Archive for September, 2009|Monthly archive page

‘You’re my best person’

I think I might need to call Mom’s guardian angel. Not to complain, necessarily, but to make sure the aides who work with patients in Mom’s new area know that she needs some attention to her hygiene, dressing and grooming. I had noticed last Wednesday that Mom’s hair was greasy. And that was the day she was wearing two pairs of pants over a very dirty pair of underwear. When I visited Sunday, her hair was even dirtier. And she was wearing her pajama bottoms – really cute ones, light green with brown polka-dots – and three shirts: a black and red dress blouse, a blue button-down and a purple velour pullover. She also was holding onto a stuffed sheepdog that she must have swiped from another resident. And dog/cat was nowhere to be found. She was wearing no eyeglasses at all. I noticed a pair in her room, on her bed, which was also scattered with several articles of clothing. All this suggested to me that Mom is being left to her own devices to start the day, and she isn’t very skilled at doing that.

I wouldn’t even care, necessarily, except that I think it has an effect on Mom. I found her sitting at a table with some other women, and they were generally just sitting, not really interacting. She seemed glad to see me. I sat down with her and we just chatted, as well as we could. She seemed just a little disoriented – moreso than she has been. She seemed a little unhappy. Nothing serious, at all, but just a little less cheerful than she has been lately. “I do feel lost,” she said at one point. She finally conveyed to me that part of her problem was that she didn’t have any glasses on. I went back to her room, and rather than giving her the pair on her bed, which do not belong to her, I found a spare pair of her own glasses that I had set aside and gave those to her instead. I don’t know if they’re the same prescription. But they are trifocals, so I figured they would be close to what she had before. These frames are large. I’m really not sure when she wore them – maybe her early 60s? I remember them. They felt funny on her face, she said. But they did help her see more clearly. I realize now I didn’t tell anyone they need to be engraved with her name. I’m planning to visit tomorrow. One wonders what I’ll find on her face then.

She has said a few nice things to me lately: “You don’t know how important you are.” I responded that we are both important to each other. And on Sunday, she said, “You’re my best person.” And, “We always feel better when we’ve seen our friends.” She asks about my husband sometimes and how he is. Sometimes she calls him Patrick and sometimes just my husband. I had arrived about half an hour before lunch. When her tray arrived, it was turkey, stuffing and green beans. A perfect Bonnie meal, really. She pointed to her plate and said, “I’m not really happy about this.” I was stunned. Maybe because there was gravy on it? I don’t know. I told her it was good stuff and that I thought she would like it. And I kissed her goodbye so she could concentrate on her meal.

On the way out I ran into Penny, the nurse, who seems to always be at the Alz center when I am there. She assures me she does get days off, but I am surprised at how often I see her. She said Mom had had some harsh words for a staff member recently. The woman, a nurse administrator, apparently had been hovering over Mom in the program area. If Mom left her purse on the floor, the nurse would take it to her. If Mom lost track of dog/cat, the nurse would retrieve it and give it back to Mom. And Mom said to her, “I don’t like you.” And then she apparently said she might hit her if she doesn’t watch out – something along those lines. Penny thought it was funny, and more evidence that Mom doesn’t like to be followed around. I think even the administrator took it just fine. Virtually everything that happens there has happened before, I imagine. Penny has worked there for 18 years, for example, so she has seen a lot. Though she loves to tell a funny story, she is not all fun and games. As we walked together to our care conference meeting last week, she said the previous week had been rough. I asked why. “We lost six people in one week,” she said. That is not typical. She said most deaths occur between Thanksgiving and Easter. The staff members are used to death, of course, but death with that type of frequency took its toll on a lot of people.

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Care conference

The social worker at the Alz center invited me to attend a care conference about Mom on Wednesday morning. Apparently staff members hold these every three months about each resident and family can choose whether or not to attend. I was very glad to be invited. I was curious to hear what they had to say about Mom and just to learn more about the philosophy of the place.

The center is starting something new – the “Guardian Angel” program. Senior members of the staff will be assigned to serve as guardian angels for a set group of patients. They become the central point of contact for questions and concerns about the patient. A nurse named Rachel is Mom’s angel. This struck me as quite something. As if department heads don’t already have enough to do, they now are responsible for knowing just a little bit extra about their assigned group of residents. I think it’s great, myself. I just hope they think it’s great, too.

During the conference, each staff member told me her impressions of Mom. All the departments heads there on this day were women, and that might be the case about the whole place. There are very few men around, though I know the neurologist medical director is a man and I have seen at least one male aide. The social worker said she thought Mom’s adjustment to the new center had been among the best adjustments she has ever seen. She sat on the couch once with Mom and they talked about how they both had Crocs on. Rachel was assigned to Mom because of her new location in the program wing of the building, so I don’t think she knows too much about Mom just yet – she just moved there on Tuesday. Penny the nurse talked about how much she likes Mom – she is the one who called her an angel. She also noticed that Mom doesn’t carry around dog/cat as much, and she wonders if Mom might be weaning herself from that security item – considered a good sign. Meg the activities director said Mom does pretty well with most activities. She sometimes gets frustrated when she has trouble following instructions. Mom is also picky about who touches her. Apparently it’s OK if staff members touch her, but Mom has been resistant to being touched by other residents. I found this interesting. They all noticed that Mom doesn’t like having anyone hovering around her too much. She becomes suspicious. I think that is one reason she had such a hard time at Whetstone. There was a staff member with her at all times and that drove her nuts.

I told the staff members that Mom had become her old self essentially the minute she walked into the center. She had become more relaxed. She stopped complaining. Her generally good nature returned. Her ability to sleep on the lobby couch tells me a lot about her comfort level. Mom’s lobby naps are definitely part of the everyday routine now, and everyone agreed there is absolutely nothing wrong with that. As for medication, the nursing staff will probably start to wean Mom from the antipsychotic, and I completely approve of that idea. Mom has been transferred from her Ohio State neurologist to the medical director of the center, so that will reduce the need to take her out for doctor’s appointments. And those two neurologists know each other and have similar philosophies. I said I just want Mom to be as happy as she can be, and that I didn’t think the antipsychotic actually did anything to improve how she feels. I think it just flattened out her behavior. I forgot to say I never want her to feel scared. But she hasn’t shown any signs of that lately. She did say when I was visiting with her Wednesday that she is lonesome when I’m not around. I think that could be related to her adjustment to yet another room. But I also told her I would try to visit more often. We ran into my neighbor in the program area, and she asked Mom how she’s doing. “About medium,” Mom said. I thought that was a funny answer. This was when she said she is lonely, too.

I briefly saw Mom before my meeting. I walked back to the program area and could see her sitting in a chair facing the hallway. “There’s Emily,” she said. I liked that. I don’t think she always knows my name even if she knows my face. I checked out her new room and reminded her of its location. It isn’t as nice as her previous room – it is older, I believe. I think the other wing is a newer part of the building. It’s just a little run-down looking, maybe slightly more institutional. But it’s just fine. It’s still roomy. And I really don’t think she will spend much time there beyond sleeping. Just outside her door is the large and active program area, virtually always full of people during the day.

Mom on the bed in her new room. I noticed her hair was a little oily and her facial skin looked a little dry. I hope she isn't resisting the shower. She does that sometimes.

Mom on the bed in her new room. I noticed her hair was a little oily and her facial skin looked a little dry. I hope she isn't resisting the shower. She does that sometimes.

Her buffet/dresser and small night stand.

Her buffet/dresser and small night stand.

Each room has a locked chest for toiletries. The combination is the same on all of them so family members and staff can easily access them. I think this is a way to manage small items that can be hard to keep track of in a facility where residents tend to borrow from each other.

Each room has a locked chest for toiletries. The combination is the same on all of them so family members and staff can easily access them. I think this is a way to manage small items that can be hard to keep track of in a facility where residents tend to borrow from each other.

I left Mom in her room when I went to the meeting, and when I returned about half an hour later, Mom was asleep on her bed. She woke up when I walked into her room. I told her it was almost time for lunch. I had noticed when I first saw her that she had on a pair of pants I didn’t recognize. She also had on eyeglasses that weren’t hers. I told the staff members these things. I said I am not really worried about this stuff at all, but I just wanted to be sure other families won’t accuse her of stealing. I figure it will all get resolved eventually. The staff members said sometimes residents take off their glasses and never put them on again. So that could be the next thing that happens. One wonders where Mom’s glasses are. I didn’t notice them on anyone else’s face.

I got a little blast from the assisted living past; I ended up changing Mom’s clothes for her. Mom said she had to pee so I directed her to her bathroom. She pulled down her pants, and I saw that the unfamiliar yellow pair of pants she had on were pulled over a pair of gray pants that I did know were hers. The gray pants looked a little…soiled. I wondered if it had been her idea to conceal that by covering them with another pair of pants. I’ll just never know. Her underwear didn’t look so good so she started taking everything off. I threw the pants into her laundry basket and threw away her underwear, and gave her a fresh pair. She is still able to complete the task of going to the bathroom, but she has a little bit of a problem with the cleanup. I could tell she was giving it an extra effort this time, even showing me the status of the toilet paper, and I gave her encouraging words about that. And I picked out some white pants for her to wear. She’s wearing the pink Crocs these days with no socks. The staff members like her pink Crocs.

A new room

Just got a call from the social worker at the Alz center. A bed opened up in the wing that houses the large program area so Mom gets to move to that side of the building. She spends virtually of her time there or on the lobby couch, the social worker said. Mom definitely has a solid reputation for loving the lobby couch. This means she will switch dining areas, as well, which will be nice, because it’s just a cheerier setting in the program area, which converts to a dining room for meals. That is really the only thing I haven’t been crazy about in the Alz center – the dining room on the skilled side of the building is a little bit depressing and really institutional.

“Do I need to come and take care of her stuff?” I asked. No, the social worker said – the staff will handle moving everything. Stunning and good news. I never did hang up any pictures in her current room. Now I will be motivated to finish the decorating – with an old print and a few collages of photos.

Tomorrow we are scheduled to have a care conference about Mom around lunchtime. I’ll plan to get there early and see her new room. And then I plan to finally attend the family support group meeting tomorrow night, as well. These are the only weekly Alzheimer caregiver support groups that I have ever found in central Ohio. I have attended just twice before and then didn’t go back for a variety of reasons. It’s open to families of residents of the center plus anyone else who is a caregiver, but I always felt the leader of the meeting placed emphasis on the residents’ families – with good reason, since he knows them personally. Now I will fit in. All other support groups in the area are monthly, and I just never felt that that was frequent enough, so I never even gave one a try.

An angel

I visited Mom Thursday, timing my arrival just after her lunch. I got there at about 12:50. Mom was sacked out on the lobby couch, holding onto dog/cat. I pulled up a chair next to her and sat for a little while. And then I touched her leg, and she woke up. She seemed to be glad to see me. I told her she could continue her nap if she wanted to, but she preferred to stay awake. We sat for a little while until she seemed more alert. One aide came by and told me how sweet she thinks Mom is. She also said she thought Mom would enjoy having a room on the other end of the facility, where the large program area is. That remains the plan, I think, when a bed opens on that end of the building. Penny the nurse came by and I asked how Mom had been doing since the fight a few days before. “That wasn’t her fault,” Penny said. “She is an angel.” These two assessments were great news to me.

We went to the program area and I did her nails. I actually filed them down a bit. They are getting long and a little ragged. And I painted them pink. The activities director was leading a small art project. Residents were painting little ceramic magnets. Mom said she wanted to join the activity so she pulled up a chair at the table. I sat behind her at another table. She didn’t seem to really understand the painting concept. One of the staffers kept trying to encourage Mom to paint the entire surface of the magnet, which was a unicorn shape. Mom just didn’t seem to understand the concept of dipping her brush in the paint and then transferring that paint to the magnet surface. It’s interesting – other residents, perhaps more advanced than Mom, could still perform this task. One man just painted a picture on a piece of paper instead. Mom seemed to be getting grumpy. I finished painting her unicorn. I suggested she might want to finish her nap. She seemed to think that was a good idea, so I settled her into her bed and left.

I went back today, arriving at 2 p.m. Mom wasn’t in her room. I found her in the program area with a small group watching “Ice Age,” an animated movie. I pulled a chair up next to her. She turned and saw me and gave me a nice greeting. I had noticed dog/cat on her bed. Her yellow purse was with her. She had lipstick on. She pulled out a lipstick and applied some more. She chatted with me off and on. “Did you just happen to come here today?” she asked. “I came to see you,” I said. She seemed to like that. “I’ll probably sleep here tonight,” she said. Later, she said, “Whose apartment will I use?” I told her she had a room here, and all of her clothes and other belongings. She asked about “him” and I assumed she meant Patrick. “Is his mouth more comfortable?” she asked. And I realized she was asking about my dog, who recently had eight teeth removed because of chronic swelling in his gums. She remembered something about that story from my previous visit. She started going through her purse. She found the lipstick, and applied a little bit more. She found a sock and chuckled. We sat for a little while and just watched the movie, which I had never seen. After a half-hour, I said I should hit the road to go to the grocery store. She decided she was ready to leave, too. “What I’d really like to do is go to sleep,” she said. Perfect, I thought. I walked her to her room and, once again, tucked her into her bed for a nap. I don’t think the rest will do any harm. She still has a stuffy nose after all this time.

Meanwhile, Whetstone called our house on Friday. Patrick had come home early from work so he answered the call. This time it was Becky, someone in accounts receivable. She was informing us that Mom had what is called a “patient liability” amount due for the amount of time she spent in the nursing home. Apparently she owes the full monthly amount even though she spent only 15 days there. Patrick said to her, “You know Bonnie was kicked out, don’t you?” And Becky replied, “I’m just the person who makes the calls.” I think he enjoyed giving this unfortunate representative of Whetstone a difficult time. He asked for the amount owed. He also asked for a supervisor’s name. I had just told the business manager the day before to use Mom’s credit from assisted living and apply it to her patient liability. So I don’t know why this call was made. I called Becky and left a voice mail indicating I wanted Mom’s credit to be used to pay her liability. And in fact, there will be about $600 still left as a credit. I wonder what will happen to that. It’s frankly not in Mom’s best interest to have a windfall at this point in the Medicaid application process. Maybe I can advance pay Mom’s liability at the Alz center, or add to her prepaid funeral account. It’s just something else to have to do.

I dreamed a dream

I had a dream last night that Mom was kicked out of the Alzheimer center and sent back to Whetstone. I don’t remember many details – such as why the change occurred – but I recall a lingering feeling, while I was in the midst of the dream, of general discomfort, a feeling that lingered even after I woke up, for a little while. Because, you know, that turn of events would actually be a nightmare. I never like it when I wake from a dream and can’t tell for a moment what is real and what my mind created overnight. I felt a strong sense of relief when I realized it was only a dream.

I haven’t seen Mom in a week. It just hasn’t fit into my schedule. I feel some guilt, but I also feel like I have to just give myself a break about this. I am going to see her tomorrow. I plan to polish her fingernails after lunch. I’m curious about her laundry. I had said I would do it, but the last time I was there, the basket in her closet was empty. Fine. I don’t really know why I want to do it. I’ve been out of the Bonnie laundry business for a good year or so and there’s really no reason to go back. I certainly don’t miss it. And, naturally, I want to know if she remembers having a fight the other day with another resident.

Perhaps I dreamed about Whetstone because I have received mail and phone calls from the place. The first mailing that I assumed was a bill was actually a credit from Mom’s assisted living account. The second piece came more recently and was a bill for about $3,800 for the 15 nights Mom spent in the nursing home. Plus $2.49 for incidentals: a hairbrush, a package of disposable washcloths that they automatically supplied, and a pink plastic bin they put her toiletries in on the day she moved out. Whatever. I have also received two bills from the pharmacy the nursing home used for a total of about $1,100. Again, for 15 days of meds. That compares to the roughly $75 per month I spent on Mom’s meds at a regular pharmacy under her retirement insurance plan. No wonder Medicaid is in the shitter – nursing home costs are one thing, but that pharmacy charge is really criminal, I think. My answer to all that mail is: pending Medicaid application. You’ll just have to wait.

And speaking of that, the business manager for the nursing home left me a voice mail saying she wants to talk about the application. I liked her – she was helpful in preparing me for the Medicaid process. But I don’t know what she might want to talk about. I surely have zero control over the speed of the process. I have given the case worker everything she asked for, and my most recent correspondence with her was a question about how I should divvy up Mom’s available funds to pay Whetstone for Mom’s brief time there and the Alz center for time spent there before the application is approved. The business manager at the Alz center told me to ask the case worker for guidance on this. So far, she has not responded. I don’t really want to worry about the application, but knowing Whetstone has questions makes me uneasy. I figure they can just roll Mom’s assisted living credit over to the nursing home, and I would expect them to do so. Maybe I have to approve that. I guess I’ll find out tomorrow, when I call her back.

Telepathy?

I had a busy weekend and now my car is in the shop, so I haven’t seen Mom since Thursday. I went in Friday to drop off some disposable underwear, and I couldn’t find her anywhere. The activities director saw me looking around, and she told me she had seen Mom recently during the Friday ice cream activity, but then lost track of her. Mom wasn’t in her room or the lobby or in any hallways of her wing, either. We both guessed she might have popped into someone else’s room for a nap. Which is fine. There aren’t really any places to hide or get lost, so that seemed to be the most likely scenario.

So today I called the nurse just to see how Mom is doing. Interestingly, she said Mom had been fine until about 10 minutes ago, when she had had an altercation with another resident. “You saved me a phone call,” the nurse said. I said that was odd that it had just happened. I knew I wanted to call in today and had just paused and made the call on a whim at that time. As for the altercation, no one was injured. I asked who the resident was, but the nurse isn’t allowed to tell me. She said they “got into each other’s space” and that didn’t work out very well. She said it was after lunch, when many residents are tired and, I guess, possibly grumpy, too. By the time we were talking on the phone, Mom had settled in for her afternoon nap on the lobby couch. “That’s her spot every afternoon,” she said. She said that most of the time, Mom is either on the lobby couch or in the big program area at the other end of the center. I considered that to be good news. We both agreed that one good thing about Alzheimer’s is that both Mom and the other resident will likely forget they had a fight. I hope so. Mom sometimes has a firm grasp on anything negative and it can cloud her judgment about someone for good.

On Thursday, I went to see Mom shortly before lunch. I am having a hard time remembering where I found her that day. But what I do remember is something funny. She was wearing light blue cotton pants with pockets, and an aqua striped shirt that I have always liked. As we took a brief walk to and from her room, she kept her hands in her pockets. As I walked with her to the dining room, where I was going to drop her off for lunch, she said, “I feel like an interesting person, walking this way.” That is, walking with her hands in her pockets. It’s true, she ordinarily doesn’t keep her hands in her pockets, so I don’t know why she suddenly took up that habit. But I like it that she liked it.

Sniffles

Mom might have a cold. When I visited her today, her nose was running a little bit. And she said she had needed to blow her nose. She also seemed really woozy. I assumed she was tired. This place is not the type to overmedicate her, so I think I was right about that. In fact, when I walked into the lobby, I saw her heading for a couch, and I was guessing that she was going to lie down for a nap. It was just after lunch. She said “It’s a miracle” when I showed up today. She said the same on Sunday afternoon when I visited. I imagine it feels like a long time between visits for her – or that she really simply has no idea about the last time I visited. I have also cut back on visitation now that she seems so settled. That remains true, still. She might toss out a small complaint about not having friends or about being lost or about not having a place to sleep, but I attribute that to confusion and forgetfulness. She is friendly when we pass people in the hall. She pointed out one man as her friend. He likes to dance. And when I walked past him in the hall on Sunday, he was standing around with no shirt on. “Excuse me,” I said as I passed him. “You’re welcome,” he replied. He is a pretty funny guy – functions fairly well, like Mom, compared to others in the place. So I’m not surprised they are friends.

Today, I painted Mom’s fingernails again. I liked having a specific thing to do with her. A few staff members joked “I’m next” as Mom and I sat in the lobby and I did her nails. They’ll find out soon enough if they take one look at Mom’s hands that I do a lazy job of it. But Mom seems to like having pink fingernails. I just put on one coat. It looks nice with all of her bracelets. We took a little walk and then I took her to her room today and suggested she consider taking a nap. She said she had to pee, so I headed her toward her room for that purpose. It was funny, because when she was done peeing, she said it smelled bad – worse than usual. When I stepped over to the toilet to flush it, it was pretty clear to me that Mom had simply farted, and that’s what she smelled. But she didn’t seem aware of it. She is still able to declare when she needs to use the bathroom, but it does seem she can be easily confused about it, too. She’ll start to lift up her shirt and make the motion of pulling down her pants at the sight of a chair or a bed in her room before I open the bathroom door and point her toward the toilet.

On Sunday, we ran into each other in the lobby and I told Mom I wanted to go to her room to hang up her clean laundry. She sat in a chair while I did that. I also arranged some pictures on posterboard under plexiglass so she can have some familiar faces on her wall. I didn’t do a very good job, though, and when I stood it up to prop against the wall, some of the pictures slid out of place. I need to tape them to the posterboard, I guess. I don’t even know how meaningful the pictures are to her. But I want her to have them to look at nonetheless. After I was finished, we went to the big program area just in time for the art activity. A staff member gave Mom a page from a coloring book and Mom picked out two markers and a crayon from a box. She set out to color the picture, which was a flower with leaves and what appeared to be some ribbon. It was sort of a confusing picture and Mom had trouble really recognizing what it represented. But she persisted. And I sat and watched her. We shared a can of root beer from the vending machine. She asked me to fill in some of the picture so I just made a few pink touches to match the ones she had already done. Here is her finished product:

Mom\'s picture. She selected yellow and pink markers and a fat green crayon to work on this. I think the colors look great. She wrote a B in the upper right corner. And then she said, \'I wrote a B but I don\'t know why.\' In the lower left, she just made her own small design. I told her it looked a bit like a bird.

Mom's picture. She selected yellow and pink markers and a fat green crayon to work on this. I think the colors look great. She wrote a B in the upper right corner. And then she said, 'I wrote a B but I don't know why.' In the lower left, she just made her own small design. I told her it looked a bit like a bird.

That day and today, I sensed she was fatigued so I took her to her room and encouraged her to lie on her bed. I covered her with a fleece throw that she recognizes from her assisted living days and suggested she go to sleep. I don’t mean to cause her to sleep too much. For some reason this has just seemed like an appropriate thing to do. I was going to find a couch for her today in the big program room, but all four couches were occupied – including by a napper or two. Since I really did think she might be sick, I put her to bed. I turned on low cool air and closed her blind. She looked cozy in her bed, holding onto dog/cat. And I kissed her goodbye.

So far, so good

I saw Mom today, for the first time since Monday when I was there to fill out paperwork. My neighbor, the hospice social worker, came over Tuesday evening to say she had seen Mom that day and that Mom seemed friendly and at ease. She had dog/cat with her, and a male resident came up to Mom with his hand tucked into his sleeve and joked that dog/cat had bitten his hand off. It took him two tries before Mom got it, but she got it. My neighbor said anytime she is at the Alz center, she will try to check on Mom if she can. What a gift that is. I told her I’d do all I could not to abuse that offer of hers.

Mom was in the big program area in the wing populated by generally more mobile patients. She was sitting at a table with three other women. They weren’t really conversing or anything. Mom had a funny ensemble on: white and blue striped pants, a black blouse with red roses on it, and her Navajo patterned fleece jacket. With Halloween themed socks and her pink Crocs. I think staff might let her do some choosing of her own clothes based on that outfit… I walked up to her and gently patted her arm so I wouldn’t scare her. She seemed glad to see me but she didn’t say “Hallelujah” or “It’s a miracle.” She just smiled and I sat with her for awhile. She said the kids had been there earlier – the kids from the on-site daycare. Those events that the kids participate in will always be the highlight of her day, I’m sure. We walked to her room. I picked up her laundry. We sat in the lobby for a little while. I pointed out there would be a bingo game this afternoon in the program area, which is down a long hallway from Mom’s dining room. I was thinking out loud about how she’ll know about bingo and a passing nurse said that Mom heads to the program area immediately after she eats her meals. So she is figuring the place out. She said things are fine. She looked good. I think it’s safe to say all is well with these new arrangements. I think I will sleep all day Sunday and Monday, the Labor Day holiday, to celebrate that fact.

Meanwhile, Monday I got an e-mail from Noah the administrator at the previous nursing home. No subject line. This is what he wrote:

Hello Emily. I know that Bonnie moved on Friday to Columbus Alzheimer’s and I just wanted to touch base and see how she was doing in her new surroundings. I do apologize that Whetstone was not a good fit for her, and I sincerely hope her new surroundings at Columbus Alzheimer’s put her more at ease. Please let me know if there is anything else we can do.

Thanks,
Noah

I wrote back an inoffensive message that she is fine and feeling at home in her new location. I closed with: It seems best for everyone in the long run – but what a week for everyone, too!

Even though I generally loathe him, I appreciate any gesture like this. It’s an effort to make amends, I am guessing. Perhaps his coworkers gave him some idea of how hard I was taking this news that Mom was kicked out. Now that the crisis is behind me, I am not interested in doing any of the things I wanted to do last week, like writing a letter to Noah telling him just how terrible his manner is with families, or writing a letter to his boss complaining about how we were treated. Sadly, I’m pretty sure, based on what I have heard from staff, that he represents the wishes of his corporate leaders. I am not in full forgiveness mode, but I do prefer to move on. Not waste the energy. Stay on the high road. And just hope that other families with loved ones with dementia have a better experience than we did.