Yesterday, Mom was very groggy in the morning hours. Dad had had to give her one extra Haldol and later, one extra Ativan, in order to get her to settle in and sleep all night.
A home health worker came at around eleven-thirty and gave Mom a little sponge bath and change. Mom skipped lunch all together, opting for more sleep. I read a lot to her, though I'm not sure how much she really heard.
The hospital bed arrived around twelve-thirty, and the man very quickly and efficiently set it up and showed us how it works. An early email report from Dad today reports that Mom slept fairly well in it last night (Friday night), and he had no need to give her extra medications.
A little after one-thirty, I think it was, the sun was beaming and warm, and I was able to convince Mom to go sit outside on the side porch off their bedroom. Just as we settled down, I saw our next appointment drive up. Lissa is a chaplain who works on the team at the agency, and she joined the three of us outside on the porch for awhile, and explained her part of the network of supporters.
After about twenty minutes, we went back inside and Lissa sat close with Mom and asked her if she was afraid of dying. Mom began to cry and said yes, that she didn't want to not go on living. It was heartbreaking to see Mom express herself so, but it was really good that Lissa broke the ice a little. She got Mom to "face" the fear and Mom yelled out the big scary word DEATH. Then she became very upset and asked to be helped to stand up. Dad got her up and walked around with her, giving Lissa a chance to ask me about a few things. Then she mentioned that if I got a chance, to ask Mom if she was afraid of dying or afraid of being dead. I said I suspected it was the former, but I said I would ask her if the opportunity came up.
Lissa left, leaving us her phone number so that we could call her any time to make an appointment to talk, and promised to call next week to check in, either way. Then Dad went down town, and Mom was calm again on the couch. I continued to read aloud from Little Women (it's one long book.) When Dad came back, it was my turn to go down town. Back home, I went back over to Mom and Dad's at five.
I had purchased an Easter Lilly and brought it over, and Mom enjoyed that. Dad had to run back down town to get some pills (they weren't ready earlier), and so I stayed with Mom for another thirty-five minutes or so. Mom asked me how I liked "the woman that came earlier today." I said I liked her.. then we were able to talk some more, and I was able to ask Mom the question, and she answered as I thought she might. That allowed me to assure her that, if she should pass away before any of us, we would all be very sad but okay, as she has surely left her mark on all of us, and she would still be alive in our hearts forever. She seemed to hear that, and she did not get upset again.
Well, a little later she did, but that was just the usual old sundowners cropping up.. but I got her up, offered her a glass of wine, and before we knew, she was calm again, in her chair, watching the news and sipping on her wine. I was happy to have Dad come home to that scene.
I left while the getting was good then. Another emotional day to mull over.
Showing posts with label walking. Show all posts
Showing posts with label walking. Show all posts
Saturday, April 23, 2011
Thursday, April 14, 2011
Bittersweet Acceptance
Yesterday, the evaluating nurse from the long-term hospice section of the agency that has been working with us came at ten-thirty in the morning. Dad and I were able to speak with her for about thirty minutes while Maria kept Mom occupied with her weekly bathing ritual, then Mom came out and the new nurse, Corinne, met Mom and checked her vitals and asked her questions. Eventually, Mom got agitated, so I walked her around a bit, then offered to help her into her bed. After a few minutes, Mom moaned again, so I helped her up and back into the living room. She really hates it when we talk about her, around her, but we had no choice. Corinne kept it short though, and promising to call later, she left within the hour.
I read to Mom for another half an hour or so while Dad ran down to the post office. Then, I split and went down town to the local monthly care-givers support group. Their were only three other participants in this meeting, as well as a different facilitator than the last two times I've been present. There was much discussion about coping, frustrations, support, nursing homes, dying. I found it helpful, only in that the other people there could relate, even the facilitator, who had lost her father the Alzheimer's last year.
I raced home after the meeting, unwound for awhile, then went back next door at five. Dad was leaving at five forty-five for his monthly board meeting at the church, and I was concerned that Mom was taxing him. Well, when I arrived, they were sitting at the dining room table, eating dinner of lobster and shrimp stuffed ravioli. Mom seemed relatively calm to me... Dad informed me that he got the call and that we had been accepted into the hospice service. I believe it was based mostly on the fact that Mom has lost more than ten percent of her body weight within the last six months, plus, well, she has Alzheimer's and they all know it doesn't get better.
Dad was told by Corinne that Doctor N. approved of us doubling the dose of the anti-psychotic drug, Haldol, up to 1 mg. a day from .5 mg. a day. Dad did give her a second dose that afternoon, and she did seem a little less nutty, though still very confused. After he left, I quickly washed up the dishes and Mom settled into the couch for awhile, but she still seemed agitated, so I finished working, turned off the television, and got down to reading aloud to her.
This always seems to soothe her, and soon she was snoring away. After another trip to the bathroom and a little walking about, we settled back into the couch, and I read some more until Debra showed up a little after seven. She had offered to come and stay over night so that Dad could sleep in another bed in the house. A SAINT!
Also, she will be on the team of nurses with our new group of providers. She and our lead nurse, Corinne, discussed the "conflict of interest" (she's a friend of Mom and Dad's), and they agreed that it was okay with them if it was okay with us. Of course, I said, no problem!
We will be offered some equipment, some of the meds will be paid for, and we should receive even more home health help, almost daily, I believe. We were told to buy some stool softener for Mom to assist in her eliminations. I'd like to get a "baby gate" for the basement stairs assembled as soon as possible. Dad told me last night that he took a shower at three in the afternoon, told her where he was, and she was settled on the couch. When he came down, Mom was in their bed, all by herself. Later, he found a blanket down on the bed in the basement, meaning she walked down and up there by herself while he was showering! Can't risk her falling.
So, that's where we stand today. Bittersweet.
I read to Mom for another half an hour or so while Dad ran down to the post office. Then, I split and went down town to the local monthly care-givers support group. Their were only three other participants in this meeting, as well as a different facilitator than the last two times I've been present. There was much discussion about coping, frustrations, support, nursing homes, dying. I found it helpful, only in that the other people there could relate, even the facilitator, who had lost her father the Alzheimer's last year.
I raced home after the meeting, unwound for awhile, then went back next door at five. Dad was leaving at five forty-five for his monthly board meeting at the church, and I was concerned that Mom was taxing him. Well, when I arrived, they were sitting at the dining room table, eating dinner of lobster and shrimp stuffed ravioli. Mom seemed relatively calm to me... Dad informed me that he got the call and that we had been accepted into the hospice service. I believe it was based mostly on the fact that Mom has lost more than ten percent of her body weight within the last six months, plus, well, she has Alzheimer's and they all know it doesn't get better.
Dad was told by Corinne that Doctor N. approved of us doubling the dose of the anti-psychotic drug, Haldol, up to 1 mg. a day from .5 mg. a day. Dad did give her a second dose that afternoon, and she did seem a little less nutty, though still very confused. After he left, I quickly washed up the dishes and Mom settled into the couch for awhile, but she still seemed agitated, so I finished working, turned off the television, and got down to reading aloud to her.
This always seems to soothe her, and soon she was snoring away. After another trip to the bathroom and a little walking about, we settled back into the couch, and I read some more until Debra showed up a little after seven. She had offered to come and stay over night so that Dad could sleep in another bed in the house. A SAINT!
Also, she will be on the team of nurses with our new group of providers. She and our lead nurse, Corinne, discussed the "conflict of interest" (she's a friend of Mom and Dad's), and they agreed that it was okay with them if it was okay with us. Of course, I said, no problem!
We will be offered some equipment, some of the meds will be paid for, and we should receive even more home health help, almost daily, I believe. We were told to buy some stool softener for Mom to assist in her eliminations. I'd like to get a "baby gate" for the basement stairs assembled as soon as possible. Dad told me last night that he took a shower at three in the afternoon, told her where he was, and she was settled on the couch. When he came down, Mom was in their bed, all by herself. Later, he found a blanket down on the bed in the basement, meaning she walked down and up there by herself while he was showering! Can't risk her falling.
So, that's where we stand today. Bittersweet.
Tuesday, April 12, 2011
Sleepless Nights, Confusing Days
Saturday my sister came up for an overnight, and later my brother stopped by after skiing. My sister went with Mom and Dad to my Aunt's house down the road for dinner. Sis reported back to me later that Mom was very difficult the whole time. Mom's "sundowners" was peaking when my sister arrived at four-thirty, and apparently, it continued on through the whole night. Dad got very little sleep that night as Mom rose from bed several times, wandering around the living room.
Dad got to church and I went next door at about eleven-thirty on Sunday morning to see how it was going. Sis was a bit overwhelmed - Mom was still undressed and sleeping on the couch. We got her up and dressed and fed her an egg and juice and Ensure and a little fruit. Eventually, she ended up back on the couch. Hearing of the bad night before, I decided to stay home from my gig that afternoon so that I could assist Dad, knowing he was exhausted. He was grateful for that. I stayed until about six, then went back over from seven until eight-thirty, after we put her to bed. That night, she stayed in bed and Dad got to catch up on a little sleep.
Monday I went over at one in the afternoon, after I did my down town errands. Mom was okay for a while, dozing in her usual spot, and I read to her from "Little Women" as Dad ran off to do his errands. But then around two in the afternoon, she started up again.. restless, wanting to go home, moving from couch to chair to bed, moaning. She settled down a little when Dad got back around three-thirty, but that didn't last too long, even with a short jaunt outside, up and down the driveway a couple of times. At pill time, she was still agitated, but eventually, she settled back down, and I, somewhat reluctantly, left around four-thirty. I did feel guilty, but I kept my fingers crossed that she wouldn't be too much trouble the rest of the night.
Naturally, this morning at eight I received an email from Dad saying that she was, once again, up and down all night. He had a tough time getting her to settle into bed.. and once again, lost a lot of sleep.
I'm about to head over there now at eleven and try and keep her up and moving as much as possible so that maybe she'll be more apt to sleep through out the night tonight. I know I'm feeling like pulling my hair out, so I can only imagine how tired and frustrated Dad is.
Hopefully today or tonight we'll get a call from the evaluating nurse for an appointment on Wednesday to see if she'll qualify for long term hospice help. This would, in theory, I hope, provide more assistance. Wednesday night, their friend Debra (the hospice nurse who works for the agency servicing us now) has committed to an overnight (as a friend, "off the clock," God bless her!) so that Dad can get a full night's rest in another bed. We'll see how that works out!
Dad got to church and I went next door at about eleven-thirty on Sunday morning to see how it was going. Sis was a bit overwhelmed - Mom was still undressed and sleeping on the couch. We got her up and dressed and fed her an egg and juice and Ensure and a little fruit. Eventually, she ended up back on the couch. Hearing of the bad night before, I decided to stay home from my gig that afternoon so that I could assist Dad, knowing he was exhausted. He was grateful for that. I stayed until about six, then went back over from seven until eight-thirty, after we put her to bed. That night, she stayed in bed and Dad got to catch up on a little sleep.
Monday I went over at one in the afternoon, after I did my down town errands. Mom was okay for a while, dozing in her usual spot, and I read to her from "Little Women" as Dad ran off to do his errands. But then around two in the afternoon, she started up again.. restless, wanting to go home, moving from couch to chair to bed, moaning. She settled down a little when Dad got back around three-thirty, but that didn't last too long, even with a short jaunt outside, up and down the driveway a couple of times. At pill time, she was still agitated, but eventually, she settled back down, and I, somewhat reluctantly, left around four-thirty. I did feel guilty, but I kept my fingers crossed that she wouldn't be too much trouble the rest of the night.
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| April 11, 2011 |
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| April 11, 2011 |
Naturally, this morning at eight I received an email from Dad saying that she was, once again, up and down all night. He had a tough time getting her to settle into bed.. and once again, lost a lot of sleep.
I'm about to head over there now at eleven and try and keep her up and moving as much as possible so that maybe she'll be more apt to sleep through out the night tonight. I know I'm feeling like pulling my hair out, so I can only imagine how tired and frustrated Dad is.
Hopefully today or tonight we'll get a call from the evaluating nurse for an appointment on Wednesday to see if she'll qualify for long term hospice help. This would, in theory, I hope, provide more assistance. Wednesday night, their friend Debra (the hospice nurse who works for the agency servicing us now) has committed to an overnight (as a friend, "off the clock," God bless her!) so that Dad can get a full night's rest in another bed. We'll see how that works out!
Thursday, April 7, 2011
Waiting
I didn't get over there in time to see Maria yesterday, but I could tell she did her usual great care on Mom. When I showed up, Nurse M. was just finishing up with Mom. She began to tell me what she had been speaking about with Dad, which is the possibility of long term hospice care. She wanted to be sure that I understood the criteria, one major one being significant and drastic weight loss, and that the doctor estimates that the person has six months or less to live. There are more, but I'll spare myself writing them down here.
This was being said in front of Mom, who was in her usual position on the couch, listening but unable to really comprehend what we were saying. At last, however, she began to moan (which she has been doing more and more lately.. a moaning whimper), so I helped her up and took her away from the conversation. As we rounded the corner near the front door, she cried out to me, "I don't want to die!" and cried some more. Naturally, that made me tear up, but I told her we were planning for long term help for her care. Which we are.
So, Nurse M. said that it may be as early as next week that we meet a new person (nurse?) to do the "evaluation" for the long term hospice part of the service. She left, and I hung around. Dad went for a walk. Mom was napping. I picked up the handful of brochures on the dining room table that Dad brought from the residential home he visited last week. I read about the services provided from two different hospice agencies. They offer on going care, equipment, counseling before and after death of your loved one. The agency we work with have a home in a city an hour away that we could bring Mom to for a period of time if we needed to.
The I picked up a brochure that went more into what to expect when the person is dying. When Dad came home from his walk, I made sure he read that. Reading that reminds us that these very well could be the last few months of Mom's life. She is showing signs of shutting down and preparing to die. I reminded Dad of this, that these could be times to treasure.
Of course, I could be wrong.
We've also discussed the idea of bringing the two twins beds from the upstairs guest room down to their bedroom, and bringing their double bed upstairs. This way, not only would Dad maybe get better rest without Mom's "twitching" in bed, but also it would make it more comfortable if, say, I or somebody else volunteered to sleep in the bedroom for a night, so that Dad could sleep in another room. Mom has been getting up a little more frequently in the middle of the night, sometimes wandering out in to the living room. I'd like to prevent any future falls. At first Dad was against the idea, but now I think he might be warming to it. We can't do it until my brother comes up to help, the large mattress and box spring look pretty heavy.
Mom has been bringing up "wanting to go home" much more frequently. She wants to go home. I'm pretty sure it means she wants to feel normal again. It's so fucking sad.
This was being said in front of Mom, who was in her usual position on the couch, listening but unable to really comprehend what we were saying. At last, however, she began to moan (which she has been doing more and more lately.. a moaning whimper), so I helped her up and took her away from the conversation. As we rounded the corner near the front door, she cried out to me, "I don't want to die!" and cried some more. Naturally, that made me tear up, but I told her we were planning for long term help for her care. Which we are.
So, Nurse M. said that it may be as early as next week that we meet a new person (nurse?) to do the "evaluation" for the long term hospice part of the service. She left, and I hung around. Dad went for a walk. Mom was napping. I picked up the handful of brochures on the dining room table that Dad brought from the residential home he visited last week. I read about the services provided from two different hospice agencies. They offer on going care, equipment, counseling before and after death of your loved one. The agency we work with have a home in a city an hour away that we could bring Mom to for a period of time if we needed to.
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| April 6, 2011 |
The I picked up a brochure that went more into what to expect when the person is dying. When Dad came home from his walk, I made sure he read that. Reading that reminds us that these very well could be the last few months of Mom's life. She is showing signs of shutting down and preparing to die. I reminded Dad of this, that these could be times to treasure.
Of course, I could be wrong.
We've also discussed the idea of bringing the two twins beds from the upstairs guest room down to their bedroom, and bringing their double bed upstairs. This way, not only would Dad maybe get better rest without Mom's "twitching" in bed, but also it would make it more comfortable if, say, I or somebody else volunteered to sleep in the bedroom for a night, so that Dad could sleep in another room. Mom has been getting up a little more frequently in the middle of the night, sometimes wandering out in to the living room. I'd like to prevent any future falls. At first Dad was against the idea, but now I think he might be warming to it. We can't do it until my brother comes up to help, the large mattress and box spring look pretty heavy.
Mom has been bringing up "wanting to go home" much more frequently. She wants to go home. I'm pretty sure it means she wants to feel normal again. It's so fucking sad.
Wednesday, April 6, 2011
Another Day With Mom
Yesterday (Tuesday) morning, I went over a little before ten, and Mom was still sleeping in bed. Dad told me that she had awoken a little after midnight the night before, and was twitching a lot and having a hard time falling back asleep. He asked her if she'd like to take some calming pills (Ativan), and she agreed to that. So, he gave her two, and it did the trick. Naturally, it carried over to the morning, and when we roused her from her slumber, she was very groggy, wobbly and dry-mouthed.
I helped her to the toilet and put on her socks, pajama bottoms and a bathrobe, then helped her get to her chair. She drank a whole glass of cranberry juice and took her two pills, nibbled on some banana and sipped on some Ensure. She slowly came out of her fog, and Dad went out to run an important errand, and pick up a few things at the store.
While he was gone, I played manicurist, and trimmed and filed all of her fingernails. She was very good during this, and seemed to enjoy it. I finished it off with some moisturizer, and then I took a damp cloth and wiped the "sleepies" out of her eyes and applied moisturizer to her face. Then I took a damp comb and ran it through her hair, and just for fun, I put a pale yellow bandanna over her head, peasant style. It complimented her lilac bathrobe. We just let her stay in her pajamas and bathrobe all day. Sometimes it's too difficult for Dad to get her sweaters on.
We've noticed that when we give her a Tylenol pill, which is fairly large, she often ends up chewing it, which leaves a bitter taste in her mouth. I suggested to Dad that he try and find a liquid version or a children's Tylenol, and he came home with a bottle of adult strength liquid version. We didn't end up using it yesterday, but I'm glad we have it on hand now.
I whipped up a quick lunch of organic black bean soup (canned) and a small grill cheese sandwich and grapes, and when Mom was done, I settled her back in her chair. As I was cleaning up the dishes, Dad and I were talking in the kitchen. I kept checking on Mom while this was going on ("eyes in the back of my head" syndrome), then I'd go back to cleaning. Then I heard her grunt, and I looked out to see her up, but half-fallen on the back of the chair. "Hang on, Mom!" I called to her, and managed to get over there and support her before she fell completely. Oy, scary. She said she was okay. She said she had wanted to come into the kitchen to hear what we were talking about (a wee bit paranoid). We fussed over her, then helped her over to the couch and settled her in.
I left for an hour, then went back for the rest of the afternoon, until about five. Towards the later afternoon, her confusion set in, so we kept allowing her to get up, move around a little, sit or lie in a new place, until it wore off again (after her four o'clock Haldol pill), and she settled back down on the couch during the Oprah show.
Today, the great Maria is bathing her and giving her extra loving attention. At least the sun is shining, unlike the last two days of overcast and rain, although it's still too windy and cold to take her out for a walk. I think the next two days are going to be warmer.. Maybe we'll take her out for a little drive later.
I helped her to the toilet and put on her socks, pajama bottoms and a bathrobe, then helped her get to her chair. She drank a whole glass of cranberry juice and took her two pills, nibbled on some banana and sipped on some Ensure. She slowly came out of her fog, and Dad went out to run an important errand, and pick up a few things at the store.
While he was gone, I played manicurist, and trimmed and filed all of her fingernails. She was very good during this, and seemed to enjoy it. I finished it off with some moisturizer, and then I took a damp cloth and wiped the "sleepies" out of her eyes and applied moisturizer to her face. Then I took a damp comb and ran it through her hair, and just for fun, I put a pale yellow bandanna over her head, peasant style. It complimented her lilac bathrobe. We just let her stay in her pajamas and bathrobe all day. Sometimes it's too difficult for Dad to get her sweaters on.
We've noticed that when we give her a Tylenol pill, which is fairly large, she often ends up chewing it, which leaves a bitter taste in her mouth. I suggested to Dad that he try and find a liquid version or a children's Tylenol, and he came home with a bottle of adult strength liquid version. We didn't end up using it yesterday, but I'm glad we have it on hand now.
I whipped up a quick lunch of organic black bean soup (canned) and a small grill cheese sandwich and grapes, and when Mom was done, I settled her back in her chair. As I was cleaning up the dishes, Dad and I were talking in the kitchen. I kept checking on Mom while this was going on ("eyes in the back of my head" syndrome), then I'd go back to cleaning. Then I heard her grunt, and I looked out to see her up, but half-fallen on the back of the chair. "Hang on, Mom!" I called to her, and managed to get over there and support her before she fell completely. Oy, scary. She said she was okay. She said she had wanted to come into the kitchen to hear what we were talking about (a wee bit paranoid). We fussed over her, then helped her over to the couch and settled her in.
I left for an hour, then went back for the rest of the afternoon, until about five. Towards the later afternoon, her confusion set in, so we kept allowing her to get up, move around a little, sit or lie in a new place, until it wore off again (after her four o'clock Haldol pill), and she settled back down on the couch during the Oprah show.
Today, the great Maria is bathing her and giving her extra loving attention. At least the sun is shining, unlike the last two days of overcast and rain, although it's still too windy and cold to take her out for a walk. I think the next two days are going to be warmer.. Maybe we'll take her out for a little drive later.
Friday, March 25, 2011
Even Steven
No news is good news, right?
That's how it has felt the last few days. We seem to be at an even keel right now, with the sunnier, warmer days (though a few snow showers here and there), and Mom just kicking along, nibbling on foods here and there, sleeping a lot, and some little walks thrown in for good measure. Looking forward to warmer days so I can get her out for more sunshine and exercise. We had our last visit from the occupational therapist, Gwen, yesterday, and right now, the physical therapist is visiting while I am still at home. I suspect we may see Nurse M. later today, too, but maybe not. I'm heading over there within the hour so that Dad can run down town and get his hair cut and go food shopping. I think my sister is coming up tomorrow for the night and hopefully to stay with Mom on Sunday.
That's how it has felt the last few days. We seem to be at an even keel right now, with the sunnier, warmer days (though a few snow showers here and there), and Mom just kicking along, nibbling on foods here and there, sleeping a lot, and some little walks thrown in for good measure. Looking forward to warmer days so I can get her out for more sunshine and exercise. We had our last visit from the occupational therapist, Gwen, yesterday, and right now, the physical therapist is visiting while I am still at home. I suspect we may see Nurse M. later today, too, but maybe not. I'm heading over there within the hour so that Dad can run down town and get his hair cut and go food shopping. I think my sister is coming up tomorrow for the night and hopefully to stay with Mom on Sunday.
Wednesday, March 9, 2011
The Last Few Days
Just a quick recap for the record.. what I can remember, that is.
I didn't spend a lot of time with Mom on Saturday, as brother was up. He stayed with Mom for awhile so that Dad and I could both go out and run errands during the same time.. a rarity. Naturally, we ran into each other at the market, anyway! This day, too, we started her back up again on correct .5 mg dosage of Haloperidol.
Sunday morning, brother got over there early so Dad could go to church. I was able to have some free time in the morning, then went over and hung with both of them for a couple of hours. Mom was still fussy with food and wanting to sleep a lot.
Monday was my birthday. I visited around eleven-thirty. Mom was okay, a little bit perkier than a week ago, although still fussy about foods. She's also taken to lashing out (verbally) at Dad, very impatient and short with whatever he says. Monday morning, a home health woman came by, Jackie, and gave Mom a sponge bath, washed her hair, and brushed her teeth. I hung around while Dad ran errands that afternoon, and Mom and I did a little reading from a book of travel essays about Cuba. I left around four in the afternoon.
Tuesday got over just before noon. Dad said that Mom was very sleepy the night before, but not too bad behavioral wise. That morning though, he expressed frustration with her "being ornery." It's mostly about her lack of appetite that makes him annoyed, I think. He also mentioned that she had had an "accident," but we think it was just from lack of getting to the bathroom on time, versus incontinence. He cleaned her up and she continued on on the john with a regular bowel movement. She didn't seem too upset by the event.
Nurse M. showed up a little after noon, shortly after Mom nibbled on a couple of pieces of toast and grapes. Nurse M. immediately recognized that Mom appeared to exhibit less anxiety with her arrival, noting Mom's brighter eyes and smile. Though Mom still expressed confusion about Nurse M.'s name, as well as "what road do we live on," she really was less anxious. Her restlessness at the consultation was notably less, I thought, too. Halfway through their meeting, Dad told me he was tired and went downstairs to grab a little nap. Nurse M. checked Mom's ankle and her vitals, after interviewing about the medications and reactions. We decided to maintain the level of the Haloperidol for at the very least a few more days. After next week, Nurse M. will visit less often for a week.
I read more from the Cuba essays to Mom, and encouraged her to drink and eat a little more. Dad came up from his nap and went out to run errands. When he came home, after settling in, he came and sat on the couch and Mom laid her head in his lap. She does seem to get more sleepy in the afternoon, probably because of the drug, but her confusion about where she is seems to be a little bit less.. or, at least, she's bringing the subject up less.
Today, Wednesday March ninth, Maria comes to work with Mom at ten. Dad and I decided that I will got to the monthly Alzheimer's support group at one, down at our local community center. Tonight, Dad has a board meeting, so I will stay with Mom until he comes home. More snow coming later tonight, unfortunately, but switching over to rain by Thursday night.
****
Okay, just got a phone call from Dad now, a little before ten. He was worried because Mom was very groggy this morning and out of it, and she was very wobbly when she first got out of bed. She did eat most of her breakfast, but then had a loose stool, which he had to help clean up. He said she fell back asleep in her chair after all that. I asked if she was drooling or speaking softly, but he didn't think so. I told him to call Nurse M. about all this.
Damn drugs and their damn side effects.
I didn't spend a lot of time with Mom on Saturday, as brother was up. He stayed with Mom for awhile so that Dad and I could both go out and run errands during the same time.. a rarity. Naturally, we ran into each other at the market, anyway! This day, too, we started her back up again on correct .5 mg dosage of Haloperidol.
Sunday morning, brother got over there early so Dad could go to church. I was able to have some free time in the morning, then went over and hung with both of them for a couple of hours. Mom was still fussy with food and wanting to sleep a lot.
Monday was my birthday. I visited around eleven-thirty. Mom was okay, a little bit perkier than a week ago, although still fussy about foods. She's also taken to lashing out (verbally) at Dad, very impatient and short with whatever he says. Monday morning, a home health woman came by, Jackie, and gave Mom a sponge bath, washed her hair, and brushed her teeth. I hung around while Dad ran errands that afternoon, and Mom and I did a little reading from a book of travel essays about Cuba. I left around four in the afternoon.
Tuesday got over just before noon. Dad said that Mom was very sleepy the night before, but not too bad behavioral wise. That morning though, he expressed frustration with her "being ornery." It's mostly about her lack of appetite that makes him annoyed, I think. He also mentioned that she had had an "accident," but we think it was just from lack of getting to the bathroom on time, versus incontinence. He cleaned her up and she continued on on the john with a regular bowel movement. She didn't seem too upset by the event.
Nurse M. showed up a little after noon, shortly after Mom nibbled on a couple of pieces of toast and grapes. Nurse M. immediately recognized that Mom appeared to exhibit less anxiety with her arrival, noting Mom's brighter eyes and smile. Though Mom still expressed confusion about Nurse M.'s name, as well as "what road do we live on," she really was less anxious. Her restlessness at the consultation was notably less, I thought, too. Halfway through their meeting, Dad told me he was tired and went downstairs to grab a little nap. Nurse M. checked Mom's ankle and her vitals, after interviewing about the medications and reactions. We decided to maintain the level of the Haloperidol for at the very least a few more days. After next week, Nurse M. will visit less often for a week.
I read more from the Cuba essays to Mom, and encouraged her to drink and eat a little more. Dad came up from his nap and went out to run errands. When he came home, after settling in, he came and sat on the couch and Mom laid her head in his lap. She does seem to get more sleepy in the afternoon, probably because of the drug, but her confusion about where she is seems to be a little bit less.. or, at least, she's bringing the subject up less.
Today, Wednesday March ninth, Maria comes to work with Mom at ten. Dad and I decided that I will got to the monthly Alzheimer's support group at one, down at our local community center. Tonight, Dad has a board meeting, so I will stay with Mom until he comes home. More snow coming later tonight, unfortunately, but switching over to rain by Thursday night.
****
Okay, just got a phone call from Dad now, a little before ten. He was worried because Mom was very groggy this morning and out of it, and she was very wobbly when she first got out of bed. She did eat most of her breakfast, but then had a loose stool, which he had to help clean up. He said she fell back asleep in her chair after all that. I asked if she was drooling or speaking softly, but he didn't think so. I told him to call Nurse M. about all this.
Damn drugs and their damn side effects.
Friday, March 4, 2011
No Cheese, Yuck
Thursday, March third, I spent as much time as I could with Mom, so that Dad could be freed up to do other stuff. When I greeted them in the morning, Dad was happy to report that he had caught up on some sleep the night before, and that Mom had gotten up and out of bed by herself, got her self to and on the toilet by herself, and only needed a little help afterwards with tucking in.
Mom greeted me with a big hello, she was dressed and sitting in her chair. She asked how I was, what I had been doing. Throughout the day, I noticed two things - the volume of her voice is stronger, more normal, and her walking and balance is stronger, more normal. I encouraged her to walk an extra loop every time we got up for a bathroom break. Anything, just to keep moving. Take a visit to the window, walk through the kitchen to put down a drinking glass.
She had eaten fairly decently in the morning, too. Their was a little plate of tiny apple bits and one cracker with peanut butter, as well as half a glass of Ensure, on the table next to her chair. I settled in, she asked me to read to her. It's been a couple of weeks since I've had that request, so I grabbed an old New Yorker magazine and found a neat short story called "Blue Roses" by Frances Hwang, and she seemed to listen to the whole thing. Dad drove down to his post office box during that period.
At lunch time, Dad made up a can of a "high fiber" chicken vegetable soup, and she reluctantly got up off the couch and sat at the dining room table, not without some protest. To distract her, I put out a plate of one of the bran muffins cut up into tiny pieces on the table, as well as some cranberry juice. When the soup was ready and served, I offered to feed her, and she didn't protest. "Faster," she said at one point, but not because she likes it, because she wants to get it over with. She ate a little more than about a quarter of a cup of the soup, and wanted out.
I ran home for a little while then. About half an hour later, Dad called to say that the auto body car place called and the fender on his vehicle was replaced and ready for pick up. I zipped back over and then he took off in the big, disgusting rental vehicle.
While he was away, I read some more from the current New Yorker magazine. I started the short story, but it was hard to follow, so we dropped it. I read a theater review. I read a short article about an architect and the tower apartment building he erected near the Brooklyn Bridge. I showed her the photo with the piece. She has told me in the past how she dreamed of being an architect, so I thought she'd enjoy that piece, and she said she did. Lastly, I read a longer article about an artist and the bar that she's run for many years in the Lower East Side. Towards the end of that article, Mom began to stir, and then she said, "Okay, that's enough. Don't you want to stop? It's been hours already!" I told her it hadn't been that long, and that I was going to finish the article anyway, so then she agreed to let me finish the rest of the article out loud. At the end, she admitted that she found it interesting.
After that, she uttered two words I hadn't heard come from her lips in quite a while.
"I'm hungry."
Aha! I leapt from the chair, raced to the kitchen.. she had given me some ideas what she might eat, but NO CRACKERS, NO CHEESE, YUCK. So, I took one slice of whole wheat bread and cut it up into nine small pieces, slapped some peanut butter on them, and added four halved green grapes just for good measure. She started eating, she liked. She asked for some of that "brown stuff," which means cranberry or prune juice, and she drank all that up. She even transferred to the chair to eat her snack.
Then Dad came home with his repaired vehicle, and their was a warm reunion, Mom dramatically relieved that he was home and the car was fixed. I stuck around a little longer so that Dad could take care of a little more stuff, and then I let her lay on the bed for a few minutes. She didn't stay long. By the time I left, she was sitting quietly in her chair again, and Dad was working at the dining room table. I never a heard a peep from them the rest of the night.
Mom greeted me with a big hello, she was dressed and sitting in her chair. She asked how I was, what I had been doing. Throughout the day, I noticed two things - the volume of her voice is stronger, more normal, and her walking and balance is stronger, more normal. I encouraged her to walk an extra loop every time we got up for a bathroom break. Anything, just to keep moving. Take a visit to the window, walk through the kitchen to put down a drinking glass.
She had eaten fairly decently in the morning, too. Their was a little plate of tiny apple bits and one cracker with peanut butter, as well as half a glass of Ensure, on the table next to her chair. I settled in, she asked me to read to her. It's been a couple of weeks since I've had that request, so I grabbed an old New Yorker magazine and found a neat short story called "Blue Roses" by Frances Hwang, and she seemed to listen to the whole thing. Dad drove down to his post office box during that period.
At lunch time, Dad made up a can of a "high fiber" chicken vegetable soup, and she reluctantly got up off the couch and sat at the dining room table, not without some protest. To distract her, I put out a plate of one of the bran muffins cut up into tiny pieces on the table, as well as some cranberry juice. When the soup was ready and served, I offered to feed her, and she didn't protest. "Faster," she said at one point, but not because she likes it, because she wants to get it over with. She ate a little more than about a quarter of a cup of the soup, and wanted out.
I ran home for a little while then. About half an hour later, Dad called to say that the auto body car place called and the fender on his vehicle was replaced and ready for pick up. I zipped back over and then he took off in the big, disgusting rental vehicle.
While he was away, I read some more from the current New Yorker magazine. I started the short story, but it was hard to follow, so we dropped it. I read a theater review. I read a short article about an architect and the tower apartment building he erected near the Brooklyn Bridge. I showed her the photo with the piece. She has told me in the past how she dreamed of being an architect, so I thought she'd enjoy that piece, and she said she did. Lastly, I read a longer article about an artist and the bar that she's run for many years in the Lower East Side. Towards the end of that article, Mom began to stir, and then she said, "Okay, that's enough. Don't you want to stop? It's been hours already!" I told her it hadn't been that long, and that I was going to finish the article anyway, so then she agreed to let me finish the rest of the article out loud. At the end, she admitted that she found it interesting.
After that, she uttered two words I hadn't heard come from her lips in quite a while.
"I'm hungry."
Aha! I leapt from the chair, raced to the kitchen.. she had given me some ideas what she might eat, but NO CRACKERS, NO CHEESE, YUCK. So, I took one slice of whole wheat bread and cut it up into nine small pieces, slapped some peanut butter on them, and added four halved green grapes just for good measure. She started eating, she liked. She asked for some of that "brown stuff," which means cranberry or prune juice, and she drank all that up. She even transferred to the chair to eat her snack.
Then Dad came home with his repaired vehicle, and their was a warm reunion, Mom dramatically relieved that he was home and the car was fixed. I stuck around a little longer so that Dad could take care of a little more stuff, and then I let her lay on the bed for a few minutes. She didn't stay long. By the time I left, she was sitting quietly in her chair again, and Dad was working at the dining room table. I never a heard a peep from them the rest of the night.
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.
Saturday, February 26, 2011
Snowy Friday
I trudged back through the falling snow after I had some lunch, arriving back over around twelve thirty. Dad still hadn't had lunch yet, so I put on some of the chicken soup I had made and brought over for him. For Mom, I took a cup of the soup and put it in the blender and pureed it. Then I put it in the microwave and heated it up. She did eat about ten or fifteen small teaspoons of the pureed soup.
She was snotty. We worked on that. She went back to dozing. It was fairly quite there, with the snow falling and the wind howling. The phone did not ring like it had all the day before. I picked up a book of essays on the season of winter that I found in her bookshelf. One of the essays, by John Updike, had notes in it. Dad told me she had recited this essay at a church service a few years back. I could see where she had changed some of the words and lines to fit her message. I read the essay aloud to her, Dad listened in, too. Later, I read another essay on winter by a woman named Anne Dillard, I think it was. We got through most of that essay, when towards the end, Mom began to stir, and we knew it was time for the bathroom.
Through out the afternoon, when she did speak, her voice was very soft. Some of the things she said made sense, other things it was hard to know what she meant. The phone did ring one time in the mid afternoon, our neighbor giving Dad an update on things, and she managed to ask about that. This happened while we were slowly walking back from a bathroom break.
Dad and I were both impressed with her walking yesterday. It was stronger, her legs a little straighter. It still took a while to get going - her head is slumped down, her eyes will not rise, but it was less tottering. We were able to let her go for short moments and she was able to stand alone. But not for long. She peed several times, sometimes she was able to wipe herself, other times, not quite. Her confusion sometimes leads her to put the used toilet paper in the basked next to the throne instead of dropping it in the bowl.
She ate a few slices of canned pear in the later afternoon. Drank some more water. Spoke a little here and there, mostly with eyes closed. As I got ready to leave for the evening, around five, I was feeling kind of hopeful that Mom was getting stronger. Dad and I discussed what he could try and give her to eat, and I told him to call with a report later, if he wanted to.
Around six thirty, he did call. I had just sent a little hopeful email out to my siblings (we had all been emailing throughout the day), and was just beginning to relax a little, when he called sounding exasperated. He had tried to give her some food and drink and she was refusing everything. His back was getting sore from sitting in the little stool by her chair, trying to spoon feed her. By the time we hung up again, he had decided to try and give her some ice cream with perhaps, some sliced pears. He didn't ask me to walk back over on in the dark and snow, but after a few minutes, I decided to go back over. Mostly for moral support for Dad, really.
When I got there, he was proud that she did eat some of the ice cream and pear. I greeted her and asked if she would like any of the drink. NO. After a few minutes, we moved her to the couch. After another fifteen minutes, I helped Dad through the ritual of putting her to bed. The long slow walk to the bathroom. Toilet (nothing). Teeth brushing (she still does it herself, somehow.) Four pills (a little confusion, probably because I was there, but she did get them down.) And finally, into bed. The look on her face for those few moments when Dad has to lift her to get her in position, heart wrenching. We left her with kisses and good nights, on her back in her bed, asleep right away.
I said goodnight, walked back out into the dark and snow, and felt numb. When I got home, my partner said, "How was it, grim?"
"Yep. It's grim." I replied, not for the first time.
Today is another day. Siblings appearing at some point. I have to decide if I want to go to play my gig tonight or not - I have a great friend willing to sub for me at last moments notice. Most important, Mom's well being. Food, drink and comfort. Saturday seems like such a long way away from Monday, when we can finally talk to her doctor again. Dad's post on the message board had quite a few good responses by late last night, and now I'm wondering if she does indeed have a urinary tract infection, or some other kind of infection, after all. She probably needs electrolytes.
Our neighbor is pushing snow around in our driveway now. He'll go down and do Dad and Mom's driveway next. The sun is out. It's only nine in the morning. Got a lot more to do today. I'm okay, though.
Thursday, February 24, 2011
Quick Update For Thursday
Just a quick mid-day check in. Mom is still pretty out of it, not eating solid foods. She drank a whole glass of Ensure, a small bowl of applesauce and a bite of banana in the morning. She's had a whole glass of cranberry juice and a small bowl of chicken noodle soup. She chewed on the chicken bits but later spit them out. She has a drippy nose. She's been sleeping, propped up in the chair. We did have her walk to the front door after her third bathroom trip. She stood there for a while, even took a few breaths of fresh air with the door open in the sunshine.
We've got the ball rolling on hospice. We're expecting a call back to set up an evaluation. Naturally, the snow storm due tomorrow may push a visit from a hospice worker back to Monday, instead of Friday.
Our kind neighbors are planning on helping us get the hospital bed, pads, and commode from our other neighbor, hopefully this afternoon.
I've been over there twice already today, heading back over in a few minutes.
Mom did crack one joke on one of our walks back from the bathroom. We like to recite while we walk "Left, left, I had a good job but I left. First they hired me, then they fired me, then by golly I left... left, left, etc." When we got to the last line, she said, "First they hired me, then they fucking fired me..."
Still has her humor.
We've got the ball rolling on hospice. We're expecting a call back to set up an evaluation. Naturally, the snow storm due tomorrow may push a visit from a hospice worker back to Monday, instead of Friday.
Our kind neighbors are planning on helping us get the hospital bed, pads, and commode from our other neighbor, hopefully this afternoon.
I've been over there twice already today, heading back over in a few minutes.
Mom did crack one joke on one of our walks back from the bathroom. We like to recite while we walk "Left, left, I had a good job but I left. First they hired me, then they fired me, then by golly I left... left, left, etc." When we got to the last line, she said, "First they hired me, then they fucking fired me..."
Still has her humor.
Tuesday, February 15, 2011
Dentist Visit
Yesterday Mom and Dad had appointments with the dental hygienist. We got Mom settled in the car and Dad drove us to the office, which is nearly half an hour away. We took our time, we were early. Dad brought along two of the mild prescription sedatives just in case, but we never did need to use them.
We parked in the icy parking lot of the office, and with Mom holding each of our hands, we walked with her to the door. The office is in the basement of a large brick building, and the entrance way to the office includes a set of steep, carpeted stairs down a dark, wood paneled passageway. Once in the waiting room, a low-ceilinged, fluorescent lit space, drab decor and soft pop rock playing just a little too loud coming from an old radio on one of the tables, we scuffled about undressing Mom from her coat and mittens and hat, finally settling her in to a chair to wait for her appointment. While Dad went to use the bathroom, Mom saw another waiting patient reading a soft cover book, and she asked aloud, "what is that you're reading?," but the woman pretended to have not heard, and I hushed her down. Waiting is the hardest part, and Mom always wants to chat with other people in the room.
Finally, Dad reappeared and the very friendly hygienist called her in for her appointment. Dad was able to go along, and I was alone for forty minutes or so with my book, the a-little too loud soft pop rock (playing requests for Valentine's Day, no less), and one or two waiting patients. I buried my nose in the book ("Lost In Translation," Nicole Mones) and the time went by easily.
Mom's appointment then was finished, and Dad proudly told me that "she did pretty good in there" and that she had no cavities. That was a relief. Then we had to wait some more. We stalled by putting on Mom's coat, as it was a little chilly in the waiting room, and at last, the friendly hygienist called out Dad's name and we said good bye to him and then it was time to wait some more.
I tried to show her a magazine, she was not interested. She complained about the music, that it was bothering her. I was able to reach over and turn the radio down. Their was an older woman sitting to my left, and she was chatting with another woman friend who had just come out of an appointment. Mom listened in. "Did you hear what she said?" Mom whispered to me. "No, not really Mom."
More time passed, Mom started getting antsy. "Want to walk around a bit?" "Okay." We got up, circled the room. She looked at the older woman who was still waiting, her friend had left and so she was quietly reading a magazine. She had a large shiny gold purse, unusual for an older country woman from Maine, and Mom walked towards it and started to try and say something, looking at the woman and the purse. The woman smiled, picked up her purse, and remarked to Mom that, "Yes, many people are drawn to this bag for some reason." Mom wanted to communicate, but wasn't really able to, but thankfully, this woman had a sense and quickly summed up the situation. As I encouraged Mom by the hand to continue to walk around the room, the woman said aloud, "Are these your parents?"
"Yes they are," I replied, proudly.
"Enjoy every moment with them. You are an angel."
Mom said, "Yes, she is an angel, a God send!"
And I thanked the woman as we circled back around and said, "Oh believe me, I do. It's a blessing."
And she smiled knowingly and said, somewhat softer towards Mom, "You are very lucky to have a daughter like her."
Then I felt bad that I couldn't be her daughter, too, right then, but naturally, I was distracted with keeping Mom from walking into the work rooms of the dentist.
Finally we were alone in the room, and we took a new seat at the large couch. Mom complained of being tired. I told her to shut her eyes. She did for a few minutes, then I distracted her for another few minutes with a magazine on birds, featuring hummingbirds. We looked through that, looked at the glossy photos of birds and flowers and gardens, her attention wavering after a few seconds, so I'd move on to the next page to keep her down and distracted.
"What time is it?" she'd ask.
"Um, let's see..." stretching time as long as I can, reaching into my coat pocket to grab my little cell phone, checking the time at last, "it's two twenty-five."
"Oh God!!"
Like it's the end of time, the end of the world. I'd rub her back then, tell her to close her eyes, it won't be too much longer now. However, Dad's appointment was a bit longer than Mom's.. he had an issue, and it was dragging on. Finally, Mom called out to one of the receptionists... "How long? Can you find out how long it's going to be?"
The two receptionists had been witness to our entire time there, of course, so with a smile, the one she asked said, "No problem, I'll find out," and was back shortly with the answer, "Just a few more minutes now."
I couldn't have said it any better myself! Welcome to my world.
Mom was in agony, she started saying out loud, "Oh God, Oh God!" She almost lost it. We got up and walked around the room a few more times. Finally, Mom started pulling me into the patient room area... I looked pleadingly at the friendly receptionists.. "Is it okay if we take a quick look?"
"Oh sure, go ahead!" And no sooner did we turn the corner when we saw Dad standing up, folding up a piece of paper. He didn't see us. Mom quickly pulled me back. She did not want Dad to see her looking for him.
At last, he appeared. Dad checked out. Back up the dark, carpeted stairway we went, out to the icy parking lot, buckled into the car, and on the road for home. The hardest appointment of the week is over, I think. Today, we visit the primary care doctor.
We parked in the icy parking lot of the office, and with Mom holding each of our hands, we walked with her to the door. The office is in the basement of a large brick building, and the entrance way to the office includes a set of steep, carpeted stairs down a dark, wood paneled passageway. Once in the waiting room, a low-ceilinged, fluorescent lit space, drab decor and soft pop rock playing just a little too loud coming from an old radio on one of the tables, we scuffled about undressing Mom from her coat and mittens and hat, finally settling her in to a chair to wait for her appointment. While Dad went to use the bathroom, Mom saw another waiting patient reading a soft cover book, and she asked aloud, "what is that you're reading?," but the woman pretended to have not heard, and I hushed her down. Waiting is the hardest part, and Mom always wants to chat with other people in the room.
Finally, Dad reappeared and the very friendly hygienist called her in for her appointment. Dad was able to go along, and I was alone for forty minutes or so with my book, the a-little too loud soft pop rock (playing requests for Valentine's Day, no less), and one or two waiting patients. I buried my nose in the book ("Lost In Translation," Nicole Mones) and the time went by easily.
Mom's appointment then was finished, and Dad proudly told me that "she did pretty good in there" and that she had no cavities. That was a relief. Then we had to wait some more. We stalled by putting on Mom's coat, as it was a little chilly in the waiting room, and at last, the friendly hygienist called out Dad's name and we said good bye to him and then it was time to wait some more.
I tried to show her a magazine, she was not interested. She complained about the music, that it was bothering her. I was able to reach over and turn the radio down. Their was an older woman sitting to my left, and she was chatting with another woman friend who had just come out of an appointment. Mom listened in. "Did you hear what she said?" Mom whispered to me. "No, not really Mom."
More time passed, Mom started getting antsy. "Want to walk around a bit?" "Okay." We got up, circled the room. She looked at the older woman who was still waiting, her friend had left and so she was quietly reading a magazine. She had a large shiny gold purse, unusual for an older country woman from Maine, and Mom walked towards it and started to try and say something, looking at the woman and the purse. The woman smiled, picked up her purse, and remarked to Mom that, "Yes, many people are drawn to this bag for some reason." Mom wanted to communicate, but wasn't really able to, but thankfully, this woman had a sense and quickly summed up the situation. As I encouraged Mom by the hand to continue to walk around the room, the woman said aloud, "Are these your parents?"
"Yes they are," I replied, proudly.
"Enjoy every moment with them. You are an angel."
Mom said, "Yes, she is an angel, a God send!"
And I thanked the woman as we circled back around and said, "Oh believe me, I do. It's a blessing."
And she smiled knowingly and said, somewhat softer towards Mom, "You are very lucky to have a daughter like her."
Then I felt bad that I couldn't be her daughter, too, right then, but naturally, I was distracted with keeping Mom from walking into the work rooms of the dentist.
Finally we were alone in the room, and we took a new seat at the large couch. Mom complained of being tired. I told her to shut her eyes. She did for a few minutes, then I distracted her for another few minutes with a magazine on birds, featuring hummingbirds. We looked through that, looked at the glossy photos of birds and flowers and gardens, her attention wavering after a few seconds, so I'd move on to the next page to keep her down and distracted.
"What time is it?" she'd ask.
"Um, let's see..." stretching time as long as I can, reaching into my coat pocket to grab my little cell phone, checking the time at last, "it's two twenty-five."
"Oh God!!"
Like it's the end of time, the end of the world. I'd rub her back then, tell her to close her eyes, it won't be too much longer now. However, Dad's appointment was a bit longer than Mom's.. he had an issue, and it was dragging on. Finally, Mom called out to one of the receptionists... "How long? Can you find out how long it's going to be?"
The two receptionists had been witness to our entire time there, of course, so with a smile, the one she asked said, "No problem, I'll find out," and was back shortly with the answer, "Just a few more minutes now."
I couldn't have said it any better myself! Welcome to my world.
Mom was in agony, she started saying out loud, "Oh God, Oh God!" She almost lost it. We got up and walked around the room a few more times. Finally, Mom started pulling me into the patient room area... I looked pleadingly at the friendly receptionists.. "Is it okay if we take a quick look?"
"Oh sure, go ahead!" And no sooner did we turn the corner when we saw Dad standing up, folding up a piece of paper. He didn't see us. Mom quickly pulled me back. She did not want Dad to see her looking for him.
At last, he appeared. Dad checked out. Back up the dark, carpeted stairway we went, out to the icy parking lot, buckled into the car, and on the road for home. The hardest appointment of the week is over, I think. Today, we visit the primary care doctor.
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.
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| 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.
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