Moving day

I've written in this blog about my dad's dementia. About a year ago, mom and dad moved to a retirement community so dad could get extra care when the time came.

That time came today. He moved from independent living with my mom to a room by himself, where a nurse will bathe him, help him dress, and dispense his medication, instead of my
mom.

No one rejoiced at this event, and, in fact, dad shed tears. For now, he seems to feel abandoned, worried he won't see his family again.

But I'm happy to report that mom will still live at the facility, visit and share meals with them, but they won't share a room.

As for me, I can walk there to see him, and my sister can take a short drive to see him.

The move just happened. Next comes adjusting to the new normal.

Moving day approaches

Monday April 29, 2013, my dad moves to the memory care wing of the retirement village where he lives with my mom. It will be a very bittersweet day. He will not know he's moving until the actual moving day. That's how administrators wanted to handle it. As I wrote in a recent post, he hallucinates, needs help grooming, and sometimes tries to leave the building. My mom has been his caregiver for almost their entire marriage, but she physically can't do it anymore. It's like taking care of a 75-year-old toddler, so when an opportunity arose to move my dad, she took it. As one can imagine, she's experiencing a myriad of emotions about separating from her husband.

He will go to a relatively spacious room with a private bath. My mom secured a spot on the waiting list for a single bedroom unit for residents who can still live independently. She can still have meals with my dad and visit him, as can my sister and I.

All hands will be in hand for this transition. I expect to post more about this. This is another one of those things I wish I could changes.

If wishes were dollars, I'd be in the black.

Cancer's mysteries

Above you see an entire beautiful family in happier times, on a trip to Hawaii. This photo was taken just before the man second from right, Rich Basick, faced a risky bone marrow transplant to tackle his leukemia. On the far left of the picture, his youngest son, Carter, then oldest son Hayden, the man himself, and his beautiful wife Kathleen.

I went to school with Rich and Kathleen. I consider them friends. They need friends now more than ever, because Rich has had very major complications post-transplant. In fact, he fights for his life as I write this at Oregon Health and Sciences University (OHSU), on a ventilator that he needs, but doesn't want.

What I remember of Rich from school? He had a swagger to his demeanor. Now, he lays in a hospital bed, hooked up to tubes and wires, and as a visitor, you aren't sure if he knows who you are, except for an occasional squeeze of a hand, or a desperate attempt to talk, a heartbreaking transformation.

He needs that swagger and a good old fashioned miracle.

His case again makes me wonder why I’m so lucky.  I have brain cancer and I’m still here. Why? I thought the brain was where most cancers go to die. He’s only 46, and has a beautiful and growing family.

God please show yourself and save him.

Which Karen Godbey are you?

We have now taken the first step toward moving my dad with dementia to a memory care unit at the retirement home where my parents live.

Dad has been declining rapidly since moving. He thinks there are four of my mom. He will ask her,"Which Karen Godbey are you?" He thinks he's the coach of a soccer team, and that someone is trying to put him in prison. Mom also said the other day, he was literally talking to the walls. On top of this, he can't bathe and Grimm himself.

Up until now, mom has been helping dad do those things, but sometimes dad is uncooperative, which frustrates my mom, and causes her blood pressure to rise.

It is sad that the time has come, but it appears like it has, much sooner than anyone thought.

Sweet hitchhiker

When cancer attached itself to me, it didn't account for the fact that I have responsibilities, such as, doctor appointments, grocery shopping and taking my son to and from his activity of the moment.

I continued to be errand girl in chief until I had my second surgery. Then a doctor suggested that I give up my driving privilege, for my safety and the safety of others.

Since then, I have struggled to find a sensible solution to my transportation issue. First I tried "Ride Connection", a a transportation service for the disabled. The problem with the service is that it is volunteer, so the disabled person knows not whether he or she will get a ride.

I have done things to lessen my need for a ride, such as scheduling my mris for Saturday, and giving up the cancer writing group and support group I was in. My husband and I grocery shop on the weekend, and I have two stores within walking distance.

But sometimes I, or my son, need to be places on weekdays, when my husband is at work. We were using cabs for awhile, until the cab showed up at 4pm to take my son to a 4pm appointment.

Lately, we have been using my sister's driver, Ahmed. We pay for Ahmed's reliability. I don't see using his services as sustainable.

Perhaps my son and I should learn to hitchhike.

Confessions of a former conservative

My freshman year in college, I knew I wanted to major in journalism. As such, I wanted to find a school paper to work on,  and write for.

I wrote a freelance piece for the main student newspaper at the University  of Oregon. The paper was called the Oregon Daily Emerald, and I got paid by the column inch, but I wanted to build up a portfolio. I looked for more writing opportunities, and landed at the only conservative newspaper at a very liberal university, called the Oregon Commentator.

How conservative was this paper? The office was the size of a closet, the walls were littered with posters of conservative heroes like Ronald Reagan, Phyllis Schlafly, and William F Buckley. I was the only female on staff. To be honest, at that time I didn't know what my political beliefs were. I just wanted to write. My first assignment was to do a profile on Peter Defazio, who was running for congress in 1986 and is still serving. I didn't get paid, but the powers that be liked my work, and gave me more. Meantime, one of the other young conservatives took a liking to me and asked me out. He became my first boyfriend and broke my heart in 17 places, but looking back on it, he and the other young men who worked at The Commentator, contributed greatly to my not being a republican today.

First of all, all of these men were sexiah him, and how other young women at the university would "go down like an anchor". Not exactly pleasant talk. In addition, there was too much fartin Eg and belching, at least for my taste. The guy who was my boyfriend, would poke fun at the Jewish faith of another staffer. To be fair, this person didn't seem to mind the ribbing, but I didn't get it.

My boyfriend and I were made Editor and Managing Editor, respectively, but was I really conservative? I wasn't sure.  Then I started talking social and political issues with my boyfriend.

He was pro-gun. He called himself a responsible gun owner, but hunt and kill raccoons for fun in the forest surrounding his Medford home. One time, my parents let me go visit him, and he went outside.The sound of gunfire was loud and shook the house.

I have never touched a gun and still don't want to be around them.

He was way to the Right on the on the issue of abortion--hated it--no exceptions. To me abortion is not a black and white issue. I am fortunate to have never had to choose.

He made fun of the ethnic student unions, such as the Black Student Union, and the like. In protest, he formed the Irish Student Union. I guess he felt that Europeans don't have enough representation at our nation's colleges.

Finally he didn't like the Gay and Lesbian Alliance at the UO. He referred to lesbians as "Bull Dykes" and probably other things when he was with his buddies.

Right or wrong, this gave me the impression that conservatives hate women, love guns, and are homophobics.

I hope I am wrong, but for now, I'm a flaming liberal.

Dodged a bullet

Tumor update...

I had my most recent scan last Saturday, and got results Tuesday. I was especially nervous about the results, because in December, three doctors couldn't tell if my tumor was recurring or not. These doctors included a radiation oncologist, a general oncologist, and a brain surgeon. The MRI report noted subtle enhancement. I have heard those words before, a few months prior my 2010 surgery.  The general oncologist told me if my MRI in March looked like the one in December, that would mean no recurrence. The brain surgeon said my surgeon did a great job both times, and any changes were too minor to worry about.  Still I wanted official word, and I wanted to see pictures.


So this week, I did. My brain is still the same.  It has a hole in it with what appears to be a halo around it. The halo is still the same too.

I  think about death often, though I don't want to die at this age, and I'm not sure the benefits of another surgery would outweigh the  toll it would take on my body.

I'm happy I don't have to make any big decisions just yet.