Had a dream just before awakening this morning...
...strangest one I've had yet since receiving the news of my mother's lung cancer. Our entire family, including my father, who has been dead since 1985, and all my sisters without their marital/child extensions decided, at my mother's suggestion, to return to Guam, where us daughters were raised and where both of my parents formed a large portion of their fondest family memories. In the dream, in order to return as continuing residents (which for a reason I forget was desirable), we each had to purchase and wear a silver bracelet dangling a charm engraved with our name and a recent picture. I had a problem with this, as I didn't want my picture on my bracelet, I wanted a picture of the world. This was done for me, except that my bracelet arrived without my name, which branded me as "unofficial". But, we all arrived on the island. Each of us, although supposedly the same ages as we are (or would be, in the case of my dad) now, were completely different, as far as the way we looked; younger and sporting incarnations of ourselves that have never existed.
    Immediately upon arrival we settled into a house on stilts, supposedly in a familiar neighborhood, but we lived on the northern end of the island and houses on stilts were built exclusively on the southern end when we lived there in reality. We all decided that we would take off and explore the island in order to see what had changed. Just before we split into our own adventures we looked through the "front" picture window of our house and noticed a line of F-5 tornadoes over the ocean lining up for assault on the island. In reality, tornadoes/water spouts are unknown in that area of the Pacific Ocean. We watched as one landed and dissipated against a cliffed shore that was clearly the setting for FAA beach, a rocky inlet down the cliff from where we used to live on Guam in reality.
    MFS took off to explore subterranean caves with an obviously domesticated sled dog on the loose. Mom and Dad headed toward a strip of stores that used to exist along the shore on the east side of the capitol city, which was, when we lived there, called "Agana". Their intended destination was a store that was popular with our and many families, The South Seas. It was an import store. MPS took off to "the southern end" of the island, her intention being to go to a town then called "Umatac". MCS and I went to a high school band concert. The audience was littered with people each of us knew when we were in high school, but they hadn't aged and were also sporting clothes and attitudes not associated with them in reality.
    A local guy who would have been unfamiliar to me in real life was singing. MCS took a fancy to him and decided to introduce herself. The two of them, and I, returned to our dream house. First, the guy sang a song to MCS a cappella. I tried to sing along, as the melody was very familiar to me, but really messed up the words, especially on the last chorus. Before MCS and the singer entered one of the rooms of the house and closed the door on me the guy told me, sadly, that the words had changed a lot since I knew the song.
    My intention was to head back out in a car and see how the traffic patterns had changed on the island since we'd lived there in the sixties and seventies. First, though, I thought it prudent to call a fellow named "Paul" to have my bracelet changed, reluctant as I was to do so. I remember, just before placing the call, fingering the charm with the world on it and thinking, "But, this looks like me, why couldn't they just have put my name on it?" I also remember noticing the phone number on the phone, K 445-8417 R, and thinking, "That's the number we used to have when we lived here." In reality it isn't. In fact, for years, we had only a four digit number. I seem to remember that it was "5900". I should check that. I think, somewhere in boxes, we've got a list of old phone numbers for our housing area.
    So, I called Paul, argued that I should be able to have my name below the picture of the globe on my charm, thus making the charm, and my residency, legit. Paul countered that the world doesn't look like a person. I gave in.
    At this point I awoke from the dream. I was immediately sad, very sad. Within minutes, while feeding and watering the kitties, I began sobbing. Suddenly it occurred to me that this crazy dream was, somehow, filled with the sub- and unconscious activity of my grief, which I haven't allowed myself to express in the last weeks. Yesterday, in fact, an event took place which made it clear to me that I was avoiding acknowledging and expressing my grief over finally having somewhat of a time table for my mother's death. I had to pick up some more styling mousse for my mother from the barber who usually does my hair. I haven't been in for a cut since December, which isn't surprising. It was soon after I got the cut that "things" started to snowball in our lives, all of the events contained in the snowball leading up to her hospital stay and what we're doing now. When I entered the barber's shop we greeted each other and I spilled the news about my mother. Everyone in the shop, barber and customers alike, began expressing sorrow about the news. I was unusually stoic, though, and insisted that "it's not bad, it's good" and "nothing has changed except that a lot has been explained" and "we'll just continue on as before, this time with the knowledge that we're on the final approach."
    After the visit, during which I also mentioned I'd be calling today to set an afternoon appointment to get my hair cut (which it desperately needs) during my mother's rehab session, I couldn't help but review my strong reaction to everyone's sympathy and wondered, briefly, why I was insisting on disallowing everyone to express grief and sympathy in regards to my mother. That moment passed, though, as I headed back to the facility.
    Then, in the evening before bed (I actually got a full 8 hours last night), I remembered a movie I'd watched some years ago, "Caro Diario" I think the name is. It is an informal journal done by an Italian filmmaker and features his journey through a diagnosis of lung cancer. Turns out, after seeing several specialists who gave him a death sentence, he visited an acupuncturist who confirmed the existence of a mass in one of his lungs but determined that the mass was benign. The guy had the mass removed and continues on. I remember thinking last night, "Hmmm...I wonder if this might be true of my mother's mass...after all, it's been there for awhile and has not metastasized, which is unusual...it's causing no pain and only gently and indirectly affecting her health (although in none of the ways that the filmmaker's mass affected him)...I wonder if I could find someone to do a non-surgical needle biopsy of the mass to determine its nature..."
    Then, I went to bed and awoke this morning in the sorrowful wake of a strange dream that is finally allowing me to confront the obvious.
    I'm not sure if I'll follow through on my idea to investigate the nature of Mom's tumor. Even a needle biopsy, at this point, would be tricky for her, if such a thing is even possible. What I do know is that I'm finally facing what I thought I was facing previously.

    Want to mention, also, since it's on my mind, my appreciation for the comment on the immediately previous post and two emails I received this morning, one from the commenter and one from a good friend from DS with whom I've recently reconnected. I have considered ingratiating myself with the staff...I did that, in fact, during her previous rehab stay "Down in the Valley" four years ago. This time, though, my intentions have been squandered in my zealotry, which has been aimed at making sure my Mom gets as much of my attention as I can muster. I've been careful about passing out effusive compliments when I notice excellent service, but haven't yet picked up donuts...might not be a bad idea.
    The email I received from my DS friend underlined the fact that getting her mother (who has since died) out of the institutional clutches of medical personnel was the best way for her to handle her situation with her mother. I have to admit, that has surely crossed my mind, at least once a day. At this point, though, my mother simply isn't responding well to me when I need her to stand and move in order to accomplish some task, but she's practically dancing on toe for the therapists. As well, the most we can get out of Hospice is three PT visits per week. Here, she gets daily therapy, which she needs. I can tell its working because of a report that, night before last, the night of June 9th, Mom attempted to get out of bed in the middle of the night. Luckily, she didn't fall, she just hung herself up on the edge of the bed. Although this doesn't sound like good news, it is. She's recapturing her confidence in being able to move as she wishes, even if her muscles aren't quite yet supporting that confidence. I am, though, alert, every day, to the possibility that I can remove her from therapy and take her home at any time if the situation becomes dicey, and I will. In the meantime, moment to moment, I continue to confirm that she continues to need and continues to benefit from the daily therapy. As of yesterday, as well, when I humorously complained to her therapists (she has two, one for PT and one for OT) that I wish Mom would perform for me as well as she performs for them, I jokingly mentioned that I'd like to take one of them home with me to ensure that Mom remains as mobile as possible for as long as possible. One of the therapists mentioned that maybe I should consider an outside-of-insurance hire to fill in between what Hospice offers. I'm ashamed to admit this hadn't occurred to me, but it has now, and I think we've got enough money to cover daily visits, so I'm planning to investigate this, if it becomes obvious that it would be helpful. As well, I'm already investigating the possibility of hiring in-home massage therapy for her, which looks both possible and good.
    As my DS friend mentioned happened with her Mom, once I get Mom home I expect she'll rebloom in familiar surroundings, at least for awhile, and then coaxing her mobility cooperation with me might not be such a trial. But, in the meantime, she's being helped more than ignored at the facility, what with all the therapy pros and their amazing techniques and the machines they have available for use. I still consider it a viable opportunity for Mom, even though it's taking more out of me than I imagined.
    I believe my cold has given up. I believe I'd better get my ass moving and get ready to head out. "I believe, I believe, I believe..."
    Later.
- posted by Gail Rae @ 07:17   email  this post