assisted living

October 6, 2021

Adventures in Adult Babysitting

When I was around the age of 14/15 I made a promise to my mom that I wouldn’t put her into a home. It was the same agreement she had made to her mother, my grandmother. And I wanted so much to keep the tradition alive. Then life became exceedingly complex.

Two weeks before I signed the papers for her to become a resident, she had fallen. It was the third time she had that month, and after the second fall where I had explained if she didn’t use a walker to get around and fell (again) she would move in with me. She flat out refused to use any kind of assistance device and because of it she fell, in the same bathroom my father had fallen in (for his third time that week) and hit his head, causing brain damage and his ultimate death. Every detail of that moment came flooding to my memory. I was livid. So, I sent my husband and brother-husband over to her house, help her up, and take her to our house.

For two weeks I came to a very harsh reality, that she was far worse than I had previously assumed. She can’t use eating utensils, she repeatedly has “accidents,” she can’t bathe herself and can’t even dress herself without assistance. The two weeks that she stayed with us, I had to do all of these things for her. Once they were done she would sit, happy as a clam, in her recliner watching movies. Had she been the only one I was responsible for, I probably would have trudged on to make it work, but that’s not the reality. I also have my husband.

For those who don’t know, my husband has ALS. He was diagnosed a year ago. As it is now, he can do very little for himself. He can still walk and stand, but he requires someone to assist him every time. While my mother was there I hardly got a chance to sit, which is fine, but it was not sustainable. And It was putting a lot of expectation and responsibility on the brother-husband. He may have signed up for my husband, but not some random lady he had only met (maybe) three times prior.

As much as I didn’t want to break my promise, I had to. And even though I have been told, repeatedly, that it was the right decision, all I can focus on is the fact that I did. I am no longer a man of my word. And I hate that.

To get out of that mindset, I sat down and tried to pick out why making such a strong, blanket promise like that is ridiculous. When I made it, I had no concept of adult responsibilities. I was working off the example my grandmother had set, while she lived with us. She was basically my third parent. She did housework, she watched me, she actively contributed. Because of her, I felt confident in agreeing to never commit my mother to assisted living. What I failed to take into account was life. Life is unpredictable and it’s main goal is to try and crush you and those around you. I know that sounds aggressive but when you really think about it, it’s true. Life isn’t a cake walk. It is a series of obstacles we must learn from to continue on to the next set. There is no rest. My mother’s Alzheimer’s is that obstacle. My husband’s ALS is another. I have learned and now we must move on.

On Monday, a month before my birthday, and four days after her own, I dropped her off in a memory care home. The weekend prior, I made every effort to make certain it wasn’t a surprise for her. I wanted her to be aware of the change that was about to occur. But I either failed miserably in explaining it, or she just didn’t understand. Regardless, when the day arrived she was distraught and terrified. There was no escaping the tsunami of guilt that “I just sprung this on her” and abandoned her at her most vulnerable.

The one thing I have learned from my mother’s diagnosis is that, if I ever have kids, I will make sure they know, without a doubt, that if pop-pop goes a little loopy that they should not HESITATE to put me somewhere safe. Even if I ramble on about not wanting to leave my home, I (at my absolute core) do not want them to waste a second debating what I would or wouldn’t want. If I have enough sense in me, in my older years, I will just move in on my own, like my grandmother-in-law.

I know that this is the right thing, and at times I feel it. But getting my heart to understand is something else entirely.

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.

October 14, 2019

Familiar Strangers

It almost seems as though my mother has a list of specific “Dementia To-Do” items she must accomplish. At first it was leaving the gas on all night and now we’ve moved onto inviting strangers into her house.

The event happened in a small window of time when my mother’s care taker went home (aka next door) to take care of some business. When she returned my mother informed her she had invited a man in. Panicked, her caretaker texted me immediately and asked me to review the tapes to see if she was telling the truth or if it was a delusion.

I immediately went to the ring app and followed the trail of recordings to see that she was telling her the truth.

When I questioned her about it the following day, she told me that she thought it was my “friend Josh.” I just let it go because I could tell she understood the gravity of what she had done. I also think she would have gotten upset if I had pressed her further, so I let the subject die. Hopefully this is a fluke, but I’m certain it will happen again.

As I review her response a few things pop into my mind. The number one thought is, is she lying to me? For someone who was so honest before her disease took over (so much so that she told me when I was 4 that there was no Santa Clause, cause she hated lying to me), she has become the polar opposite of that. She has no qualms with bending the truth or flat out denying things to me now. She will send them out without any remorse because the ultimate goal (in her mind) is to preserve her presence in her home. Any negative action on her part threatens that. And quite frankly it does.

The reason I think it was a lie is because when I reviewed the recordings she never once made any cues that she thought he was my boyfriend. She just offered to let him sit on her porch and read his book while he waited for his friend, who was at the neighbors house. Then when he followed her up the walk she (without hesitation) invited him inside. Once inside he asks her if she’s ever read the book “Fight Club.” The video ends and five minutes later the next one begins with him leaving and rejoining his buddy out front. She stands intent at the kitchen sink doing something (I know it’s not dishes because she only rinses utensil and plates and puts them back in the drawer.)

The other thought that has been percolating in my mushy gray is, did she really believe that it was him? And if so, did she really believe he was just hanging out in front of her house, hoping she would come outside and invite him in? Did she really believe that this short Latino man looked like my tall German-mixed boyfriend? If she did, does that mean her visual recognition for faces is starting to wane?

My mother has a telephone made specifically for those with dementia. There is a grid of 9 faces that when one of them is pressed it will dial that person. On Sunday, she said she was trying to call my cousin but instead called me. She seemed genuinely flustered on the phone when I answered so I don’t think it was her trying to “con me” into feeling bad for her, but a genuine accident. As I mulled that incident in my mind, I started to wonder if it is in fact the beginnings of my mother losing her ability to recognize faces. However, that is hinged on her believing this stranger was Josh.

Regardless of the correct answer, it is very apparent that my mother is quickly becoming a danger to herself. The only logical step from here is to put her into a group home. She needs constant attention and care, of which I cannot provide. Not to the level that is required.

July 29, 2019

A Month in Review

It’s weird to think that my dad has been dead for a month now. It simultaneously feels like it’s been forever and then again no time at all. I miss him but at the same time I miss what he was for my mother, a caretaker.

My mother has Alzheimer’s. An aggressive bout of it, it would appear. Everyday it feels like she’s getting worse. Then again it could be because I am seeing all of it, in all of its cruel glory without filters.

I never truly understood how bad it was. My father would just tell me that it was getting worse but never elaborated to how or why he felt that way. Now I do.

For those keeping tally, I have bathed my mother 3 times and cleaned up her “accidents” just as much. She has so far accused my husband of bringing a woman home and fucking her in our bed and has also told us (on a separate occasion) that the power chords in her room were calling her ugly. However she also has accurately figured out who Josh is and what role he plays in my life. To that I say “clever girl” in the voice of Robert Muldoon from Jurassic Park, right before he’s devoured by a velociraptor.

My mother is adamant that she won’t be living with my husband and I. She wants to go home and me “live my life” and she “live hers.” I haven’t even broached the subject of assisted living by the advice of a woman who’s sole job is to place elders into care. That’s about the only thing I’ve listened to thus far.

I’m trying to please too many people in this situation when I have to think about what is ultimately the best choice of action. What that is I don’t know. Well, that’s a lie. A care facility would be best but when I look at the monthly cost, coupled with how much money she has and how little I make to supplement that it seems like a fools errand. Especially given that we don’t know how long she will live.

Getting old in America is genuinely a cruel joke. You work your whole life, scrimping and saving to leave your children something after you go, and instead it is bled dry by corporations who make money off of the infirm. All for the idea of safety, care, and security.

I am someone who couldn’t care less about what my mother could leave me. Her on the other hand is deeply concerned. She repeatedly tells me she wants me to have something upon her passing. Looking to the horizon that will be one other thing she won’t get.

But it’s for the best, considering her disease has already claimed one life and it wasn’t even hers.