"Take Me Home for Just One Night...I've Changed."

                                                            Sunday, August 14, 2011

Dear Suzy, Kathy,and Jonathan,

            This isn’t quite the letter that Kathy needs to come back to, so she may want to wait to read it.

            Mom was lying on her bed when I arrived a little after 11:00 today, and she looked frightened even though Kay wasn’t in the room.  One of the first things she said to me was, “Get me into a program where I can…expand.”

             I was trying to figure out whether she meant she was tired of BINGO and coloring circles or what, and then she explained, “Where I won’t poop all the time.”

             I told her that I really understood how worried she was about her BMs, but that, in fact, she didn’t poop all the time.  Her activities really were more expansive.  She played the piano for people.  She—

            “Take me home,” she said.  “For just one night.”

            I reminded her that one Christmas, when she was at my house, she didn’t feel comfortable because she couldn’t get close enough to the bathroom.”

            “But I’ve changed,” she said.

            She seemed so distressed.  I hoped that if we left the room, she might feel better, and she was willing to go out to the garden, but not for long. 

            She told me she wanted treatment so she wouldn’t have to go to the bathroom all the time.  She didn’t seem sure exactly where she was, but she wanted to see doctors and experts. 

            “What happens here if I need a doctor?” she asked.

            I explained that there was a nurse right upstairs, and we took her to see her neurologist whenever the time came.  She wanted to know when the next appointment was, and I told her that I’d check, but she’d had an appointment back in June and now it was August. 

            She was behaving a little bit as if she’d just arrived at this unfamiliar place and needed to get her bearings. 

           

            At that moment we were sitting at a table in the dining room, where she sometimes goes into an “act” that helps her focus on something besides her fears.  I’d started reading the Women’s Wit calendar, and Mom said, “Do you have any idea how many times I’ve read that?”

            Her point was well-taken.

            I got out the Unlikely Friends book, and once again Mom’s memory was sharp.  “Oh, we’ve read that!”

            “But not ALL of it,” I said.  “There are 47 stories, and we’ve only read, maybe ten or twenty.”

            I read about the orangutan and the kitten, but Mom didn’t enjoy it, and she told me to put the book away, which I did. 

“Who can I talk to here, besides you?  When you’re not here?”

            May and Bobbie were at the table, but I suggested the nurse, Sarah Jane.  She asked me to go get her, and I headed off, but Sarah Jane, now in a higher position, isn’t there on Sundays.  Someone named Ryan came to our aid.  He said he’d talked to Mom once before when she was playing the piano, and it was really nice.  We checked for Sonia, who was giving a tour.

            Ryan went to talk to Mom, and Mom told him about her worries that she wasn’t getting the right treatment to get over her BM problem and she didn’t know where to go.  He said he could take her to the bathroom, or he could get a female aide to take her.  Mother made an exasperated sound that said this wasn’t what she meant, but she said she’d go with me, and Divina said she’d bring prune juice.

            Once again Mom asked me to take her  home, and once again I reminded her that she hadn’t felt comfortable in my home because of her worries about needing the bathroom.  She said, “It’s clear that you’re trying to…me.”  (I know the word she used means get rid of, but I can’t remember what word she used.  It was something like “ditch.”

            All I felt capable of doing was trying to acknowledge her feelings and remind her that we looked for the best possible place for her, and this was it, and it was where I wanted to go when I had her concerns.  (Got that, Jonathan?)  Then I’d go get people who were “higher up.”  I spoke to Sonia  when she was through with her tour, and she said she would talk to Mom.

            I have a workshop tomorrow all day, and on Tuesday, I have to be home until the washer-dryer comes.  But if it comes early enough, I’ll see Mom after it’s installed that day.  Otherwise, I may not be able to go back until Friday because of my classes. 

            Love,

            Tina/Mom

PS  I did see Kay for a moment, but it was when she was in the hall.  I complimented her on the pretty woven scarf she was wearing, and she said It was from her daughter.

            “Donna?” I asked.

            “No, Cathy.  She works really hard.”

            “Oh, yes.  She lives in the mountains.”

            “It’s hard for her.  It’s hard for a lot of people.  That’s the way life is.”

            (Note:  Jonathan and I have read books that show that people don’t remember things accurately, so I’m really not sure how much of this she said and how much I said.  But I know she started it, and I know what  she said when I made some trite comment about how, “Yes, life is that way.  Sometimes it’s pleasant, and sometimes it’s really hard.” 

            She said, “Well, this place is rotten to the core!”  She and Mom seemed to be in agreement on that today.

            Oh, I forgot something really important!  (See how unreliable memory is, how Being Wrong I am?)  I think Carol’s family (Lauren, Madeleine, and Zak), who were with Carol at a nearby table,  must have heard the conversation I was having with Mom and how unhappy she was, and  they tried to help her feel better.  It was really sweet.  Lauren said, “Your mom really plays the piano well!  And she was telling us about her work as a probation officer.”  Mom smiled and said, “Yes, I wrote some good reports, and they received praise, but I didn’t get a raise or anything.”