Life has an arc: beginning, middle and end – roughly. Tonight, as usual, I visited my mom at dinner. A reminder to readers that she is blind and in dementia care. The euphemism for where she lives is “memory care.” I am not complaining. She receives excellent care from caregivers who are simply not paid enough for the love and attention they pour into their oblivious residents.
Right now, she is recovering from a cold. With age, each cold takes its toll. In fact, each cold might be her last. So, I track each one with suspicion and care. This last one meant she didn’t drink for 2 days. It has left a chesty cough and runny nose. Tonight, she had a fever which I discovered when I found her at her usual spot in the dining room but looking unwell.
We all move quickly. Step 1: get the fever down with a Tylenol mashed into yogurt. (Thanks, Jess) Step 2: encourage her to eat and drink; focus on whatever she tolerates. I only recently found out that dementia robs people of their need to eat and their sense of taste which they lose one by one. Right now, she only tastes sweet – the last one to go. Her go-to food is: fruit cups. Tonight’s dinner was 2 small bowls of fruit. Then her caregiver, Dora, patiently talked my mom into eating each spoonful of soup watching her throat to see that she swallowed until it was time for her break. I took over until most of the soup liquid was gone. She was also coaxed to drink a small glass or 2 of sweet tea – one sip at a time.
Cam & Dora in happier times
I stay later than usual. We are waiting for a mobile x-ray machine to take a chest x-ray. This will tell us how bad her chest congestion is.
This afternoon my brother and I had a call with our main contact at memory care to understand and then to confirm putting her on hospice. Hospice means she can get care at her facility instead of at a hospital. Hospital would be an agonizing place for her to find herself. With no sight and dementia, her confusion would be overwhelming. She already doesn’t respond to people she doesn’t know well and regularly refuses even Tylenol. Hospital would mean that I would have to stay with her 24/7 so that she felt safe – and she still wouldn’t feel safe. It is better that care comes to her at this point.
I waited until 7 pm. No x-ray tonight. I’ll go back in the morning.
Instead, another one of the angels that takes care of her grabbed his bag of tricks: creams, wipes and anything else that would make his life – and the life of his residents – easier, wheeled her to her room and gently got her set up for the night. He finished up with a slick of cold cream on her immobile dry-skinned face. He then mostly lifted her into bed then arranged her carefully so that she was comfortable. She didn’t move once he placed her in any position. The cold cream made her face shiny. She finally lay there: a waxen full-sized doll lying so quietly under her covers I couldn’t see her breathe. He doesn’t know much about her and asked me questions as we worked together. About her sight, preferences. Anything that helps him take care of her better. Yup, he earns his wings every day in my book.
Her arc, the arc of this amazing, tough, uncompromising woman who fought for her independence, put herself, her children and grandchildren through college and built a rich life where no matter where I went or who I talked to in her town, people knew her. Yes, her. The arc of her life approaches its end. While we don’t know when that end comes, we can see its tracks. And I will hold her and watch over her until it’s no longer necessary – and it will still and always – hurt.
theSchureThing 