Clementine

If I lose my memory, at least, if it’s Alzheimer’s, it’s like a trip back through time. People seem to lose recent memory and then they are in past memories, which burn out like small fires. Like matches, taking the neuron with it.

I have joked that if I was in memory care, I would be singing. I know 9 verses of Clementine and I would sing and sing and sing, because my earliest happy memories are singing.

I know the silly add on verses.

“Now all ye boy scouts, learn a lesson
from this dreadful tale of mine
Artificial respiration
would have saved my Clementine.”

“How I missed her, how I missed her,
how I missed my Clementine
‘Til I kissed her little sister
And forgot my Clementine.”

“In my dreams she still doth haunt me
dressed in garments soaked in brine
In my life I would have kissed her
Now she’s dead, I draw the line.”

Here is Pete Seeger, banjo and all.

The words change. Second verse for me is “Light she was and like a feather”. His version is “like a fairy”. It’s lovely to see how the versions change over time. I did not learn the churchyard verse, and he does not sing the three verses that I add above.

Meanwhile, Steeleye Span did not do Clementine, at least not on Youtube. But this is my favorite moral song from their albums. Would you run as, well, you’ll have to listen to the ending to hear the three seven year penance punishments.

Anyhow, I learned to sing at the same time that I learned to talk. Singing was the happy and safe part. That is where I will go if my memory fails me.

The photograph is from my father’s 70th birthday, in 2008. He is the one with the guitar. Andy Makie is on harmonica and CF is in the back. I don’t know what song this was, not Clementine. My friend Maline took this photograph. She died in 2023. My father died in 2013 at age 75. He was not confused when he wore his oxygen. Without it, he sounded drunk.

For the Ragtag Daily Prompt: dementia.

Rumor

Oh, kindness. I think one huge kindness is not to listen to rumors and not to assume that they are correct. Whew. Though if you are ever the victim of a rumor, it will tell you who your real friends are. They will stay present, stay in touch, stay with you. Some will ask about it, others won’t, but they will stay. And you may be amazed by how many people disappear into the woodwork. They are staying “neutral”, they’ll say, but they don’t call, answer calls, or include you any more. Then they may show back up in the future. You will not trust them again. Ok, if they were going through some trauma of their own, but otherwise, no.

Sol Duc is keeping an eye on the neighborhood. She never tells me rumors, ever.

Here are three versions of Nobody Knows You When You’re Down and Out. I like the Bessie Smith one best. The John Lennon tune is different.

For the Ragtag Daily Prompt: kindness.

And another:

Threat

I am practicing the soprano part of the Brahms Requiem to sing in early May.

The second movement is amazing. It is in 3/4 time, waltz time, but slowed to a dirge, a march, a crawl. And by adding movement on the last 16th note in a three beat sequence, so the 11/12 beat, it sounds threatening and frightening. It builds and builds and then quiets, only to build again. It is terrifying. What an amazing piece of music!

And the words, too. “For all flesh is as grass, and all the glory of man as the flower of grass. The grass withereth, and the flower thereof falleth away.”

At last it opens into a fugue and glory, but still with intensity. “But the word of the Lord endureth forever. And the ransomed of the Lord shall return, and come to Zion with songs and everlasting joy upon their heads: they shall obtain joy and gladness, and sorrow and sighing shall flee away.” There is still the undertow of grief and confusion and fear.

The building is at Fort Worden and is certainly falling away.

Flooded

Trigger warning: trauma and feelings.

I cry because
the laundry overflowed
the sewer blocked again
we might have to pull up the floor
and lay it down a third time
I hate the laundromat
water runs across the floor
as fast as the tsunami
crossing the fields
crushing the houses
catching the trucks
in Japan

I cry because
I have to ask for help again
Help comes
but the memories of asking
when it didn’t
help didn’t come
and I was abandoned or humiliated
rise up and overwhelm me
I am flooded
I am helpless
someone help those people
The shaking earth is bad enough
But the ocean rolling inland
Over all
Breaking all
Beams to toothpicks
Those are the memories that rise up
And flood me
I think of the soldiers
and victims of wars and disasters
and PTSD
tsunami
of memory

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Written before 5/2011. I have posted before, but couldn’t find it on a search. Posted today at a friend’s request.

Peace Plague

If I can be anything I want to be
today let me be a peace plague.

Let me be a peace plague, airborne,
spread fast in the air
just a breath of wind
two neighbors who are angry stand at a fence
one drops a rake, the other a hose
they stare at each other. “Come to tea,”
says one, and the other comes.
Someone stops writing a letter of complaint
and gathers blankets for the warming center instead.
A policeman aims at a kid with a gun
shouts “Freeze.” and then he freezes too
on an intaken breath, and the kid drops the gun
hands up, breathing my plague.
And in a war zone, one side chokes on the air
and stops firing. The other aims and stops as well.
Both fall to their knees and weep. After time,
some get up and start gathering the wounded. Others
tear sheets into bandages and yet others start moving the rubble
finding the bodies. The bodies must be found and buried
in holy ground before rebuilding. My cousin
opens her mouth to gossip again and inhales and chokes
and stops. She says something other than she had planned.
Peace spreads like a wave, like a plague, and everyone
looks for someone to help.

If I can be anything I want to be
today I want to be a plague of peace.

Elder Care: Goals

I really enjoy elder care in Family Medicine. Mostly. Even some of the very difficult or very complicated people.

One thing I would try to figure out is what is the person’s goal? This can be quite funny at times.

“Can we talk about what you would want if you got really sick? If you were too sick to talk to us?”

“I don’t want to talk about death.” Ok, this person is in their 90s.

“That is fine, but if we don’t talk about it, your daughter and I have to guess what you want. And we tend to do more when we don’t know.”

That person glares at me. “Oh, all right.”

Sometimes a person says, “I don’t want to die of cancer.”

It turns out that this is an opening. “Ok, what DO you want to die of?”

“I don’t want to die!”

“Well, me either, but I can’t fix that. There are at least three “ideal” deaths that the Veterans Administration talks to people about. Maybe we could go over them. You could put your request in with your higher power.” I have written about the three here: https://drkottaway.com/2023/10/06/an-ideal-death/. The “Hallmark” or hospice death, sudden death and fight it all the way.

But, other than not dying, what is the goal? To stay in one’s home? To move to a retirement organization that has a nursing home and care until death? Home care insurance to stay home? I do have people imply that they will go into the woods or crash their car or something if they get very sick, but not very often. They are usually aware that I have to respond to any suicide threat. How much care do they want? People often say, “I wouldn’t want to be disabled,” but it turns out that life is often worth living even when very challenging. Most people want to be treated for cancer, for heart disease, for congestive heart failure, to go on.

Sometimes death comes from a cumulative load of chronic problems. We had a gentleman in his 80s in the hospital ICU many years ago. He had pneumonia, congestive heart failure and bad kidneys as well as a host of other problems. I sat down with him. “We are treating you, but when we give you enough medicine to help you breathe, your kidneys are getting worse. This is a small rural hospital. I could transfer you to the Seattle hospital, 2 hours away. You would have a cardiologist, a kidney doctor, a lung doctor. Here you just have me and the nurses. Either way, I do not know if you will live through this. What do you want to do?”

He chose to stay. “My family can visit me here.” His family was visiting daily. “I do not want a breathing tube. I do not want dialysis. If my kidneys go, let me go.” We discussed this with the family.

Four days later it was clear that without dialysis, he was dying. Dialysis might have slowed it, but he may still have died. He was no longer waking up. We withdrew the antibiotics and removed most of the monitoring and switched him to hospice. His family continued to visit and he died a few days later.

He did die in the hospital, and yes, we used some machines up until care was withdrawn, but this still seems like he got to make choices and his family understood. It can be much harder with memory loss when the person really can’t make choices any more.

He was complicated. To keep him breathing well without a machine, we had to give him diuretics, that were eventually too much for his kidneys. A bad heart, lungs with emphysema and pneumonia, and bad kidneys. Sometimes the liver is not working either, and then what is there left to work with? Nearly all drugs are broken down by either the liver or kidneys. Simethicone is not absorbed, so that’s the exception.

Sometimes people get along until too many things accumulate and then they end up in the hospital and on multiple new medicines. It can be very confusing. Regular maintenance is a good idea.

Sometimes the family wants something different from the patient. Or there is an elder parent and three adult children, who all disagree. My job is advocate for the patient. But this is Family Medicine, so I have a responsibility to the patient but also to the family. The person, the family, the community, how is it all fitting together? Sometimes functional, sometimes not.

I had one person who called me when he had been flown to a Seattle hospital. “I have to get home.” he says, “Can you release me? I have to take care of my wife!” I panicked for a moment. “Is your wife bedridden? Where is she? Why are you in the hospital?” She was not bedridden and she was fine. He was being more and more behaviorally squirrelly. He could no longer drive, but drove anyhow. His wife disabled the car, because he would disappear. I sent him to a neurologist for memory testing. The neurologist said, “Hmmm.” and sent him for neuropsych testing. The neuropsych report said dryly that his memory was fine, but he had certain long standing behaviors related to past heavy alcohol use. Oh. He was quite proud of not drinking and going to AA, but he also triangulated with his family and me. I sat him down and said, “Ok, I am not going to talk to a different one of your five children every time you see me in the clinic, because you’ve said, “Don’t tell mom I called you.” Pick ONE person for me to talk to and now you have to have a family member with you when you come to clinic.” He grinned and chose his wife. He had certainly fooled me about his memory, because he blamed his behavior on his memory. The neurologist was not quite fooled. The family calmed down and he did not drive any more, thank goodness. He was not an easy patient, but he was entertaining and educational too. And I felt that I had helped both him and the family.

Sometimes families fight. Sometimes a dysfunctional family will get way worse when someone is sick or dies. Sometimes families go on fighting. Other families are so kind and so good to each other and their elders. Every family is different.

For the Ragtag Daily Prompt: concentration.

Delicate

I think of what is delicate in all our wide wild world
Our world itself? Yes, but more. Peace among people? No, peace
is strong as war, peace lifts my heart and roars, hoping others hear.
Most delicate is the human heart, all humans. Covid has damaged
the human hearts, we fear, we grieve, we stress and lash out
and so we go to war and wars and argue with each other.
Human hearts turn outward, we cannot see the virus and feel helpless
as the subtle battle is fought and doctors and nurses and scientists
research and die. Human hearts want an enemy they can see, they can fight
and what is better than another human? Every human is different
so there are many choices, to fight over the differences. Let us stop.
Gather our wounded, clear the rubble, find the dead and bury them.
Let us stop and cry and weep and tear our hair.
Let us mourn as a world our dead and the damage to the human heart.

___________________________________

For the Ragtag Daily Prompt: delicate.

Tamped

The Ragtag Daily Prompt is “trial by fire“.

Which makes me think of the wars, ongoing and restarting, and the fire and death. What do we get out of killing children? Burning homes and families. I don’t understand. Revenge? To “teach a lesson”? I think it will only teach more hate.

So this morning I am listening to the Bach Magnificat and then the Rutter Magnificat. Tamp the flames of hate and lift my voice in song and may the world work towards peace. I light my candles in the early morning in prayer for us all.

Welcome dark

This morning I listened to this song and album.

https://thewinetree.bandcamp.com/album/kentucky

I bought the CD over a year ago at the nowhereelse festival in Ohio. I heard The Winetree live and thought it was gorgeous. I bought others for myself but this was for a friend. Today I realize that the entire album, every song, has sorrow and longing.

Which makes it an interesting choice for someone who said, “I am always happy.” The first time he said that, I thought, wow. That is not true. I don’t believe that, so who are you lying to? Himself first, right? Because it seemed so obviously not true.

I never gave him the album because he stopped talking to me.

When someone says an absolute, that is a red flag for me. I wonder if the CD was for the emotions that he is not in contact with and stuffs. I went through a time where I tried to unstuff all the old emotions that I hid in my complex and frightening household growing up. My biggest ones were grief, fear and humiliation. It was not safe to express those: they would be made into a story to entertain people. I started to deal with them two years after my mother died. My sister did too.

This poem, Butterfly Girl Comes to Visit, is about my sister and my unacceptable emotions. Another, Ride Forth, is about stuffing feelings and then bringing them up and letting them go. I’m not saying we are ever done. I don’t know if we are. I thought of it as going to the depths of the ocean. The trunk at the bottom is full of terrifying monsters, but I had to open it anyhow. And at the bottom or somewhere in the trunk, is Hope, just like Pandora’s box. It took a couple of years of work to get to hope. It was so hard in counseling that my days off were more difficult than clinic, and that is saying a lot, because clinic is hard work.

Our culture is so afraid of the dark and of emotions. By doing my difficult work, I could be present and tolerate patients’ often difficult emotions and say, “Well, I can understand why you would feel that way. It is a really difficult situation.”

I do not want to be happy all the time. I think that is silly. What I want is to feel my emotions, in real time, and be honest with myself about them. As Rumi says, grief may be sweeping your house clean for a new joy. How can we love without grieving?

Welcome to the rain and the winter and the dark, and welcome to resting and quiet, and the hope that the sun will return.

And on the other side: My mom loved me.