The Oppenheimer Report 8/26/13

To add to the joy which has been this summer, we have had flooding in the basement of the family home in Toronto. The heavy rains in early July made their way into the house, and when Shauna and I began to investigate it became apparent that this had been a problem for a long time. The finished basement was full of junk, so the moisture problem was not immediately apparent, but when we started to move stuff around, it was obvious that this was a serious problem. When we discovered mold had formed all around the base of the walls we decided that it was time to get the insurance company involved. This all happened about the time Dad Taylor had stroke #2 in December. At that time it become abundantly clear that house maintenance had not been a priority for Mom and Dad Taylor in quite some time.

The mold remediation guys came in and did their thing, and in the meantime we gave away three refrigerator boxes full of old clothes that were piled up in the basement. One of our caregivers sent them down to a charity in the Philippines coordinated by one of her family members. Some of the other stuff was ruined and ended up in the dump, and the rest, which included most of the personal property of Shauna’s brother, who had died in 2000, ended up piled up floor to ceiling in the laundry room. When Shauna and I arrived in early July (I had been down in June for stroke #3), all the drywall and paneling was stripped and removed, electrical wires were dangling from the ceiling, the floor tiles and sub floor in one room had been torn up and removed. In short, the basement was a somewhat organized disaster.

Now that the toxic mold had been removed, and much of the water damaged debris removed, the next step was to ensure no more water seeped in through the foundation. After several bids we settled on a waterproofing company called Mud Monkeys to do the waterproofing, based largely on customer satisfaction reviews we’d read. So far, so good, but this is major construction work, which involves digging 5-6 feet down to the footings of the house foundation, installing proper weeping tiles (the original clay weeping tiles, designed to divert water away from the house had for the most part cracked or disintegrated, and were in any event woefully inadequate to handle the drainage for this house), filling gaps and cracks in the block work, sealing the blocks with concrete, covering that seal with tar and heavy duty polymer wrap, then back filling. It is slow, noisy work and I am sure our neighbors hate us by now. I hate us. Every morning at 8am the jack hammers and augers begin to pound out their cacophonous symphony, and we awaken un-refreshed and irritated. We don’t usually get home from the hospital until around midnight, usually unsettled from the latest unhappy turn of events, and so there is little time for restful sleep. Why, you may ask, did we not postpone this work until some less stressful future time? Two reasons. First, it took two months to get these guys here in the first place; they are very much in demand and we did not want to lose our time slot. When we scheduled the job, Syd was still walking and talking. Second, the improper drainage issue had to be addressed ASAP; we cannot risk another flood. As it was, we had two major rainstorms before Mud Monkeys did arrive, and with the bare cinderblock walls exposed, it was clear where and to what extent water was flowing in. When it rains it pours.

While all this goes on, I continue to ferry Shauna and her mom to and from the Veterans long term care facility at Sunnybrook, where we are in the hellacious limbo of juggling caregivers and sometimes negligent nurses to ensure Syd has the best treatment he can have. We have no idea how long he will survive, because so far he cannot ingest nutrition, but I understand that Shauna and her mom want to spend as much time with him while they can. We are not comfortable leaving Shauna’s mom alone in her house right now, but tensions are high, and this slow burn is affecting everyone. Mom Taylor is understandably distraught, but we are not going to leave her alone in her house without someone to make sure she takes care of herself, something she has steadfastly refused to do. I’ve been in this situation before, the only difference is that eventually, my mom did not have a choice. She fell ill and someone had to step in. Once again we are the meddlesome children, forcing an elder to deal with an unacceptable reality. We are the messengers. This is infinitely more difficult when the senior is of relatively sound mind and body, and adamantly refuses assistance. Some days I just scream into a pillow, or take a walk around the bucolic hospital grounds to remind myself what the past summer must have been like. I do believe there is a lesson to be learned from this tribulation. It concerns me that medical science seems to be increasing our longevity, seemingly in inverse proportion to our acceptance or understanding of quality of life ramifications. Next week, I will take a break from this morbidity and find something lighter about which to rant. To the two of you who are still reading this, you have my sympathies.

Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c2013 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED