Love, Junk Food, and Beer: The Ingredients for a Long Life

2/16/2017

Me, my mother, Patt Hoff, and my sisters Dolores Martinez and Jeanne Cervantes January 2017

Last month, I traveled to Sacramento to see my 92-year-old mother for the last time. Again. Eighteen months ago my mother was lying on her deathbed gasping for an elusive breath while loved ones tearfully kept watch.

Two days later she woke up with an appetite. Chips, cake, and junk food of any kind, she’d wolf it all down. Then came the daily beer that she loves so much. For her meager nutritional needs, the doctor advised giving her anything she wants, as long as she is eating.

She was sleeping soundly when I entered the room. Upon seeing me she quickly sprung to life—as much as a feeble person can--as if she were waiting for this very moment. We chatted for about 15 minutes, in between bites of Cheese-It snacks that I brought as a treat. She asked questions about my life, eager to hear everything. I knew she was doing her best to be animated. My mother is a good actress. The show must go on.

Soon, she stared mindlessly at the TV. Even on good days, ten minutes of conversation can wipe her out. But within the next few minutes she perked up again to ask questions about my friend, Pam, whom I visited before coming to Sacramento.

In her infirm state, my mother still shows her intelligence by making small talk about life and possessing a keen interest in other people. She has a remarkable memory for dates and places that I’ve long forgotten about. When I inquire about her life, she cheerfully though wearily replies, “I’m fine as ever.” Her will to live has outlasted her physical body. In fact, she's already used up her six-month hospice care three times.

It is well documented that about 80% of elderly patients die within the first year upon entering a nursing home, many within the first six months. It’s also noted that people with strong social connections live the longest. Fortunately for my mom, she has lots of visitors due to our large, extended family.

I feel that the real reason for my mother’s longevity and general well being stems from the unconditional love shown to her by us and Maria and Bill Tintas, her caretakers, who own the board and care home where she resides. It’s a residential home where licensed caregivers live and render assistance with bathing, feeding, dressing and managing the medication of a maximum of six patients. Home healthcare, hospice and other medical assistance can be brought in from outside providers. Some of the patients in this home have been there for many years and even one patient recently turned 100-years-old.

To be sure, changing diapers on a 92-year-old patient six times a day is not an easy job, but Maria and Bill do it with kindness. They show respect to all their patients, making them feel wanted. I’ve even heard Maria tell my mother that she loves her, as my mother is an easy patient who seldom complains. The Tintas’ seem content in their business decisions, wise in their dealings with no hidden agendas.

“Maria has seen a lot of death and sadness, yet her spirit is light. That is a God given gift to a caretaker,“ said my sister, Dolores Martinez. “Maria has God’s love and spiritual protection which brings peace to the house.”

I dreaded saying goodbye on my last day. Fortunately, my sisters Jeanne and Dolores were by my side. We had a great two-hour conversation with mom, talking about our travels together and good times. Mom could remember stories with details, much to our amazement. We laughed a lot and took photos. The mood was light.

I finally did say goodbye, with a big kiss and a firm hug. I was almost ashamed of myself for not shedding tears. I’ve said goodbye so many times before why would today be any different? I walked out the door with Maria’s reassurance that mother will be there the next time I’d come to visit.

I wish I could believe that.

In two weeks, my mother will turn 93. How much longer can she go on with her body slowly but surely shutting down? As my sister Jeanne reminded me that today could be the last day we see anyone. It is in God’s hands.

In truth, we really lost her a couple of years ago when she decided not to walk anymore. Now it’s a waiting game. It is not sad, for she has lived a good, blessed life albeit one with its peaks and valleys that she ventured through being guided by a cosmic north star.

I pray that when the time comes for her passing, it is done in her sleep, peacefully. I can only hope for myself to live such a long life filled with love and with no major illnesses. In reality, it means keeping physically and spiritually healthy. There are many books written on both topics, but in the end, it is up to us individually to figure it out for ourselves. This seems to be the topic I like to write about because it is so big and important. I’ll keep you posted on my mom. In the meantime…

Over To You

What are your thoughts on death and dying? Have you ever dealt with caregivers? I’d love to hear your thoughts and opinions. Please leave a comment below.

2 Comments

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Kevin Lawrence Santos-Coy link

2/25/2017 04:35:46 pm

Dear Paula:

Thank you for sharing one of life's most challenging moments in such an inspiring and thoughtful way. I feel encouraged to share my story with you, too.

A couple of years ago my parents went on a train excursion from Sacramento to San Diego visiting family and friends along the way. Everything had gone well into Los Angeles then along the ride to San Diego my father became very ill. By the time they made it off the train, my fathers feet had significantly swollen up and he could barely walk. My 76yr old mother had great difficulty walking with him and luckily, my fathers high school friend was there to assist getting him to the car.
Throughout his life, Pops, being a tough a proud man, in every sense of the word, decided to wait it out instead of going to the hospital. That evening, several hours later after laying down to go to sleep, as his breathing shortened and became constrained, he'd gasped to tell my Mom to call the ambulance.
My brother, whom had planned the trip, contacted me at that time. At that moment, I was driving back from San Francisco to Sacramento and had stopped for coffee with a friend in Vacaville. After contemplating for about fifteen minutes, my intuition told me that my fathers condition was serious so I made the decision to point my car South and put the pedal to the metal for San Diego as it may be final.
It stormed the entire way, from Vacaville to the San Diego hospital and after much hydroplaning along the way, yet without incident, I thankfully made it to my fathers bedside at the hospital.
Having not made a sing sound, he sensed me there and awoke right away and, as almost always, in good spirits. I'd then found out that he'd come down with pneumonia.
We'd have a good chat about whatever. On my drive down, I'd thought of all the blessings he'd bestowed upon my life, throughout. I was then able to say to him how much I'd appreciated all that he'd done for me and our family in his 82 years of life. That, there's no body I've ever known in my 51 years of life that had worked harder.

In the next few days that followed, he'd suffered a stroke and heart attack. After about a week, he'd stabilized and was transported back to Los Angeles to be near my brother as he convalesced.

We all had eventually made it back to Northern California and life resumed, however, with a much more frail man whom now had a severe imbalance on one side, veering into the walls as he made it down the hallways of his home. Being the workhorse that he'd been throughout his life, from sun up to sun down, he eventually corrected much the physical damage the stoke had encumbered upon him and was able to walk and talk with little notice of the unusual. His throat, however would not cooperate as he began to suffer from anything he'd consume going into his wind pipe and causing sever coughing and choking. This too, would subside as he was able to receive injections to get his flagella to cooperate. Additionally, his hip had become worn to bone on bone and his diabetes had caused multiple episodes of near coma incidents. His heart was too weak for a hip replacement, although his insulin monitoring improved with some new technologies installed in the home.
When I'd said that he'd worked harder than anyone, I mean he worked for the City Water Department before tractors and dug manhole sized pits seven feet down into the paved streets, all by hand. Then he'd come home, change into referee gear and go officiate two to three basketball, baseball, soccer, or water polo games. When he wasn't doing any of that, there was always something physical to do around the house. And besides all that, he and my Mom made sure that we'd all get our complete share of childhood experiences with our own sports and prom activities. Needless to say it was rigorous them to keep the needs of six kids and numerous neighborhood kids fed, housed, and clothed.

Besides what could be considered expected aging ailments, de'd been ok over the next year and a half after his serious incident in San Diego. Then, this year, on super bowl Sunday, just before kickoff, my father had a diabetic incident and began to feel dizzy and severely cough. My mother had gone to the store and my niece whom what there was not trained in CPR. When the paramedics arrived there was little they could do to save him. As they took him to the hospital, my mother gave him one last kiss before he went out the door and said that she felt him hear her say that she loves him. His final words were, "I don't want to be a burden on anyone, anymore." He was gone.
When I arrived to the hospital where my fathers body was being kept for viewing, I unexpectedly felt little sense of sadness. My thoughts seemed to be complete with my having gone to San Diego to say all that I'd wanted to say given that it may have appeared to be the end at that time. I looked over his being. In seeing his hands and feet, I once again reminded myself of the tremendous amount of hard work he'd

Paula

2/26/2017 02:42:08 pm

Thank you, Kevin, for your heart warming story about your father. I know he passed just a few weeks ago. Your parents were so supportive of all you kids and give you the best education filled with love.

Your father was a hardworking man, indeed. I had no idea he labored so physically and then coached sport teams in the evening. Our parents are from the greatest generation of all. They dutifully gave much of their time to support schools, church and society in general. They are were not afraid of hard work. They did it for a higher purpose, selfless and determined to see their communities thrive.

This is the WW 2 generation who fought so proudly for a greater good. They weren't whiners or expected any handouts. They were tough, as you said. When I think about today's selfie generation with all the focus on themselves and their individual problems, I can see it has produced a great number of depressed kids. When we think about only ourselves, we get caught up on our egos becoming narcissistic. Our parents never complained because they saw themselves as a small part of a bigger picture. My mother never focusses on her issues or problems. She always quoted St. Teresa, "This too shall pass." She knew her problems were not as big as the next person. Her cross wasn't as big and her neighbors: she counted her blessings. And blessed we are for having learned from them. I hope we can meet up the next time I'm in Sacto. Take care, my friend. Love, Paula

Hi I'm Paula Schnackenberg
Coach, Writer, English Teacher, Expat