THE GINCON CHRONICLES

New Website

I've decided to create a new website as a sort of rotating photo gallery. I'm not sure how many pictures will fit at one time; it's an experiment, but I'm hoping that somehow people will find their way to it. Maybe I'll ask Bri to put the link in his BLOG. That's after I've put up some photos, of course! ;-) I'm going for a formal approach, to perhaps resurrect my days of professional photography. You can link to it via:
Virginia H. Conard Photography (for now, at least)...

P.S.

Isn't it ironic that such great amounts of emotional and physical energy went into planning and packing for a vacation during which Mommy wore one of my "muscle shirts" (a dress on her) the entire time, under a single (repeatedly washed) sweater, and I wore PJs most of the time. I did use one bathing suit and coverup, but never wore dressy "dinner" clothes once. No need, eating on the coffee table in the living room... All that excited planning, for naught. Just goes to show, you never know...

Not Quite Florida

Well, it's been a long time since my anticipatory pre-Florida rant. Little did we know the nightmare that "vacation" would become. I'd nostalgically place a hefty bet that Mommy and I won't be going back to the Manasota Beach Club (MBC). Not because of anything they did other than charge outrageously for the privilege of occupying 2 single beds in a cottage overlooking the beach--oh and those other charges: the rug, the bed, the blankets, the bedspread, sheets, pillow, chair...because my mom was sick and sullied various and sundry. Never did we think they would charge her for all that, too.

Backing up, starting from the beginning: I waited to drive to CT on the day the snowstorm was NOT predicted, but the snowstorm had a mind of its own and lay in wait, there in the darkening skies, releasing in full force its snow and wind on the last and final day I had to get to CT in time for our flight to FL. Kept awake driving down partially due to the frequent accidents by the side of the highways--a particularly graphic and nasty one near the top of the Mass. Pike had a tractor-trailer on its side down a hill, crushed against the trees, with the grossly twisted metal of the trailer causing one to cringe at the thought of the tractor. More red lights than a traffic jam on the Jersey Turnpike, but here all flashing, rotating, crying out: police car! ambulance! fire truck! more police cars!

Having arrived in CT in one piece, I found Mommy in her chair (where she lives and sleeps almost exclusively now), watching a cooking show (usually either Emeril or Martha Stewart). I asked if she had finished packing, and she said she hadn't started. She couldn't find the suitcase, which was in the front of the summer closet, where I put it after our trip 2 years ago. I took it out and put it across her bed as requested; she said she'd been preparing and collecting her things, so I thought it was just a matter of putting them in the suitcase--she reassured me she'd get to it...

The evening progressed, she opened the presents I'd brought her, she sat in the chair enjoying them, as I grew more and more concerned. We had to get up @ 5:30 or 6 a.m., so every moment she wasn't packing brought us closer to a very late night. When after midnight she began and realized there was too much to do, it was WAY too late. I'd offered to help, or to do it if she just wanted to lie in bed and direct me (although I was exhausted and wrecked and in pain by this time as well). But no, she wanted to do it herself. But she DIDN'T do it. 3 a.m. finds her calling the credit card company to activate the credit card she needed to bring with us to use. She said she slept for 2 hours; I slept for 3. We were supposed to be downstairs in the lobby for transportation at 7:30 a.m. I was ready and made the appropriate calls for wheelchairs and help with baggage (as well as cancelling delivery of the newspaper which she hasn't reactivated to this day). Everyone arrived on time, only to find Mommy still in her nightclothes and not packed. She seemed to be throwing things in randomly; I helped her find some of her clothes from her closets. The transportation, nurses, and wheelchairs left without us, only to return to find Mommy totally not ready. Finally Carol Dills (or Bills, Mommy calls her one or the other so I don't know her real name!), head of resident care of some sort, arrived and made Mommy close her suitcase--still only half packed--while I put the luggage strap around it and she helped Mommy finish dressing. I don't think we left until after 8:30, for a 9:30 flight.

Perhaps all of this hysterical detail has given away the clincher: we missed our flight. Mommy had paid for first class seats for us 2 years ago when we were supposed to go but couldn't because Brian and I had had our serious car accident. It took the attendant at U.S. Airways about an hour and a half to find us first class seats both ways, but she persisted and we were greatly relieved. The next flight to Fort Myers wasn't until after 2 pm, so we had a wonderful brunch/luncheon at the Sheraton restaurant in the meantime. We passed from one wheelchair to another, one plane to another, one tip after the other, until finally we were met by David, our friend and transportation guru of the MBC, sometime around 9 pm or so, in FL. Turns out Mommy should have had us fly into Sarasota instead, as it is much closer, but oh well...

When we arrived at MBC it was around 10:30 pm. David was trying to help Mommy up the stairs by Blue Heron South, since the steps are flatter and fewer there, when a rude woman threw open her cottage door and demanded to know who was there and what did they think they were doing on "her" deck and why weren't they using the proper steps to our cottage. When the explanation that Mommy was having difficulty with steps after her hip operation was presented, this information was met with silence, a haughty retreat, and a slammed door. We lamented having such neighbors, as it meant we wouldn't be able to use the easier steps during our stay, for fear of intruding where unwelcome. We unpacked essentials. Mommy sat down and couldn't get up. I had to lift her "deadweight" using an underarm lift with back bent. Not good. Worried since the last time we had come to MBC (after my first accident, before my second), she had had problems with her legs giving way for the first couple of days after arriving. But this night we fell into bed fairly quickly (once I set the alarm so we wouldn't miss breakfast), and all the exhaustion and pain disappeared for the night. Ahhh blessed sleep.

The alarm beeped faintly, bringing me to fuzzy awareness the next morning. Mommy was still having trouble with her legs, and I had to help lift her up from the toilet, which was built for midgets sometime in the fifties, no doubt. Added to the gymnastics of the previous day, lifting Mommy full weight up off toilet and chairs put the left lower quadrant of my back out, which is really quite disastrous, as the right lower quadrant of my back has gone into spasm after @ 3 minutes of standing, ever since my first accident.

We went to the dining room and had breakfast by the window our first morning. They said we could have that table during our stay, and I was delighted that we had finally graduated to an ocean view table in the main dining room! Then we hobbled back to our cottage. I was helping Mommy up the steps, where there was a railing AND a big metal post to grab onto, when suddenly she just lost it. She began sliding down, legs collapsing underneath her, crushed against the wooden step. I tried lifting her up, then at least keeping her from going all the way down, but I couldn't maintain. I remember standing in the middle of the flight of steps, shouting "HELP!" "HELP!" a number of times before someone responded. Once they saw our predicament, they rallied some of the heftier kitchen staff to the rescue; they picked Mommy up in a fireman's carry as if she were a leaf, and set her down in the cottage. All that day her legs continued to fail her, so lunch was the beginning of our seclusion.

It's interesting how the mind often forgets the most odious details. I cannot remember WHEN the deluge began. All I know is that Mommy began having uncontrollable, incontinent diarrhea, AND urinary incontinence, sometime that first day. That's when the rug and bed were soiled. To give them credit, the MBC staff and owners tried to help us in many ways during the following week; they got us a raised toilet seat, various sodas for which we had planned a shopping trip we were unable to complete, fresh linens, and a rental golf cart ($175/wk) which we used only 3 times. They got Mommy some generic "Depends" from Eckerd. Then they got more, because the deluge never ended. They got Immodium, which helped only temporarily. They arranged to have all of our meals as "room service," meaning that basically that we awoke for breakfast, ate in the "living room," read (translate "slept") until lunch, ate in the living room, and rested (translate "slept") most afternoons until we ate dinner in the living room. Mommy had to restrict her food intake not only due to her ulcers, but now due to her diarrhea. I ate whatever I felt like. My blood sugar was lower after I returned than when I went, and I only gained 4 lbs., which I've already lost.

Fortunately there was a TV in the room, an unusual MBC luxury and a sanity-saving diversion for us. Unfortunately it wasn't hooked to cable or the satellite, and most of the shows we wanted to watch were on CBS, the reception of which was like watching ghosts in the proverbial snowstorm. We did sit on the deck for a few lovely sunsets. I took some pictures. One day there was a very bright parhelion! There was also a major red tide, so both Mommy and I had pretty bad asthma. I tried going down the wooden stairs to the beach and got my hands and feet wet in the Gulf once, when it was turbulent. Then when I tried again on a calm day, I lost my balance and would have fallen on the beach if not for my cane. No one was within sound or sight to help me, so I would have been SOL. So much for my longed-for swims in the salt water (one great tragedy of the trip). We used the golf cart to explore a little (until I knocked over a path light), then mainly to get to the swimming pool. We'd go late in the afternoon, at cocktail hour (since we no longer do cocktails). The pool was tepid the first day, then lovely and warm the next 2 times. I used a blue noodle to help buoy myself, and did hydrotherapy exercises the first day. Mistake. Ow, ow, my back and many other muscles. I tried to swim, the breastroke, but my legs wouldn't cooperate and my hands and arms had no pull. I could only tread water. I can no longer swim (the most shocking and tragic discovery of all; I am devastated to this day). But even just being in the warm pool was close to the best part of the trip. There were several mourning dove couples there and we enjoyed imitating their cooing calls.

Days passed; we hardly knew what day it was. The time both dragged and flew by. I helped Mommy wash off messes in the shower. I helped her put on her diapers. I helped clean up from her "accidents." She slowly regained the use of her legs, but the damage to my back was done, my bed unforgiving, ergo my back was out the entire time in FL and then some. Of course I went into flare, had migraines, slept an entire day, etc. I tried to explain fibroflare and sarcoidosis to Mommy, but I don't know if she really understood. Of course, she was feeling so unwell that she couldn't complain too much that I wasn't up for a lot either.

Things I learned on my winter vacation: Going to Florida in January/early February is too early for a temperate vacation: the weather tends toward cool and windy, and the Gulf is cold and stormy. I can't hold up my mother if she loses function of her legs. I can't swim anymore, even in a warm pool. People can be very nice, but at least in this case, for an outrageous price, and even then, they're not as nice as they appear. Flying in first class is the only comfortable way to fly, but it's not as much fun when you don't drink alcohol any more, and they STILL don't provide meals. Mommy talks and laughs in her sleep. She sounds like she's having a good time. She also coughs and clears her throut (loudly) in her sleep and doesn't wake herself up (only me). My earplugs are one of my most precious, life-saving possessions. Immodium=good. "Depends"=good but could be better.

MOST IMPORTANTLY: Using the phone (a little) and the computer (mostly) for daily communication with Bri was my SALVATION on this "vacation." IM (especially voice) RULES! Thank God for Bri! I don't think I could have kept it together without his love, support, wisdom, and humor...

My conclusion: I think the MBC has seen the last of us. Not that I don't want to go there, but after this year's experience, I suspect Mommy won't want to spend the money when we're really too feeble to enjoy it. It's very sad to think that the era of "family" vacations in Florida (translated: Daddy, Mommy and I, or some combination thereof) is over. I wish Brian could have come with us. But as it was, we could have stayed in Mommy's apartment and watched the Hawaiian Waves DVDs I got her for Christmas, saved a WHOLE heckuva lot of money, and perhaps saved a lot of wear and tear on our bodies. Oh well, live and learn.

NB: To this day, Mommy has continued to have the same incontinence problems (both sides, so to speak). That's over a month and a half. She obviously has a serious medical issue but has been loth to go to a doctor. She finally saw her MD (at a pre-scheduled annual checkup--better than nothing, I guess!). He is supposed to be playing medication roulette to see what's causing her problems, and she FINALLY agreed to hire an aide to help her bathe and perhaps do household chores 3x/wk. Poor Mommy--she's really gotten weak and debilitated. She's STILL sleeping in the lift chair in the study because her suitcase from the trip is on her bed and she doesn't have the energy to unpack or the strength to move it. She doesn't even go to that part of her apt. anymore! She lost the TV remote but has a Universal Remote which needs new batteries. She has some batteries in her closet in her bedroom, but can't work up the energy to go get them. This is SERIOUS stuff. If she weren't getting help and seeing the MD, I would have had to go to CT to help her, which would be a bit ironic, since I've been recovering slowly myself.

Inspiration for the title of this account goes to Rosanne Raneri's song "Not Quite Philadelphia" from her wonderful album "Parhelion."