Daycare update...

This morning there was a problem with the transportation getting Mom to her day at post-school (if it's pre-school for a four year old then it must be post-school for a 78 year old).  My choice was to either keep her home or drive her myself.  Yep, I immediately drove her there.

First off, Mom slept the whole trip there.  Now, if we had been at home, there is no way that she would have even been relaxed, much less sleeping.  We walked into the daycare and she just left me standing there in the lobby. She knew where she was and where she wanted to be. And it did not include me.  As she was going down the hall, she was asking for her friend... by name! 

I stayed for a few minutes to ask the staff how Mom has adjusted.  They told me that at first, she tried to leave. A lot.  And that she would also become very agitated and delusional in the afternoons.  But, now she socializes and tries to help the staff with little tasks.  They said she walks back to the exercise room and does some physical therapy.  Or she'll stop and watch people in the computer room.  Sometimes she goes out and sits in the gated courtyard in the sun. 

All in all, she seems to enjoy her time there. I am happy that she (and I) found this outlet.  Now, I just need to talk the staff into having sleepovers.

Psychological warfare...

Today I am remembering the US Army's 1989 invasion of Panama to depose, the then dictator, Manual Noriega.  He escaped capture, for a time, by declaring Holy Sanctuary in a church.  Because of treaty agreements, the Army could not just go in and get him. So, they attempted psychological warfare by blaring non-stop rock music at the church. He surrendered after 10 days.

I am remembering this today because I am trying to understand how Mom's constant litany of complaints and whining could wear me down so effectively and thoroughly.  This morning, from the time she finished her breakfast of 2 eggs, sausage, a buttered, jellied biscuit and a small cup of applesauce, she complained that she hadn't had anything to eat in 2 days.  She whined and complained, non-stop, for two straight hours. She griped so long that it the starvation time frame became 3 days.  I would be less than honest if I said that it didn't frustrate me.

I then made her a sandwich and served it with more applesauce, a meal that she usually devours with minimal complaining.  After approximately 20 minutes of listening to her gripe about the food and that no one ever feeds her, she finally got up and brought her lunch to me.  When I pointed out that she was hungry and that she had asked for the food, she got even nastier and said that she never asked for that and had, in fact, made it for me. The same "slop" that she refused to eat had become an offering that I should relish. 

And I lost it.  The last shred of my patience was gone.  So, I find myself sitting here thinking of a deposed dictator who lasted 10 days of non-stop, intolerable rock music blaring at him.  And I wonder... could I hire Mom out to the military to bring North Korea to its knees?

A picture is worth a thousand words...

... yet, I am speechless.

Mom's perspective...

I mentioned before that I would like to write a blog entry from Mom's point of view.  I am trying to understand how it must feel to be trapped in a brain that just doesn't work anymore. That is what I do.  I put words down, words that allow me to wrap my head around an idea that is bigger than I am.  But, I get stuck trying to figure out how her brain jumps from one subject to another without any obvious connection.  After many attempts, it hit me.  I can't write it because there is no connection, no logic. Her brain needs neither.  It reacts on the moment, with no consideration of how it arrived in that moment.  But my brain still needs a path, an explanation of how I traveled from point A to point B.  And for someone who doesn't remember the answer to the question that was asked 10 seconds ago, there is no path.

Even with all of the frustrations, disappointments and anger that I feel towards my mother on a daily basis, I still feel an overwhelming sense of sadness and compassion for her.  What hell it must be to be a victim of this disease.  As frustrated as I am with her behaviors, her perspective must be heartbreaking.  To have someone, that you don't know and do not trust, directing your every movement must be scary.  But to have a virtual stranger yell at you when you honestly don't know that you have behaved unacceptably would have to be terrifying.  Her only reality is that she is aware of this moment.  What happened a mere heartbeat ago never happened for her.  Those actions are my reality, not hers. She sees only now.

So, there will be no entry telling Mom's perspective of this journey.  I will have to accept that these words I write, that allow me to make sense of so much, cannot make sense of Alzheimer's Disease. 

A snack with friends...

Mom was eating a snack of sliced bananas on toast. a treat that she has always enjoyed.

As I am cleaning up in the kitchen, I hear, "Oh no!  Why would someone do that to you?"

I peeked around the corner as she was picking the bananas off of the toast and saying, "You were my friends and someone did this to you. I'm so sorry."  She then ate her friends.

Don't judge...

Mom was never a great housekeeper.  Not even close.  She used to say that people came to see her, not her house.  Since her illness has set in, it has been surprising to watch her obsess about things on the floor.  Tables, counters, bookcases, drawers and cupboards can be stacked with stuff, but do not let her see a piece of lint on the floor.  Wandering through the grocery store, she will stop to pick up an empty gum wrapper.  At the doctor's office, she will pick up the tab off of a band-aid.  Walking through a parking lot, she will stop and try to pry a piece of gum out of the asphalt. On a good day the trashy items will end up in a trash can.  On the bad days they are stashed in a drawer, dropped into the dog's food, shoved into a pocket, or, the worst to date, I am forced to dig a mound of trash out of the toilet.  Yes, it's gross, very gross, but it is also very funny. 

So, as Mom was being helped out of the van today, I see the driver's sides shaking.  Maria is trying very hard to keep a straight face.  It seems for the entire ride home, Mom has been trying to pick up a coin off the floor of the van.  I peek and the coin is a bolt, set into the floor.  And Mom is trying to pry it off of the floor. The driver's ability to keep a straight face was very impressive... right up until I told her about the ball shaped prism hanging in the living room window.  The same prism that shines hundreds of rainbows all over the living room every afternoon.  Rainbows that Mom can spend endless amounts of time trying to pick up up off the floor.  Yep, it is just as fun as that laser you make your cat chase.  Don't judge. :)

The adjustment...

Today Mom started her third week of daycare.  She's been getting in the van each morning, for the most part, with no issues.  The hardest adjustment has been the fluctuating pickup times. They vary as much as an hour and a half.  As frustrating as not having a definite time of pickup is for me, I understand that they are picking up other people whose behavior is as unpredictable as Mom's.  So, I will just be patient with the situation.  And as my NCOIC (boss) in the Army used to say, I will think of the benefits and ignore the rest.

After a rough night last night, I was hoping to take advantage of Mom's absence with the first true nap that I have had in a very long time.  I had just dozed off when, you guessed it, the phone rang. I had the same feeling upon seeing the daycare listed on my caller ID as I do when I see my daughter's school number when they call.  Usually, it's a feeling of mild panic and the quick thought wondering how quickly I need to get to school.  It turned out to be the nurse at the daycare wanting to know if Mom's meds had been changed.  It seems that she had her first content morning since she started attending.  And, because her medications have not changed, this seems to mean that she is adjusting to her new surroundings.  Hallelujah!  I have adjusted quite well and I am relieved that she is finding some peace in the situation. 

Unforunately, Mom's day deteriorated after the call.  She misplaced her purse and we all know that the world must stop and all inhabitants must find the purse before life can continue.  She was sent home with a "dummy purse" and the assurance that they have found her purse and it will be returned tomorrow.  But, I have to wonder how many times they have faced this same situation that they keep extra purses available.  

I leave you today with these two thoughts: 
- I find it ironic that Mom can interrupt my nap without even being here.
- In a very perverse way, I think it is in bad taste, but no less hysterical, that they call it a "dummy purse".