I am going to have to ask my male readers to look the other way on this one. It is a saga only the ladies will understand.
It was Christmas season 2010. Mother was officially diagnosed with Alzheimer's in the fall of 2007, but we had seen indications of the disease as early as the spring of 2005. While the progression seemed slow at first, there was an rapid advancement during 2009 and early 2010. By the fall of 2010 mother could not be left alone to do anything at all. This includes the most basic of needs in the restroom.
While I have been very lucky in that she has maintained her sweet and gentle nature, mother's communication and skill levels are that of a three year old. If you have a bigger glass of tea, she will say, "You have all that up there." meaning I have more than she does and she resents it. It does no good to explain to her why she has a smaller glass. She is not be able to understand that I have to limit her tea intake because she will drink two glasses to fill her stomach and not eat all her food, or she would need to make a trip to the restroom mid-meal. This is never fun when you are dining out. And dining out alone with her is completely off the list of possible activities. Now that I pack a bag of adult supplies with a change of clothes for mother, carry my own purse, have her purse and cane and an extra coat (at all times) to oversee, one needs a spare human to leave behind at the table to monitor all the stuff. Otherwise it looks like we set up camp at a table and abandoned the site if we make a trip to the ladies' room. A smoldering campfire is the only thing I don't bring with us.
There are other reasons it is good to dine with someone else. They can report back to you all the funny things mother is doing while you are not looking directly at her. One such occasion was my brother's birthday dinner. He and his whole family joined me at church on Sunday evening, December 19. We had a service of lessons and carols at the little church I attend and his family filled two pews. We ended the evening with dinner at a nice steakhouse.
We prepared to enjoy a wonderful meal. However, it didn't take long for my brother's grown daughters to start laughing. As I would stop mother from grabbing items she wasn't supposed to have, put her small glass of tea in front of her and remove knives from her napkin set, they began to giggle. It seems that every time I did something that prevented mother from getting into something she found interesting, she would glare at me and roll her eyes the minute my head would turn. She would make little faces with her mouth to indicate she felt thwarted, which the girls couldn't resist laughing at. I would say, "What is so funny?" With mother not understanding most of the conversation around her they were able to tell me everything. When mother asked me why I was taking something from her, my reply was, "Because it will make your hair turn green and you'll start robbing banks again." and she would be satisfied with the answer. Then roll her eyes and glare at me the minute my head turned. We entertained the whole table.
Dinner rocked along smoothly enough until mother started fidgeting. I inquired what was wrong and she indicated she needed to go to the restroom. I sighed. You will soon find that, in regard to the public restroom scenario, I have come to set my self-esteem aside and leave it crumpled with my napkin on my chair. And I have learned that the only opportunity I have of taking my turn in the ladies' room is when I take her. Otherwise, it is a complicated dance of the trip with her, washing her hands, walking her back to the table to leave some other poor soul the task of chaperoning mother while I return to the restroom. All that trafficking back and forth causes a lot of attention. And, ladies, we all know this is something we just don't like. If there was a black whole we could step into where no one could see us opening the door to the ladies' room it would be infinitely better than having that sweet guy from the bar standing there ready to open the door to the restroom hallway, sweepingly bowing with a grand gesture as if to say, "Go right on in and make those noises of a cow peeing on a flat rock. We don't have a clue why you are going in there."
I have realized that I must, for the sake of my own sanity, make the most of a lousy situation. With mother donning two coats and walking with a cane, I have timed this out to create the minimum of fuss. The routine is to take her into the handicap stall, get her gloves off her hands and into the coat pockets, take the overcoat off and hang it up on the hook. Once she is finished with business, cleaned and flushed I set her aside to put the overcoat on and take my turn. Since she usually takes the time to zip the under coat, button every single button on the overcoat and tie the waist band belt, I am usually able to relieve myself and only have to admonish her not to touch the door knob until I open the door for her.
Well, needless to say, I wouldn't be writing this if all had gone perfectly as planned. There I sat with my Christmas dress held up away from the toilet clamped to my side with my left arm, my panties are at my knees, and I am trying to pry the toilet paper out of the holder with my right hand while still attempting to hold that side of the dress in mid air. Mother has dutifully put on her coat. She appeared to be meddling with buttons. I was saying my usual mantra of, "Mom, don't go near the door until I am ready." "Okay." she replied. "Mom, finish putting your coat on." "Okay." "Mom, wait for me." "Okay." Next thing I know her little hand zipped out and flipped the latch. "Mom," I shouted, "don't open the door." She was proceeding forward as if she hadn't heard a word I said.
Ladies, we all know that there is always a line for the women's restroom. Typically, you will have women three deep waiting for a stall. I have no idea why architects design things the way they do. They put an equal number of stalls in the men's room, plus there are urinals on the wall. Why they don't take two of those stalls and make the ladies' room larger I have no idea. Oh, wait, yes I do. Men are impatient. Men don't have half the clothing we women have. And no man is going to have to share his stall with his elderly mother. They have NO CLUE.
So there I was - sitting on the handicap toilet (which is taller than normal toilets) with my panties at my knees, my feet swinging in mid air like a child's, my left arm clutching my Christmas dress against my ribs and my right hand filled with toilet paper. What was I to do? My only thought was to put the clean toilet paper under my arm pit so I wouldn't drop it on the floor, reach out and grab mother by the coat and drag her back toward me. I clutched the back of her coat, fussing at her the whole time. The door continued to swing open. As par for my luck, this was the one time she did not button every button and tie the waist belt. The coat slid straight off her body as she walked forward. I pitied the ladies standing on the other side of the door waiting for an empty stall. Mother continued to walk out as I pleaded with her not to go out the door. The coat dropped onto the floor in a deflated heap, and I was facing strangers without a thread of dignity left to my soul. I could only look into their embarrassed eyes and asked in a pathetic voice, "Don't let her escape." "Oh, and could you push the door shut, please?"
Nothing spells togetherness like Alzheimer's and the handicap stall of a public restroom.
Okay, Thank You
Fall 2009
It happened one dark and stormy night. I can actually open with that line. I needed a break for a weekend get-away and took some time off to go to Fort Worth to visit my daughter. My sister and I had agreed that mother did not need to be alone for a whole weekend. At this stage in mother's battle with Alzheimer's we weren't quite to the point of needing a sitter all day and care all evening, but a weekend was cause for concern. In my absence during this particular weekend, my niece Rebecca was the one who drew the short straw of who would spend the weekend with Granny.
I precooked mother's meals. I had everything ready for Rebecca to stay. I told Rebecca I would leave the garage door opener by the front door behind the safety gate. All she had to do was let herself in. I tried to explain to mother that I was going to be gone and Rebecca was coming to stay. I got that blank look that said, "You speaking dah Greek again" but the words that came out of her mouth were "Okay. Whatever."
I packed the car, left the garage door opener in its spot and drove away. With the promise of a wonderful weekend with my daughter and her husband, I did not have a care on my mind. Until I got the call from my sister.
Alicia "Did you forget to leave the garage door opener for Becca?"
Cheryl "No. I put it behind the safety gate by the front door."
A "Well, it's not there."
C "Surely someone didn't pick it up."
A "It's storming here and Becca is locked out. She has been ringing the doorbell, but Granny isn't answering."
C "Did you call the house and see if mom answers?"
A "Let me try that. Tricia and I are driving over there now."
By this time Rebecca was drenched and huddling on my front porch in the dark. Alicia called the house and mother answered the phone. Here is the conversation from Bizzaro world.
Mother "Hello?"
Alicia "Mother. Open the door."
M "The door? I just did that."
A "Open the front door. We're trying to get in."
M "The door? I just did that to let those dogs out. It was doing that stuff up out there and the dogs didn't want it that."
A "Not the dogs mom. Open the front door. Rebecca is trying to come in. She's ringing the door bell."
M "Do what?"
A "Open the door. Can't you hear us banging on the door?"
M "I did that already."
A "No, mom. We're trying to come in."
M "Oh, you're coming over? That's nice. Thank you." And she hung up.
Alicia called again. "Mom. We're here. Let us in."
M "Okay. Thank you."
A "Mom. Open the door."
I don't know how long this went on. Eventually mother must have noticed the dogs going crazy at the front door and opened it to investigate. As the light from the open door spilled into the darkness to reveal the bedraggled and frustrated trio, mother beamed "Oh. You're here. So nice."
Alicia questioned mother as to the whereabouts of the garage door opener. "Mom, did you pick up something by the front door?"
Mother, "Do what?"
A "Did you pick up something by the door? Outside? A little black box?" She finally opened the door and pointed to the place the truant mechanism should have been. Mother perked up and said, "Oh, yes. Someone put this little thing down there." and the item surfaced.
On the first day of good weather after that my sister pulled her Honda into my driveway and programmed her garage door opener to match my garage system.
The moral of the story is: Don't go thinking you've covered all your bases. Something's going to go wrong, and you will be standing in the rain wondering what on earth you did to deserve it. This time - It Wasn't Me!!!!
It happened one dark and stormy night. I can actually open with that line. I needed a break for a weekend get-away and took some time off to go to Fort Worth to visit my daughter. My sister and I had agreed that mother did not need to be alone for a whole weekend. At this stage in mother's battle with Alzheimer's we weren't quite to the point of needing a sitter all day and care all evening, but a weekend was cause for concern. In my absence during this particular weekend, my niece Rebecca was the one who drew the short straw of who would spend the weekend with Granny.
I precooked mother's meals. I had everything ready for Rebecca to stay. I told Rebecca I would leave the garage door opener by the front door behind the safety gate. All she had to do was let herself in. I tried to explain to mother that I was going to be gone and Rebecca was coming to stay. I got that blank look that said, "You speaking dah Greek again" but the words that came out of her mouth were "Okay. Whatever."
I packed the car, left the garage door opener in its spot and drove away. With the promise of a wonderful weekend with my daughter and her husband, I did not have a care on my mind. Until I got the call from my sister.
Alicia "Did you forget to leave the garage door opener for Becca?"
Cheryl "No. I put it behind the safety gate by the front door."
A "Well, it's not there."
C "Surely someone didn't pick it up."
A "It's storming here and Becca is locked out. She has been ringing the doorbell, but Granny isn't answering."
C "Did you call the house and see if mom answers?"
A "Let me try that. Tricia and I are driving over there now."
By this time Rebecca was drenched and huddling on my front porch in the dark. Alicia called the house and mother answered the phone. Here is the conversation from Bizzaro world.
Mother "Hello?"
Alicia "Mother. Open the door."
M "The door? I just did that."
A "Open the front door. We're trying to get in."
M "The door? I just did that to let those dogs out. It was doing that stuff up out there and the dogs didn't want it that."
A "Not the dogs mom. Open the front door. Rebecca is trying to come in. She's ringing the door bell."
M "Do what?"
A "Open the door. Can't you hear us banging on the door?"
M "I did that already."
A "No, mom. We're trying to come in."
M "Oh, you're coming over? That's nice. Thank you." And she hung up.
Alicia called again. "Mom. We're here. Let us in."
M "Okay. Thank you."
A "Mom. Open the door."
I don't know how long this went on. Eventually mother must have noticed the dogs going crazy at the front door and opened it to investigate. As the light from the open door spilled into the darkness to reveal the bedraggled and frustrated trio, mother beamed "Oh. You're here. So nice."
Alicia questioned mother as to the whereabouts of the garage door opener. "Mom, did you pick up something by the front door?"
Mother, "Do what?"
A "Did you pick up something by the door? Outside? A little black box?" She finally opened the door and pointed to the place the truant mechanism should have been. Mother perked up and said, "Oh, yes. Someone put this little thing down there." and the item surfaced.
On the first day of good weather after that my sister pulled her Honda into my driveway and programmed her garage door opener to match my garage system.
The moral of the story is: Don't go thinking you've covered all your bases. Something's going to go wrong, and you will be standing in the rain wondering what on earth you did to deserve it. This time - It Wasn't Me!!!!
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