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!