Signs of decline

The Bike Expo

I spent the evening at the Bike Expo at State Fair Park. One of my favorite events. Spent a mere $80 on gizmos and doodads, and nice new biking shirt. Someday I'll model it for you.

Been a tough week -- momwise and otherwise. Work ate me alive, and there are lots of little errors in my papers. And I got into it with a photo editor who said my photo requests didn't fit into the schedule, meaning, essentially, my two papers next week would be gray ladies. I said what I said, and he said what he said, and it escalated somewhat, and today we had a peace powwow with the managerial women, and hopefully it's at least temporarily behind us. Nothing like a little seething, unexpressed rage to exhaust you. 

Mom, though. Mom, Mom, Mom. She called me Tuesday to say she was being kicked out of Cranberry because she wasn't good enough any more. She knew this because when she passes people in the hall, or goes past their rooms, they all ask, "How are you?" 

I thought she might actually have been asked to move to a higher-care section. So I called the nurse, and she said no, no discussion of that had taken place. I said, how do you decide? "Well, she walks, she can go to the bathroom by herself, she doesn't need help getting dressed, except for her bras, and she doesn't need help eating."

I asked the nurse if she had a longterm prognosis for my mom -- like how long it might be until she was moved. She said it was too hard to say.

She said Mom had been to the Parkinson's doc, and he was taking her off her Parkinson's meds for a couple days, and then would restore them, but have her take them at different times of the day. So maybe part of this recent decline is the drugs, or lack of drugs?

I went there last night and we ate with the group. We discussed the Tuesday election, the Supreme Court seat filled by the liberal incumbent. Mom seemed to listen, talked quietly with A, on her right, mostly about the food, a circular discussion that had them assenting to comments they hadn't heard, and saying things in response that weren't heard. The workers were all new, and the food delivery was slow, and it was at least a half an hour till A, sweet old A, got an acceptable grilled-cheese sandwich, having rejected one that was burned, and insisting this time on white bread, which had to be retrieved from some distant place. 

We went to Mom's room, did some of the rituals, but she was agitated, and wouldn't sit, and couldn't focus. She showed me old mail she's showed me many times before. 

She fussed about a haircut she'd scheduled twice and forgotten both times. We found a note that they were going to try again tomorrow (that is, today), at 9:30, and I went out and told the workers and asked them to make sure she got there. Mom said, "It's so disappointing when you disappoint yourself like that."

"We all forget things, Mom."

"But it's starting to happen constantly."

I tried to get her to lay down, and finally I just laid down on the bed, and she sat on the other side. Shortly, the phone rang, and it was her old friend, M, from home. Mom perked up, said she was doing OK, and held up her end of the conversation just like she would have two years ago. Her social skills are still there somewhere, when she's motivated, at least for a five-minute call. M talked about her recent travels with her husband -- to Norway -- and it seemed deeply unfair that some can travel and run and learn and go on and on and on at my mother's age, while her time is ending. 

The whole visit brought me down, and finally I had to leave. We hugged and she thanked me for coming. She said as I left, "I'm so glad you're my brother."

Sister S is here for the weekend, with Sister K and Sister L coming tomorrow. Thank god. 

S texted me tonight: "Mom is very quiet, confused, weak, fragile. Very sad."

The Bike Expo. What could be more soothing?