The Dementia

I really would love to sit down with her and have a nice lunch.  It's always hell.  Invariably, she says, "I'm going to have to have a talk with the bank about why I'm not getting my bank statements."  I've been here a year.  The first ten times she said this, I got up from lunch and pulled her bank statements out of her rolltop desk.  "You get them every month." I finally, ever so slowly realized that it did not matter how many times I told her, she would still believe she doesn't get them.  She is the one who gets the mail out of the box, religiously.  She opens them, she puts them in her desk.  And, she forgets them.  It took a long time before I realized that she did not even keep up with what she spent.  Anyone could have walked away with all of it.  Thankfully, she had caring, honest people around her.  The last time I got the statements out of the desk for her, she spent an interminably long time leafing through them and attempting to put them in order, first page, second page, with the correct dates.  I had watched this in the beginning with the Sunday newspaper.  I'm aware now, that this is something "they" do.  One of the hardest parts is being so very painfully aware that, given the family history: six sisters, all with some form of brain dysfunction, I may follow in her footsteps. 

So, writing this is my therapy, in hopes that I may save my own brain/sanity.  And, maybe yours, too.

 

And, while I type, she entered by room for the fourth time with her diamond watch with the broken piece.  I asked her to put it in a box.  We would take it with her class ring to get fixed.  She had "lost" her class ring.  I found it in her jewelry box.  On one of the 4 trips, she brought me a diamond ring and said I could have it.  She asked if I thought my son, Jesse, would want her deceased husband's watch.  I had to tell her I would close my door so I could get some work done.  Dealing with this is exhausting.  And, I know worse is coming.  And, I know others endure more.  It doesn't make it any easier to deal with.  It doesn't diminish the frustration.  I have prayed and continue to, as I know others have also.  I pray to have God's heart and eyes, to help me see and feel compassion for her.  I pray for miracles as I feel my bucket drain.  Maybe this is the best I have.

And, the heart doctor's office called this morning to say that the pacemaker machine had detected something over the weekend and he wants to see mother. When I asked about it, she said he wants to make sure she is taking her medicine.  I'm wondering if her GP relayed the situation. She had taken 90 days of her statin meds in 60 days. It's the only one she takes consistently, I think because she thinks it helps her sleep.  I told them they would have to tell her in no uncertain terms that I am to be administering her medicines, and I will record them telling her.  Anything less than recording that simply won't work, as I have told her GP.  When I try to help with meds, it just creates a huge nightmare. It doesn't help matters that I don't agree with all the prescriptions.  I have left it to God, and she is still here.