Dad and I left at ten in the morning, arriving at the Hospice House at eleven-thirty. Mom was in bed, resting comfortably, with a little smile on her face. She did acknowledge our presence to a point. We were informed that she had complained of pain earlier that morning, so she had been given a small dose of morphine. I had brought a framed photo from their house that had been taken about ten years ago. It's a line up of her and Dad, with us four "kids." She mostly kept her eyes shut, but I think she saw it. I put in on the table by her bedside.
About twenty minutes after we arrived, she somehow communicated to me that she needed to pee. I flagged down the on-call CNA, and together, with much effort, we got her out of the bed. We quickly realized she was too weak and unable to walk, so the CNA brought the portable commode over and placed it right next to the bed. We plopped her down on that, and after a while, she finally peed. We got her back in bed and propped her back up again.
A little after twelve noon, the Hospice House social worker, Jamie, knocked on the door. We three left Mom's room (she was snoozing anyway) and went to another room for a meeting that lasted nearly one hour. We mostly talked about getting Dad signed up with Maine Care, which would help him pay for more help once Mom got back home. Maine Care would pay for up to thirty-two hours a week for extra help. We mostly would need evening help, which makes it a little harder, as we live in such a remote area. Also, the home health workers (which would be separate from our Hospice agency), are not allowed to administer medications. If Mom was to wake up in the middle of the night, Dad would have to be awoken in order to administer the medication.
After our meeting with the social worker, we went back to see Mom. It was a little after one.
By this time, we had run into our friend, Debra, who also happens to be a nurse on our Hospice team. She had had a monthly meeting there at the facility earlier in the day and stuck around in order to spend some time with us. On her free time.
As we hovered around Mom in her bed, the afternoon nurse was in and out, filling us in on some of the last few hours with Mom as well as questioning us more about Mom and her life. As Dad, Debra and I were happily opining on Mom and her many life achievements and accolades (cutting each other off with each new memory of wonderfulness), the team chaplain, Lissa, swung by and joined the crowd. Mom continued to lay there, half doped-up, half ravaged by her disease, her eyes closed but dancing in her sockets, grabbing at as many of the words and trails as she could.
One by one, the crowd gracefully thinned, and again, it was just me and Dad left in the room with Mom. When Mom called for me and expressed she needed to pee, I paged a nurse. We began to move Mom in order to rise her towards the portable commode, but she began to moan in pain, so we let her rest some more. More time went by, then she expressed she really needed to pee. I paged for help again.
A different woman came this time, and we realized we needed the bed pan. With more effort, the nurse and I rolled and shifted Mom onto the bed pan. But she couldn't pee. We tried different methods, we waited, but nothing happened. I asked this nurse if this was common, and she said yes, that sometimes it's hard to get used to. With no luck, we got her comfortable again, and she dozed off, sort of. Then it was time for Dad and me to go. She did not make much of a fuss when we said goodbye. I had told her earlier we would be back on Saturday, with the siblings and a small birthday celebration.
On our way out, we ran into the doctor. He stopped us and told us that Mom has had two calm nights of sleep. She only made a fuss the first afternoon after we left, which was quickly resolved, and then this morning, when she complained of pain. That's when they gave her the small dose of Morphine. She's only been on the 1 mg. of the anti-psychotic drug, Haldol. He said she is not eating much. I said you have to coax her to eat. He stressed that they were.
Then he summed it up. He said "it doesn't look good."
He thought maybe Mom was hovering around stage 6c or 6d of the disease.
I called my sister and sister in law when I got home. My sister, older brother and nephew will come up tomorrow night, and we will go visit Mom on Saturday. My younger brother and sister in law will come up Saturday night, and go visit Mom alone on Sunday. I might go up tomorrow alone, because I wonder how much time is left. And maybe I could read to her a little bit more.
Showing posts with label stages. Show all posts
Showing posts with label stages. Show all posts
Thursday, May 5, 2011
Thursday, March 3, 2011
Busy Day
Yesterday, we had the weekly visit from Maria. Mom got all cleaned up and in fresh duds. She had been wearing the old black "Ireland" tee shirt, panties, socks and the purple bathrobe for an entire week now, so it was nice to see her in clothes again. Maria did her usual wonderful job working with Mom. Maria told me that when Mom yells, to tell her quietly not to yell. She is always full of wonderful practical pieces of information and suggestions, such as offering Mom a dollop of peanut butter on a cracker, or tuna on a very small piece of bread.. anything to get a little bit of protein in her.
Dad had left to go drop off his car at the auto body shop, and Maria stayed on a bit longer than she needed to, but that's how helpful she is. After Mom was dressed and pampered, we managed to get her to sit on the other couch for awhile, in a somewhat upright position.. but nothing lasted for long. She was terribly disorientated all day... expressing a lot of confusion about where she was, where she was going, how we got here.. who we are.. At one point, Maria told me she thought Mom was heading into the final stage, stage seven. I told her I agreed.
After Maria left, one of the therapists called for an initial meeting with us. Though I wasn't sure if Dad was going to be back yet, I agreed for a one o'clock appointment. Luckily, Dad did arrive home a few minutes before one, and not a moment too soon, because Mom was beginning to get really agitated at that point. She made a big deal out of Dad coming home. He has been tied up lately, not to mention exhausted.
The new occupational therapist arrived a little after one, Gwen, and she was wonderful, patient and calm. At this point, Mom was really agitated. Up and down and babbling lot's of things. It's heartbreaking to see how confused she has become. We tried having a four-way meeting in the living room, but eventually, Gwen suggested she and Dad go somewhere else. They went into the bedroom and talked while I kept Mom occupied. She just could not sit still, yet all she really wanted to do was sleep, to get away from the confusion.
After Gwen left around two-thirty, I ran home for a half an hour. When I got back, Mom and Dad were sitting quietly at the dining room table eating a bran muffin. Maria had brought over four bran muffins and a whole lemon meringue pie (of which we managed to get a few bites into Mom while Maria was there.) By this time, Dad really need to rest a bit himself, so again, I tried to keep Mom occupied so Dad could have a few moments to himself.
Then, a little after three, our nurse showed up. Mom seemed happy to see her, despite her exhaustion. She asked some more questions, and I pointed out the rash and the sore on Mom's right ankle bone that Maria had discovered. Nurse M. put a salve and a bandage on the ankle bone, and suggested some cortisone cream for the rash. Dad was able to bring up that Mom's sleep patterns are shifting and keeping him awake. Nurse M. suggested we try and keep her more active throughout the day, and to not be shy from giving Mom two of the Ativan (Lorazepam) sedative's instead of just one.
Nurse M. left and plans to come again on Friday. Friday we will also meet the physical therapist for the first time. Today, Thursday, nobody is coming, so I plan on getting over there as soon as I can to keep Mom occupied as much as I can. She did spend a lot of time sleeping on the couch when I stayed with her alone on Tuesday, so that could explain some of the irregular sleep patterns.
After Nurse M. left, around four-thirty, I stayed with Mom a little longer so that Dad could just sit quietly for a moment. She is walking better now, so we walked a bit, sang our "Left left" march, and I brought her into the kitchen to help put away the dishes from the dry rack. I gave her a napkin and told her to wipe up around the counters. She did all this without any complaint. We looked out the front door at the snow and ice melting. We walked around the first floor. Finally, we waked by their bed and she asked me to let her lie down there. I decided this wouldn't be so bad, so up she went, and when I tucked her in under the blanket she said to me, "You don't know how grateful I am for this."
Indeed, for us, too. She stayed quiet for a while, Dad came to from his little snooze in the chair, and I headed home. I told him to call if he needed me, but I never heard from him. Hopefully, they both got a decent night's rest.
Dad had left to go drop off his car at the auto body shop, and Maria stayed on a bit longer than she needed to, but that's how helpful she is. After Mom was dressed and pampered, we managed to get her to sit on the other couch for awhile, in a somewhat upright position.. but nothing lasted for long. She was terribly disorientated all day... expressing a lot of confusion about where she was, where she was going, how we got here.. who we are.. At one point, Maria told me she thought Mom was heading into the final stage, stage seven. I told her I agreed.
After Maria left, one of the therapists called for an initial meeting with us. Though I wasn't sure if Dad was going to be back yet, I agreed for a one o'clock appointment. Luckily, Dad did arrive home a few minutes before one, and not a moment too soon, because Mom was beginning to get really agitated at that point. She made a big deal out of Dad coming home. He has been tied up lately, not to mention exhausted.
The new occupational therapist arrived a little after one, Gwen, and she was wonderful, patient and calm. At this point, Mom was really agitated. Up and down and babbling lot's of things. It's heartbreaking to see how confused she has become. We tried having a four-way meeting in the living room, but eventually, Gwen suggested she and Dad go somewhere else. They went into the bedroom and talked while I kept Mom occupied. She just could not sit still, yet all she really wanted to do was sleep, to get away from the confusion.
After Gwen left around two-thirty, I ran home for a half an hour. When I got back, Mom and Dad were sitting quietly at the dining room table eating a bran muffin. Maria had brought over four bran muffins and a whole lemon meringue pie (of which we managed to get a few bites into Mom while Maria was there.) By this time, Dad really need to rest a bit himself, so again, I tried to keep Mom occupied so Dad could have a few moments to himself.
Then, a little after three, our nurse showed up. Mom seemed happy to see her, despite her exhaustion. She asked some more questions, and I pointed out the rash and the sore on Mom's right ankle bone that Maria had discovered. Nurse M. put a salve and a bandage on the ankle bone, and suggested some cortisone cream for the rash. Dad was able to bring up that Mom's sleep patterns are shifting and keeping him awake. Nurse M. suggested we try and keep her more active throughout the day, and to not be shy from giving Mom two of the Ativan (Lorazepam) sedative's instead of just one.
Nurse M. left and plans to come again on Friday. Friday we will also meet the physical therapist for the first time. Today, Thursday, nobody is coming, so I plan on getting over there as soon as I can to keep Mom occupied as much as I can. She did spend a lot of time sleeping on the couch when I stayed with her alone on Tuesday, so that could explain some of the irregular sleep patterns.
After Nurse M. left, around four-thirty, I stayed with Mom a little longer so that Dad could just sit quietly for a moment. She is walking better now, so we walked a bit, sang our "Left left" march, and I brought her into the kitchen to help put away the dishes from the dry rack. I gave her a napkin and told her to wipe up around the counters. She did all this without any complaint. We looked out the front door at the snow and ice melting. We walked around the first floor. Finally, we waked by their bed and she asked me to let her lie down there. I decided this wouldn't be so bad, so up she went, and when I tucked her in under the blanket she said to me, "You don't know how grateful I am for this."
Indeed, for us, too. She stayed quiet for a while, Dad came to from his little snooze in the chair, and I headed home. I told him to call if he needed me, but I never heard from him. Hopefully, they both got a decent night's rest.
Wednesday, March 2, 2011
In Like A Lion
Yesterday, Tuesday March first, Mom slept the whole day, in between bathroom breaks. I got there just as Dad was getting ready to leave for his appointment. The phone rang, and it was one of the occupational therapists from the agency, offering to come to bathe Mom, so I put her on the phone with Dad and they agreed to put it off. Not that Mom doesn't need a good cleaning up, but Dad was going to be gone for most of the day time, and this being her first time up, we decided it would be better to wait. Maria is still coming this morning, as well.
Shortly after Dad drove off in his car, the nurse we met on Sunday called, returning the call Dad had made the day before. She asked how Mom was and I told her she was just resting and not too bad. I thanked her for calling, and we will be seeing her later this afternoon.
I visited with Mom, and immediately she indicated that she wanted to use the bathroom. She is getting up better, though not without help. She's even able to stand alone, too. She strained a little to produce a decent sized bowel movement, then I watched her to make sure she wiped well. Dad has put on a pair of adult diapers on her, and she doesn't seem to notice.
The rest of the day was like that. Small drinks of water or juice, no eating, bathroom breaks, sleep. On the couch mostly, but once she wanted to sleep in bed. I helped her into that for a while, then she called out for me. "Do you want me to close the curtains, Mom?" "No, just make them straight!" When I closed them she was content.
Later she wanted me to lay next to her in the bed. I agreed to do that for a few minutes, but when I realized it created even more confusion for her (she started getting confused about where she was, where she lives, where I live, all kinds of stuff), I suggested we get up and go to the couch, that it would be less confusing for her. She agreed to that.
At one point I was able to get her to eat four sliced grapes. When Dad got home around three, she ate some peeled and sliced apple. "Do you want some cheese, Mom?" "NO!"
Two things we've noticed. She'll only eat when we feed her like a baby. Some of that is her sore hand, but how much is it the Alzheimer's and how much is it her? Oh, I don't know. The other thing is she has started to moan and howl when she wants attention. This is a sign of losing words, which does indicate she is slipping into Stage Seven.
We anticipate some improvement with the extra help, which will really get started in the next few days. They will help us decide when we can try the correct dosage of the Haloperidol, which may help with some of her obnoxious behaviors. I used to read to her, but now all she does is sleep. She used to watch movies a little. Her sleeping patterns are getting all turned around, too.
Let's see what today brings.
 |
| March 1, 2011 |
Shortly after Dad drove off in his car, the nurse we met on Sunday called, returning the call Dad had made the day before. She asked how Mom was and I told her she was just resting and not too bad. I thanked her for calling, and we will be seeing her later this afternoon.
I visited with Mom, and immediately she indicated that she wanted to use the bathroom. She is getting up better, though not without help. She's even able to stand alone, too. She strained a little to produce a decent sized bowel movement, then I watched her to make sure she wiped well. Dad has put on a pair of adult diapers on her, and she doesn't seem to notice.
The rest of the day was like that. Small drinks of water or juice, no eating, bathroom breaks, sleep. On the couch mostly, but once she wanted to sleep in bed. I helped her into that for a while, then she called out for me. "Do you want me to close the curtains, Mom?" "No, just make them straight!" When I closed them she was content.
Later she wanted me to lay next to her in the bed. I agreed to do that for a few minutes, but when I realized it created even more confusion for her (she started getting confused about where she was, where she lives, where I live, all kinds of stuff), I suggested we get up and go to the couch, that it would be less confusing for her. She agreed to that.
At one point I was able to get her to eat four sliced grapes. When Dad got home around three, she ate some peeled and sliced apple. "Do you want some cheese, Mom?" "NO!"
Two things we've noticed. She'll only eat when we feed her like a baby. Some of that is her sore hand, but how much is it the Alzheimer's and how much is it her? Oh, I don't know. The other thing is she has started to moan and howl when she wants attention. This is a sign of losing words, which does indicate she is slipping into Stage Seven.
We anticipate some improvement with the extra help, which will really get started in the next few days. They will help us decide when we can try the correct dosage of the Haloperidol, which may help with some of her obnoxious behaviors. I used to read to her, but now all she does is sleep. She used to watch movies a little. Her sleeping patterns are getting all turned around, too.
Let's see what today brings.
Friday, February 25, 2011
Waiting
Just got back from being over there for a couple of hours. Dad had got her in her chair, she drank some juice and took some pills but that's about all. She's been dozing in her chair this whole time. We put on the light classical music, and I also read a few poems to her, even though she did not respond.
No word yet from the hospice people. Snow is coming down hard today. Dad is hanging in there. He posted on the Alz.org forum, in the caregivers section, about our experience with the over dose and the decline into what appears to be Stage 7. A few people replied, saying to keep her hydrated, keep in touch with the doctor, and that nobody knows for sure if this leads to the end. Sometimes they bounce back, other times they don't.
So, we are in a waiting zone for now.
No word yet from the hospice people. Snow is coming down hard today. Dad is hanging in there. He posted on the Alz.org forum, in the caregivers section, about our experience with the over dose and the decline into what appears to be Stage 7. A few people replied, saying to keep her hydrated, keep in touch with the doctor, and that nobody knows for sure if this leads to the end. Sometimes they bounce back, other times they don't.
So, we are in a waiting zone for now.
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
A Long Day
Last night, Dad called me twice. The first time to tell me that he got her to the table and she ate a little bit of her dinner. The second time, at about nine-fifteen at night, he said that he got her to bed alright. We were both tired, but feeling a little hopeful that she would come out of this slump.
This morning I awoke early (for me) and got ready to head over before ten, when Maria was to show for Mom's bath time. I got there at nine-thirty, and Dad had managed to get her in the chair and she was drinking a glass of cranberry juice and taking her morning pills. Dad was holding the glass with the straw in it. Then I sat with her and tried to get her to eat half of a banana (which she ate only half of) while he went and fried up an egg. We put the tray on her lap and started helping her get the little pieces of egg to her mouth. She moved slow. She chewed slow. She didn't swallow very well, kind of like she didn't remember how to do it. Plus, she kept her eyes closed most of the time, and seemed to be nodding off in between bites. We finally gave up, her egg barely half way eaten. She nodded off.
Maria called, running late. She had called the night before to let Dad know that she did have a cold, but would be willing to come up and wear a face mask so she could work with Mom. Dad was able to fill her in then about what had happened in the last few days. Maria recommended we get some adult diapers, and to keep her drinking fluids.
Maria arrived just as we were finishing up with Mom on the toilet. She took one look at Mom and suggested we bring her to the bed. She planned on giving her a sponge bath today in the bed. She took her blood pressure (we had done that earlier, too, after Maria had called), and both times it was okay, over one hundred. Then she took her pulse, once on the wrist and once on her neck. Mom was lying with her eyes closed, sleeping, I guess. Maria quietly motioned me to come out of the bedroom with her. Dad was downstairs on the phone with the doctor's aide, making his check up call.
Maria came right out and said she thought it was time for us to call for hospice. I was shocked for a minute, but realized she was right. Maria admitted that she could be wrong, and that she did not want to sound dramatic, but her experience around very ill and dying people makes me trust her instinct. She told me about some of the details involved.. about how we could get a nurse in once or twice a week, how they would check all the vitals and do other work with Mom. Maria said we could take the special bed and commode and pads from our neighbor up the street, who lost his partner to dementia early last year and who Maria had worked with (that's how we found her.) She asked me if we had a large tee shirt around that we could cut up the back so it would be easy to get on and off. I found one at the bottom of her drawer that said "Ireland" on it. I cut it up the back.
Then Dad came up the stairs, and reported to us what the doctor's aide had said. That we should just hang in there, keep doing what we are doing. Finally, I was able to tell Dad what Maria had told me. We three discussed it some more, quietly, trying not to alert Mom. Mom and her razor sharp ears.
Dad agreed to look into it. We had a number of a reputable place already. He called them while Maria gave Mom a sponge bath and cleaned her all up, in her bed. He found out that they don't accept patients until we have the doctor's permission. He called the doctor's aide back. She said they would okay it, even if our Dr. N. was not around (vacation until next week.) Dad said he could wait until Dr. N. came home. I'm not sure what he's waiting for, but I guess nothing happens fast anyway.
Maria suggested we let Mom stay in bed for the day, maybe later she could get up. She showed me how to prop her head up and to give her a drink. Mom moaned and complained. We realized she had a cramp in her thigh. We gave her a Tylenol, I ran home and got my heating pad for her leg. Maria left, saying to call anytime. Mom fell back asleep. I went home for a quick lunch.
After an hour, I went back and Dad had just helped her to the bathroom. She was sleeping. Dad decided to run down town to buy some adult diapers, some medicated talc (for her underarms, Maria noticed redness), a blender so we can mix a banana up with the drinks (bananas are high in potassium, help with leg cramps), and some fresh bananas, strawberries and juice. While he was gone, I let Mom rest in her bedroom alone, while I sat and read in the living room.
After a while, I went in to see her. I offered her some water, she accepted. I laid on the bed with her, stroking her hair a little, answering her questions which made no sense. I just go with her reality, what else can I do? At last she stirred and she said she had to go to the bathroom. I lucked out again, Dad had just got home. He was able to help me get her out of the bed and onto the toilet. She moaned and wailed when we lifted her out of the bed. It was painful to hear.
She peed. She got up. She wanted to go back to bed. Dad was beginning to worry that she would sleep too much during the day and not sleep at night. We got her back into the bed, and I asked her to drink some more water. I put the straw to her lips, and she blew hard, bubbling and spilling some water on to her tee shirt. "You little rebel, you!" I said, and so we gave up on the water. She can be such a bad patient.
I put in a load of laundry, then Dad said he wanted to lie down for awhile, too. So, as he laid down next to Mom on their bed, I went home for awhile. Later, I went back to check the laundry. Dad had already put it in the dryer. I went back home. Then I went back over for (I hope) the last time, bringing chicken that my partner cooked that afternoon, for Dad's dinner. I made up a shake with protein powder, a banana, strawberries and milk, and put that in the fridge for her dinner. By that time, Dad had convinced her to sit in her chair for awhile, and she had drank a whole bottle of Ensure. But, she was sleeping in the chair by the time I got there.
I helped Dad get the rest of his dinner together, gave Mom some kisses goodnight (even though she was asleep) and left.
Mom may be heading into Stage Seven now. Or not. Hard to say. But probably. We'll see how she is tomorrow.
This morning I awoke early (for me) and got ready to head over before ten, when Maria was to show for Mom's bath time. I got there at nine-thirty, and Dad had managed to get her in the chair and she was drinking a glass of cranberry juice and taking her morning pills. Dad was holding the glass with the straw in it. Then I sat with her and tried to get her to eat half of a banana (which she ate only half of) while he went and fried up an egg. We put the tray on her lap and started helping her get the little pieces of egg to her mouth. She moved slow. She chewed slow. She didn't swallow very well, kind of like she didn't remember how to do it. Plus, she kept her eyes closed most of the time, and seemed to be nodding off in between bites. We finally gave up, her egg barely half way eaten. She nodded off.
Maria called, running late. She had called the night before to let Dad know that she did have a cold, but would be willing to come up and wear a face mask so she could work with Mom. Dad was able to fill her in then about what had happened in the last few days. Maria recommended we get some adult diapers, and to keep her drinking fluids.
Maria arrived just as we were finishing up with Mom on the toilet. She took one look at Mom and suggested we bring her to the bed. She planned on giving her a sponge bath today in the bed. She took her blood pressure (we had done that earlier, too, after Maria had called), and both times it was okay, over one hundred. Then she took her pulse, once on the wrist and once on her neck. Mom was lying with her eyes closed, sleeping, I guess. Maria quietly motioned me to come out of the bedroom with her. Dad was downstairs on the phone with the doctor's aide, making his check up call.
Maria came right out and said she thought it was time for us to call for hospice. I was shocked for a minute, but realized she was right. Maria admitted that she could be wrong, and that she did not want to sound dramatic, but her experience around very ill and dying people makes me trust her instinct. She told me about some of the details involved.. about how we could get a nurse in once or twice a week, how they would check all the vitals and do other work with Mom. Maria said we could take the special bed and commode and pads from our neighbor up the street, who lost his partner to dementia early last year and who Maria had worked with (that's how we found her.) She asked me if we had a large tee shirt around that we could cut up the back so it would be easy to get on and off. I found one at the bottom of her drawer that said "Ireland" on it. I cut it up the back.
Then Dad came up the stairs, and reported to us what the doctor's aide had said. That we should just hang in there, keep doing what we are doing. Finally, I was able to tell Dad what Maria had told me. We three discussed it some more, quietly, trying not to alert Mom. Mom and her razor sharp ears.
Dad agreed to look into it. We had a number of a reputable place already. He called them while Maria gave Mom a sponge bath and cleaned her all up, in her bed. He found out that they don't accept patients until we have the doctor's permission. He called the doctor's aide back. She said they would okay it, even if our Dr. N. was not around (vacation until next week.) Dad said he could wait until Dr. N. came home. I'm not sure what he's waiting for, but I guess nothing happens fast anyway.
Maria suggested we let Mom stay in bed for the day, maybe later she could get up. She showed me how to prop her head up and to give her a drink. Mom moaned and complained. We realized she had a cramp in her thigh. We gave her a Tylenol, I ran home and got my heating pad for her leg. Maria left, saying to call anytime. Mom fell back asleep. I went home for a quick lunch.
After an hour, I went back and Dad had just helped her to the bathroom. She was sleeping. Dad decided to run down town to buy some adult diapers, some medicated talc (for her underarms, Maria noticed redness), a blender so we can mix a banana up with the drinks (bananas are high in potassium, help with leg cramps), and some fresh bananas, strawberries and juice. While he was gone, I let Mom rest in her bedroom alone, while I sat and read in the living room.
After a while, I went in to see her. I offered her some water, she accepted. I laid on the bed with her, stroking her hair a little, answering her questions which made no sense. I just go with her reality, what else can I do? At last she stirred and she said she had to go to the bathroom. I lucked out again, Dad had just got home. He was able to help me get her out of the bed and onto the toilet. She moaned and wailed when we lifted her out of the bed. It was painful to hear.
She peed. She got up. She wanted to go back to bed. Dad was beginning to worry that she would sleep too much during the day and not sleep at night. We got her back into the bed, and I asked her to drink some more water. I put the straw to her lips, and she blew hard, bubbling and spilling some water on to her tee shirt. "You little rebel, you!" I said, and so we gave up on the water. She can be such a bad patient.
I put in a load of laundry, then Dad said he wanted to lie down for awhile, too. So, as he laid down next to Mom on their bed, I went home for awhile. Later, I went back to check the laundry. Dad had already put it in the dryer. I went back home. Then I went back over for (I hope) the last time, bringing chicken that my partner cooked that afternoon, for Dad's dinner. I made up a shake with protein powder, a banana, strawberries and milk, and put that in the fridge for her dinner. By that time, Dad had convinced her to sit in her chair for awhile, and she had drank a whole bottle of Ensure. But, she was sleeping in the chair by the time I got there.
I helped Dad get the rest of his dinner together, gave Mom some kisses goodnight (even though she was asleep) and left.
Mom may be heading into Stage Seven now. Or not. Hard to say. But probably. We'll see how she is tomorrow.
Thursday, October 21, 2010
Stages
After browsing the discussion boards at Alz.org, I realized people were categorizing their AD loved ones in stages. So far, nobody has said what stage Mom seems to be in, so I found a link that describes the stages here.
Out of the seven stages, I believe my mother is now somewhere between stage 4 and stage 5, leaning possibly more towards stage 5. Somewhere between moderate cognitive decline (mild or early-stage AD) and moderately severe cognitive decline (moderate or mid-stage AD). The last two years, the signs have been there as she declined through stages 1, 2 and 3. Why has it taken us this long to define it?
I suppose this happens to everybody in one way or another. Just now, as I was over there staying with Mom while Dad went out shopping, I spent the time organizing and condensing stuff in their kitchen, specifically the herbs and spices. My guess is those 4 separate baggies of dried thyme, all in different locations, and two extra jars of curry (two of my mother's favorite cooking spices, when she cooked all those years), where a small example of her early onset AD symptoms. We just thought that was part of her quirky nature. I've been reading that this is very common.
Mom's moods are getting very erratic these days, too. Maria suggested that the full moon and bad weather can have an effect on the moods of AD patients. Sure enough, it is a full moon and the weather is drizzly. When I got there at 10 a.m., she was content to read her book. After about an hour, she got up and down a few times, restless. By the time Dad came home, I think she was beginning to get hungry, so I gave her a couple of celery sticks with cream cheese and paprika on them. She complained halfway through eating them that the celery got stuck in her teeth. She didn't want to finish them, but I gently pushed her and sat with her, and she eventually finished them. Then I gave her a small bowl of raw almonds and peanuts. Dad was milling about, putting away his medications and things, then she got antsy about lunch. She actually said something like, "Will I ever see this thing that is called LUNCH?"
Pretty funny, pretty sad. We convinced her to wait (it was only 11:30), and it's strange because she claimed she was "full" from the two celery sticks and small handful of nuts.
I left them alone to come home and do my stuff, but I wanted to post this update first.
Out of the seven stages, I believe my mother is now somewhere between stage 4 and stage 5, leaning possibly more towards stage 5. Somewhere between moderate cognitive decline (mild or early-stage AD) and moderately severe cognitive decline (moderate or mid-stage AD). The last two years, the signs have been there as she declined through stages 1, 2 and 3. Why has it taken us this long to define it?
I suppose this happens to everybody in one way or another. Just now, as I was over there staying with Mom while Dad went out shopping, I spent the time organizing and condensing stuff in their kitchen, specifically the herbs and spices. My guess is those 4 separate baggies of dried thyme, all in different locations, and two extra jars of curry (two of my mother's favorite cooking spices, when she cooked all those years), where a small example of her early onset AD symptoms. We just thought that was part of her quirky nature. I've been reading that this is very common.
Mom's moods are getting very erratic these days, too. Maria suggested that the full moon and bad weather can have an effect on the moods of AD patients. Sure enough, it is a full moon and the weather is drizzly. When I got there at 10 a.m., she was content to read her book. After about an hour, she got up and down a few times, restless. By the time Dad came home, I think she was beginning to get hungry, so I gave her a couple of celery sticks with cream cheese and paprika on them. She complained halfway through eating them that the celery got stuck in her teeth. She didn't want to finish them, but I gently pushed her and sat with her, and she eventually finished them. Then I gave her a small bowl of raw almonds and peanuts. Dad was milling about, putting away his medications and things, then she got antsy about lunch. She actually said something like, "Will I ever see this thing that is called LUNCH?"
Pretty funny, pretty sad. We convinced her to wait (it was only 11:30), and it's strange because she claimed she was "full" from the two celery sticks and small handful of nuts.
I left them alone to come home and do my stuff, but I wanted to post this update first.
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