Look Out, Geese!
[Some notes on caring for aging parents, excerpted from Loving Zelda: A Stepdaughter's Caregiving Journal.]
Being inflexible is a good way to get broken—if not into pieces, at least to the point of fracture. While I hate the idea of accommodating decline, sometimes I think Dad and Zelda have a healthier approach to adapting: a dash of denial, a smidgeon of resentment, and a large dose of acquiescence. Meanwhile, I forge ahead, stubbornly committed to perfecting the imperfectable.
I dampen the bottoms of my feet as per the instructions on my Homedics fat-calculating scale and weigh in at 139.2. True charity radiates outward, not inward. But as hard as I try to redirect my focus, I am obsessed with stopping this weight gain. Big bucks for an elliptical trainer at home. More attention to quality nutrition. Baked salmon and veggie stir-fry, low-fat breakfast bars and snack mixes, made from scratch. I attribute part of my agonizing and overanalyzing to bad medicine.
In 2002, suffering from chronic fatigue and low blood sugar, my frantic search for drug-free answers led me to a holistic chiropractor’s office in an elite Twin Cities suburb. I should have seen the fluttering red flags when the good doctor drove not just one, but two, shiny new luxury SUVs—alternating them from day to day. But I was so desperate for relief that even the mysterious practices of non-touch bodywork, contact reflex analysis, and a torturously severe elimination diet didn’t break through my mental fog to flash an alert.
Six months and seven thousand dollars into a supposed $1,200 program of weekly neck-cracking sessions and mounting dietary supplement costs, I took a hard look our credit card statements, cringed at my folly, and ducked out the back door of that posh establishment with my newly aligned spine in a slouch. I also refinanced my house.
Rational or not, I took away from this experience two unshakable insights: the idea that we’re 90 percent responsible for our own ills, and an awareness of food sensitivities. Both notions hover and haunt whenever I have a bad day. If only I could sort out which edibles to avoid and squeeze in a daily cardio session. If only I could convince Dad and Zelda to push back against their challenges. To move their limbs more and do memory exercises.
I compile a library of resources—Successful Aging, Total Recall, Learn to Remember, Brain Builders, Age Right—convinced that it can’t hurt to try. And I encourage physical activity at every opportunity.
5-5-05 Journal Entry:
As Zelda and I enjoy a long stroll on this glorious, sunshine-infused afternoon, we encounter an enormous gaggle of geese. “They will scatter and fly away if you run toward them,” she observes. I nod in innocent agreement, hands clasped behind my back, gaze fixed on the route ahead.
A split-second later, Z veers off the path at a gallop, flapping her arms wildly, and charges the grazing flock. Point demonstrated, as the riotously honking birds scatter, and the thunder of beating wings sends a thrill up my spine. I guess there’s more than one way to do calisthenics.