I was baking some scones yesterday. My mother was very interested in what I was doing. She sat at the counter watching, waiting and salivating. For her, the best thing in life is sugar; yes, sugar in any form, served in any way and at any time. If I want her to smile all I have to do is provide her with a never-ending supply of cookies, cakes, chocolates, and creamy, sugary delights. I have tried to cook healthy foods for her but alas, she rejects all things nutritious. In fact, I have found her picking and eating only the craisins out of a chicken almond salad and then flattening the rest of the salad with her fork in a show of derision. "I will not eat this!" she complains. If I were to give her a piece of broccoli covered in chocolate then rolled in sugar crystals, she would remark, "This is DEEELICIOUS!"
The more her Alzheimer's Disease progresses, the more displays of avarice for confections I see. Okay, okay. She's 98 years old and in good health (other than being in late stages of Alzheimer's) so why do I insist she eat her veggies? Why do I peddle protein like a wicked Nutritionist? In my defense, I am not alone. My husband scolds her for ignoring her protein in favor of a syrupy morsel. She scowls and complains. She pushes her food around her plate like a petulant two year old.
But I digress. Back to the scones I was baking: they were lovely little bite-sized treats that were coated with a sugar glaze guaranteed to send her blood sugar levels soaring. I finished dipping and glazing the last scone when I looked at the clock and realized that I needed to leave for an appointment. About the same time, my husband, Skip went outside to meet with a man from Critter Control about our problem with voles and moles. (Yes, we have pests running rampant among our plants chewing roots and digging tunnels in the grass. To be clear, the moles dig the tunnels and eat insects and worms while the voles borrow the tunnels to find their way to the roots of plants. Their penchant for devouring all edible greens is truly legendary. I wish that they could teach Mom to enjoy greens as much as these small rodents!) Anyway, as I was saying, I had just finished my job of baking the scones and realized that the drying rack was too tempting to leave out. As soon as I might exit the kitchen my mother was sure to be all over these morsels like flies on flypaper. I began to look around for how to hide the drying rack. It was too large to place in a cupboard. Skip suggested I put it on the washer in the laundry room and close the door. I laughed sardonically. Mom had not met a door she couldn't open. In fact, she was a known escape artist. She even managed to figure out how to get baby locks off of cabinets. A closed door was certainly not going to keep her away from the scones. I decided to place them in the cooling oven even though I risked a slight drying or melting and compromise of texture. I couldn't risk leaving my mother alone with the scones. So under cover they went. Hidden from my mother's search and discovery I could safely leave home to make my appointment.
One might think that this is quite petty of me. If Mom wants a scone why not let her have a scone? I hasten to remind the reader that a person with advanced Alzheimer's doesn't remember things from moment to moment; so as soon as Mom eats a scone she will reach for another thinking it to be the first one she has sampled. This will continue until she gets sick to her stomach often resulting in what I delicately refer to as tossing her cookies! So I control the amount of food intake and sugar she has. Oh, and one more little fact; sugar gives my mother horrible indigestion. We are constantly administering antacid tablets. (We buy them in bulk!) I really do try to keep some semblance of balance while still giving Mom what she loves.
Over the years I have received supportive comments from friends who tell me I am a good daughter. I am always happy to hear this when I am struggling with the issues that I have as Mom's caregiver. This week, for example, I yelled at her when she blew her nose in her sweater. I had the option of responding the right way or the way I wanted to respond. My two mini selves (the good mini-me and the bad mini-me) sat upon my two shoulders. One cautioned me to think carefully how to react. "Just hand her a tissue and then take her sweater off and replace with a clean one." The other told me "Go ahead. Tell her how you feel! You know you want to. It's not good to suppress your feelings!" Guess who won? I shouted, "MOM! What are you doing? Why did you blow your nose in your sweater?!"
Mom replied, "It wasn't a big blow. It was just a little blow."
I felt steam coming out of my ears as I bellowed, "I don't care about the amount of blowing. I still have to wash the sweater now!" (I said a few other things too and Mom turned around to face me indigently complaining that she did not like me yelling at her.) I continued for another few seconds until my anger subsided and then left the room. To those dear friends who think that I am a saint; I confess I am most definitely not!
So, here I sit with the knowledge that it is nearing my mother's tea time. The angelic side of me says, give Mom as many scones as she likes while the devilish side of me says to give her one bite-sized sample and remove the rest. What to do, what to do. I am still ruminating over the nose-blowing incident. I am also reminded that my mother (who never ever goes into our inner sanctum -- the master bedroom) found her way to our bathroom instead of using the one which is designated as hers and which has her toilet chair and easy access. I looked up from my work and saw that she was M.I.A, called for her, walked around the house looking for her, becoming increasingly worried as to her whereabouts, and then finding her wandering out of the bathroom. She had not flushed the toilet. She had not used the toilet paper. She had been less than careful. (I will not go into details.) I was livid. My mini-me's were both screaming in my ears. When confronted she was defensive and irritated with me for being upset. Yes, I was thinking of the other incidents and how difficult things were becoming. Mom's attitude was far more argumentative after tea-time. Suddenly, I had an epiphany and at that moment I made the decision. Sugar makes Mom happy but too much sugar makes her cranky. What I did was obvious. The answer could be read as a news headline: Scones Stashed in Effort to Save Survivors!
