Friday, January 10, 2014

A new twist

My sister received a call today from the nursing home. Mom choked on a cookie and they had to do the Heimlich maneuver on her. Mom has had a choking problem a few times before so they have her on a soft food diet.

I didn't get the text message from my sister about the incident until late tonight so I didn't make the trip to Holland  to visit Mom. I talked to my sister as soon as I read the text and she said Mom is fine. In fact, Mom didn't mention it to either of my sisters when they visited today. I doubt she remembered, or perhaps she didn't know how to put it into words. The other residents, however, were quite excited and talkative, so my sisters got all the details.

I did a little internet research and choking common for people with dementia.

I kind of feel numb. It's not like it's "Oh my God what are we going to do now?" It's more of a big sigh and a "Guess this is one more thing poor Mom has to deal with, except she has no idea what is happening." And there is no way to explain it to her.

Sometimes during the day I find myself thinking about Mom and wonder what she is doing. I know in years past she used to do the same with me as occasionally she would call for no particular reason just to ask how I was doing.

"It's snowing today and I was thinking about you and your sisters and remembering how you would go sledding at the hill," Mom would say. "I was wondering what you were doing." And we would chat for a while. I would fill her in on what the kids were doing and tell her about projects I was working on at home, or gripe about the latest travesty at work. She liked to touch base and I enjoyed talking to her.

But now I wonder if she is sitting in her chair, looking out the window at the storm and if she can remember any of the past snow storms we had.

The staff at the home tells us she participates in all the activities they offer. Her room is filled with the simple crafts they do. On some level, it must remind Mom of her sewing projects she did throughout her life. How I wish I could show the staff the clothes she used to make: my sister's wedding dress, all my maternity clothes, a red wool coat with embroidered hearts when I was in the third grade. . . I remember coming home from school and Mom would be sitting at the sewing machine at the kitchen table, finishing the last seam before putting everything away so she could start dinner. (Or waiting for us to come home so she could pin a hem for hand stitching in the evening).

Mom loved to sew and I hated it. In fact, Mom, I have a confession to make. I am the one who carved "I hate sewing" in your sewing machine case.

But I think you knew that.


No comments:

Post a Comment