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
Reverting To The Mean?
I sprang Mom from the nursing home day before yesterday. She’s back in her assisted-living apartment.
I’m feeling a little ticked-off right now, so I thought I would share. I’m hoping that any of you who have spouses, children, parents, friends, or pets will understand.
For a month in the nursing home, Mom was on her best behavior. The PT had her walking in the halls up to what must have been several blocks at a time, and she cheerfully cooperated with every task a health care worker assigned to her. She complied with using her walker at all times, washing her hands after using the bathroom, and even agreed to remaining dressed when all of us and even God knows she prefers stark nakedness.
I’ve been laboring under the misconception that Alzheimer’s or some other form of serious dementia had kicked in with a vengeance, and of course, I’m not going to get after someone who doesn’t have the mental wherewithal to remember something like panties, but guess what?
A revelation has dawned: my mother is not demented! Once they made some seriously overdue and desperately needed adjustments to her medications, she’s as clearheaded as we are! (Maybe I’m assuming something about you, I don’t know…)
Anyway, I got her home on Tuesday, and the VERY first thing she wanted to do was climb into bed. I tried to give her the benefit of the doubt, since I know that these moving days are quite stressful and exhausting. I even helped her get all tucked in before I left, but it all felt so darned familiar. Surely this wasn’t the beginning of her former bad habits, was it?
Yesterday I didn’t see her, but my sister Liz did. She emailed to say she’d gotten there at 4:30 in the afternoon and Mom was sound asleep. Of course, it was nearly time for dinner, and Mama don’t miss no meals, so her nap was about to end by the time Liz arrived. Still, I didn’t like the feeling I was getting.
This morning, I showed up unannounced at 10:30. I opened the door to her apartment and could see her naked legs sprawled out in her bed one room over. I walked into the bedroom, past the blaring TV which had been left on in the living room.
“Hello,” I said. “What are you doing?”
“Just listening to Judge Joe.”
I stepped back into the living room and flipped off the judge. Judge Katy was about to take the bench.
“Are you sick, Mom?” If my mother is ill, I will do everything in my power to excuse all kinds of behaviors and assist her in every way I can.
“No,” she said. “Although I did have one terrible episode of diarrhea at 4 am.”
“That was then,” I said. “And this is now. Your panties are in such a bundle it looks like you’re wearing a thong. You’re not wearing a thong, are you? And your blouse is mostly unbuttoned and exposing your entire stomach. Not only that, but there are three days worth of dirty clothes in a pile on the floor.” I started gathering up the laundry. “Mom, you need to get out of the bed and get dressed.”
“No, just sit down over there on the chair and talk to me.”
See, folks, this is where it gets dicey. I’ve spent years of my life sitting down on the chair over there and ignoring the squalor of the dirty Kleenexes and the plates of half-eaten food shoved under the bed and the smell of…you don’t want to know.
“No, Mom, you’re not sick. So I’m not going to sit down in here and talk to you and pretend like you’re not naked. Sorry. If you want to visit with me, you will need to get out of bed, get dressed, and come into the living room.”
And that’s exactly what she did.
The jig is up, folks. I’m going to hang tough with my new policy. Now that I know what she’s capable of, I refuse to be disrespected by (my sister Mary loved my word choice here) her bizarrely nasty behaviors.
I don’t know if that’s mean of me, or not. It’s just the way it’s going to be.
Good for you Katy! I know you love and honor your mom and there’s nothing wrong with expecting the same in return. God bless!
Posted by Carrie K. on 03/30/06 at 04:31 PMCarrie K—It’s weird, but I never considered her slothful behaviors to be disrespectful toward me until today. All I know for sure is that I hit a wall, which means that there must be boundaries out there, after all! I admit I’m not very good at finding them, must less establishing them. I think it’s time I work on that! Thank you.
Posted by Katy on 03/30/06 at 04:59 PMIt’s not mean. You’re setting boundaries and engaging in “behavioral modification”.
Good for you!
Posted by Maria on 03/30/06 at 08:40 PMIt may seem mean at first glance, but I think it is actually very loving. (o:
Posted by Pattie on 03/31/06 at 08:28 AMIt’s a weird thing when we become the parent. Even weirder is when they begin to need the same kind of boundaries we needed from them as children.
Good for you for giving that a shot. It’s not easy, I know. But it’s the best thing you can do for everyone involved.
Posted by Kris on 03/31/06 at 01:34 PMYeah!
Posted by Chris(tine) on 03/31/06 at 11:15 PMYou are doing the right thing. A little tought love is needed and that is what you are providing. You are setting the boundaries needed and when you need a more loving, compassionate attitude, you will have the strength for it.
Posted by Maria on 04/01/06 at 04:21 PMOh my gosh. I have all these same problems. But, I really think my mother has some sort of physical damage, either dementia or something. Her brain cat scan did show dark spots. But my mother used to be immaculate. Now she does not even comb her hair let alone wash it. I wash it. Now she is back home with my brother. But it is scary finding myself becoming the parent to my two year old mother. That is about the age she seems. Also, something is different about her eyes in photographs. Honestly, it scares me.
Posted by Candace Pfau on 04/04/06 at 12:41 PMMaria—It would be great if I actually did these things purposefully instead of accidentally or out of desperation. That said, every time I’ve seen Mom since that day, the first thing she says is “Well, I’m dressed!” and I say, “And so am I.” It’s something, isn’t it?
Pattie—I think it’s loving, too. And that’s the way I intend it. I don’t know if that’s how she TOOK it, but the results have been good.
Kris—I remember being such a compliant child! Ha. My mom is a bigger challenge than any of my kids were.
Chris(tine)—I know!!! :)
Maria—Thank you. If I don’t set the boundaries, my frustration with the situation continues to build. And then, as you point out, I might not have a reservoir of compassion to draw on when it’s needed. Best not to let myself get too worked up!
Candace—You poor thing! I hope they get to the bottom of what your mother’s problem is, so that they can perhaps help her. My mother has a tendency to overmedicate (wow…I’m subtle, huh?), which has lead to a multitude of other issues. It’s complicated…. I will pray for you!
Posted by Katy on 04/06/06 at 10:50 AM
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