Today I had a visit with my mother.
To be fair, it was a combination visit: she had a doctor's appointment which I volunteered to take her to for my sister while I was in town, so I was able to accomplish two things at once. It was the first time I had seen her in over a month.
There is a routine now (there is always a routine): My sister talked to them the day before to let them know I was coming. I call about an hour before to remind them I was coming. I arrive and did the now common "pre check in questionnaire" which has changed over time - now it is a temperature scan and "Have you been in the presence of someone with The Plague"?
Since my mother is in memory care, they have to call in to have someone bring her out
"Room XXX's son is here to take her to a doctor's appointment" goes out over the walkie talkie. I wait at the front door.
It seems I do a lot of waiting at entrances when I visit my parents now.
My mom is finally brought out. She seems a little confused, but patiently waits while the receptionist gives her a temperature scan and mask before she goes out. I make small talk with the supervisor that brought her out. Mom seems a little confused but looks like she recognizes me as we walk out to the car. Or at least she does not consider me some random stranger.
The clothes seem to be hers (this is one thing that we have noticed, both for my mother and my father. We sent them with clothes, but the clothes they wear are just often not the ones the came with. They do not seem to mind; we are the only ones that notice). Her hair is getting pretty long; my sister mentioned needing to get a haircut for her soon.
It is a sunny day, which was a help because my mother does not initiate a lot of conversation. We talk about how blue the sky was and the nice sunny day and the green leaves on the tree as we wend our way to the doctor's office.
We sit in the waiting room after I check her in. I show her pictures of her granddaughters (which she seems to remember, or at least remembers that she has them) and our cat A The Brave (which she thinks are cute). We talk about my family - twice within five minutes, pretty much the same conversation.
The visit itself is straightforward, as they are now: my parent's doctor is very kind and has been seeing them for years and is well aware of the challenges we are facing. After the usual questions to my mother - "How are you doing? How are you feeling?" - and a quick review of her recent lab tests (They are absolutely fantastic, by the way. If she did not have Alzheimer's, she would be the picture of health for a woman in her early 80's), the doctor and I get to what has become all to common in these recent appointments, the completion of documentation for insurance or legal reasons.
For the most part my mother is silent during this as the doctor and I go through the somewhat awkward process of assessing her mental state for a legal document in front of her. Twice she looks over at me like she suddenly has forgotten who I am at all and wonders why she is there and who am I. Another time, when I relating the doctor my age, my mother says "That is only two years older than I am" That is not me, I tell the doctor, it is her brother.
Even in the midst of things, there are still reminders of where we actually are.
The visit over, we walk back to the car. She starts to take her mask off and I have to remind her she needs to keep it on until we get back (House rules where she lives). We drive back, commenting again on the blue sky and the green grass.
This time we have to wait again after the walkie talkie call goes for someone to come from Memory Care to come up and get her "Room XXX is back". We stand there at the entrance. She does not ask anything about why she is back there - it seems that to her, this is "home" now.
A young woman comes from around the corner and the receptionist makes a comment about "Here is X to take you back". This is my cue to leave. I tell her I love her and wave, but she and they are already focused on getting her back to the facility. I fade out as quickly and completely as the automatic doors closing behind me.
I get back to the car, take off my mask, and slump down in the seat for a moment. This is the way of things now. I could get back out of the car, go back in, and she would not remember that I had just been there or (most likely) that I am anything other than her brother.
In a way, I realize that visits now, at least with her, are really more for my sister and I. We have receded in her mind to dim memories of people she thinks she remembers but pass all too quickly into the faded tapestry of the past, consumed by the here and now. We will come again, and she will get another flash of memory, and then recession.
This is the way of things now.
I remember those visits with Grandma. She was a bit confused on the last visit. She wondered if we were friends of her children. That seemed to be the best gambit as we knew their names and seemed friendly enough.
ReplyDeleteThere are times I wonder if modern medicine is equal parts miracle and curse...
I am so glad there is a Promise to this work you are doing. Ephesians 6:2-3
STxAR, that is exactly it. As long as she knows us from somewhere and seems to take comfort in our presence, it is enough. I am aware that even this will pass more quickly than we can anticipate.
DeleteModern medicine - it does raise the very real question of why we try and preserve life so long. Yes, I know we cannot see the future, but once upon a time things like heart attacks, strokes and other things were generally fatal. Now we recover, but perhaps only to watch our mind and being fade away. Is it better? That is a lot further than I can see.
I am grateful we do indeed have such promises. I cannot imagine facing the cold finality of death without them.
I can't imagine.
ReplyDeleteEd, I would have said that once upon a time too - certainly I would not have foreseen the much more precipitous collapse of my father in the last two months. At least with my mother, this was something that we have been dealing with for years, so it is not as much a shock to our systems as it is just the way things are. At least she is happy, in good health, and seems engaged where she is right now.
DeleteThe saddest thing to me - and this, again, is more pronounced with my father all of a sudden - is that many or even most of the memories that I have of them and with them are not memories they have anymore. They do not remember vacations, places we have been, things that we did. In a sense yes, those memories will eventually die regardless, but ordinarily they just die at one time, not slowly like this. It does remind me of the importance of building good ones, because it is what others will have to remember you by when perhaps you do not remember them.
I wonder - was it always like this? Or did modern medicine, in its quite correct and noble quest to defeat disease and make people more healthy, inadvertently create the situation where this became more common?
My father and mother died when I was 11 and 17, respectively. So this is something I'll never have to face. (from the child's perspective) Having watched my husband go through it with his mother and friends dealing with their aging parents, I've sometimes wondered if I didn't end up with the better scenario.
ReplyDeleteThe final paragraph in your reply to Ed speaks volumes.
First of all Kelly, thank you very much stopping by and taking the time to comment!
DeleteIt is a hard scenario, but I have also had friends that had the same experience that you did, and I can imagine that in a great many ways, that was not an easier (one of my two best friends from high school and still my best friend's mother passed when he was senior in high school. In some ways, he has never gotten over it). So I think they are equally bad. But it certainly does make me think a bit.
It’s clear you are, and always have been, a good son and I hope you take comfort in that. With both my parents gone, I speculate now about being where your mother is and what my children and grandchildren would go through.
ReplyDeleteThank you Bob. It does matter.
DeleteAs far as we can tell, my mother is anywhere between 40 and 60 years in the past. She thinks her home is her childhood home, and that her brother and sister are myself and my sister. When we use the term "Mom and Dad" she thinks we are referring to her parents, not her and my father.
Reality can be cruel, but we deal with the cards as they are dealt. If they can't remember who you are, you make a new impression on them each time you see them. Perhaps wearing one of their favorite clothing items or hat will remind them who you are.
ReplyDeleteBoth of my parents are gone, Dad taken suddenly and Mom over a much longer time period. I had a long time to get used to the idea that my Mom wouldn't be here for long.
Anonymous - Thanks for commenting. Interestingly they almost never seem to pay attention to what we are wearing. To date, they still continue to recognize that we are related, although not quite sure how for my mother.
DeleteHonestly, I had expected with both of my parents the sudden call at night with notification. I had not expected this much longer period of decline. In one way we have had a lot of time to adjust; what has been harder to adjust to is that for my mother and now my father, "they" are not quite there.