5:42 a.m.

I hadn't realized that life with an aging parent whose life is so precarious, makes MY life so unsettled.  Ups and Downs, ups and downs.  Yesterday, after a third day of witnessing Mom's confusion (even about navigating a coffee cup), I plopped down at my own kitchen table, so disappointed that the mom who'd seemed to be recovering remarkably well, had suddenly backtracked; she appeared mystified by simple daily life. The previous hour when I'd visited Mom at her apartment, she'd announced the need to use the bathroom.  After coaching her and the walker into the bathroom, she lingered in the middle of the room and asked, "Now what?"  Ugh.

Silence at the kitchen table.  My husband and the cribbage board in front of me, I don't focus on the hand dealt.  Silence as my mom's life overtakes my own.  Silence.  I don't want noise or commotion of any kind.  I've already separated the dog and cat after their raucous behavior has unnerved me.  I've poured myself a glass of wine.  I've accepted my husband's bid to a card game.  But I'm not present.  I'm off in "now what?" land, thinking about Mom.

After nearly 37 years of marriage, my husband knows when to ask questions and when not to.  He lets me contemplate things a bit as we play one of our twice daily (sometimes thrice daily) cribbage games.  His initial 28 points in the first hand gives him a jump start.  I lag behind with 6.  But this doesn't faze me.  I'm losing another battle right now--one with my mom's clarity.

As is often the case, I eventually put words to my silence and apparent travail, and I share how my mood's plummeted following evidence of Mom's abrupt confusion. I tell my husband how the staff has told me Mom's even has issues feeding herself. I explain that if this lack of clarity continues or intensifies, she's going to need another facility to handle her.  More decisions.  More upheaval.  A heavy burden.

Whether it's the wine or simply sharing my issues, my mood begins to lift, and it lifts further as I perform a surprise come-form-behind attack and usurp victory from my husband's grasp.  I win the cribbage game as he's poised in the "stink hole," one more point giving him a victory.  I prevail.  My ruminating over Mom's situation takes a back seat, and I'm able to prepare dinner, clean the kitchen, read, then watch a Danish crime show on TV.

Sleep comes easily, but the early hours find me waking, find me praying for Mom and for her confusion to end.

BAM!  The answer jolts me.  Why hadn't I thought of it earlier?  I'm so excited I nearly call the nurse on the spot.  How silly of me not to have recognized it immediately!  I think of the obvious confusion, but then attach the two bathroom visits in an hour to the mix and voila--badder infection!!!

In the past Mom has suffered from these infections that curiously affect her orientation.  After returning to the apartment, I'd suggested she wear disposable underwear, but now with no accidents, we'd just returned to regular nylon underwear.  However…the effect of the Depends might now be revealing itself.

I look at my clock as I lie in bed.  5:42 am.   All sleep is gone.  Time for coffee.  Time to text the staff at Mom's apartment. They need to collect morning urine for analysis.   Time to notify the nurse, the world--Just a bladder infection!