The Promised Tale

At 9:00 AM, Pam and I had gone back to the home to check on Mom.

We had been concerned because it was clear she was suffering from neglect and was heavily drugged. She could no longer eat by herself, go to the toilet or dress herself. She had trouble walking and always leaned to the left which caused her neck and shoulders to be very stiff. She had edema in her right leg, a classic sign of chronic inactivity.

We found her passed out over her omelette in the same sweater she had worn for at least four days- if not longer. Pam and I shook our heads at this and Pam proceeded to try to wake Mom up.

Pam would have made a really good nurse. Almost as good as she is a lawyer. She doesn't take any bullshit and she does not back down from confrontation. And she will do all this while smiling and flirting. She tapped Mom on the shoulder and got down on the floor so that Mom's drooped eyes would meet Pam's if she chose to open them.

"Would you like to go outside, Ma?"

I never called Mom 'Ma' until I became an adult. I'm not sure exactly what that means, but it is interesting to note. There is a certain sound to 'Ma' that clearly cannot be made by a child.

After some wrangling, we got Mom out onto the porch and were joined by a couple of other residents needing company. Pam got them coffee and worked to charm conversation out of them for Mom's sleepy benefit. Getting three neglected Alzheimers patients to have a conversation is something of a Herculean feat. I tried to read them a newspaper but found the news too irritating. It would have been better if I would have brought in some fun, bouncy novel. I'll try to remember that next time.

Mom squinches her nose up a lot because her glasses are in need of readjustment. She looks through you and fiddles with anything in her path. If she has a napkin she will shred it to bits and then look helplessly at the remains. Those need to be cleared away. She doesn't talk much, but when she does it is usually 'yes'. 'no', 'what?' or 'don't push me!'.

After the visit was over, Pam and I took her to the living room to sit on the couch and prop up her sore foot. There were a few other residents there staring at the menu on the tv screen for some Roy Rogers DVD. We informed the staff that her foot needed a cold compress and that she hadn't been to the toilet since we arrived and that she should probably be attneded to at some point in the near future.

There's a lot of bullshit that goes with removing a patient from one "health care community" to another. I won't go into all of that now because it involved finances, doctors and 30 day notices. It gives me a headache just thinking about it. In particular thinking about all the things that were promised to our family when we placed my mother that were never delivered. It's hard not to feel angry and bitter when your mother declines so rapidly and unnecessarily. So, when the green light came in on Sunday for the move, the siblings sprang into action.

Pam and Kristen mobilized the troops on the home front, making sure that the big kids would feed the little kid (my kid) and keep him busy. I nervously twiddled my thumbs and tried to look in possession of myself. Even though I was completely convinced that the move was necessary and the absolute right thing to do, I couldn't help but feel like I was unqualified for the job. I stood up straight, donned my white halter dress and took up my place in Pam's giant Honda.

We met Bryan just outside the facility and planned our attack. You- get the clothes. You- pack the toiletries. You- get the photographs. You- empty the drawers. When it is all over, we'll get Mom and deliver the letter of intent to remove. Pam will rub the director's face in it, get her meds and then we'll be home free. Go! Go! Go! GO!

We giggled nervously about our stupidly clandestine attempt to remove furniture and clothes and such down the back stairway and out the front door in full view of the receptionist. Look normal! They won't catch on! We had to ask them for a garbage bag and we took it back to her room to throw clothes in it. The trip down the stairs with the full bag slung over my shoulder prompted Bryan to sing, "You're a mean one, Mr. Grinch...".

It would have gone without a hitch, except for the hallway littered with neglected residents that we were forced to leave behind. One woman's wheelchair was caught on a rocking chair in the hallway and she had been trying to extricate herself from it for about 20 minutes, nearly falling out of her wheelchair and drooling all over herself. Bryan couldn't take it anymore. Go on! Save yourselves! I'll catch up later! I watched him kindly ask her if she needed help and then gently repositioned her in her chair and then turned her chair to a clear stretch where she could get around more easily. I lagged behind and found myself in conversation with a charming lady who stutters so violently that she often takes a minute or two to get out a sentance. On top of that, she has Alzheimers, so you can imagine how that went. But, I just couldn't leave without hearing the entire story.

When we finally were able to get Mom, we found her in exactly the same spot we had left her over 3 hours prior. This clearly meant that she had not eaten lunch or been toileted since before 9:00 that morning. Pam was happy to deliver the letter at this point while Kristen fumed, "We should just take her and not sign her out. Then we'll see if they even notice anything!"

Pam, apparently, took great joy in delivering the letter and telling the director that we would, indeed, be taking our mother away. I was unable to witness this event but Pam says that she gave her the letter and once it dawned on the director that this was not a day trip she responded with, "Okay...do you have any questions?" Yeah, how do you sleep at night?

We were good to go. Bryan and I were snail racing Mom out the door (She can't move much faster than a shuffle these days) and we almost had her in the car when she grabbed herself and said, "Toilet!". This lead to the anticlimactic return to the building for a very slow bathroom break. By the time we made it to the bathroom, the deed had been done. Kristen and I were flummoxed as to the proper method for toileting Mom. Mom seemed disturbed by the whole exercise and, quite frankly so was I. Kristen turned to me and shrugged. I suggested that Mom might be more comfortable with one of the staff toileting her because I sure as hell didn't know how to get her to do it. Pam swooped in and made it happen despite Mom's vociferous objections.

Much later, (much MUCH later) we had finally made it into the car and were on our way to the new place with smiling, chatty residents. We listened to Jim Croce on the radio which caused me to remark how good it was that sober rhymes with October or Jim Croce's rhyme scheme would have totally fallen apart. Mom laughed. Not at my observation, but at the sound of the words sober and October. Hey. I'll take whatever laughs I can get.

At the new home we found a giant Koosh ball and it was placed it in Mom's hands. Her surprise was electric and after a while she tried to shove it into her paper water cup. We smiled. It was nice to see her involved in something.

Reports are that Mom has been adjusting well and actually eating by herself again. The staff at her new home has been warm, welcoming and understanding. I'm looking forward to family barbeques at Mom's new home. It's really odd how it does not bother me at all that she doesn't seem to recognize me anymore. It really doesn't. I had had myself worked up about how that was going to devastate me. It didn't. Because who I am in this scenario really doesn't matter. The only thing that does matter is my Mom. She's my Mom and she always will be.

So. That's how I spent my summer vacation.