Saturday, June 7, 2014 

Quite a day! Took a day off from editing and helped out at market for a few hours. Left early to get back in time for the wedding shower on my back porch. I had been working for weeks to clean the porch, polish furniture, get rid of spider webs, wash the tile floor, weed the garden, plant annuals among the perennials, and mulch. Rob spent the week trimming and mowing. Everything was wonderful. I tied pink and burgundy mylar balloons to the Weber grill I was giving the bride (in addition to a Kitchen Aid toaster).

Ruth came at noon to see to mom. Lovely woman. Mom had no idea who she was and claimed she had never seen her before, but this is Ruth’s third visit with mom. While mom and Ruth sat in the living room chatting, I noticed a wet spot on the antique Oriental. Lucy didn’t make it out on time. So I dragged the carpet to the yard and hosed it down. Fortunately, the sun was strong and bright. But this was a mere shadow of things to come.

Mother and bride came to my back gate on the pretext of dropping off a plant. When the bride saw the guests (around 20 of them), she refused to go onto the porch. Instead, she staged (and I don’t use that lightly) a meltdown on my front lawn, unable to breathe. Her hands became numb and a neighbor came in for some ice. A serious anxiety attack. Quite a show for mom and Ruth. (Ruth is a lovely woman at 82.) All the guests were nonplussed. No one knew what to say or do. So I suggested they start eating the food. Some went home, gifts unopened. Eventually, the bride came in, sat facing the garden, head lowered and sobbing. We all wonder how she will react to marching down the aisle while 200 people watch. We all wonder how she will react to the rehearsal dinner or to the reception after the wedding. We all wonder if she is really ready to be married.

As an aside, I suggested she take the mylar balloons home, but the bride refused: her fiancé is “terrified of balloons.” Either they will make quite a couple and see each other through these unusual fears or they will wind up in a very miserable marriage. The maid of honor was quite upset as were other members of the bridal party. They had never seen this side of the bride. Eventually, she opened her gifts, keeping her head down and her voice low.

I tell you all this because I checked in on mom and Ruth several times. Both were horrified at the actions of this young woman. The drama took quite a while to unfold. All the while, I could only think how happy I was that my mother at 97 is easier to handle than this young woman at 25. Am I becoming more patient? Not really. Just more accepting and realizing that I wasn’t dealt a bad hand in my mother. She’s a sweet woman who would not have put up with the bizarre behavior we saw today. What a world we live in. I am almost glad that mom doesn’t really know what’s going on. I think she would be seriously disheartened.

Wednesday, June 4, 2014 

Deadlines galore, and all this week. Plus the wedding shower on my back porch on Saturday. Have a sitter lined up for mom. Am in the process of editing more than 400 pages of questions for a nursing exam. Several of the questions speak to my circumstances: “A confused patient asks to use the bathroom even though the patient was toileted only 30 minutes earlier. What should the nurse do?” I used to “Explain that this is unnecessary because of the recent trip to the bathroom.” I have long since learned that is the wrong answer. Correct Answer: “Assist the patient to the bathroom.” No, I am not more patient, just more resigned.

Of course, mom might take 4 trips to the bathroom in 30 minutes. She has already taken two trips this morning within the past 15 minutes. And so the day goes on.

Later—

What time is it, Rob?
9:50
Oh yeah! 

Of course, if we put the timer on the microwave, mom always asks:

Why is that clock going backwards? I don’t understand.

A very young child wouldn’t know this or might not observe it. So there are still vestiges of intelligence in there. She might not understand the workings of a timer, but she knows that a clock goes forward, not backwards. Dementia is a tough cookie to deal with. So is mom.

And of course, mom notes every morning, Oh that cat is still up there. I can’t believe it. Most of the time, I indulge her fantasy. Sometimes I actually bring her to closer to the fan. When I do, she blinks as if trying to find the cat. But then she focuses once again and sees it there. No use trying. She is bound the other way.

Am working away, whittling down the huge editing project and hoping mom doesn’t call me too many times today. And you know, when my mother is long gone, I am sure Rob and I will still hear the clanking of her spoon on her cereal bowl as she lines up her little Cheerios and submerges them evenly into the milk. And we will hear her Oh yeses and Oh nos coming from her room in response to the TV game shows. We will never be alone!

Grilled a pepper steak, sautéed some fried onions, and steamed organic broccoli for our lunch. Gave mom half of a pepper steak, but she only ate half. When I gave her a piece of strawberry shortcake, I told her she would be sure to eat that but didn’t finish her pepper steak.

I didn’t have any pepper steak, she protested? I didn’t eat. I’m eating this.
You don’t remember having the pepper steak?
No I didn’t eat anything!
I gave you onions and broccoli and a pepper steak.
Oh yeah. (Mom’s way of dealing with not remembering.) 

There are several Oh yeahs. The Oh yeah?—indicating surprise. The Oh yeah—indicating that’s right, I remember now. The Oh yeah—indicating No! The Oh yeah—demonstrating challenge. Her vocabulary might have diminished, but she can express herself clearly enough to all who care to hear.

Her weak Oh yeahs are always a dead giveaway and indicate that she has no clue—a sort of verbal shoulder shrug. Mom has no clue that she had just had lunch, and I shouldn’t badger her, but it’s too hard not to. Rob says its payback time. It was my turn to protest: I always ate what I was given when I was child. Oh well. Who knows and who’s telling!

Mom is still in the kitchen calling for affirmation as she circles her Word Search finds. Sandy, see if this is right. Sometimes I check. Most of the time, I don’t. She forgets and I go on about my business. I cannot answer her every call. They are far too frequent and far too intrusive, especially when I am working. Well, back to work before mom needs another bathroom break!