It's almost 4 p.m. in Taranaki, New Zealand. Andrea and Max have been at the hospital for a little over 12 hours, birthing my first grandbaby. Max has called throughout the day, sounding mostly upbeat, once a bit discouraged (only 3 cm dilated!), then better again after he and Andrea had been able to catch a little nap.
Almost two hours ago Max texted to say Andrea's now fully dilated and beginning to push. We're getting close! (Notice I've included MYSELF in that pronoun, though I'm literally 8000 miles away from the action.)
TBC!
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When I arrived in Newton this afternoon to retrieve my parents, my dad was in his third straight game of chess with my niece. My sister and I loaded the car and met under a shade tree on this killer hot day to discuss THE PLAN for August 1st.
By all accounts, my parents' visit to Newton was a success. What my parents and sister sacrificed in privacy and space, they reaped in Pictionary, Chinese Checkers, puzzles (of course), Chess, and nonstop conversation.
But the set-up is not longterm sustainable. Too many people in too small a space. With my niece working in Cedar Rapids come September, the barriers to COVID would likely be weaker than those established by the nursing home.
It feels like we're inching toward my parents' return to Friendship Haven.
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My sister claimed to see a significant decline in my mom's functioning since she saw her last at the beginning of March. She also said Vern is on his last legs and needs to be put down.
Maybe I am not a good judge to measure my mom's (or the dog's) decline: I'm a certifiable optimist.
Also I, unlike my sister, had not been interacting with my parents on a close and regular basis prior to March 13. I spent the first three weeks of their time with me trying to figure out how much independence they could handle (and reminding my mom why she was here). After she settled in, I grew comfortable with her benign forgetfulness and enjoyed--at last!--sharing love and laughter with a woman I'd fought with most of my life.
My sister, on the other hand, had until March been visiting my parents weekly to help them with their finances and sundry errands. She likely has a better handle on their mental functioning than do I.
That said, she and I view the world through different lenses.
I see Vern as a happy (if slow) dog, living out his final months (years?) in relative comfort with equally happy and slow caretakers. My sister sees a miserably crippled dog, ready to meet his maker.
When she says our mom is also "miserable," I think: By whose standards? She seems happy enough to me!
My bother too accuses me of Pollyannaing my way through life. He considers my sanguine style a shortcoming; I consider it an asset.
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Do others who are monitoring parents alongside siblings find these alternate perspectives perplexing? Here we are, trying to make group decisions about what is best for our parents, and we are each filtering the evidence informing our opinions through our personality- and experience-driven lenses.
We're trying to come to a consensus when we don't even see the same world.
Enough.
Be well.
Write.
(Give birth!)
Allison
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