The Oppenheimer Report 8/29/11

I woke up last Saturday morning, eagerly awaiting footage of the ravages of Hurricane Irene, which was crawling up the Eastern Seaboard, only to find that it had made landfall on the North Caroline coast as a Category One. After listening to Chad Meyers on CNN frothing at the bit and crying “The sky is falling,” and then listening to Mayor Bloomberg’s press conferences in NYC, I was expecting the worse. Spoke to my nephew the weather guy, who works in Virginia, and he was not all that impressed by the hype Irene was getting. Certainly she was a big storm, I believe something like 800 miles wide, but as my nephew pointed out, sometimes the big, slow moving ones aren’t the most dangerous. The infamous Hurricane Andrew, which so devastated southern Florida in 1992, was smaller in size but much more powerful in force. Of course all hurricanes are dangerous and destructive, and certainly this storm was no exception. Excessive rain was a major factor, and who knew Vermont would get hammered with flash floods? I figured most of the flooding would be coastal but it seems that flash flooding inland was a big problem as well. Here’s a fun fact: with all the precipitation from Irene, 23 inches of rain have now fallen in Philadelphia in the past month. I like NJ Governor Chris Christie: “Get the hell off the shore!” Seems like a no nonsense guy, and apparently he’s getting NJ back on financial track. Maybe he should run for president. As I finish this report on Monday night, I just heard on the news that around 5 Million people are without power. Prattsville, NY looked like it was completely underwater.

Whenever there’s a hurricane, I am always astounded by the locals who chose to ride it out. The people in Key West are notorious for their stubborn refusal to evacuate. If ever there comes a serious storm surge, those people will be toast. There were reports that some Philadelphia streets were flooded up to the to tops of street signs. One remark about casualties. I do not discount the severity of this storm, and as of this evening, the death toll from Irene is up to 25. I was reading the NY Times the other day, and buried on the back page was a story about a recent mosque bombing, I think in Iraq, and about the same number of people were killed. And that happens a lot over there.

What else … Visionary Apple CEO Steve Jobs stepped down last week, citing health issues, and Tim Cook will take over the reins. Japan is spitting out Prime Ministers like watermelon seeds. Former Finance Minister Yoshihiko Noda is the new guy in town and I think he’s number five or six in as many years. Before Irene trumped it, the big story was the “liberation” of Libya. As another oppressive dictator is chased out, one wonders what the new leaders will be like. I doubt they could be much worse. Gaddafi has fled to Algeria, but I wouldn’t be surprised if he receives a lethal dose of lead poisoning someday soon. By the way how DO you spell his name; I've seen it spelled 4 different ways? Notorious polygamist and convicted sex offender, Warren “The Prophet” Jeffs is in a coma, on injured reserve in a Texas hospital. That’s what he gets for going on a hunger strike. Megrahi, that much-despised Lockerbie bomber is in a coma. Good riddance to him. Syrian despot Assad is killing his countrymen at an alarming rate (about 2200 so far) as the world looks on, and I’m guessing he’s heading for the same hotel in Algeria where Gaddafi’s staying. Canadian NDP party leader Jack Layton died, rather suddenly, last week. After three decades of public service, Layton played an important role recently in thwarting the attempted Liberal coup of Stephen Harper’s Conservative government. Apparently he was a standup guy and well respected by many Canadians.

Today was the sixth anniversary of Hurricane Katrina. Goodnight Irene.

Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c 2011 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Back to Katrine 8/23/11

I am sitting in my childhood home in Buffalo, about to leave for to return to Katrine. Shauna left with Jasper the other day. Furniture has been spoken for, clothes have been given away, lawyers, accountants, funeral directors, appraisers, house sitters etc. have all done or will do their respective duties. While there are many loose ends to attend to, for now we have done what we were expected to do, and now I need to go back to my wife and my dog for a little R&R. Rattling around alone in this big old house is chipping away at me. I look forward to motoring out into the lake in my little boat and saying my spiritual goodbyes to the past.

The other night I had a disturbing experience while out walking Jasper near the house in Buffalo, and it reminded me how important it is to be thankful for my health and good fortune. As I rounded a corner returning to our house, I watched a bicyclist lose control and fall hard on the street right in front of me. She was clearly badly injured and as luck would have it, an off duty Erie County Sheriff was nearby when it happened. Shaken up,  I watched as the ambulance took her away, and reminded myself that not everyone is fortunate enough to live a full and healthy life. It is important to remind myself of this from time to time.

For all of you who attended the service or wrote a note, thank you. I should be back to my usual loquacious,complaining, annoying, irreverent self  in a few weeks. Hopefully, if you have followed this blog in the past, you will continue to do so.

Jamie

My Eulogy for Mom- Temple Beth Zion, August 12, 2011

You will have to forgive me if my thoughts are a bit mixed up today, because that’s how I feel, mixed up. I’ve written and re-written this eulogy over and over in the past few days and I simply don’t know how to convey to you how much my mother meant to us. This much I know: I’m writing this at 3am and I have hit the wall. No matter how long we have with our parents, it’s always a shock when they go, and while I knew Mom’s passing was probably a blessing, that her time had come, I think I was in denial. Though she hadn’t been herself for quite some time, her love, her strength, and her influence on me were so profound that I simply could not bear to face the inevitability of her demise. I am still her little boy.

When Jill and I met Rabbi Pokras the other day, we had a good talk, and he reminded me that this should be my attempt to honor my mother. I cannot do that by listing her many accomplishments in the community, though they were impressive, or by listing the things she loved, though they were many. Most or all of you knew her, and this would be preaching to the choir.

I’ve been so pre-occupied with the past 5 years of my parents' health care and the various complications inherent in their growing old that I have lost sight of one fundamental truth: both my Mom and Dad lived a long and mostly wonderful life together, full of travel, horseback riding, a vigorous social life, and a remarkable ability to find the humor in almost everything.  Dad was the humorist but Mom was quite funny too.

I arrived in Buffalo Sunday night and Mom passed away the next day. In a flash of life, last Monday afternoon, my childhood home became simply a house again. For all of my 54 years, every plate, every stick of furniture, every cooking utensil, every picture on the wall, was part of that wonderful home, lovingly picked by my Mom to make our lives beautiful. As a child and a teenager, for the most part, I took all that for granted, and I took my Mom for granted as well. It wasn’t until I was a young adult that I began to appreciate my extreme good fortune. I always felt safe in that house, and that house was all Mom‘s vision. Those walls that surrounded us lived with all the humor, joy, heartbreak, love, and passion that not every family is fortunate enough to experience. Mom and Dad had established that cocoon of security, filled with guidance and patience and all the indescribable traits that made them special parents. It was a place where celebrations were warm and filled with laughter. But those walls are simply walls now, and without the people who made them breathe, they too have lost their life. As I said, this morning I hit the wall, and I cried and cried.

I was looking through one of Mom’s old yearbooks and in the description under her senior picture, she was described as diminutive but strong. She might have been little but she was one tough lady, and everyone from the gardener to her banker, to the many members of the community with whom she worked so hard, knew not to underestimate her. Even through the ongoing challenges of her struggle with Lewy Body Disease, Mom showed courage, grace, and humor. All of her nurses loved her and told us stories of her wit and her generous, unselfish nature. It is telling that during the challenging last years of her life, she managed to let her good nature peek through the sometimes thick veil of dementia. Courage under fire, that was my Mom.

When I was a little boy, maybe five or six, I was with Mom in Ward’s Pharmacy, around the corner from our house on Chapin, and I tried to steal a box of crayons. Unschooled as I was in the finer points of criminal behavior, I stole something much too large to conceal - if I recall, it was one of the jumbo boxes of 72, complete with the built-in sharpener, and Mom caught me before the owner of the store could. She took me by the hand, led me up to the counter, and made me confess my crime to the manager. She told me to apologize and ask for his forgiveness or else he might send me to jail. I was mortified, but I learned an important lesson about consequences that day. Therein began Mom’s lifelong campaign to steer me in the right direction. I say without hesitation that was an uphill climb. Grace, honor, humor, and dignity are not things which I embraced, but my Mom and Dad led by example, in subtle, gentle, and understated ways. While I might have been a slow learner, I had plenty of lessons, and got the message, loud and clear. Jill and I were both instilled with a strong sense of right and wrong, and through our parents’ upbringing, we knew we had an obligation to give back.

Many of you knew my Mom well, and you are familiar with her contributions to the community, to hospitals, schools, and other institutions. You may know she loved all things to do with horses, and that in general, she had a profound interest in and love for her dogs and all animals in general, she created many beautiful needlepoint canvases, and many spectacular floral gardens. You may know that she had impeccable taste in fashion … but did you know that she was artistic? She rarely spoke of that fact, but as a young woman, she was an accomplished artist, and earned her living in Manhattan as an illustrator in the fashion industry. Her creativity was infectious and her artistic side had a profound influence on me. Somehow, without pushing, she managed to encourage my love of music, writing, and photography. Mom didn’t care what we did as long as we grew and learned. Again, it was that unselfish, unforced guidance that made me respect my parents the most.

This past week, living at 140 Chapin Pkwy, the house in which Jill and I grew up, those memories, captured in the volumes of old photos through which we have pored, have overwhelmed me. The family put together some pictures on a bulletin board which you can see at the reception to follow, and I think those particular pictures best depict a life well lived … certainly better that I could ever verbalize.

We are, all of us, the product of our experiences and the love we receive. I go back to the differentiation between a house and a home. As I did with my Dad, I measure my Mom’s life in terms of the lives she touched, the love she radiated; the home she created. In all of those ways, she excelled. Neither Mom nor Dad was particularly overt about their love, but make no mistake, Jill and I, and our extended families, knew by their actions how much they loved and cared for us. Their love trickles down and has now touched the three generations that have succeeded them. Mom and Dad did that for us and I can never explain how thankful I am for that blessing. For those of you who have long since lost both your parents, you probably know how we feel, and we all cope in our own ways. This morning, I broke through the protective emotional wall, and I broke down. There is already a huge void left in the absence of their guidance and love.

I know it’s time to start paying it forward. I hope I am up to the task. Thank you Mom, you were as good as they come. I miss you very much, and I will do my best to live up to the wonderful example you set.

Betty Lehman Oppenheimer - September 14, 1919 - August 8, 2011

Got back to Buffalo last night late, and this afternoon around 4:30 PM, mom drifted off in her sleep. It could not have been a more peaceful end.

The Oppenheimer Report

First of all, I want to forewarn any of my readers who are averse to discussions about the end stages of life to skip this entry. Many of you may be wrestling with the same issues, certainly many of my peers with living parents are, and I need to put this in writing. To date, the decisions which have confronted me and my sister may be among the most important decisions we have had a hand in making. I said in my last entry that this report is my therapy, and I write this because I need to verbalize how complicated all of this is. If anyone can learn anything from my experience, or at least relate, then that is a good thing.

I’m back in Katrine for a while, and I don’t know when I’ll be called upon to return to Buffalo. Could be a day, could be a week. The waiting is hell. I’ve been down to Buffalo several times in the past month and Mom had reached a new low. Our concern, and the concern of our nurses was that the Lewy Body symptoms had become so bad in the last couple of weeks that my mom was in an almost constant state of agitation. For someone unfamiliar with the disease, this can be ugly. It includes Parkinson’s-like tremors, kicking and flailing, and a lot of strange noises. The mom I knew is almost completely gone now. While she may not have been in any physical pain, she hadn’t slept in five days, was having difficulty swallowing solid foods, and was generally unresponsive and hard to manage. Up until a few weeks ago, she would occasionally “come to” enough to speak and to recognize us. Our goal has always been for her to live out her days at home, and at least one of our nurses is hospice trained. That said, now that the end is near, there are no simple answers for how to properly care for her. The issue at hand: what could we give her to calm her down, help her to rest? This is the point I have dreaded for the past year; the point when I and my sister would be called upon as Mom’s health care advocates to make decisions about her end stage care. There was much discussion about morphine, which accelerates death, and neither my sister Jill, nor I felt comfortable going this way. While my mom’s case is probably a textbook example of why euthanasia might sometimes be the “right” course, we could never in good conscience do this without clear instructions from Mom. That ship has sailed. The neurologist suggested a mild sedative to “snow” her and allow her to sleep. We tried Xanax with limited success. It calmed the agitation, but had other side effects. Next we tried Atavan, which seems to work much better. Given sublingually (drops under the tongue), it is a medication that can be given as needed and in easily adjusted doses. Every patient is different. Mom reacted badly to almost every medication we tried throughout this five year journey, and to complicate matters, as her condition changed, so did her tolerance for certain drugs. I take some comfort in knowing that at least she is calm now, and that her imminent demise will be more peaceful than it otherwise would have been. Not all that comforting, but the best we can do.

The myth with which I deluded myself all my life was that each of my parents would one day drift off and simply never wake up. That was not how it was with Dad; he struggled near the end. One nurse in particular was able to guide him through his last days and help alleviate the anxiousness. He too took a little Atavan near the end, and that helped him with what in medical terms is called “terminal agitation.” Although he kept saying he wanted to die near the end, I don’t think it was until the very end that he was really ready to let go. My mom is a strong woman, and she has now lived almost 20 years longer than any of the females in her blood line. Hers has decidedly been a life well lived, even as we approach this confounding and difficult end. As one of our nurses so wisely pointed out, when making decisions about end stage health care, we can do no better than to disregard what we want, and to focus on what is right for the loved one. Sounds simple doesn’t it? It is anything but. I know we probably made mistakes; there were things I’d do differently had I the chance to do it all over. What Jill and I have learned, and what I hope to impart here is that loving someone does not ensure one does the right thing. That “right thing” may include removing the primary physician who, in our case, completely dropped the ball and failed to admit he knew next to nothing about this little understood dementia. Sometimes it is simply being present, and listening to the patient. Pay attention to the doctors and nurses you trust. Assess the options, and do what is right for the patient. Where my mom is concerned, those decisions became more clear as the end approached. I feel confident that with the care and advice of her neurologist and our wonderful nurses, we have guided my Mom to her end with as much peace as she could hope for. That of course gives me some measure of peace as well. As I write this she is still with us, barely. I love you Mom.



Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c2011 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report -8/1/11

To my twelve loyal readers …

My mom is gravely ill and nearing the end of her journey. While I love writing the Oppenheimer Report, and while it is often my therapy, I haven’t got a lot to say this week. The last few years have been a challenge for my family, but Mom is almost 92, and for the most part, she’s had a wonderful, interesting life. I’m sure I’ll have something to say about this and about her in the coming weeks, but at present, I am uncharacteristically at a loss for words.

I’ve been lucky enough to have two great parents, and even though they were with me well into my 50s, I’m having trouble letting go of them. In my mind, I’m still the little boy pictured above.

Jamie