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.
Tuesday, January 17, 2012
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!
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)