Give me Patience, give me love, give me strength

Mom has not been feeling well for the last few days--she, and many others on the floor have a stomach virus. This has resulted in her feeling very alone, deserted, depressed, angry and forgotten. What's making it worse is that the nurses have indicated that they're discouraging visitors, so I can't even go there to alleviate her angst.

The result has been at least 5 phone calls each day with complaints about missing clothing (pieces that became soiled due to the virus, and needed to be washed), and anger about our decision to place her in the facility. I've been scolded for not consulting her about being there and I've been told more times than I can count that she would be happier at home taking care of herself. I was told, today, that the doctors recommend nursing homes because that helps the homes make money and the doctors get a kickback; and that she could have been a doctor since she knows how to take care of herself and everybody else.

I'm worn out. It's not that I don't feel sympathetic for her unhappiness. I really do! In fact, that's probably why the calls get to me the way they do. I understand how she feels, and I wish with all my heart that she could have spent her "golden years" in a different way. It's just that we couldn't find another way to keep her safe and she just doesn't understand our need to protect her. She thinks she's just there temporarily for this virus ( has no concept of the 14 months that have passed since she lived at home); and she's angry as can be that we didn't consult her when making the decision.

I pray for patience and strength to be able to weather the brow-beating and not become apathetic or angry. I pray for her to finally accept this new and unpleasant part of her life without hating me. Finally, I pray for the future to be less angry, less stressful, and the gift of an occasional glimpse of the person who used to be my mother. We all pray to get old--we just don't know how that will turn out. I pray for her to find some peace from the old age that betrayed her.

For the strength of a battery

I have had many strange phone calls since my two elder relatives have depended upon me to be their link to the outside world, but yesterday bordered on an episode from The Twilight Zone. First, my uncle called to say that all of his hearing aid batteries had been stolen. (For those of you who are not familiar with nursing home life, this is both a reality and a paranoid obsession with the folks who live there). I calmly told him that he could easily use one of the batteries that mom has, and I would bring him more of his own, the next time I visit.

Two hours later, I got a phone call from the nursing home's social worker who informed me that my mother didn't think she had any batteries (I know she has!) and that she wasn't permitting anyone to look for them in her room--for fear of--you guessed it--they would steal her stuff!

I pretty calmly told the social worker exactly where the batteries should be in mom's room. Then and asked her to please get mom. This took some doing, but finally she convinced mom to come to her office so we could talk. I again, calmly explained that her brother needed the batteries, and she could help him hear for the next few days until I can get there to deliver new batteries. Mom was adamant about not having any batteries, and insistent that no one but she should look for anything in her room. Remember that mom is visually impaired, so looking for anything, especially in late afternoon diminished light is a terrible challenge.

This is when The Twilight Zone episode started. I went around and around with mom trying to convince her that she did in fact have batteries in her drawer, and that it would be okay to share them with her own brother! I think I handled myself in a rational manner and avoided screaming that this conversation wasn't worth the time we were spending on it. I never raised my voice, but repeated my plea for her to allow someone to help her find the batteries and for her to rest assured that I would replace them and make sure that no one stole anything from her in the process of finding them in the drawer.---All of this for a #X$%@ battery that is the size of a pea!

Here's the best part--I don't even know if they found the batteries and used them. The social worker and my uncle never called back, and mom had absolutely no recollection of the conversation when I spoke to her later in the evening. She did, however, ask me if she really has batteries there???

AHHHHHHH--I remained calm, and just said "I think you do have a few--I'll help you find them the next time I come to visit."

To those of us with other things to occupy our minds this seems trivial and you might wonder why I wasted time writing about it. But, for the people who spend enough time with the nursing home group it's easy to understand how you can get dragged "down the rabbit hole" as my son calls it. All I want to do is help smooth things out for the two of them, but what invariably happens is that THEY get smoothed out, or they forget the whole thing, and I then need two hours to decompress from being part of the vortex that is their life at present.