tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-56084609376024919432024-03-14T01:23:21.498-07:00Journey Through DementiaBev Sykeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16794928133704720689noreply@blogger.comBlogger243125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5608460937602491943.post-54229205259038626382020-10-24T09:36:00.002-07:002020-10-24T09:36:37.092-07:00Trip to Kaisr<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-size: small;">Atria wanted her to see
her doctor because she is having more angry periods late in the afternoon
and they were concerned that she might have a urinary tract infection.
I decided to make her a late morning appointment and then we would go to
lunch (because they are also concerned that she is losing weight...she has
lost 10 lbs since March).</span><p align="left"><span style="font-size: small;">Unlike our
last trip to Kaiser, she was in relatively good spirits and kept up what was
not exactly a lively conversation, but what passes for a conversation with
her these days. The only thing was that it was about 90% based on
fantasy. At the restaurant, for example, she wanted to know if her
brother was going to be there and how she had not seen him in a long time.</span></p><p align="left">
<span style="font-size: small;">She asked several times why she needed to see the doctor and
each time I explained to her that they were concerned about some of the
things she does when she's angry (she stole a walker and refused to give it
back). She insists she had never done those things because she doesn't
remember them.</span></p><p align="left"><span style="font-size: small;">Sitting in the waiting
room, while I was checking her in, she started talking to the man across the
aisle from her, thinking he was her sister's husband and when I said
something she asked if I was Barb.</span></p><p align="left"><span style="font-size: small;">The
appointment went as expected -- other than listening to her heart, the
doctor never touched her, my mother said everything's fine and we were told
to let her know how the change in medication goes (fortunately, no labs were
required this time). At least the doctor agrees with me--Atria is
worried because she is sleeping so much. But she's <b><i>98</i></b>
for Pete's sake! It is of no concern to the doctor at all.</span></p><p align="left">
<img align="left" border="2" height="484" hspace="10" src="http://www.funnytheworld.com/2018/May/momihop.jpg" vspace="10" width="300" /><span style="font-size: small;">I
took her to IHOP for lunch, because I knew she would eat something laden
with calories (not, of course, because <u><i>I</i> </u>wanted something rich
and gooey). We had the new Hawaiian rolls French toast, which I've
been seeing advertised and which looked so good. It also turned out to
be the cheapest thing on the menu, if you didn't add any eggs or anything
else with them.</span></p><p align="left"><span style="font-size: small;">It was one of those
cases where things look a lot better than they taste. I love Hawaiian
rolls and thought how much better would they be slobbered with strawberries
and topped with a big dollop of whipped cream. </span>
</p><p align="left"><span style="font-size: small;">But they were a disappointment. Regular
ol' pancakes would have been better, IMO. She did, however, eat the
whole thing and so at least got a nice dose of fattening calories, which is
good for her weight loss. </span>
</p><p align="left"><span style="font-size: small;">When they cleared away the plates, she put
both her hands on the table and noticed that she was not wearing a ring--she
usually wore two, but they have been gone for many months (I suspect Marge
took them, but Marge is long gone now). Then she picked up a spoon and
said that at least she found one and told me to put it in my purse and take
it to the car. She wasn't convinced when I tried to explain that (a)
it was not a ring and (b) if I took it, that would be stealing.</span></p><p align="left">
<span style="font-size: small;">When the bill came, she insisted on paying, so I charged it
to her credit card, though when I asked her if she wanted to sign the bill
or if she wanted me to sign it she said "I don't know. I wasn't even
there." So I signed it.</span></p><p align="left"><span style="font-size: small;">One of
the things that dementia has done to her brain is that she is no longer able
to follow something like "look at that pink car." There was a pink car
that was coming up to us as we stopped at stop sign and I pointed it out to
her (there are so few things that I can say to her that I think she will
understand). I said "look at that pink car there" and pointed to the
right. She looked straight ahead and said "yeah." I pointed out
to her again that the car was on our right and was pulling ahead of us
She kept looking straight and never did see it.</span></p><p align="left">
<span style="font-size: small;">On the ride down I tried to point out to her the famous "bird
car" which I saw coming up on the right about a block ahead.</span></p><p align="center">
<img border="2" height="310" src="http://www.funnytheworld.com/2018/May/birdcarsm.jpg" width="500" /></p><p align="left">
<span style="font-size: small;">But she just can't process those directions fast enough and
missed it. On the way back, I drove down that street again, PARKED to
take a photo and then, given sufficient time, she did finally see it, though
was uninterested, so it was hardly worth it--except for me, getting the
photo.</span></p><p align="left"><span style="font-size: small;">I dropped her back at Atria and
she never looked back. I think before I got the car door closed, she had
forgotten I was ever there. </span>
</p><p align="left"><span style="font-size: small;">I have 2 days off now, since I don't go every
day any more and Wednesday is her Alzheimers Buddy's day with her.
I'll be back on Thursday, when I have an appointment with the director of
the memory unit to go over her "plan of treatment." Whatever that
means!</span></p></div>
Bev Sykeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16794928133704720689noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5608460937602491943.post-27747133263505562562018-05-11T11:31:00.002-07:002020-10-24T09:33:22.112-07:00Honoring Mom<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><p><span style="font-size: small;">Ned
was going to arrange things for a Mothers Day brunch with my mother, which
is always difficult to do because of not knowing exactly when they are going
to feed them lunch...and you can't call ahead to arrange things because if
she actually answers the phone, by the time she hangs the phone up, she will
have forgotten what you were calling about.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: small;">We got
to Atria as she was finishing her lunch and we sat with her while she
polished off a big strawberry dipped in some sort of pink frosting.</span></p><p align="center">
<img border="2" height="501" src="http://www.funnytheworld.com/2018/May/momstrawberry.jpg" width="500" /></p><p align="left">
<span style="font-size: small;">While we were sitting in the dining room, Tom called and he
talked with me and with his grandmother, but his kids were busy with their
other grandmother so I didn't get to talk with them.</span></p><p align="left">
<span style="font-size: small;">Ned, who is one of the very good guys, had brought all the
brunch food, so we took her out of the memory unit and down to a patio in
the regular part of Atria, which she claimed never to have seen before.</span></p><p align="left">
<span style="font-size: small;">There are some perks of dementia. For one thing, you
don't remember what your stomach has done and so though she had finished her
lunch, she ate another one, which is fine because she hasn't been eating
lately. . .</span></p><p align="center">
<img border="2" height="509" src="http://www.funnytheworld.com/2018/May/momned.jpg" width="500" /></p><p align="left">
<span style="font-size: small;">...and you get lots of points for giving her a card, which
was brand new every time she picked it up to read it. </span>
</p><p align="center">
<img border="2" height="519" src="http://www.funnytheworld.com/2018/May/momcard.jpg" width="500" /></p><p align="left">
<span style="font-size: small;"> It's also possible for someone with dementia to eat
"just one" stuffed egg four different times!</span></p><p align="center">
<img border="2" height="580" src="http://www.funnytheworld.com/2018/May/momegg.jpg" width="500" /></p><p align="left">
<span style="font-size: small;">We came home after brunch. Ned had to get to work to
help his friend Jon at the university's Whole Earth Festival and it was time
for my after-brunch nap. Sadly, while sleeping I missed a call from
Jeri.</span></p><p align="left"><span style="font-size: small;">Walt offered to take me out to
dinner, but Mothers Day is such a hard time to find a restaurant without a
reservation, so I just planned to cook dinner here at home.</span></p>
<span style="font-size: small;">It was a quiet Mothers day but I felt loved and maybe my
mother remembers that she is loved too. If not maybe she'll find her
card and read it again, for the first time.</span></div>
Bev Sykeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16794928133704720689noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5608460937602491943.post-75458922050229191352018-01-19T11:41:00.000-08:002018-01-21T11:51:25.241-08:00Cloud of Pain<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;">
<div class="post-title entry-title" itemprop="name" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: black; font-size: 13.3333px; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: start; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I
don't remember the last time I had any sort of major pain. I have been
fortunate in that regard. It probably was 2003, when I had my bike
accident and dislocated my shoulder. But the thing I remember about that
time is that when you are in that much pain, it's like you are living
inside a cloud of pain, oblivious to everything around you. </span></div>
</div>
<div class="post-title entry-title" itemprop="name" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: black; font-size: 13.3333px; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: start; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="post-title entry-title" itemprop="name" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: black; font-size: 13.3333px; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: start; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><img align="left" border="2" src="http://www.funnytheworld.com/2018/Jan/cloudopain.jpg" height="408" hspace="10" vspace="10" width="250" /></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: black; font-size: 13.3333px; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: start; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<div align="left">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Looking
at my mother today, that's all I could think of. She was in this big
cloud of pain and nothing outside the cloud registered with her.</span></span></div>
<div align="left">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div align="left">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Of course she was not wearing her splint. They've taken to calling her "Houdini" for how quickly she can get out of it.</span></span></div>
<div align="left">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">The
wrist was much more swollen and discolored and every little thing that
touched it, or came near it, caused her to cry out in pain. I think if
she could have taken a pill to end her life then and there she would
have.</span></span></div>
<div align="left">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div align="left">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">And of course she doesn't know why it hurts. And she can't understand that the splint is to <i>protect </i>it
so that she can't accidentally brush it against anything (she told me
she didn't know anything about a splint and guessed she didn't have
one).</span></span></div>
<div align="left">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div align="left">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I
told one of the aids today that I have noticed a significant decline in
her cognitive functioning recently and she agreed and said "sometimes it
comes on suddenly." At 98, that's not surprising. I suspect that even
after the wrist has healed, she will have taken another step down from
which she probably won't recover.</span></span></div>
<div align="left">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div align="left">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Today
was her appointment with the orthopedist and we had to check in an hour
early so she could get an x-ray. Of course I couldn't stay in the room
with all the rays flying around, so I don't know how much the
manipulation of her wrist to get four shots hurt her, but I suspect a
lot.</span></span></div>
<div align="left">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div align="left">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Then
back to ortho to wait for her to be called. Her official appointment
time was not until 2:50, so we had about 45 minutes to wait and after
about 40 minutes, she had to go to the bathroom. This was my first time
with bathroom duty for her and getting the wheelchair into the ladies
room was almost impossible and with her unable to understand such
commands as "hold the bar while I move the wheelchair" made it even more
difficult. I finally got her to understand she should hold onto the
metal bar while I moved the wheelchair out of the way, but then she
couldn't understand that she had to lower her body to the toilet.
Trying to manipulate her I couldn't help at brush her wrist several
times and each time she let out a mournful groan.</span></span></div>
<div align="left">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div align="left">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I suspect this is something I will get better at doing.</span></span></div>
<div align="left">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div align="left">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">They
finally called her back to a room and the certified physician's
assistant came in. I have to admit I'd never met a medical person named
"Sundance" before! She was very sweet and very patient and said that it
was a bad break, that they had aligned it well in the ER and that it
had shifted a bit, with all the splint on/splint off-ing. </span></span></div>
<div align="left">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div align="left">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Said
that she couldn't put a cast on her herself, so she called the
wonderful Arthur, who got her all decked out in a bright green cast.</span></span></div>
<div align="left">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div align="center">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="2" src="http://www.funnytheworld.com/2018/Jan/arthur.jpg" height="492" width="500" /></span></div>
<div align="left">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div align="left">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">She was already picking at it before he'd left the room, but he assures me that it is solid and she won't be able to remove it.</span></span></div>
<div align="left">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div align="left">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I'm not convinced and I'll be curious to see what I find when I check on her tomorrow.</span></span></div>
<div align="left">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div align="left">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">We
dropped her back at Atria and I decided to let the aid take her to her
room. She was totally lost and confused and didn't know why I was there
and I told her I'd see her tomorrow. </span></span></div>
<div align="left">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div align="left">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I
came home to take my now-normal post-Atria nap. Unless she tears the
cast off between now and next week, she won't have to return to Ortho
until next Friday.</span></span></div>
</div>
</div>
Bev Sykeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16794928133704720689noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5608460937602491943.post-75820245729427087052018-01-17T11:43:00.000-08:002018-01-21T11:43:57.768-08:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;">
<div class="post-title entry-title" itemprop="name" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: black; font-size: 13.3333px; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: start; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<div align="left" class="post-title entry-title" itemprop="name" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: black; font-size: 13.3333px; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I
was back at Atria today and found her in the community room, no splint
on. I got her back into her apartment and, with great pain, put her
splint back on. The swelling in her wrist is worse, and it's more
painful to try to slip the splint over her arm. I tried to impress upon
her that it would not hurt if she<u> </u><i><u>would not keep taking the damn splint off</u>!</i>
She said she understood and then, as I sat down, she started to remove
it again. I know she can't remember and I just don't know what to do to
help her.</span></div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div align="left" class="post-title entry-title" itemprop="name" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: black; font-size: 13.3333px; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div align="left" class="post-title entry-title" itemprop="name" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: black; font-size: 13.3333px; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">I don't know if the orthopedist is going to put her in a plaster cast (and don't know if she can remove <i>that</i> or not) but nobody can do anything until the swelling goes down...and it is more swollen and bruised now than it was 2 days ago.</span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="post-title entry-title" itemprop="name" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: black; font-size: 13.3333px; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div align="center" class="post-title entry-title" itemprop="name" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: black; font-size: 13.3333px; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="2" src="http://www.funnytheworld.com/2018/Jan/splint.jpg" height="392" width="500" /></span></div>
<div align="left" class="post-title entry-title" itemprop="name" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: black; font-size: 13.3333px; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div align="left" class="post-title entry-title" itemprop="name" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: black; font-size: 13.3333px; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">I
came home and, as usual, took a long post-Atria nap. I seem to need
that to come down after the frustration of visiting her these days.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /><span style="font-size: x-small;"></span></span>
<br />
<div class="post-title entry-title" itemprop="name" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: black; font-size: 13.3333px; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: start; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
</div>
Bev Sykeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16794928133704720689noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5608460937602491943.post-66584300181699648642018-01-16T11:48:00.000-08:002018-01-21T11:48:51.330-08:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;">
<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;">
<div align="left">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: "comic sans ms";">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">This is how I ended yesterday's entry:</span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<blockquote>
<div align="left">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: #939d7c; color: black; display: inline; float: none; font-style: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">We finally got back to Atria and helped the aids get
her settled in bed, though I will be interested to see how they
found her this morning.</span></span></span></span></div>
<span style="background-color: white;">
</span></blockquote>
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span></span><br />
<div align="left">
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="letter-spacing: normal;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">This is how I
found her room.</span></span></span></span></div>
<div align="left">
</div>
<div align="center">
<img border="2" height="337" src="http://www.funnytheworld.com/2018/Jan/room.jpg" width="500" /></div>
<div align="left">
</div>
<div align="left">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">And
this is how I found her in the community room.</span></span></div>
<div align="left">
</div>
<div align="center">
<img border="2" height="500" src="http://www.funnytheworld.com/2018/Jan/bruise.jpg" width="375" /></div>
<div align="left">
</div>
<div align="left">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">She was in pain and didn't understand why
her arm hurt. I've discovered that she not only has no short term
memory, she also has selective hearing. She doesn't want a broken
wrist, so when you try to explain that her wrist is broken, she doesn't
even hear you.</span></div>
<div align="left">
</div>
<div align="left">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">Since tomorrow is a holiday and it will
be two days before Orthopedics will be open, I called the ER to find out
what to do. The Advice Nurse consulted with a doctor and said to
bring her back to the ER.<span style="font-family: "comic sans ms";">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">And so instead of writing the article I was supposed to be writing, we
were back at Atria and packing up a <i>very reluctant</i> mother to take
her back to Kaiser.</span></span></span></div>
</div>
<div align="left">
</div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<div align="left">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">
We didn't have to wait TOO long in the cast room, but my mother was very
irritated that people didn't come <i>right away</i>. But we were
there long enough for me to learn that my mother is really Adrian Monk
(of the show <i>Monk), </i>who suffers from OCD<i>. </i>It
bothered her that the sheet on the gurney was untucked and she mentioned
how much junk there was in the cast room. (They think she may have
fallen trying to pick something off the floor. She is forever
finding microscopic bits of <i>something</i> on the floor and leaning
over the pick it up. They keep warning her not to do that.
But of course she won't listen.)</span></span></div>
<div align="left">
</div>
<div align="center">
<img border="2" height="375" src="http://www.funnytheworld.com/2018/Jan/er.jpg" width="500" /></div>
<div align="left">
</div>
<div align="left">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">The doctor and I talked about what we
could do, since she can't have a plaster cast until the swelling goes
down. The doctor finally decided to try one of those splints that
you have for carpal tunnel because even if she rips it off, it can
easily be put back on again.</span></div>
<div align="left">
</div>
<div align="center">
<img border="2" height="500" src="http://www.funnytheworld.com/2018/Jan/ouch.jpg" width="375" /></div>
<div align="left">
</div>
<div align="left">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">When we got that done, we drove back to
Atria. They had saved a plate of dinner for her and I sat with her
for a bit (they brought her steak, a baked potato, and a roll, none of
which she could eat with only one hand!). I cut everything up for
her and then said I would be going home. "Can't I go with
you?" she asked. When I told her that she lived at Atria, she was
very frightened that I leave her alone in the place where she eats 3
meals a day because she didn't know anybody and didn't know what to do.
Walt and I ended up staying longer, but finally left and one of the aids
promised to make sure she got back to her room all right.</span></div>
<div align="left">
</div>
<div align="left">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">Will she keep the splint on all night?
I don't have a clue. But at least if/when she takes it off, it
will be easy to put back on again.</span></div>
<div align="left">
</div>
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><u>Update</u>: They called me (and
woke me up) at 6 a.m. to tell me she had removed the splint. "Put
it back on," I told them.</span>
</div>
</div>
Bev Sykeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16794928133704720689noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5608460937602491943.post-82622690534399278322018-01-15T11:47:00.000-08:002018-01-21T11:47:55.446-08:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I was awakened by Walt poking me and holding out the telephone saying it was
Kaiser calling. It was about 11 p.m.</span></div>
<br />
<div align="left">
</div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<div align="left">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">The doctor said that my mother had a fall
and that she had broken -- I thought he said her <i>rib, </i>but it was
actually her wrist. The doctor said they would call when she was
ready to go, but I knew she would be frightened, so we left right away
and drove the 30 miles to the hospital.</span><br />
</div>
</div>
<div align="left">
</div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<div align="left">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">My heart went out to her</span>.
She was lying in the bed calling out, softly, "help me. please
help me." She was happy to see me and the first thing she wanted
me to do was to help her to sit up so she could help <u><i>me</i></u>.
But we wouldn't let her sit up because I thought she had a broken rib.
We had to fight to keep her down and explain to her over and over again
where she was and why she was there.<br />
</div>
<div align="left">
</div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<div align="left">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
The doctor finally came in with the supplies to put her in a cast while
he sent Walt and me out to the waiting room, where we sat with barfing
lady, a poor woman who had a barf bag and made horrible vomiting sounds
every couple of minutes, as her bag slowly filled up. It was
lovely. I was very happy when they finally took her into the back
to examine her.</span><br />
</div>
<div align="left">
</div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<div align="left">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
I was surprised to go back into the room and see my mother with a huge
cast on her arm. That's when I realized that she had broken her<i>
wrist. </i></span><br />
</div>
<div align="left">
</div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<div align="left">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
As I told Jeri this morning, my mother is a lovely woman who is very
gracious and will do anything for anyone. When she first saw me,
she was scared in pain but the first thing she said was that she wanted
to sit up so she could help me. But when there is something wrong
with her, she can be a real bitch. She hates the look of the cast
and the doctor said she had already torn it off once, so they had to
strengthen it. I had to keep her from trying to tear it off.
She still didn't know why she had to wear it or what had happened to
her.</span><br />
</div>
<div align="left">
</div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<div align="left">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
We finally got her into the car but first she complained of the cold,
then of the discomfort of the car, and then the wait for Walt to pick up
her meds at the pharmacy (many, many times), and all the while picking
at the cast. I got into the back sat with her to keep her from
ripping at her cast.</span><br />
</div>
<div align="left">
</div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<div align="left">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
We finally got back to Atria and helped the aids get her settled in bed,
though I will be interested to see how they found her this morning.
It will probably take about six weeks for her to be in the cast.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
I suspect it will be a long six weeks. </span>
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span>
</div>
Bev Sykeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16794928133704720689noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5608460937602491943.post-7007317829368018922017-12-11T13:07:00.001-08:002017-12-11T13:17:03.935-08:00Sleeping Beauty<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Another step down for my mother yesterday. I went to deliver Depends
and bring her a box of chocolates. She was sleeping, so I just settled
in and waited to see if she would wake up. When she did she was
*totally* out of it, mumbling constantly but I couldn't understand
anything she said. She went to the bathroom, then came back in, sat on
the bed and mumbled some more, then climbed back into bed to go back to
sleep. I somehow think she never really woke up at all.<br />
<br />
When I could understand her mumbling, she was wondering where here sister Betsy was and where her mother was. I think that she spends all of her waking time and dream time thinking of her family, whom she misses so much. <br />
<br />
On the "good news" front, they found her glasses, which have been missing for a week. They said they were "in her room," but nobody knows where. I had searched the room pretty thoroughly, so I'm impressed that they found them. </div>
Bev Sykeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16794928133704720689noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5608460937602491943.post-48237204092798140852017-12-09T13:09:00.000-08:002017-12-11T13:09:51.134-08:00Big Blob<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
As good and as "with it" as my mother was the last time I saw here was
as vague and out of it as she was yesterday. She actually got angry
with me because she thought I was just a "big blob" who was sitting on her daughter, hiding her
and she wanted to see her daughter. When I told her *I* was her
daughter, she said I was not, but she didn't know who I was. She
finally got up and got into bed, so I left. Gawd, I hate dementia.</div>
Bev Sykeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16794928133704720689noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5608460937602491943.post-43008445958686666302017-12-02T13:13:00.000-08:002017-12-11T13:13:19.473-08:00Klonopin<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
What a difference a little bit of Klonopin makes. She's more "normal" today than she has been in weeks.</div>
Bev Sykeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16794928133704720689noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5608460937602491943.post-80137252477409232892017-11-08T09:53:00.003-08:002017-11-08T11:17:33.242-08:00Exciting Things<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I took a piece of our big apple pie to my mother in the afternoon. I was so pleased that I finally had something "exciting" to tell her about. The first thing she asks me every time I come to visit is "so what have you been doing exciting that you haven't told me about?"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I told her about our trip, showed her the pictures from Apple Hill, tried to be entertaining (she kept asking me what country it was in) and told her I had brought her a piece of the apple pie we had bought.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div align="left" style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-size: 14.85px;">
<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">When I finished and went back to the chair to sit down, she said "so what have you been doing exciting that you haven't told me about?"</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Sigh. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">She "found" the container with the pie in it several times while I was there and I'm 99% sure she will never eat it, but I feel good about including her in all the "excitement" anyway, even if she didn't have a clue what I was talking about.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I talked with one of the aids, with Jen, who runs the memory unit, and with her doctor and we have all decided it's time to put her on anti anxiety meds, so she will be starting low dose Prozac soon. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Maybe she can finally forget that "something is wrong."</span></div>
</div>
</div>
Bev Sykeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16794928133704720689noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5608460937602491943.post-8786749649134527572017-11-04T14:16:00.002-07:002017-11-04T14:21:51.894-07:00Something's Wrong<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">They called at 9 a.m. (I hadn't even finished my coffee) and said that my mother was very agitated and they needed me to calm her down. So I took my coffee with me, skipped breakfast and went to Atria. (I was pleased to find that her clothes were no longer on her bed or on the chair)</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">She <i>was</i> agitated and confused, but not really worse than she has been on a bad day before. I think they were concerned because she wanted to call her mother--she <i>always</i> wants to call her mother. (Isn't it time her family all return and take her home to live with them--she misses them so much!)</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The spiel is the same "something's wrong and I can't figure out what it is." or "I know I'm supposed to be doing something but I don't know what it is." I've heard this <i>every time</i> for the 4-1/2 years she's been at Atria. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">We were in the community room and she decided to go outside to see if she could figure it out there. We walked the distance of the garden and then into the little sitting room, where she told me over and over and over and <i>over</i> that she didn't know what was wrong, that people were not doing what they were supposed to do but if she tried to do "it" they'd tell her to leave "it" alone. When I asked what "it' was she couldn't remember. All she knew was the people weren't doing their job and that they wouldn't let her help.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I distracted her by showing her pictures in my phone. It always brings me to tears because I can show her 3 pictures of Lacie -- her great granddaughter -- in a row and at each picture she will ask who that "cute girl" is and when I say "It's your great granddaughter," she has no reaction except to say she's never met her. I remember how excited she was when Brianna was born, 9 years ago, and now she has no connection with either her or her sister.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Finally she went out to the garden again and we walked down to the community room and I asked if she wanted to go in and watch TV again. Only when we went in, they were doing cardio exercises, so I started doing them too (they are all done sitting down) and, seeing me participating, my mother did too, though never fully committing herself (instead of raising her arm all the way up, just half way up, etc.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">After half an hour of exercise, the aide turned on Lawrence Welk (and I felt <i>very</i> old!). My mother seemed to have settled down and I had work to do at home, so I left and told her I would see her tomorrow (which I probably won't). I left without incident and there have been no further calls, so hold the good thought!</span></div>
Bev Sykeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16794928133704720689noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5608460937602491943.post-40706369506173220882017-11-03T14:07:00.000-07:002017-11-04T14:07:53.024-07:00Laundry<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqbUn33PJeNstQkUZbpvTOK48Es1uMNZ4oY4F3hJYVsKZp_ThTP9RjCMERO-7UuQF3L2CTWItIC68qALY6a6Fkj4bKE_Wq5tzJnLWgdjDNNH-oPr93m7qLPQszduULmtt7SlK2C0OO5Bc/s1600/mommame.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="425" data-original-width="826" height="205" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqbUn33PJeNstQkUZbpvTOK48Es1uMNZ4oY4F3hJYVsKZp_ThTP9RjCMERO-7UuQF3L2CTWItIC68qALY6a6Fkj4bKE_Wq5tzJnLWgdjDNNH-oPr93m7qLPQszduULmtt7SlK2C0OO5Bc/s400/mommame.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I spent an hour and a half with her, having brought her a bag of Lindt chocolates (the red bag on the left). Her laundry has been mounting on the guest chair and I suggested she move it to the bed (which was a command too complicated for her to understand, but she finally got it).</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So the <i>entire hour and a half</i> she would turn to her right and ask what the red bag was or where the "garbage" (chocolate wrappers) had come from, so I would explain and then she'd look to her left and ask where all those clothes came from. Her response to explanation was either that they didn't belong to her and she couldn't hang them up because the real owner would get angry with her or that "tomorrow" she was going to "take the day off" and deal with the clothes. </span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">At one point when I showed her a photo of herself WEARING one of the jackets she's never seen before she never even looked at the jacket because she was so upset at how SHE looked. </span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I offered several time to hang the clothes up for her but she didn't want me to touch them because she had to sort through them and decide which ones she was going to throw away.</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">When I left Atria, I talked with one of the aides and suggested that they wait until she is at dinner and is not in her room and then hang the clothes up for her. I suspect she has been telling them not to hang them up because she wants to do it herself.</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">When I left her room, I gathered up all the candy wrappers and put them in the now empty bag an she was upset that I hadn't asked her if she wanted to keep any of those stuff or not.</span></div>
<br /></div>
Bev Sykeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16794928133704720689noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5608460937602491943.post-37481800634896026022017-10-30T02:11:00.000-07:002017-11-06T02:11:24.954-08:00Halloween for Old Folks<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div align="left">
<span style="font-size: small;">This is the decoration outside the door to
the Memory Care Unit at Atria:</span></div>
<div align="left">
<br /></div>
<div align="center">
<img border="2" height="500" src="http://www.funnytheworld.com/2017/Oct/halloweendecsm.jpg" width="500" /></div>
<div align="left">
<br /></div>
<div align="left">
<span style="font-size: small;">I found macabre humor in the idea of
skeletons hanging on this particular wing of Atria, where everyone is--let's
be honest--waiting to die.</span></div>
<div align="left">
<br /></div>
<div align="left">
<span style="font-size: small;">I did take exception to the scarecrow sitting
in the chair across from this display.</span></div>
<div align="left">
<br /></div>
<div align="center">
<img border="2" height="500" src="http://www.funnytheworld.com/2017/Oct/scarecrow.jpg" width="500" /></div>
<div align="left">
<br /></div>
<div align="left">
<span style="font-size: small;">She's sitting in the chair where I sit while
waiting for someone to come and let me into the locked unit. Harumph.</span></div>
<div align="left">
<br /></div>
<div align="left">
<span style="font-size: small;">There are a few skeletons and pumpkins
hanging along the halls, but I suspect nobody knows what day it is and has
no concept of Halloween. I know my mother didn't, when I went to see
her yesterday.</span></div>
<div align="left">
<br /></div>
<div align="left">
<span style="font-size: small;">I hadn't seen her in almost a week but
fortunately she didn't realize that. I told her about my fall and how
my back hurt too much to walk the long walk down to the Memory Care unit
(the back is fine now, by the way) and she was solicitous, which interrupted
any feelings she might have had about my not being there in such a long
time.</span></div>
<div align="left">
<br /></div>
<div align="left">
<span style="font-size: small;">The visit was back to the usual discussion of
age, how old she is, she can't be that old, etc. She asked me what I had
been doing with "Mom" lately. She misses her mother so much and
occasionally thinks she sees her, though it's not in a hallucination sort of
way, but more when she is asleep. Of all the relatives who have gone
before her, her mother is the one she most wants to see again. She
never mentions her father.</span></div>
<div align="left">
<br /></div>
<div align="left">
<span style="font-size: small;">She talked about how many activities there
were to do at Atria and smugly and proudly let me know that she never
participated in ANY of them. That always makes me sad, knowing how
many opportunities she missed since she moved to Atria. She wouldn't
even go to the theater to see a movie, she was so uncomfortable, afraid she
would do something wrong--and this was when she had it all together
mentally!</span></div>
<div align="left">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: small;">I remember how involved she was in so many
things when she lived alone. Her calendar had an activity for every
day of the week, it seemed. Lunches, fashion shows, meetings,
volunteer work. But she lived in the mobile home park for a long time
-- maybe 20 years? -- and never participated in any of the many activities
there and refused to get to know her neighbors, so maybe this isn't so much
a dementia/Alzheimers thing as it is a personality thing. Still it
seems a shame that she never took advantage of anything she was paying big
bucks to have available to her!</span></div>
Bev Sykeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16794928133704720689noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5608460937602491943.post-26966158061345693232017-10-24T02:08:00.000-07:002017-11-06T02:09:35.354-08:00A Good Day<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-size: small;">Jeri called late this afternoon and at the conclusion of our
conversation she said "you sound less stressed than usual."</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;">I had not been to Atria in 4 days, so I
decided to take my mother out to lunch. When I got to her apartment, she was
dressed, but asleep on top of the covers of her bed. I was in no hurry
and we had no deadlines, so I just sat and read until she woke up. She
woke up more awake than anybody I've ever seen 10 seconds after they wake
up! When I suggested lunch, she said she was so tired and I asked if
she preferred not to go, but she got into it and started to get excited
about going out to lunch. I gave her a choice of Chinese food or
Denny's, and she chose Denny's.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;">On the way to Atria, I had passed one of my
favorite trees, which has only half changed color so far, but I really
thought it was cool looking.</span><br />
<br />
<div align="center">
<span style="font-size: small;">
<img border="2" src="http://www.funnytheworld.com/2017/Oct/redtree.jpg" height="375" width="500" /></span></div>
<div align="left">
<br /></div>
<div align="left">
<span style="font-size: small;">So though Denny's was in the opposite direction, I drove around Davis so I
could pass by this tree and she loved it. I put on my 40s playlist and
she sang every word to every song all the way to the restaurant.</span></div>
<div align="left">
<br /></div>
<div align="left">
<span style="font-size: small;">
<img align="left" border="2" src="http://www.funnytheworld.com/2017/Oct/dennys1.jpg" height="400" hspace="10" vspace="10" width="300" />At
Denny's they are having new holiday meals, and so I decided to have
cranberry-orange pancakes and she said she would too. They came with
eggs, hash browns and bacon. My mother looked at the plate and I could
see that she was overwhelmed by the amount of food. I kept assuring
her that she didn't have to eat it all.</span></div>
<div align="left">
<br /></div>
<div align="left">
<span style="font-size: small;">By the end of the
meal, she had eaten more than I had and was considering ordering a
strawberry shake, but we decided not to get one.</span></div>
<div align="left">
<br /></div>
<div align="left">
<span style="font-size: small;">On the way
to Woodland, we had passed a place that is in the process of putting
together their pumpkin patch. Right now it's just a big empty field,
but the pumpkin and the dinosaur attacking it were kind of interesting, so I
got off the freeway and drove around so that we could see it closer and I
could take a photo.</span></div>
<div align="center">
<span style="font-size: small;">
<img border="2" src="http://www.funnytheworld.com/2017/Oct/dino.jpg" height="375" width="500" /></span></div>
<div align="left">
<br /></div>
<div align="left">
<span style="font-size: small;">When
we got back to Atria I took advantage of the front desk's offer to have
someone come from the memory unit to take her back to her apartment so I
didn't have to walk all the way to the back of the building. I was
very happy to turn her over to them, so I could get to the store to buy
dinner fixings.</span></div>
<div align="left">
<br /></div>
<div align="left">
<span style="font-size: small;">The whole day, including my afternoon nap,
was just so pleasant that I'm not surprised I didn't sound stressed to Jeri.</span></div>
</div>
Bev Sykeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16794928133704720689noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5608460937602491943.post-60636204827797787182017-10-20T02:07:00.000-07:002017-11-06T02:07:33.083-08:00Alice<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div align="left">
<span style="font-size: small;">I met Alice this week.</span></div>
<div align="left">
<br /></div>
<div align="left">
<span style="font-size: small;">Alice is the UCD student who is partnered
with my mother, to be her "buddy" and establish a relationship with her.
She will visit her every Wednesday, she tells me (a day of the week I don't
have to feel guilty about staying home!)</span></div>
<div align="left">
<br /></div>
<div align="left">
<span style="font-size: small;">She's a lovely girl, in her second year at
the University. I can't remember what she said is her major, but
picked up on her brother, who is looking at UC Santa Barbara (where Jeri
graduated) and Cal Poly (where Tom graduated). I recommended both
schools highly, Santa Barbara over Cal Poly because he thinks he might like
to major in theater.</span></div>
<div align="left">
<br /></div>
<div align="left">
<span style="font-size: small;">We tried to talk to include my mother who was
lost, of course. Turns out Alice is a theater fan and we both like the
same shows, which <i>really</i> left my mother in the dust while we talked
about shows and songs and her other brother who is doing theater in San
Diego.</span></div>
<div align="left">
<br /></div>
<div align="left">
<span style="font-size: small;">I guess Alice sat with us for about 45
minutes until time for her to leave. I was so pleased to have her
there because she got my mother talking animatedly, and when she left, the
two of us had little to say to each other again. </span></div>
<div align="left">
<br /></div>
<div align="left">
<span style="font-size: small;">We were sitting at the end of the hall, the
opposite end from where she lives and I made some comment about her
apartment being at the other end of the hall. I had to tell that to
her about three times and she finally shook her head and said "Well, I'm
going to have to think about that because I can't understand a word you're
saying."</span></div>
<div align="left">
<br /></div>
<div align="left">
<span style="font-size: small;">I think Alice will be good for her.</span></div>
</div>
Bev Sykeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16794928133704720689noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5608460937602491943.post-74168191745583324442017-10-07T02:05:00.000-07:002017-11-06T02:05:34.079-08:00Here we go again<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div align="left">
<span style="font-size: small;">But at 10 this
morning, I had a call from Atria letting me know my mother had been
unresponsive when they tried to wake her up and they were sending her to the
emergency room. While the initial reaction is to wonder "is this the
time?" in my heart of hearts I knew how it was going to happen, and I was
not wrong</span></div>
<div align="left">
<br /></div>
<div align="left">
<span style="font-size: small;">When I got to the ER, she was
still unconscious and they were trying to wake her, to no avail. Her
eye lids were blinking very quickly, but her eyes never opened.
Everybody tried to wake her up, but unsuccessfully.</span></div>
<div align="left">
<br /></div>
<div align="left">
<span style="font-size: small;">They cut her out of her shirt because she wasn't able to help
them get her undressed. They put on diapers, but first took a urine
sample so they could test for a UTI. She slept through it all.</span></div>
<div align="left">
<span style="font-size: small;">The nurses left and I saw her eyes flicker, like they had
been, but also to open a tiny bit, so I got up and talked to her and she
started to come alive. I asked if she knew who I was and she slowly
nodded.</span></div>
<div align="left">
<br /></div>
<div align="left">
<img align="right" border="2" height="300" hspace="10" src="http://www.funnytheworld.com/2017/Oct/ebonee.jpg" vspace="10" width="300" /><span style="font-size: small;">About
then Ebonee came in to take blood. She had about the very best
dreadlocks that I've seen. I'm sorry I didn't take a picture from the
front because it was truly beautiful.</span></div>
<div align="left">
<br /></div>
<div align="left">
<span style="font-size: small;">
She had lots of blood to collect and fortunately she had a great sense of
humor, so she got my mother chatting and laughing. She was now coming
back to whatever her normal is, which was a relief.</span></div>
<div align="left">
<span style="font-size: small;">Then we played the hurry up and wait game, waiting for time
for her to be taken for EKG, CT-scan, and chest x-ray. </span></div>
<div align="left">
<span style="font-size: small;"> </span>
</div>
<div align="left">
<span style="font-size: small;">I think it is not an exaggeration to say I
had to explain to her 100 times where we were and why we were there, after
which she always said she didn't <i>want</i> to be in the hospital and why
hadn't I told them to just leave her alone. And then she would ask
again where we were and why we were there.</span></div>
<div align="left">
<br /></div>
<div align="left">
<span style="font-size: small;">They finally took her off for her various scans and after she
returned we waited again ("where are we and why are we here? I can't
understand a thing you say...")</span></div>
<div align="left">
<br /></div>
<div align="left">
<span style="font-size: small;">Finally
the x-ray guy came back with the report that all was fine, so we waited for
the doctor to give her the all-clear. And waited and waited and
waited. He finally came and told me what I knew he would--they can
find no sign of anything. She has no UTI, her blood sugar was fine,
there was no sign of stroke, lungs are clear, etc., etc., etc. He
mentioned her going home by ambulance, but I told him I would drive her.</span></div>
<div align="left">
<br /></div>
<div align="left">
<span style="font-size: small;">So we waited and waited and waited for the nurse to
disconnect her from all the machines. She does not wait patiently and
asked me many times what we were waiting for. I finally had to go and get
someone, because they were waiting for the ambulance. They got her
dressed, and gave me a gown to replace the shirt they had to cut off, and
while I went to get the car, they got her into a wheelchair and outside.</span></div>
<div align="left">
<br /></div>
<div align="left">
<span style="font-size: small;">Naturally there was no parking to be had at Atria, so I
parked illegally and told the girl at the desk that I was taking her to
memory care and asked if I could borrow a wheelchair, since I didn't want to
walk her through the building in a hospital gown. </span></div>
<div align="left">
<span style="font-size: small;"> </span>
</div>
<div align="left">
<span style="font-size: small;">A woman we know in town whose mother just
moved into Atria was happy to see me and started chatting, but I had my
mother who kept trying to get out of the car, and the wheelchair that was
not arriving and I was probably kind of rude to her and her mother.</span></div>
<div align="left">
<br /></div>
<div align="left">
<span style="font-size: small;">Finally a new desk person called again for a wheelchair and
then two of them came. We got her into one and someone pushed her
while I followed along behind as the beast of burden, carrying a bag with
her stuff (mostly her sheets), pillow, doctor's orders, my cane and my
purse. </span></div>
<div align="left">
<span style="font-size: small;"> </span>
</div>
<div align="left">
<span style="font-size: small;">We got her to her apartment, which she has
never seen before and didn't know where she is. Most of the aides came
to see her and I realized that though this was her fourth trip to the
hospital, she had never had one of her spells in the memory unit so they
were much more worried about her than I was (though one of these days she's
going to surprise me and die during one of these "normal tests" trips to the
ER)</span></div>
<div align="left">
<br /></div>
<div align="left">
<span style="font-size: small;">I was going to leave her when they
took her to the dining room to get some food, since she had not eaten
anything yet, but she was terrified, said she had never been there before
and didn't know anybody. I tried to explain to her that someone would
help her get back to her apartment, but she didn't know she had an
apartment.</span></div>
<div align="left">
<br /></div>
<div align="left">
<span style="font-size: small;">About then there was a
blackout. All electricity went out and an alarm started to ring and
the aides were looking worried. Automatic doors slammed shut.
Just what my mother needed! It didn't last more than 5 minutes, but
when it was over, all the aides were off somewhere discussing it, and nobody
was around for me to ask to take my mother back to her apartment. She
started crying and asked what she should do if the two of us got separated.</span></div>
<div align="left">
<br /></div>
<div align="left">
<span style="font-size: small;">I finally found someone to take her back to her apartment and
I got the heck out of there ASAP. My patience had about reached its
breaking point. I told Walt she was worse than a toddler and I just
had to get <i>out</i> of there.</span></div>
<div align="left">
<br /></div>
<div align="left">
<span style="font-size: small;">And I
do feel guilty about that. But at least I left her in good hands.
I feel guilty that I forgot to kiss her goodbye and that guilt will probably
bite me in the butt and she'll die tonight and I'll have to live with my
last act being to ignore her when she felt alone, lost and frightened.</span></div>
<div align="left">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: small;">I am a bad person.</span></div>
Bev Sykeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16794928133704720689noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5608460937602491943.post-51401515368870625412017-09-28T02:03:00.000-07:002017-11-06T02:03:21.236-08:00Bad Day<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">
When I got to her apartment, she was in bed and seemed to be sound asleep.
I poured nuts into the bowl and then sat down for a bit to read and see if
she woke up. She woke up, actually, with a start, sat up and couldn't
find me when I told her hello (she couldn't figure out she should look
behind her).</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;">
It was one of her bad days. I have seen her more agitated, so it
wasn't as bad as it could be, but she said all of her insides were shaking,
she didn't want to leave the apartment because she was afraid she'd do
something wrong, and things just kept spinning around and around in her
head. (She's been saying this, off and on, for years, so it was
nothing new.)<br />
<br />
She said people would tell her to do one thing and then someone else would
tell her to do something else and she didn't know what to do at all.
Well, of course, nobody was telling her to do anything, but in her head
they were.<br />
<br />
She finally decided what she had to do was to <i>sit</i> and be quiet and
see if she could get the shaking to stop.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<img border="2" height="421" src="http://www.funnytheworld.com/2017/Sep/depressed.jpg" width="500" /></div>
<br />
I tried to get her to try some deep breathing, but didn't really think that
would work. She was able to follow the direction to take a long slow
breath in and relax but she said that when she took the deep breath all the
things whirling around in her head got worse.<br />
<br />
I didn't want to leave her, but couldn't do anything to help her. She
finally decided that maybe if she got into bed and slept things would be
better. As it was after 4:30, I decided I would leave and let the aids
know to check on her.<br />
<br />
When I kissed her goodbye she asked when I would be back. I didn't
think she could handle "in 6 days" so I told her "a couple of days" and she
got this look of panic on her face and asked what she was going to do
without me. Just the guilt I needed. <br />
<br />
I talked with one of the aids and then I sent an e-mail to Jen, the head of
the memory care unit, to let her know how things were, that I would be gone
for 6 days, that Ned would stop by to see her, and if need be, they could
call my cell phone and I could be home in about 9 hours.<br />
<br />
I'm hoping they won't need to call me. And I can't even call HER
because if she's still agitated, I don't want to make it worse.<br />
<br />
Dammit.</span></div>
Bev Sykeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16794928133704720689noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5608460937602491943.post-17965338785969686732017-09-26T16:44:00.000-07:002017-11-18T16:45:11.492-08:00Getting Lost<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">I went to Atria earlier in the day. She was in the community
room at a sing-along She now greets me as if I am along lost
relative whom she has not seen years. She usually gives a gasp and
then says "When did YOU get here? I didn't know you were <i>coming</i>."
I think in that moment she thinks I'm one of her sisters, but as we talk
she finally seems to know I'm her daughter (though at one point she
asked me "What am I? Your sister? your brother? your mother?" </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;">
She complimented me on the shirt I was wearing, which has a design
with zebras on it. When I pointed that out she looked confused and
when I said they were horses with stripes, she told me I was the smart
one and she didn't know about things like that.<br />
<br />
She went to the bathroom while I was there and got lost coming out of
the room, taking the wrong door and ending up in the hallway, barefoot.
One of the aides brought her back, surprised to find me there. My mother
had already forgotten that I was waiting for her.<br />
<br />
But I stayed an hour and, all things considered, it was a decent
visit It's been a long time since she's had either an anxiety
attack or has fainted and I'm very pleased about that.</span></div>
Bev Sykeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16794928133704720689noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5608460937602491943.post-30962655861167955612017-09-22T16:37:00.000-07:002017-11-18T16:37:34.441-08:00The Long Goodbye<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">I went to Atria today. My mother was thrilled because she
hasn't seen me in a year.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;">
Comments like this make me feel more comfortable going less and less
often because to her it's either today or a year ago or a year from now. <br />
<br />
I couldn't find her when I got to the memory unit and one of the kind
aides said she would go and find her for me.<br />
<br />
To my amazement she was <i>outside!!!!!!</i> This may be the
first time she has gone out of the building on her own (of course, I
don't know if someone took her outside or not). Today was the
first really comfortable day we've had (75⁰) and a really lovely day, so
I'm glad she was able to get out and enjoy it.<br />
<br />
When the aide brought her in to her apartment, she didn't know me,
but quickly figured out who I was, but I don't know if she thought I was
her daughter or her sister. Possibly both during the hour I was
there. At one point she talked about Walt ("what's the name of
that guy you're married to?") and our kids, but then at one point she
said "Mom is doing pretty good these days, isn't she?" and she I looked
perplexed she said "Mom. Our Mother" so I think at that moment,
she thought I was her sister. She also asked how Peach's mother
Marge was (Marge died many years ago).<br />
<br />
Steve Schalchlin's friend wrote a song about Alzheimers called "The
Long Goodbye" and that's what it is...watching little bits and pieces
fade away slowly.<br />
<br />
If there is anything to be thankful for it's that she hasn't a <i>
clue</i> what is happening in the world. In fact, when I told her
abut the Mexico earthquake she asked "was she working at the time?"
I never expected her to understand about the earthquake, but sometimes
it's good to have something other than her age, and the weather to talk
about, even if she doesn't understand it.</span></div>
Bev Sykeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16794928133704720689noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5608460937602491943.post-6765598428577897372017-08-18T17:07:00.000-07:002017-10-08T17:07:33.288-07:00Fulll Day<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-size: small;">The phone woke me up shortly
after 5. It was Atria saying my mother was in great pain in her right arm
and they could not calm her down. I was at Atria by 5:30.<br />
<br />
She was miserable and periodically screaming out in pain. She had a blood
bruise on her arm and I said I would call Kaiser, which I did. They couldn't
see her until 2 but we had an appointment with the social worker for her
long term care insurance at 3 and she needed to see the doctor in the
morning.<br />
<br />
There was a lot of discussion and ultimately I took her to the emergency
room. Making a very long story short, the doctor found a tiny hairline
fracture which they put a splint on.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"> </span>
<br />
<div align="center">
<img border="2" height="444" src="http://www.funnytheworld.com/2017/Aug/splint.jpg" width="500" /></div>
<div align="left">
<br /></div>
<div align="left">
<span style="font-size: small;">This only took ~3 hrs. I was going to take
her to breakfast but she wouldn't be able to use utensils so I just stopped
at Starbucks for coffee and a muffin.<br />
<br />
We got back to Atria and I left her and came home to sleep a little. I was
totally exhausted. I woke up a couple of hours later when my guru called to
let me know the computer was fixed, but I knew I didn't have time to get it.
<br />
<br />
Back to Atria. She was asleep and no sign of her splint which she had
removed. I let her sleep until the insurance rep arrived. I found her
splint and put it back on her but she doesn't know what it's for and I'm
sure she finally took it off again as soon as I left.<br />
<br />
The exam took two hours and if there was any question of the company about
her Alzheimers there is no longer any question! The insurance woman could not have
been nicer and it was heartbreaking to watch her trying to answer questions
like "what is your name?"</span></div>
</div>
Bev Sykeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16794928133704720689noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5608460937602491943.post-42845607191868258942017-08-01T16:03:00.000-07:002017-10-08T16:03:52.314-07:00I Miss the Dining Room<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div align="left">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">After I left my mother yesterday, I spent a
little time sitting in the little alcove opposite the main dining room and
just watched people entering...and eating. And I got a little teary,
realizing how much I miss the dining room.</span></span></div>
<div align="left">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div align="left">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">I used to have lunch with her once a week and
while I had lots of complaints about things, in comparison to the memory
unit, it was lovely. I have only eaten in the memory unit a couple of
times. There is no choice of food. It comes from the same dining
room, but arrives luke warm. There is no pitcher of water on the
table. You have to ask for water and the aides are usually busy, so I
don't. </span></span></div>
<div align="left">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div align="left">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">And then there are the other diners.
There are only about 30 in the memory unit, so the dining room is quite
small.</span></span></div>
<div align="left">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div align="center">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="2" height="439" src="http://www.funnytheworld.com/2017/Aug/diningroom.jpg" width="500" /></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div align="left">
<br /></div>
<div align="left">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">and you don't hear the hum of voices the way
you do in the main dining room. The first table there, on the lower
right, usually is filled with four women who are far along in their
dementia. One of them keeps her head on the table until her food
comes, another is gap-jawed and needs help with eating, the other two are
just a lot more out of it than my mother.</span></span></div>
<div align="left">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div align="left">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">When I have eaten there with my mother she
spends most of the meal asking where we are what we are waiting for,
and how she is going to find her way back to her room.</span></span></div>
<div align="left">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div align="left">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">I compared that to the folks in the main
dining room -- people like Cameron, who is younger than I am and wheelchair
bound. She has her little clique of people around her and they always
sit at the same table and have in-depth conversations about lots of things.
I think Cameron told me she was in engineering...I could be wrong....but I
often thought about how interesting it would have been to sit at Cameron's
table. We often sat with Margaret, a lovely little white-haired woman
with lots of physical problems, which you don't realize until she gets up to
go back to her room and walks bent at sharp angle over her walker. But
she is usually is cheery and I've always enjoyed talking with her,
especially since she is a Davis native and we both remember the "old days."</span></span></div>
<div align="left">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div align="left">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">There are lots of other familiar faces, many
of whom stopped to say hello to my mother or to tell me how special my
mother is. The long-time servers knew her and would chat briefly.
There is nobody like that in the memory unit. They are all trying to
figure out where they are and what they are doing and the aides are busy
helping people who can't eat unassisted. So I look for reasons not to go to
Atria until <i>after</i> lunch. </span></span></div>
<div align="left">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div align="left">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">
<img align="right" border="2" height="400" hspace="10" src="http://www.funnytheworld.com/2017/Aug/patio.jpg" vspace="10" width="300" />There
was more than just missing the dining room that had me teary sitting in the
little alcove. My mother often sat there, having coffee and cookies
and looking out onto the patio that she loved so much.</span></span></div>
<div align="left">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div align="left">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">We would sit there and chat. Actually
<u><i>chat</i></u> about things. She was<i> vague</i>, of course, and
increasingly so as her dementia progressed, but we could chat. <i> </i>People
would stop by to say hello. The people who run Atria always stopped to
say hello. Now I don't think they even remember her, since the memory unit
is a separate facility that has little to do with the main facility.</span></span></div>
<div align="left">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div align="left">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">When I arrived yesterday, she was sitting in
the main room and Ellen deGeneres was on TV and my mother was sitting in a
chair asleep. When I sat down next t her and said hello she didn't
open her eyes but said "I hear ya..." I said that I had just arrived and she
opened eyes and looked confused. I asked if she wanted to go to her
apartment. "What will we do there?" she asked. I said we could
visit. I got up to get someone to open the apartment door for us.
My mother sat in her chair and kept signaling whether or not she should come
with me. She finally did.</span></span></div>
<div align="left">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div align="left">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">When we got into the room she wasn't sure
where she was. We spent the time talking about how something was
wrong and how she didn't know where she was (in other words, the same thing
we always talk about)</span></span></div>
<div align="left">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div align="left">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">
Her roommate Marge walked in at some point, picked up a bra that was lying
on the floor and walked out. I don't know if it was hers or my
mother's. I decided it didn't matter. Marge has talked to me a
few times -- she uses words, but I have never once understood what she was
talking about. She seems a very unpleasant woman. The aides tell
me that she and my mother are "great friends," which I have never seen and
when she left, my mother said "I don't like her."</span></span></div>
<div align="left">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div align="left">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">Finally someone came to
get her for dinner.</span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">
She asked me if she was dressed all right or if she needed to get dressed
up, and wondered if she needed to bring her purse and how she was going to
pay for dinner. When she learned that I was not going to stay for
dinner, she was nervous because she wasn't sure she could find her way back
to her room afterwards. When we got to the dining room, I saw there
was a seat at the table where Loretta was sitting and I sat her there, but
Loretta's dementia is progressing too and I don't know if the two of them
talked with each other. They were both looking off into space when I
left.</span></span></div>
<div align="left">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
<span style="font-size: small;">So the main dining room
is not only something I miss for the food and the servers and the other
residents, but it represents a time when my mother was more "with it" than
she is now.</span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">
And it makes me think how much <i><u>I</u><b> </b></i>have changed in the
past 4 years. And that is sad too.</span></span></div>
Bev Sykeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16794928133704720689noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5608460937602491943.post-56494209575911392822017-07-29T15:43:00.000-07:002017-11-04T16:54:51.358-07:00Paranoia<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;">
<div align="left">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">I knew that paranoia is
often a component of dementia, but had not seen it until today.</span></span></div>
<div align="left">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">The day started with no
sleep. I absolutely could not get to sleep and only fell asleep for
about half an hour or so around 7. So I was not operating on all
cylinders.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="left">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="left">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">I had a dental
appointment at 11. I am one of those weird people who enjoy my
appointments. I like my dental hygienist, Christina, and I enjoy the
brief moments to catch up with Cindy, who has been a friend since the 1980s,
long before she had her own dental practice.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="left">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="left">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">It was noon when I left
the office and I did not want to get to Atria at lunch time, so I did a
little shopping first (laying in goodies for Ashley, who moves in tonight to
take care of the house and the dogs while we are in Santa Barbara.
This will be the first time they dog sit while their baby is becoming a
toddler. I hope it all works out, since we are not "baby proof" here.)</span></span></span></div>
<div align="left">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="left">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img align="left" border="2" src="http://www.funnytheworld.com/2017/Jun/loretta.jpg" height="307" hspace="10" vspace="10" width="300" /><span style="font-size: x-small;">I
got to Atria just as lunch was finished and my mother was sitting at a table
laughing with her friend Loretta. The two women have been "friends" for most
of the time that my mother has been at Atria. They love to tease and
put each other down. They remind me of my mother and her friend Paula,
in San Rafael. I was so happy when my other found Loretta.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="left">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="left">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Of course, they don't
have a clue who the other one is. They don't know each other's name
and are at about the same stage of dementia, Loretta perhaps a bit ahead of
my mother because she moved into the memory unit a few months before my
mother did.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="left">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="left">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">But I enjoyed the
"normalcy" of sitting with these two friends laughing with each other, and
was glad to see my mother actually laughing with another resident.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="left">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="left">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">When it was time for us
to leave the table, I don't know where Loretta went, but my mother and I
headed back to her apartment. She is having what is probably another
bout of sciatica and her leg is bothering her. I was pleased
(and very surprised) to see that she had brought a cane with her to the
dining room.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="left">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="left">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">We walked to her
room--which she cannot find yet (the big MILDRED on the front door helps!)
and she sat down in her chair....and then it started.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="left">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="left">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">It started the way it
usually does, with her looking around and saying "something's wrong."
She then said what she often said, that she knows she should be doing
something but can't remember what it is. We even laughed about it, and
I told her what I always tell her, that the nice thing about living at Atria
is that if there is something she should be doing, the staff will remind
her, that they are her memory.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="left">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="left">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">An aid came in to check
on her, on her regular rounds. She and I talked about the leg pain and
I explained that she had suffered from sciatica before but had not
complained of pain in over a year. She asked if it was OK with me if
she faxes my mother's doctor to ask bout adding Tylenol to her meds.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="left">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="left">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">I watched my mother's
face while the aid and I talked. I could see that she couldn't follow
what we were saying and that it bothered her a lot.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="left">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="left">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">After the aid left, she
got this weird look on her face and said she just didn't understand what
she's done wrong that offended everyone. She says nobody in the family
will talk to her. When she walks into a room, everyone turns their
back on her and whispers about her. and she doesn't know why.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="left">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="left">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">She says nobody calls
her to ask her to go out to lunch or dinner and when she calls someone to
invite them to do something they just say "I am busy." She can't
figure out what she has done wrong.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="left">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="left">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Another aid came in.
She was just coming on her shift and was checking in on all of her clients.
A darling girl, with a big smile and rosy cheeks. She and my mother
talked and laughed together and after she left, my mother was gloomy again
"See?" she said, indicating the aid and how she hadn't wanted to talk with
her.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="left">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="left">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Then she pointed at me
and said... "I look at your face and I see these thoughts going through your
head, how you want to leave and how you don't want to be with me."</span></span></span></div>
<div align="left">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="left">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Then she went on to say
she didn't know what anybody in the family was doing any more and I said
that I could tell her something, that Brianna was on a softball team that
had just qualified to go to the championships in San Diego. I
thought that might interest her because Brianna is her great granddaughter
(though she does note relate to that) and because she herself was a softball
champ in high school.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="left">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="left">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">She just looked at me
and said "Now why in the world would you tell me <i><u>that</u>?"</i> and
had zero interest in what I was saying.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="left">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="left">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img align="left" border="2" src="http://www.funnytheworld.com/2017/Jun/paranoid.jpg" height="351" hspace="10" vspace="10" width="300" /><span style="font-size: x-small;">She
had this disconsolate look on her face and just kept trying to figure out
what she had done wrong and why nobody liked her any more. I couldn't
leave her like that so I just sat there and listened. Sometime I tried
being in her head and responding to what she was saying and telling her how
sad I was that she was being treated so badly. Other times I tried
being in the present and reminding her that all that family (her siblings)
were dead and couldn't shun her ("Yeah, but there are <i>others</i> in
the family..") and reminded her that everybody lived at least 100 miles
away. That didn't help.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="left">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">(Yes, I know the
pointlessness of trying to "help" but I hate seeing her so miserable.)</span></span></span></div>
<div align="left">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="left">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">I stayed about 45
minutes trying various things until finally I got her to laugh and come back
to normal again. They I hurried up to leave before she sank back into
depression again. I told her I'd be in Santa Barbara and that I'd see
her in a week and she told me to have a great time and seemed as happy as
she ever is these days. At least I didn't feel uncomfortable about
leaving her in the depths of depression.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="left">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">I came home and slept
for about 2 hours. I'm just going to have to put that in the back of
my mind while we're away, and realize that she is in good hands and that the
aids are taking good care of her...and she can have lunch with Loretta.</span></span></div>
</div>
Bev Sykeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16794928133704720689noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5608460937602491943.post-12595190553900951962017-07-25T15:59:00.000-07:002017-10-08T16:00:13.055-07:00Wasted Trip<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div align="left">
<span style="font-size: small;">It had been several months since my cousin
had been up to do my mother's nails. Niecie is a cosmetologist who
owns two beauty salons in Marin County and has been keeping my mother's
nails in good shape since long before she moved to Atria. But she's
also a very busy person and I think it had been about 6 months since she was
last able to come up and my mother had been complaining about her nails for
a very long time.</span></div>
<div align="left">
<br /></div>
<div align="center">
<img border="2" height="411" src="http://www.funnytheworld.com/2017/Jul/nails.jpg" width="500" /></div>
<div align="left">
<br /></div>
<div align="left">
<span style="font-size: small;">Niecie is such a special person.
Everybody in the family plays lip service to loving my mother, but in all
the time she has been at Atria (4 years), nobody has so much as sent her a
note. Somehow telling<i> me</i> how much they love her on Facebook is
not quite the same thing as getting in the car and actually coming to <i>see</i>
her. Of course, by now it doesn't matter because she wouldn't know who
anybody was anyway, but every time someone tells me how special she is and
how much they love her, it irritates me!</span></div>
<div align="left">
<br /></div>
<div align="left">
<span style="font-size: small;">I almost made an appointment to have her
nails done when I took her to the beauty parlor this week because her
toenails were particularly bad (long and curling under), but before I could
do that, Niecie called and said she was planning to come up. Yippee.
The cavalry was on the way!</span></div>
<div align="left">
<span style="font-size: small;">When I was last at Atria, they told me that a
podiatrist would be coming to the memory unit to examine everyone's feet
this week and asked if I wanted her to see the doctor. I told them no,
since I knew Niecie would be there.</span></div>
<div align="left">
<br /></div>
<div align="left">
<span style="font-size: small;">Niecie called me from Atria this morning to
let me know that she was there, but my mother was "too tired" to let her
give her a pedicure, even though she has been complaining about how bad her
feet are. So I made arrangements with Atria to have her see the
podiatrist, which will cost $40 (since it's not covered by Kaiser) just
because she was too tired to sit in a chair and let Niecie work on her feet.</span></div>
<div align="left">
<br /></div>
<div align="left">
<span style="font-size: small;">But she wouldn't understand my frustration.</span></div>
</div>
Bev Sykeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16794928133704720689noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5608460937602491943.post-81742796861908251992017-07-20T15:57:00.000-07:002017-10-08T15:58:00.902-07:00Normalcy<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div align="left">
<span style="font-size: small;">We don't have a lot of "normalcy" around here
... or at least around Atria ... these days. It's like going
through Alice's rabbit hole when you are let into the memory unit and you
never know what to expect. If I'm lucky, she's in a good mood, which
means that we pretty much stare at each other for an hour while she asks me
if she lives there and who this or that person is in a picture she
indicates...and whether or not her mother is still alive.</span></div>
<div align="left">
<br /></div>
<div align="left">
<span style="font-size: small;">If it's like last week, she is in another
zone entirely. You can't convince her that she is not in a situation
where everybody hates her because she's done something terrible, but doesn't
know what she has done. (And if I'm very unlucky, I'm to blame for all
of her problems.)</span></div>
<div align="left">
<br /></div>
<div align="left">
<span style="font-size: small;">If I'm very lucky, she's in a giddy, chatty
mood where everything tickles her fancy and we spend a lot of time laughing.</span></div>
<div align="left">
<br /></div>
<div align="left">
<span style="font-size: small;">What rarely happens is a "normal" day.
Days when I take her out to lunch are more or less normal, except for the
endless questioning about where she is. But she used to go out to
lunch with friends frequently and it's always pleasant to go out to lunch
with her. I wish I could afford to take her out to lunch more often,
because I really enjoy it, and she does too.</span></div>
<div align="left">
<br /></div>
<div align="left">
<span style="font-size: small;">Haircut days are also normal day. She
used to have her hair done once a week for <i>years</i> and was good friends
with her hairdresser. Hannah. I last took her to see Hannah a couple
of years ago when she needed a permanent. It cost so much money, I
didn't take her back again, since Lucy, the beautician at Atria, does a fine
job for much less money.</span></div>
<div align="left">
<br /></div>
<table border="0" style="width: 100%px;">
<tbody>
<tr>
<td width="355">
<img align="left" border="0" height="361" hspace="10" src="http://www.funnytheworld.com/2017/Jul/Before.jpg" vspace="10" width="302" /></td>
<td><span style="font-size: small;">I'd been putting off making an appointment for
her. She's several weeks past when it should have been done.
Her hair has been so long and stringy, hanging in her eyes, often
looking fly-away and giving her that "Wicked Witch of the West"
look. I'd only put off making an appointment because either I
didn't have my calendar, or it was Lucy's day off and I couldn't
reach her. But today, she finally had an appointment.</span></td>
</tr>
</tbody></table>
<div align="left">
<span style="font-size: small;">She was in good spirits when I got to Atria.
She was napping, but got up right away. When she opened her eyes, her
first word were "Well...I have a <i>sister."</i> When I told her that
no, she had a <i>daughter</i> she came more to life and sat up.</span></div>
<div align="left">
<br /></div>
<div align="left">
<span style="font-size: small;">I told her we were going to get her hair done
and there was no argument. She just immediately put on her shoes and
was ready to go.</span></div>
<div align="left">
<br /></div>
<div align="left">
<span style="font-size: small;">It's always such fun watching her interacting
with Lucy. It's one of those "normal" times. Other then telling
Lucy that people always ask where she gets her hair done (she's thinking of
when Hannah used to do it), they chatter away just like the old days.</span></div>
<div align="left">
<br /></div>
<div align="center">
<img border="2" height="450" src="http://www.funnytheworld.com/2017/Jul/shampoo.jpg" width="500" /></div>
<div align="left">
<br /></div>
<div align="left">
<span style="font-size: small;">And in the end, though she never thought she
needed a haircut to begin with, she's delighted with how she looks.</span></div>
<div align="left">
<br /></div>
<div align="center">
<img border="2" height="400" src="http://www.funnytheworld.com/2017/Jul/after.jpg" width="300" /></div>
<div align="left">
<br /></div>
<div align="left">
<span style="font-size: small;">We returned to her apartment and she sat
down, dazed, and asked if this is where she was going to live from now on.</span></div>
<div align="left">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: small;">Normalcy was nice, while it lasted.</span></div>
Bev Sykeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16794928133704720689noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5608460937602491943.post-15731900866533006652017-07-18T15:55:00.000-07:002017-10-08T15:55:13.569-07:00She Doesn't Hate Me<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div align="left">
<span style="font-size: small;">Apparently my mother doesn't hate me any
more. This is nice to know.</span></div>
<div align="left">
<br /></div>
<div align="left">
<span style="font-size: small;">I got to Atria around noon yesterday,
thinking I'd sit at her table and have coffee while she ate lunch, but they
told me she had gone back to bed, so I went to her apartment and told her I
would take her out to lunch. She smiled and was happy to see me,
though said she hurt "everywhere," including down her legs and under her
arm.</span></div>
<div align="left">
<br /></div>
<div align="left">
<span style="font-size: small;">I got her up and we went out to the front of
Atria. It was a hot day -- mid 90s -- and I could only find a place to
park a block away and didn't want to make her walk that far, so I parked her
on a bench by the front door and let the woman at the desk know that I was
going to get the car and that she should be aware of my mother in case she
wandered off.</span></div>
<div align="left">
<br /></div>
<div align="left">
<span style="font-size: small;">But she didn't. She was still there
when I drove up and we both enjoyed the air conditioning blowing in our
faces. </span></div>
<div align="left">
<br /></div>
<div align="left">
<span style="font-size: small;">We drove to IHOP, which is very close to
Kaiser. The timing could not have been better. Her appointment
was at 1:50 and we finished lunch at 1:25.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">She beamed when she looked around, said it
was a nice restaurant and she had no been there before (we've eaten there
several times). It was good to see her smiling, after the horrible
visit on Thursday.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<img border="2" height="560" src="http://www.funnytheworld.com/2017/Jul/ihop.jpg" width="500" /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Menus overwhelm her, so I usually give her a
choice of two things. This time it was easy because IHOP had its
berry-themed menu and I gave her a choice of French toast with berries or
crepes with berries. We both agreed on the French toast. When it
came, she said it was enough for three meals, and I have to admit I can't
believe she ate the whole thing!</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<img border="2" height="497" src="http://www.funnytheworld.com/2017/Jul/frtoast.jpg" width="500" /></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Her appetite is never as small as she thinks
and generally speaking, if you put something in front her she will eat it.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">We were in plenty of time for her
appointment. She's not good at waiting because she can never remember
where she is and why she's there, and once we are taken to the exam room she
can't understand why it is taking so long for the doctor to arrive.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">But while waiting, she rhapsodized over the
beautiful leaves she could see out the window. Never knew anybody who
loved trees and leaves as much as she does!</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<img border="2" height="224" src="http://www.funnytheworld.com/2017/Jul/treetop.jpg" width="500" /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">The exam went well, again, though her blood
pressure was low and she's lost 7 lbs this year so the doctor made some
adjustments in her meds. But she is given a clean bill of health until
she is about to turn 99 (she turns 98 in a little over a month).</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">I can no longer drop her off at Atria and
trust she will find her apartment on her own, so I walked her down to the
memory unit (apparently I can ask for someone from the memory unit to come
and get her, but that doesn't seem right). I sat in her apartment for
a bit, but we were both tired and I was either going to fall asleep in the
chair or get up enough energy to get out of the chair and walk back down to
the car.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: small;">I slept for over 2 hours after I got home.
These days probably take more out of me emotionally than physically, but I
do come home absolutely drained. Now I take a day off and then I take
her to get her hair cut at the Atria beauty salon, which is going to be a
lot less emotional than a doctor's appointment.</span></div>
Bev Sykeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16794928133704720689noreply@blogger.com0