Welcome to the departure lounge Adventures in mothering mother

Meg Federico

Book - 2009

The author relates her poignant and hilariously tumultuous journey caring for her eighty-year-old mother and newly minted step-father who were forced to accept full-time home care.

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Subjects
Published
New York : Random House 2009.
Language
English
Main Author
Meg Federico (-)
Edition
First edition
Physical Description
191 pages ; 25 cm
ISBN
9781400067954
Contents unavailable.
Review by Publisher's Weekly Review

In this frank account, by turns sad and terribly funny, the journalist Federico describes how her distant, patrician octogenarian mother, Addie, grew batty and vulnerable. Federico, the youngest of Addie's five children, rearranged her life with her own family in Nova Scotia to fly back and forth over the course of several years to Oldhill, N.J., to assist, along with her brother William, her mother and her mother's Alzheimer's-addled second husband, Walter. Recently married (Addie's first husband, the author's father, died of a heart attack years before), the couple drank heavily, complicating Walter's tendency to become abusive and Addie's physical frailty and bad eyesight. Finally, constant home care was required for the couple, necessitating the hiring of a team of revolving, frequently in-fighting workers, some truly caring, others downright crooked. The house became a disaster zone, christened the Departure Lounge, where the inhabitants erupted in loony non sequiturs and erratic behavior. Addie would put on all her jewelry and sing show tunes (until the jewelry mysteriously disappeared); Walter began receiving sex toys in the mail; and a trip to the bank resulted in $1,600 in dollar bills flying out of the limo window on the way home. Federico gently delineates the humiliating burden caused by the loss of memory, while humanely portraying a brave new sympathy and understanding between her mother and herself. (Feb.) (c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved

(c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved
Review by Library Journal Review

When her 81-year-old mother suddenly descended into dementia, humor writer Federico flew 1000 miles away from her family and her job, thinking she'd help for a short time until her mother settled in with the aides. Things didn't turn out to be that simple. This book attempts to bring humor to the undeniably burdensome (yet often deeply rewarding) experience of caring for one's aging parents, but it quickly descends into camp, with caricatured descriptions that make empathy difficult.-E.B. (c) Copyright 2010. Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.

(c) Copyright Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.
Review by Kirkus Book Review

Canadian humorist Federico debuts with a frank account of managing the home care of her aging mother, Addie, and Addie's recently acquired second husband, Walter. When living on their own in West Palm Beach was no longer an option for the ailing couple, Federico and her brother put them on a private plane to New Jersey. A nursing home did not work out, so home care, provided by a large and rotating team of aides, became the solution. For two years, the author shuttled between her home in Nova Scotia and her mother's home, the "Departure Lounge," as crisis after crisis demanded her attention. Federico, who has the eye of a sitcom writer, views her mother with a mixture of love, humor, sympathy and exasperation. There's a sharper touch to her description of Alzheimer's-addled Walter, who was alternately adoring and abusive toward Addie, who was frail, nearly blind and prone to falling down. The aides, numbering as many as 15 at one time, were a mixed bagsome honest and caring, others unreliable, and at least one a jewel thief. A heavy drinker, Walter bought Scotch by the case, ordered sex toys by mail and often didn't recognize himself in the mirror. Addie planned an 82nd birthday bash but forgot to invite guests. There are dozens of such episodes, many ready-made for the screen: a chaotic outing by limo to New York for Addie to get her hair done at Elizabeth Arden's; a second trip to Fifth Avenue for Addie to replace her missing jewelry; a bank visit that ended with hundreds of dollar bills flying out the car window. Federico includes enough details of her mother's earlier life to show her lamentable progression from perfectly groomed, wealthy, socially adept wife and mother to incontinent old woman dependent on hired help and dressed in mismatched clothes. A funny yet touching portrayal of the indignities of aging. Copyright Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.

Copyright (c) Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.

Chapter One I DEMAND AN AUTOPSY! I was sitting at my desk plowing through bills when the phone rang. My stepsister, Cathy, never called unless we had "problems." Her father, Walter Huber (age eighty-two), and my mother, Addie Henry (age eighty-one), after a dramatic and sometimes bruising courtship, married a few years ago. Not one of the eight offspring (me and my four siblings, Cathy and her two) in our newly blended family was pleased about this union, but there was nothing we could do about it. After all, our parents were grown-ups. At present, Addie and Walter were escaping the New Jersey winter, vacationing in West Palm Beach, Florida, where, Cathy informed me, Mom stumbled and fell and hit her head on the curb. A stranger, seeing the two old people in a state of emergency (a fairly common sight in Florida), kindly called an ambulance for Mom and packed Walter into a taxi. The ambulance paramedic, recoiling from Mother's ninety-proof breath, scribbled etoh all over her medical forms. etoh is medical jargon for ethanol. In Mom's case, it meant martinis. While Mom was out cold, the ER staff tried to pry information out of Walter, who was upset and couldn't remember anything. Suddenly, Mom sat bolt upright on the gurney and yelled, "I demand an autopsy!" before passing out again. "I'm not getting an autopsy!" Walter roared. "You have to be dead to get an autopsy!" Apparently, after the nurses got him calmed down, they shipped him off to an emergency Alzheimer's unit (which they also have in Florida), where he had been locked up for three days before he finally divulged Cathy's number. She was now on her way to retrieve him. I called St. Stephen's Hospital and finally got Mom. "Oh, hello, dearie," she said brightly, as though I just happened to call as she bounded off the tennis court. "Isn't this a bore? I could leave right now, but to be safe I thought I'd get a few tests done." She sounded peachy. "A lamp fell on my head at the hotel, but really it's nothing. A big old Biedermeier lamp!" Like any good liar, she added the Biedermeier bit to make her story plausible. The facts were irrelevant; I wasn't going to win any arguments against that lamp. Watching my mother for the past few years had been a lot like watching a blindfolded lady ride a unicycle on a tightrope. You can't take your eyes off her as she wobbles up there completely unaware that she's fifty feet above the ground because she can't see. And if you attempt to point out her peril, she thinks you're trying to ruin her career. Just when you're sure she's going to plunge to her death, the blind lady yanks the bike upright. "See?" she says. "You worry too much." I did worry. I'd been worried for years, because one day Mom was going to fall. It would be a terrible accident I could not prevent, and she might just fall right on top of me. Then later that same day, Cathy called again, from the Sunshine State. Our problems were getting worse. "You better get down here. This hospital is not exactly Columbia-Presbyterian, and frankly I have my hands full with Walter." The emergency lockup ward for stray dementia folks was like a holding cell. Walter's suitcase had been ransacked and his wallet emptied, and he was so distraught he'd forgotten how to use the toilet. "The food here isn't as good as the other places," he confided to Cathy, presumably referring to the swanky four-star resorts he and Mom patronized. "And that fellow is not very interesting," he said, indicating his roommate, who could only burble. I lived in Nova Scotia, a thousand miles from Mom's house in New Jersey and a lot farther than that from West P Excerpted from Welcome to the Departure Lounge: Adventures in Mothering Mother by Meg Federico All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.