A kind of horror

For Wauwatosa Now

When I arrive in the dining room for a visit lately, Mom looks at me like I'm a stranger, of no account. Tonight we sat and ate in almost complete silence. I would say she was tired, but that doesn't quite describe it. Maybe "resigned" is a better word. Her eyes look like she's been through something, and Monday night, or maybe it was Tuesday night, she had been.

She's complained before about a third-shift aide. "She hates me," Mom said. It's hard to get the story straight, but Mom said this time, in the middle of the night, she'd torn the blankets off Mom's bed after Mom had called, and was rough with her as she went to the bathroom, and then, when Mom couldn't go after all, that was more frustrating to the aide. (Sister K would know this story better.)

Somehow Mom made her way to the hall -- with her walker, she said, although it's hard to imagine her going very far without a fall -- and a nurse saw her there and -- I don't know. Got mad at Mom? Got mad at the aide?

At dinner, then, tonight, we told this story to one of the best, most-friendly aides. And she knew right away who it was -- MM. "I think she thinks it's the best way to get things done," the friendly aide said.  She said MM had worked there a long time. So I left Mom in the lounge for a minute and talked with the nurse in charge. She already knew of the problem, and I said I didn't want MM dealing with Mom ever again. She said, "No, she shouldn't have to deal with that" -- Mom shouldn't have to live in fear of this woman. She said she'd tell the night nurse, too.

So we shall see.

I pop in when I do, and have no idea what she's been through, and she can't tell me clearly, and it's a kind of horror. We wandered around a bit, and finally I wanted to go, but didn't want to leave her, but felt inadequate to help, and she just said, "You go now. Say hi to Julie."

So I went. It's so strange for her to ask me to leave.