Eight years

Obviously, I’m not keeping up with the NaBloPoMo pledge. It was a worthy goal. Maybe next year.

Ironically, I missed an easy chance for a post on Nov. 3. That was the eight-year anniversary of Mom’s diagnosis. Eight years. Seems like a lot. With an additional I-don’t-know-how-long before that as Mom’s symptoms gradually surfaced and then became more obvious. Nov. 3, 2005. I still have the prescription pad page that the neurologist wrote notes on during the appointment. My sister Laura had come to Columbus from California for this event. The neurology clinic was across the hall from my office at that time, so we popped in for a visit with my co-workers after meeting with the neurologist. Laura and I faked a good mood – though neither of us was particularly surprised, it of course was not a happy occasion. I’m not sure what might have been going through Mom’s mind. She had asked the doctor if the heavy drinking she did in the 70s and 80s contributed to the disease. He said probably not, but that it might have left her with less brain to work with once the disease had set in. And from what we’re learning about Alzheimer’s these days, it appears that the seeds for dementia are planted in the brain years – maybe a dozen, maybe two decades – before symptoms become apparent.

I visited Mom today, Veterans Day, and studied the faces of the honored veteran residents on a lobby bulletin board before I went to the program area to see her. I arrived long after lunch, but Mom was still sitting at her designated table. A crowd had been assembled for the day’s entertainment – my favorite Elvis impersonator. He looked different – he had a haircut and was wearing a bowling-style shirt instead of his usual sparkly getup. But he was there, for this unpredictable audience, which makes me adore him.

Mom was pretty drowsy, which didn’t surprise me. She’s often sleepy after lunch. I held onto her hand for awhile until she pulled it away. She laughed a few times and at one point I said something and she said, “Hmm? What’d you say?” That phrase was so clear, but everything else she said was complete nonsense and very few actual words. I responded affirmatively to everything she said. I sang in her ear when I recognized an Elvis song. I tried to encourage her to stand up and dance. She didn’t protest, but she also didn’t budge.

I think the Alz Center staff members enjoy Elvis as much as anybody. I noticed after a series of patriotic songs that an activities staffer had tears in her eyes. I know her husband died of Alzheimer’s and she is pretty young, meaning he might have had early-onset. I don’t know if he was a veteran. She and I have frank talks about being caregivers and I know she is one very tough cookie. Seeing the moisture in her eyes nearly made me cry. I decided that was as good a time as any to take off and let Mom relax.

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