Want to make a fidget apron?

by Carol Anne Lawler, HPCCR Communities of Faith Liaison

When I first laid my eyes on the fidget aprons that were being dropped off  for our dementia patients, I immediately thought of Joanne Mackaman, business owner of The Rag Bag, in Shelby, NC.  I met Joanne through her mother, Rosemary Young, whose son was under our care several years ago, and with whom I have stayed in touch.

Fidget aprons are full-length chef’s aprons made from a pattern that include attached trinkets, textured fabrics, and other items that provide a busy distraction for individuals who suffer from dementia.  Once the aprons are put on, the wearer can be entertained by playing with the attached items, feeling the fabrics, or just looking at the colorful embellishments and designs.  Caretakers may also appreciate the free time gained when their loved ones become enamored with the ‘busyness’ of the apron.

After talking with Joanne, we realized this may be an excellent project for those who would like to provide a gift to our dementia or Alzheimer’s patients, and a great way to get many people involved in a worthwhile project!  If you would like to give your time and talents by creating such an apron, simply log onto the following website:  http://hopefulthreads.blogspot.com/.  The pattern will be available beginning July 1 and we will collect them in two locations during the months of July and August.  Either ship them directly or drop them off at the following addresses: 

The Rag Bag of Shelby   or      Hospice & Palliative Care Charlotte Region
Joanne Mackaman                    Carol Anne Lawler
810 W. Warren St.                     1420 E. 7th St.
Shelby NC,  28150                    Charlotte NC,  28204     

Our goal is to collect 100 aprons in Shelby and 200 aprons in the Charlotte region.  Who knows?  This may be the first annual Hospice & Palliative Care Charlotte Region Apron Sew-Off!

It had to be you

by Bill Hamelau, HPCCR Pet Therapy Volunteer

Several days ago Rowdy and I made a pet therapy visit to one of our assigned patients in the memory loss unit of a local assisted living facility.  After a really nice visit with our patient, we approached other residents in the sitting area who we’ve gotten to know and who love Rowdy.  Jane and Alice (not their real names) were sitting side by side on a small couch as they usually are.  These are two proper little ladies in their 80′s, each with a twinkle in her eye.

I got down on one knee if front of them and carefully held Rowdy so they could both pet him.  As they do each time, they tell me about dogs they had growing up and how handsome Rowdy is.  Jane always looks at Rowdy and says “You’re handsome and you know it.”  Without fail, Alice always says “My father loved dogs.”

During our visit they always ask several times “How old is Rowdy?” and “What’s his name?”  Thus I am reminded why they are under memory loss care.  Even after the fourth time they ask, I always respond like it was a brand new question.  They could ask a hundred times and I would be pleased to answer.

While kneeling in front of them with Rowdy, a person on TV started singing “It Had To Be You”, a classic from the 1940’s.  Without prompting, Jane and Alice started singing along in soft delicate voices.  Then I was caught by surprise.  When Alice was singing the phrase, “It Had To Be You” she pointed at Rowdy on the “You.”  With that as a sort of cue, they both began actually singing to Rowdy.  The pure sweetness and spontaneity of this moment were, at once, overwhelmingly joyous and poignant.  Alice and Jane will never know how full my heart was when Rowdy and I left that day… but I always will.

The gift of site

by  Andrea Powell, HPCCR Electronic Communications Manager

Have you visited our website lately?  If so, you’ve noticed a HUGE change, right?!  Yep, it’s a brand new site and we’re quite pleased with it, if we do say so ourselves.  Consider it our gift to you; a little token to store in your brain and pull out whenever you, a family member, or perhaps a friend are in need of information about what we do.

How about a quick tour?

When you first gaze upon the homepage, you’ll notice a series of stunning photos that are on a rotating cycle.  Every single picture is 100% ours – they include patients, family members, staff members, or volunteers from our organization.  These shots were taken by the amazingly talented Chelsea Bren, a freelance photographer who has been there to document our stories wherever and whenever we’ve needed her. 

Underneath the rotating photos, there are three additional links that will offer more information about our services, tell you how to refer to our organization, and take you to some emotional and heart-warming videos that give you sense of what HPCCR is all about.

Underneath that?  A short statement.  A personal guarantee, if you will.  It’s our promise statement and you can consider it a contract with those who need us.  It explains who our priority is (hint: it’s you, our community), and what you can expect from us. 

And then there is a space for noteworthy announcements, articles, and events and also a place where you can sign up to receive our organizational newsletter electronically. 

Whew!  And that’s just the homepage!  Delve further into the site and you’ll read more about hospice care, palliative medicine, advance care planning, grief support, ways to give to HPCCR, volunteering with us, fundraising events, and community education events.  And, honestly, that just scratches the surface.

But don’t just take my word for it.  Go online and visit our site.  Take it for a test drive and push the pedal to the metal.  And then let us know what you think. 

By the way, this is one time when regifting is completely and whole-heartedly encouraged!

Semper Fi — always faithful

by Bill Rogers, LDHH-H volunteer

Editor’s note:
Since we observed Memorial Day this week, the following post from volunteer Bill Rogers is wonderfully appropriate, not to mention beautifully written.  Bill met and visited with a Marine almost a year ago at Levine & Dickson Hospice House – Huntersville.  This is his emotional recount: 

United States Marines of any generation are taught a sacred oath to offer other Marines when facing pain and difficulty:

“I know you are wounded.
I have come to get you!
I will not let you die.”

In other circumstances, that oath has been delivered to my life by Marines who learned of my pain. 

Last night, in my current volunteer duties at Levine & Dickson Hospice House – Huntersville, I met Sonny, a Marine.  In light of his circumstances, I have now modified that oath.  I offered him this version:

“I know you are wounded.
I have come to be with you!
Along with others, I will help comfort you.”

At which point Sonny said, “But Billy, I want you to let me die.”

My Marine under hospice care died on June 9, 2012.  When last we visited on June 8, 2012, our parting words were:

“Sonny, Semper Fi!” 
“Billy, Semper Fi!”

Shouting from the rooftops

by Andrea Powell, HPCCR Electronic Communications Manager

Lori Williamson and her husband, Michael

Knowing about hospice is (in a weird, messed up way) kind of a curse.  Because once you understand the benefits and you see first-hand how comprehensively amazing hospice clinicians are, you get even more frustrated that there are so many misconceptions about it.  Hospice hastens death.  It’s only for the last days and hours of life.  Your loved one will sink away in a drug-induced haze the minute they come under hospice care.  No.  Wrong.  False. 

When you see what a monumental difference hospice makes, you feel an urgent need to share everything about it.  You want everyone who has a seriously ill loved one to look into hospice immediately, even when you know they aren’t yet ready.  Even when you know they’re scared.  And you want to yell from the rooftops about how no one should be scared because hospice care can actually extend life, and that it supports the entire family, and the hospice team will help everyone feel prepared, and it will make what could be a terrible experience actually wonderful and peaceful, and, and, and. . . . 

I could go on for days.   

I myself knew very little about hospice care when I joined Hospice & Palliative Care Charlotte Region.  But in the five years I’ve worked here, I’ve seen a wedding at one of our hospice houses, met veterans, interviewed widows, heard testimonies, and cried buckets of tears.  I’ve cried because the stories are, yes, devastatingly sad, but also because, in their own way, they are excruciatingly beautiful.  The people I talk to could not be more passionate about the experiences they’ve had with hospice.  They could not be more appreciative of the sacred time they had with their loved ones.  They now know what I know.  And they have become our staunchest advocates.

Below is an email that we received last fall from Lori Williamson, whose husband, Michael, was under the care of Hospice & Palliative Care Lake Norman.  

We give life with a chemotherapy schedule (days 1-7 were chemo with side effects,  followed by days 8-14 in isolation because of low blood cell count) a score of ZERO.

We give life without chemo (which included five holes of golf, a ride in Cobra Sports Car, and a huge family party that included five sons, some wives, and some grandkids, even watching football and baseball games at a crowded sports bar as a family) a score of TEN.

I just want everyone to know that hospice care doesn’t mean I am sitting besides Michael’s bed all day long, holding his hand.  He is up and moving, walking stairs, going on outings, and enjoying life with his family every day.  It just means that we can call and have hospice professionals available 24/7 to help us with everything we need.  The nurses and social workers from Hospice & Palliative Care Lake Norman come to check on us, prescription drugs arrive in the mail, and someone is constantly refining the game plan to improve pain management.  I am so grateful we had so many friends who understood about the benefits of hospice and encouraged us to begin immediately.  What a gift it has been!

Michael eventually moved to Levine & Dickson Hospice House – Huntersville and spent his last days there.  The transition of his care was seamless and Lori maintains that without the support of her hospice team early on, she wouldn’t have had the courage to fight for comfort care over curative care.  She would have missed out on some of the most wonderful moments she ever had with her husband – namely slow-dancing with him in their newly-renovated kitchen, a project Michael undertook during the months he was under hospice care.  He died exactly a week after that last dance. 

So do you see what I mean?  How frustrating this is?  Hospice care is not meant to be a “best kept secret”.  We don’t want it to be some sort of exclusive “club” where more members reduce its appeal.  We want everyone to benefit from this exceptional service.

If you know what I’m talking about, I hope you’ll join us on our conceptual roof.  Maybe we can shatter those misconceptions about hospice at last.  Maybe, just maybe, if we all shout loud enough, we can finally be heard.  I’m willing to get a little hoarse.  Are you?

Ode to Emma (a hospice house chronicle)

by Bill Rogers, LDHH-H volunteer

Neither of us had any thought
that our lives might intersect.
Her parents had introduced us
and approved our relationship.

Her long brunette hair
framed her porcelain skin.
We spent a few hours talking
as we watched a movie one evening.

Because she had seen the movie previously,
she explained the plot after reading
my expressions of confusion.

She asked what term of endearment
is used by my grandchildren.
“Then,” she whispered, “I also will call you Billy.”

Without warning, when the movie turned scary,
she leaned in my lap.

Later, looking in my eyes,
she said, “Billy, I like your beard.”
With innocent spontaneity,
she felt my beard, and
she kissed my cheek.

Likely, we will never see each other again.
But Emma has endowed
my mind with memories.

Doubtless, today her roaming attention
has moved beyond our encounter.

But let it be said. . . . last night,
her four-year old heart enfolded me,
her childish trust empowered me.

And, with appreciation,
her twenty-something parents said it was time for her to go.

Her parents had asked me to watch a movie with Emma while they attended the last rites being administered to Emma’s great-grandmother in her room at Levine & Dickson Hospice House – Huntersville.  And so goes my continuing chronicle of experiences granted each week in my hospice volunteer work.  Is there any doubt that this time is well spent??

Nothing and everything

by Andrea Powell, HPCCR Electronic Communications Manager

Lorna Bishop, surrounded by baskets

When you lose a loved one, the last thing you need is a travel-sized bottle of shampoo.  But you’d be surprised at how much it helps.

At least that’s the thought behind the bereavement baskets created by Cornelius resident Lorna Bishop and her friends.  Lorna is the ringleader of a wonderful group of women who get together a few times a year to create the baskets for Hospice & Palliative Care Lake Norman.  “It’s just something to let the families know that we’re thinking about them.  Something to show we care, ” Lorna explains. 

When Lorna hears from Hospice & Palliative Care Lake Norman (HPCLN) that they are running low on baskets, she puts out the call to around 20 women and then rounds up who’s available.  After that, she goes to Habitat for Humanity, where they supply baskets to her free of charge.  Then the shopping begins.  Notecards, playing cards, lotions, pencils, pens, Kleenex, coffee, tea, and yes — sometimes mini bottles of shampoo — are purchased to pack each basket.  Because filling baskets is easy.  Filling the emptiness that comes with losing someone cherished –  that’s nearly impossible.

So that’s why Lorna and her friends volunteer their time this way.  They’ve all experienced loss.  They know that the first week after a death is undeniably difficult; extreme emotions competing with deep sadness make for exhausting days.  And who knows?  Maybe getting a basket full of little surprises from the HPCLN social worker will ease the pain just a tiny bit.  And if that’s the case, they’ve done their job. 

Besides, as Lorna tells it, “It’s a good reason for us to get together and it supports a great cause.”  For each “session”, they gather at her house, (her dining room table, actually), and create around 35 baskets in a day-long whirl of goodies, tissue paper, ribbon, and cellophane.  And their wrapping skills are impressive.  The baskets look like something you’d see in the pages of Southern Living Magazine.  And they don’t  just cater to us adults either.  Just recently, the group put together some kid-oriented baskets filled with paper, markers, crayons, stickers, and other odds and ends for children who are struggling with the loss of a loved one.

So when the families unwrap these beautiful baskets, there’s nothing in there that they really need.  But at the same time, it’s everything they need.  A demonstration of love and support.  And the knowledge that they are not alone.

The “before” shot — assembling baskets

  

The “after” shot — baskets filled and ready