GRAMA-RANG.

I know that my sense of humor sometimes downplays the angst I feel about my mother's progressing Alzheimer's.  Skip and I are handling it the best we can. As a new situation arises we deal with it.  We are coping and have been for several years now.  But sometimes I just HAVE to laugh.

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!

Grilled Grandma

It has been a while since I have posted a blog.  Perhaps it is because I didn't have anything to say that was fit for publishing.  We hit the 'Dog Days of Summer' early this year, and it has put everyone in a grumpy mood.  Mom has been worse than usual (if there is such a thing as usual).  Certainly, the slow progression of her Alzheimer's makes EVERYTHING worse.  Mom has become more and more apt to act out negatively when she 'perceives' that we are out to get her.  From asking her to sit down on the automated chair lift, to putting on her nightgown at bedtime she is just as likely to scream and pound her fists in derision as to comply.  I feel like we are always walking on eggshells.  If there can possibly be anything uglier than what we have experienced thus far, this is it!  She has hit me, yelled at me, thrown things, and threatened me in violent outbursts.  Five minutes later she is docile and sweet. As I experience these changes I am also noticing some physical changes.  While the elderly tend to be cold all of the time and require a sweater or heat when the rest of us are uncomfortably warm, my mother has graduated to FREEZING.  So, back to the earlier comment about 'Dog Days of Summer' that implies that the heat and humidity have hit us; we have been hiding inside during the day because of the unusually high heat indexes.  The other day the thermometer registered 101 degrees and that wasn't even taking into account the humidity factor that made it feel a great deal hotter.  The Meteorologists on the local news stations warned of taking care of our pets and children and to check on the elderly. Clearly they don't know my mother!  From 8:30 AM Mom insisted on sitting outside on the screened porch which we let her do since it was only a mere 82 degrees at the time.  However, as the sun began to rise higher in the sky and the temperatures began to soar, we urged her to come inside.  She had no interest in complying with our wishes and when we insisted she became belligerent.   I tempted her with food and that moved her inside momentarily but soon she was headed back to the door.
"No, Mom.  It's too hot outside," I told her.  "Why don't you come sit in the family room and watch TV?  Within five minutes of sitting in the slightly cooler family room she announced, "It's FREEZING in here!"  Mom walked back outside to bake in the hot mid-day temperatures. I glanced at the thermometer.  It was 92 degrees and climbing.  By 1:00 I insisted that she come inside but that's when Mom decided to take a nap and there was no waking her.  I watched from inside the family room as she alternated cat-napping and rocking.  I tried again to coax her inside but she was adamant that she wanted to remain outside.  I checked her for heat stroke and decided that she was still okay so I left her for another half hour.  It was somewhat like cooking chicken on the grill.  She wasn't quite done yet so I left her on the grill for another few minutes.  When I came back a few minutes later and poked her, she was well done and grilled to perfection.  "It's time you come inside," I told her with a no-nonsense voice.  When she protested loudly I told her that she couldn't stay outside any longer...."People are dying in this heat!"  She looked around as if to spot others who were sitting outside and then back at me like I was crazy.
"It's not hot," she announced.
"It's a thousand degrees!" I corrected while silently excusing myself for embellishing the facts.
"Oh," she said not terribly impressed with this new information.
She stood up, grabbed her walker, and followed me inside.  I watched her take a full turn around the house.  Her walking path went from back door to kitchen to hallway, to front of entry, then looped back to the back door.  Mom had one hand on the back door when I called out, "NOOOOOO!  Stay inside."
Mom ignored me and tugged on the door.  "You're gonna kill yourself!" I warned.  Mom blinked at me in confusion.  "It's too hot," I clarified.
"Oh." She said, and then without understanding , she walked back outside.
I followed her out and turned the overhead fan up a notch to High.  Mom immediately shouted, "It's FREEZING" and I turned it back to low.

A little later I tried another approach.  I took some ice cream outside to help her cool off.  She ate it up greedily. I thought that put her in a good enough mood to get her inside but when I attempted to help her get up she pushed me away.  "I'm fine," she said with a slight slur.  "Just put the white ryan."  She gestured towards the screen.  Her aphasia had kicked in and so there was no telling what she was saying. I wondered if the heat was worsening the problem.  Maybe her brains were baking. I pictured the last few functioning brain cells sizzling in the heat. This was not healthy and I told her so.  That was too much for her and she told me to "Shut up!'  That was Alzheimer's Brain for sure.  She had never told me that in my entire life!  I walked back inside with a heavy sigh.

Right now, as I write this, the temperature on the screened porch is 100 degrees.  Mom is rocking lazily and staring at the trees.  She has been sitting out there for hours.  I have brought her water, which she refuses to drink. I have tried to physically remove her from her chair and she has protested loudly.  I have tried to bribe her with sweet treats inside. "Maybe later," she has told me.  I have even offered to take her upstairs to her room (something she always wants but never gets during the day, since it will only encourage her to stay up there and sleep all day and then not sleep at night.)

Perhaps I will go back outside now and offer a basting brush with some bar-b-que sauce since she is clearly going for Grilled Grandma of the Year.  While I'm at it I might as well don a prison suit since I will undoubtedly be arrested for elder abuse.

"There's Someone Sleeping in My Bed!"

My mother is convinced that there are people sleeping in her bed when she is not up there.  We keep the door between our home and our apartment (that houses our son and also Mom's room on the other side) locked so that she will not wander up or (worse) down the stairs. Still, whenever our son opens that door to say "Hello" of "Good-bye" she shoots him an accusing look that says, "Who are you and why are you sleeping in my room?"

This evening it happened again.  As our son unlocked the door and greeted us I noticed my mother glaring in his direction.  As is the norm these days, she fluctuates between recognizing him and being confused as to who her grandson is.  This evening he was a stranger and he was clearly usurping her right to go upstairs to her room because he was occupying that space.  Why?  Because evidently he shared her room with her.  When I tried to correct her she remained firm on her opinion.

"You don't know!" she told me.  "I've seen him in my bed."
"Really?  When?"
Mom thought for a moment struggling to recall the incident.  "It was a while ago but he was sleeping in my bed!" she replied emphatically.
I tried not to laugh.  I reminded her that she is not in her room during the day and would never have seen her bed other than when we take her upstairs at her bedtime. "I can assure you, Mom, Bill has NEVER slept in your bed."

Mom remained unconvinced even when I explained that Bill lives on the other side of the apartment.  My husband Skip and I decided to take her upstairs a few minutes early to take her on a tour of  the apartment (both sides) to remind her of where Bill lived.  This was not the first time.  We had done it a week before with the same results.  She looked around like she was seeing it for the first time. Then she rolled her eyes and said, "Well I know that he was in my bed.  In fact, I've seen two people in my room," she added as she embellished her story with a certain indignant delight. She was so convincing that I felt like I should be chastising Bill for going into Grandma's room to take a nap. I also felt like I should be searching for the other 'stranger' who was obviously visiting Mom's room while our backs were turned..  Meanwhile we keep reminding ourselves that Alzheimer's disease causes hallucinations.  So...before we rush out to buy keyed locks to put on Mom's bedroom door, we will continue to indulge Mom's fantasies until we grow impatient and take her for the tour.  We will also hold our breaths and hope that she doesn't choose another route to handle this (perceived) intrusion in her boudoir by taking a stroll to the other side of the apartment and going to sleep in our son's bed!

YUP...it could happen!

The Empty Nest?

The Empty Nest ?

There are 10 living breathing beings in our home this morning. The head count varies from day to day.  Our daughter, son-in law, our two granddaughters (visiting from Charlotte) our son, his overnight guest, my mother, our dog and Skip are all asleep.   I am enjoying the quiet moments of the early morning as I often do.  It is the calm before the storm.  How many mornings have I sat alone, writing, sipping coffee and enjoying the peaceful silence?  I relish this time and acknowledge it as a very special part of my day.  For some, this silence lasts throughout the day and night...but not for me.  I have always enjoyed a houseful of people yet longed for that time when my thoughts were not interrupted by others.  Then I am reminded of something.

The concept of the empty nest is not part of my life; the words are not in my vernacular.  I recall thinking that my husband Skip and I were 'Empty Nesters' for about one week back in the 1990s. 

How did it feel? 

Lonely, quiet, boring!

Since then, we have had a revolving door of house guests, visitors, (ALWAYS) pets, and adult children who come and go, visit, bring their friends, and spend the night. There is never a dull moment.  I do not know what it would feel like to be alone, yet I covet those quiet moments...those idle days that others take for granted.  I am conflicted.

Our nest is never empty!  Sometimes it almost bursts with life, the doors and walls straining to contain humanity, the rooms echoing the voices, the laughter. 

I look at the clock and muse over this temporary calm...the stillness...the eye of the hurricane.  Soon I will hear my mother stir and call to me.  Her progressing dementia will cause her to wander around her room until she remembers to call out to us to help her dress, assist her out of her room and down the stairs.

Our daughter will emerge next followed by our two granddaughters -- two chirping hungry birds wanting breakfast.  Our son-in-law will take longer while our son and his guest try to sleep through the bedlam.

At some point we may all converge.  It will be hours from now and may not happen at all.  There are schedules, activities, meetings that send all of us in different directions.  We are a stopping place on the way to a destination, a family hotel, a welcome center.  Do we mind?  Absolutely not!  We are thrilled to house them, to provide shelter, to dispense loving hospitality.  To relish the fullness of our home, to embrace the happy mess, to anticipate the noise and pandemonium without resentment is the life we cherish.  It is bloated with love and brimming with life. 

Some day our home will feel empty, but not today.

Grandparent's Weekend

Grandparent's Weekend

Being grandparents has such great advantages.  We can enjoy our granddaughters until we get tired and then we give them back.  That's the rule, right?  In practice, this doesn't always happen though.  This weekend, for example, our daughter  Dorie asked if we would watch the girls while she and our son-in-law Gregg spent the night at a lovely resort for her birthday.  No problem!  We could handle that.  Easy-peasy!

First of all I decided to take our almost 13 yr old granddaughter shopping.  I hadn't done this in a long time and thought that it would be a fun activity. I asked Skip if he would watch Lilly (our 3 1/2 year old granddaughter) while I took Julie to the mall. We got a late start which was largely due to the fact that I was making breakfasts, cleaning up, preparing for Easter, getting Lilly dressed and occupied, taking care of my mother,  and trying to keep things clean and neat.  By the time we left the house I was already tired.  Off we went to the throngs of people bustling about on a busy Saturday.  I asked Julie what stores she preferred and immediately realized that we would be visiting many different stores because Julie wasn't sure what she wanted and where she wanted to go.  I didn't want to rush her but I knew that we had only a limited time to shop before Skip would need relief.  I felt a little guilty leaving him behind to watch Mom and keep Lilly occupied.  I worried that he might be a bit overwhelmed with that responsibility.

When we got to the mall I had to make a quick decision where to go because I had no idea which stores might appeal to Julie.  I have to confess that  I have weaned myself from mall shopping and am not "up" on all of the latest trends among teens.  I do not set foot in the trendy stores.  So, as we walked into the first store I had the distinct feeling that I had somehow traveled to another planet--one filled with bright colors, loud music, sparkle on the floors and sweet smells of myriad perfumes.  Just in case I missed the labels on clothing, every single item was adorned with large print on sleeves, across the front and back with the name of the clothing line.  Every person under the age of 25 was a walking advertisement for a t-shirt or sweatshirt designer.  Furthermore they all seemed happy to pay anywhere from $60 to $200 to advertise who they were wearing.  My granddaughter was immediately drawn to one such shirt that looked like it was missing a good 10 inches off the bottom length.  Really...a sweatshirt that only covered the shoulders and part of the upper torso?  I guess no one would notice the missing fabric because the name of the singer who now had her own clothing line was so huge that was all one would see.  I began to look around to see how many labels we could combine in one outfit.  Could we combine labels to make sentences?  With wry wit I tried to play this game as Julie perused the racks.  I wondered if it was permissible to mix a sports figure label with a singer, or were we supposed to keep performing artists  together?  Could we mix two different sports figures?  Did we need to have continuity of names or could we combine themes?  I had so many questions. Unfortunately I couldn't hear the answers through the cacophony of loud music and heavy rhythms.   After five minutes I had already developed a headache.  I painted a smile on my face and muscled my way through the store trying to look totally cool while feeling like I had fallen through The Rabbit Hole.  I was too old for this.  In just a few short years I had become an  anachronism, a relic of bygone times.  Rather than admit I was feeling like an antique I waited until Julie went into the fitting room to text my daughter to ask if she approved of certain items of clothing that Julie insisted would be fine to wear.  Surprisingly, there was no need to do so because Julie had used her smart phone to take a photo of something she liked and sent it to her mother for approval.  Dorie already saw, responded, and okayed the purchase.  Hmmm...shopping had changed. Technology had become the new shopping tool.  Okay then!  I relaxed a bit knowing that the responsibility of making a decision of what Mom and Dad would allow was not on my shoulders. 

We moved on to another store and after what seemed like eight hours but was in reality only about a half an hour, we found a few other items and I even managed to talk Julie into a few things that didn't have printing on them.  I used a bribe of taking her out to a late lunch to get her to make her decisions quickly and to choose something with fewer graphics that she could wear in the restaurant.

With aching feet I limped my way out of the mall after being accosted by people in the center isles hawking their products, insisting that I try their creams, their manicure products, their hair extensions, their shampoos, candles, and fragrances...practically tripping me as I walked by.  My lips were pursed in a permanent "NO!"  My eyes were averted like I had learned to do when approaching panhandlers.  

At lunch  I texted Skip to check in with him.  He texted back that he was coloring 100 bunnies with Lilly.  I giggled at the mental image.  It was not as complete an image as the one that we beheld when we arrived back home.  Skip was surrounded by all sorts of toys and playthings.  He was sitting at the table with assorted crayons and a coloring book. As we walked in he proudly displayed a page of flowers that he and Lilly had just finished coloring.  When he turned towards me I noticed that his shirt boasted  an array of flower and princess stickers.  I walked into the family room to say "Hi" to my mother.  She was sitting quietly in her chair by the TV.  Her eyes were closed as she took a small nap.  Did she know that she too had been decorated with stickers? 

Both Skip and I had taken a step into our granddaughter's worlds. It had been  a day of adapting.   We had seen the polar opposites and both of us had been totally out of our element...our comfort zones. Fortunately we lived to tell the tale and still profess that grandparenting in one of the finest joys in life.

Dance Grandma

Dance competition season has begun and our 12 1/2 year old granddaughter went to her first day of dance competition yesterday. Wild horses couldn't keep me away. You've heard of Dance Moms? Well I am a card-carrying Dance Grandma. If I could I would go to all of her competitions. I do keep myself under control though. I do not 'trash' the other dancers. I do not brag; I do not point out flaws. However, I cannot say who else was dancing. I do not see anyone but our dear sweet Julie. For me, the sun rises and sets on her little dancing toes. I cannot explain the pride and love I feel as I watch her dance. It takes me back to the days of our own children performing. As a mother I always had butterflies in my tummy just before the children stepped onto the stage. My heart would beat rapidly and I would worry, watch, and pray as they performed whatever it was. When they were finished my joy was kept in check so as not to appear too proud, too doting, too caring. I would try to be objective, to help them with small corrections. I was the stern task master always wanting them to perform to their highest level. Now, as a grandmother, I can relax a little. I can enjoy with the wild abandon allowed a grandparent. I do not have to justify uncontrollable applause. I make no apologies for hooting and hollering. I see no flaws and sit back as a totally appreciative audience.

Anyway... there we were lined up in a row. Skip, me, my mother (Great Grandma to Julie and Lilly), Dorie, Gregg, (Julie's parents) and little sister Lilly. Four generations were seated and watching as Julie stepped out on the stage. My heart did not race because there was nothing to be nervous or worried about. There was pure enjoyment as she took her turns, twirls, steps, leaps and jumps. She was brilliant. She was beyond brilliant. When her performances were done I waited to see her as she changed and emerged from the dressing room. I was glowing, smiling from ear to ear. I rushed to her with a huge hug and then looked at her face. She was upset. She was devastated. What was wrong?! Why wasn't she smiling? A moment later she told me how she missed her turn because of a prop blocking her. I barely noticed. It was nothing; but not to her. For our granddaughter it was the worst blunder a person could make. She had let her dance team down. She had single-handedly ruined the dance. UGH! Was there no convincing her that no one noticed? Couldn't she read my sincerity as I told her she was wonderful, beautiful, perfect? I took a step back. There was no need to reassure her that we loved every single thing that she did. She KNEW that. It was her parents turn to deal with the drama. We loaded Mom in the car and began our 2 hour trek home. We had come to see what we wanted to see and regardless of the outcome, we were fulfilled. Later I texted our daughter to find out how Julie was doing. Dorie told me that Gregg had gotten the performance on video and showed it to Julie. Dorie sent me the video to watch as well. There! See? The purported 'HUGE' blunder was barely noticeable. What I saw was a young girl giving her dance everything she had and then some. What I saw was a sweet young thing who had talent, charm, ability, technique, stage presence, and love of dance. What I saw was what I had waited all my life to see. A grandchild performing to my utmost unfailing joy, pride, and awe!

Yes. I admit it. I am a Dance Grandma, and proud of it!

You see her, don't you?  She is the blurry one in the middle with moonbeams dancing on her head, with sunshine illuminating her face, and with starlight lighting her smile.