The Choices We Make As Women, pt 2

 © Marie-Lan Nguyen / Wikimedia Commons

In an earlier blog, The Choices We Make As Women, admitting my private prejudice, I wrote about my evolving thoughts on the subject of women with children, who work outside the home. Just to clarify, I've always believed that a woman who works outside the home should receive the same pay as her male counterpart. Pay should always be based on job performance and competence, not sex, religion, ethnicity, or even a person's size, as we're being told today (over-weight people earn less). A manager's prejudice or preferences shouldn't enter into the equation in a perfect world. Unfortunately, we don't live in a perfect world.

For me, the unfairness of the job market quickly manifested itself soon after I entered it. As a young woman, I worked for a wig warehouse and trained a young man who eventually took my place. When I discovered I was pregnant and informed my boss I was leaving (single, I moved briefly to Colorado, long story), he thought it was because I learned they were paying my soon-to-be-replacement more money, after-all, he was about to get married and would be supporting a family.

In retrospect, I believe they were afraid I would report them for unfair labor practices and were trying to smooth relations. I had too much on my mind at the time to concern myself with what I was hearing. I was obviously qualified to train him for the job, but I was worth less to them, because I wasn't the head of a family (little did they know). It's amazing, after 40 years, I still hear comments made along the same lines and despite gains in a number of higher paying job markets, women's earnings, according to a recent Forbes magazine article, has stalled at 80% of their male counterparts. It boggles my mind and infuriates me on behalf of my daughter, grand daughters, and other female family members. [Access Forbes article here]

My daughter, Jennifer

Though Mom belabors the point about women and work, my grandmothers are mentioned repeatedly in conversations. Mom doesn't make the connection that despite the fact they would have loved to stay home and continue their domestic lives, and despite their limited marketable skills, finding themselves widowed, each worked outside the home, albeit for a relatively short period of time.

Grandma Fried

In another blog, I mentioned my Grandma Fried's prayers and the comfort she gave me. [Somebody's Praying] My mother's mother, Grandma Fried lived with us when I was a little girl until just before she died of a heart attack. Having a Grandma in the home feels natural to me; it feels like home. It's one of the reasons taking care of an elderly couple when I arrived in Tennessee seemed like a natural fit, and opening my home to Mom was always on the agenda, should she need a place and I had the means.

Grandma Fried, according to Mom, was a staunch Methodist. She didn't dance, or drink alcohol, and attended Church three times on Sundays. She married a card playing Grand Mason much to her parents' chagrin, I surmise. Grandma Fried attended well to her household of three daughters and one son during the day and always bathed and changed from her house-dress into something more presentable when Grandpa Fried arrived home from work in the evening. She met him at the door with a kiss.

Grandpa Fried

Grandpa ate supper with his suit coat and tie on and the family sat at the dining room table. The children didn't speak unless they were acknowledged, as the adults conversed about their day (for better or worse, times have changed). Grandpa was the head of the house. Grandma ordered groceries from the local grocer and Grandpa paid the bill monthly. Grandma didn't know how to write a check, didn't know anything about insurance, or the business end of running a household. Grandpa took care of business issues and Grandma the home, until he died in 1939 at age 59, leaving Grandma and Mom feeling lost.

Grandma and Mom (14 years old) moved in with relatives and were carted off to California, for a few years, before coming back to Nebraska where my mom met my Dad [Driving Ms Nancy]. Mom felt Grandma's pain, having to rely on relatives, and determined she would never place herself in that predicament. It's part of the reason she rages so, at times, about her current status. It's really a fantasy, however. We all rely on one another, certainly some times more then others, but we are interdependent creatures, living lives of perceived independence.

Nancy and Bob, November 22, 1945

They were still living with relatives when Nancy Jane Fried, of Swedish, French, Holland Dutch descent, married Robert John Duros (both 20 years-old), son of a Greek immigrant and a Bohemian transplant. Grandma depended on relatives for a place to live, which is why she spent part of my childhood living with us. She finally found a job working at Goodwill Industries, and Mom recalls the day her mother came home thrilled someone hired her. Her only options at the time were non-skilled labor and living with relatives in order to help provide for herself and my mom. At the time, only about 11% of the workforce were women.

Grandma Duros

Grandma Duros, Albina Hudrlik Holik Duros, lived to be 97 years-of-age. Mom is fascinated with Dad's mother and comments on the fact, in many conversations, that she lived so long. Grandma Duros was a little Bohemian woman, who moved to Omaha, Nebraska from Corsicana. I don't know a lot about her life in Texas. My imagination certainly has come up with several scenarios (and one may find its way into that novel I'll write before my demise), but in the end, we don't know much about her life pre-Omaha. According to Mom, she experienced such a hard life, giving birth to all ten of her children at home. My Uncle Jim wrote that she kept her children well fed, at times using a coal burning stove, and clean, though for years they had only well water and no sewers. She never owned much in the way of material goods, but what amazes Mom is that Grandma Duros was so grateful with so little. Maybe that's one of the secrets to her longevity: thankfulness.

She traveled with three small children under 6 years-old, with her mother to Omaha after her husband died. She couldn't have known what was ahead of her, she only knew she had to find work. Her sister lived in Omaha, which probably helped them make the decision to move. Upon arrival she hired on at a boarding house, and helped support her three children using her skills as a cook. At that time, even fewer women were in the workforce, about 5%. According to family legend, that's where my Grandpa met her. At the turn of the century, in South Omaha, Union Pacific Railroad and the Stockyards hired groups of Greek immigrants just off the boats, to repair the rail lines and work in the packing plants. Grandpa worked as a mail handler for UP, after working briefly for Cudahy Packing Plant.

Grandma was born in the US, but Grandpa jumped ship before reaching New York harbor and lived here illegally until about 1940, when a number of illegal immigrants were given the opportunity to become US citizens. It must have been frightening for them, to live not knowing if they might be separated and he, deported. Family legend states my Greek Orthodox Grandpa proclaimed in his thick accent when he met her, "She can cook, I'm going to marry her." Grandma said she didn't love George when she met him, but grew to love him, because of his care for all the children and his devotion to her.

We lived in Grandma and Grandpa's house (they lived in a small building behind the house, a garage Grandpa rebuilt into an apartment) when I was between 2-4 years old. I still remember Grandma calling me to the little house to hand me homemade bread, fresh from the oven with clumps of fresh butter on top. Oh, how I loved homemade bread, something I miss on my gluten free diet. Gluten free just does not taste the same. In the early afternoons, I'd sit beside Grandma as she shelled peas, or broke green beans for the day's meal or to can for later use. It was shaded and cool on the wooden bench beside the little shingled house out back. I don't remember saying much, I was quiet, I think, but I do remember the feeling of being close to such an earthy woman and feeling important to her, a memory close to my heart. A railroad track lay beyond the garden and the sound of a train whistle today, produces a sense of longing. I do understand my mother's feelings of longing for home.  

Basically domestic women, thrust through circumstances and no choice of their own, into the strange world of working outside the home, when there were few options for women in the work field, both women did the best they could with limited skills. Their lives left an indelible mark on my own.

To be continued....

Taking Care of Me

When Mom moved in with me in 2008, I was finishing my Master's thesis and lecturing at the University. Getting adjusted to Mom being here, teaching, and the pressure of getting my thesis committee ready, pushed all thoughts about my own health issues to the back-burner. I'd been telling myself, since I moved to Nebraska from Tennessee in 2002, I'd work on my health, right after I finished the semester. Then it was the next semester, and then the next, and before I knew it, 6 years had passed and I was still procrastinating. I'm good at it, procrastinating that is, especially when it comes to my own health.

As Mom's cognitive abilities started declining, I read more and more about caring for loved ones with Alzheimer's. I needed help to cope with the strangeness of it all. One of the things I read repeatedly was that often a caregivers' health will decline because of the stress of caring for someone with dementia. Reality hit me. If I didn't do something, I would be in trouble in a few short years. The anticipation of caring for Mom, however long that might be and difficult, focused a floodlight on my own health. I grew more aware of, instead of dismissing, how I was feeling.

I noticed my recall was not as quick, answers I KNEW in class were not coming to mind, a general fogginess set in, I couldn't concentrate, and I was tired all the time. I laid around the house, took naps when I wasn't at school, and most days woke up calculating when I'd be able to return to a prone position. As a matter of fact, if I wasn't in the lounge chair grading papers, I was lying on the bed or on the couch. My weight held steady at FAT, neither up nor down, no matter how little I ate. I generally felt lousy, but my biggest complaint was an overall feeling of inflammation. I had joint pain, plus this generalized l inflamed feeling that sometimes sent me to bed wondering if I'd be able to continue. I vacillated between not taking anything and consuming several over-the-counter pain relievers to get through my day. I felt stressed and maxed out just getting up off the couch, let alone dealing with Mom's ups and downs.

Typically, over the past decades, I've focused on my weight, reducing it through diet and exercise as a means to feel better. Exercise always helped in the past, but how do you exercise when you hurt to move, and you have trouble just getting through the day? My weight is a symptom of my health issues. Losing weight would improve my health, but since it is not the sole issue, to focus only on losing weight was not going to improve my overall health and well-being. I knew this instinctively. I needed to concentrate on wellness in a holistic way, physical, emotional, spiritual. No one was going to take care of me, but me.

Physical:
I found a doctor who listened to me. Dr. Patricia Ryan [http://www.centerforconscioushealth.com/] sent me forms to fill out before our visit. She took a lengthy history, including asking for info about my health issues for each decade of my life (try to remember what sort of illnesses etc. you experienced when you were 2 years old), a lengthy current symptom survey, asked for info about my lifestyle (travel, etc). She queried me about my circumstances, even had me list various products I use on my hair, on my body, in the house, all by product name, just to name some.

In a ninety-minute visit we discussed what my possible issues were and she designed a plan to help me deal with the inflammation short of any tests. She listed several tests that would help us identify my specific issues and I decided to partner with her to work on what she found. Osteoarthritis (moderate to severe in right hip), low thyroid, heavy metal toxicity, hormone imbalance, food sensitivities (soy, dairy, eggs, gluten), a Lyme family bacteria hiding in my body (DNA test), and some bad bacteria in my gut (I've traveled a lot), added to a general systemic inflammation and contributed to the fatigue and pain I was experiencing. It all encouraged my body to hold onto fat, which ALSO increases inflammation.
Without boring you with the minute details, among the changes she suggested:

• eliminating offending foods (along with general common sense dietary tips, which I had already implemented...seeking to eliminate white sugar, flour, add nuts, seeds, good fats, plenty of organic fruits and veggies, drink pure water)
• adding homemade chicken stock (it really is good for what ails you)
• supplements to support my thyroid, liver, adrenals, and digestive tract
• hormone support
• IV Chelation therapy to reduce the toxic metal load in my body
• basic detox minerals and glutithione (powerful antioxidant) to help my body detox                     

Gradually, beginning slowly so as not to overwhelm, over a year-and-a-half, I made changes. The result is the systemic inflammation is decreasing (so far by half), my thyroid numbers are good, blood pressure good, my body's toxic load is lessening, I have more energy, and am experiencing an overall feeling of well-being. Recall is quicker and concentration better. The weight is slowly coming off. I'm exercising, not vigorously but steadily, and include deep breathing and yoga stretches. Plus, I periodically have a massage, not only for detox, but also for stress relief. The day I turned on the music and FELT like dancing, tears of pure joy flowed.

It all helps me cope with mom's erratic behavior and accusations (paranoia), but the physical is only one aspect of wellness. There is also the need for emotional support.

Emotional
Mom and I are linked in this emotional journey. No one fully understands what it's like to live with someone who has dementia. Others in the same boat understand to a degree, but each situation is unique. Mom is very sensitive to moods, attitudes, tones of voice, expressions. Keeping my emotions and attitudes in check can go a long way to helping her cope with her own erratic mood swings, although there is no fool-proof way to keep her mind from building strange scenarios.

I'm human. The tension of not knowing what kind of mood my mom will be in any given moment, can build up in me. Her accusations hurt. The strange stories she develops are maddeningly confusing, and jolt when she confronts me with them as if I should know something about them. So, I take breathers. Mom is not to the point where she can't be left alone for a couple of hours. When I need to get away, I go to a movie, go to a restaurant and sit sipping coffee, reading something enjoyable. I go outside, sit in the sunshine for at least 10 minutes, then move to the shade for another 30 minutes to an hour, with my bare feet on the ground, weather permitting, just enjoying the feel of the earth and sun. Don't laugh until you try it. It's amazing how calming it can be. For more information see:  http://www.earthinginstitute.net/index.php/book

I listen to the birds, read a book, or I close my eyes and just breath. The grand-children stopping by or spending the night, can also add a welcome relief from the negativity that generally permeates conversations with Mom. These are things I can do that help my emotional equilibrium. I also schedule myself mini-vacations to just get away from it all. I'm fortunate I do have family that helps out as they are able. They can't be with mom to the extent I am. Each is dealing with this disease in their own way and to a greater or lesser degree do what they can.

To socialize, Facebook, Twitter, daily connecting with people even if only in 140 words or short bursts, helps me not feel alone. I decided I need to get out and meet people (moving here, school, now mom, I haven't taken the time to build many friendships here in Omaha), so I signed up for a Book Club Meet-up. A Twitter friend told me, after listening to me vent about not having many outside activities apart from Mom, about Meet-ups, i.e. groups for people of like interests that one can join and participate in. I haven't been to one yet, but I'm looking forward to the July meet-up. Just to meet with others and discuss something other then dementia sounds like a good idea to me.
http://www.meetup.com/cities/us/ne/omaha/

I'm sure as Mom's disease progresses I'll have to hire someone to come sit with her so I can get out. I've visited with Home Instead, a service that will provide such care and alerted them that I may need them. I don't look forward to those days, but am committed to taking care of me so I can take care of her. That will be high on my list of needs when the day comes. For more information about Home Instead see: http://www.homeinstead.com/Pages/home.aspx

Spiritual
I'm listing this last, but each of these needs overlap and are intertwined. It is not step one, two, then three. The spiritual enlivens and directs all that I do, all that I am. I have my own faith tradition and read and study to inform my faith. I pray, meditate, and vent.

For years, I kept journals, filled mainly with prayer requests (and answers), thanksgiving, and at times worries. When the "what ifs" descended upon me in the middle of the night, I'd get up, turn on the light, and write them in my journal. Then I read each and crossed out all those what ifs that might never happen (usually the whole list), and go back to sleep.

When I vent, I find holding onto anger and hurt feelings only keeps me awake and agitated, so its best to forgive, for my sake, but also so that bitterness doesn't creep in and taint all my other relationships. Besides, in order to be forgiven, we are told to forgive, right? Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us, goes a long way toward helping me not dwell on the past, and live in the moment. That's where Mom is, in the moment. Leave others to God. I'm only answerable for me, not anyone else. Sometimes, my vents are directed toward God, sometimes I'll call someone to vent, sometimes I get online and vent to someone who cares enough to listen. Vents help, but in the end, once I've vented, I must let it all go. When those thoughts come, release them by sending out feelings of compassion and love to those that cause me to rant, including Mom.

That's it everyone. That's how I take care of me, at this moment in time, where I am, in this journey with Mom in the world called dementia. I'm always looking for other ways that might help. Have you found ways to take care of yourself in your journey, in whatever world you are in at this moment in time? What are they? Will you share them, that I and others might benefit from the work you are doing on yourself, for yourself, and to help others?

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