Friday, December 31, 2010

bandit

i am going to steal today
My Czech friend wrote me an email apologizing for a long period of not writing
in my reply I... uncovered one of the reasons why I write this blog
so i am going to steal from myself and copy that reply, here...
Tomorrow, if I remember I will relate the story of my parents wedding... it's cute
And just to let you know
I received an 18 out of twenty for the first essay I had you read on women's voice important to slavery and temperance etc.
and I received a 12 out of 12 for the 2nd essay on 3 African American writers and how their works connected and contrasted

Okay
Here is part of why I write

I fully understand your aversion to writing.
All I do when I am not helping or thinking about my father is read and write for school and blog (ok... there is also nieces and sister and a few movies) I have no passion or motivation to write, say, the occasional email. Even the blogs often hit my chest like a sack of rotten potatoes. Writing it is like having to eat those potatoes raw.
And yet there lives inside me something that desires to form words in a magical way... sometimes the potato sack knocks me down and over the edge of something ... a boundary of worlds and when there... writing becomes... for a short time, exciting and a blessing.
Your words are kind and like you, I have nothing to say or do that can help you much either. For me, it is merely important that anyone understands what it is, even in a small way, that I am going through. People who can look at me from outside of me... of my life here... and conceive part of what it is that we are going through...
oh I don't know. I've never been very good at acting on my own. I must always believe that there are others behind me... supporting me in some way.
so you do take on an important role just by reading.

Thursday, December 30, 2010

Today we had the meeting

My Mother sister and I met with the doctor, social worker, and case worker
I spoke a lot
I feel that my mother is not able to speak for herself.
and
I feel that my sister ... doesn't want the burden of uttering the words which will... bring about changes for my father.

The three of us met earlier today at my sister's house.
We discussed how we felt
what we wanted
and made an agreement on how to approach the doctor

I explained all we had discussed to the doctor.
There were no problems.
Everyone is, not exactly happy, but on the same page

On Saturday
The breathing... mask will be removed
and
the antibiotics will no longer be administered.

My father's breathing will be monitored.
Based on his oxygen intake
on Tuesday he will either return home (if he is getting enough oxygen not to need the special mask)
or be moved to a special hospice unit in a different hospital. (where they can continue to give him oxygen at a greater amount than we could give him at home)

no more antibiotics
no more attempts to cure his problems
more morphine

the focus will switch to pure comfort
(I don't want comfort when I die... I understand in my father's case because... he is like a scared little boy... he really doesn't understand what is happening to him... i want to feel the pain. I want to experience a real death...)
It looks as though... the time in which my father has to live narrows
This is so strange. My feelings swing back and forth
I want him to be peaceful
but
I don't want him to die
but I do
don't
do


I hope he can come home. I want him home again... I want to be with him... here... until the end.

Wednesday, December 29, 2010

more decisions

People are asking us to make decisions

the insurance company
soon
will no longer...
pay for the ...

my father wears a breathing mask

many people walk around (you may have seen someone) carrying an oxygen tank with them.
This oxygen ... is constantly blowing extra air into their lungs
my Dad has a sort of... mega version of this

the doctor put it on my Dad when
the oxygen level in his blood
fell

The idea is... that this "machine" will give Dad the extra oxygen he needs because
with the pneumonia he can't... get enough on his own
and the machine would work
while my fathers lungs heal
and the pneumonia is cured

the problem is that my father's body
hasn't made any attempt to cure itself
and
since he was recently on hospice care
the insurance company
...
doesn't want to pay for the machine...
because... it would only pay if... there was a chance of improvement.

o you understand?

The doctor doesn't seem to think that my Dad will get better.

so basically... this machine prolongs his life
for no reason
because he'll never improve enough
to live without the machine...

They want to remove it
they want us to say... remove the machine

My father would not die right away...
he still breaths on his own

what would happen is
he'd... struggle to get enough oxygen

little by little his body would...
I don't know...
shut down... because he couldn't feed his blood...

when it got to the point were he would feel pain or discomfort
they'd give him morphine

it'd be a ... waiting period
a time of... watching and waiting...

I really thought this would all be so different. I thought that ... we'd care for him... and make him as ... happy as we could... and one... spring sunny day.... he'd peacefully die. He'd fall asleep and never wake again...

that's how I thought it would happen

But so much of what makes my father is missing
now its as if
he ... resembles an animal... a deer who has been hit by a car
and is dying on the side of the road...

nothing but fear in its eye
does it want to die?
It struggles... it attempts to remain
it searches around itself for hope
it moans in distress and fear
its heart races
its eyes bulge
terror makes it shiver

its nothing like i thought it would be
not in any way
I am so afraid
Im telling no one but you
I am afraid

you can leave comments here if you'd like
but in the real world I don't want to talk about this
I fear for him
for the empty bleakness of his life and death
I am afraid for myself
i feel like i traverse the edge of death with him
i feel like I can see the land of death inside his eyes
the world empties out
the night becomes a cell
sound lifelessly vibrates
air freezes motionless

it feels like there is a part of me that dies as well

Tuesday, December 28, 2010

Dad is not improving
we met with the doctor today
he told us this:

Normally when people have a cold or fluid in their lungs
they cough
and coughing
is what actually cures them.

you cough and that propels the fluid from your lungs into your throat.

Dad's not coughing
so the fluid remains inside his lungs

Dad's other problem is swallowing
we gave him a peg tube
because he couldn't swallow properly anymore

but now it's become worse
Dad is not swallowing his own saliva

even though we do not feed him
he doesn't "eat" food
he adds to his own problem
even when he secretes saliva or bile

Does this disease get any worse?!
these little natural things we all do without thinking (and I am not one of those people to say... next time you swallow don't take it for granted... OF COURSE WE TAKE SWALLOWING FOR GRANTED ITS WHAT MAKES US HUMAN) are profound.
Swallowing is profound... as well as understanding when someone calls your name
or
not touching fire because it burns
or
coughing
these little things
deepen our life experience
they
support us
they define

peeing
crapping
basic so basic so important

who cares about health care in America
who cares what country owns the North Pole
who cares what Aunt Teresa said about grandma

what about BREATHING THROUGH YOUR MOUTH
when
YOUR NOSE IS STOPPED UP

these are the things... these are life...

I am... dumfounded
how much can actually be stolen from us
ripped away
beyond love, beyond hope.... breathing and urination and digestion and secretion

let him

I bend my... humanity
drop it like lead
to the altar of sanity
i pray pray pray
do not
take more away

let him
die die die
offer my
passion and
rational
thought

give him a draught
of rest
thought thought thought
stop
his beating breast

take nothing more
BUT HIS LIFE
end this knife
edged feeling of hope
woe woe woe
no no no
cease his blood
floe floe floe

my fingers shrivel in
rage rage rage
my anger is
savage savage savage
let him DIE
him
and not what's to
come
let him feel
numb numb numb
and
nothing

About my Aunt

I mentioned my Aunt A in the last post.
Aunt A was a very special woman.
Born 20 years before my father she became something like a second mother to him
and filled in the role of grandmother for me and my sister since Dad's mom died
at 74 the year I was born.
(my true grandmother died with Alzheimer disease before they really knew much about it at all. She died in the hospital tied to a bed. A few weeks earlier she'd locked my mother out of the house. She refused to let my mother back in... she held me in her arms and my sister (almost 5) clutched her skirts and stared out at my mother on the other side of the locked door. "I don't know you. Go away" My poor mother didn't know what to do.)
Aunt A lived on a farm that she bought with Uncle N in something like 1930. They bought this property so cheaply. They had horses and chickens. It was a big farm house. Everything held importance to my Aunt. Each piece of furniture had meaning... every jar used to jar fruit each year was special. She never threw anything away unless it had reached its absolute unuseful stage. This did not mean that she pack-ratted. No... everything had its proper order. She never bought anything new unless she truly needed it.
Her favorite thing was to wake up and make breakfast. Sit and eat breakfast and listen to the birds outside her window.
She even saved plastic bags from bread loaves to reuse for other purposes.
She'd lived through the depression you see... the depression was her era really. She married during it, found out she couldn't conceive during it... worked damned hard during it... saw the world change around her during it.
Although my maternal grandmother was older than her, I couldn't speak to her because her English was poor. Aunt A was the oldest woman I knew, really.
Uncle N. worked for Ma Bell (if you are not American you may not know about Ma Bell. It was the Bell telephone company and long after monopolies were outlawed it remained a monopoly. He'd also been a veteran of WWII. When he died there were several life insurance policies (both the Bell company and veterans) AND a pretty big pension from his job. It was the 1980s and Aunt A. sold her house and property for about 12 times as much as when they'd bought it.
Aunt A. was now extremely rich (her strict attitude about the use of things fell on money as well. Not one dollar wasted unless absolutely necessary.)
My dad tells a story about her which occurred several years after the death of her husband.
She called him and told him that the senior citizen group she belonged to was going to see a show and go to dinner as well. It cost $50.
"It's too much," She told my father. "What a waste of money."
"All right, A." my father replied, "Don't go. In fact don't use your money at all, so that when you die I can use it all for me."

Aunt A went to the dinner and the show
and to several possibly frivolous events and trip after that.

The reason I mention this Aunt A. has bearing on my father's situation today.
The truth is that even with her change in attitude
when she died she did leave a large hunk of money to my father
AND THANK GOD
we would be in a very different situation right now if she hadn't.
I can't imagine the ... choicelessness? of it
the inability to have made certain decisions
we would have been forced to follow the dictates of the state
my father's existence would have been even more miserable than it is now.
The money slides away quickly but it is not being used frivolously.
Some how Aunt A. knew my father would need it.
Some how she has blessed him and us with this money to keep him comfortable and safe.

One more quick story about Aunt A.
A few years after her death I decided to try to become a vegetarian.
One June I stopped eating meat and stayed on this diet for about 30 days.
Hungry all the time... nothing I ate fulfilled me.
After a while I was going to bed with deep rumblings in my stomach
it's the closest to heroine addiction that I will probably ever come.

One night in a restless sleep I had a dream.

Aunt A. sat at a table.
In her hands she held an enormous hamburger
Lettuce and tomato peeked from the sides
and ketchup driblled out as well
she took a huge bite
"Aunt A!" I yelled, "You're eating a hamburger!"
She looked at me, lowered the burger and said,
"When your dead, you can eat whatever you want." and continued to munch.


I woke up in the morning
went straight to the kitchen
and made myself a hamburger at 8am in the morning.

Its not just my father that Aunt A. continues to watch over...

Monday, December 27, 2010

drugs

At the moment I have a break from my online university
and Dad remains in the hospital
It snowed like crazy yesterday
I feel the opposite from how I felt a few weeks ago

All I wanted was a break
now I have a looong one

I did shovel a lot of snow this morning
made a crazy maze for the dogs (It's cute... I let them out and they keep running in circles through the maze... the snow is too high for them to run across it so they continue to go round and round.

I am trying to write
and by this I mean
short stories
but I get stuck about
2 paragraphs in
I am useless without a deadline

We visited my father today
He wore a new... breathing mask
turns out his oxygen levels have been low (90 is good... he was 60)
this mask
helps force oxygen into his lungs
And after we left
the hospital called us
and asked us if they could begin to give Dad morphine
they say that he is very uncomfortable
that he is overworking himself in his attempts to breath

my father has this strange problem
his nose is congested
but he refuses to breath through his mouth
so he has to... push? to get air into and out of his stuffed up nose
when he relaxes he uses his mouth
and then breathing is much simpler for him...
hopefully
on the morphine
he will breath properly
so we told them yes

what would you do?

Nothing is right
It's this damned pneumonia
If he didn't have it
he'd be here

i think he should be here

I want him to die here
to be here
to have us around him
no matter how little he recognizes
if there is a slight chance
a 3 second awareness
an opening of his eyes
a whispered word
Id like to be there

My mom is a mess as well.
She hears "morphine" and can only think of my Aunt
who was given too much morphine
by an assistant living nurse
and died
my mom thinks she died too early
and blames it on the morphine.
I am just worried that my dad
will only be okay while on the morphine
and once we start
he'll never come off.

Sunday, December 26, 2010

before and now

I think I've told you that my father was a gardener and landscape artist.
We live on 7 and a half acres of land
covered in forest
with some small glades
intermittently spaced throughout the property
a few years ago
my father and his friend
dug a pond out back in one of the glades
and rigged a little waterfall to it
which you could switch on up at the house
It would take about 3 or 4 minutes
but soon there'd be a steady
almost natural sounding
stream of water
gently falling into the pond.
Within the dark water
lived frogs
bugs
several gold fish (Dad and I used to name them after dead relatives as a joke)
There also grew an assortment of water plants often including
stolen water lilies
taken from the Pine Barrens
a state run park
not too far from us.
There were irises as well
and other
nameless things
(nameless because I don't have the knowledge. Dad could name them all)
He delighted in new unknown plants
which he would acquire (sometimes buy... sometimes find... sometimes be given)
these would decorate the borders around the pond.
Colorful things... surprising things... oddly shaped and hairy looking things
something always bloomed throughout the spring and summer
beyond this array
stood taller species of bushes... A butterfly bush (which attracts butterflies) and a prickly looking bush... and a bush with white flowers that had a constant party of bees buzzing around inside of it
their buzzes mixing with the sound of the tinkling water.
Much of this flora still resides around the pond (which is now black and lifeless... anything alive inside it must be the bravest, most enduring, roughest type of living thing that could also live on the moon.)
Everything is overgrown and mixed with weeds so that in the warmer months a novice outdoorsman like me doesn't know what to pull and what to keep... and just gives up
The wires are still there as well.
These either ran up to the house into the switchbox which turned on the pond
or connected to now buried small lamps that were lovingly placed by my father.
Our Dog Pebbles fell in as a puppy
and my oldest niece as well (when she was 2 I think)
The "friend" who helped my father build the pond (who my father actually worked for 4 ten years) has not come to visit my father since he noticed the onset of the Alzheimer Disease about 6 years ago.
Many of his friends have abandoned him.
I say abandoned because its true
most people have decided he is no longer there
imagine
who is your closest friend?
Can you imagine
you go to visit them
and all they do is stare out a window
or babble and spit
or repeat the same 5 words over and over
or only moan in pain and try to get out of a seat
could you handle it?
Could you find a reason to still call them friend?

And yet, i wish they would.
Part of me thinks that as each friend goes a way
bits of dad go away as well
so that it is not only an internal force that leads to his demise
but
a lack of an external force as well...

Do I judge his friends too harshly?
Do I judge people to harshly?
I judge myself harshly
so maybe I do them as well...

I have visited relatives who have been very sick
Its the closest I can come to what this must feel like to other people
I am too young for any of my friends to be... in this situation
and
many of my friends live on other continents.

The grounds are neglected as well
and like my father
they've become confused
and unclear
they keep trying to grow and live
but there is only a vestige of sense
a whisper of structure

This spring
Im going to try

and make the garden grow again

Saturday, December 25, 2010

christmas without dad

I bought my mother a healthy cookbook
and 2 two pound dumbbells
she wants to be healthier
and I want her to be too

we even had a workout session together
I made her stretch out her legs
point and flex her toes
and try to touch them with outstretched fingers (all done while sitting in a chair! She is 74 and I don't want to hurt her.)

we visited dad
but he slept the whole time.

I wish more of my mother's family would either visit dad
or visit mom
shes sad about that.
I think she feels a little lonely still
its a big hole to fill with him not really here.
She used to be surrounded by family
4 sisters
1 brother
18 of us grandchildren

but its very different now
only one sister is still alive
and all the grandchildren (her nieces and nephews) have their own lives.

Friday, December 24, 2010

melancholy eve

My mom bought a bouquet of tiny red roses for my father
we went to church at 4PM
I always accompany her to church on Christmas Eve
I give that to her as a present
it makes her feel good to be
surrounded by all of us at church
I HATE church
(Today the priest prayed for "unborn" babies... and he didn't mean the ones inside pregnant women... he also told us, "Sure... Jesus is your friend... but you'll still go to hell unless you walk the narrow path... he didn't say go to hell...but he implied it)
Of course
Dad was missing

When we were young
Dad didn't think about God
He loved life
gardened
or
rode horses
or
mowed the lawn
every Sunday morning
since his wedding never went to church
until he turned 60
he decided he needed to attach himself to a religion
he went through catechism (I think very brave of him since he was ... like older... and can't read)
and became a Catholic

Since then he accompanied my mother to church every week
until he started to talk out loud during the mass
and couldn't remain seated

But it wasn't so strange to not have him there...

After church we visited him in the hospital
Mom brought the flowers
he slept the whole time
we ignored it
held the flowers up in front of him
determined to keep christmas spirit alive
"Merry Christmas!" we said.
"I would have bought you more..." said Mom, "but..."
"Dad?" I said. "How about I rub your legs for christmas?"
and I did
and it got quiet
only the sound of Law and Order on his neighbor's television
sooo melancholy
Mom and I exchanged a look
something shifted in the universe
and we knew
know
Christmas is irrevocably changed forever


My father used to recite the Night Before Christmas late late late on Christmas Eve
His cool friends would always come to visit as well.
F... The drunken effeminate heterosexual
D and A the two gay horsemen who pretended not to be
A's sister the fun nun
my Dad's young friend K who always brought me a really cool gift (well... for me anyway... one year it was the album of The Sound of Music) K was NOT gay... but my Mom would buy and wrap the gift which she would then give to K to give to me.
There would be all the best little tidbits
cheese crackers dips chocolates and tons of cru-de-te DAD LOVED IT raw vegetables
and they'd drink cocktails
and laugh
and we'd all stay up late together
and I felt like an adult

In the past 20 years... this has not happened
K got married and had kids
F drank too much one christmas and got into a car accident while driving home (it wasn't after leaving here)
A and D split up ... A moved to New Orleans... became a chef... and died of Aids
A's sister ... who knows?
D still comes... but now only on Christmas day
and only for a meal
no drinks
no veges
everyone's stomach is this and blood sugar is that...
no more cool gifts

and now... no dad
I mean he's alive
and in the hospital
but he won't be here
isn't here now
and certainly doesn't remember the words to the poem...

here they are:


'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house

Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse;

The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,

In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there;

The children were nestled all snug in their beds,

While visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads;

And mamma in her 'kerchief, and I in my cap,

Had just settled down for a long winter's nap,

When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,

I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.

Away to the window I flew like a flash,

Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.

The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow

Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below,

When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,

But a miniature sleigh, and eight tiny reindeer,

With a little old driver, so lively and quick,

I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick.

More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,

And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name;

"Now, Dasher! now, Dancer! now, Prancer and Vixen!

On, Comet! on Cupid! on, Donder and Blitzen!

To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall!

Now dash away! dash away! dash away all!"

As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,

When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky,

So up to the house-top the coursers they flew,

With the sleigh full of toys, and St. Nicholas too.

And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof

The prancing and pawing of each little hoof.

As I drew in my head, and was turning around,

Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound.

He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot,

And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot;

A bundle of toys he had flung on his back,

And he looked like a peddler just opening his pack.

His eyes -- how they twinkled! his dimples how merry!

His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!

His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,

And the beard of his chin was as white as the snow;

The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,

And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath;

He had a broad face and a little round belly,

That shook, when he laughed like a bowlful of jelly.

He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,

And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself;

A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,

Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread;

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,

And filled all the stockings; then turned with a jerk,

And laying his finger aside of his nose,

And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose;

He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,

And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.

But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight,

"Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good-night."

Thursday, December 23, 2010

Hospital Day

I spent about three hours with my father in the hospital today.
He seemed pretty rested
not so bad
maybe better
than he has for a while.

He won't be home for christmas
but sadly
probably won't even realize

I am baking cookies
and made fish for dinner
and started cleaning the kitchen

it feels good to do some normal things

Its so strange to feel good at a time when my father is in the hospital...

Mom and I had an interesting conversation about
well...
his funeral

I won't go into that
but we did
I think it's a good thing...
I have almost nothing more to write at the moment.
Perhaps I will redeem myself
or at least try to
Ill give you another paper that was due on Sunday
try to guess what my grade will be (if you can stomach reading the whole thing that is)
and we shall see if you are correct when I get the grade
It is graded in %
so 100% is the best I could do...

I think this one is more interesting
and written well
what I thought was cool is that some of the material we had to read in my ethnic class
Id already red in my lit to 1860 class!
(I really like studying this... just as much as I liked theatre)


Comparing and Contrasting Incidents in the Life of a Slave Girl, Satchmo, and Girl
Kevin Smith
ENG/301
December 18, 2010
Professor April Rivers



Comparing and Contrasting Incidents in the Life of a Slave Girl, Satchmo, and Girl
Harriet Jacobs wrote Incidents in the Life of a Slave Girl in 1861, after successfully escaping from slavery. Louis Armstrong published his biography Satchmo, in the 1950s, at the height of his famous career in music. In 1983, Jamaica Kincaid authored her short story Girl. These authors wrote their works at diverse periods during the African American experience. These three stories display both differences in areas specific to their time periods and timeless similarities, within the choice of genre as well as the themes of motherhood, suffocation, and fighting back.
In Incidents in the Life of a Slave Girl, Jacobs returns to her days as a slave in the south, in a time following the implementation of the Dread Scott Act. This act would enable slave owners to follow refugee slaves into the northern abolitionist states, and retrieve them. It also stated that any person who helped or sheltered these fugitives would be breaking the law. Instead of fleeing north, Jacobs chose to hide at her grandmother’s house, in the same town where her master lived. She explains that, ”Had the least suspicion rested on my grandmother’s house, it would have been burned to the ground. But it was the last place they thought of” (Jacobs, 1996, p. 20). Jacobs used the genre of biography to tell her story. It adds truth to the horrors of what Jacobs faced during her seclusion. This convention adds to the tension of her situation and causes feelings of empathy and suspense in the reader.
Louis Armstrong experienced childhood at the turn of the century. After slavery had been abolished and eradicated at the end of the Civil War, racism, segregation, and poverty took its place. The beginning of Armstrong’s tale occurs in New Orleans, once an important slave-trading city. It the first chapter of Satchmo, Armstrong faced danger almost every time he left his home. While describing many dangers inherent in his section of the city, Armstrong wrote, “Maryann told me that the night I was born there was a big shooting scrape in the Alley and the two guys killed each other” (1996, p. 39). Armstrong chose to relate his history through biography. Although danger loomed around him, Armstrong’s boisterous personality and positive attitude transcend the danger and racism with which he lived. Louis Armstrong became one of the biggest stars of his time. His public personality, experienced through his written biographical voice, is warm and endearing.
Jamaica Kincaid wrote Girl in 1983, long after the civil rights movements of the 50s and 60s. This allowed Kincaid to focus almost solely on the familiar relationship between a mother and her daughter. However, racism still exists in pockets of society. When the mother tells her daughter to check the bread before buying it, the daughter replies, “but what if the baker won’t let me feel the bread?” (Kincaid, 1996, p. 311) Kincaid wrote her short story in 3rd person, although most of the story is a nonstop monologue in which a mother speaks to her daughter. This helps to place the reader in the shoes of the “girl”, who must also listen to her mother’s non-stop tirade.
The themes these three works use are often similar. Maternal love is intrinsic to all three pieces. Each of the stories contains a strong mothering character, but the manifestation of that strength varies. In Incidents in the Life of a Slave Girl, Jacobs herself portrays the mother who yearns to interact with her children. Thinking of them, she wrote, ”How I longed to speak to them!” (Jacobs, 1996, p. 18) In Satchmo, Armstrong’s grandmother and mother play a defining role in his childhood by teaching and loving him. He writes, “Ever since I was a baby I have had great love for my grandmother” (Armstrong, 1996, p. 40). In Girl a mother attempts to influence her daughter by offering her important life lessons such as, “this is how you smile to someone you don’t like too much; this is how you smile to someone you don’t like at all” (Kincaid, 1996, p. 311). Powerful mother figures inhabit these three works. Each wishes, in some way, to love and aid their children. The time in which they live, and the situation that they live in, affects the way their love is shown.
Another theme found within the literary pieces is a feeling of crowdedness or suffocation. In the pre Civil War era of Incidents in the Life of a Slave Girl, Harriet Jacobs lives within a suffocating prison-like garret to remain unseen, “The garret was only nine feet long and seven wide. The highest part was three feet high, and sloped down abruptly to the loose board floor” (Jacobs, 1996, p. 17). Armstrong’s depiction of his street in a turn of the century section of New Orleans resembles Jacobs’ garret. However, poverty and crime create his suffocation. He writes, “In that one block between Gravier and Perdido Streets more people were crowded than you ever saw in your life. There were churchpeople, gamblers, hustlers, cheap pimps, thieves, prostitutes, and lots of children” (Armstrong, 1996, p. 39). In the more modern world of Girl suffocation comes in the form of a domineering dictatorial mother. The mother smothers her daughter under an unrelenting offering of advice (Kincaid, 1996). In the first two stories the physical world around the characters produces a stifling atmosphere. In Girl, the oppressive feeling comes from an overbearing mother.
Throughout African American history the theme of fighting back played an important role in shaping the literature of this ethnic group. Jacobs fights her master by hiding from him (Jacobs, 1996). Armstrong must fight his oppressor, a street bully, by punching him in the face (Armstrong, 1996). The daughter in Girl fights back by talking back to her mother, “but I don’t sing benna on Sundays at all and never in Sunday school” (Kincaid, 1996, p. 310). Although the three works share the theme of fighting back, the times in which they lived changed what they fought against.
Incidents in the Life of a Slave Girl, Satchmo, and Girl fall in different points along the timeline of African American Literature. Although each author wrote their work during very different political and social manifestations, all three works connect with each other through their themes. Together they tell part of the story of African America. If works like these go on to shape future African American literature, then certainly this ethnic genre will continue to add to the quality and importance of American literature in general.















References

Armstrong, L. (1996). Satchmo. In A. Young, African American literature a brief introduction and anthology (pp. 39-46). New York, NY: Addison Wesley Educational Publishers, Inc.

Jacobs, H. (1996). Incidents in the Life of a Slave Girl. A. Young, African American literature a brief introduction and anthology (pp. 17-20). New York, NY: Addison Wesley Educational Publishers, Inc.

Kincaid, J. (1996). Girl. In A. Young, African American literature a brief introduction and anthology (pp. 310-311). New York, NY: Addison Wesley Educational Publishers, Inc.

Wednesday, December 22, 2010

hospital again

The Doctor came yesterday at 530
Dad hasn't gotten rid of his fever since he returned home
Blood test results had come back from the lab.
Dad was dehydrated... his sodium levels were high
as well as his white blood count (your white blood cell count goes up usually when your body is fighting infection.)
The doctor said,
'If you want to save him he'll have to go to the hospital now, tomorrow will be too late"

I felt shocked
Since less than a week ago the doctor had said he'd be fine for another 6 to 9 months

It was extremely difficult for my mother to make the decision.
Either Dad could stay at home and be kept comfortable and we could try to get him through it
or
he could go to the hospital where
they would hook him up to a bunch of stuff
and treat the infection
but not help Dad so much
after looking at me several times like a lost puppy
she said... hospital
and then right away
well, Kevin? Is that the right answer?

I CANT be held responsible for this... my heart raced... really... how can you make a decision about something like that for somebody else...
but then I realized that that was exactly what my mother felt
and all she needed was someone to support her.

Mom, yes. There is NO right or wrong answer. We can only do what we think is best. Daddy can't answer the question so someone has to. That's us. Taking him to the hospital is a great idea.

I rode with him in the ambulance.
The driver was the uncle to a high school friend of mine.
we talked about how our town has changed in the last 30 years
i felt... old

when we arrived at the hospital
they unloaded my father
they had put this sort of.... robe on him with a cowl? Is that what it is called?
he looked like the Emperor from Star Wars
but not the powerful really scary one
the one who
after trying to convert Luke to the dark side in
Return of the Jedi
gets hoisted up over Vader's head
sort of electrocuted within a mixture of Darth's and his own force
and then gets thrown into the dark endless Death Star pit...
That's what dad looked like
and I

Laughed
I couldn't help myself.

and then I cried.

The movies always show these tense sweet scenes where people die with perfect hair and smiles

They don't show all the poop
and pain
the evil unwarm nurses

the tons of techs and emts who ask all the same questions because it's their job.
all the wires and tubes sticking out of a person

all the hours of waiting
(mom and I remained at the hospital until 3AM

Ill write more after I visit him today

4am

It's 4am

Dad went back to the hospital today... he's in icu
ill write more tomorrow

Monday, December 20, 2010

In bed by 11!

I wrote my essay
it was horrible... I am embarrassed REALLY
It is worse than anything I have EVER written.
even my first story
Brenda goes to Saturn.

My classmate Brenda sat next to me in 6th grade. I loved her.
Even while I watched, and fell in love with, the two actors from a show called Adam12
I loved Brenda. And I made her a captain of a spaceship which landed on and explored Saturn.
Saturn is my favorite planet because of it's cool rings.

Anyway... Ill add the awful paper to the end of this post
DON'T READ it unless you really really want to bore yourselves.


About Dad
His sugar levels are always high (I thank my diabetic friend for all his explanations about this issue... it helped to know a little... I don't freak out about it so much)
Sometimes I have to prick his fingers 5 or 6 times before I get enough blood to check his level on a little
hand held
gadget
I HATE THIS

He's got a whole lot of phlegm coming out of his nose and mouth...
the good news is that his breathing has gotten gentler
He wakes up a lot more
but...
Did I tell you this story yet?
I saw his eyes open
I said... Dad, do you want to die?
and he grabbed my arm... real fast
I suspect that was a yes.

Saturday ... I remember no day
as terrible as
saturday

My father bowel moved 5 times... and each time was... soupy
he cried out a lot
his fever spiked at 103.8!
I was supposed to take my nieces to the movies (to see Narnia)
Excitement pulsed through my veins
We were to leave at 130pm
at 125 Dad had a bowel movement...
need I say, we were late?

We got to the movie theatre (mind u, since Dad came home I have not left the house)
only 10 minutes late... and thats just previews.
We waited in line
we went to pay
THE CREDIT CARD MACHINES WERE BROKEN
I had no cash
there were no ATMS near


we didn't see the movie.



That night... something odd happened.
Bubble snuck into Dad's room...
there was a crash...
she came running out
she sat down next to me and she wouldn't leave me
every 15 seconds she started shaking
it was like she'd seen a ghost or something
It lasted an hour
I thought maybe seizures
or maybe some of Dad's medicine had fallen on the floor...

Don't know what happened...
maybe something just scared her.

Ok. Im going to bed now because I am done writing!




Women and Reform
Kevin Smith
ENG/491
December 20, 2010
Professor Rathi Krishnan



























Women And Reform
In the years leading up to the American Civil War, many groups tried to reform the social and political structure of the Union. Each group sought to define how the reforms should be made. Several groups would stand up and fight for their rights. Religious groups and groups defined by race, produced literature and gave lectures, preaching their individual reform. Amongst this upheaval, another voice would begin to be heard as well, the voice of women. During the antebellum era, American women would challenge the longstanding political and social views of the female sex. Women strove to redefine American freedom through their focus on the reforms of the day, including temperance, slavery, and rights for women.
The reforms for temperance, slavery, and women’s rights were discussed in many ways. The literary community used fiction, biography, poetry, essay, and speeches to inform the population about these reforms. Temperance would be adopted by most authors as a goal to achieve. However, alcoholism created problems in families and society, even in the lives of some authors themselves. Edgar Allen Poe would loose many positions, and become poverty stricken, mainly due to his drinking addiction (Levine, 2008). One of the most heated pre-war debates was on the subject of slavery. Several writers, “sought to present the war not simply as a war between the states (or about secession) but, in the spirit of John Brown, as a holy war against slavery” (Levine, 2008, p. 444). Coupled with the fight to free African Americans from slavery was women’s rights, including the right to vote and own property. Emerson himself spoke out for women and, “in 1855 he addressed a women’s rights convention in support of women’s suffrage, which he would continue to endorse” (Levin, 2008, p. 440). The views that women had upon these issues would prove to alter the course the reforms would take.
On the issue of temperance, female authors lent their voice to the argument. In the fiction novel The Morgesons Elizabeth Stoddard, “counterpoints an alcoholic, who fathers a retarded child and dies of delirium tremens, to a reformed drinker, who participates in the shaping of a potentially happier marriage” (Levin, 2008, pp. 442-443). Harriet Beecher Stowe wrote two books in which her, “villains were also drunkards” (Levin, 2008, p. 443). Even the quieter voice of Emily Dickinson took a stance on the subject of temperance. In one poem she wrote, “Inebriate of air am I” (Dickinson, 2008, p. 1203) and later “When “Landlords” turn the drunken Bee/Out of the Foxglove’s door -/When Butterflies – renounce their “drams” -/I shall but drink the more!” (Dickinson, 2008, p. 1203) Writing alcoholic characters into their novels Stowe and Stoddard were able to convey a distinct picture of the negative sides to drinking. Dickinson’s image, coming in the form of a short poem, is much softer. The interpretation becomes a reflexive one in the mind of the reader. By portraying these ideas in their work, women took a stand against the practice of drinking.
Women also challenged the concept of slavery in their writing. Many women writers would form a bridge between abolitionism and women’s rights. Grimke fostered the idea that women could greatly influence society’s thinking on slavery by taking action within the home. She tried to inspire women, who may have thought they had no power to change slavery, by telling them, “You can do much in every way; four things I will name. 1st. You can read on this subject. 2d. You can pray over this subject. 3d. You can speak on this subject. 4th You can act on this subject” (Grimke, 2008, 759). In the genre of fiction the feminine voice of antislavery was heard as well. In her novel Uncle Tom’s Cabin, Harriet Beecher Stowe would create a character, which all women who resisted slavery could identify with. On the subject of slavery, Stowe’s character Mrs. Bird, the wife of a politician, has this to say about the Dread Scott law, “It’s a shameful, wicked, abominable law, and I’ll break it, for one, the first time I get a chance; and I hope I shall have a chance, I do!” (Stowe, 2008, p. 778) Similarly the real-life character of Mrs. Bruce, in Incidents in the life of a slave girl, interferes in the biographer’s affairs in an attempt to win her freedom (Jacobs, 2008). Once again, the almost timid but undeniable voice of Emily Dickinson had something to say on the slavery issue as well. She wrote, “In the Parcel – Be the Merchant/Of the Heavenly Grace -/But reduce no Human Spirit/To Disgrace of Price –“ (Dickinson, 2008, p. 1219). The essay gave Grimke a venue in which to offer a set of guidelines. By following the guidelines women could help put an end to slavery. Stowe and Jacobs’ stories showed women they could have influence on this matter of freedom. Dickinson’s poetry exemplifies the common sense of abolition. Whether in essay, fiction, biography, or poetry, women worked to extend, to African Americans, the freedoms inherent in the Declaration of Independence.
The women writing literature in the pre-civil war era also had something to say about women’s rights. Fanny Fern focused on the inequalities between men and women, as they pertained to literature, specifically criticism of women’s literature. In her Male Criticism on Ladies’ Books, after reading a negative review that a male critique had made of a female’s novel, she wrote, “When I see such a narrow snarling criticism as the above. I always say to myself, the writer is some unhappy man, who has come up without the refining influence of mother, or sister, or reputable female friends” (Fern, 2008, p. 801). Fern theorizes that a lack of female influence equals to a lack of refinement. By using the essay to convey her message, Fern took full advantage of her rapier wit. Another writer would try to prove the importance of female influences upon men. Margaret Fuller also used the essay to advance her socio-political rhetoric. When considering the value of a wife who can think for herself she writes, “Men engaged in public life, literary men, and artists have often found in their wives companions and confidants in thought no less than in feeling” (Fuller, 2008, p. 740). Sojourner Truth took this idea a step further. In her Speech to the Women’s Rights Convention In Akron, Ohio, 1851 she said, “I am as strong as any man that is now. As for intellect, all I can say is, if woman have a pint and man a quart-why can’t she have her little pint full? (Truth, 2008, p. 761) By showing how women can be equal to men, it is not a far step from comparing that equality to the equality written of in the Declaration of Independence. Again the gentle voice of Dickinson had words to say on the subject. In her poem 1545 she wrote, “The Bible is an antique Volume -/Written by faded Men” (Dickinson, 2008, p. 1882). Dickinson may have been making a connection with the founding fathers. In her subtle way she expressed her feeling that words written in a book can change in meaning.
In his preface to Leaves of Grass, one of the precedents that Walt Whitman uses to describe the greatness of America is, “the perfect equality of the female with the male” (Whitman, 2008, p. 998). In Whitman’s day, that “perfect equality” was only a vision seen in a faraway future. Has that vision been realized? Even today it is questionable whether American men and women are truly equal. There is no question, however, that the women writers of the antebellum period used literature to take a gigantic stride toward obtaining that goal, and in doing so had definite impact in the temperance, slavery, and women’s rights reforms.





















References
Dickinson, E. (2008). Poems 207. In N. Baym (Ed.), The Norton Anthology of American Literature, Shorter Seventh Edition (7th ed., p. 1203). New York, NY: W.W. Norton & Company, Inc.
Dickinson, E. (2008). Poems 788. In N. Baym (Ed.), The Norton Anthology of American Literature, Shorter Seventh Edition (7th ed., p. 1219). New York, NY: W.W. Norton & Company, Inc.
Dickinson, E. (2008). Poems 1577. In N. Baym (Ed.), The Norton Anthology of American Literature, Shorter Seventh Edition (7th ed., p. 1221). New York, NY: W.W. Norton & Company, Inc.
Fern, F. (2008). Male Criticism on Ladies’ Books. In N. Baym (Ed.), The Norton Anthology of American Literature, Shorter Seventh Edition (7th ed., p. 801). New York, NY: W.W. Norton & Company, Inc.
Fuller, M. (2008). The Great Lawsuit. In N. Baym (Ed.), The Norton Anthology of American Literature, Shorter Seventh Edition (7th ed., p. 740). New York, NY: W.W. Norton & Company, Inc.
Grimke, A. (2008). Appeal to the Christian Women of the South. In N. Baym (Ed.), The Norton Anthology of American Literature, Shorter Seventh Edition (7th ed., p. 759). New York, NY: W.W. Norton & Company, Inc.
Jocobs, H. (2008). Incidents in the Life of a Slave Girl. In N. Baym (Ed.), The Norton Anthology of American Literature, Shorter Seventh Edition (7th ed.). New York, NY: W.W. Norton & Company, Inc.
Levin, R. (2008). Edgar Allen Poe. In N. Baym (Ed.), The Norton Anthology of American Literature, Shorter Seventh Edition (7th ed.). New York, NY: W.W. Norton & Company, Inc.
Levin, R. (2008). American Literature 1820-1865. In N. Baym (Ed.), The Norton Anthology of American Literature, Shorter Seventh Edition (7th ed., pp. 431-439). New York, NY: W.W. Norton & Company, Inc.
Stowe, H. (2008). Uncle Tom’s Cabin. In N. Baym (Ed.), The Norton Anthology of American Literature, Shorter Seventh Edition (7th ed., p. 778). New York, NY: W.W. Norton & Company, Inc.
Truth, S. (2008). Speech to the Women’s Rights Convention in Akron, Ohio, 1851. In N. Baym (Ed.), The Norton Anthology of American Literature, Shorter Seventh Edition (7th ed., p. 761). New York, NY: W.W. Norton & Company, Inc.
Whitman, W. (2008). Leaves of Grass. In N. Baym (Ed.), The Norton Anthology of American Literature, Shorter Seventh Edition (7th ed., p. 998). New York, NY: W.W. Norton & Company, Inc.

Sunday, December 19, 2010

zero

I have nothing to offer right now
but so much I want to say...

I think what I will do is leave you with a link
It is a poem we studied in my "Ethnic Literature" class

http://www.vanguardsquad.com/press/_images/mlk/mlk.mp3

they sing it... I think its cool...



I have to write a paper in the next 24 hours. Its the last paper for my American English to 1860 class.
I've read all the work this week
I understand it pretty well
but the thesis she has asked for
is ridiculously unclear
and I am killing myself trying to get it

lacking figuring it out
I have had to just
come up with something
have no idea if its right
and I hate this because
I can write great papers
BUT I MUST UNDERSTAND WHAT IT IS I AM WRITING

As far as dad goes... that's terrible.
Worse than ever
I feel so much pressure
and I think I am being crushed under it
I also have to tell you about Bubble
but it has to wait until tomorrow

sorry for ... not really writing

Saturday, December 18, 2010

Alone

I am the only one who goes willing into my father's room.
It's true

it makes me feel so alone



my mother always asks me, "Do you need any help?'
But
unless I say yes
she doesn't enter.
I never walk into his room
to find another standing above him.
I feel I am
the one true witness to his demise
besides he himself.

Can you understand how that feels
to be made by circumstances
the only one
to see something as small
as a new red mark
on the skin of his body

to count the breaths he struggles to produce

to watch his chest rise and fall as if a battle is being wage among his ribs

to see his USELESS legs
always bent
always crushed beneath his weight.

to be the only one to greet him
at moments of half-lucense
try to put on a smile
that can find no way to be true

today his eyes were open for a moment
and I said
"Dad what do you want?"
he looked at me... and began to... whisper nothings
I tried to understand
I said
"Do you want to die?"
and his hand shot out and grabbed my arm. Honestly one of the only physical actions I've seen out of him since he returned.
Whether it meant yes or no
only matters to a recorder of events
because no matter what the answer is
there is nothing I can do to hasten one
or
to make the other pleasanter...

Friday, December 17, 2010

2 paper due, 1 on literature and 1 on me

I have a paper due on Sunday and I can't get it written.
My brain stops short of words
my sentences role toward the end
yet fall off the edge
before they utter that
one important word
and I fall and fall
without finding the word in the air around me.

I am so numb.
I got a little more sleep last night but it hasn't helped much
today more people showed up
and gave me orders
and I felt like telling them all
to LEAVE ME ALONE

Now they think Dad has a stool (it's happening right now... There is a black wall in my head and I can't get at the word on the other side)
infection. Why not? right... he's had a whole list of other kinds of infections.
But now we are supposed to wear these stupid paper robes whenever we go into his room.
I say F that
(this makes my mother very angry)
But I have been cleaning his stool off his ass for 5 days now
if he has a contagious infection
than Ive already got it

mom keeps saying
You better wear that thing

but I never do.

I've got to go to sleep

Thursday, December 16, 2010

day ??

I may have lost count of days


I want to get away with myself
run like Bubble's rabbit legs
toss across streams like thrown stones
I want to get away from myself
from the faces
this situation places
on my stasis

ride me a moon
light ray
up up up
how far cant say
cant stay
I want to get away
get a way
from myself

I want to get away from myself
tell that inside voice
i have no choice
but to shoot you dead
GET OUTA MY HEAD
I want to get into my bed
stop feeling this dread
get a way, I said

I want to get away from myself
find a new me
to be




This is the worst era of my life
I tell you more specifics and details tomorrow.

Wednesday, December 15, 2010

day 64

recently dad...
he doesn't move.
sometimes... his muscles spasm
like a duck decoy to another duck
for a moment it seems real
and then the hunters gun sounds
a distinctive rumble
and the bullet lodges in your heart

he isn't moving unless I move him.
he is...
breathing
but
his breath is a series of gasps
sucks
of atmosphere
into his
congested nostrils (he refuses to use his mouth)

he only react when he is moves
and his reaction is...
a sort of...
whine
pain
despair.

I changed him tonight
and
I had to move him
to get him more onto
the protective pad underneath him
I moved him as if he were a large baby
I cradled him in my arms
his hand
grabbed my hand
this was a voluntary movement)
and he held my arm
and...
I broke down
I cradled him
his hand on my arm
my face buried in his shoulder
I rocked him
and held him
and whispered
"be brave... be brave daddy... be brave"
and wept...wept....wept

Tuesday, December 14, 2010

day 63 Hospice begins

Hospice begins

Which is not as serious as it may sound.
Preliminary hospice is different from regular homecare
because they focus on the patient differently
They are concerned for Dad's comfort
not keeping him alive

Despite a whole lot of problems working against him
physically dad could go either way.
He often has a low fever
he is being fed through a tube
He gets insulin shots
and
blood thinner shots

It's a horrible experience. We have a little sort a cel-phone looking device
you turn it on and insert a little... computer stick?
It beeps.
You then prepare the weapon.
this is a small disposable needle
locked into a kinda plastic tube
you load the tube like a gun
you choose a finger
and clean it with alcohol.
Then you turn on the little cel-phone thingy
pull back the skin on the finger
and fire the needle into the taught skin.
Hopefully, if you do it correctly (which for me is about every 3rd try)
you draw blood
quickly you have to drip the blood onto the stick that is sticking out of the cel-phone
8 seconds later it reads the sugar in my dad's blood.
I then have a chart which I use to measure how much insulin I should give him.

It is not fun pricking your father
it is less fun jabbing him with needles

I freaked out yesterday
really really freaked.

now that he is back
I can't leave
right now there is no one willing to do the work
and you have to check him every few hours for the insulin
and give him the blood thinner twice a day
and my mother even fears the stomach tube.

It's all me
and I can't handle that

I feel so guilty
lonely
horrible
tired tired tired
and guilty again
I don't sleep well
Im not eating properly
and I am the only one who talks to all the nurses/insurance people/doctors/pharmacists because my mom doesn't understand it and my sister is usually working
AND THEN
my mother looks at me and asks
"what should we do?"
"Is he ok?"
"Did you remember to secure the bed?"
Its the only topic of conversation around here
and I am the only one everyone looks to for answers

my mother just asked me, 'Will he be able to use the chair again?"

1st. i don't know
2nd I don't want him to anyway
3rd Do you realize, mom. That if we did want to put him in the chair... it would be ME putting him there?

so there is where the guilt comes in.
Yes, maybe its 50% selfish
I do not want to (on top of all the other things I am doing) to have to get him out of bed and into the chair.
It was bad enough before he went into the hospital.
Now he does nothing to help
nothing because he is NOT there

and this is just 1 minor tiny miniscule guilty feeling
there are so many others

my cousin said to me... You should be changing your father's position every few hours."
I said, "Yes. Yes, I do."
She said, "So, you get up in the night?"

she wasn't being mean... just sort of assuming I did. No, I don't. I DON"T GET UP OK. I don't WANT TO and WILL NOT. And it was just a comment she made. nothing accusatory about it at all. It is I who accuse myself.
and it has only been 4 days

Monday, December 13, 2010

day 62

i really can't write tonight.


I....

I can't.

I will tomorrow. Sorry... I feel like I'm...
being....

I just can't. Ill explain tomorrow... many of you have been very faithful lately and I don't want to let you down but...
I can't

Sunday, December 12, 2010

day 61

My sister and I talked today
about how we saw things

her daughters refuse to visit now (younger niece came over yesterday and went home almost right away.)
they are too afraid to see grandpa like this.
My sister understands. She said that she doesn't want their last memory of grandpa to be someone who strains for every breath and has mucus coming out of his mouth (she didn't say this... its just my interpretation)

We do not think Dad has long except that it's hard to tell

Even my mother, over a shared hour puzzle making, told my sister, "I don't think your father would have wanted to live like this."

We are all coming around... but like I said... it's so hard to discern whether he is near the end
or if he could last like this
for months and months

should he last that long?

My sister said
"taking away the stomach peg would be like murder. We would stop feeding him and that is the same as killing him. But... if he needed a machine to breath or keep his heart beating.... than there is no point to that."

I don't know how I feel about it.
He taught me to ride a bike
he didn't teach me to drive because on his first attempt to do so, I stopped the car and screamed, "Forget it!" and got out to walk home!
I have so many conflicted feelings were he is concerned I never know exactly what it is I am feeling.
But I think... I say... take him off the stomach peg
and feed him ice cream through his mouth
and chocolate
pour in vodka
or beer
give him every kind of food he's ever wished for...

I just remembered about 2 years ago. My dad had already dipped pretty far into Alzheimer disease but he was feeding himself at the time.
While eating breakfast (which took him about and hour and a half) he also sometimes ate... candles... part of the cereal box, napkins, pencils...
he would see a chocolaty treat inside a plastic bag and try for ages to pass his hand through the side of the bag until finally he'd just pick up the whole thing and start to eat it... it's almost how Bubble is now.

Half of me thinks the end should come soon. It's not funny any longer... the plastic is no longer a bag full of cookies but a thin tube sticking out of his stomach into which I poor an awful smelling brown liquid... it slowly descends into his gut... it bubbles and churns... sometimes he coughs and out spews a bit of food (its gone the wrong way! up the esophagus and not down.
It simply is nothing like any kind of real life
and it might as well be death.

The entire day went by
and the only word he said throughout the day was
"Hey" for one quick moment when I was giving him meds... just hey...
eyes stare sometimes but mostly they are close...

what do we do?
whats the answer?
any ideas?

Saturday, December 11, 2010

Day 60 Dad breathes

When Obama set out to change health care in this country
an uproar sprung up all across the land
people were angry
one of the biggest issues
they said
if healthcare is socialized we will lose the best doctors in the world
we have the best health care system in the world
we don't want to loose it

I left the hospital yesterday with my father
a list of medication and instructions in my hand
the nurse on duty gave them to me
with these instructions:

"follow the list"

Okay... I said, thinking myself fairly able... I asked a few questions
one of which was... "how do I feed him through the tube"
her answer: "Make sure he is at a 30 degree angle... open the nub... use this funnel... and empty one can into the tube 5 times a day. It works by gravity."
"Ok" I said.
and then they came to take my dad
and I had to leave.

I was also given a set of prescriptions by the doctor's "assistant" doctor.

I immediately went to the drug store to fill the prescriptions...

At home a visiting nurse came to help me out.
She looked at the instructions
"Do you have the insulin?" she said.

"Insulin?" I asked.

"Yes, it says here you have to administer insulin 4 times a day."

"No one told me" I blinked.

"No one taught you how to do it?!"

It turns out the insulin was in the prescriptions... but the insulin syringes were not.
In the prescription were another injection as well!
No one even mentioned this to me!
But
The prescription for the syringes (this medication has a different type of syringe) was not.
The "assistant" doctor "forgot" to write a prescription for the syringes... nervous giggle
On a friday afternoon
soon before
all drug store close
except the ones far away.
1 type of medicine for diabetes reaction

the other for possible blood clots

not at all serious of course
and if you believe that you are probably foreign and English is not your native tongue
or you have never watched a drama revolving around a hospital.
They are "QUITE" (Burian, H. 2010) serious. (actually to quote Honza Burian would also mean they weren't that serious THEY ARE SERIOUS)

We call the doctor
he says to me "Why you can't give this medication without any syringes!"
"okay" I say.
"And you must get training before you administer it!"
"Um. " I say... "I am not the medical professional here, doc. You are. So who was supposed to order the syringes? Who was supposed to train me?"
"Umblanjgdgs." He said. "my assistant."

yes... see. It is the best medical system in the world.

the calls the drug stores
we can't pick it up until the next day
day gets no medicine last night at all....

only food.
I think... i can do the food! Ive been trained!
and really it is quite easy.
remove the nub
pour in the can
flush with water
reinstall nub
done.

seconds later dad starts hacking
he cough and a big wad of whitish gray stuff emerges from his lips...
it is food!
The next day when the visiting nurse arrives she hears my story.
As I tell her her eyes get wider and wider

first of all... not a 30 degree angle
but a 90 degree angle

2ndly (in case you ever have to feed a loved one through a peg tube)
DO NOT FEED THE WHOLE CAN AT ONCE!
one can over the course of an HOUR

Dont you think these are important pieces of information to know BEFORE you return home with your sick father?!

The doctor actually called today to APOLOGIZE

Dad coughed all night because of it and the nurse suspected that he'd re-got pneumonia because of it.
She looked at me and said THIS IS NOT YOUR FAULT
but deep inside I felt like I was part of some plot to murder my father.
after some careful inspection
she thinks my dad is okay.
She gave me instructions on how to do things (I don't like it and didn't realize Id have to do these things as part of my job... I have to stick my father with a needle 10 times daily)

then
The nurse told me
you realize... you are near the end?


be careful what you wish for...

Friday, December 10, 2010

day 59

Dad must be moved every 2 and a half hours to avoid getting skin rashes, blisters and sores.
He is like a rag doll
no complaints
I push and pull him
no reaction

Mom and I sat in the room together for about a half hour
just starring at him

I think we miss the guy
who tried to kick us
and spit in our faces

funny how you can miss something like that.

I have 2 big assignments due on Monday again! I can't wrap my poor aching head around it all.
My ext class is going to be something easy

Bubble takes her medication... its cute. She fell asleep next to dad and she is still there. They are both sick... heehee

I took a bath again and finished a very poor fantasy novel to which I am now hooked and feel the need to read the next 7 books to find out what happens.
When do I have time to read a fantasy novel?
why right before my brain will explode and I need something to absorb the energy

I think mom is beginning to realize where my father really is.
I don't know how she is taking it...

48 years.... you are with someone almost every day for 48 years


and then he is nothing but his face
and even that only shadows him

Thursday, December 9, 2010

day 58 pea brain

Dad is scheduled to return tomorrow
and
the tests returned and
No infections teem in his blood
and
his lung xray shows the pneumonia is gone


although this is good news
I worry
he is basically (health-wise) back to where he stood 5 weeks ago.

But he hasn't returned yet in other ways.

He has not spoken
he barely opens his eyes
he doesn't move his body much

remember when he first arrived
and I sat beside his bed
and for hours he spoke
and spoke
and spoke
and it was painful to hear him
call out for help
and ask to be dead...
I didn't think anything could be worse

now he says nothing
nothing is actually worse.

This is going way to fast for me...
the blog is supposed to document a decline
not a....
explosion toward death
that's how it feels
not steps
but LEAPS towards death... I am so conflicted about how I feel

I want him to SPEAK
I want...
him to die peacefully

I want him to LAUGH and SAY my NAME

I want him to close his eyes and sleep

I want him to enjoy EATING

I want him to have a stomach tube....

the only thing I am certain of is
I want this to END



Bubble has been diagnosed with lymes disease.
this is extremely painful to me
3 weeks ago I noticed a small red blotch on her stomach
for 2 days she was listless and slept a lot.
Then my dad went into the hospital
so I didn't get her to the vet until yesterday.
The blood test came back positive for Lyme's (a disease brought on by ticks very prevalent in NJ)

Luckily we caught it quite early.
The remedy is simple
3 weeks of antibiotics

it can reoccur later in her life
but the fact that we are treating it so soon
is a good indication
that it won't come back

I FEEL AWFUL
cause I brought her here... she's fine really
I mean, after those 2 days she's been her regular self

School is turning out to be.... BEYOND ME
listen to my current paper due on Monday:

The American Renaissance was intensely aware of the past. At the same time, it was intensely aware of the forces of change. It was a period of great industrialization that would end with the Civil War.

• Construct a strong, specific, and sufficiently narrow thesis analyzing how the tension between past, present, and future emerges in the writer’s work. You should support all claims with examples from the writer’s work. No sources beyond the textbook are required, but you may use such sources if you choose.

• Focus your analysis on any single topic that emerges in your analysis of your selected author. For example, you may write on any of the topics below. You may also select a focus of your own.


huh?

Wednesday, December 8, 2010

day 57 here we go again

This is a strange Blog
I am afraid it is not turning out to be quite what I had in mind.
I think because
even when life feels dull
and
like a cage
it unravels unpredictably
and turns and turns and turns

Dad did not return home today.
Last night he spiked a fever.
This morning they heard congestion in his lungs
They think he has obtained another infection
probably from the "pick" (the needle inserted into his vein)
And that he has re-developed pneumonia...


The doctor thinks now... that his alzheimer disease
and
his parkensons (they feel he has it beyond a doubt)

have progressed to a point
that they (the diseases) are actually interfering with dad's body's ability to heal itself.

apparently that is often how debilitating diseases of this kind work.

Not only are there outward signs of failure and change
but inward experiences as well.

I sat in the room next to my mother as we listened to a social worker talk about hospice and end of life issues...
I was quite surprised actually
wasn't completely ready for that

It isn't so bad... maybe
hospice can happen at home
and its not really end of life care all the time
especially in my father's case...

what the doctor and social worker were trying to tell us
is
that things like antibiotics... do not work so well for someone in my dad's condition.
and there has to come a point were you have to admit that things of this nature do not help him.
That's when hospice steps in.

Dad may (and probably will) improve

oh... I don't even think I know what i am talking about right now. I understood before... but in writing it it doesn't hold up.
We just have to decide whether we want to keep treating dad in the conventional way
(which leaves him lifeless, but alive... hooked up to an oxygen tank... while medication constantly drips into him... while in a hospital... while deteriorating)
or whether we want to bring him home (where we can still administer medication) and try to keep him more comfortable... but except that hospital care has no hope to improve him.)

maybe that's closer to what I am trying to say?

My mom started to cry.
of course
she said, "I need your father in so many ways."
She said, "We never talked about this. I want to know what he wants."

She feels so guilty.
so do I, by the way... but for different reasons.
I am happy he has the stomach peg because I feel guilty for possibly not recognizing the signs and helping him get pneumonia in the first place... every spoonful (as artistically enacted in my play) was painful for me... when he coughed I became so tense... and finally he ends up with pneumonia and I HELPED GIVE IT TO HIM
I know its irrational to guilt myself... but you can't talk about irrational and guilt to a once catholic
it doesn't help.

I feel, secretly... (and I guess I mean secretly from my mother) that we should stop giving him antibiotics... we should stop giving him oxygen... we should bring him home. Yet another reason to feel guilty.

If it is how I expect... and he himself has no real will to live... than at this point... maybe he shouldn't be alive.
And if I am wrong and he does will himself to live... we will probably see that here... recognize it... and do what we can to help him.

Tuesday, December 7, 2010

day 56 A return to normalcy?

Dad comes home tomorrow at 2pm.
I will be feeding him using a can of liquid food.

He has a peg attached to his stomach through his abdomen.
The peg is a plastic tube.
A nub seals the tube's top.

I bend the top of the tube (so that the contents of Dad's stomach do not siphon out.
I remove the nub and insert a large empty syringe.
I release the tube
I pull back on the syringe allowing the stomach contents to enter the basin of the syringe.
I measure the contents 0-40 ccs = ready to dine
40-60 ccs = just a snack
over 60 ccs = no room in stomach. I actually don't know what then happens to the stuff in the tube? I guess I return it to the stomach?
I then remove the back part of the syringe
hold it up in the air
and pour the liquid contents of the can
into the syringe
which acts like a funnel
and feeds my father's belly.
After the can is emptied
I must flush the tube with water
This, I guess is my father's drink.

I rebend the tube
I extract the syringe, replace the nub

and clean everything up...
that's the meal
4 times a day

no more food wars
no more whispered "more"s
no more clenched spoons
no more delighted "mmhms"


Huge moments in a man's life should include the moment he is no longer able to eat
puberty
diploma
marriage
children

I think this is big. Can you all... just for a moment... while you read my words
think about
the blessing that food
eating...chewing...swallowing
the textures
tastes
bitters and sweets and saltys
the quenchings
the tickle of wines
the rough throat smash of liquor
the delight tingling chocolately joys
the herbs and spices
mint and licoriches
sage and basilly paprikaishes
the crunch of fresh
and the cheesy baths

these... they are LIFE
What is left without them...?

The nurse told me... the only side effect that the peg feeding causes
is a loss of taste...

Monday, December 6, 2010

day 55

I am a bit depressed lately.
I embed myself into work.
Whether it is school
or
my father

when I have a free moment.. an I think... I'll do something fun!






a loooong interval descends
and nothing that I imagine
reading a good fantasy book
playing a video game
taking a walk
cooking a meal
talking to a friend
writing
taking a bath!
watching a good film

seems interesting.

And if I do think of something I'd like to do

Today I wanted to see the film Black Swan
this looks good
even though I have disliked everything that Natalie Portman has done since "The Professional"
I think this film will really
do something for me
I love a good psychological... horrorish drama
But the film
although released last Friday
is playing nowhere in NJ
until Dec. 17th


defeated.
What do I do?
I play with Bubble
I go to pogo.com and play scrabble
I read more for class

it sucks because Dad will return soon
and then Ill have little free time

I am really sad. I came home for a good reason
but I am slipping away because of it
I am not made for this American life
I miss The Czech Republic
and I miss Italy and France
and Japan

Sunday, December 5, 2010

Day 54 a health comparison

I visited Dad twice today. Alone.
In the morning I found him pretty awake...
he said, "Do I know you?"
I said, "Yes, it's Kevin."

His neck has... sort of fused to one side.
The doctor visited and told me that it was parkenson's disease which did it.
Dad's neurologist told us that he didn't have parkenson's
ahh the American medical system.

When I was in the Czech Republic I had a... how honest should I be here?
A ... infection? in... an unspeakable part of my body

I went to the hospital at about 9am
had the operation ...
this is what happened at about 11:30am

I was rolled into the operating room (yes only 1 and a half hours after I got to the hospital)
A Czech nurse with a big needle said, " Zrchtrysky Krchkurova?" If you are Czech you will know that it meant to me what it means to you... absolutely nothing! I said, "I don't understand."
she replied, "Crkovaa slivone"
and then I woke up 2 hours later
procedure complete.
I was home by four.
It cost me absolutely nothing.
Now, there is a health system for you!

I went ice-skating with my nieces after visiting Dad. And then with my nieces visited him again.
Younger niece helped me with the leg exercises... which amount to taking one of his legs at the ankle and gently lifting and lowering it about 100 times.
I don't know what else to do
no one in the hospital has any advice
yes... that's why we pay about 8000 dollars a day for hospital care
and that's why it's the best in the world!

This blog just gets more and more depressing as we move along doesn't it.

Saturday, December 4, 2010

day 53

I am going to share a quote with you
it's something I've thought about in life recently
and I was surprised to find it
having been said about 150 years ago
by Ralph Waldo Emerson

"The corruption of man is followed by the corruption of language."

What do you think about it?

Is it still true today
and
if so
are we already corrupt?


Dad requires a lot of attention
stretching out his legs for 1 hour everyday will not be enough

I was very happy when I discovered, today, that I can do leg exercises with him
and read at the same time!

I first asked my mother if she would read the introduction to my Anthology of Hispanic American Literature text
she looked at me with sleepy eyes
and said... "I can't do that."

(The last book I saw her read was Sydney Sheldon's "The Other Side of Midnight" in the year it was published ... which I think was.. maybe... 74)

So with one hand, I continually raised and lowered my father's leg and with the other, I flipped through the first 11 pages of the text. My mother... fell asleep.


I am very tired.

day 52 reflections in steamy water

I think I forgot to post yesterday
It could be because I dedicated the day to finishing my next paper.

Its very hot here... I mean in the house

outside its getting colder... but my mom feels the need to keep the house warm.
It's a strange house. The kitchen and den (where mom spends most of her time) are on the north side of the house
the bedrooms (where I am most often in front of my computer) are on the south side.

The sun does a good job warming the south side but does very little on the other end of the house.
So Mom cranks up the heat (I agree that the Den is way to cold in winter)
The sun plus the heater in my room
makes it boil
Its like a Japanese Onsen
without the water

Japanese Onsen are great!
You go in and have to immediately remove your clothing
You then join everyone else in this line of shower heads... but they are on the floor not the wall
here you must shower... there is free shampoo and soap!
You have to be clean before you can enter the Onsen. The Japanese are very fastidious about this. You get this feeling that if you don't thoroughly clean yourself an angry mob of naked pristine men will kick you out (and then wash their feet again to get rid of the contamination when their foot hit your rump)
Afterward the world of the Onsen is a magic place.
Various shaped Pools of water lie about. Some have whirlpools, some are silent and still. Some are in intimate corners of the house... where groups of 2 to 4 people relax in the steam and talk... some are deep wide more public pools... It's noisier here.
There are interesting rooms for strange purposes... in one you must rub salt all over your body and then remain in the room for about 15 minutes and sweat. Its very hot in these rooms and you feel almost like you will vomit by the end... but it's also wonderful and in another way feels really good.
Some pools are outside... I like these the best. In the fall at night... the air is crisp and cool but you lie in a steaming bath and look up at the stars... if you are lucky you may be the only one there in this vast tub of water able to just exist in the nighttime... naked... warm and cool...

The Onsen are open every day all year long.
Every town has at least one.
It is one of the reasons why a trip to Japan is worth it... and one of the things that made living in Japan bearable.


I'll write another later...
still waiting for Dad to return.
Ill give you an update after I visit him today.

Thursday, December 2, 2010

day 51

All that is in my head right now is Washington Irving's Rip Van Winkle... and the fact that I hate online scrabble.

The house is empty without my father.
We saw him today after his "operation"
He seemed peaceful.

Oh! The student nurse met me in the elevator.
She told me she washed him this morning... and made certain that his legs were stretched out!
Sure enough they were.

I love her now.

I am sad that my father will probably not eat normally again. but... maybe it's a little good as well?

He can no longer get food in his lungs...
no more spoon wars
no more 2 hour lunches

I am not certain what to write about anymore. I want to continue this blog for a year... but... what do I write?!

Wednesday, December 1, 2010

day 50

can't sleep
Dad's getting a tube inserted through his abdomen and into his stomach
tomorrow
h was awake with us today for a few minutes
almost seemed like the same dad
i worked on his legs for an hour
and the a very nice student nurse came in
she said she'd been working with him
and she wanted to check in before she left
She looked at him lying on the bed and said
"How did you get his legs like this?! I thought he was contracted?"

I freaked out
since my Dad went to the hospital
he likes to lay in a sort of fetal position

when I said to 1 nurse
"is it ok if I stretch out his legs?"
"Oh NO! she said. His legs are contracted

"Contracted?" I asked, "What do you mean."

"Oh. We'd have to break his legs to get them straight at this point."

"At this point? What do you mean."

"His legs have been in this position too long"

"But... I am his son. 5 days ago he was standing in the kitchen."

"He was?" blink...blink

Turns out... Dad is NOT contracted. They just assumed this because he's wanting to lye in this certain position.
BUT I HAVE TOLS ABOUT 10 PEOPLE at the hospital
BEGGED them to every now and then stretch out his legs...
and yet... 2 weeks later... everyone still thinks he's contracted

so I got really upset with this nurse... she went to get another nurse to help her move my dad around a little (I stretched out his legs and they were sort of hanging over the side)
The new nurse (who is a nurse Ive spoken with dad about) came into the room
looked at dad and said
"How are his legs straight? He's suposed to be contracted!"

I almost killed her... I swear... I was like Shirley McClean in Terms of Endearment


The hospital is INSANE
every ten minutes a new person comes in to do something different
they all have individual jobs

blood presssure man
fever woman
food change woman
breathing apparatus man

NONE OF THEM KNOW ANYTHING ABOUT MY FATHER
they wonder why he doesn't respond when they say hello
I say... He has alzheimer disease... OH they say

All these people are getting paid
And NONE of them know about my dad?

What makes me very angry about the whole thing is

If I hadn't been an ass

Dad's legs may very well have become contracted
and then they would have had to break his legs
if we ever wanted him to stand again

all because 100s of people enter the room to "help" my Dad
but 0 people know about him
and 0 people care

It is a HOSPITAL
they should be telling ME to be careful that my Dad's legs do not contract!
They should be DOCUMENTING and READING the documentation

every m-fing one of them