A Bridge Too Far and Waking Ned Devine

I said it before: It’s a hard thing to watch a parent in decline. It doesn’t get easier and there is no respite. At times I feel I’m living on the ragged edge.

It isn’t just physical frailty, though that has continued. We completely stopped the walks, whether around the block or on the walking paths over a year ago. There were too many times she couldn’t make it back to the car. Falls are becoming increasingly common. There is a walker, which she didn’t want to use, but now doesn’t go anywhere without. Her bed was removed and replaced with a hospital bed. There is a bedside commode due to the risk of fall should she go to the bathroom in the middle of the night.

Decline is more than that. It is a decremental loss of the person you knew. In this case dementia is a part of that. It is insidious, slowly robbing the afflicted of the most basic of memories. Mom has said several times when she thinks of home she pictures the farm where she grew up.  She has no memory of the place in Cole Camp and thought that it had been sold (It hasn’t and is not for sale.).  No real memory of living in North Carolina. Recently the pastor from Cole Camp called and spoke with her.  Mom didn’t really talk, I don’t think she knew who it was.  The Ladies Aide (or whatever it is called) from the church sent her a care package and all signed the card.  Mom looked at it and said she had no idea who they were.  She recognized some of the names, but couldn’t put a face to them.

Last summer Mom was on the deck enjoying the sunshine.  She had a puzzled look about her so I asked what was troubling her.  “My daughters are Stella and Hester…right?” I waited a few moments before replying to see if she would correct herself.  “And Leslie,” I replied.  She looked a bit confused and then nodded. I don’t know if she remembered or merely took my word for it.

In February, Mom was hospitalized for a few days due to a severe infection and medication reaction.  It was an ordeal.  She was discharged into routine hospice care.  This is apparently for the elderly when death is not imminent. Since then family has visited her more often. Increased visits revealed more memory problems. She has difficulty remembering who her grandchildren are when they are here. The older granddaughters seem to take it in stride. However, the much younger grandson (13) seemed hurt when she asked “who are you?” She has always confused granddaughters with daughters and that has continued.

Routine seems to be the best thing for her.  She has almost completely stopped eating solid food, in favor of relying on Boost shakes.  Which is fine, as long as she is taking in calories, and they are full of those. She can only do the simplest of daily care activities (get dressed, toilet, brushing teeth). Hospice came with nurse aides which assist with bathing.  I shudder to think of Mom trying to use the shower on her own. Certainly that would end with an ambulance ride and a relocation to a nursing home.

Days are spend re-reading the same books over and over: Sharpe’s Rifles series, Agatha Christie, P.G. Wodehouse, Tolkien.  Wash, rinse, and repeat.  These books are all very familiar to her, I wonder if she is actually reading skipping about the pages? I know she’s been on page 100 for a time and then on page 20. In the morning she carries a half dozen books to the living room. At night she carries the same half dozen back, and perhaps more.  She says she’s reading them, but that doesn’t happen. In the evening she’ll decide she’s going to her room and when she does, she puts on a movie.  Invariably she’ll go through her DVDs almost one at a time.  “Oh, that’s a good one!” She says pointing to Patton. “That one’s good too!” (A Bridge Too Far). She goes through them all. Her favorite is Waking Ned Devine. More often that not, she’ll choose one of these films or a DVD of  Jeeves and Wooster or Rumpole and settle in for the night. She has literally watched these dozens of times, particularly A Bridge Too Far and Waking Ned Devine.

I don’t know when she sleeps. She complains of tiredness during the day, but we can hear the television at night. I’ve particularly come to detest the British comedy “Are You Being Served?” Absolutely hate it. More often than not, this is what is playing when me and my wife rise in the morning.  The DVD will be on the title screen on repeat. Yes, Mom is sleeping, but I don’t see how she can possibly be resting.

She has become far more emotionally labile than in the past. I don’t know whether sadness or despair, but suddenly bursting into tears in the evening happens more and more frequently.  Especially since we brought her home from the hospital. I’ll tell her we’re just trying to take care of her and not to worry about things and it happens. I mask my own feeling so as to not burden her further. Or she’ll look at a picture of her deceased grandson and cry.

Mom’s world continues to shrink. Where she used to go down on the patio in the summer, she changed to staying on the deck. She’s afraid of the stairs.  Last summer, the boundary shrank further and she only went on the deck two or three times. It was either too hot or too cold. Though not exactly homebound, she makes no effort and expresses no desire to leave.  When asked if she’d like to go out, she’s pretty adamant about staying home. 

My wife and I are constantly exhausted. It isn’t physically hard, but it is emotionally draining. Nothing can be done about this, it just has to be borne. We do what we can for the people in our lives. It’s called family.