas to determine how things are going. The tube won’t be removed until they’re certain.

December 4, 2009

Boy I hate drama! I’ve been living practically all week at the hospital, and I’m looking forward to the brief break tennis offers. Especially to be surrounded by friends who understand and care.

I called starting at 5:30 (I hardly slept last night). The process is ongoing, and my mom is breathing with the tube still in. A doctor will evaluate things, and make a decision in a few hours.

I hope my problems won’t interfere with everyone else’s game on the tennis court, but honestly, it will be fine to just play a good, hard game – I don’t feel chatty.

December 5, 2009

A procedure was done this morning to have a scope put down my mom’s throat, and have the breathing tube removed.

The tube was put back, but a smaller one was used. It was determined that my mom is fighting pneumonia. She is being kept heavily sedated, and is not uncomfortable. Obviously, she has a tough fight ahead, and I appreciate your love and support. I will continue to keep you posted.

They are keeping her fully sedated with the same drug that Michael Jackson used.

December 6, 2009

I spoke to mom’s nurse last night, and she was exceptional. The nurse also said mom’s vocal cords were not swollen, just that there was a lot of pus. Mom is getting three antibiotics, which supposedly will cover the bacteria involved.

Mom has been having low-grade fever, which they are not treating with Tylenol unless it goes over 100.5. I will discuss this with her doctor, because she should be made comfortable. When you’re older, even a low-grade fever still hurts.

Advocacy never ends. I feel empowered when I can make a difference.

Still not sure how things will play out, but it’s still possible my mom might improve.

December 7, 2009

I did feel better in the morning.

The doctors seem to be optimistic, even though I realize that I either want this to not work out or for her to make a total recovery. It’s that grey area that will be so, so hard for me. It could be years and months of torture – for her and for me.

There I go . . . I’m going to stop that. Yesterday, I went to a baby shower. Although I was with friends, I was in my bubble. I smiled, and I ate so much bad food. I realized what I was doing, but didn’t stop. Of course, it made me sick. I haven’t binged like that in a long time. I feel sad that I am not treating myself too well.

Okay, I’ve got to run. I’ll be in touch soon.

December 7, 2009

My mom is also receiving nutrition through an IG tube (in her nose) to keep her strength up. Because she is sedated, I don’t think she is in any pain.

The doctors, in general, seem to be fairly optimistic that shecan recover.

Her airway is not swollen, and the pneumonia is being treated. I understand that patience is required to wean her off the oxygen tube. It is a delicate and slow process. Therefore, I probably won’t have any updates for a while.

December 7, 2009

My mom received a gamma-globulin treatment today.

Her culture taken for pneumonia did not come back with any serious bacteria. This is also good news.

Tomorrow morning, my mom will be weaned off the respirator and she will be closely monitored. Up until now, she’s been heavily sedated. For this process, she will be awake – it isn’t comfortable either. Let’s cross our fingers that she can get off the respirator.

My dad is very lost, and I bring him over to my home in the evening to keep him busy.  He is very frail.  If my mom recovers, he will be very happy.

December 8, 2009

I wish it were better. Just got off the phone with the nurse.

When they tried to wean mom off the respirator, her blood pressure and heart rate went up. So the process was halted. She’s back on sedation.

I appreciate your support. It is a roller coaster ride, and I’m exhausted. However, my mom is not in pain. I heard she was pretty agitated this morning when they took off the sedation. Thank god I didn’t see that. Anyway, it may be a long road, so I have to pace myself.

One of my many worries is that she will recover (with a tracheotomy) and won’t have her faculties or will have further loss of her eyesight and/or hearing. She’s a trouper, but I would hate to see her like that.

Anyway, the doctors are still optimistic, so I am trying to be positive.

My mom and her physical therapist. She has made all the difference.

Yesterday

The care meeting at my mom’s nursing facility was very reminiscent of an IEP (school meeting). What was most striking for me was the fact that my mom had an advocate. Her physical therapist was sitting next to her. This PT was definitely speaking loudly for anything that would benefit my mother. You could see how much she cared.

My mom’s eyes were dull and tired. She was very anxious.

The many details of her care were covered during the meeting. At the very end, I brought up an issue where my mom felt she was ignored and kept waiting for a long time in the lobby. This was because it was dangerous for her to be left alone in her room. She has had a few minor falls, due to her impulsivity.

When the meeting was over my mom said, “I feel sad and depressed about the meeting.” I had to agree with her.

I told her, “Mom, I know how hard it was to share your feelings. However, this way it can make something change. It’s far better to let them know how you feel, and give them a chance to fix it.”

I wanted to thank my mom’s physical therapist, so we walked over to the PT room. As soon as her PT saw her, she came running over attentively.

She pushed on my mom’s shoulder. “Shirley, down – put your shoulder down! You must remember the proper position!” My mother lowered her shoulder slowly. Then my mother told me, “She’s so strict with me sometimes!”

This physical therapist was responsible for my mother’s newfound ability to go out to dinner with me. Last Sunday, my mom was able to stand up from her wheelchair and confidently slide into my car. It was because this therapist has been working so hard with her!

I asked her PT if I could take a picture of them together. She obliged. I took two pictures. After each picture, she leaned over and kissed my mother. I wanted to cry, it was so beautiful.

A few minutes later, a new caregiver that was recommended to me came to meet my mother and I. She was warm and she was kind. I kept thinking how much it would have helped me if I’d had her assistance during the ordeal I went through in December. I finally have seen the light.

She will start next week.

8:30 p.m.

I spoke with my mother – she called. I told her I was busy writing, and completing online traffic school, all at the same time!

I told my mom how I completed an illustration assignment this morning, too.

My mother wanted to hear about my kids. Her love and concern for her grandchildren never ends.

After reading my emails above, I was very appreciative that she was still with me.

My mother ended the call with, “Honey, everyone has been so nice to me today! This nice man from the facility came over to walk with me. I can use a walker even better now! Are you sure I still need a caregiver? This man didn’t even charge me anything.”

I got off the phone. I was feeling positive again.

Mom's thank you card

© Judy Unger and http://www.myjourneysinsight.com 2010. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Judy Unger with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

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REACHING OUT

Posted on April 28, 2010 by Judy

A picture from when I was in eleventh grade. I cannot believe I ever had hair that long!

Recently, I’ve decided to add pictures to my blog. I see how much more interesting my blog is with pictures and documents. Choosing which photos to use has been a sentimental journey.

Just looking at my youthful pictures has been startling for me. I can celebrate that I still feel beautiful even at my age. The beauty that I feel now is because writing has opened my eyes to how much I’ve achieved in my life.

I laugh away at how this all seems so “self-absorbed.” It doesn’t jive with me at all. I’ve never been about “myself,” because I’ve always been taking care of other people. I’m still doing that, and at the same time I’m trying to encourage my children’s’ independence.

The “writer inside of me” decided to take a break for a while. When the “writer inside of me” is gone, I sometimes wonder when “the writer” will return. The process is very interesting, as I can actually imagine I might never write again.

I can only write when the desire overtakes me. Trying to fight it has been hopeless; my anxiety becomes unbearable.

It doesn’t matter how many things there is for me to do. Everything becomes pushed aside when I have the desire to write. Usually, I’m forced to do it very early in the morning or very late at night. I don’t mind at all, though. Once I’ve written something, I’m calm and relaxed afterwards. It’s so therapeutic!

I have felt a lot of sadness since writing about Cheryl. The realization of how much I’ve missed her has finally hit me. I felt honored to share what I’ve written with her family. She was truly special.

When I was living a zombie like existence for the last fifteen years or so, my tears were very few. I didn’t feel much of anything. I’ve noticed lately, how I’m able to embrace my pain. When I’ve allowed myself to connect with those painful feelings, as well as the reasons behind them, I feel more connected with life. The joy I’m also feeling is the upside of this.

All of what I’ve written so far has been leading up to the story behind my post, which I’ve called “Reaching Out.”

I’ve decided that my purpose in writing is to share with other people some of the lessons that I’ve learned in my life. That is why I’ve chosen the theme, “journey of insight.”

Today’s lesson is about reaching out. It began last week. There was a special religious school teacher. I was concerned about her because her husband was very ill.

This woman, Sonia, had many stories to tell. I didn’t know how old she was, but she had amazing energy. She had been very loving to my younger son. She had a severely, disabled grandson and understood that love and attention made a difference to my son’s life.

Many times she came to our home to take my son to a movie or out for ice cream. She called it “their date.” My son loved her.

The last time I saw her, her eyes were sunken, tired, and very sad. Her husband was extremely ill. I knew he’d been on dialysis for a while. He had an infection that was considered “untreatable.” She was now in the trenches of trauma.

I hugged her several times, and tried to absorb her pain. She shared with me her day at the hospital. She was kept waiting and was treated with indifference. Her time was wasted, and her husband had unnecessary anxiety due to incompetence. Her suffering was so apparent that I wanted to cry. She knew how much I cared. She told me, “When I am not so exhausted and overwhelmed, I look forward to talking with you more.”

“Reaching Out”

What does reaching out really mean?

To me, it means that sometimes it involves doing something we might find uncomfortable.

Often, there is an excuse of not wanting to reach out because we might impose on someone.

Sometimes, it is difficult to do something because we’re afraid it might cause the other person to be sad.

Often the truth is that we don’t want to see their sadness!

It’s far easier to ignore it! When the sadness is hidden, we can assume it’s “going away.” That is simply not true. For many people, the sadness is so much easier to tolerate when it is shared.

However, my lesson is that even though every person is different – it is well worth the risk to reach out.

The worst that can happen, is a rebuff. That is hardly a risk!

As an example, reaching out might be mentioning a deceased loved one’s name to someone who is grieving. Often, everyone is so afraid that it will “upset” his or her friend or relative.

More often than not for someone grieving, it is of great comfort to hear a name they’ve been missing every minute of their day. The acknowledgment of that glaring absence alone can be more meaningful than anyone can imagine.

I am going to share what reaching out meant for me today.

Last week, Sonia had very dark circles under her eyes. Her husband had been very ill. She has been a caregiver for him. Being a caregiver is hard enough for anyone, however, Sonia is at least twenty-five years older than I am. I don’t know how she does it.

Earlier today, when I was grocery shopping, it occurred to me that it would give me pleasure to do something to lift her spirits. I bought an orchid plant, and I asked my younger son to write something nice on a card.

When my children were very young, I had them writing cards. I learned that from my mother. It hasn’t always been easy getting them to write. When they were younger, I had them dictate to me.

I scanned what my son wrote on the card because I thought it was quite beautiful. I dug my son’s first attempt out of the trash and scanned it, too.

Soon, it was time to leave for Hebrew School. Together, we went upstairs to find the tutoring classroom where Sonia was. There were two other teachers there. I came in with my son holding the plant. I asked them where Sonia was. The other teachers had worried eyes.

They told me they didn’t know. “We haven’t heard from her all day. You might know more than we do.” I wondered why they thought that. I didn’t know her very well. Recently, I had offered to have my husband try to fix her computer. She has worked at our temple for at least 30 or 40 years!

I was told to check with the office. I was told the same thing; no one had heard from her all day. Things were definitely not going well for her husband; she was at the hospital yesterday.

However, I was told she would be coming to work tomorrow, so I left the orchid plant and the card for her.

My son became very worried. He said, “Mom, I don’t want to stay – we should just go to the hospital to see her.” I began to seriously think of doing that.

When I was with my mother everyday at the hospital, it was a different world. I felt so sorry for Sonia. However, I knew she had a son that lived nearby.

My presence might be awkward. I told my son that I didn’t know any details, and it wouldn’t make sense to go to the hospital. I would find out more while he was at Hebrew School.

I went to my car. Then I remembered something – I happened to have her cell phone number. That was because only a month ago Sonia had invited my son to a play, and gave me her cell number.

Should I call her cell phone?

If she was in a hospital room, my call could be intrusive. Perhaps she was with her sick husband and couldn’t talk. Who was I in her life to call?

I was only the mother of a boy that she had been very loving to. I’ve never really spent much time with her, other than appreciating her genuine warmth to my children.

So back to the lesson about reaching out . . .

The worst-case scenario would possibly be that she might tell me that she couldn’t at that moment. That would be it.

So many people might let this be the barrier for them.

I decided to call.

She answered the phone.

This is what she said:

She choked back her tears. I could feel them and hear them in her voice. She would have sobbed if she’d been able to. However, this was a time for stoicism. In times of crisis, our body is conditioned to deny tears. Tears are an admission of weakness when so much strength is required!

Her voice was shaking as she said, “Oh my god, I am so exhausted from this ordeal. I have been up since 5 a.m. There have been so many doctors and procedures. My husband refuses to let anyone near him unless I’m there. He doesn’t trust anyone! Tomorrow is a big day – so many decisions to make about his life! My daughter, Ruthie, is flying out tomorrow afternoon. Right now, I am taking a shower before going back to the hospital. I need to bring some underwear and a few things for my son since he is sleeping there.”

I asked her – could I drive her, or bring the items for her?

She told me she was okay with doing that. She told me she was going to “be strong,” to get through tomorrow.

I believed her. I’ve been there. In times like this, you just put one foot in front of the other.

Once again, I asked her what I could do to help her. I told her I could hold her hand if that would help. I meant it.

She said, “I would love to have the comfort of you and Reggie, but first I need to survive tomorrow. I will hang onto my hope.”

Then she added, “You are the only one who called me – the only one. You don’t know how much that means!”

But I did.

A card Sonia wrote to my son when he was Bar Mitzvahed.

“The next day”

I called Sonia. Her voice was barely audible; a whisper. I asked her if Sam was doing any better. She didn’t answer my question.

I had to ask again. “Sonia, what’s going on with Sam?”

She said, “I cannot think, I cannot make words, I cannot even discuss it anymore. We got news today. The news was very bad. I am in a state of exhaustion and shock.”

I said, “How much time?”

She said, “No one knows.”

I had a feeling. I told her, “I’m so, so sorry. Can I come to hold your hand?”

She said, “I will let you to hold my hand when the time comes. You will know. Now I have to go.”

© Judy Unger and http://www.myjourneysinsight.com 2010. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Judy Unger with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

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