Advocacy, Antipsychotic drugs, Music, Videos

she couldn’t sing because she was sedated

My mother, who lived with dementia, was chemically and physically restrained every day for the forty-five months she lived in a dementia jail (aka a long-term care facility or nursing home).

These restraints could have been avoided if the medical personnel in charge of her care had addressed the root causes of the behaviours they found challenging in her. All they needed to do was to take a closer look at what was going on around Mom. If I could do it, surely they should have been able to.

When Mom was sedated, she was unable to do things she loved to do such as walking and singing. Here she is not singing (because she had been sedated an hour or so before), at some of the weekly sing-alongs conducted by volunteers at the place she resided:

Besides cruelly sedating her with antipsychotic drugs, no one who was involved with my mother’s care listened to my request to provide her with music therapy. So I hired a music therapist myself and the three of us enjoyed many happy afternoons together after the worst sedative effects of the chemical restraints had worn off. Here’s an example of one of those wonderful sessions:

a magical musical alzheimer gift

And this one was just four days before Mom died on August 17, 2016:

one last sing-along: august 13, 2016

I miss you Mom.

50 more pics that prove my mom was neglected and abused in long-term care

four years later is too late for my mom. but it’s not for others.

alzheimer disease didn’t do this. drugs and dementia jail did

10 reasons why neglect and abuse of elders with dementia may be the norm rather than the exception in long-term care facilities

25 practices long-term care workers know are elder neglect and abuse; it’s time to put a stop to it

#mc_embed_signup{background:#fff; clear:left; font:14px Helvetica,Arial,sans-serif; }
/* Add your own MailChimp form style overrides in your site stylesheet or in this style block.
We recommend moving this block and the preceding CSS link to the HEAD of your HTML file. */

Subscribe to MAS now & get 5 free PDFs & a page of welcome links:

Email Address

Take my short survey on behaviour here.

Advocacy, Care Partnering, Toward better care

50 more pics that prove my mom was neglected and abused in long-term care

If you don’t have proof, you won’t be believed. Sometimes, even if you DO have proof, you are not believed.

I learned that when I went to court to try to get control of my mother’s care in early 2014. I had lots of proof, but I still lost. I was devastated. But the loss didn’t stop me from documenting the neglect and abuse my mother continued to suffer until her death in August 2016.

The neglect included not having her incontinence pads changed as frequently as they should have been, having the pads put on backwards, not having wounds properly dressed and not having the level of one-on-one care she required.

The abuse consisted primarily of being chemically restrained with antipsychotic drugs (which caused her to stumble, bump into things, fall and sustain a continual stream of injuries), and being physically restrained with recliners, wheelchairs, and various types of alarms.

These fifty photographs (all taken in 2014), show what this neglect and abuse looked like.

This slideshow requires JavaScript.

If you have a family member in long-term care:

  • learn what constitutes neglect and abuse
  • visit often at different times of the day
  • watch how staff treat other residents
  • document what you see and hear
  • advocate for proper care

25 pics that prove my mom was neglected and abused in long-term care

four years later is too late for my mom. but it’s not for others.

alzheimer disease didn’t do this. drugs and dementia jail did

10 reasons why neglect and abuse of elders with dementia may be the norm rather than the exception in long-term care facilities

25 practices long-term care workers know are elder neglect and abuse; it’s time to put a stop to it

#mc_embed_signup{background:#fff; clear:left; font:14px Helvetica,Arial,sans-serif; }
/* Add your own MailChimp form style overrides in your site stylesheet or in this style block.
We recommend moving this block and the preceding CSS link to the HEAD of your HTML file. */

Subscribe to MAS now & get 5 free PDFs & a page of welcome links:

Email Address

Take my short survey on behaviour here.

Advocacy, Death & Dying, Life & Living

a young hospice nurse makes a promise to her dying patients

Emily Gagnon is a hospice nurse. She lives in Waterdown, Ontario. Her Facebook post to mark the end of National Nurses’ Week 2020 brought me to tears:

“As we wrap up National Nurses Week 2020, I’d like to share a little bit about what I do as a hospice nurse. For those of you who are not familiar, hospice is a facility where people come to live out the remainder of their days. Many of the residents that I care for have a terminal and/or life limiting illness with limited time left to live.

What I love most about hospice is watching the residents and their families surrender all of the burden they carry and make the best of the time that they have left. In my three years of practice, I’ve witnessed miracles, tragedies, beauty, pain and everything in between. Residents and their families put all of their trust in us to ensure their wishes are fulfilled and their dignity is maintained.

I am honoured to care for, help and serve the residents that come to our hospice. End of life care is my biggest passion, one that I hold so close to my heart.

I will sit with you and hold your hand.

I will brush the hair from your brow.

I will do my best to explain why this is happening.

I will tell you that it’s going to be alright.

I will comfort your family as you transition.

I will tell you when there are weeks and not months, days and not weeks, hours and not days.

I will be there for you till the very end and beyond, this is my promise.

Thank you Emily and your fellow hospice nurses. Thank you nurses everywhere.

3 wise thoughts on being with someone you love as they die, which also apply to being with someone with dementia as they live

3 things to know when you can’t be with someone you love as they are dying

understanding the suffering associated with dying

#mc_embed_signup{background:#fff; clear:left; font:14px Helvetica,Arial,sans-serif; }
/* Add your own MailChimp form style overrides in your site stylesheet or in this style block.
We recommend moving this block and the preceding CSS link to the HEAD of your HTML file. */

Subscribe to MAS now & get 5 free PDFs & a page of welcome links:

Email Address

Take my short survey on behaviour here.

Advocacy, Care Partnering, Toward better care

who is responsible when people living with dementia are robbed of their dignity in long-term care?

Of the roughly seven hundred entries on seventy-five pages of nurses notes I was sent leading up to the court case I had initiated to try to get legal control of my mother’s care, the only one that made me cry was logged at 9 a.m. on June 26, 2013:

The second-floor “dining room” was small, more like a kitchenette really. It had a table in the middle at which six residents could be squeezed at mealtimes, a recliner (of course!) in one corner, and a rocking chair in the other. It had sliding glass doors that opened onto a little balcony where no one was allowed to go, and, at the opposite end, a sideboard with a sink and cupboards above.

I imagined Mom in there, needing to use the bathroom, but not knowing where one was. Maybe she had cramps in her tummy, as she often did in the morning. She suffered with diverticulitis. It flared up when she ate nuts or seeds or corn.

“Where’s the bathroom?” Mom would have asked other residents sitting at the table. “I need to go to the bathroom.”

The others, if there were any there, wouldn’t have answered because they wouldn’t have known. They would have forgotten, just as she had. If there were no other residents, Mom might have asked one of the care workers. If there had been any there, they might have noticed the telltale signs that Mom needed to got to the toilet. The signs were obvious, as I had explained to the Director of Nursing (DoN) four months earlier when she had asked me in a phone call whether Mom was in the habit of squatting and peeing on the floor. “No,” I said, surprised by her question. I wrote her an email the following day (February 5, 2013); it read in part:

“After I hung up the phone with you yesterday, I knew immediately why mom did this “squatting” behaviour in the living room at [the Dementia Jail]…she was desperate to “go to the peeps,” she didn’t know where to find a toilet, there was no caregiver…to help her, so she decided the best solution was to go on the spot rather than ‘in her pants.’

Even in her own room, she needs to be guided to where the bathroom is. For example, she may be sitting on her bed, facing the bathroom door, she will say: ‘ need to go to the peeps’, stand up, turn right, and head towards the closet. 

It’s easy to see the signs when [Mom] needs to go to “the peeps;” she starts to look distracted, she fiddles with the front of her pants, she may stand up, she may put her hand on her lower belly or between her legs, just like little kids do.”

The DoN replied saying she would share the information with the staff. It seemed strange to me that she hadn’t figured out for herself what lay behind the “squatting,” given that she was meant to be an expert in caring for people living with Alzheimer disease. Mom’s behaviour was basically Dementia Care 101, or at least it seemed so to me.

Had the DoN conveyed the information to the staff (who also should have known without having to be told), and had there been one of them in the dining room that morning, they might have wondered what my mother was doing when she went over to sideboard and took a piece of paper towel from the roll that was sitting there.

They may have kept watching when she laid the paper towel on the floor in whatever space she could find. But when she stepped in front of the paper on the floor, unbuttoned and unzipped her trousers and started to pull them down, surely they would have intervened and taken her to the toilet. Or one would hope they would have intervened…

But no one took my mom to the toilet, so it seems there weren’t any care staff there to help her preserve her dignity. Where were they? Around the corner at the nursing station, which was no more than twenty feet away, having a chin wag as I had observed them do on many occasions? Or maybe they were busy with other residents? Who knows?

What can be understood from the notes, which were written from the perspective of the charge nurse and not my mother of course, is that Mom had a bowel movement on the dining room floor and then tried to clean herself. How must she have felt throughout this episode? Confused? Scared? Embarrassed? Ashamed? Agitated? Upset? Surely she was robbed of her dignity, and that’s what made me cry when I read the entry. When I flipped the page to find the same thing happened the following week, I saw red.

I remembered the incident of the dirty pull-up. The week after, Mom was without a pull-up under her trousers, which were wet, two nights running. The next Saturday morning, I found her walking naked in the hallway; her bed was soaked and the room reeked of urine. Then there were the times her incontinence pad was so full it had leaked, and created crescent-shaped wet spots on her pants.

None of these had been mentioned in the eight months’ worth of nurses’ notes I was sent in advance of the court hearing. But fourteen other incontinence incidents had been recorded. They all implied the fault lay with my mother, when in reality it was the DoN’s responsibility to ensure her staff met my mother’s basic hygiene needs. Had the Director of Nursing done her job, my mother wouldn’t have suffered the indignities she did.

Likewise, my mother wouldn’t have been chemically restrained with antipsychotic drugs, physically restrained using recliners and other means, hospitalized with thrombosis in her leg, forced into incontinence, forced into a wheelchair, denied the right of seeing me, her daughter, during the last eighteen months of her life, and left in the bathroom alone to fall, break her arm and as a result of the trauma, die three weeks later.

Robbing someone of her or his dignity is tragic. Neglect and abuse are criminal. Those who are responsible should be held accountable.

Note: To add insult to injury, there were no “public toilets” on the second floor where Mom did not have a room of her own (her room was on the third floor). So when she was “toiletted,” she was taken into one of the second floor residents’ rooms too use their bathroom. But if she “wandered” into one of the second floor residents’ rooms on her own, she was admonished for doing so, dragged out into the hallway and made to sit in a chair in the corner by the elevator. Naturally she protested by striking out, and was then written up in the nurses’ notes as being aggressive and uncooperative.

which way to the bathroom?

hail mary i need to pee

5 ways we rob people with dementia of their dignity

#mc_embed_signup{background:#fff; clear:left; font:14px Helvetica,Arial,sans-serif; }
/* Add your own MailChimp form style overrides in your site stylesheet or in this style block.
We recommend moving this block and the preceding CSS link to the HEAD of your HTML file. */

Subscribe to MAS now & get 5 free PDFs & a page of welcome links:

Email Address

Take my short survey on behaviour here.

Advocacy, Care Partnering, Death & Dying, Love

hilda zlataroff should have died of old age

Family care partner Nicole Jaouich visited her 102-year-old mother Hilda Zlatoroff in a Quebec long-term care facility every day for 6 years to help her eat and drink; her mother’s eyesight was failing, and she lived with dementia. When COVID-19 struck, no visitors were permitted from March 14, 2020, onward. Over the next 5 weeks, Jaouich watched her mother’s condition deteriorate via a video camera. Her mother died of dehydration on April 27,2020.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

At 102, it wouldn’t have been surprising if Hilda Zlataroff had died of old age.

Tragically, she did not.

Hilda Zlatoroff died of dehydration in the Saint-Joseph-de-la-Providence long-term care facility in Quebec, Canada, at 5:35 am on April 27, 2020. Ms. Zlatoroff had been a resident there for nine years. She didn’t die of COVID-19. She died as a result of COVID-19, and the massive cracks in long-term care that became canyons with the onset of the pandemic.

“I guarantee that if I had been able to be with my mother, she would not have died of dehydration,” says Nicole Jaouich, Hilda Zlataroff’s daughter.

Jaouich had visited her mother every day for six years to help her eat and drink because Hilda Zlatoroff’s eyesight was failing and she lived with dementia.

“Maman needed encouragement to eat and drink. It was important not to rush her. ‘Do you want to drink a little juice?’ I would say to her, and then help her to lift the glass to her mouth,” Jaouich says.

“When I couldn’t be there or needed a break, I hired someone to go to the residence and be with her. She had someone with her eight hours a day every day for six years. She was my mother, she deserved to be cared for,” Jaouich has tears in her eyes.

Then COVID-19 struck, and from March 14 onward, no visitors were permitted at the residence in an effort to limit the spread of the disease. Over the next five weeks, Jaouich watched her mother’s condition deteriorate via a video camera she’d had installed in her mother’s room. It was painful.

“Sometimes they put the meal tray in front of her, but she didn’t touch the food because she couldn’t see it. Then they would come back and pick it up, even though she hadn’t eaten a thing. And how could she drink? They didn’t help her,” Jaouich says.

“I will never forgive the government for banning family caregivers from visiting and helping to care for our family members. The government knew very well the facilities were understaffed. This has been an issue for years,” Jaouich says.

“Family care partners were needed every day to help give basic care. When family members were banned, it made things even worse than they already were. Family care partners should have been integrated into the caregiving, not forbidden from coming to help,” Jaouich says.

“Of course I knew my mother would die, she was 102. But to have her die from dehydration, alone, without me by her side, was criminal and cruel. I will never get over it,” says Jaouich, who, ironically, is an advocate for better long-term care in Quebec, and a board member of Handicap Vie Dignité, an organization that has been fighting for reform for years.

Jaouich wasn’t able to be with her mother when she died, but she was able to visit twice for ten minutes in the week before her death, and then for forty-five minutes each time during the last few days before she passed.

“She was so beautiful,” Jaouich smiles slightly. “The last time I went she was breathing peacefully and her face was relaxed. She squeezed my hand slightly when I held hers. She knew it was me. She knew I was there. I only wish I could have been with her when she died.”

dying with my mom

it’s taken a pandemic and tens of thousands of deaths for people to get what long-term care advocates have known for decades: the system sucks

5 Raw Emotions Alzheimers Dementia Caregivers Feel Every Day

#mc_embed_signup{background:#fff; clear:left; font:14px Helvetica,Arial,sans-serif; }
/* Add your own MailChimp form style overrides in your site stylesheet or in this style block.
We recommend moving this block and the preceding CSS link to the HEAD of your HTML file. */

Subscribe to MAS now & get 5 free PDFs & a page of welcome links:

Email Address

Take my short survey on behaviour here.

Advocacy, Death & Dying, Life & Living

3 things to know when you can’t be with someone you love as they are dying

Palliative care physician Dr. Mike Harlos gives advice to other palliative care doctors and nurses on how to best support people who are dying, as well as their family members and friends who may be going through the process with them. I love Dr. Harlos’s wisdom and gentle manner, which I have also featured here, and here I wish I had known of these videos before I sat by my mother’s side as she took her final breaths.

According to Dr. Harlos, there are three important things people should remember if they can’t be with a loved when he or she is dying:

  1. Not being in the room at the time of death does not mean you are absent at the time of death
  2. You are connected in spirit and in soul to the people you love
  3. Connection does not require physical proximity

When a family can’t be be present at the death from Canadian Virtual Hospice on Vimeo.

 

3 wise thoughts on being with someone you love as they die, which also apply to being with someone with dementia as they live

understanding the suffering associated with dying

dying with my mom

 

#mc_embed_signup{background:#fff; clear:left; font:14px Helvetica,Arial,sans-serif; }
/* Add your own MailChimp form style overrides in your site stylesheet or in this style block.
We recommend moving this block and the preceding CSS link to the HEAD of your HTML file. */

Subscribe to MAS now & get 5 free PDFs & a page of welcome links:

Email Address

Take my short survey on behaviour here.

Image copyright: grinvalds / 123RF Stock Photo

Death & Dying, Life & Living, Poetry

eternal anguish

At some point in most dementia care partners’ experience they will find themselves on this battleground: wishing for their loved one the peace that comes with death, while feeling immense grief at the prospect of losing them. The resulting mix of emotions — compassion, guilt, longing, regret, sorrow and more — is exceedingly difficult to cope with.

This poem is about the heart-wrenching conversations one has with self and the powers that be at those times. It’s the second version of a poem i called “a daughter’s prayer to god,” which I first wrote in 2014, after Mom came “this close” to dying.

eternal anguish

©2019 punkie

eternal anguish

please take her lord,
oh no not yet!
i’m afraid
i might forget

how she smiles
and laughs and cries,
it’s not the time
to say goodbye

but I can’t bear
to see her so
perhaps today
is when she should go

is it selfish
when i wonder
how long before
she’s six feet under?

oh my god
don’t take her now
no, this can’t be
her final bow

let us play
another scene
in which she doesn’t
lay serene

a corpse upon
a broken bed
that’s not my mom
she can’t be dead

she’s the one
who gave me life
who saw me through
both joy and strife

don’t take her god
i need her here,
by my side
forever near

i promise lord
that I’ll be good
and do exactly
as I should

i won’t lie
or kill or loot
or disrespect
an older coot

i’ll love my neighbour
guaranteed
if only you will
set her free

to dance and sing
like we once did
when I was no more
than a kid

please don’t take her
oh no please don’t
i wish you would,
and that you won’t

i know deep down
it’s peace she seeks,
every day
week after week

she craves her home
amidst the stars
her life beyond
these prison bars

but when she breathes
in fits and starts
who will call
the funeral cart?

in this game
where life’s at stake
we’re helpless
to decisions make

it’s in your hands, god,
you call the shots:
undo this heart
tied up in knots

around the rosie
we will sing
lord have mercy
you are the king

 

©2019 Susan Macaulay. I invite you to share my poetry widely, but please do not reblog or copy and paste my poems into other social media without my permission. Thank you.

a daughter’s prayer to god

don’t mourn me long

dying with my mom

Subscribe to MAS now & get 5 free PDFs & a page of welcome links:

Email Address

Take my short survey on behaviour here.

Hope, Joy, Love, Toward better care

7 kinds of therapy i don’t want when i’m living with alzheimer disease

When I am living with Alzheimer disease, which I expect I will be one day, I want to do the things I love to  do for as long as possible, and to be offered the opportunity to try new, engaging and enriching activities that will fill the last chapter of my life with joy and happiness. I don’t wish to be labelled or “therapized,” or treated like someone who is less than human, or worse like an object with not more value than a chair.

So please, future care partners, help me to live until I die: interact with me, support me, invite me to grow and learn and to engage life with purpose and meaning and please, please, please don’t stigmatize it by calling it “therapy.” If things keep on as they are, people who live with dementia will soon be getting “food therapy” every time they have a meal! And “sleep therapy” when they go to bed at night or have an afternoon nap. It’s completely ridiculous.

1) Pet therapy

I adored my little cat Pia Roma, who had lived with Mom before she became my treasured housemate. The pic above is of Pia and I having a cuddle on the morning of the day she died (June 29, 2018). I hope I will have animal companions of some sort near me until I too say goodbye to this place. Taking care of and loving an animal gives people of all ages purpose and joy. Purpose and joy are important. I love to have animals around me; I see no reason to label being with animals “pet therapy” if and when I’m living with dementia.

2) Music therapy

They say music is the universal language. It connects people, speaks to them in special ways, and touches them at their core. I experienced its powerful effects first hand with Mom. Through music, I learned many things and found much joy. While I think I will love to continue to experience music in many forms when I live with dementia, I don’t see why enjoying music should be described as “therapy” simply because my brain is changing.

3) Art therapy

I create art. I’m not a painter or a sculptor or a potter. At least not yet. But I have created and I continue to create multimedia works that bring me and others joy and happiness. I hope that if I ever come to live with dementia that I’m able to continue with the artistic activities I do now. Why should those same activities be labeled “therapy” if I live with dementia? The word therapy has implications I don’t like and I’ll thank you kindly not to use it when I’m living with dementia.

4) Doll therapy

I never played with dolls. Never had children. Not interested, no thanks. But if I did love babies, and playing with dolls as a person living with dementia made me feel young and wonderful and happy, why would it have to be called “therapy?” Why not just say every human being needs to feel connection, love, purpose and meaning and enjoying dolls, or stuffed animals or whatever, are other ways of achieving that?

5) Poetry therapy

i love to write and make words rhyme,

in fact I do it all the time!

so stop the stigma if you please,

just because my brain’s diseased.

It’s writing. It’s poetry. It doesn’t suddenly become “therapy” because one has a changing brain.

6) Exercise therapy

Seriously? Exercise therapy? With a few exceptions, exercise is just plain good for all of us, most of the time, no matter what condition we’re in.

7) Gardening therapy

Ummm. Please. See 6) above.

Come to think of it, when I’m living with dementia, don’t give me any kind of therapy at all. Support me in doing the things I’ve always enjoyed and in exploring new ways of creating purpose and joy in my life. Yes, by all means do that. But don’t call it “therapy,” because I don’t want to be stigmatized and have labels applied to who I am and what I do when I live with dementia because I will be the person I have always been only in a new, different and equally beautiful way.

https://myalzheimersstory.com/2016/07/24/let-me-shine-a-dementia-rhyme-to-open-minds/

https://myalzheimersstory.com/2016/01/21/50-names-not-to-call-alzheimers-me/

https://myalzheimersstory.com/2015/03/27/13-needs-we-share-with-people-who-have-dementia/

https://myalzheimersstory.com/2014/06/16/5-things-i-never-knew-until-i-sang-with-my-alzheimers-mom/

#mc_embed_signup{background:#fff; clear:left; font:14px Helvetica,Arial,sans-serif; }
/* Add your own MailChimp form style overrides in your site stylesheet or in this style block.
We recommend moving this block and the preceding CSS link to the HEAD of your HTML file. */

Subscribe to MAS now & get 5 free PDFs & a page of welcome links:

Email Address

Take my short survey on behaviour here.

Hope, Joy, Love, Toward better care

7 things you can do now to prepare for being a dementia care partner one day

Most family members who become dementia care partners do so out of necessity rather than choice. They are thrown into the deep end with no training, little knowledge and few skills.

And, as we live longer, the number of people who are drafted into care partnering roles is only going to increase because age is the biggest risk factor for developing Alzheimer disease and other forms of dementia.

How can one prepare oneself to potentially become a dementia care partner?

I don’t think there’s a formula that works for everyone because everyone’s life experience is different (although there are similarities and commonalities of course!). However, I think the best preparation in all cases is to practice good life skills and habits that will serve us no matter what challenges we face. When we practice these skills, we are better equipped to live more joyful lives whether that includes being a dementia care partner or not.

Below are seven life skills I think are especially important for dementia care partners, and which may help anyone to prepare for that role, as well as to live a better life overall.

Practice:

  1. Having an open mind
  2. Having an open heart
  3. Looking for opportunities to create joy and happiness
  4. Experiencing your feelings
  5. Finding ways to reframe “negative situations”
  6. Focussing on capacity (home in on what CAN be done, not on what can’t)
  7. Grieving and letting go of losses

https://myalzheimersstory.com/2016/05/14/top-15-things-dementia-care-partners-say-theyve-learned/

https://myalzheimersstory.com/2017/10/12/15-essential-qualities-dementia-care-partners-need-to-survive-2/

https://myalzheimersstory.com/2018/01/14/20-opportunities-being-a-dementia-care-partner-might-offer-you/

#mc_embed_signup{background:#fff; clear:left; font:14px Helvetica,Arial,sans-serif; }
/* Add your own MailChimp form style overrides in your site stylesheet or in this style block.
We recommend moving this block and the preceding CSS link to the HEAD of your HTML file. */

Subscribe to MAS now & get 5 free PDFs & a page of welcome links:

Email Address

Take my short survey on behaviour here.

Hope, Joy, Love, Toward better care

7 ways to bring joy to your dying mom at christmas

December 17, 2018: This is the second time I’ve written about Gloria Gallagher and her daughter BJ. The first article is here. Gloria has lived with Alzheimer’s disease for more than a decade. She’s paralyzed from the neck down, and so she cannot move her arms or legs. She can’t get out of bed, and has a hard time articulating what she wants to say. She’s been “this close” to death numerous times. And yet, she and her daughter, author BJ Gallagher, make the most of their visits together.

You too can bring Christmas joy to the life of someone living with dementia by emulating BJ’s techniques. Here are seven ideas:

  1.  deck her out in festive finery
  2.  just be with him
  3.  listen
  4.  agree (hear all the creative ways BJ does this in the video below)
  5.  be positive
  6.  love, love, love him
  7.  give her a jar full of stars

#mc_embed_signup{background:#fff; clear:left; font:14px Helvetica,Arial,sans-serif; }
/* Add your own MailChimp form style overrides in your site stylesheet or in this style block.
We recommend moving this block and the preceding CSS link to the HEAD of your HTML file. */

Subscribe to MAS now & get 5 free PDFs & a page of welcome links:

Email Address

Take my short survey on behaviour here.