It's been almost 6 months since I've last blogged. And it feels like a lifetime ago because so much has happened since then.
I may have mentioned in a previous blog that my grandmother came to live with us last year after she had fallen and broken a hip. We are blessed enough to have an empty room and full bath on the first level of our home, which meant there was no need for her to climb any stairs. It was quite the adjustment to have her move in. I had to get used to being questioned about my comings and goings and the constant criticism. We had many an argument because nothing I did ever seemed to be good enough. She hated being in CT and longed for her beloved, Bronx. She never wanted to be alone, so in order for me to go out at nights or for a weekend away, I had to arrange for someone to come stay with her. It was as if we had adopted a 70 something year old child. Needless to say, it wasn't always easy but we made it work.
Before she moved in with us, I called her every morning to see how she was doing. In our daily conversations, I realized that she was forgetting things more frequently, which was a concern for me. After she moved in, her lapse in memory was much more noticeable. I took her to be tested and it was confirmed that she was in the beginning stages of dementia. When I asked the doctor to differentiate between dementia and Alzheimer's, the doctor explained that Alzheimer's is the most common form of dementia but there were other types of dementia. My grandmother had vascular dementia and Alzheimer's.
This diagnosis was devastating to me, as I realized that some of the behavior that annoyed the heck out of me, were not always in her control. I also recognized that she would only decline as time went on. When she first moved in, my biggest fear was that I would come down stairs one morning or home from work and she would be hurt or worse. Once she was diagnosed, the fear only increased. What if she was cooking and forgot to turn the oven off? What if she fell and no one was home to help her? I had been struggling with the state to get her approved for home care but had no luck.
One Friday morning, as I made my way downstairs, I noticed she wasn't in her usual spot on the couch. I assumed she was in the bathroom and continued walking to the kitchen. As I passed the hallway, I looked to my left and saw her feet sticking out of the doorway of her room. This was one of my worst nightmares come true. I ran to her to assist her and questioned her to see how and why she was on the floor. I was unable to make out any words she spoke to me. I knew I had to take her to the doctor. I thought I would be able to dress her and drive her but realized that I needed help. I called 911 and when the paramedics got there, I heard them mention a possible stroke, after I explained the symptoms. She was rushed to the hospital.
Once the stretcher left my house, I immediately broke down in tears. I composed myself long enough to call her daughter and my sister. I made my way to the hospital to await news. My sister met me at the hospital and we were told she would be admitted but the tests had not confirmed a stroke. She was disoriented and still unintelligible. She kept insisting on getting up to go cook some Mondongo for my uncle. Brenda and I made jokes to bring some levity to the situation. We called her a flight risk because she kept trying to escape the bed. After a couple of days, they did an MRI, and it was finally confirmed that she had in fact, suffered a stroke. What would this mean for her? Will she be able to come home? Will she recover?
She was moved to short term rehab after about a week in the hospital. She progressed quickly during her first few days. She was able to speak a little more clearly and was her usual feisty self. I assumed with time, she would continue to progress and we would be able to get her the help she needs at home. However, it soon became clear that the stroke had impacted the dementia and she was declining at a faster rate than before. She was also fast approaching her maximum medical improvement. We were told that she would need 24 hour care when she was discharged. 24 hour care?? How would she get that care in my home? Both my husband and I work. I explained to the home that I would not be able to bring her home without having care in place. Ultimately, she was moved to long term care and its where she remains today.
Deciding to keep her there is one of the hardest things I've ever had to do. Part of me feels like I let her down and gave up on her. Another part of me recognizes that I cannot provide the care she needs and she is in a safe place. Reconciling these two parts is not easy. I visit almost every day and am mentally and emotionally exhausted. She hasn't accepted that she has dementia and thinks I diagnosed her with the condition in order to get rid of her. Her aggression and anger has increased and it breaks my heart. There is no reasoning with her because that part of her mind is not there. She can go from yelling at me to talking to me like normal in the span of a couple of minutes. My natural instinct is to yell back or fight back but I have to restrain myself.
Everyday it seems like I see more examples of the dementia creeping in and stealing more from us. Her memory is slowly slipping away and I just want to rage and fight against it. But who do I fight? There is no one or nothing that can stop the inevitability of what's going to happen. I try to enjoy the time I have left with her but sometimes it doesn't seem like long enough. How much longer before she doesn't recognize me anymore?
I may have mentioned in a previous blog that my grandmother came to live with us last year after she had fallen and broken a hip. We are blessed enough to have an empty room and full bath on the first level of our home, which meant there was no need for her to climb any stairs. It was quite the adjustment to have her move in. I had to get used to being questioned about my comings and goings and the constant criticism. We had many an argument because nothing I did ever seemed to be good enough. She hated being in CT and longed for her beloved, Bronx. She never wanted to be alone, so in order for me to go out at nights or for a weekend away, I had to arrange for someone to come stay with her. It was as if we had adopted a 70 something year old child. Needless to say, it wasn't always easy but we made it work.
Before she moved in with us, I called her every morning to see how she was doing. In our daily conversations, I realized that she was forgetting things more frequently, which was a concern for me. After she moved in, her lapse in memory was much more noticeable. I took her to be tested and it was confirmed that she was in the beginning stages of dementia. When I asked the doctor to differentiate between dementia and Alzheimer's, the doctor explained that Alzheimer's is the most common form of dementia but there were other types of dementia. My grandmother had vascular dementia and Alzheimer's.
This diagnosis was devastating to me, as I realized that some of the behavior that annoyed the heck out of me, were not always in her control. I also recognized that she would only decline as time went on. When she first moved in, my biggest fear was that I would come down stairs one morning or home from work and she would be hurt or worse. Once she was diagnosed, the fear only increased. What if she was cooking and forgot to turn the oven off? What if she fell and no one was home to help her? I had been struggling with the state to get her approved for home care but had no luck.
One Friday morning, as I made my way downstairs, I noticed she wasn't in her usual spot on the couch. I assumed she was in the bathroom and continued walking to the kitchen. As I passed the hallway, I looked to my left and saw her feet sticking out of the doorway of her room. This was one of my worst nightmares come true. I ran to her to assist her and questioned her to see how and why she was on the floor. I was unable to make out any words she spoke to me. I knew I had to take her to the doctor. I thought I would be able to dress her and drive her but realized that I needed help. I called 911 and when the paramedics got there, I heard them mention a possible stroke, after I explained the symptoms. She was rushed to the hospital.
Once the stretcher left my house, I immediately broke down in tears. I composed myself long enough to call her daughter and my sister. I made my way to the hospital to await news. My sister met me at the hospital and we were told she would be admitted but the tests had not confirmed a stroke. She was disoriented and still unintelligible. She kept insisting on getting up to go cook some Mondongo for my uncle. Brenda and I made jokes to bring some levity to the situation. We called her a flight risk because she kept trying to escape the bed. After a couple of days, they did an MRI, and it was finally confirmed that she had in fact, suffered a stroke. What would this mean for her? Will she be able to come home? Will she recover?
She was moved to short term rehab after about a week in the hospital. She progressed quickly during her first few days. She was able to speak a little more clearly and was her usual feisty self. I assumed with time, she would continue to progress and we would be able to get her the help she needs at home. However, it soon became clear that the stroke had impacted the dementia and she was declining at a faster rate than before. She was also fast approaching her maximum medical improvement. We were told that she would need 24 hour care when she was discharged. 24 hour care?? How would she get that care in my home? Both my husband and I work. I explained to the home that I would not be able to bring her home without having care in place. Ultimately, she was moved to long term care and its where she remains today.
Deciding to keep her there is one of the hardest things I've ever had to do. Part of me feels like I let her down and gave up on her. Another part of me recognizes that I cannot provide the care she needs and she is in a safe place. Reconciling these two parts is not easy. I visit almost every day and am mentally and emotionally exhausted. She hasn't accepted that she has dementia and thinks I diagnosed her with the condition in order to get rid of her. Her aggression and anger has increased and it breaks my heart. There is no reasoning with her because that part of her mind is not there. She can go from yelling at me to talking to me like normal in the span of a couple of minutes. My natural instinct is to yell back or fight back but I have to restrain myself.
Everyday it seems like I see more examples of the dementia creeping in and stealing more from us. Her memory is slowly slipping away and I just want to rage and fight against it. But who do I fight? There is no one or nothing that can stop the inevitability of what's going to happen. I try to enjoy the time I have left with her but sometimes it doesn't seem like long enough. How much longer before she doesn't recognize me anymore?
Tonight was another hard one for me and I decided to blog about it. Truthfully, I still feel raw and emotional but this was a small outlet. As always, thanks for reading and take care.
Not sure why, this hit home for me more than usual, when I've not only been present during one of her many outbursts, but I also hear about them. I think reading about it, puts a finality that I tend to not think about. But the ugly and sad truth is that she won't be around forever. Just the thought of her losing her is causing me to cry. I need to buy a larger memory card so I capture not only her image, but her voice and spirit. I love you, not just because, but for everything you do for wela and us. Keep being you and you'll continue being blessed
ReplyDeleteThank you Brenda. While some may see this post as a way for me to seek credit or validation, it really is a way for me to process how I feel. Thank you for being an outlet a rock for me. I love you.
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