Tunesday : Mother's Little Helper

Mother's Little Helper

(Richards, K / Jagger, M) Performed by The Rolling Stones

What a drag it is getting old.

"Things are different today,"
I hear ev'ry mother say
Mother needs something today to calm her down
And though she's not really ill
There's a little yellow pill
She goes running for the shelter of her mother's little helper
And it helps her on her way, gets her through her busy day.

"Things are different today,"
I hear ev'ry mother say
Cooking fresh food for a husband's just a drag
So she buys an instant cake and she buys a frozen steak
And goes running for the shelter of her mother's little helper
And to help her on her way, get her through her busy day.

Doctor, please, some more of these
Outside the door, she took four more
What a drag it is getting old.

"Men just aren't the same today,"
I hear ev'ry mother say
They just don't appreciate that you get tired
They're so hard to satisfy. You can tranquilise your mind
So go running for the shelter of your mother's little helper
And four help you through the night, help to minimise your plight.

Doctor, please, some more of these
Outside the door, she took four more
What a drag it is getting old.

Life's just much too hard today, "
I hear ev'ry mother say
The pursuit of happiness just seems a bore
And if you take more of those, you will get an overdose
No more running for the shelter of a mother's little helper
They just helped you on your way through your busy dying day.

I know I've written quite a bit about my mother-in-law and her struggles with Alzheimer's - and especially about how grateful I am to Rudy and Dan for offering to share a home with the old folks - but I haven't written much about my role in the whole situation. It would be a stretch to refer to myself as the "mother's little helper" here, but I can heartily agree, "What a drag it is getting old".

I got a call last week from Rudy: She thought that her Dad (who has had three heart bypass operations over the years) was looking flushed and quick to tire, so she insisted on making him a doctor's appointment for the next day; would I be willing to come and sit with my mother-in-law, Bev, for a couple of hours? I happened not to be working that day, and nothing could be easier: I was in.

I went over, read my book for a couple of hours until Bev got up, and then I made us some eggs and toast: breakfast for her, lunch for me, and she protesting the whole time as she sat at the table, "I could be doing that cooking. You don't need to come here and take care of me." She hasn't touched a stove in years, but I acknowledged  her protest as I made a production of simply wanting to help out. We ate and moved to the living room, and just as I was starting to think that this appointment was taking a very long time, Rudy called to say that the doctor didn't want to fool around with heart symptoms - they had been sent to the hospital for x-rays, and she didn't know how long they'd be gone. I've known my mother-in-law for nearly thirty years, I'm as comfortable with her as I am with anyone; but not being comfortable with most people, I found myself fumbling with their TV remote, suggesting we see what was on.

We watched one after another of the daytime roundtable shows (Kelly and Ryan, The View, Canada's The Social), with Bev at one point running off to the washroom, afraid that she wouldn't make it there in time. She was gone for quite a while, and although I know that Rudy would have been in there helping her clean herself, I just honestly don't know what Bev would be comfortable with me doing; what I'd be comfortable with me doing. She slowly made her way back down the hallway, in new pants, and we continued watching TV; her giving commentary every now and then; me nodding and smiling. At one point Rudy called to say that the x-ray had shown no new cardiac damage, but that her Dad did have too much fluid around his heart. They were going to give him some Lasix (in order to pee out the excess), but if they didn't like the way everything looked soon enough, they were thinking about admitting him. And that was a stunner: it all worked out that I could come and sit with Bev for as long as it took that day, but what would we do if Jim wasn't home soon to take over? Who would watch her at night? Or the next day; the next after that?

Eventually Rudy and Jim were able to come back home, and they explained that the hospital had ordered stress tests for later in the week. They went last Friday for the blood-taking portion of the tests (and Rudy and Jim took Bev to the hospital with them), but today was part two of the test, and I was asked to go over there again. No problem.

When I arrived this time, Bev was in her room getting dressed (so no quiet time alone for me this week), and she came out just as Rudy and Jim were leaving. Jim had put Bev's pile of morning pills on her placemat at the table, and I poured her a glass of juice to take them with; encouraged her to have a seat while I whipped her up some toast and eggs again. She didn't want to sit yet, and she laughed at the idea that everyone thought she needed a babysitter, and I laughed too, saying that I was just there for company. When I looked over my shoulder while I was cooking to see if she had sat down yet, Bev was reaching for Jim's pill organizer and saying, "I just need to take my pills I guess." She had just taken her own pills, literally, a minute earlier, and if I hadn't been there to stop her, she'd have added more that weren't hers. I guess she does need a babysitter. (When I mildly stated that she had just taken her pills and didn't need any more, she looked at the organizer in her hand and said, "Sometimes I don't think I should take Jim's pills, and he shouldn't take mine either, because that wouldn't be the best thing." Right-o.)

Bev had her breakfast, we moved to the living room (and I didn't fool around this week; I turned on the TV right away), and we watched most of the same shows as last week; Bev adding commentary, me smiling, agreeing. The whole thing feels a bit phony from my end, but I do hope that Bev is feeling taken care of. She made a statement about how she's getting used to living here; thought she was confiding a big secret by admitting that she hadn't wanted to come, but now really enjoys being able to see more of all of us. So, that felt normal and lucid. But later, Bev started talking about how sad she was to lose her father so young (he passed suddenly before she was even married, and this is a frequent topic for her lately), and a minute later, she was talking about how much she had enjoyed becoming a grandmother, adding that her Dad had been so excited when Dave was born because he had had only daughters himself and was looking forward to having a boy around: of course, he had been dead for many years before Dave was born. Bev ended that story with a consternated look on her face, so she may have been realising that her math didn't add up. I smile, I nod, there's no reason for me to correct anything.

Again, the whole thing took longer than I could have anticipated - I was there for four hours - but I'd do it again in a heartbeat. It turns out that this week was a "chemical stress test", so instead of putting Jim on a treadmill and physically stressing his heart, they injected him with some kind of stimulant that simulated heart strain - and this was such a strain that he had to lie down for nearly an hour afterwards before he felt well enough to be driven back home; I have no idea what that means medically; what it means for our future. So, there you go: I'm not quite mother's little helper, but man, what a drag it is getting old. (It feels ironically pertinent to add here that Bev is only two years older than Mick and Keith.)