I went to visit my mom after a work trip – I was gone 5 days.  Took her for a walk and talked to one of the CNAs.  (My mom has a belief that half of her closet belongs to someone else therefore she doesn’t want to wear clothes that may come from that side.) The CNA must have shown my mom her name was in her clothes to prove they are hers. The CNA said to me “your mom asked who put my name in my clothes?” “Your daughter did” Dorothy: “No, she’s not that responsible” – Wait? What? 🙂

Today she said the kitchen lady had perfect eyebrows, I asked her about mine- she used to say that about my brows.  “Well I have seen yours for a long time now” Wait? What?

She was funny this week I see… sassy.

A couple of the others were happy I was back too, nice ego boost if you need one.

 

 

I wasn’t a big liar.  I truly did not see the need.  Omit sure plenty of that but lie not worth it.  From what I see lying is a lot of work and you always get caught so why bother?! Tell the truth or change the subject but no need to lie.

Then I got an Octogenarian with memory issues.  For three years and a broken tooth, I tried to get her to ‘hear” me, remind her what we did or tell the truth.  That only led to frustration for all.  Reminding her did not help – all she heard was I was calling her an idiot.  The truth set her brain firing in all different, confusing directions.  So now I lie…wholly shit do I lie.

“Are you coming back later?” Sure I”m coming back later (nope I do not go back).  She doesn’t remember later I was to come back and the lie calms her.

“Maybe you should move into the House” Sure that is a great idea. (My family hasn’t owned that house for 45 years). But the lie calms her and lets us move on.

“I talked to my mother last week” Great how is she? (Shit she’d be 118 in reality). What does it matter? It doesn’t

“Those clothes on the left side of the closet belong to someone else, she’s storing them here” No those are yours, see they have your name in them, that lady moved out and took her stuff when you were at bingo.  She told me.  (there is NO lady, the room was empty, I furnished it). Why fight? Her brain cannot process the truth.

“When can I go home” when you are done here with rehab, let’s walk and help speed up the rehab.  She is never going home, “rehab” is every day.

“I can’t have a cast on my right hand, I am a secretary how will I work?” We sent a note to Ladish, they will get a temp in until the cast is off. The woman hasn’t worked there in 30 years.

I lie to everyone at her place:

J (who thinks I work there) “Can you get me a room for tonight, I have no place to go”. Sure J we have you a great room down the hall and I’ll buy you dinner too. “what about tomorrow” Don’t worry I’ll come in and we will talk about it at breakfast.  Boom done, relief.

P – “did you see my nephew in the lobby?” No, but the traffic is really bad. “oh ok that is why he’s not here yet”.  Hell if I know if her nephew is even driving distance from her.

I have learned these lies hurt no one but relax all.  And let me tell you this has been one of the hardest parts – it truly is not in my DNA.  I want to fix it – which before meant the truth and brute force.  These things do not respond to either. So lies it is…

My mom lost her filter as she got older, demented.  That was not her (that is me and was my grandmother – her mom) but not my mom.  She has/had a wicked wit and sense of humor but had a filter and common courtesy.  We live in SE Wisconsin – home to a lot of ‘healthy’, big, farm-fed folks.  I consider myself one of them. We will go to breakfast or out and she will make a face, give me the eye and most often comment – out loud – on someone’s size.  My mom is not tiny and in her past, she had years of being overweight, as most of us do/did.  I will catch her and usually cut her off at the pass, thankfully her brain still receives that signal and holds her tongue until we get outside or washes away as most recent thoughts/memories do with Dementia.  (Sidebar Coach Pat Summitt referred to is as footprints in the sand, the memories or thoughts are gone with the next wave).  We have been playing this game for a bit as there is again no shortage of big folk in SE Wisconsin, especially at restaurants.

This one time we go to the doctor and there is short, wide woman in at the desk as we come in.  I see Dorothy turn and the words about to come out of her mouth.  I do the ‘zip it’ signal and she complies as I set her in the waiting room and check her in.  However, this gave her ample time to stare at the woman.  I go and sit next to her and she says “that is a big lady, she’s got a keister on her”.  I look at her and sush her, she says “well I think she knows”.  I stifle a full-on laugh and say “yes I am sure she does but she doesn’t need you pointing it out to the whole waiting room”.  “Hmmph” and off to a magazine she goes.  I think we are done…

The woman spills her purse, bends at the hips and my mom turns to me “that is three in there”.  I bite my collar to not laugh out loud.  This is a riff on a Lucyism (my grandmother who was filter free and not the least bit concerned about anyone’s feelings – good German stock that one).  The Lucyism is to a person with a good size ass, walking “that is two pigs fighting in a pillowcase”  shortened in our family to “two pigs in a pillowcase” for my mom to say “three” meaning “three pigs fighting in a pillowcase” that is just damn funny.

I have said it before, old folks are like little kids.  Honest plain and simple.

My mother loves, LOVES Bingo.  She came to her joy of Bingo when she went to her first facility.  They play about three times a week and had a great volunteer group come in one night a month to play.  The facility proctored one they played for a dime per card, the volunteer group handed out great, useful prizes – toothbrushes, socks, soap.  The current place also plays bingo – not as often but on various floors so nice change of scenery.

I went to visit last week – thinking I was timing it perfectly that bingo was over.  Their schedule had gotten off and bingo was delayed. Starting shortly after I got there.  Needless to say, my mother was in her bingo spot and was NOT moving for me or anyone.  Nope.  She summons me to her with the index finger universal sign “come here”.  I go over and she asks for her dime bag. I tell her this place does not play for money (I’m not sure Dorothy is cool with this.  She likes bingo and her dimes).  But this statement cleared up A LOT for the activity director.  She said Dorothy always asks for her dime bag for bingo.  I explained they played for a dime a card at the previous place – not sure but I think the AD thought perhaps my mom was a pothead – hmm that may be a good way to calm her monkey mind? 🙂  Nope, just a gambling bingo fool she is.

As I leave they call the first number – B6 – I am at the elevator, about 50 feet from bingo parlor when I hear my mom say to the women next to her “how’d you get all those numbers covered? You should have two at the most” (For non bingo folks – one would be the free space, the other B6 if you have it).  My mother LIKES and follows rules – cheating at bingo will not be tolerated obviously.

The fractured brain is a funny thing.  My mother knows games and wins at most they play – trivia, state capitals, wheel of fortune, etc but has no idea what year it is, if she had lunch, etc. I cracked up at her disdain due to the above and the fact the apple does not fall far from the tree.

 

 

About 5 years ago I become the Guardian of an Octogenarian due to dementia – she was hospitalized for a kidney stone she could not pass during which she was diagnosed and I was given power of attorney.  I knew this octogenarian all my life, it was my mom.  It was a blow to me and was not prepared.  Don’t get me wrong looking back there were signs but who of us wants to see those?  Trust me, listen to that voice, listen to her friends, don’t justify it.  Get it checked out.  If one can prepare for this do it! If the hospital gave me resources  I wish they would have followed up with the shock wore off.  My personality and dementia do not mesh.  I want to fix it – if by brute force – I want it fixed.  You cannot fix dementia.  Period.  Let alone through BamBam techniques.  Those make it worse, those with altered brains have awesome awareness.  It’s like they have a super sixth sense – they can read your energy before you are in their eyesight.  After many years of failing with this diagnosis, I got a bit better due to talking to some folks and reading a book called “The 36 hour day” which was recommended by a coworker.  That helped tremendously.

I write this not for sympathy but for a place for those of us with aging parents to share – I am going to ask for mainly funny stories.  We all need that and frankly, my crew has plenty of funny parent/grandparent stories.

Top three lessons to date:

1. YOU HAVE to change they CANNOT
2. Reminding them they did something doesn’t help them retain/recall they  hear “You are stupid, you can’t remember”
3.  You do not have to be right or correct them – Just go with it… whatever it is.  It does not matter in the long run, it hurts no one.  Absolutely no one.
   • Example: My mom thinks she still works.  Just ask her how her day was, was her boss nice.  Who gives a crap that she has been retired for over 20 years?!

My first funny story:

When my mom was diagnosed with Dementia she was hospitalized originally for a kidney stone.  We were out to breakfast and she passed out.  Flat out cold at the table.  Her age being 83 I automatically assume a stroke.  She is unresponsive; out cold.  I call 9-1-1. So does the restaurant.  The restaurant (Love you Andreas) clears all the table near us they know EMTs will bring in stretchers.  They cleared our breakfast without me realizing it (Again thank you, Andreas, in Cudahy WI).  EMTs come, load my mom up but because she had passed out and was just coming to as they got there they needed to send her vitals before taking her the three blocks to the hospital.  The bus that originally arrived did not have the equipment.  They get another one and back them up, roll her from one to the next.  The new bus has a very young, faired haired probie and a veteran.  The first bus has two guys who’ve been around.    The youngin is trying to talk to my mom,  get some info he then says to her “ma’am I need to put some stickers on you to get your vitals.  I may need to get personal”  She’s still not fully out of it, so I say to her “Ma, he needs to go to second base with you” she looks at him, looks at me and says “well he’s no George Clooney but ok” This kid literally blushes through his scalp.  The three veterans literally fall out of the buses laughing their asses off.  Yup, that’s my mom, she’s back!

Dorothy was living in her Condo but was not allowed to drive due to an Ataxia diagnosis.  She was very good about it even though her car was still in her garage.  I dropped off groceries, meals etc for the few days as I was going out of town.  When I returned I noticed she had a pack of cigarettes ( I did not buy them and I know her two friend/neighbors would not buy them as we wanted her to quit) so I asked who go her the cigarettes. “what? ” “Mom, who got you the cigarettes as you are not allowed to drive”. “oh, it’s just Pick N Save”.  Pick n Save is a grocery store that is truly visible from her condo deck and as the crow flies two blocks away.  “Mom, you are not supposed to drive.  Pick n Save requires you to put your keys in the car, turn it on and DRIVE it there AND back.  Mom you are not allowed to drive”.  “Well, I can see it from here. ” “Ma, It is still DRIVING”. Dorothy’s final word “Pfft”.  (So if you can see the errand, even though you have to drive there is doesn’t count?).  Had to take the car keys after that.