Late review: Chicago Marathon 2009

Yes, I do {heart} Chicago!

If a blogger runs a race and doesn't write about it, does that mean she didn't run?

Way back in February I had grandiose plans for the Chicago Marathon. A large group of us registered for the race the day it opened (hurry! it might sell out! do it now!). We made our hotel reservations, dinner reservations (yes, in February) and then flight reservations once they became available. Although I hadn't yet started running because I was too tired from century training, I knew that come October I'd be in tip-top shape, running fast and easy. I didn't know if I could PR but I planned on being close.

Then, as usually happens with good intentions, life intruded. My training was hit and miss. I had scheduled many runs in the 13-16 mile range so that distance would be comfortable; that was the only thing that made running a marathon possible. My during-the-week training was a joke and there were weeks when I only ran our long weekend run. In addition to all the family drama I faced blazing heat, smog and smoke and then a thunderstorm. I tried, and for the most part succeeded, to show up for each weekend run. They were my outlet and my therapy and without Bree and Anita I would have been lost. We laughed, cried and counseled each other and made the miles fly by.

Our 18 miler was a tough run because of the heat, mid-90s when we finished. The 20 miler was the best run of the year, despite the thunder and lightning and rain. My little mishap during the scheduled 22 miler turned the run into a limping 19 miler. I knew by that point I wasn't going to have the greatest marathon ever but I was certain that if I stuck with the plan I'd finish well with mostly even splits.

In 2007 it was so hot during the race that the Chicago Marathon shut down mid-way and pulled runners, those who hadn't collapsed, from the course. It was another hot race in 2008. We had prepared to run in shorts and tanks and weren't prepared for the blast of arctic cold that descended on Chicago this year. I packed for the cold, bringing tights, a long sleeved shirt, gloves, jacket and extra buffs. It wasn't enough so at the expo I also bought one of the cheap throwaway tyvek jackets and an ear warmer that I also wouldn't mind throwing at the side of the road. I ended up wearing running tights, the long sleeved tech shirt, the throwaway jacket, throwaway gloves, throwaway ear warmers, a buff around my neck and another around my wrist. I knew I'd be warm through my core but was afraid of my extremities.

We were frozen waiting at the start. After my last huge run, New York in 2007, I was afraid of what the start would be like. I'm not great in big crowds, getting a little claustrophobic. But this actually went pretty well. I thought there were enough portapotties and the lines moved quickly enough. The gear check seemed to be very organized and quite easy to get to. The corrals were a little harder to deal with, especially close to starting time when every single person decided they'd be the last person to enter. It was hard for people to squeeze into the faster areas and it wasn't very clear where all the pacers were. But we spotted ourselves just behind the 5:30 pacer and waited to start. It was freezing; my teeth chattered and my fingers were numb.

I stood in line with Bree, Anita and Sandy. We didn't see any of the others, they had left the hotel later than we had and in that crowd it would have been amazing to find anyone. My plan was to start out steady, running about a 12:15 pace. I planned to continue with the 4:1 run:walk since we had trained that way, but to not start walking until 14 minutes so that we wouldn't get run over by the crowd. I thought that running the entire first mile might thin things out a bit. Ha.

It finally turned 7:30 am and the gun went off. I think (we were too far back to be sure). It took us about 25 minutes to creep up to the start line. We crossed, started running, and never saw Anita and Sandy again until the race was over. They never looked over their shoulders to see how far back we were and we absolutely weren't going to try to catch up.

It was very crowded and hard to run at any set pace. It was slow down, side step, stagger, run, speed up, speed faster, halt, side step, repeat. Like usual people hadn't seeded themselves in the right place. Hell, we were passing people right and left and we weren't going as fast as our placement would have put us. For several miles we dashed and darted and probably wasted more energy going sideways than we did going forward. We kept up the 4:1 and were going strong through mile 11 or so.

It was amusing (and not a little annoying) that at one point we were being squeezed in by 2 very large pace groups; the 5:30 on one side and the 5:45 on the other. We had seen that both groups crossed the start at very much the same time, so either one was going too fast or the other too slow or maybe a bit of both. But one group was doing a 2:1 run:walk and kept passing us then slamming on the brakes right in front of us. We tried to drop them a few times and finally got away from them. I don't even know if they were ahead or behind, just no longer near us.

With this big of a crowd you expect some pain-in-the-ass people and this race didn't disappoint. My pet peeves during races (or even just on a trail) are runners not paying attention to their surroundings, people not glancing around before darting in front, people pushing and people who take walk breaks coming to almost a halt without moving to the side. With all those and more it was surprising that I wasn't cranky or crabby or mean. I rolled my eyes several times at idiots and muttered obscenities to Bree a few times, but mostly I just went with the flow. I didn't want to waste energy on jerks.

We started slowing down when we were getting close to the half marathon distance and I told Bree that maybe after mile 14 we should switch to a 3:2. She happily agreed and we continued on. Despite that, our paces were too different and before mile 15 I went ahead. I went back to 4:1 and continued with it until, I think, about mile 20. At that point the freezing air in my lungs really started to get to me. I know my form was off from the cold and that tired me also.

Yes, late morning and it was still only in the mid-30s outside. There was a steady breeze making the wind chill factor even colder. Once in a while the sun would pop out but mostly it was overcast. Cold and gray. Brrrr. I had shed my jacket at about mile 10 and threw it away at about mile 15. I alternated with gloves and bare fingers, sometimes one hand covered and one not. I didn't throw the gloves away and wore them continually for most of the last hour I was out there. I never removed my ear warmers and didn't feel that I needed to. The only problem was when I tried to wear sunglasses; my hot breath and the cold air fogged them right up.

Although I had slowed waaaaay down, at about mile 20 I figured that if I kept vaguely on pace I could finish under 6 hours. It became a goal to me to try to keep my time under 15 minute miles and that mean very little walking, except the regular breaks. I was sucking air so badly that I finally stopped regular breaks and just ran until I was gasping and walked until I my breath calmed. I came down with a lovely case of marathon brain and amused myself trying to figure out math and times and speeds. After every walk I'd re-calculate my time and for some reason at mile 24 I still thought I'd break 6. Then I realized that I must have hit the split button on my watch at a wrong time and that I'd have to run mile 26 in 9:30. Heh. Not likely. Then I realized that I had also forgotten to calculate in the .2 mile at the end. Crap. Then I saw that huge mountain leading up to the 26 mile marker and decided that walking was fine until the top (ok, it was a little hill, but it looked like Mt. Diablo to me).

I made it to the top, not even bothering to smile at the photographers like I usually do, and decided to "power" in the last .2 stretch. Despite "sprinting" there were many people who passed me there. I ran as hard as I could, gasping and wheezing, and crossed the finish line at about 6:04. Better than the 6:15 I had expected before starting but not as good as the 5:59 I had hoped for. Nevertheless, as my first marathon in almost 2 years, it was an emotional finish.

I got my mylar blanket and my medal, had my chip removed, and staggered forward. I got a bottle of water, a dry bagel (yuck), a banana and there might have been some chips offered. I was supposed to meet the girls at the beer tent and imagine my surprise when the "tent" was a table set up right after the food, before the baggage tent. Sandy and Anita were waiting for me and one of the beer fellows urged me to take a beer and rehydrate. Being the compliant type I did just that. I steadied my breathing, tried to stretch and almost fell over. Instead, I took my beer over to the nearest curb and plopped myself down while we waited for Bree to cross the line.

During the race there were aid stations at about 1 mile apart; a couple of places it was longer but they were frequent and well supplied. There was water and some electrolyte drink (maybe Gatorade?) at every station. Most of them had a couple of portapotties and a first aid tent also. The volunteers were, in a word, incredible. There were tons of them in that freezing air, friendly and encouraging and helpful. Lots of races have lots of volunteers but these were the nicest ones I'd ever seen. Gu was distributed at one later station and people along the course offered various fruits and candies and waters. And beer, don't forget that (yes, I did have a couple of sips of that, thank you very much). Even late in the race there were plenty of spectators cheering and supporting the runners (and walkers).

Retrieving our bags went smoothly but remember, we were among the last several thousand of people to get there. It's possible that people finishing in the 3-5 hour range would have had more trouble. Even there the volunteers were friendly and helpful.

After the race I was tired and a bit sore, but elated that I had finished. I was stiff and didn't know if that was because I was still so cold. My lungs hurt more than anything else but I had expected that. My knees felt fine and my back felt fine; I had been worried that the injuries last year would complicate matters but luckily, no. Nothing recently has felt as good as my 20 minutes under a hot shower after the race. It would have been even longer but I needed to collapse on the bed and eat something.

To finish this up backward, the expo was incredible. We took the shuttle bus Friday afternoon and it took forever to get there, damn Chicago rush hour holiday weekend getaway traffic! Due to that we had about 40 minutes to get our stuff and go line up for the return shuttle. We decided we'd have to go back on Saturday and spend time then. It was very quick to get our numbers but then we had to hike through the entire expo to get our shirts, located at the back. I wasn't excited by the shirt. It was a lovely blue tech short sleeve top, but Nike-sized. I think I've stated my preference here for looser tops. And my utter hatred for tight, form-fitting woman-specific race shirts that Nike keeps producing. Yo Nike: not every runner is built like a "runner" and not every runner who is built like a runner likes tight clingy clothes. Sheesh. At least offer a XXL for those of us who like loose shirts.

The cap-sleeved girly shirt, with goody bag contents

Anyhoo, we stopped and bought the throw-away jackets because I've seen that company run out in the past. We also stopped at the area with the marathon-branded clothes and other stuff since I've seen those run out in the past too. I got a nice running hat to add to my collection and a long sleeved top and we left.

Saturday we returned early and since it was so empty we realized how utterly huge the expo was. I'm not certain but I think it had more space and more vendors than the New York expo. Anything running-related and lots of things not running-related could be purchased there. Despite my very good intentions I ended up spending some money. My favorite purchase is perversely something I hope I never have any use for: a knee-specific ice pack from Moji. It not only ices, it compresses. Unlike my dependable frozen corn, you can move around while using it. I tried it on and it felt wonderful, even though my knee wasn't hurting. I wish I had had it when I tumbled during our Alameda run. In fact, I wish I had had one for each knee. I bought a second liner so that I could switch off while one freezes. Again, I hope I wasted money on it and that I never need it.

We all did our part in supporting the vendors at the expo. In addition, I was amazed at how much loot we got for free. The official goody bag didn't have much, but we got tons of other stuff. Considering there were about 35,000 runners and many of them had family and friends attending the expo, there was a lot of swag given out. Below is my haul and remember, I didn't take lots of things I knew I wouldn't use.

freebies, including my favorite yogurt

more freebies

the rest of the swag

Will I run this marathon again? Probably not. If I didn't want to run so many many other fall marathons I would definitely consider a re-run. The race was very well produced, the course interesting, the route fast and easy (comparably), the volunteers fabulous and Chicago is a great city.

Will I run any other marathon? Oh HELL yeah! Despite the cold, despite my lungs, despite my pitiful training regimen, despite the exhaustion, I love running marathons. I would like to improve my condition so that the end isn't so tough and I want to return to the old 9:1 interval, but I want to keep racing. Planning is tough right now; I know I could, at any time, have to rush out and take care of my mom since she's my priority. My spring goal race is Vermont (yes, because of the bears!) but I'd like to run 1 or 2 in-between. I'll let you know as soon as I know!

... and by the way

I finished the Chicago Marathon, I really did. I just haven't gotten around to writing about it (although I will, soon). The short version is that I had a good day. I was mostly able to stick with my plan and ended up finishing more than 10 minutes faster than expected (and 4 minutes slower than hoped for). This ended up being the coldest full marathon I've ever run and it reinforced the reason why I moved from Michigan after college: I truly hate being cold.

The weekend in Chicago with my friends was wonderful. It was relaxing and interesting and fun and expensive. My head has been spinning since I returned, real life intruding as it always does.

Except for the Nike Half Marathon this weekend I have no concrete plans for my next runs. There are races I very badly want to run but right now my schedule isn't my own to plan. I'm superstitiously afraid to register for anything in advance right now because I ended up canceling every plan this summer. I don't want to waste money and I don't want to raise my excitement level and then get shot down. I also feel incredibly guilty planning any time away from my mom, and guilty relying on my brother to take care of her while I play. So the future now is a gigantic blank slate. I guess I'll fill it in on a daily basis.

Are we there yet?

Tick tick tick tick. I'm ready to go, set to run, eager to get the hellouttahere. Counting down the days to leaving: 4. Counting down the days to the marathon: 6. Counting down the days to driving myself insane: -2.

We had a great taper run on Saturday. Bree, Anita and I met in the cool autumn air at the Lafayette-Moraga Trail for a planned 6 miler. I was afraid to do more than that because I'm still feeling the effects of the fall and didn't want to risk hurting myself more. It went quite well, despite a twinge (ok, a pain) or two in my knees. We walked a little and I determined that running hurt less, so we went back to our run:walk. As usual on the L-M Trail we did negative splits - gotta love that downgrade return trip.

We've been (obsessively) checking the weather forecast for the race and we really should just stop looking until Thursday, it's been changing that much. One thing is almost certain, or as certain as weather forecasting ever gets: it will be much cooler there this year than it has the previous two. In fact, we might not be able to wear our matching sleeveless tops. The current forecast (there I go, looking anyway) shows it might not even get out of the 40s. Perfect running weather but not for a tank top. If the rain prediction gets higher than 50% again we might even have to wear long sleeves. Rain hurts!

I've been doing my visualization that I always do before a race but I've added a little something. I hope that picturing myself not toppling over will help me stay on my feet. Falling in front of 40,000 other runners would be much more embarrassing that falling in front of two friends and a couple of fishermen. But the majority of my visualization has me comfortably running miles 20-26.2, speeding across the finish line, feeling great.

And heading straight for the beer tent.

LIVESTRONG Day - Spread the Word

An Open Email from Lance Armstrong:

I had a pre-existing condition Today is LIVESTRONG Day. Thirteen years ago today, my doctor told me I had advanced testicular cancer. What most people don’t know is that at the time, I didn’t have health insurance. In the following weeks, I received letter after letter from the insurance company refusing to pay for my treatment. I was fighting for my life—but also for the coverage that I desperately needed. The legislation currently being debated in Congress is not just words on a page—for many cancer survivors, it’s a matter of life and death. Now, as this debate enters crunch time, I need your help to ensure that what happened to me doesn't happen to any other American: http://www.livestrongaction.org/campaigns/healthcare No matter what side of the healthcare debate you're on, I believe we can all agree on two things: No American should be denied health insurance coverage because of pre-existing conditions. No American should lose their insurance due to changes in health or employment. Will you sign the LIVESTRONG Action petition to make sure any legislation includes these two critically important reforms? We’ll deliver these to Capitol Hill this month as the debate reaches its climax and make sure our voices are heard in the debate: http://www.livestrongaction.org/campaigns/healthcare When I received my diagnosis, I was between cycling contracts. My new insurer used the diagnosis as a reason to deny coverage after the new contract was signed. Fortunately, one of my sponsors intervened. At their insistence, I was added to their insurance company and was able to continue my life-saving treatment. If my sponsor, a powerful company, had not gone to bat for me, I may not have made it. I was lucky. We can't rely on luck to ensure coverage and treatment for the millions of Americans affected by cancer. Some cannot get coverage because they've already been diagnosed. Others get calls from their insurance companies saying they have been dropped. It happens all the time—and it's unacceptable. Every year on LIVESTRONG Day, we come together to take action for a world without cancer. In the U.S., a critical step is to make sure cancer survivors can get and keep their health insurance. It has been 13 years since my diagnosis, but in some ways, not much has changed. No person should have to worry about health insurance while battling cancer. That so many do is an outrage, and we must speak out. Please sign the petition and forward it along to your friends and family: http://www.livestrongaction.org/campaigns/healthcare LIVESTRONG, Lance and the LIVESTRONG Action Team P.S. Don’t forget today is LIVESTRONG Day. There are more than 1,100 events taking place to raise awareness about cancer all over the world. View our interactive map to see events in your area: http://www.livestrongaction.org/map

A marathon, a half marathon and an ... ultra?

Counting down the days (12!) until the Chicago Marathon. Run that, then count down the days to the Nike Women's Half Marathon a week later. Run that, then count down the days until -- well, maybe nothing. But maybe my first ultra.

I've been wanting to try an ultra (just a 50k, about 31 miles; I'm not totally insane) for several years and had set my 55th year (that would be now) as the time to get it run. I don't have much choice for ultras because I'm so uncoordinated. Most ultras are run on trails and I'm unable to even keep my footing on pavement. It would be disastrous for my skin, bones, muscles, tendons and sanity to even try to run on trails. That leaves the few local ultras that are on roads or asphalt paths.

There's a legend in the ultra world by the name of Helen Klein. Now 86 years old, she didn't even start running until she was my age. She discovered that she's a fast, efficient runner and loves distances. She's completed over 100 marathons and close to 150 ultramarathons. Yikes! She's set age records all over the place and although she's slowing down now she continues to run ("slowing" being relative of course; she's still faster than most people). She was the speaker at the Leading Ladies Marathon back in 2006 and I found her to be highly inspirational. She and her husband also put on a little race each year called the Helen Klein Ultra Classic, this year set for October 31st.

Early this year I set my sights on this race, feeling that Chicago would be a perfect test of my running ability and a perfect training run for this ultra. Of course, early this year I had no idea that my family situation would cause such upset and turmoil and lead to the cancellation of most of the plans I've made. I decided not to tell anyone since that would be a commitment, right? I didn't want to announce my plans and then (like almost every single plan I've made for the past few months) have to cancel. I can't reschedule a race like I've rescheduled the visit of an old friend (hi Carol!).

I think I'm in good enough shape to run the ultra (except for that whole tripping and falling thing) (and the breathing thing) (and the not-enough-time-to-train-properly thing). It's a perfect race for a beginner and even more perfect for a slow beginner. It's on a bike path for most of the distance, it's well supported, it's open for 10 hours for the 50k, some people walk the entire thing and the weather should be ok. I'm pretty sure I could do it in about 8 hours (give or take an hour).

What's the problem then? Same as it's been all summer. Just when I thought it would be safe to register, my mom's doc told us that she feels my mom will be ready to move from the dementia facility to a less restrictive assisted living facility at the end of the October (yes, she's doing that well). The race is October 31st. There's no way I can go away for a couple of nights, exhaust myself in the longest run I've ever completed, and still be available to help my mom.

Could I register at the last minute? Yeaaah, but with my propensity for planning ahead that doesn't sit well with me. I like to know what's coming up, what I need to prepare for, where I'll be and what I'll be doing. I've had enough of last minute changes this year, enough of being unsettled, enough of being on edge and not knowing what comes next. That isn't about to change so I hate to put my leisure activities (heh! running an ultra is a leisure activity!!) in the same unsettled category as the rest of my life.

So what will I do? Hell if I know.

Have a nice trip; see you in the fall

I had very high hopes for our last long training run before Chicago Marathon. Although our 18 miler was hard because of adverse weather conditions, our 20 miler went great despite the lightning and thunder and rain. Our short 11 miler last week went well. Everything looked promising for our 22 miler on Saturday. My prep went well and I was excited to get to the run.

It started out well. I met Anita and Bree at the Alameda Ferry Terminal parking lot at just after 6:00 am. It would have been just before 6:00 am had I known that Highway 238 was going to be closed. It didn't delay me too much and we got on the road by 6:10. It was dark and since my headlamp had fallen apart the night before I carried a disposable flashlight.

The plan was to run the long way around to the bridge, across then out to Crown Beach, then back to the parking lot the short way for 12-ish total miles. We'd refuel and do one more out-and-back to the beach for the last 10 miles. Done that way we couldn't take shortcuts. There are enough water fountains and bathrooms along the way that even on a hot day we'd be able to hydrate. The weather forecast was back and forth all week; first they said hot, then not, then hot again. Maybe windy but that was expected. Overcast/not overcast. We weren't worried, we'd trained with all of that.

The first part of the run to the bridge went very well. It slowly got lighter out, and warmer. We got to see the beautiful sunrise, made even prettier by the smoggy skies. I felt good until about mile 7 when I started tiring. I ignored it, knowing we had a long way yet to go. My legs were heavy and flat and my breathing started to get sloppy; I didn't know which was causing the other problem. I didn't want to change our 4:1 run:walk until at least after 13 miles so I pushed on, whining just a bit.

We crossed the big bridge and started running across that little wooden bridge that goes under the road. We normally walk that but for some reason didn't. About halfway across I caught my toe on an uneven board and tripped. I tried to catch myself but couldn't. I went down, hard, catching most of my weight on my hands and knees. Ow. I was a bit stunned and instead of popping back up like I normally do (and doesn't it suck that there's a "normally" for my falling) I just stayed there.

Like the wonderful concerned friends they are, Bree and Anita asked if I was ok, if they could help me up, told me to take my time, etc. Like a total cranky bitch I told them to go away. Leave me alone. Go on. I might have yelled a little. They walked off and I peeled myself off the bridge. I knew that I was scraped and bruised and dirty and sore but I didn't want to look. I was wobbly and jittery and very stiff and sore but after I hobbled off the bridge I decided to suck it up and keep running. I told them to go ahead of me, insisted on it, and followed behind them. There were a few tears of pain and self-pity, but I kept running.

Adrenaline kept me going for a short time. I loosened up, started running a bit better. But within that same damn mile I tripped again! I caught my toe on the uneven pavement and literally went flying. I kept my feet moving, tightened my core and somehow managed to remain upright and in motion. After that I just stopped. Stopped dead and told them I was finished. I was done, I quit, no more, the end. I send them off ahead of me and forlornly (and slowly) walked on. A few more tears and a major pity party with myself being the only invited guest. There were close to 2 miles left until I got to my car.

Sure enough I got tired of walking after a while. Cautiously I started a slow jog, intermingled with regular walk breaks. I stayed behind Bree and Anita, not wanting any company. I got back to the parking lot fully intending to quit. I went into the bathroom and washed some of the blood off my knee and some of the dirt off my hands and went to my car.

At that point we had done about 13 miles. I really didn't want to leave it that way but I had very little energy or patience left. Bree suggested doing outs and backs to the bridge a couple of times and again, I didn't want to go and didn't want to socialize any longer. I crabbily told them to set out and I'd follow as much as I could.

Do you have any idea how boring it is to run while not being able to look up from your feet? I was convinced that if I didn't stare at the ground that I'd trip again. I was probably correct in that assumption but I didn't test it. We made it back to the bridges and walked across that time. We refilled our bottles on the far side and turned around to return. We walked the bridge that time too.

I varied but mostly stayed behind them. I went in front when our shadows turned because I couldn't see the ground as well with them in front. We went slower and slower and walked more and more and once again returned to the our cars.

We decided to do one more short out and back to get a couple additional miles. This time there was no pretense of running, we were hardly walking. Strolling, more like. Still, it was hard. My little wounds stung with the breeze, I had blood oozing down my leg, I was bruised and still not breathing well. It was fully sunny, a light breeze and getting warmer by the minute. It was upper 70s by that time.

Finally back to the cars with a total of 19.2 miles. Not too bad for crashing at 10.5 and quitting before 11. All that time on our feet had taken its toll.I was not a happy camper and would have been uncomfortable even if I hadn't taken a tumble. Thank you to both Bree and Anita for putting up with my whining, my falling, my crankiness, my crabbiness, my anger and my self-pity. You guys are great!

Obligatory notice of beauty: it was a clear day, beautiful views of San Francisco, the Bay Bridge, Oakland, the Bay, the Estuary. Beautiful. The birds were out in full force, pelicans fanning their wings in the sun, little whatdoyoucallits splashing around. It's a lovely place to run and we are incredibly fortunate to have places like that so close.

When I got home I decided I'd better take an ice bath. Although I used to take them regularly after long runs, I stopped doing it for some reason (probably because they're damned uncomfortable). But I had too many swollen spots to ice individually so I decided to plop into freezing water. I had ground-in dirt on one knee and palm, dirt all over my arms and legs, swollen knees and palms and a pull in my lower back from catching myself that last time. I'm sure the 20 minutes in the icy water was good for me but I didn't enjoy one minute of it.

A day later and the damage isn't too bad. I don't feel at all like I went 19 miles. My feet don't hurt (and they can hurt after just a few miles). None of the usual aches and pains from a longer run. Both of my palms are bruised (and I must have caught myself on the edge of one of the boards because I have a distinct line). My left knee is bruised and swollen but internally feels ok. My right knee is a mess. It's scratched, scraped, bruised, oozing and bloody. But again that's all on the outside and structurally it's fine. The only non-surface part that really hurts, strangely enough, is my shoulder. I apparently strained a muscle when I fell and caught myself.

The marathon is in 2 weeks. I intend to be fully healed by then. I also intend to stay upright for the entire 26.2 miles. What are the odds?

I fought the lemon tree and the lemon tree won

In the past I've written about my craptastic gardeners. A typical mow-and-blow company, once in a while they'll get bored and try to pretend they know something about plants. Their biggest thing is taking a hedge trimmer to something that isn't a hedge. They've frequently mutilated my jasmine, which is almost a hedge but needs to be cut by hand because of the way it loops back on itself (and the way the leaves will die if there's any damage). The gardeners have also butchered my lemon tree, despite my telling them over and over to leave it alone.

For some reason they seem to think a nice, tight, round shape is suitable for a tree. Nuh uh. It's a tree dammit! A fruit tree! Where you have to be able to pick the fruit, let alone have sun and air for the fruit to grow. I've been busy enough this summer that I've rarely even looked at my garden, let alone done anything. I saw several weeks ago that they had attacked my tree but I didn't have time to do anything. Once again, insomnia to the rescue. I was awake early Sunday morning and decided to go spend some time in my garden before it got hot.

I wore long pants but it was already too warm for long sleeves. I wore gloves, but the thorns on the tree are long enough, sharp enough and strong enough that I think I'd need steel gloves for them to do any good. My arms look like I was attacked by a pack of feral cats. I had to reach into the interior of the tree to remove the last of the previous season's fruit (yuck - big and squishy and purple-ish green and moldy and diseased). Way into the interior, because otherwise the fruit had already been picked. Ouch. I had to reach into the middle to cut back the suckers, so overgrown that they were almost branches. Owie. I had to cut away some dead wood, and it needed to be cut back right to the main trunk. Youch. By the time I had the tree looking again like a tree (instead of some ornamental ball) I had blood literally dripping down my arms. Oooh.

Then, just to make sure I was grimy enough, I cut back a lot of the jasmine. Jasmine "bleeds" this sticky, milky fluid. I ensured that I'd have to scrub those new scratches just to get the gooey stuff removed. I wasn't able to finish everything since my garbage can was full, but my yard looks vastly improved. I'll still need to cut more and hopefully the gardeners will stay away from my plants.

You might be wondering why I don't fire the bums. This is the 3rd gardening company I've had since I decided that I didn't want to cut my lawn myself, about 9 years (oddly enough just about the same time I started running marathons; go figure). The last company was good, but the owners retired and sold the business to their workers. I've called around, tried to find another company that won't charge an arm and a leg but still understands plants, but apparently there is no such thing. I'll probably start looking again when (if) my life quiets down, but for now I'll just keep gritting my teeth, ripping up my arms, and hoping for the best.

Running and enjoying it again

Last year I didn't know if I'd ever be able to run again, let alone run any distances. First the knee injury, then the back injury, then the depression and the ulcer and the rampant insomnia and it hurt to run. I didn't have a single good run over ten miles all year and I canceled the only scheduled marathon I had planned. This year was going to be different.

But it didn't start that way. At the turn of the year I was training for a century and had no time, let alone energy, to run. I thought I could ride and run distances at the same time and was sadly wrong. After I rode my 100 miles I decided it was time to get serious and see if I was still a marathoner.

When I set our training schedule I planned many mid-teen distance runs. I wanted it so that running 14 miles was our standard run. I wanted our 18, 20 and 22 milers to feel good. I had planned to run 3 times during the week but hahahaha. Due to circumstances beyond my control I was unable to get in much more than the long runs on the weekends. But it seems that the training I did, worked.

Our 18 mile run didn't go well but that was because it was a gazillion degrees outside. We had other bad runs due to the weather or the air quality but if it was nice out we ran well. Saturday morning didn't start well. I left home with lightning flashing, lighting up the pre-dawn sky in blinding white. There were only a couple drops of rain but I was scared of getting electrocuted if we ran in it. We lucked out and got near perfect conditions.

Our first few miles, in the dark, were highlighted by lovely flashes. When the sun started to rise we saw gorgeous colors from the clouds. As we got toward the bird sanctuary we paused to watch the morning take-off flights of a squadron of pelicans, a skein of geese, and a congregation of egrets. The ducks continued paddling around the lake, glad to have the space to themselves.

Throughout our run we had some rain, some wind, some sun, some thunder, some lightning. The temperature remained in the mid-60s, the humidity high, but it was such a relief after the horrendous heat of our last long run that it didn't matter. We refilled our bottles at each fountain and took way too many gels. We managed our 4:1 run:walk for 16 miles, then switched to 3:2 for the remaining 4 miles. We finished strong and although tired, we felt good. Better than after the hot run, better than after the smoggy and smoky runs. We enjoyed ourselves! It was incredible.

I'm glad we have one more long run before the marathon and hope it goes as well as this one. A day after the run I have only one sore toenail; my legs feel as if I only ran a couple of miles. I still feel weary but heck, I always feel weary these days. I'm still not counting those chickens before they hatch -- er, the marathons before they're run -- but I think I can safely say that once again I'm a runner. Yay!

The high cost of being sick

In the middle of all this hoohaw about health care and the debate about coverage and the yelling and lies and insinuations and "death panels" and "patriots" toting guns outside of the President's speeches, the talking heads are ignoring the little picture. On June 30th my mom went to the hospital with chest pains, was mistakenly medicated with inappropriate drugs that made her crazy, stayed in that one hospital for 13 days, went to a nursing home for a night, then to another hospital for another 9 days, then 4 days in assisted living, went back to hospital #1 due to a fall (caused in no small part by the medications), then spent 20 days at yet another hospital. Now the bills are appearing.

In the first hospital the room was $5,750 each day. The room ONLY. A baby aspirin, 81mg tab, was $18.94. Yes, $18.94 for a baby aspirin. Acetaminophen 325 mg, a very basic generic tylenol drug, cost $21.91 per tablet. In all, oral medications for the first hospital stay (including the ones that caused this whole problem) were over ten thousand dollars. That's not even including the injected drugs or the inhaled drugs which totaled more than another six thousand dollars.

This first hospital stay cost $140,700. That's not including the doctors: the hospitalists, the cardiologist, the psychiatrist, the therapists, the whothehellknowsists. They charge separately. If that isn't bad enough, there are two more hospitals which have yet to send an invoice or statement.

My mom has very good insurance, but even so this could cost her tens of thousands of dollars. What about someone who has no insurance? What about the poor schmuck who gets this statement from the hospital and owes every single cent? There are states where you can buy a lovely house for less than this episode.

It all makes me so angry I could scream. My mom is feeling better now, slowly rehabilitating her body and trying to stabilize with her new level of cognition. She's living in an assisted living facility geared toward dementia residents. There are people screaming all the time, people who walk in her room and get in her face, people who, frankly, scare the crap out of her by following her around and making weird noises. And this is one of the very GOOD dementia facilities. With some stability she may be able to go to a facility less geared toward dementia but she'll always need 24 hour care.

My mom is an elderly lady who had chest pains, got incredible full medical care (although she shouldn't have needed it if they hadn't made a mistake) and it could cost her every single cent she had saved despite the fact that she's insured. This isn't right, it isn't fair, and shouldn't happen in our wonderful country. Health care debate? To me there is no debate. We need affordable care with reasonable costs. We need politicians who don't accept money from the insurance industry or the drug industry or the hospital industry and then make decisions based upon that money. We need truth and honesty and civil discussion. We need change and we need it now.

Happy National Teddy Bear Day!

I had no idea that there was a special day celebrating teddy bears. It's not an official government holiday (... yet!) but since I've seen it in a couple of places, I'll join in spreading the word. Go hug a bear. If you don't have your own I'll let you hug one of mine!

Sitting at home watching the trees grow

This would more properly be entitled "Sitting at home watching the plumbing rot." Finally the drips went a-gusher and I had to call in the professionals. The quite expensive professionals. The quite take-all-day professionals.

The immediate problem was a leak at the pressure reducing valve outside my house. It was acting like a drink-all-you-can water fountain for my apparent pet gopher and that was just too much leakage on the foundation for me to allow. Since I've had a couple of drippy faucets and a won't shut-off toilet for several months (shhh, don't tell EBMUD) I figured I'd get those fixed too.

Turns out that the stems in the sink are rotted away into a sludge of metal and plastic. I was worried that might be the case since I'd been unable to clean up the rust around the handles since I moved in here (11 years ago). So I need a new faucet and of course it has to match the existing brass fixtures. Cha-ching! Also it turns out that my very high-flow old toilet would cost almost as much to repair as replace, so I'm getting a new low-flow toilet. Cha-ching! The only good news is that the valve in the shower is easily replaceable and I don't need to have a hole knocked in my living room wall. Uh, yay?

Since I needed to be at home for the plumber I decided it was a good idea to get another estimate from an arborist for trimming my two trees. In my front yard I have a very large Sycamore that's lopsided, growing onto my roof and filled with dead wood. In my back yard I have a very large Maple that's lopsided and growing onto my roof. Both are providing a lovely vermin highway to the top of my house (and thanks for pointing that out Mr. Arborist!) so they need to be cut back. The last estimate I got a couple of years ago was almost $1500 to prune both trees (seriously) and that's why I didn't hire those people and why the trees are so badly overgrown now. This time I was told it would be about half that. I don't know why I'm excited about spending $7-800, but I guess it beats (1) roof rats and (2) $1500.

All that and my water has been turned off for the past 5 hours. I gotta go!

Places to go, things to do

My plate was full this weekend. So full that I managed to accomplish only a teensy portion of the things that needed to be done. There was so much I wanted to do that I felt like I was spinning in circles standing still. Whatever that means.

I left work early on Friday to have some scheduled maintenance performed on my car. It was the only chance I'd get for about the next 1000 miles and I was overdue. The best part was that I got to sit in their waiting room with my headphones on, music playing, while I knit for over an hour. I miss knitting and at this rate I'll never finish the 3 4 several WIPs. For some reason, probably because it was over 100 degrees out, they didn't wash my car (one of the nice things that Saturn has always done). Or maybe it was because Saturn is bankrupt and the car industry is in the toilet and the dealership couldn't afford their water bill. Whatever the reason, I drove out of there disgruntled and with a filthy car.

Saturday was scheduled for a 18 mile run and although it was going to be hot as blazes we went ahead and did it. We started our run at 6:00 am, just as the sun was rising, and it was already about 70 degrees. No wind, not even a little breeze. I saw on the weather channel that the wind was calm at calm miles per hour in the direction of calm. I don't like wind in my face so I had high hopes.

Until I started running. There are days when my legs feel flat, like I'm dragging cement posts along instead of flesh, bone and muscle. Sometimes that's only until I warm up and after a couple of miles I feel better. Not this time. The entire distance was hard and the heat didn't help.

We were running on the Alameda Creek Trail in Fremont and headed first toward the Bay. Mostly we stuck with the plan of a 4:1 run:walk and we ran about 7 miles round-trip. I say "about" since, in the dark, I hit the wrong button on Mr. Garmin and it didn't start until I noticed about a mile later. Whoops. We switched out our bottles and headed in the other direction. Since there are a couple of fountains we figured we could refill along the way and back.

It got hotter and hotter and we got slower and slower. We kept to the 4:1-ish plan until we reached the end at 5 miles, but both the run and the walk were slower. We refilled, soaked our hats in cool water and headed back the other direction. It got hotter and we got even slower and walked more.

The 4:1 became 3:2 became 2:3. The sun was blazing, there was still no breeze and it was getting hotter. We amused ourselves by looking at the huge fish in the creek, by wishing we could stick our feet in the water like the egrets were doing, by watching other hot runners and walkers and cyclists. We detoured across the creek to refill our bottles at Isherwood and from there ended up walking. We had a good pace going, mostly because of forward motion, but it was still walking.

I was hot, tired and dizzy but there was no choice except to continue forward. We made it back to the parking lot with our mileage a little short and Anita made me continue on for the last quarter mile so we'd have the full 18. Ow. Dehydrated, overheated, exhausted. But 18 miles! No matter how we got there, it was still 18 miles, slow as molasses but still fast enough to make the time cutoff at Chicago.

I zoomed home, showered and managed to lie down for about a half hour before having to leave for a party. Each year my boss has a pool party for all the employees and this year we were happy for the pool. I would have been even happier if I had bothered to look for my swimsuit before I left. As it was, I sat on the edge of the pool and soaked my legs in cool water.

Several hours later I headed over to my mom's house to check her mail, cool it down for a while, then finally left for home. As I walked to my front door I noticed that the pipe that has my hose spigot and shutoff valve was dripping. Crap. It was dripping enough that I knew I'd have to do something.

After a mostly sleepless night (what else is new) I started cleaning my house, setting up the exercise room as a guest room, paying bills, backing up my computer and oh yeah, called a plumber. I was told he'd be there between 1 and 2, and he called at about 12:45 and said he'd be there just about 2pm. I did a little bit of everything around home, finishing nothing, and waited.

Plumberman showed up about 2:15. He was a chatty fellow and he slowly inspected the 4 dripping problems I have (the new leak was just the camel's straw). He very carefully and clearly explained what should be done and why, explained lesser alternatives, talked a LOT and after more than 2 hours gave me an eye popping estimate. Yep, didn't get anything done, just got an estimate. Ouch. I'm not pleased to pay that much (and it's going to involve getting a new toilet) (no, the leak in my garden didn't cause that) but I've put this off for so long I'll have to just suck it up. I'll have to make an appointment for the work to be done this week, but meanwhile the dripping will continue.

After he left I ran my errands and when I got home I realized I hadn't done the laundry, hadn't finished cleaning the house, hadn't visited my mom and hadn't finished setting up the guest room. I also hadn't eaten anything and I was tired, hungry and getting very cranky. So I ate a salad and decided nothing else was going to get done this weekend.

Tomorrow's another day.

It's getting easier

Last year was a mostly non-running year for me. Yes, I managed to run 10k during the triathlon, but that was it. The next race I attempted was a dismal failure because I hadn't been running enough. I started the year with a knee injury, had a back injury in the middle of the year and was just discouraged at the end of the year. I never had a decent run that was longer than about 7 miles and even those never felt comfortable.

This year started with long cycling miles and again no running. After the century in March I started running again. Nothing hurt, but it was hard because I hadn't been running regularly for so long. I was starting from zero and it was discouraging.

When I made up our training schedule for the Chicago Marathon I decided that we needed to have lots and lots of runs in the 13-16 mile range. After about a half dozen of those, it no longer feels unnatural to run for hours at a time. Sure, for several reasons there's a lot of walking involved but I'm doing the miles and they're not killing me.

Saturday, Anita and I ran almost 16 miles. We met in Danville way too damn early, 6:15 am. The plan was to run the 8 mile street route that included a couple of hills, then do out-and-backs on the Iron Horse. Unbelievably, it seemed if not easy, then at least not hard. The air was the clearest it's been for ages and for the first couple of hours my breathing was smooth enough for me to blab nonstop. When we finished I was tired, exhausted even, but nothing hurt.

Today I don't even feel like I ran long miles. My lungs don't hurt, my legs don't hurt and even after yet another sleepless night I'm not tired. Yay!

Yesterday afternoon I spent several hours with my mom. She's in an assisted living facility in Oakland that's for dementia patients. Mentally she's the sharpest she's been since all this started, but I think she's still a good 20% less competent than she was two months ago. Physically she's very weak, both in strength and coordination. She's probably very close to her new baseline and seemingly stable.

We've got appointments this week with her two new doctors and we'll know more afterward, including what type of living situation she'll need. I don't think that at this point she needs the very intense scrutiny and care she's receiving now but I also don't think she can live on her own. It's also unclear whether she is indeed stable, and whether any change in situation would set her back. But for now, at least I was able to talk with her. I didn't think I'd have that again.

Training continues

On Saturday we ran 18 miles on the Alameda Creek Trail. Bree, Anita and I showed up to run at 6:30 am, hoping to beat the heat. We did that, but we couldn't beat the smoke from the fires blazing in the Bay Area. We were surrounded by fires to the south and fires to the east. My hopes that running near the bay would let us experience clearer air weren't realized.

The weather would have been perfect for running if not for the smoke. Even bright and early we could see the heavy haze. The sunrise was eerie red/orange and obscured. Anyway, we started slow, continued slower, and ended up walking almost the entire last mile. By then we were not only tired, we were all having breathing problems (especially me). But we got the miles in, had some great conversations and enjoyed being able to get out there and spend more than 4 hours on our feet. We are indeed fortunate to be able to do that.

Today was the annual Oakland A's Stitch 'n' Pitch game. Our large crowd from past years dwindled down to ... me. Luckily my bro and his family decided to take a break too and they joined me. It was "Turn Back the Clock Day" with a whole 80 year nostalgia theme (including the uniforms) and they gave away pretty cool jerseys. The SnP premium was a strange little drawstring backpack shaped like a shirt, with the A's logo and the SnP logo. We weren't going to stay for the entire game since we had other things that had to get done.

I'm a very unlucky sports fan. I won't watch my favorite teams on television since they always, always lose when I do. When I show up in person my average is still pretty low, although I've seen one or two winning games. So when it began to look like the A's were falling apart, we left. I was quite gratified to see they ended up winning, all because we left.

The latest mom news is that on Friday she was discharged from the hospital and taken to what might be, may be, could be her final home. It's an assisted living facility near Lake Merritt in Oakland which specializes in dementia residents. It's also one of only two such facilities in the area with a vacancy, that we thought would accept my mom. It would be much worse if it doesn't work out. It's been very hard for me to accept that she isn't going home, that she'll spend the rest of her life in a dingy little room that won't fit any of her treasures that she's spent her life collecting. I cry every time I think of it. In fact, I'm crying now. I can't believe it's come to this.

More of the same again

Somehow last week slipped away without my noticing it. Another week of not enough exercise, not enough sleep and mom still in the hospital. My Saturday planned run of 17-18 miles became a slow run:walk of 11 miles. Since that was 7 miles longer than I wanted, I was satisfied. It doesn't hurt the training schedule because I've built so many long runs into it that it doesn't matter if we backtrack one week.

The best part of the week was Sunday. I couldn't sleep Saturday night so I got up and did my paperwork, bills and filing until about 3 am. I went to bed for about 4 hours and got up and cleaned house. I haven't done any housework since the whole mom-in-the-hospital thing started over a month ago so it's wonderful having a clean, relatively dust-free environment for living. I cleaned, did laundry, ran errands and felt like I had accomplished more than I have in ages.

My mom isn't progressing at all. While she has some times when she isn't aggressive or violent she hasn't had any times where she's living in the present and knows what is going on. She's confused, paranoid and angry. She finally managed to lose one of her very expensive hearing aids, so I removed the other one since she can't remember to use them correctly anyway. Along with her mind she's lost lots of weight (which would thrill her if she realized it), muscle and balance. The doctor keeps trying different meds but my mom doesn't always agree to take them since she thinks she's being poisoned. She calls me and with slurred words talks nonsense about things that happened 30 years ago. It's heartbreaking. I can't see an end to this or any happy solution.

More of the same

Things with mom aren't improving at all. She's still in County, still being tied to the bed at times, still being drugged senseless medicated, still delusional and confused and confrontational and violent. Let's not forget pitiful, which she is in large measure. Many of you have had the bad fortune to have to walk through a nursing home, hearing the old folks babbling incoherently, seeing them tied to wheelchairs or left in bed. You might have been lucky that your reason for being there didn't involve one of those sad elders, or maybe you just weren't emotionally vested in their well-being. Let me tell you, it's a whole lot of different when it's someone you love. Someone you know very well, someone who depends upon you to see that they're ok, to make sure they're treated right, to soothe them and console them if they're frightened or confused. You have to tell your loved one that no, you can't take them home. No, they have to stay there. It hurts, and their violent reaction can hurt worse.

Anyway, her doctor is trying a(nother) new medication. Hopefully this will be the one that calms her down. The doctor has said that it's ok if she's hallucinating and delusional, as long as she isn't violent. Great.

I was able to take a break this weekend. Since my mom currently hates me and the sight of me just agitates her worse, I stayed away from the hospital. Instead, I went for a run.

Saturday morning I met up with Anita and Bree for a planned 14-15 miler. I wanted to run at least 14 miles and since we haven't met our mileage goals yet, we decided to set the goal higher and then when we wanted to stop early, we'd still have our miles complete. Circuitous thinking, but if it works then who cares. We met in Danville with the plan of running the old street route of 8 miles and finishing on the Iron Horse. We took off on time (since all of us have this being-on-time thing and tend to arrive early). The air was cool, the sun was rising, the wind was light and fresh.

We ran the route with mostly a 4:1 run:walk pattern. There were two hills that we each took at our own pace; Bree and I walked a goodly portion and Anita blasted away. We did a little detour at the end because I didn't want to get back to start without a full 8 miles. We refueled, watered up (and down) and were on our way. We headed south along the trail, meaning to get the sunnier part done first. Bree decided to let us go on ahead and so we did.

I don't even remember what the plan was for the mileage there, but we kept on running. The wind was in our face on the way out and I knew it would be better going the other way. There was a lot of walking involved, probably more along the lines of 3:2. It helped with breathing and energy. When we got back we discovered that we had completed about another 6 miles, leaving only a short out and back to finish.

We met up with Bree, ran:walked a bit with her and then without her. The trail was crowded at that point, lots of runners, cyclists, families, dogs. We ended up with a lot of dodging and excuse me's and hi's and coming throughs and on your lefts and good mornings and cute dog! And we went slower and slower. At about the 1 mile mark we turned around and staggered back. It was literally "let's run to the next street. No, let's run to that tree. Ok, we can make it to the bench. Keep going until the garbage can. Well, let's run until the dogs. Oh, we might as well run to the corner." Walk walk run run. We ran in the last couple of tenths, I looked at Mr. Garmin and realized that to get a nice round number we'd have to keep going. I knew that we had been in a couple of places without reception and we had more than likely already run the full amount but we ran on, me staring at my wrist until the numbers changed to 16 miles.

Holy schmoley, we were tired. We had done more walking than makes me happy but if it had been a race we would have been well within the cut-off times. My legs had that strange tingley blood-moving feeling from my bruised toes to my hips, but they didn't hurt. I was a little overheated, a little dehydrated and a lot nauseous. We hung out for a while to cool down and chat, congratulated ourselves on getting it done and scattered on our ways.

Sunday I had another break when I met with Claudia for mani/pedi's and dinner. I hadn't cut my nails since the pedi in Vegas and I was way overdue. It was restful and soothing and my toes are nice and pretty (even the one where the nail will probably fall off within the next week - ew). Afterward we had a little champagne tasting with appetizers and then Mexican food (a huge chicken burrito), the best meal I've had for weeks. We caught up on everything in our lives and then Claudia let me babble on (and on) (and on) about my mom and it helped enormously to get it out of my system. I drove away feeling relaxed and, dare I say it, happy. Thank you Ms. C!

Then it was time to get back into the real world with doctors and nurses and banks and bills and no checks yet and assisted living places and -- oh yeah -- my job. The break was much needed, much appreciated and will allow me to retain a bit of hope for normalcy for a while longer.

Running with No Reservations

Yesterday I was supposed to run a half marathon but I didn't. In lieu of that I should have gone off and run 13 miles on my own but I didn't. Last week I was scheduled to run on Monday and/or Tuesday, and Wednesday and/or Thursday. I didn't do that either. I hadn't run since our stumbling almost 14 miler 9 days ago. I hadn't done any cross training for a week either. Add to that a complete lack of sleep and poor nutrition and more stress than I've ever experienced and it all added up to one sad puppy.

Every day last week I'd say I would get up early and run. When that didn't happen I said I'd run after work. Neither morning nor evening runs occurred. Only guilt and my lack of activity and training was present.

Today I again set my alarm to get up early to run and again I didn't do it. When I got home from work I was tired and beaten so I took a nap. After a short time I was jumpy and twitchy and decided it was run time. Since it was about 90 degrees with icky air quality outside when I got home I decided that the treadmill would do in a pinch. I changed, grabbed some cold water, turned the fan onto high speed and plugged in the 'mill.

What to watch, what to watch. I hadn't been paying attention to what I had set to record so I flipped through different programs and settled on an old episode of No Reservations. I started running as Tony Bourdain made his way through Las Vegas; eating, drinking, smoking and whining, crabbing and talking a mile a minute (gotta love that Tony!) (and while most of the food looked very tasty, the fried Twinkie was very gross). I realized that I was still having some breathing problems but kept the speed at 12 minute miles. After 2 miles I was wheezing so much that I slowed down and walked a half mile. Although I was still huffing and puffing I ran another 1.5 miles, then cooled down with a slow walk.

Know what? I really missed running! I should really try to make a habit of it.

Heavens to Betsy!

This is where I'm supposed to be writing about my wonderful half marathon experience this morning at the San Francisco Marathon. I'd talk about how it's one of my favorite local races that I've run numerous times. How I was unable to run it last year because of my knee injury. How the expo was pretty good this year, even though they moved it way the hell away from the host hotel (and BART). Then I'd say how the early rising was a pain in the butt. How the weather was glorious, the crowds cheerful, the race fun.

That last part didn't happen because I was at the Contra Costa County Regional Medical Center (i.e. County Hospital) until very late, listening to my mother screaming at the top of her lungs while secured to a bed with four point restraints.

Yesterday started with a visit to my mom at the Home (as I'll call it). It was the first time since she moved in there on Tuesday that I went to see her; general opinion was that she needed to have time on her own to fit in. She was unhappy though calm, but not too with it. She was sitting in her big red chair crabbing away when I noticed her skirt. Hmm, I thought to myself. I didn't bring a skirt with her clothes. Wonder where she got that.

Sadly enough, it wasn't a skirt. It was one of her tops that she had either stepped into or pulled all the way down, neither of those seeming too likely because of the tight neckline. I pointed out that it was tight since it wasn't, in fact, a skirt. She reasonably said that was ok, she liked it. And she liked it until we had to cut it off of her at John Muir Medical Center, Walnut Creek.

No, I'm not confused about the hospital. After spending time with my mom I went home. Within a half hour of arriving home I received a call from the Home that they had found my mom on the floor where she had apparently fallen, and she said she had a pain in her leg. So they called 911 who sent an ambulance which took her to JMMC-WC emergency room. I rushed over there, not wanting anyone to drug her up again.

It wasn't very busy in the ER and she had lots of people around her. At this point she told me that she had been fine at the Home, that she had asked lots of people to help her up and they all refused. Understandable, if she had truly been injured they could have made it worse. The nurses and aids were trying to figure out her strange clothing ("why is she wearing her shirt as a skirt?") ("why is she barefoot?") and looking at her vast and numerous bruises from the previous hospitalizations and the new fall. Although she was sore, her biggest pain was in her belly. Because her sk/shirt was too tight. We cut it off, gave her some hospital sweat pants and the pain got much less. They brought in a walker and she was able to slowly make her way to the bathroom and slowly make her way back.

She doesn't like to use a walker, it makes her feel old. She likes a cane but isn't allowed to have one since it can be used as a weapon. While in the ER she agreed that she would use a walker if they gave her one.

My mom was alert but confused and not tracking conversations. Every single conversation that someone tried to have with her became either a demand for ice cream or a plea for their beautiful red shoes and belt. She lacked focus but was calm. It was agreed that she could return back to the Home, the only question was how. A transport would have taken up to 2 hours to get there, or I could drive her. I had a serious conversation with her and she agreed that if I drove we'd go directly back to the Home with no stops.

Right. I should have known better. As soon as we drove off she started saying "I MUST have something to eat" and demanding that we stop for dinner at a restaurant. Mind, she was wearing hospital sweatpants, hospital sock/slippers, a dirty tee shirt and didn't have her glasses. Nonetheless we MUST stop. When I continued driving, saying we weren't stopping, she looked at me incredulously and asked if I was serious. When she realized I was she started getting angry.

I didn't think I'd be able to get her out of the car, but finally she got out. I insisted that she use the walker and she slowly and angrily, with many pointed comments about me, headed to the door. When we got inside she refused to use the walker and starting yelling that she was hungry. A couple of the Home aides came and told her it was dinner time; she could go to the dining room or eat in her room. She absolutely refused to go to her room, so they started helping her walk to the dining room. But she doesn't like people "hanging" on her, and yelled about that. They brought her a wheelchair and she plopped into it, muttering about how she hated it there, hated their food, hated this and that. All while pointedly ignoring me, the villain for taking her there.

I was assured that they would take care of her so I left her in their care. I got home, started putting out my running clothes for the race (since I had to arise at 4:30 am) and had just pinned my bib on my shirt. The phone rang, the Home again. I was very, very apologetically told that my mom had gotten completely out of hand and they had to call the police and fire department to remove her.

She had walked out of the facility and was down the street before they could stop her and bring her back (I never found out if she was using the hated walker on this great escape). When they reentered the building she started yelling, hitting and kicking. She got a hold of a pencil and threatened to kill herself with it. So she was placed on a gurney with padded restraints at wrist and ankle, still yelling and cursing and twisting to get free.

Since she was removed as a 5150 (an involuntary psychiatric hold) she was taken this time to County. I didn't even know what "County" was and had to call the police department to confirm that it was, in fact, the CoCo County Med Center in Martinez which has a psych ward. In other plainer words, it was the county hospital for crazy people. It took me a while to get there (each of her hospitalizations is getting more distant -- look out Sacramento ...) and then I had to wait to be admitted to the ER (County Med Center, remember? It was a crowded late Saturday afternoon).

I walked in and heard my mom before I saw her. She was in a curtained room, fully restrained, and mad as hell. She told me to release her and I told her I couldn't, they were afraid she'd hurt herself or someone else. She was astounded that I could believe them, and not her. My mom was raving about gangsters chasing her down the street and tying her up and she'd never talk to her mother again because it was her fault (Grama died 11 years ago, so at least she was right about never talking to her again). Then she stated she had to be released so she could walk to the bathroom.

But a 5150 patient wasn't going to be released, even for a moment, before she was seen by a doctor (which could be quite some time since she wasn't bleeding, nothing was broken, wasn't in danger of crumping on the spot). She was offered a bedpan and angrily refused. She again and again told me to release her, called me some horrible names and just raved about how she was being persecuted. "I won't forget this Amy!" and I sadly replied that I was sure she would, that was part of the problem. She kept yelling at me, and for a nurse, to let her go to the bathroom. It finally got bad enough that she agreed to use the bedpan and I left the area, knowing that my presence was only exacerbating the situation. I didn't see my mom again that night.

I sat down outside her cubicle and waited for a doctor to come see her. Remember, this is a frail, sick, 81 year old woman with COPD, high blood pressure, a heart condition and various and assorted other physical ailments. She started really hollering. Loudly. Very very loudly. Calling for NURSE. Then calling for DOCTOR. Then just plain old yelling HELP!!!

And I just sat outside her room while my heart was slowly smashed into smithereens. I thought I had gone through the worst of times with her, thought it couldn't get any more horrible, but I was wrong. She'd pause for a short while, then continue on. If anyone went in to see her she'd just rave about being released, ask for water, ask to urinate (my mom is very proper and DOESN'T pee - as she loudly informed a nurse). The staff just left her alone.

I asked one of the nurses if they were used to this since they truly didn't even flinch when my mom yelled (while I cringed more and more each time). Yup, it happens frequently and just wait until a sick baby was brought in if I wanted to really hear something (and that happened, but my mom out-volumed even a sick, angry, screaming baby). This went on, and on, and on. I wasn't going to leave her alone there in that condition.

Finally a frazzled ER doc came to talk with me and told me that they were going to admit her but it would take a while because they were busy; first the hospitalist had to see her and then they had to find a bed. It could take a couple of hours and I said I'd just wait until she was settled somewhere. More than 2 hours after she arrived they finally gave her some Haldol to calm her (when they told me it was only 2 mg I told them we were gonna need a bigger boat). But mom continued to yell.

One thing that I had to do over and over and over yesterday was repeat her recent health/hospitalization history for the month, since this whole nightmare started. I'm getting very practiced at both the long involved version and just the bullet-point version. I think I really should just type it up and make copies for everyone, updating after every new horror. Each nurse, each aide, each admitting tech, each doctor asks the same questions, needs the same information. Each time I had to tell it I got a little more upset, just hearing myself tell what's happened to my formerly independent mother. And mom continued to yell.

Although there were signs posted telling people not to use their electronic equipment, everyone was feeling free to ignore them. I did the same and texted and tweeted as I sat there waiting. I took a very short break to eat my dinner (a Clif bar in the car; yum) and I hurried back so I wouldn't miss the admitting doctor.

At this point my mom started calling for people by name. The one she finally hit upon was Betsy. She loudly, at the top of her lungs, and repeatedly called for Betsy. BETTTTTSSSSSY!! BETTTSSSY!! Over and over and louder and good grief, how can she keep that up? Various staff members looked over and asked if I was Betsy since nobody working there was Betsy. I had to say no, I'm not Betsy. And it continued, BETTTTSSSY BETTTTSSSY BETTTTSSSY.

One of the nurses whispered to me that one reason it was taking so long was they just got 11 brand new first year residents. Nice, I just walked in on an episode of ER. This was confirmed when season 5 Lucy Knight walked up and told me she was the admitting doctor. Ok, it wasn't her but it a young (very young) woman like her. She told me that they were indeed admitting my mom as soon as they found a bed and don't worry, they have a geri/psych doc who is wonderful (but who won't be around until Monday). She convinced me to leave, telling me there wasn't anything I could do and it could be hours until a bed was found.

At 11:25 pm I headed out of there to the getting-hoarse-but-still-loud cries of BETTTTSSSY BETTTTSSSY BETTTTSSSY!!!! And I just want to know:

Who the hell is Betsy?

It hasn't even been a month

Somehow I feel that this roller coaster ride began months ago instead of merely three weeks ago. I thought that my coping mechanisms were well in place, working properly, but I must have missed the warning label telling me that they would only work overtime for a short period. I was capable and strong for a week, capable for another week but that third week done me in. I got to the (highly annoying) point where absolutely everything was making me cry, I wasn't sleeping, wasn't eating well, wasn't running, wasn't being much use at all. And I'm not at all sure why I'm speaking in the past tense since I don't think I'm over it or able to resume full capability, reason and balance yet.

I'm not going to go into detail here, but the Cliff Notes version is that today my mom was (again) discharged from the hospital into the care of an assisted living facility where they are used to handling patients (residents?) with dementia. My mom is barely coherent, physically weak, bruised and confused. I'm waiting for the phone to ring while hoping it doesn't because we've run out of viable options.

In the middle of all this has been some joy and fun. Saturday morning I met up with Bree, Anita and Olivia for a planned 14 mile run. We managed about 13.75 miles but not all of that was running. My lungs were vastly unhappy. I had had some roses in my office and never even considered that they might cause problems (they were beautiful! Their fragrance was very light! They're my favorite flower! They were a gift from a good friend! They cheered me up! I liked them!). After a couple of days I realized I couldn't get a breath and finally realized why (I'm a little slow on the thinking these days). Add to that the stress and questionable air quality and I was a wheezy runner. I was even a wheezy walker. But it was a beautiful morning in Alameda and we had a good time catching up while we ambled along.

Saturday night was the long-planned outing with Anita and Bree. We had dinner at Blowfish in San Francisco (omg it was the best sushi ever) (and the drinks were fabulous too) (and that dessert was incredible) and then went to the Orpheum to see Wicked. Excuse me, I'm too lazy to post links and too tired to post the great pictures of dinner that I snapped throughout. The play was great, even with the very wide gentleman blocking my entire direct view (I sat sideways, leaning out of my seat into the aisle). I highly recommend it (the play, not the leaning). I also highly recommend having friends like Bree and Anita with which to share an evening.

And speaking of friends, thank you so much to all of you who have checked in by either comment, email or tweet to see how I'm doing. Your friendship and concerns are exactly what's keeping my remaining sanity intact. I'm sorry I haven't been responding to everyone, I'm using most of my "nice" energy when I visit my mom and don't seem to have much left over for correspondence or telephoning. Just know that every one of you is important to me and I hope that someday I can return the favor and give you support when you need it.

That running thing

With all the turmoil and bustle and anguish and anxiety, I haven't had time to take care of myself. I've spent every evening after work with my mom, getting home around 9:00 pm-ish. That's too late to even think about any kind of exercise. It takes a couple of hours to unwind enough to go to bed, and even then my brain races along while my body tries to rest. With all the tossing and turning I'm too tired to get up and exercise before work; I'm afraid I'll be so uncoordinated with sleeplessness that I'll hurt myself. My system has keenly felt the lack of activity so this morning I dragged myself out of bed and headed for the treadmill.

Three miles later I was smiling, relaxed, breathing heavily, sweating heavily-er (sorry, I liked that word), ready to face the world. I was tired, but a good tired instead of a beat-up tired. For a short time I was thinking about running, thinking about the amusing program I was watching, thinking about everything except my family issues.

I'd forgotten how good that feels. Hmm. Maybe there is something to all the talk about how exercise is good for you ...

It got worse again

"You BITCH!"

With those lovely words my mother greeted me a couple of days ago. "I can't believe that you, of all people, would do this" she continued. Since I hadn't taken her home, had let the hospital keep her in custody and care, I had become the enemy.

As a runner, "downhill" has always been a good thing to me. It means my path is easy, better, smoother. But "downhill" for the rest of life isn't as good. My mom's condition has has continued to go downhill quickly. Mentally, physically, emotionally. Despite our hopes and the actions of the medical staff my mom is almost certainly about to be put in a mental hospital.

A week ago it looked like changing her medications would calm her down, clear up the mental confusion, steady her moods. Even while giving her some of the most toxic drugs available she has only gotten worse. Suspicious, paranoid, still unable to string together any type of coherent conversation. Her only focus was going home, being by herself. She said she was in prison, locked up, out of her own control and being held against her will.

Unfortunately her physical strength continued to build as her mental state continued to deteriorate. She's able to get up and walk, almost run, even though she's still bent over and stumbling and unsteady. Her anger built day by day.

The hospital decided she was stable and healthy enough to be released. We found what seemed like the perfect, peaceful rehabilitation facility (aka rest home aka nursing home). Since she really couldn't be left alone we hired a sitter, someone who would watch her and make sure she didn't hurt herself.

Early this afternoon she was transported to the place I'll just call "Manor." She didn't want to get in the transport, was rude and vile to the ambulance attendants, ignored me when she saw me waiting at the door. She arrived at her room, continued ignoring me. I introduced the sitter and mom was quite clear in telling her to go away. I was just as clear in telling mom that the sitter was staying.

I had brought clothing and some personal possessions so she could feel more comfortable. I don't know if she didn't recognize them, or just didn't care. She was very cold to me, outright rude to the sitter and ignored the nurse who was trying to do intake. My mom kept asking for my sister's phone number so she could call "the daughter I love" and finally I told her that if she allowed the nurse to do a short exam, the nurse would call my sis for her. My mom cursed, told me to get out of there, so I left.

We had told the Administration, the admitting people and the nursing staff we met that she was not compliant and was very angry and could be very loud and horrible and mean with what she said. We also told the sitter and the sitter's boss the exact condition of my mom. We made it clear, and the hospital discharge papers made it clear, that giving her Haldol would calm her down. Either none of them listened, or they just didn't believe us, because it turned out to be more than they wanted to handle.

I got a call from the sitter about an hour after I left (while I was in the middle of Safeway, shopping). She was in tears and told me my mom had pulled her hair and yelled at her and threw her purse at her. I called the doc, he called the Manor and told them to give her the drug, they told him they would, I called the sitter back, she sounded relieved.

Five hours later I got a call from the Manor telling me that they had called the police twice because they couldn't handle my mom. I was shocked. The nurse told me that while a cop was standing there my mom finally agreed to let them give her the Haldol - 5 hours after I thought she had gotten it. Since my mom was a little quieter after that, it seemed everything would be ok.

I then received a call from a wonderful Walnut Creek Police Officer. She was the one who responded to the second call and was sitting outside the Manor waiting to make sure everything was ok. She just wanted to get the full story about what was going on. I explained the whole over-medicating, dementia/psychosis thing, told her the Manor was well aware of what they were getting. She said that they had called 911 wanting to get an ambulance to take away my mom.

The staff had told the cop that they had spoken with the family, but were unable to produce the staff member who had made the call. Probably since that was a big fat lie, nobody had called me (or my brother). They told the cop they weren't staffed to take care of a high maintenance patient, that they couldn't handle her. They said they couldn't give a patient any medication unless the patient agreed, and my mom didn't want to take anything (this despite my having told the nurse and the administration that I held the power of attorney for health care and that they should give my mom all the drugs on the discharge orders). After a long talk with the very nice and sympathetic cop, who told me that she would note that if the police were called again the police should call me, I called back to the Manor.

I asked to speak with the Administrator in charge. I was told there wasn't one since it was evening. I then asked to speak to whoever was in charge for the evening. I was given the phone number of an offsite nursing supervisor. I told the operator I wanted to speak to whoever currently in the facility was in charge and was connected with the LVN who had called me earlier regarding my mom.

She told me that they didn't have anyone in charge, that the staff knew what they were supposed to do and just did it. I was openly incredulous but she wouldn't put me through to anyone else. I asked why she hadn't called the family when the police were first called, or why she hadn't called the family before it got to that point. She said that she was busy following my mom as she walked around outside and she didn't have a phone with her, "we're not a hospital you know and we're not equipped like a hospital." I asked who had called 911 and she said someone inside. She had no answer as to why that person couldn't have called me.

I asked what had happened to the sitter and was told both "she's scared" and that the sitter had been replaced by another sitter. This was the person who I thought would be the front line of care for my mom. Apparently I paid over $1,100 for 3 days of someone whose only job was to stare at my mom, and call someone if my mom moved. Quite helpful.

I told the LVN to call me if anything else happened, preferably before she called 911 again. So about a hour later she called again to tell me that my mom had never settled, that my mom had twisted her arm and pushed her when the LVN tried to give her some more medication. I asked her to hold the line and called my mom's doctor again. He called the nurse, called different facilities, made a couple of other calls.

At that point it was determined that the Manor would call for transport and have my mom transported to a hospital. Preferably it would be to Concord where there is a hospital with psych intake and triage, where they could provide for my mom and figure out where to go. Unfortunately the closest hospital was where they would probably take her and that was back to Muir, the hospital that broke her in the first place.

Then came calls back and forth; to my brother (being yelled at didn't help me too much), brother to doctor, doctor to hospital, doctor to Manor, doctor to brother, brother to me. At this point my mom was sound asleep and transport was deferred to the morning. Hope were high she'd sleep all night, but I'll be sitting by my phone in case that doesn't happen.

That's where it stands. In the morning my mom will probably be sent to a psychiatric facility, either one specializing in geriatric patients if they have a bed or a general one otherwise. All my mom wants is to go home, she's fixated on going home, and she's going to be locked up because she's incapable of caring for herself and doesn't understand that she's currently mentally incapacitated.

I'm told that's the best solution, that they'll be able to care for her, be able to find medications that will clear up her mind, give her physical and mental therapy that will make her more like herself. I will never be able to forgive myself that it's gotten that far since she trusted me to help her and make any decisions if she was incapable. But that's ok. I know my mom and even if she is fixed, even if she begins thinking straighter than she's thought for years, she will never, ever forgive me either.

The nightmare worsens

Warning: what follows is a hard look at illness and dementia. It isn't my normal carefree whining about my daily life and is full of pain and sadness. Please don't read this if you think it will upset you. I'm writing it down in the hopes that looking at it in hard print will help me understand what is going on.

When even the doctors are flailing around looking for a solution you know it isn't good. Instead of any improvement my mom is getting worse. She is a fragile shell of confusion and hate and anger.

What started as just another trip to the emergency room by a lonely hypochondriac looking for reassurance has probably turned into the final rational moments my mom will ever have. The first night in the hospital she was given Librium and Ativan. The Librium was because she normally has a drink at night and the doctors were afraid that she might go through withdrawal and have a seizure. The Ativan was given so that she would fall asleep. Both drugs should alleviate any anxiety and help her to relax. Unfortunately a side effect of both sedating drugs is the opposite; agitation resulted almost immediately.

The Librium is also not recommended for elderly patients or patients with dementia. My mother has at the very least mild dementia and she's 81 years old; elderly in anyone's book. Librium was a very bad drug choice. Mixing in the Ativan was a mistake, possibly a fatal one.

Because of the drugs, the morning after she arrived at the hospital she was more confused and uncoordinated than usual. She continued to receive regular doses of Librium twice a day. She saw many doctors/therapists/nurses/aides throughout the day and night and they determined that they should do even more tests.

Another night, more drugs, more confusion. With each change of shift a new set of caretakers would evaluate her, thinking that what they saw was her normal baseline. They didn't realize that she was acting drugged and I didn't know that they were drugging her. I thought she was just uncomfortable in the hospital or that maybe she had even had a stroke or something.

Thursday morning they were almost ready to release her, but the hospital doctor and her shift nurse were convinced she could not leave, since she lives alone. She was evaluated by a physical therapist who agreed that she couldn't be alone. It was determined that what she really needed was some rehabilitation, a short time in a rehab facility (or nursing home). Because of Medicare and insurance rules she would need to spend 3 additional nights at the hospital. She reluctantly agreed to this and was moved to a different floor.

At dinner time she was given some pills and while she was eating she got more and more confused and agitated. She forgot the conversations we had had with the doctors and with the case workers and insisted she wanted to leave. I repeated all the information we had gotten, repeated it a couple of times, but she was very unhappy.

After I left she got even more agitated so they gave her yet more Ativan. She slept, or was semi-conscious, for most of Friday. I spent the day looking at nursing homes and found what I thought would be a lovely rehab facility, near where she lives. Returning to her bedside I found her even more agitated than previously, although she was still focusing and making some sense. Once again at dinner she was given those same pills and once again she got more confused and quarrelsome. To get her to quiet down she was given the last dose of Ativan that put her over the top.

Finally on Saturday morning she was checked out by a new doctor who realized that plain and simple, she was over-medicated and over-sedated. She was mostly asleep for a good part of the day and when she awoke she was angry, confused, hostile. She insisted on leaving, yelled and screamed. The docs realized that she couldn't be given more anti-anxiety meds and decided to just wait until they were all out of her system. The hope was that she'd return to normal.

That hasn't happened. If she's awake she's, for lack of a better term, completely nuts. She's the crazy lady down the hall who keeps yelling, screaming, cursing. A geriatric psychologist was brought in to handle her case and for a while he just observed and also waited to see if she would regain her wits when the drugs wore off. She was given a 24 hour sitter so that they wouldn't have to physically restrain her but to her, the sitter is a jailer. She's physically weak, sometimes able to get out of bed with two people helping her, sometimes able to walk a couple of aided steps to the toilet, often unable to even sit up in bed or feed herself. She has strength in her grip but no coordination.

Yesterday I was there at lunch time while her personal doctor came to see her. She was hostile and dishonest to him, yelled at me, didn't focus on anything other than she had to get out of there and go home. The aide started to feed her lunch and I left to go back to work. My mom had been given her first cup of coffee since she arrived in the hospital; despite asking for it continually they didn't want to give caffeine to a cardiac patient. The aide handed her the cup, warned her that it was hot, and my mom threw it in her face. Right in her eyes. Luckily the poor woman was able to jump back and avoid most of it and wasn't hurt. My mom was proud that she had done this.

Never, and I mean never, in her 81 years has my mom physically abused someone. Verbally yes, rarely she's called someone a fucking bitch and yelled other obscenities. But then she'll quickly hightail it away since she really doesn't like confrontation or fighting or anger. Now she's reveling in it. If she were in her right mind she would be as horrified as I am.

Last night she was so out of control they again had to give her Ativan. This time it didn't even knock her out completely and only made her angrier and more agitated. Today they started her on a new regimen. The doc is trying out Depakote Sprinkles. Yes, they're putting magic fairy dust on her food. This was originally a seizure medication but is being used as a mood stabilizer. This stuff, according to the warnings, is heavy duty toxic and very dangerous. In addition, they're giving her Haldol injections every 8 hours as needed for agitation. Cripes, this stuff is even worse. The warnings clearly says "HALDOL Injection is not approved for the treatment of patients with dementia-related psychosis" and yet the doctor thinks it's the best choice.

When I arrived to see her today she was completely wild. The aide was tying padding on the bed rails to keep her from injuring herself. She demanded to be dressed and taken home. I tried being sweet and loving, she swore at me. As I bent over her bed, she reached up as if to lovingly cradle my face in her hands. As she touched my face her fingers curled up and she tried to claw my face; I backed up in shock. I tried being stern and told her she couldn't talk to people the way she was doing. She cursed. I tried yelling and she yelled back. She continued raving and tears came to my eyes. She smiled an evil smile and said she was glad I was crying. She varied from knowing who I was and then demanding that someone find Amy. Since she was just working herself up I left.

I'm crushed. Seeing your mother this way is something that nobody should ever have to go through. I close my eyes and can see her satisfaction that she was able to inflict damage, can see her wild eyes, hear her hate-filled voice. The doctors have no answers. They don't know if she is suffering permanent brain damage, if the dementia will return to the previous low level or if she'll even come out of this cycle of drugging and agitation.

I'm not an optimistic person by nature, but I need to hope that this isn't the end. I have to believe that sometime soon, within a couple of days, some combination of medications will make my mom calm and reasonable. But even then we need to somehow convince her that she can no longer live alone and certainly won't be able to drive again. There are decisions to make that don't have right answers. It won't be easy or quick or pretty or easy. I don't know what to do.

Habit

This blog has been an outlet for me, a catharsis of sorts, where I can say whatever I want and pretend that I'm talking to myself (while other people may or may not listen). The only times I've censored myself were last summer when I was so depressed (and even then I was blabbing on my alternate blog) and about family matters.

I've talked about my sis a lot, once in a while about my bro, but when it comes to my mom I only put in that I've spent mom time. I have such conflicted feelings for my mom that I have trouble expressing them to myself, let alone writing about them.

I'm the youngest of three kids, raised by a young single divorced mother in the days when there weren't many divorced parents. I was always mommy's girl and in some ways still am. But by the time I got to college my mom could never decide whether she wanted to be my friend or my parent and that caused conflict and friction. We developed a very stereotypical mother-daughter relationship of too much love and too much disagreement and too much time together.

My mom has always had a mean side, a caustic tongue, an anger at the world that things weren't working out how she planned. While younger she mostly hid that away because she avoided open conflict; she would just cut you off permanently if you crossed her. As she got older though, that internal filter ceased working. She started yelling, then cursing, then just being cantankerous and grouchy and mean.

She was also charming and funny and clever and intellectual and talented. Little bits of that still peek through, but mostly now she's just unhappy and angry. Her health is suffering, her body is betraying her and she refuses to believe she's slowing down and getting old. While she wants sympathy, she also rejects any offer of help unless it's from me (or from my brother). We don't help her nearly as much as she thinks we should. We'd have to move next door to her and become her personal slaves for her to think we help her enough. But since we won't, she continues to be independent and lives alone.

Last week, for the third time in a couple of months, she had chest pains and went to the hospital. The last time that happened they ran some tests, couldn't find anything wrong except for some gastric problems, and sent her home. This time it was a different medical staff and they decided that it could be serious so they wanted to keep her overnight for observation and more tests in the morning. She didn't like that, but went along with it.

You know how they say that hospitals are the worst place to be if you're sick? It came true this time. If you've been following my tweets you'll know that from the night she got there things have gone wrong. What started as overnight observation turned into over-medicating and discontinuity of care, causing her physical and mental harm.

The sedation is wearing off but it has resulted in confusion. My mom is acting exactly like a habitual drunk in the middle of a three day bender. She is under the impression that she is fine but she also has no strength, no coordination and no rational thought processes. She's agitated, loud, confused and angry. She's yelling and cursing at everyone, thinks she's in jail, can't understand a thing. It doesn't help that she keeps taking out her hearing aids and then can't even hear. She has regained just enough physical mobility to be a danger to herself.

We're told that by tomorrow she'll be better, her mental processes should be nearing what they were when she first got to the hospital and within days it will be like it never happened. We've also been told that she's on the way down the slippery slope of dementia and this same behavior could be her future. She will become physically weaker, more confused and unhappier with life. It probably won't be quick and probably will be drawn out and ugly.

It makes me ache to see my strong, beautiful, talented, funny, independent mother come to this. It's horrifying to think of how long she could be aware of her own decline and how much she'll deny its occurrence. She'll have good days, flashes of her old self. But meanwhile I'm left with knowing that even though she's still here, I've lost my mommy. All that remains to her is habit and instinct. It will have to be enough.