Like Taking Candy

As most of our friends know, I take mother to a sitter's house everyday while I go to work. We hit a point a few months back where the doctor confirmed that she should not be left at home all day alone. This was well supported by the events of Christmas week 2009.

On December twenty-third, I took mother to her hair dresser to get styled and gussied for Christmas company. We had plans for the whole family to come over, and I was doing a big dinner. All this planning ahead was lost on mother, and she was upset by the fact that we were going to the salon on the wrong day of the week. I try not to mess with the weekly schedule. It's one of the few concepts she has been able to hold on to. For example - we eat dinner out every Wednesday at the a restaurant in Richmond. On the way to dinner I fill the car with fuel.. If I fail to stop for gas, I won't hear the end of it. It will be mother's only conversation - "You didn't do that over there." I have learned not to vary from the routine. The owners of the restaurant know us very well. The waiter, Jacob, knows us like the back of his hand. Jacob has our drinks ready on the same table every Wednesday. They all look the other way while I fish mother's sleeve out of her plate or take things away from her from her that she shouldn't be grabbing. Jacob ensures there is no knife in her napkin set.

The hair salon is a Friday thing, generally followed by lunch out. So to do the salon on a mid week day just put a kink in things. I should have kept to the weekly routine and moved Christmas to February 9th.

As I sat in the waiting area of the salon I thumbed through glossy magazines full of beautiful young people modeling hair styles no one my age could pull off, my thoughts wandered. I knew mom was in good hands. Karin, mother's stylist, is very patient and sweet. She holds mother's arm and walks her to the wash station, then gently escorts her to the booth. She fusses over mother and makes her feel special. She does her best to keep mother under the dryer until the curls are well set, but doesn't grouse when mom starts sliding those rollers out on her own and dumps them in the drawer with loose hair mixed in. Karin makes her look lovely, then probably mutters under her breath after we leave while she sorts and cleans the rollers.

I am brought back from my thoughts by Karin's voice, "Miss Cheryl. There is something wrong with Miss Mary's head." I rushed over to be shown a huge goose egg on the back of mother's head. It was obvious it had bled rather badly. It shook me, but since it appeared to be already on healing side and no longer bleeding, I deemed it okay to continue with having her hair set and styled. When I asked mom about her head, she couldn't answer a single question about it other than to poke it herself and say, "This hurts."

Once home I investigated to see if I could find where she hit her head. I found nothing other than a tiny scratch on the wall by her bed. She was in the dining room working a puzzle, and I thought it would be good for me to 'act out' how she could have hit her head. "Mom, did you do this?" and I would pretend to step back into the fireplace mantle. All she could say was, "I don't know." I proceeded to act like I tripped over a chair. Again, I dunno. I was getting nowhere. My main thought was that we should get an X-ray for safety - just to make sure there was no real damage.

About this time the Maggie dog comes into the picture. I am dancing around the fireplace like a fool. I am pretending to fall forward and backward. Mom is looking at me blankly and Maggie unexpectedly decides to join me in the dance. CRASH! I fall for real and strike my foot on the fireplace. This is the very same foot on which I dropped the barbeque pit just nights before. I was already hobbling with a deep bruise and was pretty sure I cracked toes to begin with. Now I knew I was done in. My decision to take one of us to the hospital was now on the front burner of my agenda for the day and we would go in as an injured set.

I hobble in, fill out all the papers, and we wait. Mom is perfectly fine staring at the TV. I am bouncing around in pain. They call my name first, but I have to explain that I can't leave her....Alzheimer's. That one word stops all questions, no matter what we are doing. We take mom to X-ray first. They did several things, then did the CT scan. The girls watching the imaging hadn't been in on our conversation in the waiting room, but the images of mother's shrinking brain with the gaps in it profoundly told the picture of the advancement of the disease. They handled her as gently as possible, their eyes were pooled with sympathy and sorrow at what such a dreadful disease can do to a person.

My turn comes. X-rays show breaks, but all they do is buddy-tape toes together. The best advice the tech gave me was, "You know that one pair of shoes in your closet that are a little clunky, don't bend good and you walk like Frankenstein in them? Wear those. For at least twelve weeks." Great. Christmas. I am singing a solo in front of a whole church full of people. In shoes that don't look good or match. Ah well, it would be something to talk about.

So, from that point on the decision was that mother needed someone around during the day, just in case something happened. I was certain by this time she wouldn't know how to dial the phone to call me in case of an emergency, even though my cell number is written on a big piece of paper by the phone. We made the decision to look for a sitter.

We toured a very pricey facility. It was fabulous. Old dogs and old people roamed freely. It was beautifully appointed. However, they wanted us to sign a bunch of papers. We weren't ready to line her up for a full time living facility. All we wanted was day supervision. We toured a dreadful place next. Oh, I cannot tell you how my heart ached when I saw these people slumped over rows of old banquet tables watching television. Ragged couches were the only other accommodations. What was advertised as a secure outdoor patio living area was a section of concrete with a ten foot chain link fence and no shade. It was where the 'patrons' were allowed to smoke. I simply couldn't do it. This is what people with little or no resources have to resort to. If you work a menial job, someone has to watch your loved one for a price you can afford. I simply couldn't entertain the thought of taking mother there every day.

I had a recollection of one of mother's young neighbors telling me about her husband's parents moving to town and looking for work. I called Amanda and inquired as to the availability of her mother in law. Alas, she had long since found work. We visited a bit over the phone and ended with Amanda voicing her care for mom.

Amanda's house is two doors down from mother's home. At least once a week Amanda would gather up the five little boys and walk them down to visit with Mrs. Earles. The two ladies, vastly different in age, quickly formed a friendship. Amanda home schools the boys, so she was free to break away during the day for a little adult conversation. Mom would draw caricatures of the boys, had plenty of kid friendly videos for them to watch and would often tell me how smart they were after they read their homework to her. I ended our phone conversation letting Amanda know we appreciated her concern.

My phone rang the next morning. It was Amanda offering to watch mother during the day. She said she and her husband talked about it the night before, and it was heavy on her heart to do something for mother. I was astonished to find an answer to our prayers so quickly. I would rather mother be with someone we knew than in the fanciest of facilities where she would get lost in the shuffle.

Breathing a sigh of relief I packed mother's lunch and dropped her off at Amanda's home the next Monday. While she didn't understand, she was cooperative. Amanda was gracious, even though mother didn't quite recognize her, and welcomed her with open arms. Our report of the first day was good and the week went along without mishap.

Amanda has long known about mother's illnesses, her battle with cancer and heart procedures, back surgeries and the struggle with diabetes. Mother took four insulin shots a day as part of her daily life. Once I moved her in with me, I got control of her diet. Within nine months she was off insulin entirely. But I had to be the food Nazi to get her back to good health. Bread went out. Cereal went out. If you read the Halloween blog, you have a very clear picture of all the goodies that went down the disposal. Amanda is very diligent about calling me to see if it is okay if mother had this or that sugar free treat. We settled on a good routine, and I packed mom's lunch every day for the peace of mind that she wouldn't be a burden to Amanda and there would be no need for Amanda to try to keep up with the special diet.

Until I got a phone call . . . A very nervous Amanda was on the line asking if she needed to worry about something mother ate. "What?" I asked. "French fries." "Was it one, or two, or a whole bag?" Amanda wasn't sure. She was at the sink with her back to the kitchen while everyone ate lunch. She would turn around to see mother leaning back rather quickly. She started to watch the pattern, then turned so suddenly she caught her. Mother was seated next to the baby in the high chair. As Amanda would turn, mom would lean forward and snatch a French fry from the high chair.

I sat dead silent as Amanda said, "Cheryl. Is everything okay? Should I be worried? Should I do something?" My only response was, "Amanda you have nothing to worry about. I am sitting here just stunned that I have to say that I am so sorry. My mother is stealing French fries from a baby!"