alzheimers

September 28, 2021

Mother Lament

I hate where I’m at, in regards to my mother. This is the most excruciatingly painful situation. Everyday it feels like someone is slowly dragging a long, jagged, knife across my stomach. More than anything I wish it was over. And hopefully it will be soon.

My mother’s want to go home is daily. It doesn’t matter that I have repeatedly told her she’s not going back. Nor does it register that I have specifically told her she will be living in a home, and have even asked her questions about the room arrangements. Either she doesn’t remember, or she refuses to listen and just demands to be returned to her house.

I have told her over and over that I don’t want to do this. I wish she could just stay in her house, but at this point it’s elder abuse. She can barely dress herself, she’s constantly having “accidents” and she can only eat finger foods. Silverware is absolutely out of the question. Should she use it, more of the food will end up on the same top she INSISTS on wearing everyday than in her mouth. The assisted living is the best option for her. And I wish she could understand that.

The other day my mom’s former “baby-sitter” mentioned care.com to look for a live-in caretaker. Little did I know that when I signed up I was creating a job-listing. Since then I have had two people inquire, and now I’m questioning if I should do the memory care facility. Oddly enough, going the in-home route is insanely expensive. Here I thought assisted living rent was astronomical but… this is outrageous. It would be such an added expense for her that she would lose most of her accrued income. All so she could “pretend” she doesn’t have Alzheimer’s.

One of the ways my mother manipulates me is that she likes to remind me that she gave me everything I wanted when I was a kid. Here I thought it was because she loved me. Little did I know it was a mob-boss loan to where one day she would require the debt be paid. And for her, it’s due.

My mother is only going to get worse and eventually will need to be in a care facility. Just pursuing this “in-home caretaker” nonsense will just postpone the inevitable. I need to just rip off the band-aid because the wound is infected and needs proper care. Or I risk losing the limb.

September 22, 2021

In search of a new home

This morning we began the search for an assisted living home for my mother. It started off with a super pricey place. For a non-shared room in memory care it’s $6k a month. That includes around the clock care, meals, and utilities. So that’s nice. We can swing it but any money she wanted to leave to me won’t exist. And I personally do not care.

While it’s super pricey I think I may end up going with this place because it’s close to where I live and that price is locked in permanently. Even if her level of care changes the monthly cost won’t change.

Our next stop will be at a group home on the other side of town. Care starts at around $3,200 but can go up depending on her level of attention. More than likely it’s going to be more than that because this woman will not stop pissing herself. It is constant and non-stop. Yesterday alone we blew through four adult diapers.

I have been blissfully unaware of her level of need up until recently. My mother’s prior “caretaker” would only tell me “gently” instead of coming right out saying, “hey, dude, she’s bad.” Then again, maybe she did and I just refused to see. It sucks how I will ignore obvious signs because I don’t want to see how much she has and is failing.

Body wise, my mother is a champ. The whole reason she even came to stay with us, while we look for a more permanent spot, is that she keeps falling. But goddamn if that bitch isn’t built like a linebacker. She had three falls and no damage. I walk by something, brush it too hard, and I bruise like a banana. Evidently I got more of my fathers genes. Maybe that means I won’t be at risk for dementia. Doubt it though.

I still think I should see other facilities to get a good idea of what’s best for her, but in the end I think I’ll choose the first one. Just cause I liked it and it’s available. I need to get her settled immediately. She refuses to live with me and I refuse to live with her. And my anger at seeing her decline is very real and uncontrollable. The moment she starts putting on the water works in her attempt to return to her house I lose it. Rationally I know it’s because I’m at odds with giving her want she wants, versus what she NEEDS. What she needs is not fun or easy to accomplish. And in the end, she’s miserable either way.

February 17, 2020

Family? I don’t know them.

It’s sad to me how much my mother believes in the fantasy of “family.” She is of the school that “blood is thicker than water.” And at one time in her life it was true, but it has since diluted. For me it never existed, because I saw through my families bullshit and lies.

Lies may be a harsh word. I should just say empty promises. The words these people speak mean nothing to them, but unfortunately so much to my mother. She believes them, because at her core she would never say something she didn’t mean.

One of my cousin’s (I forget whom) had a problem with my mother because if you invited her to any event she will attend. That thought angers me for two very specific reasons: 1) why wouldn’t you want her there? and 2) is it such a bad thing to be able to depend on someone, no matter what?

When she was firing on all cylinders, she was the most giving woman to ever have existed. (She still is, by the way, she just lacks the capacity to do as much as she wants.) She would go absolutely out of her way if you asked her to. The only problem is she (subconsciously) expects that in return, and it’s not going to happen.

This morning my mother ruminated on how she had taken care of both my aunts when they had cancer and my father through his many ailments. Both of my aunts would eventually succumb to their illnesses (and my father on an unrelated injury tied to one of his many issues.) Before they had passed, she was there every step of the way. She would make the 2 hr drive down to see my aunts as often as she could without complaint because it was just what family did for one another.

Rewind many years and my mother was there for my cousin’s as they were growing up. I am in a weird spot in my family line, because all of my first cousin’s were having children when I was born. So I grew up with my second cousins. During the years before she met my father, she was the bad ass aunt who took her nieces and nephews to every southern california theme park, took them shopping, did whatever she could to give them a good childhood. She was the one they ran to when they “ran away from home.”

Returning to reality… Here we are as her mind is disintegrating and where are they? Where is this family that is supposed to come and help? They don’t even have to do anything, just visit. Sit there and reminisce. Chat. But they are nowhere. And in the end, for me, that’s fine. It further cements the notion that blood means fuckall. Yeah, you share a genetic code, but that doesn’t mean they give a shit about you.

The thing that does upset me with their absence, is that these ungrateful pieces of shit are hurting her. She languishes in isolation and wonders why no one visits her. It’s heartbreaking to watch and one I can’t answer for her, without sounding angry or bitter.

My mother loves to wax poetic that “your family loves you.” (Speaking to me, about me.) No, they don’t. They really don’t. They tolerate me or “accept” my existence. But love is being there for someone, no matter the cost. Love is not empty words spoken to make you look good, but carry no weight behind them.

February 11, 2020

Chocolate Smiles

Alzheimer’s is strange. Honestly, if she has to have some debilitating sickness, I wish my mother could have been diagnosed with anything else. At least then there is a possibility of a cure or recovery. With this it is just a trudge to the end. And in the end, it takes everything from you.

My mother is, mentally, a child. Well, preteen. She gets excited for visits, loves cookies, and watches romantic comedies like they’re going out of style. Really, she’s me circa 13 years old. Back when I still had hope.

The childishness was never more prevalent than a couple weeks ago when the husband and I took a trip to see my cousin’s new born. The husband had made a batch of chocolate chip cookies and brought them to her, which she insisted bringing half with us on our road trip.

She left them sitting in the sun so they got gooey and the chocolate started to melt. This new state of cookie existence did not stop her. She chomped away happily.

I was not aware of this until she made a garbled statement from the backseat and I turned to see her with a chocolate grin and matching fingers.

The husband doesn’t believe in tissues or napkins in his car (“cause I’m an adult that doesn’t make messes”). So we had to make due with a handkerchief (previously owned and used by my grandmother) and a bag.

What this event taught me was I need to carry wet wipes whenever my mother is around. Maybe even a diaper bag for good measure.

The more upsetting aspect of this is that while my mother is mentally a child, she is also still an adult. And she still believes that regardless to the facts to the contrary. So I am left to walk this fine line between being a son and being a caretaker.

It sucks.

This week we finally see a doctor for the growing list of her maladies. And hopefully in it get the final letter I need to get power of attorney. There is no doubt I will achieve my goal, it just means a legal turning point in this whole saga.