Cheryl fell in the shower this morning. Slid down the wall is probably a better description. I heard no thumps. It is always our discussion – I’m going to take a shower. Okay, I will listen for thumps. Thanks. And then she goes to the big bathroom to get cleaned up. Today I thought I heard her futzing with her walker but she was occasionally bumping the shower door as she tried to reach the hold bars to pull herself back up.
I ordered a shower mat from Amazon. I told her from now on we put the bench in there with it. A few weeks ago I had the plumber put in the really fine hand held shower head in preparation for this day. Several times I have suggested that she use the bench. Resistance to infirmity is great. No bench she insisted up until now. I will insist but I want her to maintain as much independence as she is able.
The shower floor does not seem slippery to me but I could be wrong.
One foot in front of the other. One step at a time.
Punding certainly can be challenging to recover from during lucid episodes.
In our latest distressful activity, she has lost part of the equipment she uses for a pedicure. I have no doubt that she had it in her hand when she decided to do something after its last use. And it became “organized” somewhere. I may be wrong but we will see. She says that people move her stuff around and sometimes hide it.
Gone now to that special place so that it would not become lost.
Perhaps a trip to the local Walgreens will help. Maybe I will buy two kits.
Every morning at 7AM the extremely LOUD, BRIGHT AND ANNOYING alarm clock sounds its happy tune to remind us that it is time for Cheryl’s first dose of various meds. My job is to get up and find them. I get a glass of water and bring them back to the bathroom. All of this disturbance usually awakens Cheryl. I help her get up and shuffle into the bathroom to the toilet and then to the counter to take her meds.
Her fingers may not be working well in the right-after-get-up time. At 7AM and a little, she dropped one on the floor. I got her to take the rest of her meds and eased her back to bed. I laid down too after finding that the little white pill she dropped was to combat her orthostatic hypotension which is low blood pressure associated with Parkinson disease. I put this pill with her vitamins that she took later while eating breakfast.
She takes midodrine to combat the hypotension. Generally it seems to work. This morning when she took it separate from her other meds but with her vitamins and shredded wheat, she became lightheaded and fainty feeling. When one checks out the link I have provided, one finds a wearying array of side effects, all of which or none of which are associated with other meds that she takes.
This morning she fainted while I was talking to her. She was looking gray in the face at the time. I helped her to the floor and propped her legs up on a chair. I sat on the floor with her for a bit until she felt like she could sit up. I outweigh Cheryl by about a hundred pounds or so and to me she feels pretty light. I also forget that we are the same age and that means neither of use is twenty-two anymore. Nevertheless I help her up by positioning a chair nearby and she pulls herself up or I get behind her and lift her straight up with my legs. I probably should not lift her but she really does not weigh much in my mind.
It has been awhile since Cheryl fainted while eating breakfast. A couple years ago it was sort of common and occurred maybe once every other week or so. It was so commonplace that I staged a pillow from our couch in one of the kitchen chairs to put under her head for a bit while she was laying on the kitchen floor recovering. Thinking back on it, it crept into our lives so gradually that the two old people living this Parkinson life thought little of it other than, oh crap another new thing to deal with.
A casual mention in conversation to the medical team in a visit a couple years ago caused Maureen to give me the “stink” eye look which said to me, when were you going to mention this? I realized fainting is not a good thing or even a thing that we should merely deal with over time. She gave Cheryl a prescription for midodrine and instructions to take two when you get up and two more during the day spread out. Later this was adjusted to one in the morning, one mid-day, one no later than three hours before bedtime. I now had a use for all seven boxes of our meds organizer.
I found this a couple years ago on Amazon. Ours has black lettering and I created a chart to stick inside the lid.
A pretty long story but in addition to this little blog of mine I have started a little log of anomalous activities and the surrounding circumstances. The doctors and nurses are not looking at Cheryl every day. That is on me.
I got up at about half after eight. We had been up at 7AM for meds and she went back to bed. I knew she had not slept well overnight. As I got up and she headed toward the bathroom, I talked about what the days events would bring. We have nothing on the calendar except for the exercise class, I told her. There is no church today. Today is Thursday. Yes, she replied.
I went to the kitchen to make coffee. As the beans were grinding I went out to fetch the newspapers. When I returned I set the coffee maker to making coffee and turned on the CBS This Morning show while waiting impatiently for the coffee maker to complete its task. Finally after an arduous four or five minutes where the succulent aroma wafted through our small living area the coffee genie made its happy gurgle and later a tiny beep. I poured a cup. Heaven is fresh bread straight from the oven and fresh coffee made from beans ground only moments before.
I carried my mug to my chair purchased during the waning days of the Trump administration with stimulus funds. I restarted the DVR recording so that I would not miss any of the covid, border, weather or political disasters. I nestled in for the first sip and looked at the WSJ front page. I few minutes later I checked and she was getting ready for church. I was in time to head that off with a minimum of anger from her that “no one tells me what’s going on”.
As I headed that off I reiterated that she did have exercise class today and she should dress for that.
After enjoying much more of my mug of joe I returned to check on her. She reported numb fingers and she was angry about it because it was causing her to drop things – her watch – and making it hard for her to put in her earrings. She thought she had broken her watch so she selected a different one.
The watch she was trying to put on was one which she rarely wore. It has a clasp that is hard to visualize even with the new reading glasses I got recently.
Cereal for breakfast this morning and a new thing – checking blood pressure – because of the numb fingers were at the top of her list once she came out of the bedroom dressed and ready for exercise. We left for PCF right on time. And then as we approached the parking area, zip, unzip, zip again, unzip again, different zip, the same zip as previous over again — I asked what are you missing? My little pill bottle. I want to find a Hall’s she told me. I helped her search to no avail.
Damn! We are out of Hall’s. It is the only, absolutely the only thing, that can relieve a Cheryl scratchy throat. (I am whining a bit. I have tried to push other solutions. All have been rejected, alas.) The fact that we are out was interpreted by me over time after a discussion about the Hall’s being kept in the upstairs bathroom cabinet so that the hallucinatory kids would not find them. (Smiley face) But we are out. I did not register the out part.
Later at PCF we searched the purple multiple zippered perfect purse but, alas again, no Hall’s in the little pill bottle. It fact there was no pill bottle. Where is that? It is not in the many zippered bag.
I left Cheryl to start her exercises and I went to Walgreens down the street to stand in line behind three people grocery shopping at Walgreens while I hold a bag of Hall’s that eventually cost me thirty-nine cents. I should not be a curmudgeon about it. I own Walgreens-Boots stock.
Cheryl really did not use a purse much. She had one she used when the children were small but with small children there is a lot of extra baggage and equipment so overtime she consolidated everything. So it is my recollection that she did not carry a purse but I am thinking that is probably incorrect.
As her neurological condition degenerated I encouraged her to carry a purse. I helped her find a purse that had a long strap that she could drape over her shoulder and would not require her to keep a hold of it with one hand. She needed more and more to have hands free to keep her balance and grab me or the door frame or the car or the back of a chair or the back of a bench or a stair rail or something.
The first bag I helped her find was a smallish brown leather purse that was perhaps 10 inches by 8 inches and a depth of 4 inches. She carried little with her. In my maleness it seemed adequately sized for the couple of things that had to go along. Glasses case, small wallet, keys, a pen or two, a small package of tissues, this purse had room aplenty for all of these. We left Target with our prize one evening after eating in Frisch’s restaurant across the road from Target.
Two things happened over a period of weeks. The strap, although it seemed adequate at the time became inadequate. The capacity mysteriously reduced in much the same fashion as a cotton T-shirt that had resided too often in a hot water bath to be cleansed.
Back at our favorite Target store we found a somewhat larger green cloth purse with a different style of strap which I thought could be made much longer. Alas I was foiled by the fact that the straps did not get longer as it first appeared. The straps converted the purse to a mini back pack. Unsure of what to do about that situation or whether it might prove useful for Cheryl, we gave it to one of our granddaughters who happened to be visiting a few days later.
The selection at Target seemed to be shrinking. I started to search Amazon for a suitable new carryall to replace the rapidly shrinking brown artificial leather messenger bag. One night the pinkish purple purse appeared in my Amazon search window. It is available in other colors and made of a canvas material. Most importantly Cheryl likes it.
It has other features that are not readily apparent. It has a total of five zippered compartments. These provide the entertaining feature of hiding most anything that Cheryl puts in there. Additionally there are several internal zippers that provide further confusion for any parkie. It is, even without these extra attractive accouterments, a fine messenger bag with plenty compartments to organize one’s stuff whatever that stuff may be.
This purse can be a distraction and an entertainment. Cheryl often zips and unzips one or two or three zippers as soon as she spies this purse benignly resting on the edge of the table as it is shown above. It is a delicate dance between her and the bag. Men cannot understand the attraction to the zippered compartments.
Parkinsonism must provide a bit of obsessive-compulsive attraction to the zip itself. Much like a fidget spinner the zipping happens but somewhere in her thought process she puts stuff in, maybe takes it out, maybe not, maybe moves it so that it is in a better situation.
She seems in no hurry to disparage this bag and it features. Sometime she will complain that it has too much in it. That is good information.
I try to unobtrusively observe where she has placed objects in the purse. I often place her medications in her purse before we go somewhere if we might not return before the next dose. Have you ever watched the guy with three cups upside down a pea or a pebble underneath one of them. Same thing with the zippers if close attention is not paid.