My work schedule has changed so I am frequently up by 4 am now and out the door by 5. It sounds horrendous but really isn't that bad once you get used to it. This also happens to coincide with my mom's schedule of using the restroom so as I am getting ready I will see a little old lady appear at the door.
It's the same everyday... "can I come in, I have to pee."
"Of course you can come in." My mom shuffles forward then stops and says "I need a hug." So we hug and she hangs on for dear life. "I don't think I can let go" she always says. "Well if you're going to pee you HAVE to let go eventually." " I know, but I don't want to." Fair enough.
She uses the restroom and washes her hands. She is very good about the handwashing because it is routine now, which took us several months of training to accomplish. At first her response was "Why, I never pee on my hands." " Wash them anyway, you get no hugs if you don't wash your hands." She considered it a fair trade.
On her way out she always stops and says "I need a hug." "You just had a hug." Sometimes I get impatient because I am trying to get ready for work and get out the door. But her blue eyes and outstretched arms settle the matter. Another hug, and I realize that these moments will go away someday. She will stop asking for hugs and I will be devastated then. I will mourn the loss of hugs and the loss of her connection to me. I don't know what that will look like, but I am pretty certain that I won't like it.
The truth is, I need a hug too. And I am going to take them as long as she will give them to me.
Thursday, September 13, 2012
Sunday, September 9, 2012
When he said Dip I thought he said Sip
So here's another church story. Couple of Sundays ago was a good day for church. First Sunday back to the normal fall schedule, new Sunday School classes, confirmation breakfast for me and my covenant partner (a young person going through confirmation class), and a communion Sunday.
We pick a seat at the very back in case my mom has to go to the bathroom, starts throwing a hissy fit, or otherwise needs to step out. Service is going swimmingly, except my mom can no longer read so she pretends to look at the hymnal and moves her mouth, trying to anticipate the words. She also pretends to read the bulletin and follow along, but every 5 seconds she asks Jesse, "ok, where are we now" and he has to point to the part of the bulletin that applies. She speaks in a "whisper" that really is a normal speaking voice, adding some breathiness to it so she thinks she is whispering. I can see the people in front of us moving their heads as far to the side as they can without really turning around, trying to see who is talking.
Before her Alzheimers became obvious, before the night of the "crisis" that took her out of her home and into a facility, there were signs. I just didn't see them. Momentary lapses and confusion that were infrequent so I attributed them to fatigue or preoccupation. We all have those moments right? It doesn't mean we are going to develop Alzheimers. One such incident occurred years ago at church. My mom was with us, which didn't happen very often because Presbyterians don't sing the "good hymns." But there she was, making the best of it... UNTIL communion time. This particular Sunday we passed the elements down the row rather than going up to the front of the church. As you pass the bread you turn to the next person and say "this is the body of Christ broken for you" and then the person next to you takes the plate and does the same thing and so on down the row. Ditto for the wine. Clear instructions are in the bulletin, the pastor goes explains it verbally before distributing the elements, and if you just watch all the 87 people who have just done it before you then you can pretty much mimic it. Unless you are MaMere...
As the plate comes to our row I tell her to get ready. "What the hell am I getting ready for? I'm not an idiot." I turn to her with the plate, "Mom, this is the body of Christ broken for you." She takes a piece of bread and JUST SITS THERE. "Mom, you have to pass this to the person next to you and say what I just said." "What? Well hell, let me get my glasses out." "You don't need glasses, just say the same thing I just said." "Oh hell you know I can't remember that without my glasses. Apparently glasses improve memory. (this is why I told her to get READY) She moves in slow motion, digging in her purse for glasses, and finally pulls them out. She puts them on with all the drama of a person who is about to see for the first time. "OK, what am I supposed to do." "Mom, offer the plate to the person next to you and say "this is the body of Christ broken for you. That's it." "Well isn't it written down someWHERE on the bulletin?" "YES, but I just told you what to say, so just say it." No one behind us can get communion until this comedy of errors plays out. She ignores me and starts looking in the bulletin for the written instructions. After eons of time and my mom mouthing the words to herself I finally raise my voice, "Just say the sentence I told you, JUST SAY IT AND PASS THE PLATE!" My mother has the nerve to look genuinely surprised and yells "STOP RUSHING ME!"
.
She finally pulls it together and gets the plate on its way down the row. Crisis averted, UNTIL.... someone decided that it was time to pass the wine... "This is the blood of Christ poured out for your sins." Take two........ The organist just keeps playing the same music over and over because my mom has delayed so long that his carefully chosen hymn has ended so he just keeps starting over and keeps playing.... and playing...
This was one of the "shots across the bow" that I should've known meant something was coming.
So now we are back at last Sunday's communion and the process has changed. This time we are taking communion by intinction, dip the bread into the wine. This should be easier for her so we head to the front of the church. She takes a piece of bread and puts it in her mouth. Then she reaches for the goblets and attempts to take it from the elder serving communion. A tug of war ensues and I try to intervene before one of us ends up wearing the wine, The elder says, "it's ok, you can get another piece of bread so you can dip it." My mom waves her arms at the elder and says, "I just had about all the Jesus I need." She waves away the goblet and starts shuffling back to her seat. She really does love Jesus, she just forgot for a minute.
We pick a seat at the very back in case my mom has to go to the bathroom, starts throwing a hissy fit, or otherwise needs to step out. Service is going swimmingly, except my mom can no longer read so she pretends to look at the hymnal and moves her mouth, trying to anticipate the words. She also pretends to read the bulletin and follow along, but every 5 seconds she asks Jesse, "ok, where are we now" and he has to point to the part of the bulletin that applies. She speaks in a "whisper" that really is a normal speaking voice, adding some breathiness to it so she thinks she is whispering. I can see the people in front of us moving their heads as far to the side as they can without really turning around, trying to see who is talking.
Before her Alzheimers became obvious, before the night of the "crisis" that took her out of her home and into a facility, there were signs. I just didn't see them. Momentary lapses and confusion that were infrequent so I attributed them to fatigue or preoccupation. We all have those moments right? It doesn't mean we are going to develop Alzheimers. One such incident occurred years ago at church. My mom was with us, which didn't happen very often because Presbyterians don't sing the "good hymns." But there she was, making the best of it... UNTIL communion time. This particular Sunday we passed the elements down the row rather than going up to the front of the church. As you pass the bread you turn to the next person and say "this is the body of Christ broken for you" and then the person next to you takes the plate and does the same thing and so on down the row. Ditto for the wine. Clear instructions are in the bulletin, the pastor goes explains it verbally before distributing the elements, and if you just watch all the 87 people who have just done it before you then you can pretty much mimic it. Unless you are MaMere...
As the plate comes to our row I tell her to get ready. "What the hell am I getting ready for? I'm not an idiot." I turn to her with the plate, "Mom, this is the body of Christ broken for you." She takes a piece of bread and JUST SITS THERE. "Mom, you have to pass this to the person next to you and say what I just said." "What? Well hell, let me get my glasses out." "You don't need glasses, just say the same thing I just said." "Oh hell you know I can't remember that without my glasses. Apparently glasses improve memory. (this is why I told her to get READY) She moves in slow motion, digging in her purse for glasses, and finally pulls them out. She puts them on with all the drama of a person who is about to see for the first time. "OK, what am I supposed to do." "Mom, offer the plate to the person next to you and say "this is the body of Christ broken for you. That's it." "Well isn't it written down someWHERE on the bulletin?" "YES, but I just told you what to say, so just say it." No one behind us can get communion until this comedy of errors plays out. She ignores me and starts looking in the bulletin for the written instructions. After eons of time and my mom mouthing the words to herself I finally raise my voice, "Just say the sentence I told you, JUST SAY IT AND PASS THE PLATE!" My mother has the nerve to look genuinely surprised and yells "STOP RUSHING ME!"
.
She finally pulls it together and gets the plate on its way down the row. Crisis averted, UNTIL.... someone decided that it was time to pass the wine... "This is the blood of Christ poured out for your sins." Take two........ The organist just keeps playing the same music over and over because my mom has delayed so long that his carefully chosen hymn has ended so he just keeps starting over and keeps playing.... and playing...
This was one of the "shots across the bow" that I should've known meant something was coming.
So now we are back at last Sunday's communion and the process has changed. This time we are taking communion by intinction, dip the bread into the wine. This should be easier for her so we head to the front of the church. She takes a piece of bread and puts it in her mouth. Then she reaches for the goblets and attempts to take it from the elder serving communion. A tug of war ensues and I try to intervene before one of us ends up wearing the wine, The elder says, "it's ok, you can get another piece of bread so you can dip it." My mom waves her arms at the elder and says, "I just had about all the Jesus I need." She waves away the goblet and starts shuffling back to her seat. She really does love Jesus, she just forgot for a minute.
Wednesday, August 29, 2012
Just When You Thought it Was Safe to Play Bingo in Church...
When the stars align and MaMere is having a good day on Sunday we take her to church with us. I can tell when she wakes up if it is a day for church or a day for someone to stay home with her. On a "good day for church" she comes out of her room smilig, blues eyes sparkling. On a "not so good day for church" she comes out of her room scowling, muttering curse words and waving her skinny arms at all of us. "I'm not really up yet, I just have to pee and then I'm getting back in the damn bed" she says as she shuffles to the bathroom. I know God understands, He doesn't want her ruining it for everyone else.
When we do take her with us she shuffles along smiling at everyone and acting like she is the model of good behavior. She says "I'm proud to meet you" when she is introduced to people, which is an old person expression. All of the residents at the facility she used to live in say the same thing. I'm not exactly sure why they are proud when they meet someone, I'm going to have to look up the origin of that expression.
Church members will tell her how sweet she is and she looks at me as if to say "see, I'm still smart enough to fool all these people." I roll my eyes at her and she grins bigger. Suckers.
One Sunday we had a youth fundraiser after church, complete with lunch and bingo. MaMere is settled with her bingo cards and is in rare form. She is ready to WIN. She has 4 cards in front of her which I know is a problem but she insisted. I'm not going to arm wrestle the bingo cards away from her... at least not in front of everyone. Let the games begin.
"Bingo" she screams, waving her skinny arm. She hands the card to my daughter who has to take it up to the front to be checked.
"I'm sorry, no bingo," one of the youth announces over the microphone.
"Well damn, I was sure I had it." I let it go because if I call her on it she will say twice as many curse words trying to convince me that she hasn't said a curse word.
She does her best impression of Bill Murray in "Groundhog Day" and does the exact same thing two more times. My daughter is losing her patience and stomps to the front of the room to have MaMere's cards checked.
"No bingo." "No bingo." My mom looks at me and rolls her eyes and sighs loudly, as if there is a secret Bingo conspiracy against her.
MaMere keeps marking her cards.... she stops and opens her mouth... "Don't say it" Laurel says under her breath. Too late, it's already coming out of her mouth.... "BINGO" she screams. "And this time I really have it!" My daughter makes no move to get up and my mother gets irritated. "Take it up there, I really have it this time. I was paying attention." Laurel looks at me and shakes her head no. "Just take it up there Laurel." "Mom, it's embarrassing, she doesn't have a bingo." I pull mom rank because I don't want to have to take the card up to the front. After all, I have to give her a shower so I figure Laurel can handle the embarrassment of the not-a-bingo card.
Laurel makes it obvious to everyone in the fellowship hall that she is not happy about this 4th trip to the front. She stomps her feet and sighs loudly, jaw set and eyes reflecting her irritation. I don't know where she gets these traits.....
Now the bingo callers are irritated.... my mother has completely disrupted the flow of the game with her continuous false bingos. "I'm sorry, NO BINGO." Laurel shoots daggers at me with her eyes and puts her hands in the air. She is done. My mother does not take this well, she was CERTAIN she had a bingo. We quickly go from a "good day for church" to a "not so good day for church." "Well goddamn it, this is so fucking frustrating" she screams out loud, smacking her hand on the table. Time slows down for a minute and I feel myself get hot. My vision tunnels... I see my kids visibly recoil and look for the nearest hole to fall into. I see the faces of the little kids, looking to see who is causing the disruption, the startled looks on the faces of other church members. I make a mental note to convert to a religion where speaking is forbidden. Then I see Jesse's face in my peripheral vision, he is trying hard to keep from laughing out loud. A split second later everyone recovers and someone starts laughing, then others laugh. Time speeds back up again. The bingo caller quickly calls out another number and the game moves on. I take all but one of MaMere's bingo cards and she keeps playing like nothing happened.
Afterwards several people came up to tell me how "funny" my mom is. "Yes, she's a real piece of work..." One lady told me that was the best laugh she had in a long time and she just "looooooves MaMere." (Great, you sit with her next time.)
As we are leaving my mom says goodbye to people on her way out, smiling sweetly like butter wouldn't melt in her mouth. She has no idea she just dropped an f-bomb in church so she is happy as a clam in sand, oblivious to embarrassment, impervious to shame. I guess that's freeing in a way. I am just thankful that I go to a church where the members will smile at her after an f-bomb and not judge her. Thank you baby Jesus for grace.
When we do take her with us she shuffles along smiling at everyone and acting like she is the model of good behavior. She says "I'm proud to meet you" when she is introduced to people, which is an old person expression. All of the residents at the facility she used to live in say the same thing. I'm not exactly sure why they are proud when they meet someone, I'm going to have to look up the origin of that expression.
Church members will tell her how sweet she is and she looks at me as if to say "see, I'm still smart enough to fool all these people." I roll my eyes at her and she grins bigger. Suckers.
One Sunday we had a youth fundraiser after church, complete with lunch and bingo. MaMere is settled with her bingo cards and is in rare form. She is ready to WIN. She has 4 cards in front of her which I know is a problem but she insisted. I'm not going to arm wrestle the bingo cards away from her... at least not in front of everyone. Let the games begin.
"Bingo" she screams, waving her skinny arm. She hands the card to my daughter who has to take it up to the front to be checked.
"I'm sorry, no bingo," one of the youth announces over the microphone.
"Well damn, I was sure I had it." I let it go because if I call her on it she will say twice as many curse words trying to convince me that she hasn't said a curse word.
She does her best impression of Bill Murray in "Groundhog Day" and does the exact same thing two more times. My daughter is losing her patience and stomps to the front of the room to have MaMere's cards checked.
"No bingo." "No bingo." My mom looks at me and rolls her eyes and sighs loudly, as if there is a secret Bingo conspiracy against her.
MaMere keeps marking her cards.... she stops and opens her mouth... "Don't say it" Laurel says under her breath. Too late, it's already coming out of her mouth.... "BINGO" she screams. "And this time I really have it!" My daughter makes no move to get up and my mother gets irritated. "Take it up there, I really have it this time. I was paying attention." Laurel looks at me and shakes her head no. "Just take it up there Laurel." "Mom, it's embarrassing, she doesn't have a bingo." I pull mom rank because I don't want to have to take the card up to the front. After all, I have to give her a shower so I figure Laurel can handle the embarrassment of the not-a-bingo card.
Laurel makes it obvious to everyone in the fellowship hall that she is not happy about this 4th trip to the front. She stomps her feet and sighs loudly, jaw set and eyes reflecting her irritation. I don't know where she gets these traits.....
Now the bingo callers are irritated.... my mother has completely disrupted the flow of the game with her continuous false bingos. "I'm sorry, NO BINGO." Laurel shoots daggers at me with her eyes and puts her hands in the air. She is done. My mother does not take this well, she was CERTAIN she had a bingo. We quickly go from a "good day for church" to a "not so good day for church." "Well goddamn it, this is so fucking frustrating" she screams out loud, smacking her hand on the table. Time slows down for a minute and I feel myself get hot. My vision tunnels... I see my kids visibly recoil and look for the nearest hole to fall into. I see the faces of the little kids, looking to see who is causing the disruption, the startled looks on the faces of other church members. I make a mental note to convert to a religion where speaking is forbidden. Then I see Jesse's face in my peripheral vision, he is trying hard to keep from laughing out loud. A split second later everyone recovers and someone starts laughing, then others laugh. Time speeds back up again. The bingo caller quickly calls out another number and the game moves on. I take all but one of MaMere's bingo cards and she keeps playing like nothing happened.
Afterwards several people came up to tell me how "funny" my mom is. "Yes, she's a real piece of work..." One lady told me that was the best laugh she had in a long time and she just "looooooves MaMere." (Great, you sit with her next time.)
As we are leaving my mom says goodbye to people on her way out, smiling sweetly like butter wouldn't melt in her mouth. She has no idea she just dropped an f-bomb in church so she is happy as a clam in sand, oblivious to embarrassment, impervious to shame. I guess that's freeing in a way. I am just thankful that I go to a church where the members will smile at her after an f-bomb and not judge her. Thank you baby Jesus for grace.
Tuesday, August 28, 2012
Where's my damn remote?
OK, I am the worst blogger ever.... the longer you delay something the easier it is to keep delaying. I went through a period of second guessing my decision to publicly chronicle my mother's battle with the forgetness disease. This illness that is rarely named, not because we are afraid to say it, but because she doesn't remember she has it. We let her have that illusion. Then comes the moments, farther and farther apart, when she looks at me with fear in her blue eyes and she whispers "This is so humiliating. I hate this." And then the moment is gone and she shuffles away, looking for someone to sneak up on and scare or trying to find her remote control.
The remote control is an object of great power at the Diaz house. My mother uses it in a vain attempt to connect to a world she no longer understands. She will often settle on a spanish station and turn the volume up as loud as it will go, as if she will suddenly understand spanish if only the sound is loud enough. I asked her why she was watching spanish novellas when she didn't speak spanish. She thought about it a minute and said, "I guess I forgot that I didn't speak spanish." That makes perfect sense to her and is actually a pretty good answer.
Jesse discovered the power of the remote one day when he and MaMere got in a fight about her physical therapy. Jesse is a saint, in case I haven't said it let me say it again: the man is a saint. He does physical therapy with MaMere on a daily basis. She does her leg lifts and sit/stand, and uses her three pound weights while Jesse sits with her physical therapy folder in his lap, a Jack and Coke in one hand. (I have it on video, the irony does not escape either of us.)
Some days she refuses to exercise and Jesse, bless his heart, tries to use logic to convince her. It goes like this:
M- "I'm not doing it. I'm a 70 year old woman and dammit I don't have to do anything I don't want to do."
J- "You have to exercise mom, this keeps you up and moving."
M- "I move just fine, and besides the nurse/doctor/physical therapist (this changes with the day) told me I don't have to do it anymore."
J- "No, they told you THEY don't have to come anymore as long as YOU do your exercises everyday."
M-"I'm not doing any goddamn exercises and you can't make me." This usually ends with her kicking her feet as she sits on the side of her bed and her slippers go flying off.
Jesse gets his feelings hurt, MaMere sulks, exercises eventually get done, but it takes an emotional toll on Jesse and MaMere.
This daily ritual began again one day with MaMere refusing and Jesse cajoling. MaMere changed her argument though and it proved to be her downfall in the fight against physical therapy. "I'm not doing it, I am watching my damn shows" she yelled as she waved her remote at Jesse. The lightbulb went off in a blinding flash. "Fine," Jesse said as he grabbed the bobbing remote. "When you decide to do your exercises you can have this back." He left her room and hid the remote from her and a standoff ensued. MaMere severely misjudged Jesse's resolve in this matter and after a short time she broke.
"Ok, fine. I'll do the goddamn exercises if I can have my damn remote back," she said, waving a skinny arm at Jesse.
"Mom, this isn't for me, it's for your benefit."
"I just said I'll do it, let's get the damn show on the road. I'm missing my damn shows."
One night Jesse and I were watching TV in the family room. MaMere came out of her room and loudly announced that she is walking laps around the house and will we please give her remote back when she has done enough laps. She stands straight and walks at a fast clip, looking over to make sure we are watching her. "Did you take her remote again?" I asked Jesse. "No, we did exercises earlier, I don't know what she's talking about." A beat later I said "Should we tell her we don't have it?" "Wait until she does ten laps around the house, she needs to walk anyway."
Paybacks are a bitch.
The remote control is an object of great power at the Diaz house. My mother uses it in a vain attempt to connect to a world she no longer understands. She will often settle on a spanish station and turn the volume up as loud as it will go, as if she will suddenly understand spanish if only the sound is loud enough. I asked her why she was watching spanish novellas when she didn't speak spanish. She thought about it a minute and said, "I guess I forgot that I didn't speak spanish." That makes perfect sense to her and is actually a pretty good answer.
Jesse discovered the power of the remote one day when he and MaMere got in a fight about her physical therapy. Jesse is a saint, in case I haven't said it let me say it again: the man is a saint. He does physical therapy with MaMere on a daily basis. She does her leg lifts and sit/stand, and uses her three pound weights while Jesse sits with her physical therapy folder in his lap, a Jack and Coke in one hand. (I have it on video, the irony does not escape either of us.)
Some days she refuses to exercise and Jesse, bless his heart, tries to use logic to convince her. It goes like this:
M- "I'm not doing it. I'm a 70 year old woman and dammit I don't have to do anything I don't want to do."
J- "You have to exercise mom, this keeps you up and moving."
M- "I move just fine, and besides the nurse/doctor/physical therapist (this changes with the day) told me I don't have to do it anymore."
J- "No, they told you THEY don't have to come anymore as long as YOU do your exercises everyday."
M-"I'm not doing any goddamn exercises and you can't make me." This usually ends with her kicking her feet as she sits on the side of her bed and her slippers go flying off.
Jesse gets his feelings hurt, MaMere sulks, exercises eventually get done, but it takes an emotional toll on Jesse and MaMere.
This daily ritual began again one day with MaMere refusing and Jesse cajoling. MaMere changed her argument though and it proved to be her downfall in the fight against physical therapy. "I'm not doing it, I am watching my damn shows" she yelled as she waved her remote at Jesse. The lightbulb went off in a blinding flash. "Fine," Jesse said as he grabbed the bobbing remote. "When you decide to do your exercises you can have this back." He left her room and hid the remote from her and a standoff ensued. MaMere severely misjudged Jesse's resolve in this matter and after a short time she broke.
"Ok, fine. I'll do the goddamn exercises if I can have my damn remote back," she said, waving a skinny arm at Jesse.
"Mom, this isn't for me, it's for your benefit."
"I just said I'll do it, let's get the damn show on the road. I'm missing my damn shows."
One night Jesse and I were watching TV in the family room. MaMere came out of her room and loudly announced that she is walking laps around the house and will we please give her remote back when she has done enough laps. She stands straight and walks at a fast clip, looking over to make sure we are watching her. "Did you take her remote again?" I asked Jesse. "No, we did exercises earlier, I don't know what she's talking about." A beat later I said "Should we tell her we don't have it?" "Wait until she does ten laps around the house, she needs to walk anyway."
Paybacks are a bitch.
Tuesday, January 17, 2012
I Have a Question
Haven't posted in a few days and I forgot my password to login... I am my mother's daughter after all!
We've had some rough nights with MaMere. She has been particularly restless at night, walking the hallways and coming in and out of everyone's room.
Last night's shenanigans:
Jesse and I are discussing some business matters and in walks MaMere.
"What's up MaMere?"
"I don't know, I had something to tell you and now I can't remember what it was."
"Do you need something? Do you want something to eat or drink?"
"No, but if you keep talking I'll never remember it." Yes, it's my fault she can't remember anything. She shuffles out of our room and down the hall....
90 seconds later we hear the slippers slapping on the tile.
"OK, I need to ask you something before I forget it."
"What's up MaMere?"
"Damn... I just forgot."
"Come back when you remember."
"I will!!"
This time only 60 seconds went by before we hear the slippers slapping on the tile.
"OK, I have a question. What I want to know is... What do I want to know?"
"I don't know MeMere, it's your question."
"Well son of a bitch." She turns around to leave.... But doesn't... In the time it takes her to start back down the hall she thinks that she remembers so she turns back around quickly, which puts her off balance and she almost falls down. "Well shit, I almost broke my damn neck."
"Did you remember what you wanted?"
"Yes, I sure did!"
"Great, what is it?"
The sound of silence and crickets ensues.
"Mamere, why don't you just go relax and see if it comes to you?"
She turns to go and says "That's what I want to do but SOME people are keeping me back here."
"WHAT?.. YOU keep coming back here!"
She looks back with a mischievous grin, "Ha, I got you that time!" she shuffled down the hall cackling.
Dear Lord, give me strength.
We've had some rough nights with MaMere. She has been particularly restless at night, walking the hallways and coming in and out of everyone's room.
Last night's shenanigans:
Jesse and I are discussing some business matters and in walks MaMere.
"What's up MaMere?"
"I don't know, I had something to tell you and now I can't remember what it was."
"Do you need something? Do you want something to eat or drink?"
"No, but if you keep talking I'll never remember it." Yes, it's my fault she can't remember anything. She shuffles out of our room and down the hall....
90 seconds later we hear the slippers slapping on the tile.
"OK, I need to ask you something before I forget it."
"What's up MaMere?"
"Damn... I just forgot."
"Come back when you remember."
"I will!!"
This time only 60 seconds went by before we hear the slippers slapping on the tile.
"OK, I have a question. What I want to know is... What do I want to know?"
"I don't know MeMere, it's your question."
"Well son of a bitch." She turns around to leave.... But doesn't... In the time it takes her to start back down the hall she thinks that she remembers so she turns back around quickly, which puts her off balance and she almost falls down. "Well shit, I almost broke my damn neck."
"Did you remember what you wanted?"
"Yes, I sure did!"
"Great, what is it?"
The sound of silence and crickets ensues.
"Mamere, why don't you just go relax and see if it comes to you?"
She turns to go and says "That's what I want to do but SOME people are keeping me back here."
"WHAT?.. YOU keep coming back here!"
She looks back with a mischievous grin, "Ha, I got you that time!" she shuffled down the hall cackling.
Dear Lord, give me strength.
Friday, January 13, 2012
Who's The President
Today Jesse took MaMere to lunch at Sonic. As he was waiting to pay, he quizzed her about which presidents were on the bills.
"Who is on the $5 bill mom?"
Mom starts thinking about it...
Jesse gives her a hint, "he got shot."
"KENNEDY!"
"No, he was tall and skinny and wore a tall hat."
"Abraham Lincoln!"
"Great, who's on the $1 bill?"
"George Washington!"
"Who's the current President?"
"Ummmmm........ Baaaaraaaaa........ yo mama?"
"You mean Barack Obama??" Jesse says cracking up.
MaMere burst out laughing and says "I guess I shouldn't have said that should I?"
Jesse is still laughing about it tonight. :)
"Who is on the $5 bill mom?"
Mom starts thinking about it...
Jesse gives her a hint, "he got shot."
"KENNEDY!"
"No, he was tall and skinny and wore a tall hat."
"Abraham Lincoln!"
"Great, who's on the $1 bill?"
"George Washington!"
"Who's the current President?"
"Ummmmm........ Baaaaraaaaa........ yo mama?"
"You mean Barack Obama??" Jesse says cracking up.
MaMere burst out laughing and says "I guess I shouldn't have said that should I?"
Jesse is still laughing about it tonight. :)
Thursday, January 12, 2012
Birthday Breakfast
Today we got up very early and took the twins out for a birthday breakfast. My mom gladly got up and got ready to go with us, even if she did curse all the way from the house to the car, the car to the restaurant and all the way back again. It's cold outside and MaMere DOES NOT LIKE COLD. Jesse teased her that we were thinking of moving to Alaska. She didn't find that funny.
Breakfast was nice and I loved having her there with the twins. Had she not been living with us she would have refused to get up and go. But something about being in the house with us has made her far more willing to participate in outings. Not sure why but I am grateful for it. Maybe it's because seeing us everyday makes her want to be with us. Maybe it's because she finds more comfort now in being with at least one of us at all times. Or maybe it's because I control whether or not we keep cable TV in the house and she wants to stay on my good side. Regardless, it's a win-win for us all and some great opportunities to make memories.
Breakfast was nice and I loved having her there with the twins. Had she not been living with us she would have refused to get up and go. But something about being in the house with us has made her far more willing to participate in outings. Not sure why but I am grateful for it. Maybe it's because seeing us everyday makes her want to be with us. Maybe it's because she finds more comfort now in being with at least one of us at all times. Or maybe it's because I control whether or not we keep cable TV in the house and she wants to stay on my good side. Regardless, it's a win-win for us all and some great opportunities to make memories.
Tuesday, January 10, 2012
Where's My Tooth?
My mother was diagnosed with dementia in April of 2009. I know because I was in the middle of my last set of law school exams. I called her on my way home, about 9:00 pm and she did not sound good. My mother has always been a hermit and prone to isolating herself for days at a time. Not answering the phone or the door if she didn't feel like it. She cherished privacy and "goddamn it, if I want to stay up all night and read and sleep all day then I've earned it. I'm retired!" If we didn't hear from her for weeks we considered it normal. She always called eventually.
I had not talked to her for several days, but I knew immediately that things were not right. She was slurring her words and not making sense. "Mom, I'm coming over, I can tell something's not right." "Hell, I'm just old and tired. I don't want anybody coming over. Leave me alone and just let me go."
WHAT? What is that supposed to mean? That was new, she had never said something like that before.
I called Jesse and told him to find someone to come over and stay with the twins because I knew it was going to be a long night.
He and I went over there and thank God I had a key. She was in her recliner, in a haze of cigarette smoke; dirty dishes and old food on the counters. She couldn't even stand up when we came in. Jesse had to carry her to the car. She weighed about 80 pounds. She had forgotten to eat and to take her blood pressure medicine. She looked out at the night and asked me if it was day or night. I asked her who the President was and she said "that actor." I left it alone. That was the last evening she spent at her home.
All night in the ER waiting for tests results. Every few minutes my mom would say "Sharon, I have to ask you something... Where's my tooth?" Her "flapper tooth" was somewhere in her house, it was the least of my worries when I found her. "Mom, it's at your house. We'll get it later."
"OK."
"Sharon, where are we?"
"At the hospital mom."
"OK, but what I really want to know is where's my tooth?"
"At your house, we'll get it later."
"OK."
"Sharon, where's my goddamn tooth?"
"Same place it was 5 minutes ago when you asked."
"Where's that?"
"AT YOUR HOUSE." I am not proud to say that I was not very patient that night. Exams, exhaustion, worry, and fear overrode everything else.
"Why are you yelling? All I want to know is..."
"Don't say it mom."
"... where's my tooth?"
ARGH*%&&%$#**(()^%$$... I said it all inside my head.
This search for the tooth would continue for the next 2 1/2 years because she would lose it contantly. More episodes of "Where's my Tooth" are coming soon. :)
I had not talked to her for several days, but I knew immediately that things were not right. She was slurring her words and not making sense. "Mom, I'm coming over, I can tell something's not right." "Hell, I'm just old and tired. I don't want anybody coming over. Leave me alone and just let me go."
WHAT? What is that supposed to mean? That was new, she had never said something like that before.
I called Jesse and told him to find someone to come over and stay with the twins because I knew it was going to be a long night.
He and I went over there and thank God I had a key. She was in her recliner, in a haze of cigarette smoke; dirty dishes and old food on the counters. She couldn't even stand up when we came in. Jesse had to carry her to the car. She weighed about 80 pounds. She had forgotten to eat and to take her blood pressure medicine. She looked out at the night and asked me if it was day or night. I asked her who the President was and she said "that actor." I left it alone. That was the last evening she spent at her home.
All night in the ER waiting for tests results. Every few minutes my mom would say "Sharon, I have to ask you something... Where's my tooth?" Her "flapper tooth" was somewhere in her house, it was the least of my worries when I found her. "Mom, it's at your house. We'll get it later."
"OK."
"Sharon, where are we?"
"At the hospital mom."
"OK, but what I really want to know is where's my tooth?"
"At your house, we'll get it later."
"OK."
"Sharon, where's my goddamn tooth?"
"Same place it was 5 minutes ago when you asked."
"Where's that?"
"AT YOUR HOUSE." I am not proud to say that I was not very patient that night. Exams, exhaustion, worry, and fear overrode everything else.
"Why are you yelling? All I want to know is..."
"Don't say it mom."
"... where's my tooth?"
ARGH*%&&%$#**(()^%$$... I said it all inside my head.
This search for the tooth would continue for the next 2 1/2 years because she would lose it contantly. More episodes of "Where's my Tooth" are coming soon. :)
Monday, January 9, 2012
This is clarifying...
http://www.alzheimersreadingroom.com/2010/06/whats-difference-between-alzheimers-and.html
Dementia is a symptom of many diseases, including Alzheimers. Alzheimers is a disease that leads to dementia. Not all dementia is caused by Alzheimers but all Alheimers patients have demetia. It's like a logic riddle.
Living with an alzheimers patient results in a lot of logic riddles.
share yours... I want to know what I am in for!
Dementia is a symptom of many diseases, including Alzheimers. Alzheimers is a disease that leads to dementia. Not all dementia is caused by Alzheimers but all Alheimers patients have demetia. It's like a logic riddle.
Living with an alzheimers patient results in a lot of logic riddles.
share yours... I want to know what I am in for!
Aggressive Care- Helpful or Hurtful?
http://well.blogs.nytimes.com/2009/10/19/the-wrong-care-for-dementia-patients/
I just found this article and it outlines what my instincts were about my mother's care. I have not subjected her to aggressive treatment for any number of ancilliary conditions because I have to ask myself if it would be her her benefit or because it would make me feel better.
For example, she is missing a tooth, an incisor. She dropped it out the window of the living facility she was previously at, but that is a different blog article. :) I took her to the dentist for a cleaning and to determine what we should do about the tooth. There are a couple of other issues with her teeth that are too boring to go into, but the bottom line is that she could get an implant, or a flapper. An implant requires the tooth next to the missing one to be pulled and a rod implanted into her upper jaw. The dentist asked me why I wanted to do it because it would cause her a lot of pain, she won't understand why she is in pain, and she is at risk for heart complications because she has a stent in her heart and an infection in her gums will not be a good thing. Plus, she will stop eating for several days due to the pain and she only weighs 90 pounds dripping wet. A flapper would likely be lost within a day and I worry about the choking hazard.
So I had to ask myself is it worth the suffering? She can eat just fine, and her teeth are very clean for a woman her age with dementia. We are very diligent about oral hygiene in the Diaz house :) I have decided that it is not worth the risks and the suffering. But there are people who do not agree with me. That's fine, I respect that. But I am with her everyday and when she is in pain from muscle aches in her legs it is very difficult for her to process that. She is mostly id now (had to get a Freudian reference in there at some point) and is like a child in pain. So why would I want to create more pain for her when it is not necessary? I appreciate the dentist forcing me to think about the reasons for subjecting her to that instead of just taking the money and doing it anyway. I hope that other doctors we come across during this process will be as honest with me about whether a treatment is for her benefit or for my conscience.
What similar decisions have you had to make about treatment vs. no treatment? Please share.
Sharon
I just found this article and it outlines what my instincts were about my mother's care. I have not subjected her to aggressive treatment for any number of ancilliary conditions because I have to ask myself if it would be her her benefit or because it would make me feel better.
For example, she is missing a tooth, an incisor. She dropped it out the window of the living facility she was previously at, but that is a different blog article. :) I took her to the dentist for a cleaning and to determine what we should do about the tooth. There are a couple of other issues with her teeth that are too boring to go into, but the bottom line is that she could get an implant, or a flapper. An implant requires the tooth next to the missing one to be pulled and a rod implanted into her upper jaw. The dentist asked me why I wanted to do it because it would cause her a lot of pain, she won't understand why she is in pain, and she is at risk for heart complications because she has a stent in her heart and an infection in her gums will not be a good thing. Plus, she will stop eating for several days due to the pain and she only weighs 90 pounds dripping wet. A flapper would likely be lost within a day and I worry about the choking hazard.
So I had to ask myself is it worth the suffering? She can eat just fine, and her teeth are very clean for a woman her age with dementia. We are very diligent about oral hygiene in the Diaz house :) I have decided that it is not worth the risks and the suffering. But there are people who do not agree with me. That's fine, I respect that. But I am with her everyday and when she is in pain from muscle aches in her legs it is very difficult for her to process that. She is mostly id now (had to get a Freudian reference in there at some point) and is like a child in pain. So why would I want to create more pain for her when it is not necessary? I appreciate the dentist forcing me to think about the reasons for subjecting her to that instead of just taking the money and doing it anyway. I hope that other doctors we come across during this process will be as honest with me about whether a treatment is for her benefit or for my conscience.
What similar decisions have you had to make about treatment vs. no treatment? Please share.
Sharon
Sunday, January 8, 2012
Two Can Play This Game
Although my mom is afraid of the strangers in the mirror, she gives as good as she gets and she loves to find new ways to scare the crap out of the rest of us. She shuffles away cackling at her cleverness and we are left clutching our chests.
A few nights ago the twins and Jesse were watching Halloween (the original with Jamie Lee Curtis) and my mom snuck up behind Jesse's recliner. Laurel saw her and my mom put her finger to her lips to tell her to be quiet. Then she reached down and touched Jesse's cheek. He came out of his skin and his eyes were big as saucers. He managed to avoid screaming like a little girl but turned the light on for the rest of the movie. My mother shuffled away, cackling with glee.
On almost a daily basis my mother manages to bring me to the edge of a heart attack. She makes NO SOUND as she moves around the house without her slippers. At least with her slippers on I can hear them flapping on the tile. But in socks she is like a stealth tracker. She will stand just outside of my door in the dark, with her pale white skin and her long blond hair, and wait for me to catch her in my peripheral vision. I never fail to jump out of my skin and scream at the top of my lungs. I grab my chest and tell her that I am going to die of a heart attack in the near future. She shuffles away, cackling as loud as she can.
Lest you think this is just the dementia causing her to be mischevious, this is the same woman who would take great delight in going to Spencer's Gifts and buying joke materials for my brother and I; garlic gum, cigarette explosives, fake vomit.... Her favorite was to buy a can of fart spray and wait for the hilarity to ensue.
She and my brother would roam the mall scouting for the perfect victims. The most likely victims were mothers with young children. A quick squirt would result in every child having their pants checked for an "accident." But her favorites were young couples. She would slip up behind them for a quick spray then walk away and laugh herself silly as the victims looked at each other trying to figure out if the other one just farted. I often wonder how many dating couples broke up after that, thinking that the other was a gaseous troll.
This morning I had an opportunity for pay back. I heard her moving around in her room at the front of the house. I went to the privacy curtain that Jesse hung up in the open doorway and I jerked it back and yelled "WHAT'S GOING ON IN HERE??" My mom jumped out of her skin and said "You just scared the PISS out of me!" Then her face lit up and she cackled with glee.... Some things never change. :)
A few nights ago the twins and Jesse were watching Halloween (the original with Jamie Lee Curtis) and my mom snuck up behind Jesse's recliner. Laurel saw her and my mom put her finger to her lips to tell her to be quiet. Then she reached down and touched Jesse's cheek. He came out of his skin and his eyes were big as saucers. He managed to avoid screaming like a little girl but turned the light on for the rest of the movie. My mother shuffled away, cackling with glee.
On almost a daily basis my mother manages to bring me to the edge of a heart attack. She makes NO SOUND as she moves around the house without her slippers. At least with her slippers on I can hear them flapping on the tile. But in socks she is like a stealth tracker. She will stand just outside of my door in the dark, with her pale white skin and her long blond hair, and wait for me to catch her in my peripheral vision. I never fail to jump out of my skin and scream at the top of my lungs. I grab my chest and tell her that I am going to die of a heart attack in the near future. She shuffles away, cackling as loud as she can.
Lest you think this is just the dementia causing her to be mischevious, this is the same woman who would take great delight in going to Spencer's Gifts and buying joke materials for my brother and I; garlic gum, cigarette explosives, fake vomit.... Her favorite was to buy a can of fart spray and wait for the hilarity to ensue.
She and my brother would roam the mall scouting for the perfect victims. The most likely victims were mothers with young children. A quick squirt would result in every child having their pants checked for an "accident." But her favorites were young couples. She would slip up behind them for a quick spray then walk away and laugh herself silly as the victims looked at each other trying to figure out if the other one just farted. I often wonder how many dating couples broke up after that, thinking that the other was a gaseous troll.
This morning I had an opportunity for pay back. I heard her moving around in her room at the front of the house. I went to the privacy curtain that Jesse hung up in the open doorway and I jerked it back and yelled "WHAT'S GOING ON IN HERE??" My mom jumped out of her skin and said "You just scared the PISS out of me!" Then her face lit up and she cackled with glee.... Some things never change. :)
Friday, January 6, 2012
Strangers in the Mirror
We have a large mirror at the end of the hallway that leads to the bedrooms and the bathroom. Sitting in front of the mirror is a small table with some pictures on it. The first few days after moving in my mom would stop in the hallway and say "What is down there?" or "Why is that table in the middle of the hallway, it's blocking the way." I explained that the table was against a mirror and the hallway ends at the mirror. She looked skeptical, but stopped asking about it for a few days.
Yesterday Jesse found her in the hallway, talking to the mirror. "Who you talking to Mom?"
"I'm talking to Sharon but she won't answer me back, she just stares at me."
"Mom, that's you. Sharon is at work. Come closer and you will see it's a mirror attached to the wall."
She remained unconvinced.
Tonight she started down the hall to go to the bathroom and quickly ducked back into the living room. "Sharon! Come here quick." I knew what was coming... "what's wrong Mom?"
"Look down there" she whispered. I stepped into the hallway.
"Yes, it's my reflection. That's a mirror."
"Shhhh, keep looking." Then she stepped into the hallway beside me. "See, that's me! It freaks me out."
What a frightening experience for her, thinking that there is a hallway that leads to a secret area of the house, where women stare at you and don't answer you when you speak to them. Then to realize that the woman at the other end is you. It is disconcerting to realize that normal everyday items could become frightening. But if I think about how prominent mirrors are in horror movies and how they are used by children in darkened bathrooms to scare the beejeezus out of each other, I can see why it would scare someone who is trying to process a new reality everyday. However she is not frightened by the mirror in the bathroom.
I am now in bed with MaMere, typing this blog while she tries to forget the strangers in the mirror... The mirror will be coming down tomorrow but I think there will be many more opportunities to see our ordinary household items in a brand new way.
What similar experiences have you had with your loved ones? What household items have become sources of fear, wonder, or puzzlement? Please share.
Thanks,
Sharon
Yesterday Jesse found her in the hallway, talking to the mirror. "Who you talking to Mom?"
"I'm talking to Sharon but she won't answer me back, she just stares at me."
"Mom, that's you. Sharon is at work. Come closer and you will see it's a mirror attached to the wall."
She remained unconvinced.
Tonight she started down the hall to go to the bathroom and quickly ducked back into the living room. "Sharon! Come here quick." I knew what was coming... "what's wrong Mom?"
"Look down there" she whispered. I stepped into the hallway.
"Yes, it's my reflection. That's a mirror."
"Shhhh, keep looking." Then she stepped into the hallway beside me. "See, that's me! It freaks me out."
What a frightening experience for her, thinking that there is a hallway that leads to a secret area of the house, where women stare at you and don't answer you when you speak to them. Then to realize that the woman at the other end is you. It is disconcerting to realize that normal everyday items could become frightening. But if I think about how prominent mirrors are in horror movies and how they are used by children in darkened bathrooms to scare the beejeezus out of each other, I can see why it would scare someone who is trying to process a new reality everyday. However she is not frightened by the mirror in the bathroom.
I am now in bed with MaMere, typing this blog while she tries to forget the strangers in the mirror... The mirror will be coming down tomorrow but I think there will be many more opportunities to see our ordinary household items in a brand new way.
What similar experiences have you had with your loved ones? What household items have become sources of fear, wonder, or puzzlement? Please share.
Thanks,
Sharon
Thursday, January 5, 2012
Fireflies in January
A few nights ago Jesse opened the front door and locked the glass door so we would see our daughter when she was dropped off after spending some time with a friend. This way we could see the car pull up but MaMere couldn't wander out. She was standing at the glass door looking out at the neighborhood. Later, as I tucked her in to bed she whispered into my ear "I saw fireflies tonight, did you see them?" "No, where were they?" I thought maybe she had seen them on TV. "Outside, when I looked out the door. They are all over the place."
I went to the door and looked out. I didn't see them at first... then I realized that the neighborhood was full of little electric "fireflies" twinking in the trees and along the roofs... White, red, blue, gold, green, and silver fireflies decorating the yards and houses.
What a gift this new perspective is. I will no longer see Christmas lights, I will see a rainbow of fireflies.
I went to the door and looked out. I didn't see them at first... then I realized that the neighborhood was full of little electric "fireflies" twinking in the trees and along the roofs... White, red, blue, gold, green, and silver fireflies decorating the yards and houses.
What a gift this new perspective is. I will no longer see Christmas lights, I will see a rainbow of fireflies.
Wednesday, January 4, 2012
Why Is It So Damn Cold In Here?
Apparently dementia affects more than just memory. I have never in my life had my thermostat yo-yo up and down as much as it has in the past few weeks with my mom here.
"Mom, I have to get out of here, I cannot breathe in this humidity and heat."
She processes exactly two temperatures; extreme hot and extreme cold. But she can't just say, "I'm hot" or "I'm cold." That would be too easy and leaves out too many curse words. It's never chilly, cool, nippy, frosty, or brisk and it's never warm, toasty, stuffy or hot. Those words would be far too ordinary and not worthy of MaMere's colorful vocabulary. Shower time is an opportunity for her to describe both extremes at the same time.
There is a whole procedure to shower time. We don't have an air conditioner/heater vent in our bathroom so I put a space heater on full blast and shut the door about 15 minutes before shower time. I run the hot water ahead of time to get a good head of steam going and to heat up the shower seat. I put towels all over the floor so the she doesn't feel the cold tile under her feet. Three towels are available, one for her hair, one to wrap around her shoulders and one to actually dry her off with. PJ's are on the counter ready to be put on.
The minute she walks into the bathroom it begins…"Damn it's freezing in here." As I help her undress she settles into a litany of complaints…
"Jesus Christ, why does it have to be so cold in here?"
"Mom, raise your arms so I can get your shirt off."
"Goddamn it, you're trying to freeze me to death."
"Yes, I am trying to freeze you to death, now you know. Step out of your pants."
"Can't you do something about getting some damn heat in here?"
"The heater is on full blast mom, step into the tub."
"AHHHHHHH, that damn shower seat is cold; I don't know why you want to torture me with these damn showers. Everyone knows I don't sweat, can't I just take a hooker's bath?"
"No you can't, it wouldn't be nearly as fun for me."
"It’s colder than a well digger's ass in here!"
By the time she is dried and dressed the bathroom is like a swamp. The heater is still blowing full blast and the hot shower has made the room a humid mess. I am sweaty and irritable. She won't leave until she has her socks and shoes completely on and she is moving slower than cold molasses.
"Well of course you can't, it's hotter than the hubs of hell in here, open that damn door."
Sharon
Sharon
Tuesday, January 3, 2012
Can I get a damn Diet Coke?
My mom has smoked for almost 55 years so when she moved into my house she constantly asked for cigars. Not cigarettes, cigars. Apparently some other dementia patient told her that cigars were healthier for her than cigarettes. "Healthier than not smoking?" I asked her. "Shut up" she replied.
After a few days she forgot that she wanted to smoke and turned her addiction to Diet Coke. She has always liked Diet Coke, but took it to a whole new level. All day long she wanted Diet Coke. She went through a 12 pack in 2 days so I had to put a stop to that nonsense.
We put 2 Diet Cokes in the fridge each day and when they are gone, they're gone. Two more magically appear the next day from my secret hiding place. Yes, I take pride in having outsmarted MaMere, as she says "Hell, I'm just crazy, not stupid."
MaMere can't just ask for a Diet Coke, she has to say "Can I get a damn Diet Coke?" In her mind the three words go together.
"Mom, do you have to curse, can't you just ask for a Diet Coke?"
"Well hell, I'm not cursing I just want a Coke."
"Mom, hell is a curse word."
"No, hell is where you're going if you don't get me a damn Diet Coke!"
Noted.
Sharon
After a few days she forgot that she wanted to smoke and turned her addiction to Diet Coke. She has always liked Diet Coke, but took it to a whole new level. All day long she wanted Diet Coke. She went through a 12 pack in 2 days so I had to put a stop to that nonsense.
We put 2 Diet Cokes in the fridge each day and when they are gone, they're gone. Two more magically appear the next day from my secret hiding place. Yes, I take pride in having outsmarted MaMere, as she says "Hell, I'm just crazy, not stupid."
MaMere can't just ask for a Diet Coke, she has to say "Can I get a damn Diet Coke?" In her mind the three words go together.
"Mom, do you have to curse, can't you just ask for a Diet Coke?"
"Well hell, I'm not cursing I just want a Coke."
"Mom, hell is a curse word."
"No, hell is where you're going if you don't get me a damn Diet Coke!"
Noted.
Sharon
Monday, January 2, 2012
Where you at?
This blog in not meant to be a medical resource, this is a place for experiences to be shared. A safe place for families dealing with Alzheimer's and dementia patients to read and share their own experiences. My family uses humor, albeit sometimes irreverant, to deal with the journey we are taking. My mom, MaMere, hates to be patronized and she makes fun of this terrible disease that is invading her reality. If you can't beat it, make it your bitch, that's my mom's philosophy. She is aware that I am writing this blog and wants others to laugh at the "forgetness disease" like we do. She calls it "The Forgetness Disease" as in "Sharon, what's the name of this damn forgetness disease I have?" MaMere cusses like a sailor, so if you are offended by bad language this may not be the blog for you.
I recently moved my mother into my home because her dementia has reached a point where she can no longer live in an independent living center. The feared moment came and went without the fanfare and drama that I expected. It came so fast that there was no time to fear it and no time for drama.
This new phase started with a phone call from the living center. MaMere had fallen trying to get out of bed in the middle of the night and didn't have the strength to get back in bed. I rushed to pick her up and take her to the emergency room. An ambulance ride is pure torture for a dementia patient and since she was in no immediate danger I opted to pick her up and take her myself.
Six hours and multiple tests later the verdict was in: MaMere did not have a stroke or a heart attack. Yea! Her sodium was low, which usually causes my mom to be more confused and very weak. She could leave the hospital, but only if she went home with someone. She was no longer able to live alone. My choices were to leave her at the hospital and try to find a more intensive care facility for her or to move her to my home sooner than expected. She and I had talked about this eventuality and she had always said she didn't want to ever have to live with her kids. She didn't want to have to depend on us. But as the reality of what the doctor said hung in the air, she turned her head and said "I want to go with you. I sure as hell don't want to stay here." Decision made.
My daughters bunked together as I temporarily settled MaMere into a pink and green "Hello Kitty Meets Shrek" room. My husband shifted into high gear and began turning the front dining room, which was a place for us to pile more crap anyway, into a mother-in-law suite. The timing worked because it was the week before Christmas, my kids were out of school for break and my niece came for a few days from college so we had a team of healthy teenagers to do the heavy lifting. MaMere's entire room at the living center was packed up, moved, and unpacked at my house in two days.
Unpacking her things was an adventure in itself. With MaMere's supervision we separated what to keep and what to give to charity. Sixteen purses stayed... 5 large boxes of books went. "I've read all those damn books and I don't read things twice." Fair enough.
It has been three weeks and we are still reminding MaMere which way the bathroom is. Sometimes she thinks that she is still at the living center and that we all moved in there with her. To check her mental status I will randomly ask her where she is. She's a wily one and she will quickly shoot back, "well, I'm right here!"
On New Year's Eve we were all watching movies together and waiting for midnight. MaMere hung in there with us and toasted the new year with sparking apple cider, complete with a Hot Tamale candy in it to make it pink. As is my habit now I asked her "where you at MaMere?" "I'm right here" she answered. I pushed it further, "where is "here" MaMere?" "I don't really give a damn where "here" is, as long as I'm with my family."
Happy New Year!
I recently moved my mother into my home because her dementia has reached a point where she can no longer live in an independent living center. The feared moment came and went without the fanfare and drama that I expected. It came so fast that there was no time to fear it and no time for drama.
This new phase started with a phone call from the living center. MaMere had fallen trying to get out of bed in the middle of the night and didn't have the strength to get back in bed. I rushed to pick her up and take her to the emergency room. An ambulance ride is pure torture for a dementia patient and since she was in no immediate danger I opted to pick her up and take her myself.
Six hours and multiple tests later the verdict was in: MaMere did not have a stroke or a heart attack. Yea! Her sodium was low, which usually causes my mom to be more confused and very weak. She could leave the hospital, but only if she went home with someone. She was no longer able to live alone. My choices were to leave her at the hospital and try to find a more intensive care facility for her or to move her to my home sooner than expected. She and I had talked about this eventuality and she had always said she didn't want to ever have to live with her kids. She didn't want to have to depend on us. But as the reality of what the doctor said hung in the air, she turned her head and said "I want to go with you. I sure as hell don't want to stay here." Decision made.
My daughters bunked together as I temporarily settled MaMere into a pink and green "Hello Kitty Meets Shrek" room. My husband shifted into high gear and began turning the front dining room, which was a place for us to pile more crap anyway, into a mother-in-law suite. The timing worked because it was the week before Christmas, my kids were out of school for break and my niece came for a few days from college so we had a team of healthy teenagers to do the heavy lifting. MaMere's entire room at the living center was packed up, moved, and unpacked at my house in two days.
Unpacking her things was an adventure in itself. With MaMere's supervision we separated what to keep and what to give to charity. Sixteen purses stayed... 5 large boxes of books went. "I've read all those damn books and I don't read things twice." Fair enough.
It has been three weeks and we are still reminding MaMere which way the bathroom is. Sometimes she thinks that she is still at the living center and that we all moved in there with her. To check her mental status I will randomly ask her where she is. She's a wily one and she will quickly shoot back, "well, I'm right here!"
On New Year's Eve we were all watching movies together and waiting for midnight. MaMere hung in there with us and toasted the new year with sparking apple cider, complete with a Hot Tamale candy in it to make it pink. As is my habit now I asked her "where you at MaMere?" "I'm right here" she answered. I pushed it further, "where is "here" MaMere?" "I don't really give a damn where "here" is, as long as I'm with my family."
Happy New Year!
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