Decisions

Mom is declining daily. I know this because I see little things that she never used to do and now they've become her standard.

She always says goodnight before retiring to her bed, but one night she just turned out the light. I couldn't figure out what was going on, so I asked her.
"Mom, aren't you going to tell me goodnight?"
She came out of her bedroom wearing jeans and a t-shirt. I asked why she wasn't in her pajamas and she said she couldn't find any. I had just washed her pajamas and couldn't figure out what she had done with them, so I began searching. I finally discovered them in a plastic garbage sack inside her bathtub. I opened the bag and an awful odor came from it, like poop and pee. I retrieved the pajamas, which Mom exclaimed that she just couldn't wear now, put them in the washer and got her some clean ones. And she still wasn't undressing to get out of the jeans and t-shirt. I finally got her to bed a few minutes later.

Immediately afterward, I called a friend, who's Mother has dementia and lives in a small adult home. She said I should make arrangements to take Mom to Canterbury Gardens, a local place that specializes in Alzheimer's patients. She said she took her Mother there when she refused to bathe and it worked out very well. So I talked to my sister, Martha, and we agreed to give it a try. But then God stepped in.

Mom also is refusing to take a shower. It's not that she's afraid of the water, she just simply doesn't want to do it. I talked with our caregiver and she talked with her supervisor, who changed her schedule to come three times a week now instead of once a week. The first time we tried to get her in the shower, it took a lot of cajoling, but Mom eventually gave in. Second time, not so well, she just flat out refused. So last night, I told Mom the caregiver was coming today and that she was going to take a shower and wash her hair. Period. Mom just looked at me and said OK.

After thinking more about taking Mom to Canterbury, I realized it wouldn't work and she would get more upset than I could imagine. When I talked again to Martha, she agreed and said she thought Mom just might keel over. So, we'll try it with the caregiver and see how it goes.

In all this process, though, I began thinking that this might be the beginning of Mom leaving me to live in another place. When I found out how ill she is, immediately I decided to have Mom home as long as I could. With this latest phase, I wonder how long that will be and when that time comes, how will I make a decision like that? How could I send Mom to one of those homes? I HATE them, even the nicer ones. And I know I will get absolutely NO support from Martha because she was no help when we had to put Grandma Dora in a nursing home. Of course, I'm not getting much support from her now anyhow.

Mom has been hoarding her disposable underwear. If I see them in the morning, I nab them and tuck them into the garbage, but sometimes Mom gets ahold of them first. I discovered another hiding place. When I got her clean underwear and socks, here were, tucked neatly in her underwear drawer, six to eight used disposable panties. I grabbed them and told her gently that she shouldn't put dirty underwear in with clean ones and disposed of all of them. The caregiver said this was normal behavior, along with putting tissues EVERYWHERE, which she does.

In our last conversation, Martha cried as I talked about Mom's latest declines. She said that she tells her friends that Mom's basic personality is still intact. That's how much Martha is in denial. She doesn't realize that Mom is really gone and she is nothing like our "normal" Mom. But Martha has to handle it her own way and I'm really trying to let her.

I begin one-on-one counseling next week. I hope this allows me to air some things I can't talk about with anyone and I think it will. Under this state-funded program, I can have six sessions and I bet I take up all six!!

In the meantime, when I read my Bible every night, I read about God being my Rock. At this rate, He'll have to be like the Rock of Gibraltar.