Disappointment

Yesterday was the day for Mom's evaluation -- a step toward moving her into an assisted living home. She didn't make the cut.

We were trying to get her into an assisted living memory unit (or something like that, I'm learning the correct terms for this new chapter in our lives, but apparently I'm a slow learner). We had hoped we had found a solution. She would have her own room with a small bath attached. Meals would be served in a communal dining room. There was also a communal living room and small kitchenette. Unfortunately Mom isn't cognoscente enough to handle the situation. She can dress herself, she can bathe herself, she can feed herself. She can't follow directions. You can't ask her to go into the living room and sit down without taking her by the hand, leading her to a chair and showing her where to sit.

In the back of my mind I had always wondered if perhaps my sisters and I were over-stating the problems we were having with Mom. Perhaps the problems we were having were the result of our own inability to handle Mom's diminished mental capacity. I mean after all, she still can do a lot for herself. Apparently I was mistaken and Mom truly is further gone than I was willing to admit, or was unable to realize.

A medical social worker came to the house to do the evaluation. Mom sat through the medical review . . . what meds she is on, does she have allergies, what surgeries has she had, etc. etc. etc. Then came what was called a Mini-Mental evaluation. Mom could not make it past the first question, "What season is this?" You could see she was shutting down. It's the blank stare and then the questioning look directed to me to help her out.

I took a breath and looked at Mom, "She wants to know what season it is. Is it summertime or wintertime?"

Mom got that what kind of idiot do you think I am look on her face and snapped back, "Well it's not wintertime."

That ended the evaluation.

"She isn't going to be able to finish this," the social worker said. Then she dropped the bomb. Mom won't be able to function in an assisted living center -- even if she does't have to cook. She needs more individual attention than the staff would be able to provide. So we are back on the waiting list.

I thought I wasn't ready for  Mom to go to a nursing home, but I have to confess, I am disappointed. I want my life back. I know to many that may sound harsh, but for the past year I have not been able to step outside without telling Mom where I am going and then waiting for her to go to the bathroom, put on her shoes, find a jacket and come with me. It's a procedure we follow to simply take a bag of garbage to the dumpster or to pull a few onions from the garden for dinner. It may not sound like much but after a while it is. I selfishly want to be able to simply jump in the car and drive to the neighborhood party store to buy a loaf of bread and a gallon of milk without making a major trip of it.

I love my mother. But I am close to my limit. She is joined to me at he hip. I can't walk into the kitchen without her following me. If I go to the bathroom without telling her she will panic and run through the house looking for me. She doesn't know my name. She doesn't know I am her daughter. I'm just the familiar face that takes care of her during the day.

But life has a way of going on, so this morning we started our usual routine . . . a drive to the store for milk, a drive past the lighthouse, a stop at the greenhouse to give King is morning caffeine fix and then home for coffee and blueberry muffins. Because she was up so early the post office wasn't open. We will make the trip in a few minutes. I am trying not to go out for coffee, I don't need the calories or to spend the money -- be it her's or mine.

I know something is bothering her because she is reading her "trouble" Psalm. "Wait I say on the Lord and be of good courage. . . " I don't think she realizes she is reading out loud. But she only reads this verse when she is bothered by something. After Monday's trip to the doctor and yesterday's visit from the social worker, I am guessing she knows something is amiss. It will take a few days, but we will eventually get back to our normal chaos.

Life has a way of doing that.