Asking for Help Sometimes an Afterthought

Had to take my mom to the ER yesterday due to a fall she had the night before. She seems to be falling a lot lately and it's giving us some concern that she may have had a small stroke.

After getting to the ER and have her registered it's not long before they take us into an examining room. There she is required to take off her clothes from waist up and put on an examining gown. It's done without much of an issue.

The nurse takes her vitals and then does an EKG. As we wait for the attending physician my mother starts asking why she is in the hospital. She tells me there is nothing wrong with her. I patiently listen to her as she vocalizes her feelings and that she wants to leave.

The transporter arrives to take her for a CAT, an x-ray of her elbow, and a chest x-ray. I remain sitting in the examining room and think about how difficult it is to see her confused and hearing her state that she is fine. I think of how difficult it is to recognize what is her dementia and what is medically/physically wrong with her. I whisper a few prayers for patience and understanding. For me, as the daughter and as the caregiver, it is so difficult.

Mom eventually returns but still in a confused state. A little while later a nurse comes in to take blood so a complete blood workup can be done. My mother won't lay still for the nurse to inject the needle in her arm. I tried talking to her, but still no cooperation. Eventually, the nurse was able to get the blood and then the wait was on for all the test results to come back.

As my mother and I waited she became restless. She wanted to get the examining gown off and her clothes on, but we had to wait for the results of her tests to come back. She wanted me to hand her her top so she could put it on. As I refused to give her clothes she became more agitated. She then decided she was going to get out of bed and get it herself. That is when the situation became more physical and emotional for both of us.

Fortunately, the bed railings were up on both sides of the bed, however, there wasn't anything blocking her at the foot end of the bed. As she tried to scoot herself down to the end of the bed I stopped her. I stood at the end of bed and kept her from sliding down. She would then put her legs over the side rails and through the holes in the side rails thinking she could get out that way. I'm not sure how long this went on, but it was taking a toll on us both physically and mentally.

I thought I could handle mom myself. I thought I would be able to deal with her questions and confusions. When she didn't understand what I was saying because of not hearing me I wrote it down. But with all this it was still a struggle. I hated seeing her confused. She didn't understand why she couldn't get out of bed and get dressed. She wanted to go home. She wanted to be with my dad.

After some time I called out to a nurse and asked for help. They came in, tried to calm her and explain to her that she can't get dressed until the test results were back. It did no good. She wanted to leave. It took two nurses and myself to restrain her. I then suggested giving her ativan, thinking it would calm her. After one injection she still wasn't calm. She ended up with two.

During mom's agitation I called my older brother to explain to him what was happening. After talking we decided to have my younger brother come to the hospital to help me. What a godsend that was.

All the test results came back and mom was fine. My younger brother helped me get our heavily sedated mother into a wheelchair and into the car.

It's ordeals like this that makes me hate mom's dreaded disease the most. I hated the fact that she had to restrained and drugged. I hated seeing her not being able to walk because of the ativan. It's moments like this that I want it ALL to be a bad dream and I WANT my mother back the way she use to be!

A Daughter Needs Her Mother

As my mother's dementia worsened I realized I no longer had the mother I thought I would have as I grew older. I expected my mom would be there to help me through difficult situations. To give me the answers I needed or to be the sounding board when I needed to vent. I expected my mother to be there with me to enjoy my grandchildren, but now she has trouble remembering their names.

When I look into her blue eyes that once shined with life I see a shell. Her eyes are glazed over and now look at me with questions and doesn't understand why she needs to take another shower. In her mind she already took one for the day when in fact she didn't.

I need her to tell me the story of my birth on my birthday like she did every day before the horrible illness took her memory. She use to call me and sing happy birthday to me, but those days have long gone. She very rarely calls me anymore.

This daughter's heart is broken. I now take care of my mother like I took care of my toddler children. My mother needs me and she doesn't even realize it. She doesn't realize how much I need her to be the mom I imagined.

My mother was once filled with energy and determination to give her kids all that she could so they would have a good life.

This disease that is called "the long good-bye" has taken my mother. In many ways it's worse than cancer, because of how it takes the precious memories and leaves a breathing shell.

Challenges of Writing

I'm a writer. A published writer, but for some time now I have been unable to focus on writing and this has brought me a lot of disappointment.

My mother has been diagnosed with dementia several years ago. And as dementia goes it has gotten worse. She is now at the point where she remembers very few faces. She has days where she puts her clothes on backwards, inside out and doesn't always pull her slacks or underwear up the whole way.

She can no longer bathe herself. She has become incontinent. She has trouble hearing and if/when she does hear what is being said she doesn't understand. Her sentences are broken and her words are minced. This is not the mother I imagined having as a young woman. I believed my mom would be there for me to vent to when life felt unfair.

My mother's dementia has taken over any free time I had to write. I have regular paying job that supplies a regular income, but my real passion falls to writing. I have asked myself "how can I balance my life so I will accomplish all that I want to?" I don't want to lose the progress I've made with my writing and I'm beginning to feel I will.

I struggle with guilt and feelings of selfishness because of wanting to spend time in my own home writing or researching a writing topic. I struggle with guilt and feelings of selfishness because I want to take a road trip to photograph nature and places to support my writing topics.

This blog (I hope) will be my saving grace. I place where I can come to and vent while achieving what I love to do (second to spending time with my grandkids) the most.