myjourneysinsight

I SEARCHED FOR A SMILE

Posted on October 3, 2013 by Judy

This post title has a line of lyrics from my song, “More Than You Know.” I was editing that song last week so it could add it to my audio book. My song is about letting go.

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more-than-you-know

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I was standing in line at the pharmacy when a man walked by me and said, “You sure are look happy!”

I was taken aback and realized I had been smiling unconsciously. I grinned and said, “Well, smiling is my default!”

I’ve often said that a smile lights the way for me. It happened again the next day. I was on my way over to see my mother and wanted to pick up lunch for Miriam and I before going there. The easiest thing was to grab something at a sandwich shop across the street from her nursing home. As the store manager rang up two salads for me she said, “Weren’t you here a few days ago? I remember you.”

I told her how nice it was that she remembered me. And I knew that my smile was the reason.

Then I asked her, “Any chance you might have a job available here for my son?” As I left the store, I beamed because she gave me information for him to apply. She said she would consider him and asked me for his name.

My 23-year-old son was very discouraged. He graduated college last May and was searching desperately to find a job. He told me he’d be willing to try anything and I wished I could help him more. For certain he wasn’t alone. I had met and heard from many people how difficult it was to find a job.

The nursing home was two blocks from the sandwich shop, and I was still singing along to a karaoke of one of songs as I pulled into the parking area. As usual, I thanked God for my music. Staying positive and calm despite my mother’s declining health was important to me.

I knew my mother was well cared for by her companion Miriam, but at the same time Miriam couldn’t replace me. Guilt was a cloud that I constantly dodged; I called to check on things consistently but I didn’t devote my life to spending every day with my mother anymore. When she had been in and out of hospitals several years ago, I had.

On Wednesday, I usually joined my middle brother and nephew at a nearby restaurant. In the morning, I called my brother and told him that our mom was far too weak to go to a restaurant. I could tell he was worried and very disappointed.

The beginning of my awareness that things had turned began today.

I realized those outings were over. My mother no longer had the strength to stand, and lifting her into a car would be very difficult.

When I walked from my car toward the nursing home, I saw my brother and nephew standing near my mother’s wheelchair. They weren’t going to stay for lunch, but had stopped by for a brief visit. I hugged them both and said perhaps she’d be able to go out with us to our usual restaurant the following week.

With those words, I was lying.

Miriam had sent me a picture of my mother sitting outside the day before. It came with the beautiful message that my mother was enjoying the sunshine. I shared the picture with family and friends and even attached it to the last story I wrote about my mother and her struggles.

But the truth was that I didn’t really look closely at the photo of her bathed in sunlight. I hadn’t really noticed how my mother’s mouth was wide open. It looked like a smile, but it was actually her attempt to breathe any air she could.

As soon as my brother and nephew left, realizations of my mother’s situation began to set in. I was horrified to see her this way. Her jaw was receding as she gasped to breathe. She was skeletal.

During my last few visits with her, she had been sleeping and her eyes were closed. Now they were wide open.

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It was hard to look at my mother as she studied me intently and rattled with every breath she took.

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Losing Mom 2

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Miriam and I found a table in the shade where we could eat our lunch. I was so happy to see Miriam and she felt the same way. But I felt tears continually oozing out; I quickly wiped them away. My eyes were foggy and my smile felt forced.

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Miriam went to get my mother’s lunch and bring her tray outside to our area. As soon as Miriam walked away, I bent close to my mother’s face. I clutched her hands and they were soft and warm. It was just the two of us.

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But we were not really alone. I felt the presence of death and so did my mother.

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I put my head against her cheek and she slowly mouthed a kiss upon me. I began to cry.

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I told my mother how sorry I was that I couldn’t find a way for my brothers to reconcile so she could see us all together. So many times I had promised her it would happen.

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Miriam returned and became very emotional watching us.

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I told Miriam, “Did you know that my mother reunited her brother and sister when they were no longer speaking? She waited at her sister’s doorstep and screamed at her. My mother actually damaged her vocal cords when she did that. But she did manage to get them to make up.”

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Suddenly my mother croaked, “I sure did!” I felt my heart pound and was amazed – she was aware of what I had said! But then she began to cough and choke from the effort of speaking.

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Miriam said quietly, “Judy, she heard everything you said. Do you realize how much this means to her?”

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Then Miriam added, “I always talk to Shirley and sometimes the nurses wonder why. They tell me that she doesn’t get it. But I know she does.”

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This picture was taken a few months ago.

We had finished our lunch and I told Miriam it was a little too cool in the shade. I thought it would be nice to take my mom over to the garden area where it was sunnier.

Miriam pushed the wheelchair over to a spot near a bubbling fountain. It was serene and peaceful. As we sat in the sunshine, Miriam noticed the large scar on my arm. She said, “Judy, you were really burned badly there.”

I smiled at Miriam and said, “You know, my scar is just a part of me. When Jason died, my soul was amputated. There were scars from that and you just can’t see those scars. I clearly remember how agonizing my burn felt when it happened three years ago. But now my arm has healed and it doesn’t hurt anymore. I know it looks awful. Grief is the same way.”

I didn’t tell her that whenever I looked at my scar, I was reminded of all the years that I had carried breakfast upstairs to my husband on the weekends. I dreamed that someday I would experience having someone do that for me.

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I burned my arm two years ago when hot tea spilled on me. I was carrying a tray with breakfast on it for my husband.

My mother studied me intently. I remembered how years ago I very much liked a song that was named “In My Daughter’s Eyes.”

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Suddenly, I was thinking of what I could write related to what I saw in my mother’s eyes.

I finally allowed myself to look into her eyes.

It was quite difficult because I was gripped by emotion that ripped my heart open.

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My mother’s left eye was blind from macular and the other was hooded and drooping. Her eyelashes were moist and clumped.

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Both her eyes were filled with deep love.

But my heart ached because I saw so much sadness. She knew death was approaching.

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She was worried about me.

First, I told her how much I loved her. Then I let her know I’d be okay and told her how strong I was.

Relieving her of worry would help her to let go; it was just like when I helped my father to die but in a different way.

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I said, “Mom, I’m so lucky to have Miriam; she’ll always be a part of my life now. I’ve made a wonderful new friend because of you!” Miriam hugged me.

I wondered if my mother were still fearful about dying. She often told me that it terrified her.

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I was thankful that I didn’t see fear, only sadness. Her eyes held resignation. I believed that it was because she didn’t want to leave. She loved all of her children so much.

I remembered how vital and active she was. I told Miriam, “Did you know I had to fight my mom to use a walker? She fell so many times before she accepted one.”

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Then I turned to my mother and said, “I’ll always remember how we rode bikes together. And how I dragged you through Costco with your walker. You loved it and never complained even when your back was hurting.” I found my smile for that moment.

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Miriam said, “Judy, you know she lives for moments like this with you. It’s so beautiful!” Miriam began to cry.

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For over an hour I chattered on about my life hoping she was able to understand what I talked about. I spoke to her just like I used to before dementia stole her awareness. When dementia left her mute, I often wondered if she was understood the conversations that went on around her. It was almost like she was invisible.

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For such a long time, I didn’t know what to say to her so I said very little. It was far easier to talk to Miriam.

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But now it was different. The time was ticking loudly and every moment was elevated. Because I knew how much she appreciated my words, I allowed myself to open up more.

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Now my mother heard all of my reasons for getting divorced. I told her how wonderful her grandchildren were. And how every time I was in the kitchen, I felt her presence. I loved sleeping in the bedroom where she and dad had slept for over forty years.

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I let her know how much I loved living in the home I was raised in.

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Eventually, it was time for me to go.

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I was teary and said, “Mom, are you really okay? Are you happy I’m here?”

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I couldn’t believe I said something so needy!

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Once again, my mother used all of her throat muscles to emphatically croak, “Yes!”

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Memories with my mom 1

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A tank of oxygen was connected to her. When she coughed, I imagined she was drowning.

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And there was nothing I could do to stop it.

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I looked again into my mother’s eyes. They were unblinking and resigned. She was very still for a moment.

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I found myself imagining that she had taken her last breath and all of this was over.

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Her will to live was unbelievable. But death wasn’t something she could overcome, despite her will.

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It was hard for me to leave her and I cried as I said goodbye. I staggered to my car gasping. Waves of tears engulfed me.

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I wondered as I drove home how I would keep smiling.

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© Judy Unger and http://www.myjourneysinsight.com 2013. 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.

Tagged acceptance of loss, acoustic guitar, Aging Parents, Caregiving, composing, death, dementia, grief, GRIEF RELATED, guitar, inspiration, letting go, losing a mother, loss, loss of a mom, love for a mother, love never dies, lovesong, lyric development, lyric writing, lyrics, Miriam, More Than You Know, mother, mother and sadness, mother daughter relationship, mother dying, mother with dementia, mother's illness, Mother's love, Music, Ordinary Life, original songs, singing, songwriting, tribute to my mother, writing | 1 Comment

COLORS AND SOUNDS FILLED ME WITH DELIGHT

Posted on October 2, 2013 by Judy

The link below is to a more detailed illustration story on my blog “Illustrating My Life:”

LAYERS IN MY LIFE

This post title is a line of lyrics from my song, “Music Saved Me.” A link to the song and story is below:

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Link to my story about how Music Saved Me

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Art is my profession; music is my passion.

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Art and music are two creative pursuits that define my life. I realize that I didn’t include writing. I’ll save that for another story, because writing is definitely my remedy!

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There are many similarities between art and music for me. I believe the most obvious parallel between art and music would be “layers.” Every illustration I create starts with layers. The order, selection and placement of those layers affect the outcome. When painting with watercolors, my washes are transparent veils of colors that I gradually build upon.

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I am now primarily a digital illustrator. I separate every item in the composition on my computer. Then I arrange those items to fit comfortably into the label area I’m illustrating. I use whatever reference I can find and often shoot my own photos with an inexpensive digital camera.

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Below is an example of my digital process. I was still teaching myself how to do this when I illustrated a label for the salad company, Ready Pac. My illustration was for a Caesar salad dressing label and the ingredients needed to be arranged in a specific way to fit the space.

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My photo of ingredients

My final illustration (the lemon was taken out).

With music, the ingredients are the lyrics, chords and my vocal – all of which are deeply defined by me. And with every song creation, the order that I create those ingredients is different. Sometimes I’ll scribble lyrics on a scrap of paper in my purse. Late at night, I might discover beautiful chords while playing my guitar. Other times, I’ll hum a melody that I can’t shake.

Music has layers, just as an illustration does. Clearly defined layers comprise my song’s arrangement. Arrangements are simply layers (or separate tracks) of instrumentation and include my vocal and guitar recordings. George has also told me that the order of an instrument we choose affects the entire arrangement. He has told me he plays different melodies, which dance in harmony to the sound that came before it. That is exactly like the creation of a watercolor painting when I must decide which areas to paint first.

Music Layer visible as colored stripes in the computer program Protools.

Music layers are visible as colored stripes on the computer program Pro Tools. I have learned to read and edit waveforms.

With art, I strive relentlessly to please my clients and that can involve numerous revisions to an illustration. With music, I strive to please myself. There is even a similarity between those because it is a relentless task. I am very demanding of myself!

I do appreciate humor and it has been an excellent coping tool for me. I have heard several times from people who have read my blog that my writing has them both laughing and crying. Perhaps that’s why I wrote a song named “Laughter and Tears!”

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It occurs to me that I haven’t written anything really funny for a long time.

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My final illustration of Marion Berries. The client was very particular about the color of this berry.

When I illustrated Marion Berries for a flavor of yogurt recently, there were a lot of versions I created in order to satisfy my client. Here were some of them below:

Marion Berry ideas

When I shared my illustrations with a few friends, I received a message back from Dr. Sam with a picture. It was:

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Close, but this is Marion Barry….

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I far prefer illustrating a pepper like this one.

These peppers are a lot prettier than the story I am going to share below!

“Hot Stuff”

Sometimes on illustration assignments I am required to sign confidentiality agreements. Even though I haven’t had to on my recent projects, in the interest of being discreet I won’t name the clients I’m working for.

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I have learned a lot as an illustrator.

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I received a small assignment to create two illustrations to go on a pizza box. One was for garlic and the other chipotle. For the garlic flavor, I already had existing art that could be used.

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Garlic

But for the chipotle flavor I had to create new art. Rarely is that required of me, since I have such an extensive library of existing food images.

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So now, I am intimately acquainted with Chipotle peppers. They were a lot harder to illustrate than I thought.

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It was because they were incredibly ugly and no actual reference existed!

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Every job of mine begins with finding reference. I contacted the art director after going to a local Hispanic market looking for an example of chipotle peppers. I told her that I couldn’t find any actual peppers to work from. It seemed that they only existed as a picture on a can. And inside the can, those peppers were soaked in Adobo sauce. I needed something better than that to work from.

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So she emailed me a picture that I will name “Pepper Corpses.”

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Pepper Corpses

I couldn’t believe it – how in the world would I illustrate peppers looking like that?

It was time for me to be truly creative. I remembered seeing dried peppers at the Latino market. I would just go back and find something “similar.” I must mention that I was also searching for reference on another assignment. I needed items of caramel, chocolate and ice cream. For a few weeks I became a supermarket sleuth! My dining room table was covered with illustration reference.

Unfortunately, the peppers I found did not really match the shape or color. Some were very tiny, long and a bright red color. Others were longer, wider and brown in color. I altered my photos and tried to match the photo of pepper corpses above. I then shot them off to the Art Director, whom I will call AD.

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AD sent me back more photo reference.

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Aha! Now I was on the right track! Once again, I went back to the Hispanic Market and went through all the bins of dried peppers while holding a color copy of those images above. The penny was helpful for size, but there was still nothing that matched. But I knew with Photoshop I could do wonders.

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As I was walking toward the checkout line, there was another bin. Wallah! There were peppers that really seemed close to what AD wanted. Hint: They were not Chipotle.

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Chipotle reference close-up

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I began my digital work and delicately erased the background and arranged the peppers into different compositions. I sent my layout choices off to the AD.

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The AD picked B. But now, the color had changed. Brown or eggplant color was out and I was instructed to create something with a deep red. I created another layout on my computer.

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Final Layout

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My layout was approved! I felt like I saw peppers in my sleep by now. My eyes burned because I rubbed them by mistake while I was photographing the dried peppers. I forgot how potent those peppers were!

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The process of creating my illustration was usually simple at this point. I printed out my image onto watercolor paper and worked over it. I used a lot of colored pencil, especially on the highlight areas that were numerous and too busy.

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Sometimes my illustrations feel very abstract as a close-up.

Sometimes my illustrations feel very abstract when viewed as a close-up.

I sent off the final art and it was a relief. I always looked forward to the message telling me my artwork was approved and that I could send an invoice. I held my breath.

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The AD sent me a message with a tiny revision. It wasn’t difficult with my computer to alter the artwork. But of course, I thought, “Why didn’t she see that sooner?”

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I made the small change and then I received her message below:

Judy! Client loves the work and is so thankful we talked them into illustration vs. photography. All approved!! : )

THANK YOU SO MUCH again for jumping on this! Shoot over your invoice and I’ll get it into accounting right away. Yippeee!

I wrote back:

Wow! You just made my day. 🙂 🙂 🙂

After illustrating peppers, I feel like I’m hot stuff.

Judy

Chipotle Pepper Final Art

Tagged acoustic guitar, arranging a song, artist, Caesar Salad illustration, capsicum, chipotle peppers, commercial artist, composing, creativity, digital art, digital illustration, food illustration, garlic illustrations, guitar, Humor, humor daily life, illustrating, illustrating food, illustrating in layers, Illustration, illustrator, inspiration, Judy Unger, Music, music as layers, musical arrangements, musical arranging, original songs, Peppers, Perfume medley, Ready Pac, songwriting, watercolors, writing | 2 Comments

DO NOT SUCCUMB – PART 1

Posted on September 30, 2013 by Judy

The sweet melody lifted me into the sky. Every note caressed my heart and soul. And when I sang along with it, it was simply unbelievable. There was nothing more beautiful in my world than this. It didn’t seem possible that within a few hours such a wondrous creation could be born.

It looped in my mind and I heard it playing even when it wasn’t being played aloud.

When it was playing, I was soaring.

When it was playing, I felt a warm tingling sensation in my heart.

When it was playing, colors glowed and seemed brighter.

When it was playing, I felt joyful and happy.

And when it was playing, I was glad I was alive.

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Below is a link to my first story about this song:

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Story behind HANG ON

suc . cumb (intransitive verb)

1. give in

2. die from something

Synonyms: yield, submit, surrender

The title for this story is a line of lyrics from my song “Hang On.”

The reason for the definition above is simple. Here is how the word succumb fits into my lyrics for “Hang On.”

Though you are numb, do not succumb.

I wrote my song “Hang On,” not long after I composed “The Unknown.” It helped heal me from my own pain tremendously.

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Living with numbness was how I operated for decades. I did not allow myself to feel anything.

Hanging on was also my way of coping. While I was hanging on, I held on tightly and allowed others to help me. I hung on with others who were also suffering like I was.

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Hanging on represented something temporary, so I was still able to dream about a future without pain.

Although I was inspired to write my lyrics related to grief, hanging on also applied to other things in my life. I’ve hung on through my divorce.

And at this moment my mother is hanging on. I am holding her tightly and we are hanging on together. I know one day our pain will go away. Love is what keeps my mother hanging onto life. But I also know that with her death, love never leaves. I feel calm and accepting and treasure this because the alternative would erase my joy and detract from my own life.

Succumbing to grief happens. I’ve watched many people succumb to their grief. Health issues resulted and even an early death. It was awful and sad. I have been proud of my survival of grief, and prouder still of allowing happiness into my life.

It was because I was determined not to yield, submit, surrender or succumb to my grief. When my child died, my grief was so powerful and suffocating that it left me trampled on the ground.

But I didn’t lie there.

I crawled and moved forward. It was love that kept me going.

Succumb is not a pretty word to sing. But it does tell my story.

A picture of my mother as a child.

Update on my mother’s condition:

Message from Dr. Sam:

Hi Judy…. I agree with what you are doing…there is a big push now to put elderly patients on hospice, ending their life and the associated costs of treatment. Sometimes, of course, hospice is valuable…when patients have terminal diseases and wish to be kept comfortable at home or in their facility. But your Mom still seems to get enjoyment out of life, continues to eat, and obviously enjoys seeing you and going to lunch. I think that the kind of treatments you are giving her are perfectly appropriate…no hospitalization does NOT mean no care, and make sure you keep reminding the nursing home of that, and what your wishes are.

I had an 86-year-old practicing attorney admitted to a local hospital with a fractured shoulder…they tried to put HIM on hospice, after he became disoriented from too much pain medication. His daughter, also an attorney, had a fit and stopped them…but we are seeing more and more of this, unfortunately…Sam

Wow, thank you, Sam. I think every situation is unique to what the person wants. My father wanted to die and I followed his wishes. I know my mother really clings to life and this would be what she wants. She doesn’t seem to be suffering, and very much enjoys seeing my brothers and I. Although the rest of the time can’t be easy for her – Miriam sure helps. Judy

Message from my middle brother:

Judy, how is mom today?

I checked in on her yesterday and spoke with Miriam this morning. She’s off oxygen!

I think she made it through the stress of receiving gamma globulin and is getting her strength back. It sure doesn’t seem to be a hospice situation like it was last week.

An administrator from her nursing home called to admonish me for insisting they arrange transportation to the gamma appointment that I was able to insist upon. She said, “It’s not our policy to switch things around at the last minute.” I became irritated when she began lecturing me.

But I turned it all around by saying, “You’re calling me – but I should have called you first! Thank you for taking my mom to that life-saving appointment.”

After that, the woman didn’t really know what to say. I told her this was not a regular thing at all. I would have carried mom myself to gamma if I had to.

Love, Jude

Message from a friend:

My, what a saga, Judy. It proves once again that a person definitely needs an advocate.

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Link to Part 2 of this story:

DO NOT SUCCUMB – Part 2

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My mom and I on an outing to see snow. I’m in my early teens.

In this picture, my mom is with me as I graduate preschool.

Tagged Aging Parents, child's death, compassionate friends, composing, creativity, death, death of a child, grief, grief bereavement "Loss of a Child", GRIEF RELATED, guitar, Hang On, healing from grief, healing music, inspiration, let love shine a light, loss, love is never gone, lovesong, lyric development, lyric writing, lyrics, mother, mother daughter relationship, mother's illness, Music, music as therapy, music healing, optimism, original songs, positive thinking, singing, songwriting, writing | Leave a comment

ALL YOUR STRENGTH IS IN ME

Posted on September 27, 2013 by Judy

My father hated to throw anything away. He saved all my childhood artwork. I probably drew this when I was about eight or nine years old.

Normally I went out with my mother for lunch on Wednesdays. But an hour before, Miriam (my mother’s companion) called to tell me my mother wasn’t well enough to go out this week. So I decided to visit both of them; we’d just have lunch at my mother’s nursing home instead. But when I arrived, it was clear something was terribly wrong. This was not the chronic respiratory condition my mother usually had.

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The charge nurse tried to be patient with me. I kept interrupting her; anger seeped into my voice and I felt heat rising in my scalp. I was upset when she told me that no doctor was available to check my mother; the nursing home did not have a doctor that came to the nursing home on that day.

As the nurse gently explained the procedures, I made it clear that my mother had immune issues. A week earlier I had complained that she was coughing and would benefit from an antibiotic. She was given one and had improved slightly. But over the weekend, she took a turn for worse. Why hadn’t another antibiotic been prescribed when it was clear the first one wasn’t working?

I emphatically stated that just because my mother had a “no hospitalization order” – it didn’t mean I didn’t want measures taken to give her a fighting chance.

The charge nurse told me that even though a doctor wasn’t available to check her, a nurse practitioner would be coming soon. An hour later, I received a call and was glad I had stirred them into action. My mother received increased oxygen and many tests were ordered.

Before the call ended, the charge nurse asked me to consider hospice for my mother.

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Like an echo in a canyon, her words reverberated through my mind over and over again. I wasn’t ready. My father’s death felt fairly recent, even though it had been over a year ago.

I noticed that I still held onto the feeling that I had control over this outcome. With the breathing treatments, the nurse said my mother was responding. In another day my mother would receive a boost of gamma globulin, which also might make a difference.

Later that day, I received a call with results of an x-ray. The nurse spelled out the letters of CHF for me. After I hung up, I figured out those letters stood for congestive heart failure.

My mother was 88 years old. She had become increasingly frail over the past six months. Her decline with dementia for the last three years had also been unstoppable. But her love for me always permeated. I slowly discarded the fear of her ever not recognizing me.

I thought I was ready for this. My mother who was so close to me had left my world three years ago. She was replaced with a shadow of her former self. Despite her ferocious ability to cling to life, it was not easy to watch her struggle.

I often wondered, how would I remember her? This frail, sweet loving woman was not the woman who danced through stores shopping with me. I was so blessed to have a mother who accompanied me to all of my childrens’ doctor appointments. She usually planned my birthday months in advance. With her decline, I pretended she still had awareness although she had no idea about calendar days. I would just buy myself a birthday gift and show it to her while thanking her for loving me so much. Despite her advanced dementia, she would glow hearing my words.

I decided it was easier to remember my mother as she was now. Letting go of “a shadow” – was something I was able to do.

It was far more difficult to let go of memories of the mother I longed for at the onset of her illness.

But my longing gradually turned into quiet acceptance. I marveled at my strength. It was best she did not accompany me through my divorce and a huge relief. Yet I was heartsick that my brothers had not reconciled so she could see all three of us together while she was still alive.

That was another reminder of how little control I had.

Was her death is imminent? In a few days I would know.

It seemed possible that she could recover as she had many times before. But she was certainly not going to live forever.

My mother was weak and clearly exhausted. In my heart, perhaps it was her time.

There’s never a good time to lose someone you love. Only a week ago, I felt so peaceful and happy.

My journey had finally taken me to a place above the pain and sorrow I had camped in. The valley of sadness was below me and I had crested onto a beautiful peak. The vistas in every direction allowed me to fully appreciate my remarkable journey.

I rested on that peak and wondered what to do next.

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Even with dementia, I know how blessed I was to have my mother’s love. She was excited to see my first new car in twenty years, which I leased last December.

My mom and my new car

I want to share something that I found in my father’s memorabilia. My mother wrote four pages about the experience of losing her own mother. She wrote it a year after her mother died to read at the unveiling service for her mother’s gravestone.

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As I read her typed pages, I remember observing her grief. I was perhaps nine years old at that time and it was difficult to see her sadness. It was my first lesson about grief and I’ve never forgotten it. Clicking on these two pages make them larger.

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Message to both my brothers, yesterday:

Mom was too sick to go out for lunch today. I brought Miriam a sandwich and just visited her at the nursing home. Mom was having some trouble breathing and couldn’t open her eyes. Even though she was struggling, I knew she was aware that I was there; she tried to mumble a few words.

They were cooling her because she had a slight fever and keeping her as comfortable as possible.

Mom was supposed to have received her monthly gamma globulin treatment this past Monday, but the office cancelled it and rescheduled it for this coming Monday (the doctor had jury duty). This happened when she really needed the boost to her immune system.

I wanted to see if she could receive it any sooner than this Monday because it might help her with this situation.

Anyway, I managed to get it arranged for Friday. I also let her nursing home know that even though mom has a “no hospitalization order,” they can still give her an IV with antibiotics or fluid. It’s interesting that they think her situation is “do not treat,” which it is not.

Love, Judy