Fleeting Memories

The old John Lennon song comes back to haunt me when I get so far behind. You know the kind of feeling. You are on auto-pilot, not paying attention. The only things that get done are the necessary obligations, and the pressing emergencies that come from everyone’s distress. So it has been a month since I have sat down to type.
It has been a really hard month. It seems like each day I see a little more erosion of mom’s personality. She has no zest at all. She won’t even talk to me unless I really insist on a verbal response. More often than not I have to spoon feed her to get her to finish her meals.
I think the worst development in the past month is how I have come to really dislike my own reactions. I can get impatient with Mom when she “changes her mind” and becomes uncooperative in the middle of a transfer to the commode or while I’m trying to file her nails. I find my self raising my voice when she forgets to swallow her pills, while I am reminding her not to chew them. Of course the whole time she is saying, “I am not chewing it…” as she grinds away on a capsule. I know she is not lying when she tells me “I did swallow it.”  Her brain can’t fill in the gap between the pill in her mouth and my instructions. So she tells me what ever will make me stop giving her the pills. But that is not intentional, that is typical of the disease. Why do I get frustrated. I should be kinder.
Well, this is kind of a pointless post, isn’t it? But that seems to be the tenor of my times lately. It all feels pointless. Thank you to everyone who helps with Mom, who prays for her, couldn’t do it without you.
peace

I just put Mom to bed. It was one of those evenings,  she was impatient with me for making her stand up to fix the bottom of her night gown. She has an elastic bandage on her arm, to keep her from messing with the dressing on her latest scrape. She keeps trying to unwrap it because she does not remember hurting herself. It was a real chore just getting her arm into the sleeve of her night shirt. She was not happy with me as I lifter her feet into bed and tucked her in.
Her skin is so thin and fragile, I have to be very careful not to tear it just moving her from chair to chair. Even picking up her legs to position her in bed is a precarious stress on her skin. We are using a new prescription lotion on her legs. In addition to being fragile they are very dry. Each day I have to wash her legs with plain water (there is a heavy residue after it is absorbed) and then put on the lotion.
And then there are her finger nails, she yells at me if I try to clip them, so I use a nail file and emery board. There is more, but no point talking about brushing her teeth or taking her dentures out. I don’t use a lot of toiletries myself, I have never fussed about my nails. So grooming Mom has taken me places I have never imagined myself going.
Sometimes when she is impatient with what I am doing, I think of how much easier it would be to just not do it. But that would be unkind than leaving her alone like she would have it.
I know this has been a rambling post, but I have been thinking how much we are like Mom as we react to providence. It is easy to confess that God has a plan for our lives, but how impatient we become when his plan is uncomfortable or ill-timed in our estimation. He does things for our eternal benefit, and we are just focused on how we feel right now. When we are tested and tried we no more think of his ultimate plan than Mom understands why I have her arm wrapped in the elastic wrap. Kind of embarrassing when you really think about it.
Well, that’s all I have time for right now, Pax!
Technorati Tags: Mom, Alzheimer’s, wound care, bedtime, providence, faith, impatience, grooming

I forget a lot of things. “Where did I put my keys? Did you see my phone? I know I put my sunglasses right there.”  Mom though, Mom forgets different kinds of things. She forgets how to swallow pills. She forgets that she is taking her pills, while she has one in her mouth. She forgets that she is standing up while you are trying to transfer her to a different seat. Mom forgets that the compression bandage is covering a wound on her arm and she takes it off to see why she has it there.
I worry when someone’s name (often someone I know well) disappears off the tip of my tongue. I worry that I should be taking the Alzheimer’s meds myself. I worry how long will it be, before the erosion of personality starts on me. That may be one of the biggest hidden tolls of taking care of Mom, the conviction that I am looking at myself in a few years.
Some of the things mom forgets makes my life more arduous, like when she forgets how to move her feet to get into the car. Some of it makes life less pleasant, like the toilet chores that are routine for me now. But nothing is quite as bad as the dread of what lies ahead. With Mom and Dad both severely incapacitated with the disease, genetically speaking, I feel doomed.
Well, enough of such pleasant thoughts this morning. I need to check on Mom. It is a gray rainy morning here, I hope yours is brighter, inside and out. Shalom for now.

Last week at this time, Nancy and I were between Baltimore, MD. and Winchester, VA. We were headed to our friends’ home in Elkins WV. We actually were away for about 66 hours. It is the longest respite interlude we have had in several years. It was great to be someplace else. It was great to be with friends that really understood our distraction. Ralph and Alice share their home with Alice’s dad.
It was complicated, covering all 66 hours. At times, I thought the stress of getting it all together was not worth the relaxation we would enjoy. There were even times that I could not help wondering how Mom was, and if I had done the right thing. It isn’t easy to disentangle yourself from the every day routine. While Mom could not have articulated the fact that I wasn’t home, (she never even remembers my name anymore)  I know that some things just did not go so smoothly for her.
There are some things we do, she wont do for anyone else. I am about the only one who can navigate a transfer to the car. So even if she can’t say “it’s good to have you back, Skip,” I know that everyone (including me) felt a little safer when our brief vacation was over.
I really enjoyed the mountains, I even enjoyed being whooped at dominoes, but I can only let down for so long. There is a comfortable safety for me in the ordinary and the routine. It is as if the frustrations of day to day stress is easier to shoulder than the uncertainty of not having my hand in Mom’s daily rituals. It was good to get away, but it is good to be back now.
That’s all for now.
SkipB

After yesterday’s post, I went searching for pictures of Dad. I found one that is just a little unsettling. It was taken around Christmas in 2002. When I looked at it, I could not help recognizing that look in Dad’s eyes. I see it in Mom’s frequently now. It is the confusion and fear that the dementia leaves as it isolates its victims. Once familiar places seem foreign and mysterious. The sound and motion of a room full of people does not bring any comfort or companionship. The coming and going and ambiguity of once familiar faces must actually increase the loneliness of this powerful deterioration.
It can be frustrating for the care-giver. When I try to spend more time with Mom, to engage her in more conversation, to reminisce with an album of old photos, I may actually be increasing her stress. It may leave her feeling more isolated and lonely because she just can’t remember.
It really is a terrible and dehumanizing adversary, stealing away its victims one face or one feeling at a time. Lord, have mercy on those who are loosing their faculties, and on those who love them and have to watch helplessly as they fade away. Yes have mercy.