Today is the last day of 2012 and people get sappy about the year that has gone by while they make resolutions that frequently are not kept. I will avoid all of that. I will revel in the fact that my mother still knows who I am when I visit. I will take note of the happiness I see on her face when she asks me about our family--though she asks it over and over again in a single fifteen minute time period. I will hope that the new year finds me able to continue to visit and bring news of the outside world to my mother and my uncle. Finally, I will think about the years that my mother and father lovingly cuddled on the couch as they watched Guy Lombardo on New Year's Eves. Their total devotion to each other and lasting love is what I hang on to. It is not something that "should be forgot" as Auld Lang Syne says, but rather, it is what gives me hope of a good New Year for our family. I believe that somewhere in the tangled neurons of Mom's brain she still basks in that love that sustained her and gave meaning to all of our lives.
Happy New Year!
Monday, December 31, 2012
Monday, December 3, 2012
Feliz Cumpleanos/ Yom Huledet Same'ach
Happy Birthday, Mom!
Yesterday was my mother's 88th birthday and to hear her tell it, she's now officially "a really old bag".
Her sense of humor was intact and her attentiveness was better than many other days so I guess we were in a win, win situation. We celebrated the way we've done for the last few years--Larry and I brought lunch to be eaten in the nursing home's conference room, we sang "happy birthday", ate cake and opened a present or two.
I know that Mom didn't remember that it was her birthday...though she did recall the date of her birthday a few weeks ago. She seemed to be having a good time and was especially happy that her special friend, Stanley was there for the cake and the singing. I am quite certain that she forgot the entire event shortly after we left, but we now dwell in the moment. I look for happiness in her eyes and try to take satisfaction in successfully marking a special day in her life and sharing the moment.
My problems come from the times that I remember. I remember when my Dad would discreetly hand me money so I could purchase something nice for Mom since, in those days, the stores weren't open when he was off from work. I remember the entire family gathering for each of our birthdays. The feeling of warmth and love was always there, and I wish I had realized just how lucky we all were to have that when I was growing up. I mostly remember that the special glow of celebrating a birthday with those who love you would linger for many days afterwards. I mourn the fact that Mom no longer basks in that glow. She lives in the moment and for the moment. Remembrances of birthdays celebrated in the past are no longer held dear and she quickly moves to the next moment. So this is the reality we now share. Happy 88th Birthday, Mom!
Yesterday was my mother's 88th birthday and to hear her tell it, she's now officially "a really old bag".
Her sense of humor was intact and her attentiveness was better than many other days so I guess we were in a win, win situation. We celebrated the way we've done for the last few years--Larry and I brought lunch to be eaten in the nursing home's conference room, we sang "happy birthday", ate cake and opened a present or two.
I know that Mom didn't remember that it was her birthday...though she did recall the date of her birthday a few weeks ago. She seemed to be having a good time and was especially happy that her special friend, Stanley was there for the cake and the singing. I am quite certain that she forgot the entire event shortly after we left, but we now dwell in the moment. I look for happiness in her eyes and try to take satisfaction in successfully marking a special day in her life and sharing the moment.
My problems come from the times that I remember. I remember when my Dad would discreetly hand me money so I could purchase something nice for Mom since, in those days, the stores weren't open when he was off from work. I remember the entire family gathering for each of our birthdays. The feeling of warmth and love was always there, and I wish I had realized just how lucky we all were to have that when I was growing up. I mostly remember that the special glow of celebrating a birthday with those who love you would linger for many days afterwards. I mourn the fact that Mom no longer basks in that glow. She lives in the moment and for the moment. Remembrances of birthdays celebrated in the past are no longer held dear and she quickly moves to the next moment. So this is the reality we now share. Happy 88th Birthday, Mom!
Sunday, November 4, 2012
The Day I Stole Mom's Car
Having a parent with dementia can be depressing and painful, but this one day, it yielded embarrassment and even a little comic relief. While my uncle was in the hospital, my mother was very upset--she wandered the halls of the nursing home looking for him. She was moody and upset. Although I called and visited her during this time I could never have anticipated the phone call that came while my uncle was still hospitalized.
The floor nurse, Marcia called me while I was shopping for a few things to bring to mom. She explained that Mom was crying in her room and needed to hear my voice. I was completely prepared for the crying and need for reassurance. I was not, however, prepared to get on the phone and hear Mom screaming at me. This is how a lot of the conversation went:
Mom: I hope you're satisfied. You dropped me off in this awful place without paying attention to what I need. I hope you're happy. Why did you steal my car? I have a lot to do today and now I can't get it done because you stole my car.
Me: I didn't steal your car--you sold your car 10 years ago because you were having trouble seeing when you drove. What would you like to get done today?
Mom: I have errands to do-- I should have driven you to work and then taken the car to get everything done. But NO! You didn't care at all about me, instead, you selfishly took the car and now I'm out of luck--what kind of caring daughter do you think you are?
Me: Mom, I didn't steal your car. I have my car. What can I get done for you to help you out?
Mom(yelling): Why should I have you do anything for me? You're selfish and only thinking of yourself. Come and pick me up NOW, and then I'll be able to use my own car. I should have driven you to work instead of doing things your way, which stinks for me. Now, I'm out of luck!
Me (trying to remain calm, while other shoppers in the store are looking at me suspiciously, probably believing that I actually DID steal Mom's car): I'm afraid I can't come right now, but if you tell me what you need, I'll get it for you and see you soon.
This same conversation played over and over for half and hour while I sat in the shoe department of the store. I finally told Mom I had to go and asked her to hang up. She wouldn't, and kept haranguing me, so I reluctantly hung up and then called the floor nurse back to explain. She apologized for "setting me up" and told me she would try to calm Mom down. I then called the social worker to ask for her assistance. I left the store in tears, realizing that Mom wouldn't remember any part of our conversation within ten minutes, but it would haunt me for several days to come.
So, the day that I stole Mom's car can now be re-told for comic relief. It is a little funny, but not really!
The floor nurse, Marcia called me while I was shopping for a few things to bring to mom. She explained that Mom was crying in her room and needed to hear my voice. I was completely prepared for the crying and need for reassurance. I was not, however, prepared to get on the phone and hear Mom screaming at me. This is how a lot of the conversation went:
Mom: I hope you're satisfied. You dropped me off in this awful place without paying attention to what I need. I hope you're happy. Why did you steal my car? I have a lot to do today and now I can't get it done because you stole my car.
Me: I didn't steal your car--you sold your car 10 years ago because you were having trouble seeing when you drove. What would you like to get done today?
Mom: I have errands to do-- I should have driven you to work and then taken the car to get everything done. But NO! You didn't care at all about me, instead, you selfishly took the car and now I'm out of luck--what kind of caring daughter do you think you are?
Me: Mom, I didn't steal your car. I have my car. What can I get done for you to help you out?
Mom(yelling): Why should I have you do anything for me? You're selfish and only thinking of yourself. Come and pick me up NOW, and then I'll be able to use my own car. I should have driven you to work instead of doing things your way, which stinks for me. Now, I'm out of luck!
Me (trying to remain calm, while other shoppers in the store are looking at me suspiciously, probably believing that I actually DID steal Mom's car): I'm afraid I can't come right now, but if you tell me what you need, I'll get it for you and see you soon.
This same conversation played over and over for half and hour while I sat in the shoe department of the store. I finally told Mom I had to go and asked her to hang up. She wouldn't, and kept haranguing me, so I reluctantly hung up and then called the floor nurse back to explain. She apologized for "setting me up" and told me she would try to calm Mom down. I then called the social worker to ask for her assistance. I left the store in tears, realizing that Mom wouldn't remember any part of our conversation within ten minutes, but it would haunt me for several days to come.
So, the day that I stole Mom's car can now be re-told for comic relief. It is a little funny, but not really!
Sunday, October 7, 2012
The Newer Normal
After all of my efforts with Verizon and the frustration of 411 calls one would think that it's a relief to have silence from Mom's phone. Yet, this is not really true. Of course I hated, and wrote incessantly about, all the anxious and ill-timed phone calls Mom was making, but I also had a connection to her that I now lack. In order to speak to her now she needs be brought to the nurse's telephone. The last time I did this, Mom fell because she was in a hurry to get to the phone. Luckily she wasn't hurt but I see this as all part of the constant changes that are never for the better.
As a nursery school/primary grade teacher one of the rewards was knowing that children change almost daily. Something that is difficult for them one day, becomes the next day's accomplishment. Annoying behaviors are often outgrown, and independence with new tasks happens throughout the school year. I always loved that! So, I am having a terrible time learning the changes that occur in Mom. She is not gaining independence or skill or finding life less difficult. Instead, each change erases more and more of the person who I knew for over 60 years. I know she finds it frustrating and depressing, as do I.
The blessing for her is that due to her mental changes she no longer really remembers all that she once was able to do. My problem is that I have a really good memory ( at least for now). I miss the essence of my mother and truth be told I even miss the phone calls--they were a shred of the bond we've shared and they seem to be slipping away.
The newer normal is not one that will prevail for very long. I've learned that just as my preschoolers changed daily, so does my mother. The newer normal is not one that I relish. Not one that I anticipate will pleasure as I did with my students. The newer normal is one that brings pain and frustration that demands more and more of my forbearance and more and more dependence for Mom. The newer normal is just the newer challenge for both of us.
As a nursery school/primary grade teacher one of the rewards was knowing that children change almost daily. Something that is difficult for them one day, becomes the next day's accomplishment. Annoying behaviors are often outgrown, and independence with new tasks happens throughout the school year. I always loved that! So, I am having a terrible time learning the changes that occur in Mom. She is not gaining independence or skill or finding life less difficult. Instead, each change erases more and more of the person who I knew for over 60 years. I know she finds it frustrating and depressing, as do I.
The blessing for her is that due to her mental changes she no longer really remembers all that she once was able to do. My problem is that I have a really good memory ( at least for now). I miss the essence of my mother and truth be told I even miss the phone calls--they were a shred of the bond we've shared and they seem to be slipping away.
The newer normal is not one that will prevail for very long. I've learned that just as my preschoolers changed daily, so does my mother. The newer normal is not one that I relish. Not one that I anticipate will pleasure as I did with my students. The newer normal is one that brings pain and frustration that demands more and more of my forbearance and more and more dependence for Mom. The newer normal is just the newer challenge for both of us.
Thursday, September 20, 2012
Let's Play Telephone
The phone bill from Mom's room has been creeping upward to astronomical amounts each month. It seems that Mom still remembers how to dial 411 for directory assistance and connection to make her calls. She's been using 411 about 25 times each month and it's costing a small fortune.
After several frustrating calls to Verizon I thought I had succeeded in getting 411 blocked on her phone. That was until I actually tried to use 411 from her phone, and it connected! I made a new set of phone calls to Verizon and found out that you can't completely depend on a blocked 411. ( I tried to explain to the agent that either something is blocked, or not, but apparently this simple idea escapes the geniuses who run Verizon--but I digress). I was finally referred to the representative who handles special services to Verizon customers with disabilities. She explained that Mom could have unlimited access to 411 if her doctor attests to her legal blindness as her disability. Wow! this is what we need, I thought.
I brought the Verizon form to Mom's nursing home doctor. The same doctor who's been treating her, and seeing her EVERY DAY for 2 1/2 years! Her response: "What is your mother's disability?"
I explained that she has macular degeneration and is legally blind. Her response: "I didn't know that!"
I'm still in shock that this doctor could be so blind, herself. Every nurse and aid on Mom's floor know that Mom is blind! Mom talks about it about 300 times each day and has difficulty recognizing faces so for this doctor to be unaware of this, scares me. I left the Verizon form with the nurse for the doctor to consider signing and will follow up in a few days.
In the meantime, Mom has stopped calling here--verification that she was using 411 and perhaps the service is actually blocked as I hoped. Mom has also stopped ANSWERING the phone!
So, even though I will pursue the disability form, and will hope that the house doctor finally knows my mother's disability, all of this may be in vain. For if Mom stops using the phone, and forgets how to do it, I may have to just give up and pull the phone from her room. HELP!
After several frustrating calls to Verizon I thought I had succeeded in getting 411 blocked on her phone. That was until I actually tried to use 411 from her phone, and it connected! I made a new set of phone calls to Verizon and found out that you can't completely depend on a blocked 411. ( I tried to explain to the agent that either something is blocked, or not, but apparently this simple idea escapes the geniuses who run Verizon--but I digress). I was finally referred to the representative who handles special services to Verizon customers with disabilities. She explained that Mom could have unlimited access to 411 if her doctor attests to her legal blindness as her disability. Wow! this is what we need, I thought.
I brought the Verizon form to Mom's nursing home doctor. The same doctor who's been treating her, and seeing her EVERY DAY for 2 1/2 years! Her response: "What is your mother's disability?"
I explained that she has macular degeneration and is legally blind. Her response: "I didn't know that!"
I'm still in shock that this doctor could be so blind, herself. Every nurse and aid on Mom's floor know that Mom is blind! Mom talks about it about 300 times each day and has difficulty recognizing faces so for this doctor to be unaware of this, scares me. I left the Verizon form with the nurse for the doctor to consider signing and will follow up in a few days.
In the meantime, Mom has stopped calling here--verification that she was using 411 and perhaps the service is actually blocked as I hoped. Mom has also stopped ANSWERING the phone!
So, even though I will pursue the disability form, and will hope that the house doctor finally knows my mother's disability, all of this may be in vain. For if Mom stops using the phone, and forgets how to do it, I may have to just give up and pull the phone from her room. HELP!
Wednesday, August 15, 2012
Happy New Year!
For people with dementia the time of day the month in the year cease to have any meaning. When you are lost in the moment to moment segments of your life you can't really keep track of the bigger picture. When you factor in the monotony of institution living this is even more complicated. So it is with Mom.
Last night we got a gleeful phone call at 10:20 P.M. from my mother. Happy New Year! greeted my worried ear. In Mom's mind, it is now January and that was the thing we should be saying. I tried to convince her that Rosh Hashanah is still a month away and that the other New Year falls in the winter and that this is still summer. But, to no avail. Either she dreamed something and awakened at 10:20, or was lost in some thoughts of previous years--hard to figure what is really going on in her mind these days. I suppose I should be happy. At least she sounded okay and wasn't anxious or upset by her surroundings or asking about coming home.
Happy New Year, Mom!
Last night we got a gleeful phone call at 10:20 P.M. from my mother. Happy New Year! greeted my worried ear. In Mom's mind, it is now January and that was the thing we should be saying. I tried to convince her that Rosh Hashanah is still a month away and that the other New Year falls in the winter and that this is still summer. But, to no avail. Either she dreamed something and awakened at 10:20, or was lost in some thoughts of previous years--hard to figure what is really going on in her mind these days. I suppose I should be happy. At least she sounded okay and wasn't anxious or upset by her surroundings or asking about coming home.
Happy New Year, Mom!
Monday, July 23, 2012
Take What You Can Get
My lifelong friend's mom is in her "end stage" as I write. The family is sitting in a vigil awaiting her death. Her mom has dementia and has not been the smart and personable person they used to know for quite some time. In some ways her death will be a blessing for all concerned. And yet, every death is mourned by the people who remain. My friend is now nostalgic for the days that she sat with her mother and repeated each conversation tidbit ten times. One day changes everything in our lives.
I now have a different slant on MY mother's condition. Of course I always have known that some day I will deal with her death and that I will mourn the loss for the rest of my days. But, now I also treasure the times that my mother can still converse and occasionally really interact in the "old" way. Lately my mother has been a little sharper and interactive thanks to a new psychiatrist's view of medicating her anxiety. She is more alert and even has a shred of her sense of humor back, which was always an integral part of her personality and buried in the haze of medication. I am not imagining these changes, or putting more importance on them. I do not delude myself into believing that anything will be constant--I know that one minute she can be so lucid, and the next she will slide back into the clouded mental state of dementia. I know that some day I will be in my friend's position. But, for now I will enjoy the momentary glimpses of the mother I once knew and take what I can get.
I now have a different slant on MY mother's condition. Of course I always have known that some day I will deal with her death and that I will mourn the loss for the rest of my days. But, now I also treasure the times that my mother can still converse and occasionally really interact in the "old" way. Lately my mother has been a little sharper and interactive thanks to a new psychiatrist's view of medicating her anxiety. She is more alert and even has a shred of her sense of humor back, which was always an integral part of her personality and buried in the haze of medication. I am not imagining these changes, or putting more importance on them. I do not delude myself into believing that anything will be constant--I know that one minute she can be so lucid, and the next she will slide back into the clouded mental state of dementia. I know that some day I will be in my friend's position. But, for now I will enjoy the momentary glimpses of the mother I once knew and take what I can get.
Monday, July 16, 2012
My mom is becoming a novelist
Pen really hasn't been put to paper nor has anything been composed on the computer, yet mom is now fabricating stories of her daily activities. Sometimes I can't help but wonder if this is far more interesting for her than the boredom and solitude that comes with living in a nursing facility.
Tonight mom called at nearly 9:00 PM with the happiest tone in her voice. She went on to tell me that she had an interesting day because she decided to visit her friends at the center next door and had lost all sense of time. Since it was getting late, the friend's center offered her a room for the night. She told me happily of seeing some friends that she hadn't seen in awhile and that it was a very good day. As we were getting off the phone, she believed she was going to be served dinner. I hinted that it was rather late for dinner and that bedtime was soon approaching, but I dropped this line of conversation because I have finally learned to just go along with the story that is being told. Arguing or trying to be rational is a futile exercise for us both these days. This lesson has taken me a very long time to learn!
My teaching experience with little children who often blend fantasy and reality does not serve me well on a night like this. Most little children can be taught the differences between the two while preserving their imagination. We reveled in Scott's wild stories of Larry going to work at the Bronx Zoo in a helicoptor, but we also knew he'd outgrow it. It also went perfectly with his creative personality and his flair for drama. His kindergarten teacher admired it but made it clear to me that we needed to help him discern the differences in order for him to grow properly. Thankfully, he was successful.
But, mom's fantasy world is something completely different. It serves her for the moment but it brings me to a dark, unhappy place. I'm glad that she thinks she had a good day, but I know the truth. I know that she was bored and unable to remember anything that really happened today. I know that the person who raised me would be flabbergasted by such tall tales. I know that she would be mortified if she really knew what is happening. I know that her days of remembering a genuine good time have long since past and "making up stories" ( her phrase from my childhood about fabrications) is just the coping mechanism for a life that she no longer recognizes.
Tonight mom called at nearly 9:00 PM with the happiest tone in her voice. She went on to tell me that she had an interesting day because she decided to visit her friends at the center next door and had lost all sense of time. Since it was getting late, the friend's center offered her a room for the night. She told me happily of seeing some friends that she hadn't seen in awhile and that it was a very good day. As we were getting off the phone, she believed she was going to be served dinner. I hinted that it was rather late for dinner and that bedtime was soon approaching, but I dropped this line of conversation because I have finally learned to just go along with the story that is being told. Arguing or trying to be rational is a futile exercise for us both these days. This lesson has taken me a very long time to learn!
My teaching experience with little children who often blend fantasy and reality does not serve me well on a night like this. Most little children can be taught the differences between the two while preserving their imagination. We reveled in Scott's wild stories of Larry going to work at the Bronx Zoo in a helicoptor, but we also knew he'd outgrow it. It also went perfectly with his creative personality and his flair for drama. His kindergarten teacher admired it but made it clear to me that we needed to help him discern the differences in order for him to grow properly. Thankfully, he was successful.
But, mom's fantasy world is something completely different. It serves her for the moment but it brings me to a dark, unhappy place. I'm glad that she thinks she had a good day, but I know the truth. I know that she was bored and unable to remember anything that really happened today. I know that the person who raised me would be flabbergasted by such tall tales. I know that she would be mortified if she really knew what is happening. I know that her days of remembering a genuine good time have long since past and "making up stories" ( her phrase from my childhood about fabrications) is just the coping mechanism for a life that she no longer recognizes.
Thursday, May 17, 2012
Who's Crying Now?
When my brother and I were children there were times that playtime ended with one of us crying. We'd cry because we lost the game, cry because it was getting dark and had to come in for bed, or cried because one of us was teasing the other. When my own kids were growing up I could sometimes figure out how long it might be until someone was crying, mainly by the moods/teasing/noise/or sixth sense that all mothers develop.
So, I have experience with crying. But now, I have no ammunition for my mother's crying. She is becoming increasingly aware of her memory loss. I really try to soften the blow, but too many times there is a visit, phone call, doctor's appointment or conversation that she forgets. When it becomes apparent that she has no recollection of the event she is amazed that she could forget such a thing. She recently asked me if any of my children are dating anyone special. I told her that Dan and Scott are already married. She wanted to know why she hadn't been to the weddings and I reluctantly told her that she attended Dan and Jill's wedding and walked down the aisle with Scott and Jeremy. Of course she was surprised to have forgotten such an event. And she cried.
This morning we had a similar discussion. She asked about our family and I named each member with their ages and where they live. She asked me why she doesn't remember any of this and I simply said that the problem sometimes comes with age, but she's in better shape than many people her age. And she cried. "What's the point of living this long if I can't remember any of these things?", she asked. I am baffled for an answer. All I hear is her anxiety and desperate attempt to hold on to the information and identity that is rapidly being sapped from her. How do I answer and make her feel better when I'm the one that cried?
So, I have experience with crying. But now, I have no ammunition for my mother's crying. She is becoming increasingly aware of her memory loss. I really try to soften the blow, but too many times there is a visit, phone call, doctor's appointment or conversation that she forgets. When it becomes apparent that she has no recollection of the event she is amazed that she could forget such a thing. She recently asked me if any of my children are dating anyone special. I told her that Dan and Scott are already married. She wanted to know why she hadn't been to the weddings and I reluctantly told her that she attended Dan and Jill's wedding and walked down the aisle with Scott and Jeremy. Of course she was surprised to have forgotten such an event. And she cried.
This morning we had a similar discussion. She asked about our family and I named each member with their ages and where they live. She asked me why she doesn't remember any of this and I simply said that the problem sometimes comes with age, but she's in better shape than many people her age. And she cried. "What's the point of living this long if I can't remember any of these things?", she asked. I am baffled for an answer. All I hear is her anxiety and desperate attempt to hold on to the information and identity that is rapidly being sapped from her. How do I answer and make her feel better when I'm the one that cried?
Sunday, March 18, 2012
The Beat Goes On
The same conversation is part of my day, almost every day.
Mom: What is this place I'm in?
Me: It's a nursing facility.
Mom: Why am I in a place like this?
Me: We were following the doctor's suggestion that you need a safe place since you weren't safe at home any more.
Mom: I think that's blown out of proportion-- I was doing fine at home. So what's the story, I need to stay here forever?
Me: We don't know that--for now it's serving the purpose of you having people who take good care of you and make sure that your meals are cooked and that you're safe. You know that's the most important thing for us to know.
Mom: I'm very lonely here-- I don't know anyone. I just got here.
Me: Frank, your brother is on the same floor--he's right down the hall.
Mom: Really? How do I find him?
Me: Turn left out of your room and then go to the end of the hallway.
Mom: I haven't seen him here before.
Me: I think you have-- you probably ate dinner with him last night.
Mom: I really don't remember that.
Me: Mom, we love you and want you to be safe--this isn't easy for any of us, but you know that you had to do the same thing for your father, and we all just have to do what we know will make someone safe.
Mom: Yeah, I know, but I don't have to like it.
We sometimes go this route 2 or 3 times within a conversation, or in a morning.
I am blown away by the fact that life must be so frightening for her and others with dementia. She truly thinks that she's awakening in a different, unfamiliar place each day with no recollection of arriving there. It is the most painful to hear her sounding so afraid and tentative. This is not the person who was so self-assured and sometimes fearless.
The beat goes on, but it's a song without a happy ending.
Mom: What is this place I'm in?
Me: It's a nursing facility.
Mom: Why am I in a place like this?
Me: We were following the doctor's suggestion that you need a safe place since you weren't safe at home any more.
Mom: I think that's blown out of proportion-- I was doing fine at home. So what's the story, I need to stay here forever?
Me: We don't know that--for now it's serving the purpose of you having people who take good care of you and make sure that your meals are cooked and that you're safe. You know that's the most important thing for us to know.
Mom: I'm very lonely here-- I don't know anyone. I just got here.
Me: Frank, your brother is on the same floor--he's right down the hall.
Mom: Really? How do I find him?
Me: Turn left out of your room and then go to the end of the hallway.
Mom: I haven't seen him here before.
Me: I think you have-- you probably ate dinner with him last night.
Mom: I really don't remember that.
Me: Mom, we love you and want you to be safe--this isn't easy for any of us, but you know that you had to do the same thing for your father, and we all just have to do what we know will make someone safe.
Mom: Yeah, I know, but I don't have to like it.
We sometimes go this route 2 or 3 times within a conversation, or in a morning.
I am blown away by the fact that life must be so frightening for her and others with dementia. She truly thinks that she's awakening in a different, unfamiliar place each day with no recollection of arriving there. It is the most painful to hear her sounding so afraid and tentative. This is not the person who was so self-assured and sometimes fearless.
The beat goes on, but it's a song without a happy ending.
Wednesday, January 18, 2012
The RX for the RX
When we visited Mom last week I had the opportunity to meet with her psychiatrist. She was open to my assessment of Mom's behavior and mood. I told her that I was concerned by her increasing time in bed each morning and the sleepiness that just overtakes her on most days. We also discussed the anxiety that prevails each evening and leads to numerous phone calls about going home.
The psychiatrist was open to "tweaking" the anti-anxiety dosage in order to yield a less sleepy beginning to each day. She also suggested that we monitor the change and report back to her in about a week. So far, I have seen no significant change in the sleepiness or the nighttime anxiety. This afternoon I had a conversation with Mom's head nurse who told me that the new medication schedule just is not working. Mom is "testy" and has alienated several residents, including someone at her dinner table who now is afraid to eat with her! The nurse made it clear that she will report to the Dr. that the meds need to be readjusted because her mood is untenable.
I am at a loss. I don't want Mom to be sleeping until noon each day--she's then too lethargic/ misses her shower/ needs to be rushed to get dressed in order to be ready for lunch--it's just not a good scenario. I also don't want people on her floor to be afraid of her and I don't want that meanness to be the most visible part of her personality, since it never was her manner in the past.
So, what do we do? We need a prescription for the prescriptions. My mother who used to just take tylenol or excedrin for a headache now is a pharmacy of drugs that have helped to alter her behavior almost as much as the dementia has. I will leave the solution to the professionals. But at this point, I may need a tylenol for the headache that keeps creeping over my eyes.
The psychiatrist was open to "tweaking" the anti-anxiety dosage in order to yield a less sleepy beginning to each day. She also suggested that we monitor the change and report back to her in about a week. So far, I have seen no significant change in the sleepiness or the nighttime anxiety. This afternoon I had a conversation with Mom's head nurse who told me that the new medication schedule just is not working. Mom is "testy" and has alienated several residents, including someone at her dinner table who now is afraid to eat with her! The nurse made it clear that she will report to the Dr. that the meds need to be readjusted because her mood is untenable.
I am at a loss. I don't want Mom to be sleeping until noon each day--she's then too lethargic/ misses her shower/ needs to be rushed to get dressed in order to be ready for lunch--it's just not a good scenario. I also don't want people on her floor to be afraid of her and I don't want that meanness to be the most visible part of her personality, since it never was her manner in the past.
So, what do we do? We need a prescription for the prescriptions. My mother who used to just take tylenol or excedrin for a headache now is a pharmacy of drugs that have helped to alter her behavior almost as much as the dementia has. I will leave the solution to the professionals. But at this point, I may need a tylenol for the headache that keeps creeping over my eyes.
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