Ma Bell

Mom has a phone, and she's not afraid to use it. She may not have the same skill set she once had, but she manages to plunder through. She has her own land line in her room at the skilled care facility. She had a cell phone until she lost it. I'll save that explanation for another post.

She rarely answers her phone, and I'm not sure if it's because she is not in her room at the time it rings, or if she doesn't hear it. Another reason could be that the handset doesn't get recharged because she forgets to put it back in the cradle. As a result, her voice mailbox stays full, and she can't remember to dial *88 to retrieve the messages.

Actually, the full mailbox is just as well - it seems her friends that call do not understand that I only recorded the message they hear. For some reason, they believe they have called me instead. They leave messages like, "Oh, Iris!  I didn't know I called you ... Well, anyway, would you let your mother know I called? This is ____.  Thank you.  Oh and I hope you are doing well!  Byeeee!" 

Other messages usually are from solicitors for things Mom doesn't need. I think Life Alert finally stopped calling after I answered the phone while there. "No thank you - we are paying through the nose to have a call button by her bed."
Recently, Mom called me late at night, several nights in a row.  I stay up late, so that's not a problem. However, her reasons were odd. She called to remind me of something that I had already taken care of, and another call was just to make sure I was alright. Then, she'd want to chat a while. Talking with Mom is like conversing with Darth Vader. I know she can't help having COPD, (though it was her fault she smoked like a steam engine for 50 years) but it is very frustrating to hear the air from her oxygen blowing into the phone, combined with her breathing through her mouth. As she talks, she gets out of breath, so her talking becomes more labored. The depletion of air intake has a direct correlation with her cognitive abilities. The more she talks, the less reasoning capability she has.  It's a vicious cycle.

My sister called the other day and said that Mom had called while my sister was out and left a message. "I know this is terrible to say, but the message was ..." Deborah paused.  

"Funny?"  I asked.

"Well, yeah," she said. "The first thing I heard was 'sschhhllllllllllhhhhhhhh.' Then, 'ehhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh..'"

"Yup, that's Mom," I chuckled. 

After another second or two, Mom starts puffing our words like a bingo machine ejecting balls. "Deborah - Call me -- when you get a chance. - Thank you - This is your mother."  Mom punctuates her messages with "This is your mother," as if we wouldn't have a clue to her identity otherwise. 

If there was a way to have the "Imperial March" play every time Mom picked up her phone, I think I would look forward to her calls more.

Texas Pete heats up seniors

Years ago, Mom almost died from a bleeding ulcer. She's never been a huge fan of really spicy foods, but she has been known to get an upset stomach from taking medicine without eating something. After she was in skilled care a few months, she formed a few friendships, and usually eats meals with the same women.

One day, mom asked if I would pick up some hot sauce for her at the store. Surprised, I asked why; she said that one of the women liked it. 

Sometimes talking to mom is like getting details from a five year old. 

I prodded more and learned that one of Mom's friends keeps a bottle of Texas Pete in a holster on her walker. She uses the sauce daily, and evidently provides her own. Mom has noticed that several people will used this friend's sauce at different times, but never offer to replace or replenish the woman's supply. It seems that Mom wanted to pay homage to the woman's generosity while demonstrating how someone with good manners would not take advantage of that generosity.

I can appreciate my mom wanting to do something nice for someone; however, her reasoning and gesture was somewhat questionable.  I suggested that if Mom wanted get the woman at gift at Christmas, we could consider that option, but to buy a bottle out of the blue seemed a bit obvious.

Also, in an effort to prove that not everyone engages in martyrdom,  I mentioned perhaps the facility provided the bottle, and because the woman likes it so much, they let her carry it around. Texas Pete is not something commonly put on the dining room table for haberdashery by the elderly. Surely, though, they kept it in stock along with other condiments.

Mom wasn't completely satisfied.

Finally, I told Mom that she need not get involved in the hot sauce debacle and said, "Mom, the woman is an adult. If she wants to share her hot sauce, she can.  If she feels she is being taken advantage of, she can say 'No.' If her family thinks she is running through her supply quickly, they will check on it. For all you know, she has a whole case stashed in her closet."

Mom conceded, but I knew she was upset with me for squashing her visions of a high noon hot sauce shoot out against the varmints squatting on her friend's proprietary vessel of elixir.