Carnival Games

I have tried to visit Mom while she is in the hospital, but she has "refused my visit"each time, except for once.  On that particular day my daughter and I were both there for the visit.  Mom came into the room, greeted my daughter, looked me square in the eye and said, "I don't want to see you.  I don't want to look at you or to ever see your face again, but I came out [here] because the nurse told me it would look good on my record, and help me get out of here sooner", then she quickly turned to my daughter, asking, "How is the baby today?"

Since that day she has refused all my calls and my efforts to visit.

Today my husband and I went together for a visit.

Once again, when they told her we were there she "refused our visit".
I asked the nurse to tell her I was leaving and ask her if she would visit with my husband.

I left.

Mom did.

He said she looked good and spoke calmly.

She told him she is angry at my sister and I because we have caused her all this trouble.  She says if we had left her alone she would be able to live by herself in her own home, like her friends do.  She doesn't understand she has advanced dementia. She doesn't believe the doctors. She doesn't believe her family.  She doesn't believe anyone who says anything she doesn't want to hear.

I want her to understand what is happening.
I want her to understand that we are all working together to help her live as independently as possible.
I want her to understand that "I have her back".

But, she is ANGRY, and she doesn't understand.
Dementia has robbed her of the ability to reason and understand.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

It seems like dementia problems "pop up" much like a carnival game and I am constantly swatting at them trying to fix them as they rear their ugly heads.  

Today

There were no "incidents" with Mom today.

I went to the hospital to visit with her and she refused to see me.

Tomorrow is a new day.

The steadfast love of the LORD never ceases; his mercies never come to an end; they are new every morning; great is your faithfulness.  Lamentations 3:21b-23

Day #5

I knew what to expect when I visited Mom at the Alz/dementia hospital.  I knew she didn't want to see me.  I understand it, so no need to feel sorry for me.  There is plenty of reason to feel sorry for Mom though.   Never mind that the walls are painted friendly colors and the food is good.  Never mind that the entry is surrounded by lovely, blooming azalea plants.

This is what it looks like to her.

 She has anger in her eyes and talks of being put into "jail" - this is the world as she sees it.  This is her reality - false, but real to her.  Though I try to help her, she sees me as the enemy, the one who has caused her all this pain.

Dementia tangles the mind in awful ways.
It takes away one's freedom to live alone, to care for one's self, to drive, to do all the things one has done for a lifetime.  It is an evil warden.

Praying the good docs can get her back on her meds and fine-tune them in such a way that she can find joy once again living with us.

Hell Day.

I knew there would be ongoing obstacles along the road of dementia with Mom.  Earlier this week we hit a HUGE one.  Mom decided to quit taking her meds.  She feels I control her by giving her the meds so she simply refused to take them, after all she doesn't need them anyway.

I ground the meds and did my best to hide them within her dessert.  She was onto me and threw the dessert into the sink and washed it down the drain.  The following day was what I refer to as "Hell Day".  She woke up early and angry.  She had an early ear dr appointment.  She raged on the drive there.  Hit me as we were getting onto the elevator.  Made a scene in the doctor's waiting room - calling me names and telling the others waiting that I had stolen all her money and left her penniless - and that was just the tip of the iceberg.  While she was having her ear exam I called her medical doctor and arranged to bring her there after the ear appointment.  One of the nurses in the office actually rode with me and Mom on the elevator and helped me maneuver her into the car.  The medical doc's office was close by - thank heaven for small favors.  The doctor saw Mom and then made arrangements for her to be admitted into an Alz/dementia hospital.  She will stay there for a few days while they get her back onto her meds.

Yep, Hell Day.

A A (April Afternoon)

Sunshine and Flowers make for lots of happy songs and pithy poetry.  

They also make for a great afternoon in the garden.

  

The grit of life seems obsolete when there are pretty flowers to be planted.

Sunday Smile

1. No white shoes till after Easter.
2. One's purse should always match one's shoes.
3. Jewelry is good, but should always be worn sparingly.

These were a few of the rules Mom taught me when I was a child.  She dressed accordingly - conservative, and always very well groomed. . .

Last night she had me come into her room.  She had put together an outfit she was thinking about wearing to church this morning.  She had chosen a beautiful, rose pink, eyelet blouse, to be worn over a white tank top, and a pair of khaki pants, with brown shoes, and a brown purse.  She asked my opinion.  I thought it was very pretty!  Then, upon a closer look I realized the khaki pants, were not actually slacks, but sweat pants.  We discussed the sweat pants and I suggested that she think about wearing jeans, rather than the sweat pants.  She frowned, and thought about it, then chose a pair of dark-washed jeans to replace them.  We both agreed it looked much better. . . (I bet you can tell where this story is going.  LOL)  This morning she was the first one dressed for church, wearing her lovely blouse and her sweat pants.  Not too long ago Mom would have been "horrified" by this pairing - no exageration here, she WOULD have been horrified, really.

 "Mom, did you change your mind about the pants?", I asked.

She frowned.

To-may-to, To-mah-to.  Slacks. Sweat Pants.  Did it really matter?
I let it go, so out the door we went, Mom in her beautiful rose colored blouse and white tank, paired with her sweat pants.  *smile*
Mom felt beautiful and she looked beautiful.

I'm reminded of the well-known poem, "When I Am Old I Will Wear Purple".  Mom's version would read, "When I Am Old I Will Wear Sweat Pants to Church".

Bad guys don't always wear black hats.

Bad guys don't always wear black hats.

Sometimes they stand five foot tall and wear blue pajamas.

That would be me this morning.

Mom awoke with a back ache and ongoing ear problems.
She didn't feel well.  When she doesn't feel well she ALWAYS blames it on the meds she takes.  With that thought, she told me she had decided not to take her pills for a few days.  She was adamant.  Not taking her meds is totally a non-option for her.  I tried all sorts of persuasive measures, but to no avail.  Then I became "the bad guy"  sans the black hat and had to verbally "push".  She finally gulped down the pills while giving me the stink eye, then went back into her room where she stayed for a long time.

By lunch all seemed forgotten and/or forgiven.
Now it's time for more meds.

I'm goin' in.
Wish me luck.

*I made a doctor appt. for Mom for tomorrow.
They will re-check her ear and address her back pain, making sure no UTI is present.