Labors….of Love

Carol Burnett once described giving birth as similar to…”taking your lower lip and forcing it over your head”.  I’d say that was a pretty fair assessment of the entire process.

                                                              

When my first daughter was born, in 1972, the Lamaze technique wasn’t encouraged by my Obstetrician regardless of how much I insisted on using that method.  Little did he, or I, know that Jennifer would make her entrance 61 minutes after the first labor pains started but drugs were administered just the same.  Once I emerged from anaesthesia, “Dr. Bozo” had the audacity to comment “how we could have done this drug-less” since, in his opinion, I was one of those women who have fairly spontaneous deliveries.  Jennifer Ann weighed-in at 8 lbs. 4 oz.

I changed physicians after that….

My husband and I attended Lamaze classes when our second daughter was on her way, carrying pillows each week to sit on the floor and practice along with twelve other couples.  I remember one husband constantly asking what the best method was to “cut the umbilical cord” and everyone in the class cringed at the thought of this man delivering his own baby.  He spoke endlessly, as well, about employing the Leboyer method of delivery, in the bathtub; his wife had a due date before any of the others in our group.   Much to everyone’s relief, our birthing coach later informed us that he managed to deliver his son without incident.  Those of us who were still in the class practiced our breathing, timed fake contractions and each couple looked forward to the experience.  

Shortly after our last session,  I awoke to rumbling labor pains during the night and we rushed to the hospital, anxious to put all our birthing knowledge to the test.  The only issue was…each stabbing, gut-wrenching, teeth-grinding jolt of pain came in two-minute intervals and…our second child was born 31 minutes after our hospital arrival.  No drugs and little chance to use the calm, controlled birthing methods that we learned in Lamaze class.  The delivery room nurse probably never realized how close she came to serious bodily injury after she kept patting my hand while telling me to take deep breaths and NOT push!

Push I did….. Jill Amanda weighed-in at 8 lbs., 7 oz.

Three years later, I was pregnant again.  Why not?  As an only child with a mother who thought I was out of my mind to do so…..I liked having babies

Really…I did!

Working late into the night on September 23, 1978, my husband and I were preparing to open our new business. A warm, muggy Saturday night had me staining doors, standing on swollen ankles complete with a big belly that had smudges all over it as I kept bumping into freshly-painted walls.  Now and then, what I thought were Braxton-Hicks contractions took my breath away but I continued painting, and paining, until 2 in the morning.  Finally home, I climbed into bed only to have my water break; shortly after, contractions started coming less than 3 minutes apart.  A call to my doctor brought a response of “it’s probably false labor, go to the hospital if you feel the need”…and we were off!  To this day, I remember my husband driving on the wrong side of the street as I almost gave birth in the car.

My doctor never made it to the hospital in time; a Midwife delivered our son and also kept my husband from the delivery room; “hospital rules” according to her that didn’t allow for a birthing coach when the physician of record was not present.   When “Dr. Know-It-All” finally arrived, he complained to my husband that I had…”waited too long before calling him”.   I was surrounded by a cranky doctor and an even-crankier husband who still complains that I kept him from seeing his son being born.  I remind him that at least he was there for the conception…

Water breaking + Contractions =  16 minutes- total time elapsed – start to finish!

John Alexander weighed-in at 8 lbs., 4 oz.

Today…..is his birthday and I can honestly say that having each of my children has been a labor…of much love!

I have to be nice to each of them because they will be taking care of me in my old age.

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White Lace….and promises

“Mom, Jaron and I are engaged! We’re getting married! We need to talk Wedding!”

 

Gulp!

Engaged, married, wedding plans? Jennifer, fresh out of college and with a new teaching career, suddenly on her way to becoming a wife? What happened to my little beach baby in her pink swimsuit and Pebbles Flintstone hairdo? What happened to the three-year old who once screamed out “more bones!” in our favorite Chinese restaurant and the laughing waiters scurried to bring her more spareribs?

Worse yet, me, the Mother of the Bride?

Okay, I can do this, I thought…..sure I can!

Following their joyful engagement announcement came the meeting with our future son-in-laws family; a very pleasant evening spent getting to know each other and talking….wedding plans. My husband and I have been fortunate to have them become part of our extended family. Faye and Leo were anxious to help in whatever way they could with (what I was secretly planning to become)….the wedding of the century.  From that point on, the creative wheels turned in my head day and night. Of course, I was armed with Martha Stewart’s Wedding Planner, a book no self-respecting mother should be without when a daughter prepares to marry.

I love Martha, regardless of the time she spent in the hoosegow.

And so, it came to pass, in the land of Kent, located in Putnam County, New York, a small Garden Wedding was planned for September 21, 1996 and…for only about 100 to 150 guests. As word of the event spread through the kingdoms of both families, people begged to be invited, prior to the mailed formalities, and what was to be an intimate gathering rapidly blossomed into one of epic proportions with a final head count of……275!

Helloooooo?  Like, almost no one sent back… “Regrets”?   Blame it on Martha.

My saved wedding organization lists take up an entire, 32 pound storage box marked “Jen & Jaron’s Wedding – 1996”. The rental company still sends us cards, thanking us for the fortune we spent on a tent, china, silver, glassware, linens, outside ovens, dance floor, tables, chairs…you name it, I rented it and my husband still gets misty-eyed when he passes by the, now-empty mattress (that is an Italian-thing).   It didn’t stop there.   We had the caterer from our favorite Italian restaurant, a Sushi Bar, Liquor, Beer on Tap, Fancy Portable Toilets, Waitresses, Bartenders, Disc Jockey, Strolling Mandolin Player, Stuffed Derma (that is a Jewish-thing) and…the “God Squad”….a Rabbi and Priest who officiated at the nuptials, both providing an uplifting and joyful experience for all who attended.

It was….a beautiful event, considering the weather that year had been horrible up to the big day. A summer of rain and humidity, soggy grounds at the tent site and endless preparations gave everyone stress, especially me.  On the morning of the wedding, as I sat in my workshop putting the finishing touches on all the flowers and the Wedding Cake, the sun came up and put its welcome arms around the day. The festivities started at noontime and lasted until almost midnight. People were everywhere, dancing, eating, drinking and laughing. If I had forgotten anything, it mattered to no one; suddenly, the stress was gone and I realized that the feeling of satisfaction that one gets when you’ve tried your best is… a very good thing.

Martha always says that.

I say….Happy Anniversary, Jennifer and Jaron!

                                                                                                                        jj-9-21-96-1

 

                                                                               

 

 

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Conversations with a (familiar) stranger…..

I’m going to date myself here….big time!  Who remembers a movie called “The Three Faces of Eve”?

Thought so.

Way back in 1957, Joanne Woodward played the starring role in this fascinating story about a real-life woman who suffered from Multiple-Personality Disorder caused by a traumatic childhood event.

You can Google it.

What does this have to do with the basis of my Blog which is about my mother’s affliction with Alzheimer’s disease?  Well, (and I’m reaching here) the whole “multiple personality” issue is something I experienced as a caregiver.  Some days, it was hilarious, and others…downright maddening as my mother went through interesting phases of identity.

A few brief recollections of Mother Didn’t Know Best. 

                  ( Dialogue key (Moi=Blue    Mother=Red)

Daily conversations almost always went like this and, yes, mom had a potty mouth.  What can I say.

“morning mom, it’s time to get up and get ready for day care”

“who the hell are you?”

“I’m your daughter”

“well… shit”

“don’t you remember me, mom?”

 “no, I don’t, I’m sorry.   I have to urinate, hurry UP”

 “mom, you have diapers on, you’ll be fine.  I’m going to get your clothes ready for today”

 “no I WON’T, dammit.  where’s my keys?”

“what do you need keys for?”

 “I have to go home now”

“how about we just get you into the bathroom?”

“for what?”

 And, one morning, Mom was waiting in the Breakfast Nook when I came down the hall.

“hi mom….where did you get that coffee?”

“what coffee?”

“uh…the cup in front of you?”

“oh, that man down the hall gave it to me”

“man down the hall?”

“yes….him” <pointing a finger>

Just then, my husband came into the kitchen and fessed-up to giving her coffee when he found her sitting there.
From that point forward, he came to be known only as…”the man down the hall”.

 

Evenings brought many interesting performances from my mother’s room, usually starting around 11 p.m. and continuing until about 4 a.m.  Keep in mind that my mother wore a Posey restraint in bed, to keep her from falling out and getting out the front door which she did at regular intervals When she was on stage, I was right outside her door, yawning, listening, holding a cup of coffee and gritting my teeth.

“sonofabitch, I can’t untie this!  help…..help….help!”

“that’s just great, no one is home”

“oh hi….can you get me scissors from that desk over there?”

“none?  SHIT!  help……help………HELP!”

Allow me to step into this conversation to state that there was no one in her room except for whoever was visible only to her.

 One more late night performance:

“Dr. Stein, can you please come to Pat Strollo’s room?”

“hellooooooooo…..Dr. Stein?”

“nurse, what’s the matter with you, can’t you hear me, dammit?  Get me Dr. Stein!”

“Dr. Stein, I want to go home!”

“nurse, I have to urinate”

“Shit, where the hell is everybody, I have to get to work!”

“Dr. Stein, I’m going to report you!”

 

Jumping in here again to state, first,  that my mother’s maiden name was Strollo;  her married name, Smith, ceased to exist as Alzheimer’s marched through her brain. Mom was in the Twilight Zone going back about 60 years or more that night and, I have no idea where Dr. Stein came from, or the nurse.  With no offense to anyone of the Jewish faith who might read this, my mother never had a physician who wasn’t a Christian.  I still cannot figure that one out.

Shortly before my Mom died, she was sitting on the couch and when I walked over she exclaimed, “There she is, there’s my daughter!” I quickly went and sat down next to her.  For a brief time, there was recognition and somewhat sane conversation as my mother asked me what was wrong with her and why she couldn’t remember; she was suddenly aware and her mind focused on the present.  In a moment of sheer stupidity, on my part, I told her to wait and I would run and make us both coffee so we could sit and talk some more.

Cookies and coffee in hand, I excitedly returned to sit with her;  as I did, she looked up and said, “Oh hi!  I’m sorry, but I forgot your name.”


She was gone; back into the deepest shadows of her memories and I was back on the outside, still trying to get in.

Two weeks later, she passed away, still not remembering my name.

 

 

 

 

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