Dan again, with this weekend's Estelle news.
Saturday, for us, was a short visit. Mom was sitting in the "gerry chair" in the hall when we came in. (The "gerry chair" is a reclining wheelchair, like the front seats of cars.) Laura said "Hello Estelle, how are you?" and she replied "terrible." We asked why, and the answer was difficult to understand. Laura asked if she wanted to go back to bed, and she said yes.
So, we got an aid's attention, and they got her back into bed. This is a difficult process. It consists of putting a harness under her, elevating her with a powered winch, very carefully pivoting her over to the bed, and carefully lowering her. And of course, before putting her in the sling to transfer her, there is some cleanup to be considered.
As you can imagine, it took some minutes behind a closed door before we were let in again to see Mom appear, mater ex machina, as it were, in her bed.
At this point we began the "hellos" again, but got no answer. After another twenty minutes of this process, we announced we were leaving and would return Sunday. It was disappointing to us and likely to her, but some days are like that now with Mom.
Sunday, I got over to Woodbine around 11:30 a.m., and we had a nice (and more extended) visit. I asked Mom if she'd like to go outside, and she nodded. So I got hold of an aid, and let her know where we were off to. The aid brought Mom down, and passed word to another one, who was to bring her feeding down after us. So down we went in the elevator, the aid wheeling the gerry chair, me carrying my guitar, which I'd brought because Mom had liked it back in New Jersey, and because it helps when things are quiet between us.
When we arrived outside, we had the whole patio area to choose from. We set up under the shade of a tree. With the beautiful weather, it felt like a nice little sidewalk cafe in an off hour.
The weather here was beautiful: about 70 degrees and a little cloudy, but with plenty of sunlight and a light breeze. I said to her "not quite the Champs Elysee, but it'll do." (Mom had spoken a few times of her time when she was young and working in France, and I decided via projection that she must have at one time or another spent an afternoon or two in such a spot.) This earned me an unexpected "Ha."
Vivien had called as I drove over, so once we were situated, we called Vivien, and they were able to talk a little. Unfortunately, the second aid had arrived with the feeding as Viv and Mom talked, so we had to work the phone call around the fuss of connecting the tube. But that worked out fine.
Then Mom and I talked a little bit, and I played a few songs fairly badly, but she's always had a generous ear for my middling musical talents. For the record, I can report that Mom likes the guitar bit of "Alabama Rain," by Jim Croce, at least as mangled by yours truly.
As we talked and I played, some other friends and relatives called, and Mom mainly listened to them, but did not answer very fluidly.
One of our relations passed condolences along about her brother Alan, who's recently passed away (condolences again to our English relations.) We had not passed the news along yet, and it certainly got Mom's attention - she asked "What was that about Alan?" a couple of times, so I explained to her. "My brother slipped away," she said. I said yes, her brother had passed away. I held my hand on her arm, and she slightly nodded. She asked if we had to go over. I said it was probably a bad idea, given her condition. She nodded again, and seemed to accept that. We were quiet for a little while, even for our standards. So, I asked if I should play more, and she said yes.
Marlene called a bit later. When Marlene calls from England, she usually wants to talk afterwards too. After she had talked to Mom, I told Mom I'd be back in a moment, and walked around a corner and out of earshot to discuss her condition, which is essentially unchanged.
When I came back, Mom asked where I'd gone. I said I wanted to talk to Marlene a little bit, and Mom asked "about what?" I told her to catch up on Marlene's family, and Marlene wanted to know how Mom was doing. Mom asked what I told her. I told her "you know, you have good days and bad days, like everybody." She said "yes. Today is good." I was so happy to hear that -- especially given the news -- that I confirmed, asking "Today is a good day?" She said "very good."
Our little sidewalk cafe filled up while all this was going on. There was sunlight around us, and people talking and visiting, and a nice breeze, and even birds singing. I can see how for Mom that's a very good day.
Eventually I took the guitar back inside, returned for Mom, and wrestled the Gerry chair back upstairs (with the help of another resident's family, a polite young man who held a door open as I manuevered the chair and the feeding stand through.) When we got upstairs I got her nurse to check the tube site, to make certain I hadn't somehow screwed that up by being all self-reliant about moving her back in. The nurse reports that it looked fine. Because of where I was standing and where she was standing I did not get a look at the site for myself. So long as it stayed connected, as far as the dangers of transportation go, that was fine for now. Laura (who knows much better than I what she's looking at,) will continue to monitor the site itself.
All in all, a good visit.
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