Where To Begin?

Since I seem unable to heave myself up off of the sofa, weighed down as I am by the snow falling outside, the knowledge that I will be shoveling soon and my memories of the last 48 hours, I will be productive and write something.

 

Mom was here for about 24 hours, from Christmas Eve afternoon to mid-morning Christmas Day.  I spent four hours driving on each of those days.  And I'm just a little spent.  More emotionally than physically.

I don't think there'll be any more overnighters for Mom here, given the reality her physical and mental frailties.

I drove to Olney Christmas Eve morning to pick up Mom.  I gathered up a lot of her clothes to bring home with me to launder because she really can't keep track of how often she wears her clothes (sometimes weeks at a time) or when they get washed.  It's just easier to wash everything, every now and again, than it is to try to devise another method.

My sister-in-law, who lives around the corner from Mom, was there and was helpful loading everything into the car and distracting Mom when she became agitated at my throwing all of her stuff into laundry baskets.  Thank you, Connie!  I'm tellin' ya, it takes a village to move a demented person.

Once on the road, Mom was beaming.  She remarked about 50 times what a beautiful day it was.  And it was.  Sunny.  Brilliant blue skies.  We had a peaceful drive down to my place, though, after a while, there was some screaming going on inside my head.

When Mom was living "independently," I spent many nights and days at her house and really had a good sense of her abilities--well, really, inabilities.  I knew for certain, for example, that she wasn't able to cook any longer.  Or safely operate the burners.  Or develop a shopping list.  Or remember to take it with her when we went to the store.  Or, if I gave it to her, to refer to it while shopping.

I knew that she couldn't remember appointments and that she was a sitting duck for anyone who might have wished to take advantage of her.

And I knew that she couldn't reliably pay her bills, balance her checkbook or keep tabs on important papers.

When she was still driving, she got lost.

She invited strangers into her house.

When she lost her car in a parking lot once, she got into a stranger's car which brought her home.

She had stopped reading, sending cards and could no longer follow a TV program.

And I know I don't even need to mention the medications.

Then there was the booze.

So, it was a good thing, a really good thing, when Mom agreed to "try out" assisted living for three months.  Lucky for me, Mom was outgoing and sociable . . . and that she had been attending the Antique Village day program for a while already.

So, she slipped into living at Antique Village pretty seamlessly.  Now, there were no more worries about preparing meals, paying bills, managing medications, dealing with strangers, driving, shopping, laundry, housekeeping.  Anything and everything, really.

What it meant for me, aside from the intense relief from worry, was that Mom's shortcomings were not so evident any longer.  She was not tested so much by her environment.  Or so it seemed.

But here's what I realized about Mom when she stayed overnight with us recently.

Mom was unable to walk up or down stairs, and instead needed to crawl up on all fours and come down sitting on her backside, with me and/or Tony "spotting" her.

On Christmas Eve afternoon, she looked all around our living room, then looked at me and asked, "Am I at Antique Village?"

When I was helping her put on her nightclothes, I discovered a softball-sized bruise on her upper arm, but she couldn't tell me how she got it or even that it bothered her in any way.  (I took a picture of it and sent it to the social services director at Antique Village.)

That night, I heard her moving about with her walker, so I went upstairs to check on her.  I opened the bedroom door and found her making her way to the bathroom (for about the 50th time that day).  She looked at me and said, "Who are you?"

She continued to be disoriented throughout the night, and in the morning told me that she didn't feel well and wanted to go back to Antique Village.

I finished her laundry, applied name tags to some new clothing, packed everything up and got her and all her stuff loaded into the car.

As we pulled away from our house, she asked me why I was taking her back to Antique Village.

 Then she repeatedly tried to engage me in a bizarre discussion about what we were going to tell the Antique Village staff about why I was bringing her back there.  She wanted to make sure we "had our stories straight."

And she is not eating very much at all.  (I received a call from Antique Village a few weeks ago letting me know that Mom has been losing weight.)

Mom is fighting a losing battle with Alzheimer's for control of her mind, and she knows it.  She struggles so hard to maintain some sense of normalcy, mostly through repeating the same conversations and stories, over and over.  It breaks my heart.

For quite some time now, since she moved into Antique Village, I been muddling along, adjusting to the new norm of weekly visits, lunches out (always at the same place and always the same dish for Mom), drives in the country, errand-running and the same old conversations and stories, week after week.

I haven't intentionally turned a blind eye to Mom's continuing deterioration, but it just hasn't been as evident as it used to be when she lived at home.

I guess I learned this Christmas that, with Alzheimer's, any new norm is not a norm at all, but just another stop along the way.

 
Mom loved the Christmas tree.  She told me so about 50 times.

Comments

[Karenth49]

Thank you, Anne.
From somewhere fuzzy and deep down, your Mother thanks you, too. I imagine she thanks Tony, as well, and Connie. In that same distant core, she does remember that it takes a village, and that you are her loving, giving peeps.

[Miz S]

Christ. I don't think my siblings and I really have any idea about what lies ahead for my mom. This gives me a little sad and scary glimpse.

You're a good daughter, Anne. You know that.

[Pam Jones]

I've read this post several times and it doesn't get any easier. Such a miserable disease. Today's New York Times has the first of two (more?) pieces on Alzheimer's. It's actually quite uplifting, if that word can even be used in the same paragraph with "Alzheimer's." In case you haven't seen it, here's a link (not to the Times but to someone who kindly put it on his blog).
http://mhorvichcares.blogspot.com/2011/01/from-new-york-times.html
You'll recognize yourself a lot in the article. And I hope it makes you appreciate even more how important you are in your mother's life.

[Miz S]

Damn, girl, where are you? Everything okay?