Among those things I find funny is how my mother responds to my attempts to protect her. For the longest time, for example, we were reluctant to install a camera in my mother's room preferring to allow her privacy while monitoring her via an alarm system and a baby monitor that enabled us to hear what was going on in her room. If she needed us we were there in an instant. Of course, that was when she was more conversant. But now Mom doesn't say much. If there is an emergency she is likely to remain silent. We often hear the strangest noises coming from upstairs without a clue as to what they might be.
For weeks, I kept hearing a sound that sounded like a zipper being zipped over and over again.
"What's that sound?" I asked Skip one night. "I keep hearing it."
"What sound?" Skip replied. He strained to listen more closely to the monitor even carrying it into the family room where we sat watching TV.
I listened and waited. There was nothing but the sound of my mother's walker banging into the wall. "Well, it's gone now. But I heard it!"
"Hmm." Skip looked at me with an expression of doubt.
A minute later I heard the 'zip' again. "There! Did you hear it?" I shouted triumphantly.
"Yes! Hmmm..." He said again. It was somewhat like taking my car to the mechanic complaining of a squeak and having them actually hear it. I felt vindicated. Now we both wondered and mused as to what the mystery sound could be. There were no zippers in Mom's room. Perhaps she was raking her fingernails across something that was textured. There were other sounds that were similar. We were able to identify those sooner or later; like the hairbrush scrubbing the seat of her walker, the plastic bags being folded and refolded then stuffed into the storage compartment of the walker, the locking of the brakes, the wheels squeaking There was the sound of Mom pulling on the locked door of her closet, the click of the light going off and on, sheets being ruffled, drawers being opened and the contents being moved around. All of these sounds were detectable. The 'zip' was not. It was the last straw--what drove us over the edge to purchase a camera.
The next day, Skip came home with a super, duper, state-of-the-art camera with night vision, and a wide-angle lens. The associated app enabled us to remotely view on Skip's cell phone and even record activity. After setting it up all we had to do was wait until we put Mom to bed. We hovered over Skip's phone like we were watching a reality TV show. All that was missing was the popcorn snacks.
"Look! She's moving!" I announced. Mom changed positions on her pillow and pulled at the sheet. We watched with rapt attention. After several uneventful minutes something happened that we had not expected. Mom sat up and moved to the edge of the bed where she continued to sit for the next three hours--not changing her position other than to lower her head to her chest. In the beginning we weren't sure what she was doing but quickly determined that she was sleeping sitting up, head in hands and swaying slightly back and forward. Skip went upstairs after the first few minutes to try to put her back on her pillow but the moment he left the room Mom popped back up and resumed the sitting/sleeping position. So that's how she continued until we grew weary of watching. Then came the sound--the 'Zip!' I ran to the phone to see her bent over her walker. 'ZIP'.
"Oh my God! It's in her walker!" I exclaimed jubilantly. I watched as she lifted the lid of the seat and on the back side there was a small compartment I had never noticed. Lo and behold there was a zipper! Mystery solved. Thank you super-duper-night-vision-camera!
As the days turned into weeks, we discovered that the indoor camera was more of a menace than a helpful tool. Watching Mom at night became a frustration rendering us nervous and constantly sitting vigil to her nighttime wanderings. We realized that Mom was awake a great proportion of the night and early morning hours. She took catnaps and the rest of the time simply wandered about aimlessly or manically. Furthermore, since my phone didn't have a compatible operating system, Skip became the designated 'watcher'. One night, while observing the nocturnal activities, Skip gave a loud groan. "UGH! She just took her nightgown off! She's NAKED!!!"
"Turn it off, turn it off!" I yelled.
Skip dropped the phone and rubbed his eyes like his retinas were burning. I retrieved the phone and discovered that my mother preferred wrapping herself in bedsheets to wearing a nightgown. She began pulling at the sheet and twisting herself in it like a mummy. The worst part about that was the sheet, being loosely attached to the bed rendered it impossible for Mom to cruise around the room. She would manage to move about a foot away from the mattress and get yanked backwards. I watched her fall back on the mattress. Being resilient and determined, she tried again, and again...and again. Each time she bounced backwards returning like a Boomerang. I debated running to her rescue but knew that she would just keep doing it. Hadn't we seen it before? The first week of our remote viewing we had run upstairs to stop Mom's potentially dangerous actions, the near-accidents, the potential falls because she had forgotten to use her walker. Then, realizing that the moment one or the other of us exited the room after righting the situation, Mom was right back at whatever she was doing before we stopped her. Such was the case with us trying to get Mom to lie down. I watched as Skip left the room and immediately my mother popped back up to her sitting position. I wanted to laugh, thinking that she was like a human Boomerang...A MAMA-RANG, or maybe we'd call her 'Gramarang'. Yeah, I liked that just fine. It worked for everything she did lately. We'd point her in the direction of the bathroom and she would circle back without stopping. Or she would walk past us when she came inside and we could see her making a bee-line for the food on the counter. We would run interference turning her in the opposite direction but she would doggedly Gramarang herself back to the food.
"I wonder how long she's done that--the sitting up thing?" I mused out loud.
"She's probably done all kinds of things that we would worry about if we had known," Skip replied.
"Yeah...but now we DO know!" I replied pointing at the camera. "UGH. We'll never get any sleep." Then I thought about it. We could attempt to restrain her, to drug her, to drive ourselves crazy running up to her room to save her from herself; or we could allow her to do what she wanted. She was 99 years old and had earned the right to do that. Why did I feel the need to protect her? Someone her age, her condition, and her lack of understanding COULDN'T be protected. The moment we put a stop to one thing that could be a hazard, she would turn around and repeat it. I sighed deeply and picked up the cell phone, turned the camera off and put the phone on the counter. There would be no more Gramarang-watching tonight!
