So our geriatric internist sent us blood pressure cuffs and electronic devices that will record our daily blood pressure and send results electronically to our doctor for monitoring. During set up, the machine talks to you like she thinks she is Alexa. So now, we have added b p cuffs – one for each of us, and the electronic computer that monitors and sends the info onto doc, along with the grab bar poles, and the lift assist, and the walker, and the three canes, and the dry mouth lozenges, that now decorate our living room/dining room. It’s beginning to look very geriatric every single day. It’s beginning to look very geriatric every way I turn…
Yes, we are getting geriatric altogether, me, my husband, and our house. We just installed a floor-to-ceiling pole. Not for me to dance on, although one day if I get dementia, I just may. It’s so that my husband can grab onto it in order to get in and out of bed. He is suffering, according to the doctors, from the condition called “deconditioning,” which means his muscles are weak.
When we looked at recliners, we skipped over the ones that catapult you across the room. Sure, it would be easier for my husband but the goal is to strengthen, not weaken the already weakened muscles.
We just ordered a lift assist, a device that is supposed to help me help my husband to lift himself when he gets stuck in a chair.
My husband’s occupational therapist comes up with all these gadgets and devices, devices that make me realize that he is not the only one who needs assistance, that he is not the only one aging.
My pillbox that now occupies our dining room table reminds me that he is not aging alone and all these devices that now reside in my house, are a constant reminder that we are getting old altogether.
There were times I could not find my cell phone and of course, I would call that number from my home phone. But the times I needed to do that were few and far between.
Now I noticed that I call my cell phone several times a day.
Is that because I discovered it is a short cut worth taking? Or is it because I cannot locate my phone more and more often? I swear I cannot find my phone even when I KNOW for sure it is in my pocketbook!!!!
HOW MANY TIMES A DAY DO YOU CALL YOURSELF?
Does this title make any sense? I mean, I forget things all the time. I am absent minded maybe even a little senile. But think about it. I am writing about all the things I forgot. So, how is it that I don’t forget the things I forgot and I remember to write about them?
Can anyone explain this phenomenon?
Yesterday evening, I warmed up the delicious flounder fillets I had prepared in the morning. I turned the oven on and when the fish was hot, I served dinner. SIX HOURS LATER, I was getting ready for bed and as I was turning out the lights in the kitchen, heat seemed to be emanating from the oven. I checked it – and it was still on the 325 degrees. I could have made a whole Thanksgiving feast in the hours I had, accidentally, left the oven on.
I fret when I do things like that because I have a reputation of being meticulous, responsible, reliable, OCD, anal, and a perfectionist.
“Am I getting senile?” I remembered to ask myself and my husband.
When I woke up this morning, I patted myself on the back for having gotten out to make it to my exercise class on time. I remembered to take my combination lock that I have not used for the past month. (Winter was fine until five weeks ago and after one storm and another and another and another, we stopped going to work out). I looked at the lock in my hand and could not remember the numbers. I tried two different combinations and got it my third try!
“So, I am not senile after all,” I laughed and turned to my husband.
“You should have written the numbers down,” he chided me. Then I remembered that I had, indeed, written down the combination in my cell phone. Only I had forgotten that I had ever done that.
Which counts more: what I remembered or what I forgot?