My Apologies... but it's Lolcats Time!

It's been at least a couple of years since I last checked out Lolcats and Loldogs. Once again, I got completely lost in the site's wholesome, fuzzy goodness and spent a crazy amount of time there.

Here's a few pictures from the site along with links to both Lolcats and Loldogs. Click on the links below so that you, too, may sit transfixed and lose more time than an alien abductee.









Lolcats
Loldogs

How Will YOU Be Remembered?

We don't give much thought to what our obituary will say about us. Habitual obit readers, such as myself, see a lot of the usual "she lit up the room when she walked in.." or "he'd give the shirt off his back...". Then, of course, the obligatory Old Testament-like listing of all family members.

Well, here's something a little different. You have a couple choices if you don't want an obituary like this written about you. Either change your evil ways... FAST! Or write your own obit and entrust your lawyer to have it published before the kids get any ideas.

I discovered this link while "lurking" in the Boomers Forum on craigslist (thanks, Helen_Back!). Click on the link below for a very unusual memorial written by one of the daughters of the deceased. Snopes.com has confirmed that this obituary is real.

snopes.com obit

Drunken Fists of Fury -- Part 2

[This is part 2 of a two-part story. To pull up Part 1, just click on the label "Drunken Fists of Fury"]

I have a sudden and ominous thought: What if Junior attacks the body removal team? In Junior's drunken logic, that would be a fortuitous "two-fer". He could make sure that all the attention remains on him AND prove how much he loved his mother. The funeral home is due to arrive at any minute. I quickly turn to Diane:

"Look, I'm really sorry, but if no one here can get your brother under control, we need to call the police. If you're not willing to do it... I will."

"It's a done deal", says Diane and she reaches for the phone.

Almost immediately, the police officer arrives and we are all witness to Junior's magical transformation. Drunkenly swaying from foot to foot, he smiles broadly as he chats up the cop and promises to be a good boy. While I am well aware that the mere presence of a cop can deescalate dangerous situations, this was almost too easy. As I see this miracle unfold before me, I'm pretty sure that the MPD is now issuing magic pixie dust to their officers.

Officer Johnson enters the double-wide and scans the living room. He spots me and asks, "You alright, Ma'am?".

 I silently nod "yes", but I know my eyes are screaming, "Get me the !@#%  outta here!". 

Ignoring my screaming eyes, Officer Johnson walks throughout the entire house making sure that everyone is okay. Satisfied, the policeman exits and drives away, leaving a deflated Junior in the front yard. Once again, a sense of relief fills the room and I pray that, this time, it will be lasting. Then, ever so softly, a woman's voice: 

"He really is a nice man."

Looking to my left, I see that the woman is speaking to me. I also suddenly realize that this is Junior's wife and hopefully, his designated driver. Unable to think of an appropriate response, I smile weakly and nod. I look away and wonder what life with a handful like Junior must be like. It can't be very good.

The remainder of my visit is blissfully uneventful. The funeral home has come and gone and so has Junior with his sainted wife. I say my goodbyes to the family and return to the quiet and safety of my car. My nerves want to calm themselves, but my mind wants to rehash the events that occurred during this visit. 

My mind is right. I must not forget what happened here. Was Junior really dangerous or just being dramatic? It doesn't matter. Every home visit I make is a walk into the unknown. Officer Johnson has all the trappings of authority and weapons to boot. I have none of this... and I sure don't have any pixie dust.

Ghost Tour

Yep... I admit it. I love the ghosties. I even own a few pieces of equipment commonly used by ghost hunters and have participated in ghost hunting expeditions. No holiday destination is complete without visiting the local "haunted" sites or at least a good, rollicking ghost tour.

Although I never discuss my interest in this subject with my coworkers, it's probably natural for people in my profession to have an interest in ghosts. I only know that death and what may lay beyond, is on my mind... a LOT. Surely others involved in hospice and other related fields would also share this interest in the paranormal. Then again, maybe I'm just a nut case.

Anyway, today I'm introducing a segment called "Ghost Tour". It'll be a recurring segment, largely depending on the quality of video that I find. So enjoy your first "Ghost Tour" with the following video...  Oh, I also  promise that nothing is going to "jump out at you" and freak you out. I'm not that kind of nut case.

You Just Can't Fake This!

Your Moment of Awwwww ...

Drunken Fists of Fury -- Part 1

1845 hrs-- I'm having a hard time, here. Can't seem to find the place. Apparently, no one in this trailer park believes in house numbers. I pick up my cell and call the daughter of the deceased:

"Diane? Yeah, I know I'm really close to you, but I can't figure out which house you're at."

"Oh, our place is the one with all the cars and stuff in the front", she says.

Diane needs to narrow that down a bit. Her description isn't helping me at all.

"Could you please just come out and wave at me?" I ask. "I'm in the dark blue car."

I see a woman pop out of her front door and she's waving. Problem solved.

There's a lot of people in the double-wide. Kids of all ages are skittering around the place. I chat, briefly, with the husband of the deceased and can tell that he's handling the situation well. Mr. B. returns to the bedroom where his wife lies... he needs to be near her right now. I sit next to Diane and busy myself with phone calls and paperwork.

Suddenly, the living room becomes still and silent. Instinctively, taking the cue to not move, I dart only my eyes up from my work and see the figure in the doorway. He's big, he's beefy and he's very, very inebriated.

"WHERE IS SHE?", he bellows. Before anyone dares to answer, he staggers down the narrow hallway that leads into the back bedroom.

Accusations and questions begin flying around the living room: 

"Who called Junior?", someone snaps. " I didn't think we were supposed to let him know right away!"

"I didn't do it!"

"Me neither!"

"Well, she IS his MOTHER!", says one brave soul. Oops... All eyes fix on the culprit and the subject is dropped.

Ba-BAM! Ba-BAM! My body jerks in reaction to the noise. My heart is absolutely pounding. Still sitting, I lean forward and peer down into the hallway. Junior has just attempted to punch a hole in the wall. I can't see any damage... the wall has triumphed. Head bent, shoulders drooping, Junior wobbles on over to his sister, Diane:

"Junior", says Diane firmly, "We ALL loved Mom!"

"But I loved her MORE!", wails Junior and he spreads his arms widely, showing her just how much.

Diane's drunken brother manages to fumble his way out of the front door. Those of us left behind, in the living room, emit a collective sigh. The sense of relief doesn't last long. I hear banging and crashing. Looking out the window, I see objects flying through the air. Junior has taken his tantrum outside where he has access to an enormous selection of kickable and throwable items.

To be continued ... 

Bunnies... Adorable AND Useful!

Fun-filled Funereal Facts

Terminal Restlessness

Terminal restlessness is a common and, to caregivers, often shocking aspect of the dying process. Occurring during the last days of life, it is a form of delirium that usually develops over a short period of time -- from hours to days. The symptoms can range from simply "picking" at the bed linens to running naked in the street -- and anything in between. Here are some of the symptoms and this is, in no way, an all

inclusive list:

• Increased confusion and decreased ability to concentrate.  Disoriented to time and place. May not recognize caregivers.
• Fidgety, anxious and unable to relax. Will attempt to get out of bed even if unable to walk or sit upright.
• Disrupted sleep pattern. Ability to stay awake and fidgety for amazing lengths of time.
• Repetitive moans, groans and vocalizations, even though pain is not indicated.
• Hallucinations or "visions". Will often see and speak to dead family and friends.
• Severe agitation, hostility or physical aggression.

There are many possible causes for terminal restlessness such as: the patient's underlying disease process, liver or kidney failure, medications, oxygenation, etc. Whatever the cause, terminal restlessness can be a source of fear, frustration and sleepless nights for caregivers. The safety of the patient is also greatly compromised. They are at very high risk for falls during this phase of the dying process.

The symptoms of terminal restlessness can be medically treated with varying degrees of success. I have, however, seen many patients that appeared to be impervious to any form of medication given to help calm or sedate.  In severe cases, many families choose to have the patient admitted into an inpatient unit. Here, symptoms may be treated with medications that would not  ordinarily be used in the home setting and require nursing supervision.

I truly dread getting the phone call that sends me on my way to the home of a patient with severe  terminal restlessness. The caregivers are sleep deprived and understandably, emotionally volatile. Above all, there is an overwhelming feeling of helplessness. A feeling of helplessness that not only envelops the caregivers, but often, the hospice nurse as well. 

In Memory of Randy Pausch, Ph.D

Dr. Randy Pausch passed away on Wednesday, July 25, 2008. His amazing lecture series has been an inspiration to millions. Here, posted, is his Last Lecture given at Carnegie Mellon University in its entirety.

That's Amore!

2015 hrs -- It's a big house and it's a full house. I have pronounced Mr. G. dead, informed the coroner's office and called the funeral home. Wisely sensing that no one is in need of  my emotional support, I settle in an unoccupied corner of the large family room and wait for the funeral home to arrive.

It's easy to imagine Mr. G. as the patriarch of this large, bustling family. I can see him sitting in his comfy chair, offering both advice and admonishment. As I watch the family mingle, I decide that he was a very good man. 

Some of the family have divided into small conversational groups. The talk is soft and the laughter unobtrusive. Several bottles of wine have been uncorked. I hear from the kitchen:

"No, no. Leave her alone. You know she has to do this."

I see what's happening. Mrs G. is cooking. As though a prima ballerina, she moves gracefully from refrigerator to counter to stove. Never hesitating... never wondering what to do next. If Gordon Ramsey were in this kitchen, he would stay out of her way and actually keep his mouth shut. In short order, a large pot of fagiole is simmering on the stove. I am in awe.

The family, while very cordial, largely ignores me. I am not offended in the least. They don't need my comforting words, my shoulder to cry on or a hug. They just need me to take care of business. They are skillfully taking care of the rest. 

The aroma from the kitchen is beginning to torment me. I wasn't hungry at all when I first arrived, but now I'm in agony with spasms of hunger mixed with twinges of envy. I want what they have. A little pasta fagiole and a large, loving family.

Checklists

1845 hrs -- I've just arrived at the home of the deceased. His tearful daughter and her boyfriend meet me outside. The daughter had come to the home to look in on her father and has found him dead. I go right in to examine the body.

He's sitting in a chair in front of the TV. I scan his immediate surroundings: Nice assortment of snack foods. Check. TV remote. Check. Oxygen. Check. Pitcher of water. Check. Bucket to pee in. Check. This man was exactly where he wanted to be and doing exactly what he wanted to do when he died. Well done, sir. I give him an imaginary, standing ovation.

"Could you please call my brother?", asks the daughter. "He's out of state, but he's always handled Dad's bills and stuff. He can tell you what funeral home to call."

"Sure, no problem," I reply. The patient's son answers the phone and I offer my condolences. He knows that his sister is in the home and immediately begins an anti-sister tirade:

"That woman has never cared about Dad", he rants. "All she's ever cared about is her booze and drugs!"

I look up at his sister. She's sitting quietly, wiping away her tears. Uncomfortable with the direction this is going, I steer the conversation toward the selection of a funeral home. He already has one picked out, but he does have some concerns:

"Will they let me see my dad before they cremate him?"

"Yes, yes of course", I reply. "That shouldn't be a problem at all. I'll make sure to tell the mortuary about your request when I call them."

"Well, how about this...", he responds. "I can be in (city name) by ten P.M. tomorrow night. How about if you just let him stay where he is, so I can see him?"

Okay... that's at least twenty-six hours from now. I rapidly begin a new checklist: This is so unethical. Check. Possibly illegal. Check. Corpse in very warm mobile home in middle of August. Check. I don't need to go any further...

"No, Mr. ( )", I reply. "I'll just call the funeral home."

The call has ended and I turn to the patient's daughter. I know that she has completely gotten the gist of this unusual conversation. "Thank you", she says softly. "Thank you so much for everything."

Driving out of the trailer park, I'm thinking about the patient's son. I wonder about his motivation to see his father, long dead, in a chair. Is it about love? Is it someway tied to his feelings about his sister? Is it... ? Is it... ? I'm giving myself a headache. I hope he has a checklist.

A Little Something For All You Dog People ...

Happy 4th of July! ...B safe, B sane & the 1812 Overture

Not Dying Up to Expectations

Mrs. X has been admitted into the inpatient unit for "actively dying". She seems so close to death, but continues to surprise us with unexpected spurts of lucidity and well... life. One evening, the staff nearly pronounces her dead and the woman essentially snaps right out of it. The next morning, Mrs. X is sitting up in bed enjoying her breakfast.

This woman is the reason why I do not give families a firm prediction on life expectancy for their loved ones. I will give an estimate... but with plenty of disclaimers. Thankfully, the families/caregivers are overwhelmingly accepting of my vagueness.

Eventually, the hospice decides to send Mrs. X back home into the care of her children. The family is contacted in order to make arrangements and schedule her transportation. This plan comes to a screeching halt... The kids have rented out her room. The new tenant has not only already moved in, but is sleeping in the hospital bed that hospice had provided for her.

This is why hospices keep their social workers on speed dial.

Fun-filled Funereal Facts

The dying process is something quite foreign to most of us. Just a few generations ago, birth and death played out within the privacy of our homes. Extended families were present to comfort, celebrate and grieve. Nearly everyone knew what to expect. 

Many of the calls I get are from caregivers who are panicked over symptoms that are quite normal for someone that is dying. It's okay... I truly understand. This is all strange to us now.

A person that is "actively dying" has made a noticeable transition. They are weakening; sleeping more and eating less (or not eating at all). They need more and more help from caregivers and may be bed-bound. Mental status becomes more "iffy". A fair prognosis would be that the patient has days, maybe even weeks to live.

A patient that is "imminent" is still, of course, considered "actively dying". But their condition has severely deteriorated. They may be semi-conscious/unconscious, confused and hallucinating (or, if you prefer, having  "visions"). The ability to swallow is severely impaired. The patient may be anxious, restless or combative. Their breathing pattern has significantly changed. At this stage, one may have hours or days to live.

There are no hard rules for this process. Everyone experiences their death differently... dying is a very personal journey.