Tuesday, March 25, 2014 

Bad night. Maybe 3 hours of sleep. Mom called several times and then I was awakened by a phantom call. Happens. I heard mom call, went downstairs, saw mom sleeping, and heard her snoring. Minutes later, after I went back upstairs, she did awaken. So I followed her into the bathroom and helped her out. The phantom calls bother me most. I wonder if when I am in my dotage, I will be awakened by phantom calls or hear them throughout the day. Best not to dwell on what might be and manage today instead.

Bitter cold again. Walked the pups with Aunt Betty, and at least they’re settled. Waiting for mom to awaken. Waiting to hear, Sandy! The dreaded sound that I welcome. She’s awake. She’s well. (I remember Ann telling me how she would go into the bedroom with trepidation to see if Rose and mom were alive.) Another day begins. Another round of bathroom visits, meals prepared, juice delivered, tissues given, clothing laundered—but she is well. How can I feel so ambivalent about hearing my own name called? At least she knows my name now—a big change from when mom first moved here. She is still confused, but at least has some bearings. When I am in my office—right behind her own room—she has no idea where I am; although, she does sometimes venture in to tell me she is going to the bathroom. If I had all the money in the world, I would put in a second bathroom. Waterproofing the basement and replacing the new hot water heater temporarily precludes any dreams of bigger and more dramatic updates. Still, we manage.

Dogs are quiet. Mom is still asleep. I will drink my tea in peace, if not quickly.

Later—

Well, that was five times mom was up to go to the bathroom in as many minutes. But I have initiated a new policy: She must stay there for at least 5 minutes and attempt to finish. Each time she declares she is finished, this is not the case. And each time, mom is surprised that she actually had to “go” more than she thought. Each evacuation is a unexpected. But I am learning and she is learning—maybe, maybe not.

Er, make that six trips to the bathroom. She simply does not understand staying in the bathroom until she has finished. This necessitates donning gloves, washing hands, washing sink and toilet over and over again. I should realize this will happen. But even though I do, I keep hoping I will have a minute’s peace. A minute to finish work uninterrupted. A minute without having to run my hands under water again. My nails are dried out. My hands are like prunes and are again rapidly. And no one else can use the one bathroom we have—at least not without washing it down again after mom has left—even though I supervise her bathroom visits when I am awake and usually working.

OK. OK. So who is one of my greatest teachers? My mother. I was so short-tempered last time, especially when she threw a poop-laden wad of paper in the toilet. I had already taken the toilet paper out of the bathroom, bade her to stay there until she was finally finished, but she had in her tiny hand the ubiquitous pieces of tissue—always a handful of tissues—and used them to wipe herself incorrectly. So into the shower she went. I had no choice. Cannot chance her sleeping all night seriously soiled. She didn’t want the shower, but I put on the heat lamp and showered her quickly.

When I brought her back into the bedroom, she said, I am so sorry for you. I think of you often and how you do so much for people. It wasn’t so much for herself, but for others she spoke. I was chastised, justifiably rebuked with kind words from my senile mother. I am blessed that my mother has the presence of mind still to bring me out of myself.

And on the practical side: No more napkins for mom. She uses them to wipe herself and throws them down the toilet. My new toilet is good, but not good enough to withstand the wads of napkins and other paper goods my mother now hoards. Have already had to use the plunger. Be advised. Hide all paper goods as necessary and limit use to tissues.