Saturday, July 22, 2006
This afternoon provided the perfect examples...
...to illustrate what I mean when I say that bringing her anemia under control has alleviated the grip of her dementia a little but she remains disabled by her dementia, nonetheless.
Mom was, indeed, not much for doing anything, including playing Sorry or Brain Age so, after her breakfast we watched De-Lovely and half of All That Jazz. By that time I could tell that her back was bothering her (not unusual in this kind of weather). She was shifting awkwardly in her rocker every minute or so and trying to hold herself in a comfortable position by propping herself askew with her right arm against the arm of the rocker. I suggested an adult buffered aspirin and a short nap (it was, by that time, 2000), after which I'd fix supper and we'd continue with the movie. After a short argument over both the aspirin, she hates to take medication, and the nap, she felt it was too late to take a nap, I won by assuring her that I would awaken her in an hour if she wasn't already up and telling her it was silly to prolong physical torture when the relief was benign.
She did, indeed, awaken on her own, a few minutes before 2100. I met her in the bathroom. Her first words were, "Do you know where [her dead brother] is working, now?"
"Well," I said, "since he's been dead for almost thirty years, I know he's either tuning harps or shoveling coal, but that's as specific as I can be."
I busied myself at the sink, watching peripherally as her face registered the usual "Dead Again" shock, then relax as she pulled the proper references out of her trunk of jumbled memories. The process took maybe a minute. Once she'd composed herself in the tricky present, she said, wryly, "Probably shoveling coal."
I laughed. Her irreverence always tickles me.
"What's his wife doing, then?" she asked.
I could see that she was struggling to remember what her name was. She often has trouble recalling this woman's name because she didn't like her, despite the fact that she compassionately took her under her wing and kept an eye on her until she died. "[She's] dead, too, Mom. You were the executrix of her will."
"Hmmm..." she said, not registering any particular type of adjustment to this information, "well, that's too bad, but she's probably better off. She was so hard to please."
Just for "fun", I decided to set up a possible discussion of their family, which included a son and around whom one of the more delightful and nefarious family scandals swirled. She remembered none of it. As I slowly filled in the details, each offered after questioning her about her memories, I discovered that she recalled none of this, including the son's existence. She was, however, primed for the details and lapped each up with that perverted glee typical of humanity's gossipy interest in the darker side of life.
Once I'd settled her in the living room with the last episode of M*A*S*H and told her I was going to prepare dinner, then we'd finish the movie, she fixed me with one of her "I know something you don't know" looks and said, "You've forgotten, haven't you."
I immediately knew to what she was referring. "Dinner at Denny's, right?"
"We were going to do that tonight."
I sat down on the couch. "Yeah, Mom, I didn't forget. It just didn't work out for today. You were sluggish, so was I, we got so involved in the movies we didn't get around to doing your hair, and then your back started bothering you. I'm sorry I didn't mention it. I wasn't trying to pull one over on you." I wasn't. I figured, though, that, as was true a month or so ago, she'd forgotten that she'd suggested, last night, that we go to Denny's for dinner tonight and I'd agreed, and I wouldn't have to worry about negating it for tonight...I could get away with bringing it up for tomorrow as a new idea. No such luck, though, now that she's running around with 450 mg of Niferex-150 coursing through her system every day.
She wasn't disappointed. She just pushed me to the wall and exacted a promise from me that we'd go tomorrow, "regardless".
Then, as we watched the last half of All That Jazz, during Joe Gideon's death production she turned to me and said, "I've always liked this part."
What is startling about this is that, although she's seen the movie maybe four times since I've come to live with her, earlier this afternoon during the first half she said, "This is very interesting. I'm glad you rented this movie," indicating to me that she didn't remember seeing it previously. I didn't correct her.
So, it looks like our life is going to rock, again. Her mental plates are readjusting to accommodate the increase of oxygen to her brain, which means that it will be anybody's guess what she's going to remember and what will remain buried under all the other treasures in her brain. As well, since her interest in eating out is perking up, I'm hopeful that she'll want to do this, again, at least once a week: Getting out, people watching, being waited on, eating food cooked in hidden kitchens with different techniques and ingredients...I'm thinking maybe she'll even be interested in going on errands, again, getting a little exercise, maybe doing some window shopping; all activities in which she used to love to indulge. We'll take it slow, of course, and I'll follow her lead. I'll let her call the shots, as usual, on how much she sleeps (which hasn't changed since she began taking the extra iron) and whether any particular day seems right for movement. She's going to need some time to build her strength (although she typically snaps back like a rubber band...I'm hoping this remains the case). I've learned my lesson, over and over again, about pushing her. Both of our lives work better when I follow her lead.
I was thinking about something else, today, too, regarding for whom and why I am doing this...taking care of my mother. Hmmm...as I sit here and try to figure out how to express it I'm realizing that I'm not quite "there" as far as lingualizing it is concerned. I'll save that for another day. Maybe tomorrow, then again, tomorrow I'm slated to be both Mom's hot date and her lady-in-waiting as she prepares for her date, so I might not get around to it until...
....later.
"Sleep tight. Don't let the bedbugs bite," she said to me as she was retiring. I can't tell you how long it's been since she's tossed out this tidbit. As I think over the last 12+ years of our lived-together life and the constant surprises of her declines and revivals, I'm overcome with gratitude that she's still here; and that I'm with her. Life is just so damned amazing.
Mom was, indeed, not much for doing anything, including playing Sorry or Brain Age so, after her breakfast we watched De-Lovely and half of All That Jazz. By that time I could tell that her back was bothering her (not unusual in this kind of weather). She was shifting awkwardly in her rocker every minute or so and trying to hold herself in a comfortable position by propping herself askew with her right arm against the arm of the rocker. I suggested an adult buffered aspirin and a short nap (it was, by that time, 2000), after which I'd fix supper and we'd continue with the movie. After a short argument over both the aspirin, she hates to take medication, and the nap, she felt it was too late to take a nap, I won by assuring her that I would awaken her in an hour if she wasn't already up and telling her it was silly to prolong physical torture when the relief was benign.
She did, indeed, awaken on her own, a few minutes before 2100. I met her in the bathroom. Her first words were, "Do you know where [her dead brother] is working, now?"
"Well," I said, "since he's been dead for almost thirty years, I know he's either tuning harps or shoveling coal, but that's as specific as I can be."
I busied myself at the sink, watching peripherally as her face registered the usual "Dead Again" shock, then relax as she pulled the proper references out of her trunk of jumbled memories. The process took maybe a minute. Once she'd composed herself in the tricky present, she said, wryly, "Probably shoveling coal."
I laughed. Her irreverence always tickles me.
"What's his wife doing, then?" she asked.
I could see that she was struggling to remember what her name was. She often has trouble recalling this woman's name because she didn't like her, despite the fact that she compassionately took her under her wing and kept an eye on her until she died. "[She's] dead, too, Mom. You were the executrix of her will."
"Hmmm..." she said, not registering any particular type of adjustment to this information, "well, that's too bad, but she's probably better off. She was so hard to please."
Just for "fun", I decided to set up a possible discussion of their family, which included a son and around whom one of the more delightful and nefarious family scandals swirled. She remembered none of it. As I slowly filled in the details, each offered after questioning her about her memories, I discovered that she recalled none of this, including the son's existence. She was, however, primed for the details and lapped each up with that perverted glee typical of humanity's gossipy interest in the darker side of life.
Once I'd settled her in the living room with the last episode of M*A*S*H and told her I was going to prepare dinner, then we'd finish the movie, she fixed me with one of her "I know something you don't know" looks and said, "You've forgotten, haven't you."
I immediately knew to what she was referring. "Dinner at Denny's, right?"
"We were going to do that tonight."
I sat down on the couch. "Yeah, Mom, I didn't forget. It just didn't work out for today. You were sluggish, so was I, we got so involved in the movies we didn't get around to doing your hair, and then your back started bothering you. I'm sorry I didn't mention it. I wasn't trying to pull one over on you." I wasn't. I figured, though, that, as was true a month or so ago, she'd forgotten that she'd suggested, last night, that we go to Denny's for dinner tonight and I'd agreed, and I wouldn't have to worry about negating it for tonight...I could get away with bringing it up for tomorrow as a new idea. No such luck, though, now that she's running around with 450 mg of Niferex-150 coursing through her system every day.
She wasn't disappointed. She just pushed me to the wall and exacted a promise from me that we'd go tomorrow, "regardless".
Then, as we watched the last half of All That Jazz, during Joe Gideon's death production she turned to me and said, "I've always liked this part."
What is startling about this is that, although she's seen the movie maybe four times since I've come to live with her, earlier this afternoon during the first half she said, "This is very interesting. I'm glad you rented this movie," indicating to me that she didn't remember seeing it previously. I didn't correct her.
So, it looks like our life is going to rock, again. Her mental plates are readjusting to accommodate the increase of oxygen to her brain, which means that it will be anybody's guess what she's going to remember and what will remain buried under all the other treasures in her brain. As well, since her interest in eating out is perking up, I'm hopeful that she'll want to do this, again, at least once a week: Getting out, people watching, being waited on, eating food cooked in hidden kitchens with different techniques and ingredients...I'm thinking maybe she'll even be interested in going on errands, again, getting a little exercise, maybe doing some window shopping; all activities in which she used to love to indulge. We'll take it slow, of course, and I'll follow her lead. I'll let her call the shots, as usual, on how much she sleeps (which hasn't changed since she began taking the extra iron) and whether any particular day seems right for movement. She's going to need some time to build her strength (although she typically snaps back like a rubber band...I'm hoping this remains the case). I've learned my lesson, over and over again, about pushing her. Both of our lives work better when I follow her lead.
I was thinking about something else, today, too, regarding for whom and why I am doing this...taking care of my mother. Hmmm...as I sit here and try to figure out how to express it I'm realizing that I'm not quite "there" as far as lingualizing it is concerned. I'll save that for another day. Maybe tomorrow, then again, tomorrow I'm slated to be both Mom's hot date and her lady-in-waiting as she prepares for her date, so I might not get around to it until...
....later.
"Sleep tight. Don't let the bedbugs bite," she said to me as she was retiring. I can't tell you how long it's been since she's tossed out this tidbit. As I think over the last 12+ years of our lived-together life and the constant surprises of her declines and revivals, I'm overcome with gratitude that she's still here; and that I'm with her. Life is just so damned amazing.
