The Current Situation

Things have been deteriorating for Mom lately. She is less interested in watching her beloved cowboys, or even sifting through the newspaper. She is spending more time sleeping in bed, or napping in a chair, and less time talking to me when I visit. This past week, for the first time in my entire life, Mom did not want a sweet treat. 

Things are going downhill with wheels. It is both sudden and a long time coming. It is sad and disheartening.

It is the beginning of our last dance.

Yesterday, I did Mom’s nails…

I’ve told you before how I steel myself before I enter The Facility. I stop outside the door, take a deep, cleansing breath, and paste that smile on my face. I remind myself how lucky I am to have this position in her life, how instrumental she has been in mine. I leave the “real world” behind me at the door, and go down through the looking glass willingly.

My old tricks for visiting, however, aren’t working so great anymore. Whereas pulling a banana out of my bag—that isn’t a metaphor, I really bring her a banana every day—used to elicit a smile from Mom, now me dancing into her apartment doesn’t even get her attention some days. Finding a good musical on TCM used to make her perk up and pay attention, but now even a shirtless John Wayne doesn’t catch her eye.

So, yesterday, I brought the supplies I needed to paint her nails for my visit. I was racking my brain trying to think of something that she used to enjoy that I could recreate for her, and maybe lighten the mood in an ever-darkening space. 

If nothing else, it would be a familiar smell.

The visit started out rough

When I walked into her room, I was immediately dejected, and thought my plan wouldn’t even get off the ground. She was in bed—all the way in bed under the covers—wearing her pajamas at 3 pm. I didn’t blame the nurses or The Facility—I know how stubborn she can be when she doesn’t want to get up. 

So, I tried to wake her, and got the brushoff with her hand and a groan.

Three times in fifteen minutes.

The fourth try was a winner, however, and she decided to get up and move to her recliner to visit with me. Unfortunately, she needed a wipe down and a complete change immediately, which didn’t improve her mood at all, but ultimately she was seated in her chair in regular clothes. 

Her gaze, however, was into the middle distance, and I couldn’t get her attention for more than a few seconds. I kept trying.

Once we were relaxing in her room

Moving her to the chair was a major victory, as she spends more and more time—day and night—in her bed. As she continued to wake up slowly, she became slightly more interested in her surroundings, and even ate half of the promised banana. 

While she ate the banana, I brought her up to date on the family, filling the silence with stories of my kids and her beloved LunaBelle dog. She didn’t NOT listen, so I took that as a positive sign. I’ve advocated many times before running through all the branches of the family tree with your loved one. It is often surprising what catches her attention—Mom will latch on to one detail about one grandchild, and will talk just about that person and that accomplishment for a half hour! It is extremely important not to overburden your loved one with too many details, but by at least running through names and marital affiliations, you can spark a conversation.

Visiting with your loved one, you will have your best chance of a quality visit if they are in comfortable surroundings—and comfortable clothes! I don’t know how long Mom was sleeping in a pair of wet pajamas, but I guarantee that getting a quick sponge bath and a new outfit went a long way towards improving her mood and her ability to focus.  

She was fidgety and anxious

Even after changing her clothes and her location, Mom just wasn’t focused or attentive to me at all. As the minutes passed, she became slightly agitated, fidgeting with the edges of her sweater and taking one after another Kleenex tissues from the box. I could tell things weren’t as good as they could be.

That brought me to a crossroads. A conundrum I wish I didn’t have to experience. Does she need an anti-anxiety medication for this visit? This was a new and unsettling thought for me, since I haven’t had this problem before. It saddened me.

I went in search of a nurse. My beloved Marta was on duty, so I asked her to step in the room and evaluate Mom’s mood. Based on her years of experience with Mom and other dementia sufferers, Marta suggested I ask for a dose of the anti-anxiety medication she has as needed. Mom, the healthiest almost 94-year-old on the planet, is on almost nothing. But I made sure she had this anti-anxiety and aggression drug PRN—as needed. There is no benefit to her being obstinate or aggressive to the nurses and staff, so I firmly support their use of this medication.

Until now. I had to drug my own mother to have a good visit with me. I looked out the window into the sunshine as a tear fell down my face. 

She started to doze off

With the mid-afternoon sun coming into her room right on her sitting in the chair, it took about thirty minutes for her to fully relax and calm down. Her nervous and fidgeting behaviors quieted down, and she was much more receptive and focused on my visit. She smiled back at me while I talked about school, and asked about Sweet Husband, too. 

It was sad watching this change come over her, but, really, I was thankful for the medication. I missed her.

After having the cinnamon cake Sweet Husband sent, and with the sun streaming in, she began to doze lightly with the newspaper on her lap. I watched her calm, tranquil face, and she was the mother I watched sleeping in her own bed on Valley Road when I was a small child. No sign of the damned dementia, for just a little while. 

We were both at peace. 

So, I actually did paint her nails

When she woke up, I realized that I had been staring at her television screen for at least thirty minutes. Watching some black and white musical with a lot of dancing and fancy clothes that I couldn’t identify and don’t care to ever see again.

But, when she woke up, that glorious recognition fell across her face and put a smile on her face. “Hello, Sweet,” she said, “when did you get here?”

I jumped to attention, pretending I had just arrived. I greeted her warmly with yet another kiss and a squeeze of the hand. Rearranging all of my things on her bed, I did a passable job of convincing her I had just walked in during her nap. Nothing before that happened, I swear. 

Bringing out the little ditty bag of nail supplies, I told her that I was going to paint her nails today. I cut them a little shorter and filed them just like she likes them. As I worked, I repeated everything I had already told her about my husband and kids. We talked about my BestieBoo, and upcoming trips I’m taking with students. I went through a few branches of the family tree, and she was particularly interested in Hunter and his two sons, so I gave her some more details on that happy family. 

Then, slowly, carefully, painstakingly, I painted her nails. 

A coat of nude. Blow on them.

A coat of pink. Blow some more.

A topcoat of clear. Lots more blowing.

She admired them from every angle, thrilled with the result. She was happy. 

I said my final goodbye, again.

I was sorry to see the visit end. It had started in a very depressing way, that’s for sure. I had to make the decision to medicate my own mother so she could better enjoy some time with me. That damn near broke me.

Then, I painted her nails. That simple act of service meaning much more to me than it did to her.  I held her hands, one finger at a time, and brought back the mother I knew.

But, it can’t last. Not anymore.

So, I packed up. I kissed her a few times extra that day. Got in another hug.

Then, I said goodbye, again. Making sure to leave nothing left unsaid, nothing left undone.

Just in case…

THANK YOU FOR READING THIS FAR!!!

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