Poor Mother Has Had It!

We’ve had quite a time here the last few days. There has been a constant turnover of nurse's aides for weeks now ever since I made the decision not to waste any more time on someone I felt could not or would not do a good job. I knew it would be hard on both Mother and me, but I have to admit that I wore out from the stress of it before she did.

Strangers always upset her. They frighten her, and their presence often makes her think something is wrong with her or even that she’s dying. She becomes angry, anxious, agitated, and then manic. But she coped well this time until last Thursday when she finally decided she’d had enough.

There was another new face here that morning, another strange voice, and she finally reached her limit. Even through the aide and I weren’t talking loudly, we were still talking, and her normal routine was interrupted once again. She’d listened to me repeat every little detail about her far too many times, and felt unfamiliar hands gripping her and putting pressure on places where pressure needed to be avoided because of her broken hips. She’d been awkwardly turned, put in uncomfortable positions, and everything pertaining to her care had taken three times longer than it should because someone was trying to learn. She’d been bothered when she needed to be left alone and left alone when she needed attention, all in the name of practice. She was exhausted, and I know every bone in her body must have ached from excessive handling, and all I could do was keep saying I was sorry. Her only defense was to do the one thing she knows to do and that was to erupt in anger and frustration, and to such a degree that she lost what little self-control she possessed. She yelled and fussed in varying degrees until 1:30am Friday morning before complete exhaustion and fretful sleep finally overtook her.

She slept all day Friday, which is normal after exerting so much energy to agitation. She woke in a fog on Saturday so I decided to take advantage of her lethargic state. I cut and filed her fingernails, gave her a mini facial, scrubbed her from head to toe, then massaged lotion into her damp skin. She came out of her fog during all that and grew more and more relaxed as I worked my way through her care, which was what I hoped for. It worked. She was happy, content, and loving the remainder of the weekend. I kept the house quiet, even turned down a visit from a good friend. That worked, too. She rested well, ate well, and made good conversation. She was Mother, and her days were good ones like I always hope they will be.

But Monday came all too soon and even though the aide and I did everything right, her agitation returned intermittently throughout the day and evening. In fact, she was still saying “Oh, God!” and “Gosh darn it!” with great gusto at 1am this morning, which I knew was not a good sign. Sure enough, she’s hollered her way through most of this day and is well on her way to a full blown manic attack as of this minute. I’ve just given her extra medication, which is all she can have for the remainder of the night. Now all I can do is leave her alone and hope the medication will help. If not, we’re in for a long night.

Bless her heart. The way she suffers with the ravages of dementia is far worse than the physical pain she’d endured. And they have never found a medication that helps her. Of course, no one has ever gone beyond the five or six meds normally used for dementia patients and why I do not know. I’ve had to learn to accept that things as they are and to deal with them the best way I can. So we’ll make it through this night like we’ve made it through so many others, and always with the hope that she’ll come out on the other side.

Till next time,
Sharon