Mom and Alzheimer's

After writing a novella for my ride report yesterday, I realized that I've missed the act of writing.  It's been a lazy Sunday and I oughta go ride my bike, but instead will attach thoughts to these pages.

I've had the thought, rather melodramatically, that I've had a major tragedy each decade of my life.  When I was in single digits and far too young to understand, my brother committed suicide.  In my teens my mother was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer and given six months to a year to live.  My dad died when I was in my mid-twenties; way too young.  I don't feel the need to share the big life changing moments from my thirties and forties, but I had them.  Now, a few months into my fifties, I'm having to face this decade's challenge:  my mother's Alzheimer's disease.

She triumphed over cancer and won a battle very few do, only to have to live her last years in one of the most horrible ways possible.  Her mind is gone, her memories are gone, she's lost the ability to form a coherent sentence and is losing control over her body.

We've had her in an Assisted Living Facility for almost two years.  My sister and I both noticed a deterioration of her memory. She would get lost driving around Plant City.  The bumper on her car had more than a few scrapes on it and she didn't know where they came from.  We all have memory lapses from time to time, but she'd call me and ask what a certain type herb was used for. A contractor would knock on her door, tell her she needed a service, and she'd go down and get money out of the ATM to pay them.  She got ripped off more than once.

My sister and I finally took her to her doctor and told her of our concerns.  I guess my mom's a good actress because the doctor, whom she saw frequently, had no idea that there was a problem.  After a bunch of questions the doctor gave mother a piece of paper and a pencil and told her to draw a clock face showing 3 o'clock and to label it.  My mother was able to draw a circle and 2 sticks inside the circle, but that was it.  The doctor told mom that 1) she needed to stop driving, 2) she needed to think about an alternate place to live and 3) it was going to be harder on me and my sister than it was on her.

I don't think the latter is true. It's hard on mom, too.

  She was not happy at having her privileges taken away.  Who would? They moved her from a regular room into the memory care unit, which is behind a locked door after she got lost a few times on her daily walk.  It's a really nice place (they all have some problems) and fortunately mother bought long term care insurance, so, for the time being, it's paid for.  She's being well cared for.

But what an awful way to spend your last years.  In her lucid moments she mentions dying.  She says she wants to die and doesn't want to live like this.  Physically, she's in really good shape so she will be with us for  awhile, but mentally she's getting worse every time I see her (which is about every two weeks.)  She's always so glad to see me, even if she doesn't know my name anymore.  She knows I'm her people, even if she doesn't know if I'm her mother, her sister, or her daughter.  Going out in public is stressful;  too stimulating.  I've been picking her up and taking her to my sister Paula's house when my sister has her granddaughter.  Mom loves to hold little Ava (with help from me or Paula) or just watch her play on the floor. This last time, by the time I got her back to her room, she'd forgotten she'd seen the baby.

I hate this disease so much, I hate what it has done to this once vibrant woman.  After last Tuesday it hit me really hard at bedtime.  Ed held me as I wept and cried and cursed.

So, I want to try to remember the mom that used to me.  The woman that raised me.

I was going to do a mini biography but maybe I'll leave that for another post.  Random memories here, then:

Living in West Point, NY and  being in the car as mom drove dad to work everyday.  He'd always open up the car door and put his right foot out before she came to a stop.  I was probably in the middle and she'd use her right arm as a seat belt.  Mom taking me to the hospital to get shots every week.

An earlier memory, I think.  We were living in Ellisville, MS,  where she grew up, while dad was in Vietnam the first time.  Lunch would be hot dogs dipped in a sauce of mayonnaise, mustard and ketchup combined.

Ft. Hood, TX.  I came home from pre-school on my 5th birthday and mom had set up and aquarium for me.

Killeen, TX during dad's 2nd Vietnam tour.  Mom buying Fudge-cicles for us from the ice cream truck.  Her letting me spend my own money to buy a watermelon, making me feel very grown up.

El Paso, TX.  Getting to name the Siamese cat we'd just gotten and named him Monolito (should have been Manolito) after my favorite character on High Chaparral.  That same kitten getting drunk after eating mom's heavily bourbon-laden fruit cake.

OK..I'm going to stop and post now.  I've got a lot more to say and share but will not to it all at once.  That would be overwhelming.

All I can say now is bless the bones of all of the caretakers.

J