You Got This Girl!

"Stop making all that noise up there!" Mom yells while banging on the wall. I quickly run into the room gasping, "Mom, what's wrong? Who are you screaming at?" "Those people upstairs are so noisy." she replies frantic and frustrated. Mom that's Angelo. He's just opening the garage to get the gardening tools out." "No! That's not Angelo. It's those noisy people in the building. The ones living upstairs over my apartment!" "Mom, there is nothing upstairs but a roof. There is no upstairs." Suddenly I remember that we do have an attic and some attics have drop-down steps. I'm really not sure if the attic of this ranch style home has steps because I'm too afraid to venture up there to see if there are drop-down steps. What am I thinking? By this time my own thoughts are confusing me. 

Looks like she's finally did it people. She finally got to me. I'm second guessing my own reality. I feel like I just got infected with a dipsey daft virus and if I stay in her room any longer I will start showing the full symptoms of lunacy.  I can see the signs on the wall. "Welcome To The Insane Asylum For Seniors." "Straight jackets are free - Drop your clothes off at the door." "Stay calm, someone will be with you shortly."

Very slowly I step backward out of her apartment, uh... bedroom. As  I step into the hallway, I start feeling dizzy.  I look for the first chair I can to sit down on and start trying to pull myself together. I remember seeing a video on how to calm down...

• Start by deep breathing slowly in and out while counting from one to ten 
• Gently pat your chest while counting. 
• Focus on your senses.

After taking a few deep breaths I soon start to realize I'm not insane. At least not yet. This was just a mild panic attack. The first I've had since my Mom moved in. I know it won't be the last. At least they won't be carting me off to the looney bin today.

I hear my inner voice say, "You're doing fine. Just take good care of her during the few golden years she has left and a big blessings will pour down from heaven somewhere down the line. You can do this. You're in control! You got this girl!"  As I close my eyes and think of the gentle swell of ocean waves coming from the horizon of a beautiful sunset, I feel a calmness come over me. I got this. All is well. 

The Uncontrollable Remote Control

Mom will go to great lengths to do absolutely nothing. For example,  3 or more times a day while laying on her bed and enjoying her TV shows she accidentally changes the channel or hits the power button and turns off the TV. She surmises that she did not do anything wrong. It's the remote control's fault. The remote has run amuck and it needs to be caught and disciplined! So after fiddling with it in order to make it work herself but then failing she quickly gets out of the bed and searches for someone to fix her remote.  

I dread the day when she can't find anyone in the house to fix the remote and ventures out of  the house.  She would knock on our neighbor's door, and when it opens she will say, "My stupid remote control won't work. Can you fix it for me." Of course the remote control works fine. It's the latest in remote control technology. The problem is for the past 12 months she has not learned how to work it. The poor thing. But it's not entirely her fault. To add to the confusion, some days she thinks the remote control is the cell phone.  

Since she moved from Maryland to Pennsylvania, we had to change cable services. The new service came with an upgraded cable box with remote control. We hoped she would have learned how to operate the new remote by now, but she hasn't. It would not be so bad if she would just put the thing down and stop trying to change the channel with those busy fingers of hers.  So three or more times a day she roams the halls searching for me or Angelo to help her make her remote work. 

Without her television shows she would  resort to staring at the walls and contending with her thoughts, good or bad, and she's not ready for that. So we've tried near genius measures to address her busy fingers and the uncontrollable remote control. For example;

1. We take the remote when she's ready to retire. When she gets up to use the bathroom in the morning we turn on her TV and select her preferred channel with one of her favorite TV shows. This works fine so long as we come out of our own slumber and hear her entering the bathroom.  Of course by noon she is back to looking for her remote to change the channel. 

2. Next we tried taking the batteries out of the remote so her fingers can be as busy as they want to but they do not change the channel, turn away from the cable box, or accidentally turn the TV off. This works fine for a while but at some point she notices it's not responding when trying to change the channel and insists her remote doesn't work anymore.  

3. We even tried buying a whole season of her favorite sit com, but she eventually gets tired of watching the same season all week. That's actually a good sign. It means Mom's dementia is not advanced to the point of forgetting what she watched yesterday. 

At the end of the day, it's a good thing she wants her remote fixed. The fact that Mom is hot on the trail of  resolving the uncontrollable remote control issue indicates that much of her cognitive functions are still very much intact and active. 

So go ahead Mom, do what you must. We're here for you sweetie. Let's get that uncontrollable remote fixed.

The Case of The Missing Pajamas

 

Honestly, there are days when I must retrace my steps to nudge my brain into remembering what I went into a room to get, or what I was supposed to do. For example, on this particular day, I was certain that I placed a clean set of pajamas in the bathroom for Mom.

When I glanced into the bathroom while prepping for Mom's shower, there were no pajamas! Then I realized that Mom just came out of the bathroom, and she has the habit of taking her pajamas and tucking them away when she feels that she doesn't need them at that moment. So now the hunt is on! Nope, they're not in the laundry basket of freshly laundered clothes. Nope, not in her dresser drawers. Nada, not in her closet. Negative, not in my closet. Now that leads me to look in the bathroom storage areas:cabinet, under the sink, in the tub, and in the dirty clothes hamper. Nothing, nill, zilch! Not there either. So I ask Mom if she saw her PJs and as no surprise to me she replied, “You gave me pajamas?” I answered, “No Ma’am, they were in the bathroom. Did you see them?” “No, I haven’t seen any pajamas.”

I decided to get off this spinning hamster wheel and just pick out another set of sleepwear. I'll give up the hunt for the missing pajamas for now. Later that evening, while collecting trash I noticed the unusual weight of the bathroom waste basket. I looked inside and there at the very bottom were the missing pajamas! "How in the world did they get in there?" I asked shaking my head. Well, I guess Mom thought that she no longer needed them.

Coming Home - A Smile Speaks Volumes

"Home is where the heart is"

On our way home from a long day out, Mom sat in the passenger seat searching through her pocketbook for a mint. I knew that she was tired and ready to relax. She asked me for the fifty-eleventh time “What day is this?” “It’s Tuesday” I replied. “We’re almost home.” She looked up from her search and asked, “What city is this?” I told her and then she asked looking rather puzzled, “Do I live with you and Angelo?” “Yes” I replied. “Since when?” I looked over to her and said, “For almost a year now.” “I don’t remember that” she said. “I know, Mom” I uttered with a sigh. “But your things are there, and you’ll recognize them when we get home.” 

We soon arrived home. As I pulled up to our front door, I remembered that smile she had on her face as she entered our home, her new home, for the first time almost a year ago. I got her settled in for the evening and as I kissed her good night, I looked at her face, she again had that same smile which filled my heart with satisfaction.

Keywords: heart warming story about aging, forgetfulness and aging, taking care of mother, stories about caregiving, dealing with memory loss

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