“chunky”

I drafted a brilliant blog entry and it disapeared into the twilight zone after I hit the delete button, probably with my pinky.  So, I’m going to try to recreate it.  It might end up in short hand

Went to see Mom last Saturday at the nursing home.  Dad was home with a stomach bug and did not see her at all on Friday, so I went in to see her for lunch .  When I walked into her room, she was sitting alone in her chair, talking a mile a minute to herself; or perhaps responding to those walking/talking past her room.  When I arrived, she seemed glad to see me; I think she knew who I was.  She talked, talked, talked, all of it “word salad,” they call it;  about 98 % making no sense at all.  I tried to converse back, but it was hard.  She laughed some.  She did look around the corner and call for my dad:   ”Burt?  Burt?”  so, she does still know him and did not forget his name (sometimes she calls him Bill, or asks “who’s Burt?”  I said he’d be back at dinner.  I wish I could transcribe some of her talking:  It’s like listening to a schizophrenic speak:  zero sense.  She smiled; the cadence and tone were familiar–it sounded like her;  it was grammatically on target and her mannerisms are the same, but the strings of words and sentences coming out of her mouth added up to nothing.  And she never shut up.  It was almost manic.  I asked her if she wanted to have lunch in the dining room and she said “Sure!”  We took a little walk around the hallways, and she said hello to everyone, had something nice to say (she thought one of the regular ladies there looked very cute that day and told her so) to everyone.    She even responded very nicely to “Orley” one of the regular gents who walks with a cane and kisses her forehead now and then and calls her sweetheart.   He seems to be in his right mind and upright, so I’m not sure  why he’s there. 

So, we dined with Carl, the amputee with a movement disorder of some kind, much difficulty talking and swallowing, has to eat his food blended, sometimes chokes, but mental faculties in place.  A kind of a handsome older man with no teeth, or few teeth, but somehow seems to stay friendly, now and then waving a contorted arm.  I asked if I could help him with his hot chocolate, because at least a half an hour before an aid will come to help him, and he nodded.   He needs it held to his lips with a straw, and he shakes while he struggles to suck on it.  I asked him if I was doing okay and he said yes.  I’m afraid I’ll choke him to death.   He also asked  me to wipe his mouth.  I felt useful.   Somehow we were talking about age and weight, and I asked Carl if I looked 46.  He shook his head.  I said “25?”  and he nodded.  I mentioned weight watchers.  I said “Carl, do I look fat?” and he horsely replied “Chunky.”  I said “What?  Chunky?”  and he simply nodded matter of factly.   I flirted with him a little, but when I did, he turned away.  That happened once before.  We seem to get along great and he seems to enjoy the company, but I think he may not appreciate the flirting, or perhaps finds it insulting, considering the physical shape he’s in.  I don’t know.  So, I’m going to stop the silly flirting. 

Had to feed Mom too, which Dad usually does, or an aid if Dad’s not there.    Some kind of creamed chicken with celery and mushrooms.  It tasted pretty good.  She liked the chicken, spit the celery.  There was spinach too, and I was sure she would not like that, but gave it a go anyway.  She made a terrible face and spit it down her bib.  She liked her butterscotch pudding, drank some hot chocolate, all her milk and a nutrition shake.  All the while she talk, talk, talked.  She even talks to Carl, who has taken to nodding in her direction a bit to acknowledge her nonsense.  Genevieve was there, some 95 years old, eats very very little.  Just a few bites of mushed food, almost always has her eyes closed.  I can’t imagine this woman going on much longer.

A few of the regulars have died already.  Mom’s room mate fell from her chair and broke a hip.  She was in her nineties too and did not make it through the surgery.  Another gentleman with Alzheimers, we think, died also, but  not sure why.   He looked to be not too far gone.  

We seemed to have a wonderful time, more walks, looked out the window at the sunshine. She did comment that it was a beautiful day.   I said “We had a good time today” and she very pleasantly said “Yes, we did!”  It was nearing nap time, so we headed back to her room.  That’s when her mood took a sudden dark turn.  She began despairing and squirming in her seat.  I wasn’t sure if it was a BM coming on, or if she just gets miserably uncomfortable in the chair or what.   She put her hand to her forhead and moaned, wondering what she was going to do, wondering what was wrong with her, her face looking as if she would cry.  “What would you do if you were me?”  I said I’d stay right here and let them take care of me, but that was no comfort.  She put her hand to her forhead many times over, as if it was the end of the world.  I tried to tell her not to worry; Dad would be there when she woke up from her nap and that she was just tired.  This offered about one second of comfort, and she repeated:  “What’s wrong with me?”  And then she’d try to string some words together and say “I can’t do it; I can’t do anything.”  She asked questions that I could not understand and I just tried to tell her not to worry.   She wanted to get in the car and leave.  She mentioned “Up North.”  I looked for an aid to lay her down, but she took forever.  Finally she arrived to take care of mom, and I repeated that Dad would be there after her nap, and she said “okay, that sounds like the best thing to do.”  

It’s as if there is a bit of awareness now and then:  she knows her brain is mush, she knows somethings wrong and she knows nothing can be done about it and she despairs something terrible.  Seems to want to know where we can go.  The whole time she despaired she did not stop talking.  Much of  it word salad, some of it not.  By the time I left, she seemed content to let the aid lay her down. 

Dad reported that she was quite sleepy at dinner.  No doubt.  She was going full steam for about 2 hours at lunch.   The turn in her mood was sudden, very strange and dark.  When she was happy and full of chatter, she made less sense, then when she was despairing, she did make some sense.  Very interesting. 

Work load this week not bad.  This weekend should be okay.  A little catching up to do, but no major essays to read.   What shall I do? 

Warmed up to 60 yesterday, snow melting.  Reminded me of spring when little rivers of melted snow would travel down the streets and through the sand and we’d try to direct the streams.  I love melted snow that turns to mini-rivers.  Today, very foggy.  Scary driving this morning.   Now, raining.  I like this better than all the snow, but I suspect winter’s not over yet.

Taxes.   That’s what I’ll do this weekend.  I’ll likely owe yet another couple hundred dollars.