"I've had a nice time this evening." (Alzheimers)
Thu Jan 17, 2008 at 12:21:27 PM PDT
With all the dignity and presence of a southern lady, my MIL held her self erect, looked at me and said "I've had a very nice time this evening. And dinner was lovely. And your performance, though I'm a little ashamed to admit that I can't remember exactly what you did."
"Well, thank you!" I answered. Then I helped her finish up on the commode next to her bed, and carefully laid her down for a nap.
It was 12:45 in the afternoon. She had just finished lunch consisting of a peanut butter & jelly sandwich, Pringles, and some chopped pears. Needless to say, there had been no 'performance' by me or anyone else.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * *
"I don't know how you guys manage it," said Lisa, the hospice nurse. She had just finished her examination of my MIL, and had been going over what she saw as we talked after. She'd mentioned the option to have an aide come over to sit with my MIL while we got out for a bit.
After my wife and I exchanged glances, I (or maybe it was my wife - these details start to slip away) said that we preferred to not both be gone at the same time at this point. Why? Well, because it feels like the end. We want to make sure one of us at least is here with her.
And it's not just us. Lisa commented that my MIL had never before looked so ashen, so grey. We agreed that she would come again on Monday, unless we called her sooner.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Her fever spiked about 4 degrees higher than normal last night, just as my wife and the overnight aide we have in three nights a week were getting her to bed. I was washing the dishes when my wife came into the kitchen and told me, on her way to getting a Tylenol tablet for my MIL. I dried my hands and followed her back to the bedroom. We got the extra pill into her, I checked her pulse and the color of her fingernails, had her look at me to see whether she could focus or not.
She couldn't.
I wondered whether she'd make it through the night.
She could.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * *
"My mother has passed on, but Auntie has taken over for her."
"Auntie?" asked my wife.
"Yes, Auntie. She has taken over for my mom. I was waiting for my mom to come for me, but she's passed on, so Auntie has taken over . . ." a pause, uncertain look around the room. ". . . everything."
"Well, OK." My wife looked at me. We'd been waiting for this. Together, almost simultaneously we said, "MIL, if she comes for you, you can go with her. It's OK."
"It's OK?"
"Yes, when Auntie, or your mom, or your dad - when they come for you, you can leave with them."
"I can?"
"You can indeed. Until then, we're taking care of you here."
"But if they come, I can go?"
"Yes, you can."
* * * * * * * * * * * * * *
We met with the social worker for an hour or so yesterday afternoon. She is kind, intelligent, insightful. She offered a lot of suggestions for us to consider, from a respite break (which would take my MIL to a skilled nursing floor at the local hospital for five days), to advice on how to better manage the stresses we're under.
None of it was useful.
Oh, it was, in the sense that had we not considered those things, it would have been very beneficial to bring it up. And neither my wife nor I were aware of the option for the five-day respite break.
But we've managed through these things long enough that I think, honestly, we're doing about all that can reasonably be done to handle the stresses, to give ourselves (and one another) what breaks we can.
And right now we're not willing to see my MIL off to the five-day break. Not right now. If she rallies again, and seems stable, then we'll consider it. But not when things are so shaky with her health. After all we have been through, after all we have done, to let her slip away now in the care of someone else in a strange environment would be just too painful, would feel very much like we had failed to see the thing through to the end.
Neither of us wants that.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * *
As I got the safety rails and straps on the bed in place, my MIL looked up at me, concerned.
"Something wrong? Something bothering you?"
"Well, like I said, I have had a very nice time tonight."
"Yes, thank you. It is kind of you to say so."
"But I think I should be going soon. My mother and father have been on a trip, and they are looking for me."
"And when they come, you can go with them."
"But if I am sleeping," she said, that worried look on her face again, "how will I know?"
"If they come looking for you, I will be sure to tell them where you are. I promise."
And I keep my promises.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Jim Downey
(Cross posted to Communion of Dreams.)
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