Called the facility and spoke with Mom for about one minute at five tonight. She sounded a bit whipped and weak, but she knew who I was, and I was able to tell her I was thinking of her and I loved her. Dad has changed his mind and he and I will head up tomorrow morning to visit, and so I was also able to tell her that as well. While we are there, we may also have a chance to meet with a social worker, the chaplain and perhaps the doctor.
Then the plan is to visit again at least by Saturday, with the rest of the siblings, in laws, and my nephew. They were all planning on coming up for the weekend anyway to celebrate her birthday (May 10, age 79) and Mother's Day. We'll play it real cool and try and visit with her in shifts.
I am hoping to get up there about every other day, at least for the first week or so.
Showing posts with label holiday. Show all posts
Showing posts with label holiday. Show all posts
Wednesday, May 4, 2011
Monday, April 25, 2011
The Calm And Winding Road
Well, as of right now, Mom has been calm all day. The last three nights, there has not been any dramatic over night episodes.. it appears that she is very comfortable with the hospital bed with the special gel mattress. She has been sleeping a lot during the days, too.
Dad and I both got some respite with the arrival of my brother and my S.I.L. on Saturday at noon. He was able to attend a memorial service in the afternoon, and I was able to take my weekly walk with my neighbor as well as have extra time to prepare for my gig that night. They left Sunday morning, and I stayed with Mom until Dad got home from church, around one forty-five, and then I went home for a couple of hours.
A little after four, my S.O. and I walked over with a basket of dinner fixings, and by five we four were seated at the festively decorated dinning room table and indulged in an Easter Sunday dinner of lamb, mashed potatoes and asparagus, with a little salad. Mom ate fairly well, really enjoyed the lamb (always has been one of her favorites), then began to get antsy as we finished our plates. We managed to convince her to stay with the mention of dessert (a simple lemon cake with fresh strawberries slices), which I quickly served to her and kept her at the table for another five minutes or so. After that, I settled her back onto the couch, and, with Dad dozing off in the chair and the television quietly on, I cleaned up the dishes and the kitchen and left by six.
This morning Nurse Corrin arrived at nine, and she examined Mom right in the bed. Though her vitals were all good, Dad expressed concern about how much Mom is sleeping, and Corrin reminded us that this is part of the progression of the disease. She explained that right now, she is sleeping a lot, only perking up a little at some parts of the day (the afternoons, in our case), but that she may snap out of this phase and begin to be awake more again, too. Of course, there is no telling how things will shift, but I mentioned to Dad later that at least it's not as exhausting on us at the moment. It is much easier with her sleeping a lot, and if it doesn't effect her night time sleeping, which it hasn't in the last three nights, let's not stress about it.
I left today at around two in the afternoon, after having sat with Mom while Dad did some errands down town. In that time, I read two more chapters from "Little Women" to her, got her properly dressed, gave her some more Ensure, and did a load of laundry. When Dad came home, she got up and had a little tiny bit of soup, then it was back to the couch. I cleaned up the dishes and came home.
Just a few minutes ago, Dad called me to say that Mom wanted to go out for a little drive in the car. I just saw them go by.... I had a little flash back to all the times in the past when they were always busy, running off to engagements and parties and dinners and concerts, leaving me free not to worry.
Well, just now, I heard the car beep. They've been "on the road" for about twenty minutes, now they are back home. I guess I'll head back over now and see how bumpy the road towards "crazy hour" is today.
Dad and I both got some respite with the arrival of my brother and my S.I.L. on Saturday at noon. He was able to attend a memorial service in the afternoon, and I was able to take my weekly walk with my neighbor as well as have extra time to prepare for my gig that night. They left Sunday morning, and I stayed with Mom until Dad got home from church, around one forty-five, and then I went home for a couple of hours.
A little after four, my S.O. and I walked over with a basket of dinner fixings, and by five we four were seated at the festively decorated dinning room table and indulged in an Easter Sunday dinner of lamb, mashed potatoes and asparagus, with a little salad. Mom ate fairly well, really enjoyed the lamb (always has been one of her favorites), then began to get antsy as we finished our plates. We managed to convince her to stay with the mention of dessert (a simple lemon cake with fresh strawberries slices), which I quickly served to her and kept her at the table for another five minutes or so. After that, I settled her back onto the couch, and, with Dad dozing off in the chair and the television quietly on, I cleaned up the dishes and the kitchen and left by six.
This morning Nurse Corrin arrived at nine, and she examined Mom right in the bed. Though her vitals were all good, Dad expressed concern about how much Mom is sleeping, and Corrin reminded us that this is part of the progression of the disease. She explained that right now, she is sleeping a lot, only perking up a little at some parts of the day (the afternoons, in our case), but that she may snap out of this phase and begin to be awake more again, too. Of course, there is no telling how things will shift, but I mentioned to Dad later that at least it's not as exhausting on us at the moment. It is much easier with her sleeping a lot, and if it doesn't effect her night time sleeping, which it hasn't in the last three nights, let's not stress about it.
I left today at around two in the afternoon, after having sat with Mom while Dad did some errands down town. In that time, I read two more chapters from "Little Women" to her, got her properly dressed, gave her some more Ensure, and did a load of laundry. When Dad came home, she got up and had a little tiny bit of soup, then it was back to the couch. I cleaned up the dishes and came home.
Just a few minutes ago, Dad called me to say that Mom wanted to go out for a little drive in the car. I just saw them go by.... I had a little flash back to all the times in the past when they were always busy, running off to engagements and parties and dinners and concerts, leaving me free not to worry.
Well, just now, I heard the car beep. They've been "on the road" for about twenty minutes, now they are back home. I guess I'll head back over now and see how bumpy the road towards "crazy hour" is today.
Thursday, March 17, 2011
Another Bad Day
So, this was what they call "a bad day" for Mom. When I got over there at nine forty-five in the morning, she was still in bed, and Dad was rushing around trying to get his stuff together for another trip down town for an eye appointment and other errands. He got her out of bed, then I took over from there. Before I joined her in the bathroom, though, I read some notes Dad had wrote down in the notebook, both last night and early this morning.
Last night, she had moments of restlessness, then she ate fairly well at dinner and eventually settled down and watched television with Dad. By twenty minutes past eight, she wanted to go to bed. Around four in the morning, he was awoken by her trying to get up. He said she got up and down several times, eventually ending up on the toilet to pee. She had trouble wiping herself, and at one point, he wrote, she tried to put the toilet paper in her mouth. Back in bed, she began to babble, asking to "Go home," "Were the children okay," and even, "Where is my husband?" He finally gave in and gave her two of the Ativan pills (the mild sedatives), but they didn't seem to work, he thought.
After awhile, they fell back asleep, but naturally, it was harder for him to get back into a good sleep. Armed with this new information, I helped her at the toilet, then got her dressed. She moaned horribly about pain in one of her left toes, so once I had her settle in her chair in the living room and gave her her two morning pills and juice, I went and got a wash rag and soaked it in warm water and applied it to her toes. She said this made her feel better. I went on and made her a hard boiled egg, of which she ate three quarters of, plus most of half of a banana and a glass of Ensure. She stayed in the chair for a while with her eyes closed, listening to the music from the movie "Finnegens Wake," which was playing on Turner Classic Movies.
By this time, Dad was gone, and I just sat with Mom, eventually moving her to the couch. Around noon, the occupational therapist, Gwen, arrived, for her third visit with us, and I filled her in on the depressing events of the day. Gwen came and sat with Mom and asked her a few questions, one of them being, "Do you know where you are?" and Mom replied, "I'm home, in Maine." When I asked her that same question yesterday, she replied that she was home in Massachusetts. Go figure.
There wasn't a whole lot Gwen could do today, so I think just having her there, sitting and chatting, made it enough of an event to say something happened today. Mom's eyes were closed most of the time and she was much grumpier and short tempered then usual. Gwen reminded me that their are going to be good days and bad days, and this was one of the latter. We also managed to discuss my concern for Dad's health and sanity, like his inability to get a good night's sleep. She suggested I might consider sleeping over some night, so that Dad could sleep elsewhere in the house. I told her I had already considered that, and when I brought that up with Mom, I asked her if she thought that would be fun, and she said, "No, I don't think so."
The O.T. left, Dad came home, and I left to run some last minute errands for our planned afternoon dinner. When I got home, Dad called and admitted that he was just too tired to pack Mom up and come over here, so we agreed to pack up the meal and haul it over there. I was hoping Mom would perk up a little at the prospect of a little celebratory dinner, like she did last Saturday night with the rest of the family, but she remained kind of cranky and groggy. She did sit at the table with us, though, and ate a decent amount of the corned beef and veggies, and seemed to enjoy it. But soon enough, before any of the rest of us where finished eating, she wanted up, so I helped her up and back to her chair. She got up once or twice more as we finished eating, even coming back to her plate and eating another bite of food with her fingers, and then we cleared the dishes and I put out dessert. I had received a package in the mail yesterday with four speciality cupcakes shipped from California, with a card in the box that said "Thinking of you," from a wonderful friend and her husband up here. My friend just lost her mother to Alzheimer's Disease early last month, so her empathy for my experience is profound. I thought it appropriate to share these treats with my parents today, and they were delicious and unique.
I did the dishes and then stood in the hallway, while Mom was on the couch, and Dad began to share some day to day stuff with me. Soon enough, however, we were interrupted by Mom, who was disturbed by our conversation. So, Dad and I went and sat with her, turning off the television and quietly conversing for a few more minutes. Mom stirred then, and I helped her use the toilet. I was sitting on the bath tub in front of her, waiting for her to finish, and when she was done she said to me, "Tell the girl I'm ready now." "That's me, Mom, here we go," I replied, and helped her pull up her panties and pants. I settled her back onto the couch, and Dad said he thought he'd like to lie down on their bed for a nap, as much as he didn't want to mess up his sleep routine. Mom seemed content, so I decided to go home.
Back home, my partner and I discussed the situation some more. Mom was really confused a lot today, sometimes saying things completely out of context. At one point she said, "Come on, it's time to go." "Where?" I asked. "Next door! To our apartment!" Other times, just stuff that made no sense at all. Is today just a bad day? Will she be better tomorrow? How much longer can Dad go on without seriously jeopardizing his health? We know for a fact this is only going to get worse.
And then you begin to get pissed off about all the drugs. What's the point, you wonder, in "slowing down the disease," when it's only prolonging the confusion and suffering? How long do you try and keep them home, where they are loved and cared for, though they don't even know where they are anymore? How do you make decisions for people who can no longer make decisions for themselves?
My partner and I concluded that there simply is no "right" answer to the multi-faceted questions involved with this disease. Everybody reacts differently to all of the drugs and methods to alleviate the symptoms, and meanwhile, there is no cure and worse, the person continues to suffer a miserable existence until they die. On top of that, the care givers sacrifice and suffer, too. Have we done all we can? Is there more we could do? Who has the answers? Nobody, that's who.
Hopefully, tomorrow we'll see a brighter eyed Mom.
Last night, she had moments of restlessness, then she ate fairly well at dinner and eventually settled down and watched television with Dad. By twenty minutes past eight, she wanted to go to bed. Around four in the morning, he was awoken by her trying to get up. He said she got up and down several times, eventually ending up on the toilet to pee. She had trouble wiping herself, and at one point, he wrote, she tried to put the toilet paper in her mouth. Back in bed, she began to babble, asking to "Go home," "Were the children okay," and even, "Where is my husband?" He finally gave in and gave her two of the Ativan pills (the mild sedatives), but they didn't seem to work, he thought.
After awhile, they fell back asleep, but naturally, it was harder for him to get back into a good sleep. Armed with this new information, I helped her at the toilet, then got her dressed. She moaned horribly about pain in one of her left toes, so once I had her settle in her chair in the living room and gave her her two morning pills and juice, I went and got a wash rag and soaked it in warm water and applied it to her toes. She said this made her feel better. I went on and made her a hard boiled egg, of which she ate three quarters of, plus most of half of a banana and a glass of Ensure. She stayed in the chair for a while with her eyes closed, listening to the music from the movie "Finnegens Wake," which was playing on Turner Classic Movies.
By this time, Dad was gone, and I just sat with Mom, eventually moving her to the couch. Around noon, the occupational therapist, Gwen, arrived, for her third visit with us, and I filled her in on the depressing events of the day. Gwen came and sat with Mom and asked her a few questions, one of them being, "Do you know where you are?" and Mom replied, "I'm home, in Maine." When I asked her that same question yesterday, she replied that she was home in Massachusetts. Go figure.
There wasn't a whole lot Gwen could do today, so I think just having her there, sitting and chatting, made it enough of an event to say something happened today. Mom's eyes were closed most of the time and she was much grumpier and short tempered then usual. Gwen reminded me that their are going to be good days and bad days, and this was one of the latter. We also managed to discuss my concern for Dad's health and sanity, like his inability to get a good night's sleep. She suggested I might consider sleeping over some night, so that Dad could sleep elsewhere in the house. I told her I had already considered that, and when I brought that up with Mom, I asked her if she thought that would be fun, and she said, "No, I don't think so."
The O.T. left, Dad came home, and I left to run some last minute errands for our planned afternoon dinner. When I got home, Dad called and admitted that he was just too tired to pack Mom up and come over here, so we agreed to pack up the meal and haul it over there. I was hoping Mom would perk up a little at the prospect of a little celebratory dinner, like she did last Saturday night with the rest of the family, but she remained kind of cranky and groggy. She did sit at the table with us, though, and ate a decent amount of the corned beef and veggies, and seemed to enjoy it. But soon enough, before any of the rest of us where finished eating, she wanted up, so I helped her up and back to her chair. She got up once or twice more as we finished eating, even coming back to her plate and eating another bite of food with her fingers, and then we cleared the dishes and I put out dessert. I had received a package in the mail yesterday with four speciality cupcakes shipped from California, with a card in the box that said "Thinking of you," from a wonderful friend and her husband up here. My friend just lost her mother to Alzheimer's Disease early last month, so her empathy for my experience is profound. I thought it appropriate to share these treats with my parents today, and they were delicious and unique.
I did the dishes and then stood in the hallway, while Mom was on the couch, and Dad began to share some day to day stuff with me. Soon enough, however, we were interrupted by Mom, who was disturbed by our conversation. So, Dad and I went and sat with her, turning off the television and quietly conversing for a few more minutes. Mom stirred then, and I helped her use the toilet. I was sitting on the bath tub in front of her, waiting for her to finish, and when she was done she said to me, "Tell the girl I'm ready now." "That's me, Mom, here we go," I replied, and helped her pull up her panties and pants. I settled her back onto the couch, and Dad said he thought he'd like to lie down on their bed for a nap, as much as he didn't want to mess up his sleep routine. Mom seemed content, so I decided to go home.
Back home, my partner and I discussed the situation some more. Mom was really confused a lot today, sometimes saying things completely out of context. At one point she said, "Come on, it's time to go." "Where?" I asked. "Next door! To our apartment!" Other times, just stuff that made no sense at all. Is today just a bad day? Will she be better tomorrow? How much longer can Dad go on without seriously jeopardizing his health? We know for a fact this is only going to get worse.
And then you begin to get pissed off about all the drugs. What's the point, you wonder, in "slowing down the disease," when it's only prolonging the confusion and suffering? How long do you try and keep them home, where they are loved and cared for, though they don't even know where they are anymore? How do you make decisions for people who can no longer make decisions for themselves?
My partner and I concluded that there simply is no "right" answer to the multi-faceted questions involved with this disease. Everybody reacts differently to all of the drugs and methods to alleviate the symptoms, and meanwhile, there is no cure and worse, the person continues to suffer a miserable existence until they die. On top of that, the care givers sacrifice and suffer, too. Have we done all we can? Is there more we could do? Who has the answers? Nobody, that's who.
Hopefully, tomorrow we'll see a brighter eyed Mom.
Saturday, January 1, 2011
Give Them What They Want
The last day of the old year and the first day of the new year have been very mild for this region, and Dad was able to gather Mom up for a little afternoon walk up to my place on both days. I missed their visit on New Year's Eve, as I was out to market, but I was told all about the positive little visit by my partner when I came home. Even though part of the message was that I wouldn't need to visit them, I couldn't resist going over anyway for a quick pop in, and to wish them a Happy New Year.
I found Mom with the new book we had started the day before. She was actually reading it, though I am not sure how much she was absorbing, at least she was taking a stab at it. When I asked her to fill me in on what had happened in the story since she took up reading it on her own, she basically reviewed to me the first two chapters which I had already read to her.. but, hey, at least she's trying.
Today's afternoon visit I was here for, and we had them come inside for a minute. Mom and Dad were in good spirits on this mild New Year's Day afternoon, and looking forward to their dinner date later at her sister's weekend farm house down the road. I grabbed my camera and walked them back home, taking a few photos along the way. Mom was quite verbal and they both passionately described the classical music program they had watched and listened to last night.
Earlier in the day, I had received an email from Dad with a link to an article published in the New York Times today. It suggests that the best treatment for AD patients is related to empathetic care giving as opposed to drugs (excluding drugs to relieve pain and discomfort.) To give the patient what they want, when they want, in a loving and attentive manner, is the best way to ease their discomfort and confusion. The success one particular nursing home was having was sited as exemplary in the movement towards this manner of approach with the care of AD patients. It's a beautiful thing, and well worth reading.
Reading this article only strengthens my and Dad's resolve to be as patient and giving with Mom's emotions and wants and needs as we can, in order to reduce her anxiety and confusion. I have seen with my own eyes the positive results this approach to care giving can have with my mother. As long as their are still no proven medical "cures"to this brain disease, the best thing to do is to focus on empathetic caregiving.
Seeing my mother "alive" in the eyes and still trying to do things like read, take walks, put away dishes or fold laundry brings me hope... or perhaps that word is too much wishful thinking.. however, it brings me a little peace of mind in this very moment to moment, day to day existence we are experiencing with her in her journey towards the inevitable darkness of Alzheimers Disease.
I found Mom with the new book we had started the day before. She was actually reading it, though I am not sure how much she was absorbing, at least she was taking a stab at it. When I asked her to fill me in on what had happened in the story since she took up reading it on her own, she basically reviewed to me the first two chapters which I had already read to her.. but, hey, at least she's trying.
Today's afternoon visit I was here for, and we had them come inside for a minute. Mom and Dad were in good spirits on this mild New Year's Day afternoon, and looking forward to their dinner date later at her sister's weekend farm house down the road. I grabbed my camera and walked them back home, taking a few photos along the way. Mom was quite verbal and they both passionately described the classical music program they had watched and listened to last night.
 |
| January 1, 2011 |
Earlier in the day, I had received an email from Dad with a link to an article published in the New York Times today. It suggests that the best treatment for AD patients is related to empathetic care giving as opposed to drugs (excluding drugs to relieve pain and discomfort.) To give the patient what they want, when they want, in a loving and attentive manner, is the best way to ease their discomfort and confusion. The success one particular nursing home was having was sited as exemplary in the movement towards this manner of approach with the care of AD patients. It's a beautiful thing, and well worth reading.
Reading this article only strengthens my and Dad's resolve to be as patient and giving with Mom's emotions and wants and needs as we can, in order to reduce her anxiety and confusion. I have seen with my own eyes the positive results this approach to care giving can have with my mother. As long as their are still no proven medical "cures"to this brain disease, the best thing to do is to focus on empathetic caregiving.
Seeing my mother "alive" in the eyes and still trying to do things like read, take walks, put away dishes or fold laundry brings me hope... or perhaps that word is too much wishful thinking.. however, it brings me a little peace of mind in this very moment to moment, day to day existence we are experiencing with her in her journey towards the inevitable darkness of Alzheimers Disease.
Thursday, December 30, 2010
Calm Christmas
The Christmas holiday went well. Mom was a trooper, and so were all the guests. We all contributed to the preparing and clean up of meals, and everybody was respectful towards Mom and Dad's need for relative quite and calm.
One of the highlights was Christmas Eve, when eight of us drove over to the church in two vehicles to attend the Christmas Eve service and watch Dad perform in the choir. When the eight of us strolled in just before the service was to begin, all eyes seemed to be on Mom as she said hello to a few people and waved to her friends in the choir. It was touching to see the kind and loving smiles on their faces. Mom was a bit shaky at first, and it took us a few moments to settle on the second pew in right in front of Dad's place in the choir group. When it came time to sing carols, I helped Mom hold the book and sometimes I followed the verses with my finger so she wouldn't get lost. Luckily, she remembered most of the words by heart. At the end of the service, many of the folks swarmed Mom to give her hugs and Merry Christmas wishes, and she really lit up.
Christmas day was fairly mild and sunny, and we took our time going through the gifts. Eventually, Mom got tired and needed to rest on her bed, and shortly after that, Dad joined her. The rest of us mutually decided to give them some quite, and we all slunk outside and came over to my house. After about an hour, some of them went back to start lunch, and my partner and I began to prepare the Christmas dinner, which was a rich and delicious seafood chowder. Shortly after cleanup, a smaller group of us retreated again back to my house for a video and some jamming, leaving just a few quite people left with Mom and Dad at their house.
Sunday morning, they all left quite early, and Mom and Dad were left not too frazzled at all by the holiday madness! Success!
Secretly, I was preparing myself for a possible bout of depression from Mom in the days following the Christmas weekend, but to my surprise, she was fairly even keeled. The was a huge, hallowing snow blizzard on Sunday night and all day Monday, but even that did not set her back too badly. Over the next two days, I slowly read aloud the final chapters of "The Secret Garden" to her, and when it was over, we discussed one of the themes in the book, which is essentially the power of positive thinking. Before I left there yesterday, she remarked again to me that she still couldn't understand what had caused her to have the breakdown last Tuesday night, which led us to admit her to the local Emergency Room. I think it's good that she still remembers the incident and is aware that it happened at all. She's been fairly diligent to keep hydrated with water, in hopes of avoiding another breakdown. Whether or not being dehydrated was the cause of it is still in question, but keeping her hydrated certainly can't hurt.
Yesterday afternoon, I helped Mom write a birthday card to her oldest son, who has the unfortunate date of birth on January second. Her handwriting has gone from perfect and flowing to scrawled and childlike, and though she was very frustrated writing the words in the card, she did it with our encouragement. Dad looked at the card and seemed profoundly depressed at the site of her handwriting. He admitted to me just before I left yesterday that he was a little depressed. At least he's not afraid to admit it. It's so important to be honest with ourselves about our feelings over this journey.
Today is another mild and sunny day, and I will be heading over there shortly to collect the garbage and recyclables and bring it all to the dump. I'd like to try and get Mom outside for a short walk about today, too.
Mom has an appointment with her primary care physician early next week. Should I go with them?
One of the highlights was Christmas Eve, when eight of us drove over to the church in two vehicles to attend the Christmas Eve service and watch Dad perform in the choir. When the eight of us strolled in just before the service was to begin, all eyes seemed to be on Mom as she said hello to a few people and waved to her friends in the choir. It was touching to see the kind and loving smiles on their faces. Mom was a bit shaky at first, and it took us a few moments to settle on the second pew in right in front of Dad's place in the choir group. When it came time to sing carols, I helped Mom hold the book and sometimes I followed the verses with my finger so she wouldn't get lost. Luckily, she remembered most of the words by heart. At the end of the service, many of the folks swarmed Mom to give her hugs and Merry Christmas wishes, and she really lit up.
 |
| December 24, 2010 |
Christmas day was fairly mild and sunny, and we took our time going through the gifts. Eventually, Mom got tired and needed to rest on her bed, and shortly after that, Dad joined her. The rest of us mutually decided to give them some quite, and we all slunk outside and came over to my house. After about an hour, some of them went back to start lunch, and my partner and I began to prepare the Christmas dinner, which was a rich and delicious seafood chowder. Shortly after cleanup, a smaller group of us retreated again back to my house for a video and some jamming, leaving just a few quite people left with Mom and Dad at their house.
Sunday morning, they all left quite early, and Mom and Dad were left not too frazzled at all by the holiday madness! Success!
Secretly, I was preparing myself for a possible bout of depression from Mom in the days following the Christmas weekend, but to my surprise, she was fairly even keeled. The was a huge, hallowing snow blizzard on Sunday night and all day Monday, but even that did not set her back too badly. Over the next two days, I slowly read aloud the final chapters of "The Secret Garden" to her, and when it was over, we discussed one of the themes in the book, which is essentially the power of positive thinking. Before I left there yesterday, she remarked again to me that she still couldn't understand what had caused her to have the breakdown last Tuesday night, which led us to admit her to the local Emergency Room. I think it's good that she still remembers the incident and is aware that it happened at all. She's been fairly diligent to keep hydrated with water, in hopes of avoiding another breakdown. Whether or not being dehydrated was the cause of it is still in question, but keeping her hydrated certainly can't hurt.
Yesterday afternoon, I helped Mom write a birthday card to her oldest son, who has the unfortunate date of birth on January second. Her handwriting has gone from perfect and flowing to scrawled and childlike, and though she was very frustrated writing the words in the card, she did it with our encouragement. Dad looked at the card and seemed profoundly depressed at the site of her handwriting. He admitted to me just before I left yesterday that he was a little depressed. At least he's not afraid to admit it. It's so important to be honest with ourselves about our feelings over this journey.
Today is another mild and sunny day, and I will be heading over there shortly to collect the garbage and recyclables and bring it all to the dump. I'd like to try and get Mom outside for a short walk about today, too.
Mom has an appointment with her primary care physician early next week. Should I go with them?
Wednesday, December 22, 2010
Fingers Crossed
Mom was back to her "usual" self today. I went over early in the day, in order to be there when Maria showed up for Mom's weekly bath. Maria showed up a few minutes after me, with a nice Christmas cheesecake in hand as a gift to Mom and Dad.
After filling Maria in on what had happened last night, Mom and Maria retreated to the bathroom, which left Dad and me some rare time to talk in private. We discussed some of our conclusions and impressions from last night's events, as well as discussed some of my concerns about what would happen if he became incapacitated or dies before Mom. This was when he filled me on having an appointment for tomorrow morning with an attorney to fill out and sign a Financial Power of Attorney contract, one of the three legal things that should be done in this situation. The other two, which I think are "end of life" and "power of attorney"(I think?) are already settled.
Mom will have to go to the lawyer with him tomorrow morning and make a signature in her very shaky handwriting.
After her bath and Maria left, she practically begged me to read to her from "The Secret Garden." As you can imagine, I was a bit nervous about it, but I started back on the chapter I started last night, and she was engaged until I finished, about three or four chapters later. During this time, Dad drove down town to buy a few staples, and when he came back, I ran home and jumped in the Jeep to go down town myself and get a little last minute Christmas shopping done and shop for tonight's dinner. I told Mom what I had to do, and she accepted it, not without a little bit of pouting.
I zipped back over there about three forty in the afternoon, just when "crazy time" sets in (ha ha, really, "sundowners"), and she and Dad were just finishing up a John Wayne movie on TCM. After the movie, she asked me if I would read to her some more, but I said I was too tired and that I wanted to save the book a little longer. She agreed to that, but I could see her begin to get a little bit anxious again. Dad did a few things while I sat with her, and then I explained to her I had to go. She was cool enough. I kept watching her to make sure she didn't fall back into another episode, but thankfully, this did not happen, at least not while I was there. I think she'll be okay for tonight.
Maria gave us the name of a mild sedative we could get prescribed from their doctor, and it is even available in a cream, so I'm very anxious to get that if we can. Because of the holidays, though, it may be tricky to get it right away.. I'd really like to have that on hand for the next intense episode. We could have really used a mild sedative for her last night!
Maria also told us Mom was dehydrated again, and I suspected that might be the case, but after Maria told us a lot of stuff made sense to me. At the ER last night, when they rolled Mom in her bed to the CT room, she complained of feeling dizzy.. a classic symptom of dehydration.
Today, we made her drink a lot of water, and from now on we will remember to be more vigilant about keeping her hydrated. I know it's probably wrong, but I was surely tempted to mildly "threaten" her that she needed to drink the water so she wouldn't have to go back into the hospital... what else can I do?
So, another day done for me. Meanwhile, Dad is ever so patiently handling the rest. Feeding her, amusing her, answering her endless questions, undressing her for bed, giving her her night time pills, tucking her in. It's a lot, and he's doing such an amazing job.
Tomorrow the fun begins. They go to the attorney, my younger brother and his wife arrive for Christmas, and my partner and I have a gig at night. Friday, my sister, brother in law, older brother and nephew arrive, and we will attempt to get Mom and as many of the gang that can stand to go to the Christmas Eve church service at their church. Saturday is Christmas, Sunday they all go home.
Let the fun begin... (fingers crossed.)
After filling Maria in on what had happened last night, Mom and Maria retreated to the bathroom, which left Dad and me some rare time to talk in private. We discussed some of our conclusions and impressions from last night's events, as well as discussed some of my concerns about what would happen if he became incapacitated or dies before Mom. This was when he filled me on having an appointment for tomorrow morning with an attorney to fill out and sign a Financial Power of Attorney contract, one of the three legal things that should be done in this situation. The other two, which I think are "end of life" and "power of attorney"(I think?) are already settled.
Mom will have to go to the lawyer with him tomorrow morning and make a signature in her very shaky handwriting.
After her bath and Maria left, she practically begged me to read to her from "The Secret Garden." As you can imagine, I was a bit nervous about it, but I started back on the chapter I started last night, and she was engaged until I finished, about three or four chapters later. During this time, Dad drove down town to buy a few staples, and when he came back, I ran home and jumped in the Jeep to go down town myself and get a little last minute Christmas shopping done and shop for tonight's dinner. I told Mom what I had to do, and she accepted it, not without a little bit of pouting.
I zipped back over there about three forty in the afternoon, just when "crazy time" sets in (ha ha, really, "sundowners"), and she and Dad were just finishing up a John Wayne movie on TCM. After the movie, she asked me if I would read to her some more, but I said I was too tired and that I wanted to save the book a little longer. She agreed to that, but I could see her begin to get a little bit anxious again. Dad did a few things while I sat with her, and then I explained to her I had to go. She was cool enough. I kept watching her to make sure she didn't fall back into another episode, but thankfully, this did not happen, at least not while I was there. I think she'll be okay for tonight.
Maria gave us the name of a mild sedative we could get prescribed from their doctor, and it is even available in a cream, so I'm very anxious to get that if we can. Because of the holidays, though, it may be tricky to get it right away.. I'd really like to have that on hand for the next intense episode. We could have really used a mild sedative for her last night!
Maria also told us Mom was dehydrated again, and I suspected that might be the case, but after Maria told us a lot of stuff made sense to me. At the ER last night, when they rolled Mom in her bed to the CT room, she complained of feeling dizzy.. a classic symptom of dehydration.
Today, we made her drink a lot of water, and from now on we will remember to be more vigilant about keeping her hydrated. I know it's probably wrong, but I was surely tempted to mildly "threaten" her that she needed to drink the water so she wouldn't have to go back into the hospital... what else can I do?
So, another day done for me. Meanwhile, Dad is ever so patiently handling the rest. Feeding her, amusing her, answering her endless questions, undressing her for bed, giving her her night time pills, tucking her in. It's a lot, and he's doing such an amazing job.
Tomorrow the fun begins. They go to the attorney, my younger brother and his wife arrive for Christmas, and my partner and I have a gig at night. Friday, my sister, brother in law, older brother and nephew arrive, and we will attempt to get Mom and as many of the gang that can stand to go to the Christmas Eve church service at their church. Saturday is Christmas, Sunday they all go home.
Let the fun begin... (fingers crossed.)
Tuesday, December 14, 2010
Activity
A lot of activity for Mom this last week.
Last Wednesday, the long afternoon at the community center. Then on Saturday, Dad convinced Mom to go to an afternoon opera performance, live-streamed onto a giant HD screen from New York City (Verdi, I believe it was), over at the private academy in one of the nearby towns. Sunday, because Dad did not have to go early for choir rehearsal, she went with him to church! Then yesterday, late afternoon, they went down town to a little local hair salon and had their hairs cut. On the way back from their pampering, they stopped in at our house for about twenty minutes for a small glass of wine and to view our Christmas tree.
Dad is handling her with such sweet devotion, despite her bouts of paranoia and frustration. They only stayed for the first half of the very long opera presentation, but they both got worn from the long sitting, so it worked out well. When I called Mom from my afternoon gig on Sunday afternoon, she seemed happy that she attended the church service. And she hardly made much of a stink at all about going to the salon, though there was a part of her (the Alzheimer part, I think) that thought it not necessary. However, to see her come into our house last night with freshly washed and cut hair was lovely and affirming.
Yesterday, she asked me about Christmas, and slowly, I tried to explain the family plans. I brought the calendar over to her lap, and pointed out the days. We are still trying to decide between the siblings about exact times and meals.. perhaps we may host the gift giving and / or the Christmas dinner here at my place, in hopes of having less hustle and bustle over at their place... however, the scene is much nicer over there, so I don't know yet. So many little details to work out, yet the only thing that really matters is we make this as smooth and trouble free as possible for both of our parents.
I noticed Dad thoughtfully pre-cut all of Mom's chicken into little, bite sized portions for her mid day meal yesterday. That's one of the things they tell us to do. She is complaining about the use of her right hand... it's getting harder for her to grasp things (in all senses of the meaning!)
She had tried to call me yesterday but got confused on how to use the phone.
Last week, before going to the community center luncheon, she wanted to apply lipstick to her lips, but instead applied a fat tube of face cover up. I had to wipe it off with a damp tissue and reapply the lipstick. Dad mentioned that a few nights back she put a moisturizer on her toothbrush instead of toothpaste.
I feel the need to simplify the area around her bathroom sink a little bit more, with out upsetting her. I'm keeping an eye on it, try and find my opening, and move swiftly.
We've praised her braveness and savvy for heading out into the world so much these last few weeks. It's exhausting for her, and always, the concept of time is a mystery in her injured brain. Patience and encouragement, affirmation and acceptance all play into these moments with her. Finding the balance between having empathy for her condition, without patronizing her. Allowing her to have as much dignity as possible, all the while watching her out of the corner of your eye so she does not harm herself.
We are walking on a tightrope, two hundred feet in the air, with no net below.
Last Wednesday, the long afternoon at the community center. Then on Saturday, Dad convinced Mom to go to an afternoon opera performance, live-streamed onto a giant HD screen from New York City (Verdi, I believe it was), over at the private academy in one of the nearby towns. Sunday, because Dad did not have to go early for choir rehearsal, she went with him to church! Then yesterday, late afternoon, they went down town to a little local hair salon and had their hairs cut. On the way back from their pampering, they stopped in at our house for about twenty minutes for a small glass of wine and to view our Christmas tree.
 |
| December 11, 2010 |
Dad is handling her with such sweet devotion, despite her bouts of paranoia and frustration. They only stayed for the first half of the very long opera presentation, but they both got worn from the long sitting, so it worked out well. When I called Mom from my afternoon gig on Sunday afternoon, she seemed happy that she attended the church service. And she hardly made much of a stink at all about going to the salon, though there was a part of her (the Alzheimer part, I think) that thought it not necessary. However, to see her come into our house last night with freshly washed and cut hair was lovely and affirming.
Yesterday, she asked me about Christmas, and slowly, I tried to explain the family plans. I brought the calendar over to her lap, and pointed out the days. We are still trying to decide between the siblings about exact times and meals.. perhaps we may host the gift giving and / or the Christmas dinner here at my place, in hopes of having less hustle and bustle over at their place... however, the scene is much nicer over there, so I don't know yet. So many little details to work out, yet the only thing that really matters is we make this as smooth and trouble free as possible for both of our parents.
I noticed Dad thoughtfully pre-cut all of Mom's chicken into little, bite sized portions for her mid day meal yesterday. That's one of the things they tell us to do. She is complaining about the use of her right hand... it's getting harder for her to grasp things (in all senses of the meaning!)
She had tried to call me yesterday but got confused on how to use the phone.
Last week, before going to the community center luncheon, she wanted to apply lipstick to her lips, but instead applied a fat tube of face cover up. I had to wipe it off with a damp tissue and reapply the lipstick. Dad mentioned that a few nights back she put a moisturizer on her toothbrush instead of toothpaste.
I feel the need to simplify the area around her bathroom sink a little bit more, with out upsetting her. I'm keeping an eye on it, try and find my opening, and move swiftly.
We've praised her braveness and savvy for heading out into the world so much these last few weeks. It's exhausting for her, and always, the concept of time is a mystery in her injured brain. Patience and encouragement, affirmation and acceptance all play into these moments with her. Finding the balance between having empathy for her condition, without patronizing her. Allowing her to have as much dignity as possible, all the while watching her out of the corner of your eye so she does not harm herself.
We are walking on a tightrope, two hundred feet in the air, with no net below.
Sunday, December 5, 2010
Love And Misery
Two things Mom exclaimed at one point yesterday morning;
"ARG! This is a such a crappy way to die!"
("Yes Mom, it really is. But you are not dead yet, and neither am I or Dad, so let's concentrate on living right now, okay?")
"Are they all coming up here for Christmas? I don't want them to!"
(No comment from me.)
Every single breathing moment, Mom is in angst. While the rest of us are busy making plans for the holidays, living our busy lives, preparing meals and decorating our homes, Mom's life is a big warbled swirl of confusion and frustration and misery.. with only slight moments of murky joy.
All I want to do is comfort her in every moment that I can, in any meager way that I can. Love, understanding, empathy, comfort and love love love..
Such a crappy way to die, indeed.
"ARG! This is a such a crappy way to die!"
("Yes Mom, it really is. But you are not dead yet, and neither am I or Dad, so let's concentrate on living right now, okay?")
"Are they all coming up here for Christmas? I don't want them to!"
(No comment from me.)
Every single breathing moment, Mom is in angst. While the rest of us are busy making plans for the holidays, living our busy lives, preparing meals and decorating our homes, Mom's life is a big warbled swirl of confusion and frustration and misery.. with only slight moments of murky joy.
All I want to do is comfort her in every moment that I can, in any meager way that I can. Love, understanding, empathy, comfort and love love love..
Such a crappy way to die, indeed.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)