A Year into Assisted Living: Holding Steady

When I think back a year, I'm struck by a lot that's changed. We've reached a plateau in a good place. Here's a rundown:

• Mom's okay with her small apartment, and doesn't remember that it was ever bigger.
• Mom takes a mood stabilizer that works, until late afternoon, when well-documented "sundown syndrome" results in anxiety, depression, boredom, anger after dinner.  
• Home care professionals Laura and Dee now visit her two-to-four hours every afternoon and come back after dinner every night. 
• The facility's staff administer medicines every day, though Mom doesn't recall anything about it.  They tell her that these are "vitamins" to keep her beautiful.  I used to re-stock the pill dispenser Saturdays, only to discover that she had skipped days, or had taken pills directly from the bottles, or (one time, for sure) had taken the dog's medicine, too.
• Mom is drinking 1/2 the wine she used to drink, or less;  the 6 oz. bottles are 50% water, now, thanks to sneaky refilling of the bottles by me and the home care ladies.  There's no more drinking a bottle, throwing it away, and saying, "Ok, it's time for a glass of wine;"  no more of her getting in the car after a couple bottles to re-stock; no more late-evening walks across a five-lane intersection to the corner drug store for more. 
• Mom usually forgets that she ever had a car.  When she thinks to ask about it, I remind her that she gave up her keys voluntarily after locking Sassy in a hot car, and remind her of times she got upset or distracted while driving. (We donated proceeds from the car sale to the Humane Society where Mom first met her dog Sassy.)
• Sassy the dog remains healthy and happy, entertaining Mom all day.  
• Mom's Long Term Care Insurance is now reimbursing her living trust  for both the assisted living and the home care visits, amounting to $10K a month. 
• I have Mom's credit card, because she loses it a lot;  I give her a limited number of checks, which she uses for hair and nail appointments, for yogurt, chopped chicken, and fruit for snacks. 
• Those urgent notes on the mirror, piles in each room of "urgent" and "official" requests for money from political charlatans, and the obscure notations over notations on each of three calendars are things of the past;  Mom has forgotten that she has a mailbox, so I throw out all the junk mail, pay the bills, and give her just the catalogues. 
• She doesn't remember what she reads in her morning newspaper or anything from TV news (on incessantly), so she's flabbergasted every time she learns who's President.

That's where we are.  I obsessively check my voice mail for Mom's angry / anxious messages, and rarely find one any more.  I never knew when I knocked on her door whether she'd be happy to see me, or bitter about my leaving her "in a prison."  Since at least June, it's been Happy Mom every time.
[Photo:  I dropped in early one week morning in the summer, and she was up, made up, and ready for another day.]

I'd say things are holding steady.

See other entries in my "Dementia Diary."