What an ever changing world, with an ever-changing landscape. This includes Mom. Her routine in the mornings, now, is to get up, do whatever she does, make her bed, dress, and have some fruit, juice, and coffee. No breakfast. She doesn’t want it. This makes her ravenous by lunch!
So, Wednesday, I made my way through traffic to scoop her up for an 11 am dentist appointment. I was a bit early just in case she would throw a stubborn streak and decide she needed a change of clothes or wasn’t out of bed, or … whatever. I was pleasantly surprised when I walked in and there she sat, next to Rosemary, at the table with her juice and coffee. Also, she was in a good mood.
She had on her beige pants, which are becoming quite dirty by this point, as she refuses to offer them up to the laundry people. She was also wearing her sandals, her compression stockings, and a black shirt. When I stated we were leaving she stated she would need a jacket and I went in to get a sweater for her. She had other plans.
She went into her room and put on a plaid overshirt which was just fine. This made her happy and it was actually lighter than the sweater. And off we went.
On the way, she stated she really needed her hair cut and done. So, I told her I had forgotten but would make the call once we arrived.
Her focus was on older men, today. Not so much for trees (although she did see two trees that were dissimilar but touching each other - she thought that was in poor taste and rather scandalous - think what you will). She would see an older man (in their 60’s, or 70’s) doing things on the street - walking, waiting, chatting, and she would exclaim, “Oh, that poor old man. That poor, poor old man!” I asked about a couple of them and she explained that I had no basis of knowledge to know they weren’t maligned and in very poor states (rather they looked well-fed, groomed, clad, and happy). So, I allowed her the joy of thinking they were suffering.
At one point, we were driving down a boulevard and she saw people walking on both sides of the street on sidewalks. She found this rather odd. I added there was a park nearby where many might be headed. “They need to be careful,” she told me, “just a little dab of paint will poison them.” Well, so much for having what I thought would be a semi-lucid conversation.
At the dentist’s office, she was greeted and she sat in the waiting room, as we were just a little early. I made her some lemon tea and then she went off with the hygienist. They went into the room and Mom was coughing up little bits of phlegm which she was directed to spit in the garbage, and she did. Then she asked why there was a sink there. She was re-directed to lie down and relax for her cleaning.
I went out and made the call for her hair. I waited for her while listening to an audible book, and then realized that time must have slipped past - there was her hygienist by the receptionist. Oh. Oh. oh. Mom had ceased the different stages of the cleanse as she found each one irritating after a point. What was the hygienist to do?
I entered where her teeth were “being tended to” and found the good doctor speaking with Mom. I think she has a little crush on him. He found a hole in one of her fillings, and we then made an appointment later in the month for him to correct it. Mom asked some good questions and he did very well with her.
After we left, with toothpaste, toothbrush, and picks in tow, we drove back to St. A’s, where lunch was waiting for her. Mom discussed wanting to change her pants, as they were terribly filthy (see? she does notice - maybe a couple of months late, but she notices), and was very upset when I told her I’d made a hair appointment for her.
“Why did you do that? There’s nothing wrong with my hair!”
“You asked me to.”
“I did no such thing!”
Then the conversation turned to the driver in front of us who was (in typical Portland fashion) lollygagging along at 15-20 miles below the limit. Mom found this irritating - I’d been in traffic all morning and figured I’d just live with it.
We finally made it back to St. A’s, where I had her sign a couple of medical documents and I was off. She was left with her soup, Rosemary, and a smile on her face, waiting for Connie and Jean to arrive to regale her with amusements.
The following is the account Jean gave me of her visit with Mom later that day:
Dear Tony,
I got to St.A's about 1:30. Norma said she'd not been asleep when I knocked; she looked awake. We chatted about this and that, she said she had taken some things to her mother, who was living in the other cottage. (This was vague, and I'm guessing that's Lucile's home now.) But she took things her mother could use, and I agreed that was good of her.
I showed her how last week's red dahlias were dry and sad; she insisted the white dahlias I brought today were NOT dahlias. (They are the "fluffier" kind and beautiful.) She again reminded me that Tony had brought the bright fake flowers; we agreed they are always good-looking.
"I heard you were going to the dentist to get your teeth cleaned today," was answered with,"No, I didn't go to the dentist today." But later I asked if the dentist was a man or a woman; she said there were a man and a woman there. I'm guessing the hygienist and the dentist.
The beige pants were stained, which Norma pointed to. I suggested putting them in the laundry container when she readies for bed; the workers would wash them for her.
Compression stockings were on, and good-looking sandals. She asked what shoe size I wear. Nine, I told her, and she said her size is eight. I told her my feet have gotten larger thru the years.
One of the big cushions Connie had bought for our gazebo-sitting was by her dresser. When she headed into the bathroom, I set it under the kitchen counter until I left. I don't think she noticed.
No talk of leaving St.A's, nor of P.A. and friends and house there. I got her Oregonian from the kitchen counter; Paula said Norma is the only one who gets it. I sat on Norma's bed and separated and arranged the paper's sections. Norma looked at the ads for a while, mentioning that Safeway was not close enough for convenient shopping. She wanted all the pieces to remain, but finally let me take the ads away. I would have tried for some reading of articles, and the crossword puzzle, but was focusing on getting her to walk with me outside. When she's at a table it's easier to enjoy the paper.
She said Tom (our deceased father) was doing something (?) and spoke of her boys who are young...it was all positive. I often nod and agree, or offer something show her I'm on the same track (as you know, the track shifts readily, as well as the time period).
"Who was your favorite teacher at St.Rose?" she asked. "I liked them all; don't remember any favorites."
"Wasn't Pat in school with you?" indicating Pat McEntee.
"Yes, for seven years,” she replied.
"My favorite was Sr.Robert Mary," she said. I reminded her that was my 8th-grade teacher, as well as Bob's (Jean’s late husband), and the three of us were at Madeleine then. She readily agreed.
So we finally went outside. Our brief walks were cut short by her back hurting--lower back, so we sat for brief times. Josepha brought us little squares of cake; they often do that when it's snack time.
I was very thirsty; suggested root beer, which sounded good. So we went in about 3:30, and shared that one can of root beer. It was so good, She had 9-10 cans of Diet Pepsi in her fridge, which I told her.
I don't take notes, so it's better if I write to you soon. It was all good, old friends talking and remembering, loved ones being alive again, which is so nice. Larry (Mom’s deceased brother) was alive, too.
Sunday arrived and found Mom up and at ‘em early for breakfast. She was in a rather up and down mood - dictating what was to be and what was appropriate - in her mind. She has become angry with Reyna, with whom she has a strong relationship, so no one is quite sure what may have happened.
I asked Reyna if she could attempt to have Mom wear another pair of pants so her beige ones could be washed - this was a no-go, as Mom refused. <sigh>
When my brother picked her up he brought scads of tomatoes in bags - many for the staff and some for Mom, which he placed in her refrigerator. I later told staff that they could take from those when Mom wasn’t looking, as she wouldn’t eat them and they’d go to waste, most likely.
Dinner was nice with steaks, cucumber salad, zucchini with tomatoes and cheese, and rolls. Mom didn’t require a lot, but joined the nearly clean plate club.
She was quite comfortable watching Mario Lanza in “The Great Caruso” which we put on the telly before she walked in. She was also quite comfortable criticizing and needling me. Finally, she began to “attack” my brother and I was caught doing a happy dance - a reprieve for me! For it seemed that every time I began to say something she would tell me to keep my mouth shut so people wouldn’t realize how stupid I was.
On the way home we began to have a lovely chat when she suddenly turned and began calling me things that I would never have thought would come from her. In retrospect, though, I realized she must have been quite tired and not in her comfort zone - she wasn't really catching on to what was actually happening and this was her way to attempting to deal with it. Within 5 minutes, though, she was back to her calm and sweet self.
By the time we arrived at St. A’s she was in another zone. This was when I realized she was very tired and off-balance. I helped her to her room where she found her paper and a pair of pants on the bed, neatly folded.
“What are these?” she asked.
“Your paper and probably the pair of pants Reyna wanted you to change into so they could wash the ones you’re wearing,” I remarked. Well, let’s just say that didn’t go over well. She waved goodbye to me from the window and I left.
I suppose I should treasure those days when she’s had enough rest or hasn’t really gained full-consciousness, as she’s much sweeter and easier to deal with. It’s times like tonight’s that remind me why she doesn’t live with me and why I attempted to live as far away from her as possible in my younger days. But, then, we figure we must give that last gasp of aid when it’s needed - something about familial loyalty, I suppose.
Perhaps this next week will bring better tidings.
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