Thursday, February 9, 2017

Mom fell again on Tuesday evening. This time, she hurt her leg or her hip. After a call to the hospice nurse, we felt it best to have her taken to the ER by ambulance. And so we did. It was difficult to assess how much pain mom was feeling and where, apart from her leg.

The ER is a horrible place to spend the night. I sat on a hard chair through the night or paced the room, my little black jacket the only thing between any semblance of warmth and death by freezing. I had hours to inspect every corner of that confined space with my eyes. Mom did her usual, calling out for Mom and Mary and Marge and nurse and wanting to go home.

An x-ray revealed that her hip was quite thin. No news there. No fracture, possibly, but then, it is difficult to see hairline fractures. What was clear was mom’s bowel impaction. Despite senna twice daily, glycerin suppositories, and some prunes when she will take them and liquids—how difficult it is to get her to drink anything—mom has always been constipated. At this age, however, it becomes a serious danger.

The doctor tried several tricks in the book: enema, IV fluids, a glycerin suppository, and a second enema with molasses. Eventually, her bowel loosened. After the cleanup, it was time to send mom home, where the rest of the cleanup would fall on me.

We spent nearly 12 hours in the ER. I arrived home at 7:00 AM, took Valentino for a walk on his birthday (February 8), fed him, fed myself, and waited for the ambulance to bring mom home. Today, the nurse and our aid came to visit. I prepared mom’s room for a lengthy (permanent?) stay: bars up on the side of the bed; portable potty, cleaning bucket, wet and dry wipes, and gloves nearby; and a bed tray for meals.

Now all of the cleaning up will take place in one room, and the bathroom will be free for Rob and me. After stocking mom’s room, I cleaned the bathroom (nonstop work), but this time for Rob and me. I put out our towels without fear they would be soiled with feces. I even put our toilet paper on the stainless Italian holder I bought when mom first arrived here. I remember thinking how it would keep the toilet paper clean, as it covered the paper with a stainless flap. I was unable to use it because mom would soil the holder badly.

All personal items had been hidden: toothbrushes (even Valentino’s) and toothpaste, brushes, and files for fear mom would use or soil them. Now, there will be no such problem, but sadly, mom is confined to her bed, until Rob or I can walk her the few steps to the potty in her room. One newer problem has arisen: my shoulder pain. I am concerned that I have torn or am beginning to tear my shoulder. Mom is dead weight and I am not sure how long I will even be useful in this endeavor.

Mom just called, “Mary, Mary.” Time for a potty break.

Later—

After removing mom’s diaper and cleaning her with warm, soapy water, I managed to bring her to the potty, a few steps away, doing this with my good arm.

Cleanup took a while. There was the diaper, removing it, cleaning mom (a heroic endeavor), emptying the potty in the toilet, and cleaning it in the basement. Then cleaning the potty with disinfectant, lighting the soy aromatherapy candle, and depositing a drop or two of essential oil in the potty. Today, our first and very welcome snowstorm precludes my quickly depositing the soiled bag with diaper and wipes outside. I am not sure when or if Thursday garbage pickup will occur. But I will get dressed and trek to the curb.

It is sad that mom is now limited to her room until or when or if her leg heals. But did I say something about cleanup being easier?

 

Monday, February 6, 2017

Mom has been in rare form since yesterday when she saw “a man” in her room. While “he” was in the room, I heard her say, “Cheryl. Cheryl is her name.” Then she called me and asked if Cheryl was the name of my friend. I told her that it was. Later, we agreed that Cheryl’s dad, who has just passed, was visiting mom, as he knew that she, living between two worlds, could see him. He might have mentioned that Cheryl was my friend. It was a way to confirm that it was he who was visiting.

Today, more of the same in a different vein. At the moment, mom is screaming endlessly for me. She is worried that “Sandy is alone!” Unfortunately, I cannot convince her that I am Sandy. It’s funny and maddening at the same time. I am trying to work in my office above her constant, loud, and sometimes shrill calls for “Sandy.” When I tell her that I am Sandy, she will not believe it. She is now shouting, “I need to pick up my kid. You can’t do that. I never leave her alone.”

I know it must be painful to be locked in her world, fearing the worst or whatever is going on in her head. She thinks I am lying about being Sandy. She really has no idea who I am. But she did say, “They should be grateful they have blankets and shoes and socks.” Indeed, we are grateful. And this is something I say in thanks every night: “Thank you for the pillow under my head, my blankets, my warm clothing…” I know there are no guarantees in this life. And for mom, there are precious few in her mind.

Mom is now shouting endlessly for Rob, having given up on me and my insistence that I am Sandy. We are reluctant to give her Ativan, as she falls and becomes unstable when given such meds. What to do? What to do?

I am so sorry for my mother. I am sorry for her anxiety, and yet I know it’s all a part of dementia. What a hell this is—for her and us! There are no answers, no solutions. Mom is calling me/Sandy constantly, without stop, without stop.