Bittersweet

 

Yesterday after visiting the foot surgeon’s office, I went to visit mom.  The day before I had spoken with her hospice nurse who informed me that mom is anxious to see me.   I promised that I would be visiting after my doctor’s appointment.

Upon seeing mom, Ron and I were both so happy to be with her.  Walking with crutches through the long corridors in The Community* was a nice, but exhausting workout.   I plopped myself down on one of their reclining chairs while Ron escorted mom from the activity room to another recliner right next to me.  We were both elated and relieved to see each other.  We hugged tightly.

“Mom, I missed you.”

“I really missed you.  I was so worried,” mom said.

I showed mom the pictures I had just taken of my ankle with the stitches.  Shaking her head saying, “I prayed:  Dear God . . . heal my daughter.”

“Thank you, mom, God heard you.  I am doing great.”

“Ron took good care of me.”

Mom turned to Ron and said,  “I have no doubt”.



Our conversation for the next hour was completely a mishmash of words.  Mom started trying to tell me several different things, however she would only say two of three words and she would lose her thought.   I tried so hard to guess or fill in the blanks, but I was unsuccessful more times than not.  She kept saying the words ‘frustrating’ and ‘difficult’.

 I held mom’s hands and assured her that I understood how frustrating not being able to communicate and form her thoughts must be.   I kept telling mom how proud of her I was at how she is handling everything.  Discouraged, but positive mom said, “I’m trying.”

While holding mom’s hands I noticed they were freshly manicured.  “Mom your nails look beautiful.”

“Shirley did them today. She cut them, too.”

“They look so nice mom can I take a picture of them?” 

 

“Sure.”

The reason I take so many pictures of every little thing with mom is that mom feels special.  She absolutely loves looking at the photos with me.  She loves to choose which one she likes and I delete the ones she does not care for.  This is something her and I do together.  The photos are kind of magical; they actually seem to pick up her spirits.

In mom’s several attempts at conversation, I picked up that she wanted me to go to her room and work on her closet.  She had a problem she wanted me to fix.  In the past there have been several different issues that mom has wanted addressed whether it is missing nightgowns, shoes, or adult diapers.

As Ron seemed to race towards mom’s room, mom and I ‘slowly but surely’ with our apparatus made it  to her room.  I joked with mom saying, “Mom, you can walk faster than me.  I am having a hard time catching up to you.” 

She laughed, her head bounced like a bobble head doll, “Right now.”

 

On our way I said, “Tomorrow Jamie will be taking you to the beauty shop to have your hair done.”

Mom stopped and angrily said, “No, you’re wrong. I did it on Tuesday.”

“Mom, I bet you’re thinking about a shower.  Did you have a shower on Tuesday?”

“Yes, I did.”

I dropped talking about the beauty salon. I did not want to confuse mom anymore than she already was today.  Mom forgot about it. too.

When I opened the closet, she pointed to the top shelf stuffed with several packages of adult diapers and shouted, “Check!”

Five bags of adult diapers were on top shelf.  I grabbed a bag and noticed the size to be large.  Looking at all the others quickly, I noticed there were 3 bags of large diapers, one bag of extra-large diapers, and one bag of small diapers.  No wonder mom’s frustrated.  They are either too small or way too big.  Mom wears a medium.  Mom has had this issue before where someone gave her the wrong size diaper.  I have reported this issue before to mom’s hospice nurse and aide who at that time handled the problem for me. 

You can imagine how uncomfortable mom is not wearing the right size.  The small is obviously too tight for mom while the large have too much padding between her legs making her miserable. 

While I was straightening and organizing all of mom’s hanging clothes, I found two huge bags of medium diapers hiding underneath her clothes. I find this inexcusable!  Mom has a hard time explaining to anyone about the problem because she becomes so confused. She knew the size was wrong, but she was unable to communicate that effectively or no one was listening.  Mom has enough to deal with her dementia.

 The diaper situation is so unnecessary.  I have to wonder why someone would keep stuffing 7 bags of diapers, 5 of them the wrong size into her closet.  Each bag has 20 diapers per bag.  I could see how mom would be so frustrated and helpless.  Every time I am with mom which has normally been at least twice a week, I check her closet so I know this happened in the last 8 days.  None of my family would have even known to check for this problem that has occurred before because I always take double check everything in mom’s closet on every visit.   

The hospice social worker had followed us to the room.  Earlier when she first saw mom, Ron and I, she asked mom if mom felt good because mom’s color did not look good.  This was true.  Mom’s coloring today seemed to be yellow-toned almost jaundice.  Mom has been on antibiotics because a week ago they thought she was coming down with the flu.

I told her of mom’s diaper problem.  I handed all the wrong size bags of diapers to her. “Please remove them from her room now so mom is not given the wrong ones to wear.”  She was very accommodating; she was confused herself why mom would have all these bags of diapers.  She assured me that she would look into this further. 

I will inform my brothers what to look for to make sure this issue does not bother mom again. 

Mom felt like a load was lifted off her shoulders.  Someone finally understood.  “I am sorry, mom, that I was not here to help you.  I am so sorry this was so frustrating for you.  We will make sure that does not happen again.”  Mom imitated a bobble-head again and faintly smiled.

“Mom, it is 4 o’clock almost time for your dinner.   Let’s go back to the chairs we were sitting on before.”

Once mom was resting comfortably, I suggested she raise her legs up because her ankles are swollen again.  She said, “I can’t get down myself.”  I told her to call for help if she needed to go to the restroom or wanted to lower her feet.    Since the time was so close to dinnertime, I assured her that they would be coming to escort her into the dining room soon.  Just then one of mom’s favorite aides walked by, mom said, “He’s fantastic.”

“Who is he?”  She pointed to Barb*, a very pretty female aide. 

“Mom, Barb* is a female who just has short hair.”

“What’s his name?”

“Her name is Barb*.”   Just then Barb* stopped by and said to me, “Gilda never remembers my name.  She always calls me a he, but she is a good person.”

“I’m so sorry, mom is confused.  I keep telling her your name, but your name is not penetrating in her brain.”

“I know . . . don’t worry; she is not hurting my feelings,” Barb* said.

“My mom just said you are fantastic.”

“Thank you, Gilda, you are my friend.”

“Yes, I love you,” mom told Barb*.

As I move closely to mom to give her a hug and kiss, she hugged me tighter than normally. 

 

“Mom, I love you.  I missed you so much.”

“I love you a million-fold.”  She turned to Ron and said, “You, too, a million-fold.”

Ron laughed saying, “Well, mom, I love you a million-fold too.”

During the next few minutes, mom wanted another kiss and hug.  We started to both laugh.  “How many hugs and kisses do we need today?”

Mom smiled, “OK, one more.”

“OK, mom, I will see you again soon.  I am really tired.  My leg is starting to bother me.”

“OK, I’ll let you go.”

I remembered that the hospice social worker had asked me to see her on my way out.  So I went by the nurses’ desk where she was sitting.  “I just wanted to check if you have made funeral arrangements for your mom and which funeral home she will be going to.”

My heart raced.  “Are you telling me her time is near,” trying to hold back tears.

“No, I just wasn’t sure if we had the information,” as she grabbed my hands knowing by the look on my face that she had scared me half to death.

“Please tell me the truth, I want to make mom comfortable and I want to spend quality time with her.”

“You are.  Your mom is OK.”

With that, I glanced back at mom.  We blew each other kisses and smiled.

 

I left praying that God would be gentle with mom.