Tuesday, June 3, 2014

This morning’s conversation in the bathroom. (And in case dear reader has forgotten, I am her daughter Sandy): 

Good morning, mom.
Close the door, will you?
What time did you get up?
6:00 a.m.
Why so early?
That’s when I always get up. Now, wash your hands.
Where’s Rob?
He’s in the kitchen.
Did you have breakfast yet?
Yes, I did, and I walked the pups and fed them, too.

This is usually the extent of our conversations. I changed mom, had her wash her hands, and explained that I was returning to my office. Mom went into the kitchen, where her cereal bowl was awaiting her. Rob was preparing her toast and coffee. Her first question to him: Where’s Sandy?

Sigh! She doesn’t recall that I was with her in the bathroom not a minute before.

Saturday, May 30, 2014 

My day started early. Betty and I walked the pups at 0600. Had to be at market by 0700, leaving mom to Rob. Apparently it was a tough morning for him. He goes to bed very late and was also up by 0600. No naps for him. Mom kept calling me. As much as she explained that I was at market, it made little difference to her. 

A while ago, I changed and fed her and opened windows in her room (much to her dismay: Ohh, it’s so cold! And of course, it isn’t cold. At the moment, it’s 77 degrees. 

We are off to the symphony this evening and have hired a sitter for the evening. Have a sitter coming next week on Saturday for the wedding shower we will hold on my back porch. Should be fun. Have already vacuumed up as many spider webs as I could find, bought new chair cushions, steamed the tile floors, and oiled the wooden furniture. All that’s left to be done on my part is to clean the garden beds after all the storms, mulch, buy some balloons and a large ribbon for the gift grill, turn on the icemaker, and set up the badminton net. Come to think of it, I might need to buy more badminton rackets. Food will be provided by the bride’s mother and maid of honor. Am looking forward to the occasion. It’s almost like having a family of my own. I love living here. I love my neighbors and my friends. 

Mom will be with her caregiver Ruth. Our only challenge will be having one bathroom. But I think we will survive. 

Mom is watching TV right now and occasionally laughing at something. Yesterday, she laughed hard at a Liberty Mutual advertisement that wasn’t funny at all. I think she is often delighted just to be able to read through the script on the captions for the hearing impaired and laughs in response.

Heard some horror stories at market today. In particular, one woman is taking care of her failing husband, her autistic daughter, and her ungrateful and bad humored in-laws. She looked tired and worn. She says she will have to work for the rest of her life. I quite understand. Same club I belong to. But the big difference here is that mom is good natured and very grateful. I, too, am grateful that she isn’t demanding and mean. Mom can be testy, but on the whole, she has a sweet nature. I am grateful, too, even though there are times I wish she would stop calling me and bothering me in mid-edit. Disturbances during work are particularly annoying. But it’s part of having an elderly demented woman and a rambunctious dog in your home. Wouldn’t do without them. I know things can get worse and she can become more dependent and more demanding. But for now, I am grateful that I can manage most of the time. 

Ruth just arrived. She will stay with mom while Rob and attend the last concert of the season. Of course, mom has no idea who Ruth is and that she is staying with her. Mom asks where Ruth lives and responds as usual, Oh yeah! Business as usual.

Wednesday, May 28, 2014 

Another very long day. Mom has been making trips to the bathroom since 0500. I am officially exhausted. We have been through quite a few diapers and one shower, with the usual caveat, Don’t touch my hair. Bathroom duty is my least favorite thing in the world. But she is comfortable and happy. 

I have plenty of editing to do, and now and again, mom will call.

Sandy!
What mom?
Oh, let’s see. I don’t remember. What did I want you for? [Mom fudges and seeks for something.] Oh, uh, where is my sister Rose?
In a nursing home in New Jersey.
Really? Does she have to be there?
Yes, mom. She can’t walk.
But they can help her walk again. Can’t they?
No mom.

We had plenty of cleanup after yesterday’s storm. Branches of every size and shape—as ever! Just one of those things. Took a walk tonight and saw one of the many cars severely damaged by last week’s hail storm. Quite a wreck: side view mirrors and trim destroyed, windows and body destroyed. I was lucky that only my hosta and some other plants suffered. The roots are still strong. There is always hope. 

As with mom. She is strong. I am not sure what there is to hope for, except for a good life in the hereafter.

Tuesday, May 27, 2014

What a morning! I was in the bathroom, when Valentino started to vomit. So I ran and threw the only towel available onto the Oriental runner in the hallway. It was a white towel, naturally. And his vomit was bright yellow. He vomited again outside on the stone patio. No problem there, except that when Lucy peed on the carpet on the porch, I had planned to hose the carpet down and lay it there. No matter. Hose the stones. 

After we walked the pups, Betty and I moved the carpet outside bearing yesterday’s scent. I washed it down with vinegar water, soap, and baking soda, then we laid it over the picnic table to dry. 

Back into the house, and my day was off to an early start. There was mom. In the bathroom already, and it’s only 0800. After she brushed her teeth (a 5-minute ritual), I sent her back to bed. I am off to shower and go to the hospital to give Reiki to oncology patients, and then off to NJ to have my tooth checked. I might have chipped a filling with an unpopped piece of popcorn two weeks ago. 

Long day ahead of me, and Val is already upset because we left him yesterday. (Of course, Aunt Betty was here twice to let them out and check up on them. We were only gone for 5 hours, but that’s a long time in dog-hours!) And mom will be left here with Rob. Oh, tomorrow! Longwood Gardens. I need to find a sitter for mom, or Rob will have two very long days to deal with. On to the phones! 

Later— 

Schedule revised. Stayed home from the hospital. Not feeling well. Canceled the trip to NJ to the dentist. Rain forecast and my tooth is OK. (The filling appears to be intact.) And Mary is unable to go to Longwood Gardens tomorrow. She has some knee damage and must undergo surgery. Is this Mercury in Retrograde? 

Never mind. I am home and can relax and recuperate. Was also available for a conference call and am now revising a 195-page document that was FINAL, but will now be MORE FINAL!  

While I was at it this morning, I cleaned the back porch; hosed down the area rug that Lucy soiled; vacuumed; steamed the tiles; replaced the chair mats (they were getting old) with brighter, more summery ones; and cleaned the patio somewhat (could not put out weed killer because of impending rain). Two weeks from the wedding shower. Need to get things in order. Each time I went back into the house, mom would ask Is it cold out? Windows are opened, breeze is pleasant, and she asks, Is it cold out? I was able to keep her bedroom windows wide open until the storm. 

Storm was violent. Branches down, as usual. Cable out: thus, no email, television, or phones. Sorry I went with the cable company for the phones. But at least I have my cell phone. Mom is in bed, having been to the bathroom around 5 or 6 times in one hour. What else is there for her to do? She has asked me several times to Fix that, meaning the television. But she is happy. Her windows are closed and she is back in darkness and warmth, covered by her down comforter. It’s a bit too early for bed, so I imagine she will be up all night. I hope Rob will get some sleep. She is wont to call and he usually hears her. 

Memorial Day, May 26, 2014 

Have had flags for years. Today, I am flying one of the big ones. Need to go to Loews to buy a clip for it. We are headed for Pottstown, where Captain B. will have his flag flying high and always at the ready. 

Mom says she knows where Pottstown is. It isn’t far from here, is it?

No, mom. It’s 30 minute away.
Pottown is nice. I remember always seeing the sign for Pottstown.
So, you remembering seeing the sign when you drove?
Yeah (weak smile).
Mom, you never drove near Pottstown at all.
Oh yeah. What are you doing?
Making lemon squares.
Oh yeah?
Yes, do you remember when you used to bake?
Oh yeah (weaksmile—always a dead giveaway).
Sure, mom. You never baked a cookie in your entire life. 

Rob started to laugh so hard, I followed, with tears streaming down my face. He said we should record our “conversations” and send them to Fire Sign Theater. I couldn’t do the judgin’ cause I didn’t know the Latin! 

Well, at least mom is showered and has had her cereal. All we have to do is load her into the car later, as she regales us with, I remember this, all the way down. If only she did. 

Rob started laughing as he recalled an incident with his father, who complained to his brother (Rob’s uncle) that we had gotten his towels wet. The response was priceless and delivered only as Ken could deliver it: But Crawford, that’s what they’re for!”

I reminded Rob that his father wasn’t demented. No, he said, irascible!
Curmudgeonly!
Cantankerous!
Contumacious!

We were halted by mom, who asked, Where did you buy this? Referring to a small container of Lancôme face cream, which I left on the kitchen counter for her.

At the store.
Really? How much did you pay for it? (That’s another favorite question for which she rarely seeks an answer.)
A lot.
Oh yeah?

Sigh! Went to Loews for the grommets. The American flag is now flying high—well, sort of. It’s over by the fence, but I still have the mounting bracket and will someday have someone mount it onto the house for me! God bless America and all the men and women who fought for us.

Sunday, May 25, 2014 

Allergies posing problems this week. I think the hailstorms stirred up the already plentiful tree pollen and mold. Still, I managed to do some gardening. I try to do everything before mom wakes up. Planted the new daylilies from White Flower Farm. Will have golden orange petals, 5” wide, with a chartreuse throat. Can’t wait. Tried to move an azalea. No luck. Moved one of the Strawberry Vanilla hydrangeas. (I love the name. Good enough to eat!) Cut back the cherry laurel than threatened to hinder view of the windowbox. And potted some begonias formerly destined for same windowbox. Mulched the limelight hydrangea tree than is threatening to return to bush form. Tough winter for hydrangeas. Mine have survived but all had to be drastically cut back. Am still mourning the loss of my hostas. Am hoping they will grow quickly and resume their lovely forms.

Valentino is barking again. Someone passing by—man, woman, dog, child, cat. He’s a challenge. It’s either Val or mom. He barks. She calls. Distractions aplenty in this household.

Apparently, mom woke Rob last night at 0430. He said she called me, but when he went to her room, she was asleep. And she, of course, has no memory of the incident. Rob is a saint. He is often the first to hear mom and usually the first to respond. We keep a supply of juices for mom—cranberry and grape. Rob makes sure her glass is full. When I asked mom if she would like cranberry juice—which we have been giving her for nearly a year now—she said, I’ve never had that before. Everything is new to her. Everyday is an adventure into the unknown. I wonder if after a while it does become frightening. I am told people with dementia and Alzheimer’s actually do retain pockets of memory, which, though often unaccessible, can be accessed from time to time, but only briefly. I see little evidence of mom accessing memories. She holds on to the questions she knows and practices them daily. Questions—her mainstay and her link to others. She can ask, but the answers you give will not make sense, nor will she listen to them, even if she can hear them. It’s a one-sided existence. Her point of view, her ever-contracting view.

Mom is not interested in many things. When she asked where Rob was, I told her that he was outside mowing the lawn and led her to the window. But she said, That’s OK. I don’t want to look. I directed her attention to the flowering fringe tree. Do you see the tree with the white flowers? Her response: Oh yeah. It’s nice. Let’s go. It’s almost as if she is trapped and afraid I might ask her a question that will reveal her inability to see and understand a flowering tree or to see Rob mowing the lawn and understand that he is actually mowing a lawn. If she did see Rob, she would only ask, Is that Rob? What’s he doing? I would explain that he is mowing the lawn, and she would give me her usual response, Oh yeah?

There is little that captures her attention. No sunset, however beautiful (and we do have some doozies here), no storm, however powerful (she missed the hail storms entirely). Last year, she was enamored of the large lavender-colored dahlias. I wonder if they will excite her this year, or if we will mourn the loss of yet another point of interest. The hospital where I work gave me a huge pointsettia at Christmastime. Mom’s sole interest was in my throwing the plant away. She reminded me frequently, When are you getting rid of that? For Mother’s Day, my brother sent her 2 dozen pink roses. I had to put them in two vases. Quite lovely. But again, Throw these away or Rob, move these. Put them someplace else.

I am a purger, but my mother is ruthless. She is no lover of flowers, plants, shrubs, the earth. She remains terrified of bugs. She would never countenance a trip to the farm to buy grass-fed beef or organic raw milk or plants for the garden. We were always extremely different. So far as she was concerned, I lived on a different planet. But my planet was one I greatly preferred. Mom’s very narrow world has closed in even tighter. Perhaps having less to lose is an advantage. I myself would rather have known and lost, than never have known at all.

Saturday, May 24, 2014

Long morning: walked and fed the pups; did some laundry; picked up my buddy Mike, who did his laundry here; drove Mike to market and to Boscov’s and past Hampden Heights; went to the bank; and had my headlamp replaced at the car dealer. All this before noon. Also completed the sorrowful task of cutting back the hydrangeas (Mike helped with the big one), which did not fare well over the bitter temps this winter, and the gorgeous hostas, which got hit hard during the hail storm two days ago. But as one homeowner, who lost his tile roof and a few windows in his home, pointed out: No lives were lost. Family is fine. Pups are fine. Insurance companies, not so good! 

This morning, mom asked a most amusing question: How are you and Rob related?
I laughed.
Oh c’mon. Don’t laugh, said she.
Well, mom, Rob is my husband.
Oh yeah?
And you were at the wedding with Daddy, Johnny, Aunt Margaret, and Uncle Eddie.
Oh yeah? When was that?
Thirty-four years ago.
Gee, San, you remember everything! 

Well, not exactly, but if you compare my memory to someone who has none, I am doing pretty well!

Friday, May 23, 2014 

Had to help out at market yesterday. Before I left, I looked longingly at one of my plants—a glorious azalea-like orange flower with a scent that never ends. Short-lived flower, but what a life. I wanted to take a photo to send to my uncle but thought I had time. Off to market. Photos tomorrow. 

The market building has a flat roof. I would swear it was tin. When it rains, it’s quite the experience. But yesterday, we had two hail storms, resulting in cracked windshields, destroyed car bodies, flash floods, downed trees, and damaged plants. I turned my head up to the heavens and said, “My garden! Oh Lord, not my garden.” But of course, my garden was the least of it all. It survived, rosebuds and all. Quite the mess out there, of course, but the flowers will return. I wait a year for the show and to miss it is more than I can bear. How many more years do I have on earth to watch the spring unfolding. Will I have 20 shows, 25 more shows? If I reach my mother’s age in 30 more years, will I even know there is a show? Will I understand what a flower is? Will I ask that the vase of flowers be thrown away—something my mother does regularly. She always thought flowers were dirty and messy. We rarely saw eye-to-eye on anything. She still screams when bugs or flies get into the house. She demands their immediate demise. Rob and I carry them out to safety and away from her murderous hands and weapon of choice.

Mom has been to the bathroom twice this morning for serious work. She had taken up her sister Rose’s chant: I can’t go. Help me. Get me out of here? I ask her what could possibly be so wrong. I tell her to sit there. Relax. Read a book. Stop complaining. But she doesn’t understand what’s going on. She doesn’t understand bodily processes any more. She doesn’t know that she has only sat for 2 or 3 minutes. To her, it is a lifetime. To her, she is abandoned and will never find her way back to her room, wherever that is. 

I change the topic and tell her that today she will have her hair done, but she is not happy. Nothing can change the mode of the moment. She is on the toilet and worried. She tells me that she doesn’t want to go today, but I know she will change her mind later. I hope she will.

 Later—

Mom has had her hair done, but that didn’t stop her from asking Rob when I was going to take her to get her hair done. But there she was in her room, straightening her clothing, hanging her jacket in the closet, folding her slacks. Ever the neat woman. 

Just now, she insisted again that I go to the bank in Jersey City to get her money to pay for her haircut. I argued. It’s what I do best. I said, Mom, (1) there is no bank account in Jersey City; (2) Jersey City is 2.5 hours away; (3) I write checks when I need cash. But then, it hit me: What am I doing? She has no clue. So I calmed down and said, I’ll be right back. I’m going to bank right now to get the money. She was delighted: Oh will you. I feel so much better.

So, I am off to market. I will pretend that I went to the bank and withdrew her money. I will assure her that I reimbursed myself for her haircut. I must get it into my head that I cannot teach her. I cannot retrain her. I cannot help her focus her mind on anything. It will be so much easier if I continue to do this for her—and for me. Pretending and reassuring.

Wednesday, Mary 21, 2014 

One-year anniversary of my sister-in-law’s untimely death to the heinous glioblastoma. Sent an e-card to my brother and the girls. No day to talk with them. Mom asked to speak with my son, Johnny Boy. Bad idea. She would forget about it anyhow. She would be sure to ask the usual questions: How is Margie? Is she working? Does she take good care of you? Does she cook for you? Followed by the predictable, Oh how nice or the Oh yeah? No day for my brother to hear mom go on and on about Margie. He visited the cemetery today. I am sure Margie was with him. Margie didn’t make it to 65. Mom is still kicking at 97. There’s no telling why or how—ever!

 I am still exploring buying a doll for mom. Tough to admit the terrible downturn. Spoke with cousin Marje. I asked her what motivated her to buy a doll for her mother. She said that the nurses at the nursing home actually gave her mom the doll. We talked for a bit today about mom, Rose, Margie.

 Glad that it rained all day. The negative ions soothed the day somewhat. Didn’t do much for the pups who were just groomed, but they managed. Went to Loews and bought some more vibrant New Guinea impatiens for the hosta corner in preparation for the wedding shower coming up. Want the gardens to look wonderful. Always much to do. Hydrangeas are lagging very far behind. Have cut some back. Hoping we have more leaves and even some blooms in a few weeks. Things do begin to move quickly when the days warm up. Still, it’s been quite cool. Mom, still playing mother, cautions me to wear a coat or a sweater or to put on shoes when I go out onto the back porch. I listen, but I don’t obey. I walk out onto the back porch with bare feet wishing I had listened. The tiles are cold, but I will be damned if I am going to put shoes on because my mother is asking me to. I tell her I will be fine, and I grin and bear it.

Tuesday, May 20, 2014 

Lucy is at the groomer. Val is much relieved. And I am back editing files. 

Oh, Sleeper’s Awake! Mom called. She asked again about who gave me my lightweight Polartec jacket. For the hundreth time, I said, Betty. Betty, who comes over every day, twice a day, to walk the pups with me. Mom knows her by name; yet this morning, she asked Do you ever see her anymore? Yes, mom. Every day. 

I go into the kitchen to turn the bentwood stool. Mom would sit right on the edge and has done so before. Am trying to preserve what I can. Must prepare her cereal and coffee and toast. Her earlier shouts woke Rob, who is now back in bed, trying to get more ZZZ’s. 

I showered mom, made her cereal, and told her that Rob would make her coffee. They share a cup. Mom drinks very little. I decided I should sit with her as she ate her cereal. Started a Mozart Divertimento first to soften the sounds. Sitting with mom during breakfast is something I assiduously avoid, as she makes so much noise—mild slurping as if drinking hot soup and the incessant clanking of her spoon against the cereal bowl as she lines up and submerges all the little Cheerios equally. She talked about the cat on the ceiling being up there all day and night and how cold he must be. (Mom has determined somehow that he is a male cat!) She asked no less than 5 to 10 times about where Rob was, commenting each time that he likes to sleep. She asked why he sleeps so late, and I reminded her that she is the one who usually sleeps late, but that Rob goes to bed very late, being a night owl. Explanations are virtually useless. She either does not hear them, does not understand them, or dismisses them summarily. 

Mozart still playing beautifully. Will wash some dishes and get back to work and hope that mom will not disturb me too many times.