You SHOULD...

OK, so as the daughter living in the same town as her parents, I'm increasingly aware of those who feel the daughter SHOULD do various things for her parents.  When Dad was still alive and driving, I received a letter (unsigned) that implored me to keep my dad from driving.  The writer even included an article of an older gentleman who'd caused an accident as if to say, don't let this happen to your dad.  What that anonymous person didn't realize is that I had no influence over my dad and his driving, mostly because my mother wouldn't allow meddling in such matters. Then there was the comment made to me about my cousin.  An older woman wondered aloud to me why my cousin wasn't moving in with her folks and taking care of them.  Daughter duty, you know.  As if a daughter's life goal should be care for her parents.  Good grief...that a daughter would have a life of her own?    Unthinkable. Many seem to feel what a daughter SHOULD be doing is...

And just today...a friend stopped by to return something I'd loaned her.  She remarked how nice it was to see my mom at church and how "wonderful it would be in these last years of your mom's life to see you sitting next to her in church."  Well, let's just tighten the guilt knot a bit more.  The last thing I want is to be in charge of her at church, too.

So I guess there are those who want to toss the SHOULD noose.  I'm still avoiding it.

Christmas Card Craziness

OK, so last year at this time Mom was recovering from a broken sacrum.  She was in pain and gutting through each day in rehab.  Hence, no Christmas letters were sent out as I'd helped her do in the past. However this year...well, let's just say we're trying.  First compose the letter ("I don't really know what to say...") and then review the recipient list ("Hmmm.  I can't say I remember who that is...").  What was easy to do was find a few photos, jot down a few facts about the family, and send it all to the printer.  Then compose address labels, affix stamps, and voila! I've repaired a few addresses and recipients' names (removing those who've passed away that I knew of). We'll see how many of these 60 or so letters are returned.

What's interesting is that Mom looks so much spunkier in the photos than she actually is.  Sort of like chatting with her on the phone...she sounds pretty peppy and active, when in reality that's not the case.

Wondering if this will be Mom's last Christmas letter.  Wondering if her name will soon be removed from some Christmas address labels.  Tough thoughts, tender times.

All things brown

That time from mid-November to Thanksgiving is always a time of anticipation, organizing, scheduling for me.  Throughout my career, I'd had to be extremely on-task and vigilant for any moment or two when I could accomplish any chore or complete anything under my responsibility.  And though now retired, it seems my schedule continues to be hectic.  So I make lists. And because I abhor crowds and all the commercialism of the holiday season, I like to do my shopping before Thanksgiving.  I'm more mindful and enjoy it more. So when the day blossomed bright with sunshine yesterday, I took off for the cities after fitness class, list in hand.  I had over six stops to make and a pretty good idea of my route, both TO the stores and within them.  Call it compulsive...I call it survival.  In and out, quick and efficient.  Home by 4 to visit Mom; home by 5 to prepare dinner for Pete and engage him in a game of cribbage, our only "together" time we seem to be able to share these days.

Successful trip.  Most things on the list were found, most crowds were avoided, craziness averted.  Or so I thought.

I've never been attracted to brown, though I can't say I dislike it.  But given a choice in clothing or decorating colors, brown isn't at the top of the list.

Brown, however, IS the color of chocolate.  And when I finally walked into Mom's apartment just after 4 pm, just after experiencing the joy that being on the road brings, I heard her call, "I'm in here!" from her bathroom.

I have to say I can resist some things, but the big Hershey bar Mom had on her counter tempted me, and I gave in.  I was relishing the flavor a melting morsel in my mouth when Mom called again, "I think I need some help in here."  OK, help in the bathroom.  I shored up my courage.

I found Mom standing facing the toilet with her black knit pants haphazardly pulled up around her hips.  "I'm not sure what happened here," she admitted, staring at the toilet...and then I saw it--brown poo on the toilet seat and on the floor.  The bit of chocolate I was enjoying suddenly reminded me of something else...the something I was looking at.  Ugh.

I quickly realized Mom wasn't wearing underwear, which is pretty curious, because she always wears underwear.  She had no idea what had happened to it and I had no idea the extent of the poo issue--was her butt clean?  Had she again traipsed through the stuff and did I need to clean off her shoes? Where were those undies?

We finally found them in the wicker trash basket next to the toilet.  Apparently she'd reacted to poo on her undies by tossing them there.  And of course our next steps were to clean Mom's butt, put on new undies and then...oh then...clean up the poo on the toilet and floor.  Clean up the brown.

I was pretty darn thankful for those rubber gloves I'd bought and left at Mom's, and in about 15 minutes, we were in business again.  Bathroom was clean, washcloths and undies were in the washer, all was well.

On to the kitchen.  I usually find a pile of dishes in the sink and know that if I just leave them there, the staff will eventually put them in the dishwasher, but then by the time the dishwasher is full, most of Mom's dishes will be missing from the shelves.  So I just do those in the sink each day, cleaning out the left-over food and washing plates/containers from the fridge.

I was pleased to see the staff had brought a pot of coffee in for Mom (some coffee was still in the pot), but apparently they'd not brought it before she'd tried to make herself coffee, for again the microwave was speckled with brown mist from exploding coffee crystals.  More brown to clean up.

Things were pretty much in order when I left.  Pete and I played our cribbage game, I fed the animals, we had dinner, I washed another load of clothes...and then I heard it--the dog retching.  Super.  Dog puke.  And you guessed the color--brown.

O bus, where art thou?

The first snow fell on southern Minnesota on Friday, Nov. 20.  It didn't really fall, but rather "sifted" as flour might--beautiful, light. When all was over, we received about 2 inches, though Iowa got dumped on--9 inches in Mason City, 12 inches in Sioux Falls.  I was happy with 2 inches. But two inches is two inches and I shoveled the driveway, noticing that as I drove on the newly opened Lakeview Boulevard (!) that the roads hadn't been salted.  They were slick.  Apparently as the snow came down, it melted initially and then as the temp dropped, things turned icy.

So my visit to Mom yesterday had me driving VERY slowly on the country roads and finally shuffling from the parking lot into the apartment complex.

Our visit yesterday wasn't anything out of the ordinary--a bit of cleanup, making sure TV was set for later, setting out dinner, and .... what to wear today, Sunday?  Mom wondered what the weather would be like, and I told her of the snow and ice and cold temps, and she decided she's rather skip church than tackle the elements.

I could tell she was at odds about how to notify the van driver that she shouldn't be picked up, so I volunteered to call him.  Mom seemed relieved, and I just hoped I'd remember to do it!

I found the phone number of the van driver, Marlon, in the church directory and called it--oops...disconnected.  He must be like many who were just using cell phones.  What to do?  That same number was in the regular phone book, so I called it again, thinking perhaps I'd misdialed.  But no...same recording.

Good grief.  How to notify Marlon Mom wouldn't be riding with him?  I decided to call the church and leave a message on the answering machine.  Marlon had to get the van from the church before heading out to fetch people, so I hoped he'd get the message from someone.

But when I dialed the church, Pastor Dwight answered, and I asked him to notify Marlon Mom wouldn't need a ride.  Good. Done.  I'd remembered to call. All was well.

Ten minutes later Marlon called me.  "Did you want something?" he asked.  I was a bit frustrated that he hadn't just gotten the drift not to pick up Mom.  When I explained Mom's reluctance to go to church because of the weather, Marlon assured me they'd put Mom in a wheelchair, take her to the van, then when they got to church, they'd again fetch a wheelchair and wheel her into the church.  It was almost as if he was arguing with me that Mom could handle the transfer from the apartment to the church.

Well, I held my ground and just told him Mom had asked me to call and cancel transportation to church.  Ok.  Done.  Finally.

When I got the the apartment today, Mom said no one had come to get her for church.  She'd sat out there and waited.  Two separate people approached me saying how concerned they were that my poor Mom wasn't taken to church.

So...I'm frustrated.  Without a memory, there's no hope of keeping things straight for Mom.  She asked me a dozen times what I was fixing for dinner.  I explained we'd be having an eye recheck this coming week and she had no clue about eye issues, where the clinic was, etc.

I'm thinking I need at least $100/wk to stay sane.  I need to be compensated, paid, salaried.  Think I'm giving and not being appreciated like I need to be for my sanity.  Good grief.

Doing Wheelies and blowing up things…

Yesterday, the last day of “perfect fall weather bliss,” Mom and I trekked the ½ block to visit Aunt Marge, my mom’s sister-in-law.  Margie has been in the rehab area for about a month, and things aren’t progressing as we’d hoped.  Margie’s journey seems to be becoming even more daunting. For the first time, Mom agreed to ride in the wheelchair the short distance.  Initially she'd balked, but then I'd brought her to the small chair sitting in the hall, and actually “introduced” her to it.  (Here is where you sit, your feet go here…) So for the first time since her own rehab recovery, Mom climbed into a wheelchair and I  pushed her--felt as if we were zipping through the parking lot at warp speed to the rehab unit. Oh, the freedom of movement, the energy of speed!...I wanted to do wheelies.

Margie’s rehab room was transformed into a party room.  Not only were cousin Carol and Uncle Bill present, but Carol’s daughter Natalee and friend Sophie were visiting, and eventually good ol’ Kirk showed up as well.  That made eight of us in the tiny room visiting Margie.  And she rose to the occasion.  Mom, in all her frailty, looked robust and invigorated next to Margie.  We laughed that Mom can’t see well, but can hear perfectly, and Margie can’t hear well but can see perfectly--the perfect setup!  It was an especially tender time for the two gals, now 90+, to chat, to reconnect, possibly for the last time.

Back at Mom’s apartment, I was disappointed to see that yes, again, the microwave had been nearly blown apart by flying coffee debris.  We’d asked that the staff bring mom a pot of coffee each morning so she didn’t make her own.  Previously she’d heat water in the microwave and pour that hot water into a mug to which she’d added instant (ugh!) coffee crystals.  She’d been doing this for years--like over 60 years.  But now she must be heating the mug with its water and coffee already added, for the microwave’s interior was again a battlefield to be reckoned with.

I found administrator Kate and actually dragged her into Mom’s apartment to show her the featured mess.  We initially thought about unplugging the microwave, but then realized there would be no method to quickly heat Mom’s evening meal.  We decided to AGAIN ask the staff to bring in a morning pot of coffee and I set out the white thermal pot and attached a note to that end.  So...we’ll see.  I’ve also explained to Mom (to deaf ears or declining memory, to be sure) that she should NOT make herself coffee anymore, but rather use the pot the gals bring in.  Next step is possibly removing all mugs, instant coffee and container for heating coffee water from the counter.  Oh my.  The pain of not being able to make a cup of coffee for oneself.  It’s something I hope never happens to me.  So bummed for Mom.

Trick or Treat at 93

I remember 24 years ago and the ice storm that froze us, the drive with Pete to Mpls. for a scheduled surgery the next day, and the days that followed of living sans electricity.  So this year's Halloween is lovely in comparison--50 degrees, a bit damp, but a night trick and treaters won't freeze or slip on ice. Yesterday (Friday) Bancroft Creek held a 3 pm. Halloween "party," complete with Kate providing a history of the day and a German meal.  I'm sure Mom had been prepped about the event, but she seemed totally clueless that the festivities were happening.

One thing Mom did remember was that she'd need treats to hand out for Halloween. When I got to the apartment yesterday, she had the contents of her pantry on the kitchen table--trying to find something appropriate to hand out.  I told her I'd go to the store for her, since Halloween wasn't until Saturday, but then I looked at her weekly calendar, and there on Friday, Oct. 30 were the words, "trick or treat, 3-5 pm."  We quickly found some rather ancient coffee-flavored hard candies that would work, but I wished the trick or treat event were on its regular day, Sat., Oct. 31, so I could find more appropriate candies for Mom to give out.

Well today as I walked into the complex, there were oodles of kids and residents in the dining room--apparently the weekly calendar was incorrect--as "treat or treat 3-5 pm" was definitely being held TODAY, Sat., Oct. 31.  Residents sat at tables with their treats in front of them to hand out, and children of staff members and the community paraded around as residents filled kids' baskets.

What to do?  Either ignore the gathering in the dining room and have coffee in Mom's apartment, or join the merriment with the ancient coffee candies.  We chose the second idea.  Poor kids are going to wonder what hit them when they suck on those candies.

After about 45 minutes of treat handouts, we shuffled back to Mom's apartment to do two things: change her clocks to "fall" time (no more daylight savings time) and to tweeze the chin hairs that were sprouting all over from her lips to her neck.  We do that about once a month--hack away at those unsightly bristles.  I want Mom to look decent, though wearing nice clothes but having chin hairs defeats all efforts, I think.

As far as the clock-changing business was concerned, I didn't even tell Mom about the time change.  It would only have confused her, especially since Sunday she's picked up for church and always wonders what time to get up.  So I was able to tell her "just be ready by 9:15" even though the 9:15 is really 10:15.  I just hope she sleeps a bit longer and transitions well into the time difference.

So that's about it for trick or treat this year.  Coffee-flavored candies.  Well, maybe kids will acquire a taste!

October 10--Keys

Today we drove up to Cindy´s urban cabin to enjoy the company of her two sons and their wives and children, as well as our cousin Susan and her granddaughter, so now I know who Queen Elsa is. And on the way home, I dreamed of living in Minneapolis and being able to see all those incredible members of my extended family more often – a LOT more often. A stop at TJ Maxx on the way home for old times’ sake. We had fun looking at the spike heels and Mom felt the clothes and pushed the cart – getting our daily walk in. The evening sky on the way home wowed us, red and blue with streaked clouds as the sun set, and all was well until I made what was supposed to be a quick stop at Target in Owatonna for a computer cable. Mom stayed in the car (so I left the radio on), and when I came out, the car wouldn´t start. My brief panic quickly subsided as two young women working at Target came to my aid. One fetched her BMW SUV and jumper cables, and within the hour, we were on our way again. Thank God for Minnesota women . . .

Mom chuckled several times on the way home about our adventure.

We swung by Jane´s house to check on Pete and grabbed Jane´s key to Mom´s apartment, as we had not taken ours along, never imagining we would arrive after 8pm when the doors are locked. Once back at Bancroft Creek Estates and through the main entrance, the following conversation ensued:       Mom: Will Janie need her key to get in? Anne: Jane is in Europe. Mom: Oh, right (chuckle). . . . I´m surprised we were able to get in. Anne: Why?  Mom: Because we didn´t have a key.

October 9--Two flights of stairs at 93

Anne writes: When I hugged Mom as she emerged from her room this morning and said “Happy birthday!” she grinned and responded, “Oh for crying out loud, it is my birthday, isn´t it.” I repeated at least 15 times in the course of the next few hours (interspersed with even more frequent updates on the time) that my cousin Cindy would come to her apartment and that we would all go together to Green Lea Gulf Course for lunch. Lunch with Cindy was the highlight of our day. What a joy to be in the company of two such classy women and share with Cindy our love and honor of Hazel Wittman Kepple. As Cindy drove on up to her urban cabin in Minneapolis, Mom and I went for a drive to Myre-Big Island Park to absorb the fall.     

Once back at the apartment, the repeated questions turned to our evening plans to go to the ACT play in the evening. All went smoothly – once in the Marion Ross Performing Arts Center, Mom preferred the stairs to the elevator, so at the age of 93, she ascended two flights of stairs, and then descended another flight to get down to our third row seats. Following the play without being able to see it was understandably almost impossible, and the idea of middle-to-older aged women posing nude for a church calendar was hard for her to grasp, so as we left afterwards, Mom characterized it as one of the least good plays she had seen. Oh well. The German chocolate cake when we arrived home was a hit, however. 

Seven Years

Anne writes: Today we walked all the way around Good Sam! Stopping at every bench along the way, but not for long. Not an undertaking for the hurried, but surprisingly doable. I think both of us were surprised. The delicious fall weather of course lured us on. This was after another morning spent much of the time lying in bed, and repeated comments, “I just don´t know why I don´t have any steam.”

After our walk, we had coffee and cookies in the dining room looking out the window at the corn fields ready to be harvested and I fetched a plastic bag full of cards I was curious about that I had found in the closet. They turned out to be all Christmas and birthday cards from 2008. As I went through them and read some names and some of the messages, I suggested maybe they could be disposed of, but ended up agreeing with Mom that “maybe we should keep them”.

My favorite was actually an envelope stamped “Return to Sender” – a Christmas letter written by Mom, dated January 2009, that never made it to Bea Abraham. After all the family news (it was an especially wonderful Christmas because Scott had “completed his army enlistment”), Mom wrote “And now our thoughts turn to the inauguration of our first Black president and, of course, improvement to the serious problems our country faces.” Yes, a lot has happened in seven years.

Stepping In

OK, so this is Anne, stepping in for Jane for a few weeks, trying to carry the baton while she is recharging her battery on an incredible river trip from Amsterdam to Budapest – here´s to ya, Janie!! All is well here – my minor duties at Jane´s house are a cinch so far. Pete´s the best and the critters are cooperating nicely. It strikes me how I feel so much a part of a network here – just contributing a tiny bit to the greater network that keeps my sister, and Pete, and my mom going. Janie, you have built an amazing structure in the midst of full catastrophe living. I love your friends. I love the fact that you are on this trip, laughing and drinking with Jane H. And I love having Albert Lea to come home to. My first few days here I was feeling lost in the face of a mother who is lost. But I am growing accustomed, learning the ropes, finding my stride. It’s just that Mom was always the one who defied expectations, always way above average, so much better than Dad, Dona Mira (my husband’s mother of the same age), Marion . . . She still is, but it’s hard to witness her vital force dwindling. I feel blessed that I am able to be here and grateful that Mom is comfortable, tranquil, and well cared for.   I was especially touched the other night when I got home (from Jane's house) after Mom was already asleep and she had turned my bed covers down for me. A motherly gesture. She still has it in her.  

The dryer sheet

Wasn't able to see Mom until after a 4 pm meeting, so she was having dinner at 4:45 when I showed up.  "I didn't think you were coming," she said, her voice seeming to share some relief.  She sat at the table and I warmed up her plate, seeing the microwave had again taken a hit, probably from splattered coffee.  I set Mom's warmed plate in front of  her and she asked what was on it.  I explained there was lazagna, cooked vegies and garlic bread.  I'd cut up the lazagna and as she poked at the food and tasted a bit of it, again asked what was on the plate.  In fact in the few minutes I was with her in the kitchen cleaning up as she ate, she asked me 4-5 times what the plate in front of her contained,  and I wondered if that was an indication that it all didn't contain much flavor. She blew her nose and I turned to see she was using a dryer sheet for a kleenex.  Goodness.  As I exchanged it for an acutal kleenex, I said,  "Here, use this instead."  "Well what have I been using?" she wondered.  "Somehow you grabbed a dryer sheet," I explained. That fact didn't seem to bother her, but I thought...taste sensation is going...sense of touch is going...  I felt sorry Mom's life has become narrower and narrower, her life fading, her awareness vanishing.

Best laid plans...

So I thought Mom might like to join me in creating a list of clothes, etc. to bring on my trip.  I mentioned how she'd traveled extensively and was a master at packing, etc.  I figured she'd suggest practical things like an umbrella and remind me to pack my passport.  A little "girl time" around the table in the dining room planning a life adventure. Instead, after Mom's initial question as to what the weather would be like, a merry-go-round of questions ensued:  with whom was I traveling? When did I leave? What day was it now? What weather did I expect, With whom was I traveling.... These questions repeatedly surfaced in a 90 second cycle.  Each time I'd give an answer--a short one--and I repeated these so many times that I got as dizzy as if the merry-go-round had sped up and nearly tossed me off.

I was happy to see the dishwasher had worked--yesterday it had seemed to chug on and on without water spraying, but I'd left it to see if it wasn't just "warming up," and that must've been the case, as the dishes were clean today and water sat atop some glasses.  However the microwave took a hit.  Beef stroganoff, baked on and crispy, had blown all over the interior, and after scrubbing a bit, I finally gave in to a cup or two of water in the beast--heat on high for 5 min. to create steam to more easily clean debris.  It worked to some extent.

I was pleased Mom's pants were dry, as yesterday after coffee in the dining room, she'd wondered, "Why do you suppose my pants are wet?"  I asked her if she thought she'd wet herself a bit, and she couldn't remember doing that, but neither could she remember spilling anything.  We simply changed undies and slacks and I tossed the damp stuff into the laundry.

So after safely depositing Mom back to her apartment, laying out clothes for tomorrow, setting the TV to PBS and making sure to remind her to COVER HER PLATE before heating it in the microwave, I escaped to the hall and out the door.  My mission tonight after dinner:  make a list of things to bring on my trip--something I'll do alone.

One of those days

Since I'm leaving soon, I'm madly getting chores done--like balancing the budget, painting the porch, making lists, planning to utilize each second I have.  So after fitness, I was planning to paint, but instead played hostess to Pete's brother and wife whom I hadn't seen in years.  They were here briefly, yet, made coffee, found a sweet in the freezer, etc. etc.  I ended up beginning on the porch far later than I'd hoped and ended up painting the porch until late in the afternoon.  A quick shower and off to see Mom.   Maryann was in the dining room with Mom. I could see Mom looked rather "zombie-like" today--distant, eyes not really focusing.  I asked her how the Civic Music concert was  yesterday and she stared blankly off into space, her brain trying to bring up that concert, but it wasn't working.  Mayrann asked me a question and my response solicited questions from Mom and comments like, "I didn't know that. When did this all happen?"   Somehow all those questions and her not understanding things really bothered me and I could tell I ended up several times raising my voice.   I felt exasperated and frustrated.  The SLOW walk back to the apartment and the chores, which today included running the dishwasher also frustrated me and it didn't seem the dishwater was working.  Will have to check that out.

...and back again

Paul and I drove up today to see Mom outside.  Waiting.  Waiting.  It WAS pleasant out--in the sun it was over 80 degrees, and though the leaves were falling and the air smelled like fall, the temps belied that. It's always fun to see Mom's face when she recognizes one of the grandkids.  Her entire visage changes--it's as if she can again see, and perhaps she can--she can see the kids in her mind.  But as PJ and I suggested we go inside and have coffee, Mom hesitated and said, "but Onee's here, isn't she?  Who's here?  Someone's here. Isn't she sleeping upstairs?"  Both Paul and I thought Mom had a screw loose, for we knew her sister Onee lived in Sioux City.

But eventually it came out.  Onee had called her sometime last week and had said her class reunion was meeting for lunch on Sat. (today) and that if she came, she'd like to stay overnight with Mom.  Mom of course forgot all about it and didn't relate any of that to me. Well, Onee drove up this morning, had lunch with her classmates, and stopped in--suitcase in hand--for an overnight.  She'd been tired from getting up early and she WAS, in fact, having a bit of a nap when PJ and I arrived.

But as we sat in the dining room, a fog descended over Mom.  She could barely hold a conversation, and she seemed to stare into the distance.  But then I went into Mom's apartment to grab her key for the postbox, and there was Onee.  She came to the dining room to share coffee and talk--and talk and talk.  Such a fun person to chat with and the comparison between Mom and her younger sister was quite startling.  Onee still drives, can see, can read, can embrace most of life's blessings.  They plan to go to Applebees for dinner.  I hope Onee knows what challenges await her and what patience is required!

A Spark

Though fragile, I detected better short term memory today. Yesterday Mom had had a PEO meeting at her apartment's dining room, and I'd not reminded her of it until the afternoon, lest she ruminate over it and question me time and again. I reminded her yesterday before I left that at 7 pm, PEOs would descend on her. She was very unsure of things then. But today when I asked how the meeting had gone,  she remembered she'd had a meeting last night!  This is an improvement. She remembered they'd met in the far area of the dining room.  And she remembered I was painting the porch and we laughed over my stiff neck from painting the ceiling.

So...there is a spark that ignites now and then.  I've been giving Mom only caffeinated coffee when I fetch her afternoon cup, and who knows...maybe it's helping her "wake up" a bit. So good to see her eyes brighten as she recalls things.  So good to see that part of Mom still there.

A busy dining room

Yesterday we didn't have coffee in the dining room because some dude was crooning his country-western tunes.  A bit much for mom and me.  How great if someone could feature the big band sounds instead. Today the dining room was the epicenter of a resident's family reunion. Though the group gathered around tables and had food, residents like Mom could access coffee, etc., which we ate in the "library"--quite a nice room actually.  For the first time in ages we shared a table and it was nice to see Mom inter-acting with others.  Some of those ladies are simply delightful.  Others--well, they have issues, I imagine.

Paid some of Mom's bills and ordered her a civic music ticket.  Have to admit I'd contemplated getting a ticket myself, but thought I'd then be expected to accompany Mom each time. Easiest way to manage this is not to get myself a ticket.  Feel rather sad about that.

Mom's still worried about church--when it is now, when she'll be picked up, etc. etc.  Hope we don't have another incident like last week!

Only 97

As I walked into the apartments today, the nurse told me Mom's UTI test was negative, so that means the "spell" in church was something else.  Makes me a bit unsettled.  Maybe it was low blood pressure?  Hmmm. One of the staff mentioned they quiz Mom about eating at night and she always says she has eaten, but I suggested they actually take the food out of the fridge, help her cut it and heat it a bit and set it in front of her.  We checked her weight and it's the lowest since she got there--97 lbs., down a few from the 100 lbs. she's been in the past.  She does drink a supplement each day filled with calories, but still, she needs to eat.

I saw a coffee cup from the dining room on the table in Mom's apartment with cream in it and asked who had been there and had had coffee with her.  It didn't surprise me that she had no idea.  None.   Sort of feel bad she can't remember people who come and visit, people who I'm sure think they're keeping Mom "company," when in fact they're out of her head before they even vanish down her hall, I'm afraid.

Will have to keep an eye on Mom's weight.  97--shouldn't go lower.

Waiting 9/16/15

Mom was again waiting outside for me when I arrived.  I grabbed us coffee and read her the paper while we sat out by the entrance.  She wasn't sure whether she'd napped, but thought she probably had.  She did remember I was going to an event yesterday evening (fashion show) and asked me about it, which rather impressed me.  What triggered that flash of memory for her? Though one of the staff told me Mom had been encouraged/reminded to have dinner last night, it looked like she'd eaten merely one or two bites, and I tossed the rest. She wondered aloud if she had something for dinner tonight and I found her boxed lunch in the fridge, put it on a plate, cut it up and warmed it a bit, just in case she wanted a bite or two.  But since it was only 4:30, she felt it was too early to eat--thought she should wait.  My fear is that she'd lie down, sleep, and not eat at all. Hence heating up the meal a bit just in case she'd nibble on it.

Mom's increasingly confused about everything--what's lying on her bed, ("Those are your clothes for tomorrow,") what time it is, what's to eat.  Her microwave hinted some sort of coffee explosion, so I wiped that out.  How very frustrating not to be able to heat up instant coffee for yourself in the morning.  I honestly don't know what she does when I'm not there. Does she just sit around, turn on the TV and just listen, sit alone at the table???

I left her at the kitchen table with a heated plate of cut-up meat and corn.  4:30--too early to eat.  Waiting.  Waiting for the right time; waiting for clarity, or maybe just waiting until I show up again tomorrow.

Confusion 9/15/15

The nurse (or whoever) called me from GSam to say Dr Shelhamer had again DENIED allowing Mom to be tested for a UTI, something I thought needed to be done given the church incident on Sunday.  My blood boiled, but I turned to plan B.  Ask the PA who comes each week to order the test.  She sees people on Wed., so maybe tomorrow she can order the UTI test.  Honestly, I don't believe some doctors. Mom was again sleeping when I got to her apt.  She awoke and seemed surprised she was in her clothes--that it was 4 pm, that she'd simply napped and it wasn't morning.  I folded clothes out of the drier and laid a clean nightgown on her bed for her to wear tonight.  She fingered it, wanting to know what it was for.  Then she took the comforter, asked what it was.  I assured her it was the blanket she covers herself with.  Is it possible she's confused about what a blanket on her bed is for?  Oh my.

I got us coffee and read Mom a bit of the paper, saw that again she hadn't touched the food for dinner yesterday, so that's two nights she hasn't eaten, if I'm counting correctly.  I found one of the staff in the dining room and requested they carefully monitor Mom's eating, especially at night.

Today Mom LOOKED bushed, tired, unengaged, distant.  She continues to say, "I just don't know what I'm doing anymore," and my heart aches for her. Her life seems to empty, her abilities so limited.  No wonder she wants to sleep, simply sleep.

Patience? What patience? 9/14/15

Got a message on my phone from GSam about noon--wondering if I knew where Mom was.  Her purse was gone, she was gone...and they figured I might know if she'd gone out.  And yes, she had., apparently forgetting to notify anyone.  Her WIG group meets the second Monday of each month, and Edna and she were out for lunch doing some "investing."  Her monthly investment check and cash for lunch (a $20 and a $5) were in a sealed envelope to avoid any confusion as last time when her cash was missing and Edna had to loan her money for lunch.  This time I thought I had it all set.  Won't have to borrow...all's in the envelope. When I stopped in later in the afternoon, Mom was wearing her stay-at-home clothes from the previous day, her "going to meeting" clothes I'd laid out were still on the bed.  So I guess she went to WIG in her grungy clothes.  Oh well.  Then I noticed the sandwich and salad she was to have eaten for dinner last night were still in the fridge untouched. Apparently she didn't eat dinner then???  When I quizzed her about her day--asking for detail about the WIG lunch and meeting, she had no recollection of it.  None.  Oh well.

I grabbed us some coffee to bring back to the apartment, thus avoiding the slow walk to the dining room.  Mom asked me about her PEO program for the coming year, and I found the new information and saw the next meeting was at her apartment building.  Informing Mom of this sent me into a tizzy, since Mom was visibly anxious about it.  Would the meeting be in the dining room?  Why at 7 pm?  Was she supposed to reserve the room?  etc. etc. etc.  Question repeated after question.  I suspect that someone has taken care of ALL arrangements and has been in contact with Mom, assuring her all's well.  But she has no memory of this; hence the questions, the anxiety.  Hence MY anxiety and frustration.

I wanted to bolt from the apartment, but Mom, after asking repeatedly what the weather was like outside, decided to accompany me to the entrance so she could sit outside.  As we passed through the dining room, Edna was sitting there and told me she'd loaned Mom $5 to help with lunch at WIG.  Seriously?  Mom had apparently used the $5 bill along with $5 from Edna to pay her bill instead of using the $20 bill.  So now we owe Edna yet again, despite me thinking I had it all figured out, thinking I was being helpful.

The time with Mom today zapped my patience.  Her worry about PEO, her not wearing the clothes we'd chosen for her luncheon, her not eating dinner last night, her not remembering ANYTHING!!!!  Good grief.  Hope tomorrow's better.