The nursing home called my sister earlier this week with a report on Mom. Seems she is becoming more withdrawn and more incontinent. It is a difficult process to watch. But all we can do is deal with it. Ringing one's hands and worrying only causes callouses and frown lines.
So we continue with our usual routine as much as possible.
On Saturday we had our weekly meet-up breakfast with Mom. I arrived at the nursing home first. Mom was sleeping in her chair when I walked into her room. I let her sleep, deciding it was easier to let her continue to doze rather than wake and try to explain to her there were more people coming and we had to wait for them.
It is fairly evident Mom doesn't really know who I am. When my sisters arrived she hugged each one of them and then turned to me and wrapped her arms around me, but the look was: "I don't know who you are, but you are here and you are going to take me somewhere so I will hug you too."
It's okay. I can deal with it.
We always go to the same restaurant and I think we have become "one of the Saturday regulars." Before Dad died, my older sister took my parents out for breakfast every Saturday. They became such "regulars" at the restaurant in Ferrysburg that the staff reserved a table for them each Saturday morning. We have not yet met that status at this particular restaurant.
Mom likes our outings, although I'm not entirely certain she is always aware of her surroundings, simply getting out makes her very happy.
When the nursing home told us Mom was having difficulty swallowing we followed their instructions and eliminated bread from her diet when we went out to eat. We generally ordered something easy to swallow -- usually yogurt parfaits. That gets old. So now we have taken the attitude of "She'll be 92 in November, let her eat what she wants," and we order pancakes for her. She eats them all and hasn't choked or died yet.
Bolstered by our success with the pancakes, we then made the bold step of telling the nursing home no more "thicket" in her beverages and no more mush for meals. They were not very happy with us, but we are paying the bills. Mom now drinks regular liquids and eats regular food. I think meal time has become pleasurable for her once again. If she chokes we can always write on her headstone, "She died with her bib on."
Oh Phyllis I can only imagine how many of your followers look forward to your stories. I so enjoy reading them and smile through my tears. I have such fond memories of your parents and really wish I could have bumped into you in the dahlia field that day! Your folks are two people who I have frozen in middle age. Wayne would tell me he spoke with them at the grand kids' sporting events where he officiated. I was always glad to hear that they were good and had not changed a bit!! I love the way you and your family direct the care that your mom receives and keep her as happy as possible. I hope to die with my bib on and hanging on to as much of normal as possible. Heaven looks better all the time!! Bless you Phyllis for being a blessing to so many... Judy Cotts
ReplyDeleteThank you Judy. Dad was still going to sporting events (Hope College football game) a week before he died. He was 91.
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