Personal blog of christian
writer & fallible mom
Katy McKenna Raymond
in Kansas City, Missouri
Katy is represented by
Rachelle Gardner at
WordServe Literary
Read more Katy at
LateBoomer.net
Recent Posts
- Soul Train
- Live Out Your Dream And Discard The Box
- Tears In A Bottle
- From The Young Mom I Once Was, To You
- I Can’t Help Falling
- What A Difference Ten Years Makes
- The Next Best Thing To Robert Redford
- The Memory Keeper’s Daughter
- Where Have All The Years Gone
- Fun With Kiki Cullen
- Stuck On Mom
- Ten Years Later, Our Girls From Northern Ireland Remembered
- The Thrift of Grief
- Job Security
- The Party’s Over
Syndicate
E me at katy @ ngenius.com
Not For The Faint Of Heart
I don’t know about you, but I’m getting really used to dementia.
No, not my own, you cynical and fallible readers, you! I am usually—-and, quite frankly, against all odds—-in my right mind. I’m in touch with my feelings, I listen to what my body’s trying to tell me about my health and try to respond, I make sound decisions except when it comes to stock market timing, and I get along reasonably well with others.
It’s Old Lady Dementia I’ve grown accustomed to, and in particular the dementias of The Moms.
Now, my own mother is doing pretty darned well right now as far as tracking with reality goes. We’ve weaned her off a boatload of psychotropic drugs in the past couple of years, and it’s done her a world of good. Even her beloved Valium is gone now, a feat I did not imagine possible or even advisable, since since she’d taken it since 1964. But I digress.
It’s Doug’s mom who’s lost an awful lot of cognitive ground, and drugs aren’t to blame in her case. She’s never taken pain pills or anything that would alter her mental status, and I hope she can avoid them going forward.
Yesterday, she fainted in the process of trying to use the toilet, spent six hours in the ER, and then got admitted. When we left her last night, she made me promise that I would remind Doug to call her mother.
“My mother needs to know where I am,” she said, her lower lip stuck out in a pout.
“I’ll take care of it,” I said, and I truly meant that, even if Adele’s mother has been dead for 44 years.
Today, when I arrived for a visit, she pointed to the four ID bracelets on her right arm. “People keep coming in here, but they won’t do anything about these….”
“There’s nothing to do about them,” I said. “They’re fine. They’re not hurting you.”
Then she pointed to the tubing coming from her IV. “And I don’t know what this is….”
I helped her visually track it to the hanging bag of fluids. “See that bag? The liquid is dripping through the tube and into your arm. They don’t want you to be dehydrated.”
“Oh,” she said. “Well, they keep coming in here, but they won’t do anything about these….” She pointed to the four ID bracelets on her right arm.
“There’s nothing to do about them,” I said. “They’re fine. They’re not hurting you.”
“Oh,” she said. Then she pointed to the tubing coming from her IV. “I don’t know what this is…..”
“See that bag?” I said. “The liquid is…....”
Like I said, I’m getting really used to dementia.
Oh Katy, this made my day! We have gone through so many conversations like this with my own mom. I will miss those now that she is heading home to the Lord. Thanks for making me laugh.
Posted by .(JavaScript must be enabled to view this email address) on 01/06/09 at 07:50 PMJane—-You dear lady. I am privileged to be allowed to bring you a smile. Still praying!
Posted by Katy on 01/06/09 at 09:14 PMOh, dear. Hang in there. Just think about how nice it will be when you have someone caring for you when it comes your time to go off your rocker…of course if you lose all your money and your kids have no incentive we could have a problem…
Posted by Cathy West on 01/08/09 at 12:31 PMCath—YES! You’ve identified the problem! I am afraid my own children are completely deincentivized to care for us in our dotage! In fact, they may want to off us soon, since they know how much we’re worth in life insurance…...no, they wouldn’t do that, would they? Times aren’t THAT tough. :)
Posted by Katy on 01/08/09 at 12:35 PMI’ve told you about my Aunt June and Great Grampa’s chair, haven’t I. Unfortunately it turned out that GG was something of a pervert, so hearing about it every 10 minutes for about 12 hours was pretty unnerving.
Posted by .(JavaScript must be enabled to view this email address) on 01/09/09 at 02:48 PM
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