Wednesday, November 12, 2014

Life at the Linda Manor Nursing Home


The nursing home was nervous today. Three women each asked me how to get home. They were concerned about being late, about missing their ride. 

These are women, like all the residents there, who are not going home. They can't go home. They are not able to live without supervision and assistance. Like my mom. 

There are about twenty-five residents on my Mother's floor. All have have dementia or Alzheimer's or a consequential problem with memory. It is a nice unit and the staff is nice and kind and no one is  overworked. Today my favorite nurse there told me he's noticed as I have the decline in my Mother in the past few weeks. She is more tired more of the time, she is especially relieved to see me, and she has trouble saying the right words. All of this is new and I'm told it's simply the combination of dementia and age. I think that must be true. My Mother will be 99 on January 5th.  I know she could not live at home with me. I'm glad I know that. 

I find myself staring at most of the folks on this unit until I can see their younger selves through the lines of their faces. They've had children, jobs, homes, spouses, gardens. I've come to understand their confusion and resistance because where they are now is not their life. 

This week my Mother has been thrilled when she sees me. With relief she says, "Oh good! How did you know I was here? Should I get my coat? Are we leaving now?"

It's a heartbreak, but I don't make it a heartbreak. I reassure her that I am always close by. I stay longer. I tell her jokes. This week, uncharacteristically, she said 'bullshit' when she couldn't say the word she meant. I told her the problem was called a 'senior moment' and we both laughed. 

There is something very noble and very sad about living in old age in a place you don't know, with memories that don't always work, with a true north sense that this place may be okay, but it is not home. My Mother does her absolute best to adjust and thrive there. She is very much liked, with good reason. Often she tells me I don't need to worry about her. But I think her resilience is waning. Because it's hard to be resilient when you don't have context. 

She knows and trusts me. Sometimes she thinks I'm her sister Betty but mostly she's safe with me because we have deep love for one another. These days I want her to be okay, whichever way old age turns her. I don't want her to become afraid or wildly unable to be herself.

To be Herself. That is what we all want. Now. And even when we may become too old to know who that is.  

love
kj


27 comments:

  1. Sad and positive at the same kj. Brilliant!

    Blessings and Bear hugs!

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    1. thank you, rob. i keep it positive because that's who i am and that's what's best for my Mother, but I think there will be a day when I simply and with so much love wish for her a peaceful sleep.

      love
      kj

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  2. Your mother sounds like she is doing in spite of everything. Like so many in the medical field, I hope that I die before I lose my independence, either mentally or physically. I think I would be to bitchy, or perhaps I would become a sweet, gentle old lady, unlike my present self:)

    My greatest fear is having dementia and blurting out all of my secrets.

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    1. deb, :^) by then your secrets may be commonplace :^)

      I too absolutely do not want to live in a nursing home. I hope i will be able to give instructions to my daughter and/or partner that when they know i'm no longer benefiting from loving or being loved, please help me go.

      funny that I don't think my Mother feels that way. She wants to live. But I think over time, that may change.

      your comment is a chuckle. thank you xo

      love
      kj

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  3. When I read--in AARP--that a good early test for Alzheimer's was whether a person could smell peanut butter, I ran and smelled peanut butter.

    I wonder if it's right to keep people alive once their lives have become a misery. To be a person whom is eternally wanting to go home when she or he no longer has a home to go to isn't something that I would choose to remain alive for. Sometimes, I am simply left to hope that something else kills me before the day comes that I think it's time for me to kill myself.

    Your last respondent is all over the blogosphere with his hatred. The fact that he posts the same mean-spirited "comment" without even reading the post he's "commenting" to doesn't portray him as anything but a nutcase. I'm sorry he came to your blog, and I hope my comment wasn't even more insensitive considering that I did read your post. I simply have consolation to offer, and am often relieved that my own parents are beyond distress as I'm sure your beloved mother will soon be. I'm so sorry.

    Love,
    Snow

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    1. Of course, I meant "no" consolation. I regularly proofread only to still overlook things.

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    2. Snow, I don't think it is right to be kept alive in a life of misery. Your state allows for 'death with dignity', yes? I also hope something kills me or I am able to kill myself rather than wither or wonder without all that's made my life my life.

      as for that woman-hater, I deleted him forever. with vigor I deleted him :^)

      love
      kj

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    3. Yes, Oregon is one of five states with assisted suicide laws, but the rub is that you have to be within six months of death to qualify, and you have to be able to administer the dose to yourself. This leaves out a whole lot of miserably suffering people.

      A woman in her twenties who had brain cancer moved here from California to take advantage of the Oregon law. She died within the last month.

      The "woman-hater" has been doing the same thing for quite a few years now. He is surely one of the most detestable people around.

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  4. This is breathtakingly poignant and beautiful. And I hope you don't mind, it resonated with me so deeply that I referenced in a post I wrote today.

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    1. thank you, 8. i'm appreciative that you've referenced this post in your post. I've just been to your blog and as always, i'm glad to know you and glad for you. i'll be back to comment, of course. when I can read your words and reflections more thoughtfully. I like to linger

      ;love
      kj

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  5. Goddess bless your dear mom and you for the loving care you give her. All mothers should have such daughters. Love the photo of the precious two kids with walkers - gives one pause to think how fast life goes by.

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    1. thank you most sincerely, amanda. i don't think i will have regrets and i'm glad of that. it will get tougher if my Mother's personality has changed, and it may have.

      love
      kj

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  6. I wrote a lovely long comment and blogger ate it. Damn blogger.

    You are SUCH a good daughter and so loving to your wonderful mom. I know how hard it must be.

    I have an uncle who is now in a nursing home - in "rehab". when I call (he's in NYC) he cries and begs me to come and get him and take him home. But I also know that he is fed well, and is treated well, and is fairly happy at other times. But the begging to go home just truly pulls on my heartstrings. it ain't easy

    I worked in a nursing home thru college and I know that the best and happiest patients are those who have family who love and care for them. Your mom is one of those, and I know that there are people there who will learn from her wonderful personality and who will always remember her. I know that there are people who I will never forget from the home I worked in and who taught me wonderful life lessons.
    bless you dear

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    1. hi mim, we do our best, right? you do more than i do.

      the going home part just kills me. that would be me too and i know it. and yes, life lessons.

      love
      kj

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  7. Your mother is very very old, but she is there and you can talk to her and she can talk to you. And you can laugh together. The day will come nearer that you have to miss her. But in the meantime I am glad you two still can enjoy each others company.

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    1. wieneke, you said this so well it shot straight to my heart. most days we do talk. often i say the same things, over and over, but we laugh at the best places and we connect in love. what more could two people want?

      thank you my friend
      love
      kj

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  8. This is utterly heart-wrenching and beautuful. Stunning. You have put into words some of the profound truths of the ageing process. I hope and pray that your beautiful mother can remain happy inside herself. Bless you both, dear kj. xx

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    1. kay, i appreciate your words so much. i appreciate when i can see and understand something so clearly. when you lost your Mother, i thought of mine and i knew I would love her as much as you do yours. we're lucky that way, kay.

      love
      kj

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  9. dear Sharon,

    I can hardly contain my good fortune having found your marvelous blog. I am too exhausted at this late hour to tell you all the reasons I feel it was meant-to-be. but I will come back, of that you can be sure and look forward to reading every single entry.

    for now I want to tell you that this post is so poignant; reading the account of your visit to your mother at a time that has finally come for my dear mother to now live in an assisted living home has deeply resonated with me. i am happy that you can still have such enjoyable interaction with your mother, but i know that part about asking when she is going home must always be heart wrenching. i recently listened to an NPR show where a husband and wife described the issue of the person who has dementia and asks similar questions is so sad because the answers are always out of their context. they recently discovered that using improvizational techniques helps tremendously for both patients, their loved one, and their caregivers, and that these techniques are now being taught to nursing home personnel and to families - i believe one can google the subject and find the name of the podcast that was presented on NPR.
    sorry that i don't recall the name of the program.

    . i recently lost my husband suddenly, unexpectedly - while we were both in remission from having cancer at the same time - his from multiple myeloma, and mine ST IV metastatic breast cancer. 8 weeks after i lost my beloved i was dx'd with a second cancer, uterine which was followed by 9 months of grueling treatment, compounded by a period of my mom's further deterioration during which time i could not travel to the far away state she lives in. oh, how i wanted to just hold her in my arms, to sit and hold her hand, to hear her beautiful laugh and to tell her the remarkable stories i so vividly recall of her as a young mother to me, her first child - memories of gardening, canning, pickling and cooking together for nearly all my growing up years. and i felt so alone and bereft going through treatment without my darling husband to be at my side. of, course, mom has never been told about my cancer, nor is she aware of my husband's death. BUT I JUST WANTED MY MOTHER! now that i know she is in a safe and caring place, and that my lovely sisters do all they are able to keep me in the loop, it is of some consolation. she is a painter, has always had the creative juices running through her veins, and is still able to create beautiful paintings each week when her art therapist comes for their session together. i think being able to have them running freely again has slowed her progression with dementia - a great comfort to all her friends and family. well, I'm rambling on so let me get to the point. i read back a few posts and was so thrilled to find Gladys Taber's cookbook! i have many of her books, and whenever i was lonely for my mom, i read passages from Gladys' books - they were warm, humorus and uplifting. but i have no memory of her cookbook; wow! what i wouldn't have given to enter the contest to try to win a volume - both my mom and i loved every word Gladys wrote, and the recipes sprinkled through her books were a treasure. Sharon, do you know if the cook-book is still in print? if not, i will try finding a used one. i will soon be off on a trip to visit my mom and our family, and i would love to show it to her, and talk about all the engaging and charming stories Gladys wrote, both in her magazine columns and her many books.

    i thank you in advance for all i am looking forward to with reading your posts to warm my heart and delight my senses. please give your dear mother a hug for me and tell her that this stranger is holding both her and her daughter close to my heart, hoping for many more enjoyable times for you to spend together.

    much love,

    Karen (the tc in my google id stands for, "the commenter."

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    1. karen, thank you most sincerely for your thoughtful comment. i am sorry for your loss and illnesses. your strength is obvious. i wish you wellness and contentment ahead.

      FYI, if you scroll all the way down my sidebar, you will find the
      'circling my head' blog, written by a dear friend, renee. click on it and start from the beginning. Renee lived with metastatic breast cancer too and she was a most remarkable person. I know you will fall in love with her.

      as for gladys taber, check out sharon love joy's blog, another gem. she is on my sidebar too and she can direct you to this cookbook if available.

      thank you for stopping by, karen. you are welcome here anytime.

      love
      kj

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  10. dear kj,

    i just wrote a long comment to your post - and it disappeared! i came back to add another reply - to apologize for getting your name wrong! i will re-write my comment asap - but if somehow you do receive the 1st one, again i am terribly sorry for my faux pas. xo, karen

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  11. My only fear is living as long as my grandmother. She was cool right up to the end but I know I will not be her state of mellow. 105

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  12. Wow, this is powerful and I can feel it, I've been there with my mom, who got to the point of calling me "Buddy," and scolding me for forgetting her on Mother's Day (we had driven down and taken her out for a feast). Your mom is so lucky to have you and your sense of humor, and you are so lucky to have her. Double luck. Double blessings. XX

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    1. hello sharon honey, what you describe is tough. it could turn that way with my Mom too. I've found that humor definitely helps. and patience: i often say the same things about the same events and the same people over and over and i do it with appropriate flair. xoxo

      love
      kj

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  13. I'm going to visit my dad on Saturday and I'm bracing myself for another decline since i saw him last. Dementia is a cruel process.

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